At His Majesty's Pleasure

Authors: Thank you for your continued support and readership! We first wrote a version of this story just for each other, without thinking beyond that, and we're very gratified that you guys are enjoying it too! As we mentioned, this chapter will include some perspective from Alexander, which we hope you find enlightening - among other things. Alais will still be the predominant narrator in the overarching story, but we'll continue to see glimpses from his (and others') vantage point when it makes sense in the plot. Enjoy!

*

"Who am I marrying?"

Alexander lowered his gaze to her. She painted such a lovely picture of supplication, kneeling so prettily at his feet - her gown pooled about her and slender hands entwined in the folds. Symbolism it might be, but never let it be said that a good dose of symbolism could not be aesthetically pleasing. She was staring up at at him too, intently, which only allowed the candles to shed their warm light over the delicate beauty of her features; as before, he admired that sharp intelligence in her eyes, that arch in her brow that suggested keenness of spirit. And even now, despite her situation, her deportment was impeccably elegant, with straight posture and shoulders pressed back...which also did nothing to hide her slender figure and soft curves.

It made it very easy for him to pronounce his claim over her, which fell from his lips with uncompromising certainty. "Me."

The reaction was immediate. Incredulity reflected off those same eyes, and her fine brows knit together. The disbelief was almost palpable, and it was that which made him smirk.

He in turn merely reached for his goblet, allowing her time to digest this development and come to understand it. She was a quick study, from what he'd observed thus far - despite his casual demeanor, his scrutiny was always quite shrewd - and he had faith she would not have difficulty putting it together.

It didn't take long. "To cement the alliance," she said quietly, more to herself than to him. Her eyes found his again. "Was this the plan all along? To kidnap me?" She seemed to be trying to put the pieces together, one at a time.

"No," he said, simply. He took a sip from his goblet. "I came with an open mind, you could say."

Truth be told, he'd not had a specific agenda set aside for the masquerade. His thoughts on Vvaria had been in flux; half the time an alliance between the two countries had seemed amenable to him, but just as often he had been tempted to cast aside diplomacy and take what he wanted by force. There were advantages and drawbacks to both options, of course, over which he'd deliberated for quite a long time. Contrary to what his reputation held in some circles, he did not

completely

make his decisions rashly or impulsively, though he might have given this impression with the quickness of his temper. Alexander enjoyed planning and scheming as much as the rest of them. That he was flexible about what he might do

here

was not to be confused with whimsy; he was an opportunist first, and only capricious where he could afford to be (though, given his position, that was not often a great limitation).

The situation with Vvaria was complicated. He desired passage through their all important Vale of Stars - that which was one of only two safe passages to the western peninsula - as well as the ships he so desperately needed if he were to have any advantage at sea. An alliance would allow him access to these opportunities more quickly and easily, but in return, he traded lack of certainty. He would have to rely on Esterad and his ilk to do their part, instead of commanding it for himself - and Alexander had issues with, among other things, ceding control. On the other hand,

invading

Vvaria was by no means a small feat. He was confident in his own military might, but although he believed he would be ultimately victorious, it would be at the expense of men, equipment, and time, all of which could be put to better use in the other wars he planned on waging.

Therefore, the idea of entertaining an alliance had not at all been extinguished from his mind, though he had treated the enterprise with some reluctance. He had entered Vvaria foremost to gather information and reach some kind of decision, though this objective had been innately vague and allowed him a great deal of latitude. As for the decoy and fake minstrels - they were part of his standard operating procedure; the same went for the Chevalier knights who had discreetly shadowed him throughout the night. He didn't think most of it had been strictly necessary, but Alexander liked to plan for every contingency and minimize every risk. He hadn't gotten this far without a healthy dose of paranoia, after all. And in some rare instances, such as this one, such preparations could also be adapted to take advantage of unexpected opportunities...such as the extraction of a most valuable princess.

"At first, I only planned on enjoying the festivities," he explained, setting aside his goblet. He offered her a smile that he knew she didn't trust. "My intentions were mostly innocent."

"If that's true..." she said, still not sounding like she believed him - not that he blamed her, at this juncture. "If that's true, then what changed your mind?"

He met her eyes again. When he answered, his tone was light, almost jesting, though as it so happened, here he was being perfectly honest. "A card game."

"You're serious," said the princess, still staring.

"Yes. You quite impressed me." He spoke as if this was high praise indeed - which, coming from him, he fully believed it was. Alexander had not expected much of a challenge when it came to matching wits - though to be fair, there were few in his acquaintance who were his equal - and had been surprised and intrigued to be proven wrong. There was also that his preferences for female conduct were, with some rare exceptions, usually conservative, as befit every noble standard, and he expected them to be demure and docile; while her behavior was always slyly within the bounds of civility, there was a certain cheek and light impertinence that had surprised him, perhaps even fascinated him.

It hadn't taken more than a first glance to see that Princess Alais was beautiful, but as the night had worn on, he had become aware of a more intent sort of attraction - one that was not easily quelled, nor existed only at the surface. It was then that a familiar, dangerous feeling had crept into his mind - that of

wanting

something.

At first, he had quieted such thoughts. They were not rational and would not further his plans - but here, his logic had taken a pause, and a sudden and terrible idea had crept into being. For

wouldn't

they further his plans? He had been looking for a way to tie this country to his own, in lieu of an unsubstantiated agreement, and he had just stumbled into a potential solution. An unconventional solution, to be sure, but he was nothing if not pragmatic.

"I suppose," he continued, "that I was not immune to such charms as captivated so many of your other suitors. How can I be blamed?" How could he

not

be blamed - but of course, it was the perfect absurdity of this question that entertained Alexander, in his one-sided way. He probably taking too much amusement from this, at her expense, but he could not help it. "From there, everything else fell into place."

She looked rightly disgruntled in her attempt to wrap her mind about his logic. The way those pretty brows knit and that diminutive nose scrunched at the bridge was all but endearing. "But why not just

ask

?" was her next question. "Why not open up negotiations?"

"I suppose I could have," he allowed, gamely. Given enough of threats and bluster from Obsivia, it was probable that Alexander could have claimed her hand in return for granting peace. Unfortunately,

probable

wasn't good enough...not when it came to something that Alexander had decided he

wanted

. Why should he have waited when she was there for the taking? Why leave it to chance? He was remarkably good at ignoring repercussions, when it came to pursuing his desires - once they had passed the initial test of not compromising his main ambitions (war, war, and war, respectively).

"But, as the night showed, you were encumbered by a great deal of admirers and suitors. Who knows how long it would have taken to extricate you from them, if it could be done at all? And I'm sure your family may have had reservations in promising you to me - not that there's any reason to be wary." Alexander grinned, his humor still not compromised. He returned his attention to his meal, his tone matter-of-fact. "No, this was the most effective for my purposes." And in the end, that was all that mattered.

She seemed perturbed, not that she had an absence of reasons to be. Her fork played distractedly with her plate, between those long, delicate fingers. "Stabbing me was the most effective," she echoed.

"Regrettably," Alexander agreed, without even attempting to sound regretful at all. Nonchalantly, he added, "You'll heal."

"You'd rather have a bride who resents you than wait two weeks for an agreement," she muttered, setting her plate aside with a wince.

He impaled the last piece from his serving of lamb. "I think you are representing the situation unfairly," he said. His tone was light; again, he was self-aware enough to realize how absurd it was for him to be speaking of

fairness

, but could only find it especially diverting for that reason. It was terribly amusing to tease her, even if it was a little cruel of him to do so (or perhaps because of this). He plopped the meat in his mouth and chewed. "I see it as... I would rather take a calculated risk in transporting you than wait two weeks for an agreement that may not come at all."

The princess had turned her eyes to her wrist, where the blotches of crimson were seeping through the white linen. "It would have come. With the right threats."

"Perhaps, perhaps not. Negotiations are always shades and possibilities. Action is certain." He did think his actions were perfectly reasonable (or within the realms of reason, anyway).

Perhaps

there were other methods to accomplish his ends, but this was the most direct and expedient - and relied least on the willingness of others. There were risks either way, and it came down to a matter of selecting which risks he was most comfortable with taking.

Risks themselves were not something that Alexander necessarily had qualms about taking, as long as those risks were

calculated

; such risks were, in his opinion, a crucial part of strategy. At war, the most common weakness he'd found in his adversaries was not that they were too reckless - though there were certainly instances of that too - but that they were too cautious, too paralyzingly careful when it came to accepting risks. This afforded him an advantage. Lack of certainty did not deter Alexander, and he'd been responsible for many a bold and aggressive maneuver even when success was not assured. Some of these tactics had cost him, but others had rewarded him tenfold - it was all about weighing probabilities and the stakes. One could be too careful just as one could be too careless.

"Diplomacy" would proceed much smoother now that the princess was in his possession. He would incur political damage with Vvaria, but there was little they could do about it - unless they had a death wish. Which wasn't to say that suicidal defiance was not an occasional staple among nobles - as Alexander had had his share of quashing those too - but it was not in his reading of Esterad to suspect that would be the case here. The old king was too level-headed, too pragmatic. Alexander calculated reluctant agreement.

"You don't even know me," the princess tried - a different protest.

"I know enough," Alexander said, smoothly, though he made no effort to elaborate. He placed his silverware aside, finished with the meal. "Besides," he went on, "familiarity has never been a prerequisite for marriage. Engagements have been formed on less." King and Queens promised their children to each other as a matter of course. A long time ago, the princess herself had had such an arrangement with his brother, after all.

Her small nose twitched, very subtly, as if she'd just eaten something sour. "I wouldn't call this your traditional engagement."

"What can I say. I've always been progressive."

She said nothing, her gaze focused woodenly on the floor before her.

He suspected that she was still battling denial, and decided to present her situation in no uncertain terms. "Should our families be joined, so too will Obsivia and Vvaria. I would be able to put aside my reservations about the stability of the alliance. And as long as you provide me with ships and access to your Vale, I have no reason to wage a costly war for the same benefit. In fact, I would be incentivized to protect Vvaria - which, might I add, is no small advantage." This came very close to sounding reasonable, even diplomatic. He ruined it a second later. "On the other hand, if you do not consent, you'll forfeit much more than your life. I will wage my war, raze your country to the ground, and get what I want anyway."

For the moment that followed, the princess was silent, though she still didn't move to reclaim her plate. But then her head lowered, and she almost appeared to shrink in her position. Her palms met the floor, and her head bowed low, the beautiful likeness of despair. It was as if there was an invisible weight being pressed upon her shoulders, and a shudder seemed to flit down her spine at the implications of being his bride.

"Please don't make me do this," she murmured softly, fearfully. She seemed to be withdrawing from her tight, cautiously refrained retorts to the full realm of emotional vulnerability.

For the first time, the

very

first time after all that happened, it looked like she was pleading with him.

Alexander felt a dark sort of thrill go through him, primal and unsavory - it came from the cruel part of him that took pleasure in the capitulation of others. This instinct was rooted somewhere deep, and tied inextricably to its source was also his compulsion for power, for dominance. At the same time, there was an odd dash of something far more unfamiliar mixed in there - it was a foreign emotion that he could not place.

The truth was that he nursed a pinch of respect for Princess Alais that was buried somewhere distant and unacknowledged - which had led him to be (relatively) more indulgent with her trespasses so far. Her streak of defiance had elicited a complicated reaction in him. Alexander had a certain complex when it came to

power

, and any challenge to his authority was met with an opposite and unequal reaction. Somewhat paradoxically, he had simultaneously disdain for people who surrendered too easily and showed him no backbone; he could not help but be in small part fascinated by her spirit, at the same time that he instinctively desired to assert his control over it.

After a moment, he realized that that foreign emotion was pity, or something close to it. How strange. He was silent himself for a moment, looking down upon her bleak expression. A litany of taunts was at the tip of his tongue, and yet, he managed to quell these impulses toward petty malice.

"I've made my decision already," he said instead, his voice quiet but firm. She needed to understand, stunned though she was, that there was nothing she could do to alter the course of his plans. There was, of course, only for her to come to terms with his wishes - Alexander did not consider the alternative,

pity

or not. She belonged to him now, and he was not about to relinquish her. "But," he went on, "this arrangement is salvation for you and those you hold dear. You are the key to saving your country. Unhappy as you are, consider the advantages."

Nevermind that it was from

him

that she would be saving her family and country from. He was aware of this, and yet it did nothing to deter him from using it as manipulation.

"Take the night to think about it," he said, as if still playing out a prolonged farce wherein her compliance was needed. He set aside his plate. "Tomorrow I will send a letter to your grandfather, explaining the situation and what I expect from him to resolve it. Should you agree to my terms, I will allow you to send a letter as well." A heavily inspected letter, of course, and more for his benefit than hers. But it was a gesture nonetheless.

Strictly speaking, he did not necessarily need her cooperation (if strong-armed coercion could be called cooperation). But in a practical sense, it was easier to work with people towards an objective that he had persuaded them to be in their best interests, instead of combating resistance at every turn.

The princess did not immediately respond to her dismissal. "If all you wanted was the Vale of Stars, you don't need to tie yourself to me."

"True. But it's not all I wanted." He allowed his gaze to pass over her, without all that much inhibition. He reached out, tilting her chin up with a finger, the motion inexplicably gentle after the easy violence he'd just imparted.

This touch seemed to jolt her. She pulled herself together, hands tightening over the fabric of her skirts, and slowly rose to her feet - escaping his grasp without the crudeness of that goblet toss. For not longer than a second, her numb gaze lingered over the forgotten plate, until she mustered all the good graces within her to lift it from the ground and set it discreetly back on the table.

"Your Majesty may not have considered every possibility. I could be compromised. Diseased. Half-mad." She listed all attributes clinically, without perceptible emotion, and ended with what was probably worst of all, to his specific circumstances, "Barren." If she aimed to be spiteful and vindictive, there would've been little more satisfying than for his marriage to end in a nightmare for kings. "What would your people say?"

"Oh, I doubt you'd have so many suitors chasing after you if that was the case." The comment sounded flippant, but was actually lodged in some reason. If the princess

was

secretly mad or diseased - and even if she had managed to hide it from so many courtiers - he doubted Esterad would have been so incautious as to let such arrangements form.

"And if you are..." Alexander leaned back, touching the tips of his fingers together, as if earnestly considering. As her show of weakness disappeared, so too went his restraint. He grinned. "Well, then I suppose I would mourn your beheading. I can assure you that my people wouldn't mind your execution," he added, genially. "But thank you for your concern for me, all the same."

He waved his guards forward, so that she might be escorted back to her temporary lodgings. There was little else that could be wrung out of this conversation, and he'd gotten what amusements he could from it. There was work to attend to tonight, now that he'd returned. "You're dismissed."

As she left, a slave came forward, carrying a fresh set of cloth to replace the stained things he still wore. He rose, tugging off his tunic and reaching for a fresh set.

*****

Alais pilfered a lemon wedge off the table at the last minute, taking her hypothetical death sentence with as much stride as one could. The law of diminishing returns applied to her somewhat, where the more he referenced the same damn things (death, destruction, executions, etc. etc. ad nauseum) the less impact they seemed to have. So there was that for comfort.

Having a relatively limited emotional range did help, on occasion.

She then obediently turning to her assigned escort with a reaction more or less characterized by an unspoken and impassive 'hm'. But she just

had

to pause one last time, for one last shot of idiotic sass. (No, she didn't.)