At His Majesty's Pleasure

Authors: Hey guys! Thanks for being patient with us through the wait - life gets busy sometimes, and we just didn't have enough time even though we would have loved to write more. Hopefully our updates (in the comments) kept you in the loop though! Now that stuff has slowed down a bit, we can get back into the groove of things.

We actually finished both this chapter and the next together, so look out for Chapter 9 soon! Oh, and we used a few more of your suggested names - thanks!

Some of you expressed unhappiness over Alexander's cheating, in the previous chapter. That's entirely understandable, and of course you have a right to despise him for it! At the same time, we hope you likewise understand that we wouldn't want to compromise the story or his character by having his more selfish tendencies suddenly disappear. It's a little more tricky to talk about the integrity of a story when it comes to erotica, which generally is written to please the readers - but Alexander is meant to be flawed, and if he does change, we want to approach it realistically. (That said, Alais really doesn't mind at this point and thinks she could do with less of his attention!)

Anyway, that's not to say we don't want you to comment on what you like or don't like! We love hearing your feedback. Just wanted to share our own rationale too.

*****

The sun was halfway sunk into the horizon, its last dusky rays bathing the lakeside in violet and magenta. Near its shore, two brothers were perched on the great boulders there, occupied in skipping stones across the surface. Even in the watery reflections, their resemblance was clear - both dark of hair, features sharp and aristocratic.

The older of the two - tall and strapping already at fifteen - was picking over some stones. "So why was Mother upset?"

His brother was the smaller version of him, not more than eight or nine; his feet dangled at only half the reach. "Wasn't to do with me," he said, quickly. The boy averted his gaze and pointed to the stones. "Can I have one?"

The other blinked, but after a moment of thought, offered an obliging smile. "Alright," he said, handing a small pebble over. "Here's a good one - nice and flat, and pretty smooth too."

"I'll make good use of it," the boy promised. The stone was duly thrown - and duly sunk on the first

plop

.

The older brother laughed, if good-naturedly, on seeing the crestfallen expression. "You have to skim it across the water," he explained, emphasizing with a sweep of his hand. He demonstrated by casting a pebble himself, which skipped a graceful four times before the lake claimed it. "Like that."

The boy was impressed. He grabbed another stone, eager to try again. "You're so good at it."

"Just had a little more practice," he returned. "But you see? Across the water, not into it." He thought for a moment, before providing, "If you were wielding a sword, it'd be a glancing blow, not a stab."

"Seems like it'd always be better to go for the stab, though," said his younger brother, cheekily.

He smiled faintly. "Not always. Maybe you only want to disarm your opponent. Or maybe you're not in the position to attack directly."

The boy tilted his head, taking this in with a thoughtful look. "Maybe."

"Here, try again."

They got as far as the fourth

plop

before the younger boy spoke up again. "Cassius?"

"Yes?"

"Is it true you're going on a trip with Father again?"

Cassius nodded. "To the north now. We leave tomorrow."

His brother's disappointment was almost palpable; the stones lay forgotten in his hands for a moment. "But you've only just returned."

"Hey, I'll be back before you know it." As this didn't seem to console, he added, "Me

and

the swords."

This did catch the boy's attention. "Swords?"

"Of course. Didn't think I'd come back without souvenirs, did you?" said Cassius, cocking a smile. "Eorang has the best forgers. I'll bring back a sword from every province, just for you."

His brother perked up, awed by this magnanimity. "Will you really?"

"Am I not a man of my word?" He laughed as the boy hugged him, the strength of the gesture almost toppling his balance. "It's always swords with you. How much have you been practicing?"

"Every day. I have new moves to show you.

You

probably know them already, but they're still hard to do - the First Commander said so himself. Do you want to see?"

"Sure. After supper, if you like."

Buoyed by these promises, the younger boy was content to return to stone-skipping, sending a few more pebbles to their watery grave. He followed his brother's instructions with a studious care, and was rewarded with a few less flops for his troubles.

But after a few minutes, he seemed to grow uncomfortable, shifting restlessly in his perch. "Cassius?" he prompted again.

"Yes?"

"I have to tell you something. But can you promise you won't be mad?"

"I won't be mad."

A wash of guilt spread across the young boy's countenance. "I lied, before. Mother

was

upset because of me." He glanced to his brother, anticipating disapproval. "But I can explain."

Cassius's expression remained open, no presumption writ there. "What happened?"

"Prince Robert visited last week. We were sparring in the courtyard. And...I injured him more than I should have."

"By accident?"

The boy suddenly seemed very interested in the ground beneath them. "It might not have been."

Cassius raised his brows. "That's not like you."

"He was saying things about Father. How even after Emperor Wulfric took Ithea Valley, Father just let him." The boy continued staring down. "He said Father was a coward."

Comprehension touched Cassius's face, and after a pause, he sighed. "And this upset you?"

"It's true, though, isn't it?" said the boy. "Father didn't even try to defend Ithea."

"Father's not a coward," his brother said, quietly. "He didn't defend Ithea because he didn't want to get us pulled into war."

"But war is exciting!" pointed out the boy. "We can prove ourselves in a war."

"It's more complicated than that," Cassius corrected, though with patience. He turned, setting aside the stones. "Emperor Wulfric outnumbers us four to one, at the very least. His army is more experienced and battle-ready. And he has more resources at his disposal." He shook his head. "There are some battles we can't afford."

"So he

is

afraid of Wulfric," the boy said, stubbornly, though it was clear by the creasing of his brows that he had taken in all of this.

"He's afraid of endangering our people," conceded Cassius. "Afraid of endangering our family. War is a gamble, and the wagers are in lives lost. Long ago, when he was young, Father had more than his share of war. He doesn't wish to subject the kingdom to it ever again." He looked sidelong to his brother. "Does wanting to protect us make him a coward?"

The boy was silent for a time. "Maybe not," he said reluctantly. His brows furrowed again. "But then... we'll always do nothing and let Wulfric have his way?"

"Not at all."

"But you just said - "

"I said we can't attack outright," said Cassius, with a conspiratorial smile. "Not that there aren't other alternatives for resistance."

This caught the boy's interest. "What kinds of resistance?"

"Diplomacy, for one. Father called on our allies, who in turn have been whispering their disapproval over Wulfric's actions in every open ear."

"What does that do?"

"Nothing by itself. But reputation is a currency of its own," Cassius explained. "News of such behavior towards one neighbor makes other neighbors nervous; nervous neighbors are less inclined to trade with you. Which would just be awful, since Emperor Wulfric's ports rely heavily on commerce."

The boy's smile slowly widened. "And then what?" he asked, eagerly.

"Then he pays us a steep sum for the land he annexed, to make the transaction appear legitimate," was the answer. "Negotiations have already begun."

"But then..." The boy looked conflicted. "Then he still gets to keep Ithea."

"Yes. But he has to give us what we want in return." Cassius smiled, knowingly. "It's not as flashy as a war, but it's a still a victory. And it doesn't come with war's costs."

The boy looked deep in thought again.

Cassius picked up one of their neglected stones, weighing it in his hand. "You have to think of it the right way. In a sense, it's like skipping stones. Sometimes attacking your opponent outright isn't the best solution. We have to strike them more subtly - glancingly - like stones across water." He flicked his wrist, sending a tiny pebble bounding over the lake surface. "You see? That way we keep afloat."

The boy watched. "I understand," he said, finally. "Glancing blows are better sometimes." He smiled, a little ruefully. "I just wish people like Prince Robert would understand too."

"We should give weight to the opinions of others, but we shouldn't define ourselves by them," Cassius replied. He leaned closer, some of the seriousness dissipating. "And between you and me, I think Prince Robert was just mad he was losing."

A smirk crossed the boy's expression. "He wasn't very skilled at all," he said, unable to help the boast. "Even though he's three years older."

"All the more reason he was mad, then."

The boy looked pleased. But his expression did falter, for a moment. "So you aren't mad that I lied?"

Cassius offered another of his faint smiles. "I knew you'd tell me, in your own time."

"Oh," said the boy. He looked impressed again.

"We all make mistakes, especially when we're upset. But you have to remind yourself that when your opponent is down, sometimes that's enough." Cassius caught his brother's eye. "You have a natural gift for swordplay - but a true warrior knows when to exercise discretion, and mercy."

The boy looked more solemn. "It won't happen again," he vowed. "I'll be good."

"I know you will," said Cassius. He shaded his eyes to get a look at the sun, which had nearly disappeared into the horizon. In the distance, the trees were silhouettes against the sky, and soon would be indistinct among the darkness. "We should return to the castle."

As they climbed to their feet, he reached over to ruffle the boy's hair. "Don't forget this, Alexander."

*****

Alexander awoke, sitting upright. It took a moment to situate himself - his gaze passed over the interior of the lodge room, the luxurious bed he was atop, and the blonde maid that slept restfully besides him.

He exhaled deeply, running his hands through his hair. Why he had dreamed of that memory in particular was something that escaped him - it seemed a lifetime ago that he had dangled over those boulders with his brother, casting stones into the lake. The unfinished letter to Cassius taunted him, from his desk. Perhaps that had stirred his thoughts - and yet, the contents of his missive were anything but recounts of childhood memories.

"Your Majesty?" murmured a sleepy voice. The maid had stirred, dislodged by his movement.

He turned his gaze to her. Perhaps it was his change of mood, but he felt a boredom now in trifling with her. Not that he could blame the girl; it was always difficult for women to sustain his interest for long, and he had a terrible habit of rifling through and discarding them. And despite her physical charms, she was a little dull, especially when compared to a certain...someone.

"Your attentions are no longer required," he said, breezily.

"What?" The maid blinked back surprise.

He made a dismissive gesture, however, and she was not bold enough to disobey - though he was amused to catch a gleam of disappointment in her eyes. Still looking mildly disoriented, she scrambled out of the bed, gathered her clothes, and made herself scarce.

She'd been a lively enough distraction, while it lasted. He'd send her off in the morning with a few extra coins for her trouble; she'd need a dowry after he compromised her prospects.

For now, he seated himself at his desk, and forced himself to resume writing the letter. It was only a couple of hours after midnight, and he decided he'd sleep only after he discharged this duty.

*****

Frail as her limbs still felt before the evening, Alais found sleep with much more ease in the remote and more importantly

quieter

quarters. She awoke to the melody of early morning birdsong just beyond the window, refreshed, at peace with herself, and above all, resolute. Again she made a makeshift cloak of her blanket, at first wrapping it over her head and shoulders as one would a cowl, and fastened the rest over her shift so that it would not slip. Then, she was as ready as she might ever be and padded her way into the halls - careful not to rouse the attentions of others.

Upon approaching the guards outside the King's chambers, she raised a finger to her lips with an almost conspiratorial smile before slipping wordlessly in - as though it were the most natural thing. And why shouldn't it be, for a wife to visit her husband?

Ever so light on her feet, she crept silently to the side of the bed, to where the King lay beneath the covers. She noticed he was alone now, though she had decided she would not mind one bit if he

had

been sharing it with another. And why should it be otherwise? Not all 'love' need be possessive; that'd only make a hassle of things, especially when one was already aware (and especially before the onset of said

'love'

) of his tendency to do whatever he damned well wished absent consideration for others. She didn't care about his considerations; in these circumstances, she would do perfectly well without them.

She climbed slowly onto the mattress, her feather-light weight scarcely leaving an imprint upon its surface, and knelt besides him. There she sat still for but a moment, waiting peaceably for the first signs of his stirring.

When he blinked his eyes open - not without a look of confusion, upon recognizing her - she lowered her lips over his ear, a touch of her hair brushing against him, and whispered (as loud and sharp as any whisper could be) with a playful sternness, "If I were an

assassin!

"

It was then that her dancing fingers, so soft and gentle to the touch, assaulted his exposed sides, her lips pursed in order to bar all her suppressed giggles from spilling out.

Whatever the King expected, it was not this. It almost seemed that someone of his stature and repute should be immune to something so silly as

tickling

, and the intimacy of the playful act - after her previous behavior - was probably the last thing he had believed her capable (which was what she counted on).

Shock, real shock, swept over his features, painting a beautifully baffled expression where usually there was so much smug assurance. That was, before he gave way to the involuntary laugher that she prompted.

Alais would have made due anyway had his only reaction been confusion, but she was pleasantly surprised to find the King as vulnerable as anyone else when it came to being tickled. He writhed with mirth, hands reaching to fend her off.

Just when he seemed on the precipice of capturing her, however, she darted away with remarkable agility, scampering away and bouncing sprightly off the bed.

She returned to her room, and there went about conducting herself as normally as possible - making the bed, throwing the shutters open. She regarded the pristine view outside as she fumbled with the back hooks of her day dress, and was still doing so when she heard the telltale footsteps of the King at her doorstep.

There was a noticeable pause before he spoke. "What..." he seemed to consider the different questions he might pose, and ended with the all-encompassing, "What is going on?"

She needed to maintain her facade at the outset, if she were to pursue this strategy long-term (and if she were to do it as convincingly as possible). Accordingly, it was of great importance to appear

comfortable

. And comfortable she emanated - the very first time she reacted to his presence without even the slightest displays of flightiness, anxiety, or distress.

Such was her comfort that she hadn't even deemed it necessary to face him as she addressed the (non-)answer to his question - still apparently occupied in her hooks. Her hair kept tumbling in her way - her maids might have helped, but her maids had also been so helpful lately that she'd also thought to allow them a bit of rest.

When she spoke, it was with an inexplicably chipper tone. "What are you asking me for?

You're

the one who has everything figured out."

She made sure that this new flavor of cheeky impertinence did not manifest from the deeply seated resentment he might have gotten so accustomed to by now, but from a familiarity rooted to some likeness of

adoration

. What was there not to adore? (The Alais of yesterday might have had a mile long list of grievances on hand, but those were only from a certain perspective. And how could she ever hope to fool him if she could not fool herself?)

He gave her an assessing look, before his gaze fell on hooks of her dress and her still fumbling fingers.

"Allow me," he said smoothly. He had resumed his calm demeanor - perhaps after that show of vulnerability, he believed it was now incumbent upon him to brush this aside (killjoy that he was).

She felt his hand caress her hair, sweeping it over her shoulder and away from her back. Taking the hooks, he began to clasp one, and then a second, his movements slow enough that it had to be intentional. Standing so close to her, she could feel the heat of his body, and was sure he could feel hers.

"So is this your way of

loving

me, Alais?" he posed. "You do enjoy being unexpected."

Instead of progressing further, he instead let a single finger trace up her back, over each little bump of her spine. It was almost as if he were testing her, to see if she'd really be able to maintain this new act of hers, against greater contact.

Would that he knew of all the coaching, all the rationalizing, and all the intensive self-therapy vested into her apparent change of heart. At any given moment, Alais was not merely pretending to love him but forcing herself to believe that she did. There was always a touch of improvisation involved, as she had yet to be sincerely struck with anything like it - for anyone - before. She imagined what it would have been like, to have her (previously obstructed) attraction to him (the same one she would have otherwise fought to her last breath) magnified by thousandfold, and to behave how she might behave in the presence of one she devotedly trusted and cherished.

And for all that, Alais kept the slightest kernel of remembrance buried deep within the dark confines of her mind, rolling it in a bundle and tossing it in a chest. Reopen the chest - where has her loathing gone? Not here, not there, blink once and it'd disappeared - until such a time where she might find use for it again. Until then, it was a simple task of concentrating on how exceptional he was, how magnificently capable where others were so lacking and paltry in comparison, and on the keen intelligence and devastating good looks which so previously drove her mad.

If she thought about it that way, he was everything she could ever want. (And of course, to first fool him, it really was imperative that she successfully fool herself.)

That was all to say that she was able to trick herself into a frame of mind where the intimacy bore no ill effect upon her. The Alais of Yesterday, even at her most earnest attempts to save face, or to even pretend (as her current antics may have been well beyond mere pretense), would have at least stiffened or recoiled in her aversion to his advancements. Now, she merely tapped her foot softly on the ground as she waited for him to finish what he had so courteously offered to do.