Changeable as always, Alexander cooled at once with the question. In some respect, he knew it was a little unfair. After all, he was the one who brought up the subject of his brother in the first place. And yet, though he would have tolerated - and indeed, would have been happy to answer, in his current mood - any other question (what was he like? did they get along? how did he get anywhere if not on horseback?), it was not any other question that had been posed. The truth was that this was the one rumor that Alexander detested above all others, and despite his best efforts (or perhaps because of them, considering the nature of his efforts) had grown to be one of the most widespread whispers in his kingdom and the ones beyond.
Most did not make even insinuations about his ostensible usurpation, much less ask him about it to his face (however obliquely). The subject questioned his legitimacy, and so was inherently dangerous - but more than that, he'd shown himself to be especially...sensitive about it. Which, in retrospect, probably made him look even more guilty, but what was a belligerent King to do.
In any case, because his answer should have been common knowledge - the official story
was
publicized - he found any questions about it redundant and distasteful. It was essentially an accusation, even if wrapped up in all the innocence of a casual question.
She was backpedaling now, seizing upon a distraction.
"Leave the umbrella - " he began to say, but it was too late. Right after the umbrella she went, careening clean off the boat and splashing magnificently into the water.
Alexander only had a moment to be flabbergasted, watching her sink down into the embrace of the lake. Then panic set in, and along with it a newfound sense of urgency. She couldn't be lost - he had taken such pains to take possession of her, she was the key to all of his plans. There was another undercurrent to his emotion - some innate sense that he would lose something precious - but he hardly had the time to register it.
The barge, rocketed by her movements, had already dipped sideways enough to begin rapidly accumulating water, which was just as well - Alexander launched out of its confines and immediately dove in the direction of her ripples, aware that he had precious little time to act. He was clothed lightly, given the warm temperature, and did not have the excess of cloth and lace to encumber him; smoothly, he waded deep down, one arm extending to quickly encircle her waist.
But there was still too much of that dress, too many layers weighing them both down now - Alexander could see the surface light grow dimmer and dimmer, the sunlight slowly quenched by the depths of the lake. Thinking quickly, he unsheathed the dagger from his belt (how convenient that he was paranoid enough to keep it there always) and, grasping the laces of her gown, sliced through the binding material and struggled to tear it off.
With the excess cloth shed, her unencumbered body was now light enough in his arms to maneuver. With strong, deliberate kicks, he shepherded them to the surface, as the mussed remains of her gown fell dejectedly behind them.
When he finally broke past the water, he gasped at once, greedily sucking in air while holding her aloft. Their boat was long since destined to dissolution, and was nowhere to be found (beyond a series of wider ripples something south of them and two slaves swimming for the shore), but in the distance, he could hear shouting and alarm, and the sound of scrambling men. A boat would be coming, soon - he just had to keep them afloat until then.
By the time they were rescued, he had just enough strength left to hand her in, before climbing aboard himself. The first seconds were spent on all fours, catching his breath, but that did not hold his attention for long.
"How is she?" he demanded, his gaze searching for her prone figure. "Will she make it?"
As for the umbrella - the umbrella had floated benignly back up to the surface, rolling merrily over the spot where she had nearly drowned.
*****
There was a sharp gasping noise, and suddenly she half-sat half-slumped over the edge of the boat, coughing and choking out the unwelcome contents of her lungs. And there probably needed to be some amount of damage control. Oh gods, she hadn't meant to fall into the water. For once, an honest accident. Was Angry King going to rear its head again? Suddenly, the embrace of a watery grave seemed more welcoming after all.
"I'm sorry - " she started unevenly, and broke off into more miserable coughing over the vessel. "... my fault - "
Her skull throbbed as though it'd been worked on as one would ceremonial drums. Her head hadn't ached this much since - oh, of course, since the time he'd poisoned her. And there was so much of her body crying for attention (least of which being her dread of his reaction) that she hadn't even begun to realize she was shivering faintly from cold.
She was surprised to see, however, that the only emotion written in the King's face was relief - it looked almost strange on his features (as surely as the surprise of this morning), as if it wasn't an emotion often registered. The strength of it confused her, until - oh, of course: she recollected her importance in his war plans.
He merely stared at her for a few seconds, still catching his breath. His shirt was dripping water into the boat, as was her shift. Near the shore, shouts and cries could be heard from various distressed servants. As if seeming to realize the ridiculousness of the situation, he began laughing.
Not Anger. Laughing King. At first her disorientation fed into her confusion - but after a few moments, when he was
still laughing
, a mollified sigh parted from her lips. She reached outward, and though she lacked the good humor to laugh herself (having just nearly drowned), it seemed fairly reasonable to reach out and give her husband a quick hug of thanks.
It was a silent gesture. A steady, yet squeezing, embrace, and then it was done.
Another flicker of surprise went over his countenance, but then he only smiled. "We seemed to spend a lot of time wet in each other's company," he remarked. It was true - when they had gone to the shrine, the waterfall had soaked them through. "Well," he said, his smile growing mischievous, as he recollected a second meaning to his words. "You more so than I."
"That's terrible," was all she could manage, shivering with her arms about her as she was. If she got sick
again
... And that was when she did almost start to laugh.
The same thing seemed to be on his mind, for as soon as they docked, he had a thick cloak fetched, which he draped over her; the second of his objectives was to get a fire started, which was conjured at a frankly impressive speed by the nervous servants.
"Sit, rest," he said, guiding her toward the warmth. His smile was wry. "I won't have you sick again on my watch."
She didn't need more convincing to bask in the heat of the crackling fire, her palms rubbing against the cloak clinging against her arms, as she waited there on her knees. The cloak scented of musk and sandalwood and warmth, almost prompting her to wrap it a bit more tightly about her. It smelled like him.
After a moment, he settled down next to her. He wrapped an arm about her shoulders, so that she might lean against him; his shirt had since been changed for a dry one (a reminder of yet another time he'd gotten wet, that time by the act of a thrown goblet).
"I didn't mean to startle you so, back there," he said, looking down on her. Some humor still lingered in the way his lips were set.
"It's fine," she said. For now, he was a comfort, and she could accept that. "I only wanted to know why he - your brother - stopped communicating with the rest of the world like that. He spoke of you often, you know." Practically speaking of a different individual entirely, once upon a time.
"Did he?" said the King. His smile became fainter. "What did he say?"
"It was a long time ago. I was very young." She turned her gaze to the flames, as if trying to remember. "It wasn't difficult to be fond of the... idea of you. Does that make sense?"
A few days ago, Alais could not have reconciled such a thing. Now she at least seemed to be past the point of caring.
"It does." The King was silent for a few moments, before he finally offered an answer to the dormant question. "He abdicated in my favor and went to the monastery. He was never that interested in ruling - he thought of it as an obligation, instead of a privilege. He liked his books and solitude more."
"That would explain why he stopped responding to letters too," she added, nudging him in a half playful note. She seemed satisfied by this answer.
"He's a bit of a recluse," said the King. There seemed to be more to this, judging by his expression, but he didn't expand. "I wouldn't have taken his life for the crown." He gazed sidelong at her. "Perhaps you think I am capable, and given what you've seen of me, that's fair. But I do have my limits. Family is different."
Odd, he almost seemed human in that moment. "It's an ugly rumor," she agreed. "I understand. Brothers are important like that." She did not need to embellish the quiet sincerity when she said it.
They fell into a silence that was almost peaceable, listening to the crackling of the fire and warming in each other's contact. His arms had encircled her, and what with that and the cloak, she felt snugly enveloped; her chills disappeared after a few minutes, and soon she was nearly dry.
"Better?" he asked.
"Much better," she affirmed.
"Hmm." He touched his finger to her cheek, which was still a little cold. "I think I'd like to warm you up a bit more." He turned to glance at the sun, which hung a modest distance from the horizon. "Yes, we have enough light in the day for it, as long as we don't stay too long."
"Where are we going?" she asked, as he rose. She made to follow, but this proved unnecessary - he summarily picked her up, carrying her to where Kumquat stood waiting. "I can walk, you know."
"Oh, but isn't it easier this way?" It
was
too easy how he carried her weight, as if she were as light as air - it seemed terribly unfair. He settled her on her sidesaddle, before mounting his own horse. "I've always thought noblewomen liked having things done for them," he teased.
"
Some
