Authors: Thank you, as always, for bearing with our spotty activity! We couldn't ask for a better readership. Here's to another somewhat longer-than-average chapter!
And in case you missed it, this was our latest update in the comments, where we explained our absence:
"First of all, I want to make it clear that we have no intention of abandoning the story. We have the whole plot planned out, we're excited to share it with you, and we promise to see it through. It just might be a bit slow getting there, as things come up in our lives. Secondly, and no less importantly, I want to apologize for how much time has passed since our last update. We wanted to wait until we had some good news before posting, so we kept putting an update off until we could tell you that we'd finished the next chapter. Unfortunately, that took a lot longer than anticipated - we certainly didn't mean to go silent for so long.
"The reason this took so long is partially because of a new job starting for one of us, but also because of some personal issues and (admittedly) poor time management. We will do our best to get better, but unfortunately this story remains a hobby and we aren't able to give it first priority in our lives, no matter how much we'd like to be able to. I hope you guys can understand that. If not, and the wait is too frustrating for you, then you are of course free to simply stop reading. :P On the other hand, thank you for all the patience and enthusiasm that some of you have shared in the comments. It really means a lot, and it keeps us going!"
*****
Alexander eased back in his armchair, drink in hand. His mind was on the day's events and its many surprises - least of all the apparent
threat
that had marred the end: the headless statue of himself, no doubt a symbolic challenge to his rule. The perpetrators did have nerve (he'd give them that), staging that display in the midst on his wedding. Death wouldn't be good enough for these intrepid revolutionaries. He'd see them dismantled by agony. Slowly.
He sipped his drink, thinking to himself. He'd already caught most of the conspirators, in typically efficient fashion; mentally, he ticked off each of the names one by one. Duke Nolan, the financier of the scheme. Ser Lucas, a spy planted among his personal guard. Count Jarrett, the messenger. And the assassin himself, naturally.
All disposed of. But he was missing one piece - and the most important piece, at that. There was a mastermind behind all of these players, one who evaded justice even now. If Jarrett was to be believed, this puppeteer was even on the council itself. But who? It was as if he'd chopped off larger and larger parts of a serpent, but the head of the snake remained at large, ready to replenish its energy and strike again.
He had work to do. But now was not the time to resume his investigation, for it was his wedding night, and he intended to enjoy himself. Accordingly, his eyes wandered back to the door of the dressing room, where he'd instructed his bride to be stripped bare for him.
She had been radiant, his queen. A lesser beauty might have been swallowed up by the lavish attire, perhaps overshadowed - but not her. The luxurious gown had only accented her natural charms; the shimmering jewels had brought out the brightness in her eyes.
He knew he had been the envy of every man at that wedding, and he relished it.
But of course, the day hadn't been without its blemishes. His mind went to a less welcome memory - that of his wife, in all her grace, dancing happily on the arm of King Jehan. Even the thought of it summoned residual feelings of frustration. Disobedience from anyone was a rarity in his life; disobedience of an explicit command, on purpose, was still rarer. Few people challenged him these days, and there was a reason for that. Did she really want to try her luck?
It was true, though, that most of his anger had been dulled by a rather surprising discovery: she had been jealous. The idea fascinated him, and all the more because she had been so reluctant to admit it. He wondered what other secrets he could wrest from her tonight.
Neither would her jealousy, for all that it gratified him, save her fully from her fate. She had disobeyed him regardless, and there would be consequences for that - lest she think to make a habit of it. No, she would be punished.
And he was going to enjoy it.
*****
Her handmaidens (notwithstanding Bimba, who had been sent to rest for the remainder of the evening) removed each garment piece-wise; blessedly, the task of undressing was much less tedious than dressing, allowing them to finish long before their first candles needed replacing. As Alais stood waiting, a sickly knot had settled in the pit of her stomach.
He'd specifically commanded her to dance with no other man today, but it seemed such a trifling matter. Why did he care so much? It had just been the one.
Deep down, she knew it was the principle of the thing. He didn't like to be disobeyed, and now he was going to impress upon her the consequences. The satisfaction of defying him had not been fully extinguished yet, but she felt a shiver all the same at what lay in wait for her. Was it worth it? What would he do? He'd almost seemed amused by her jealousy (not that it
was
jealousy, she thought stubbornly), so perhaps that would dull the brunt of his vengeance?
She had almost felt affectionate of him, a few hours ago, after his procession of gifts - first, her handmaiden from home, and then, surprises of surprises, that thoughtful piece of dessert that had so oddly humanized him. Alais tried to bury such thoughts away. It was irrational for her, after all the injury that he had visited upon her. What about her revenge? What of her plans? She could not afford to soften against her resolve, or allow herself to lose sight of where her fake "love" ended and her true feelings began.
And she would only be disappointed if she formed any hope of his fondness lasting. He was notorious for his moods, and his interest in women was always fleeting. He was indulgent now, even charming, but would he not become cruel again once he grew bored? Was there a chance he would not? Would this "punishment" change things already?
She hated that a small part of her was also a little...excited by the prospect. She remembered the last time he'd
punished
her - the caress of that riding crop, the tingling arousal that he had elicited despite herself. Alais bit her lip, trying not to linger on the thought.
All these emotions whirred rapidly in her mind, but there was no time to delay any further as her handmaidens ushered her out. She emerged from the dressing room covered in a robe and shift, the garments thin and cool against her skin. She caught a glimpse of him seated in an armchair; her head tipped toward him very briefly before she made toward the bed, as though with no memory of his promise from before. Perhaps the scandal with his headless monument served distraction enough. Perhaps he would forget.
But no, she wasn't that lucky.
"Ah ah ah," said a chiding voice behind her. "And where are we going?"
Alais froze mid-step, the frequency of her heart palpitations rising as she turned slowly to face him.
The King lounged lazily in his armchair, wineglass in hand. He had changed out of his outer garments as well, and was currently clothed in only a loose-fitting tunic and dark pants; his shirt was light enough that the candles shed light over the toned muscles underneath.
She looked away, back to his face, hoping he hadn't caught her staring.
He took a casual sip, his blue eyes never leaving her. "As eager as you are to warm my bed," he said, with an amused quirk of his lips, "I've yet to punish you to my liking. Isn't that so?"
Indeed. Punishment. The King no longer seemed angry as he did, but she found that she couldn't always rely on her perception of his ever mercurial moods. While he sounded teasing, perhaps, she was prepared not to like this
punishment
, and could only steel herself for further humiliation, as her hands bunched against the collar of her robe.
In what ways could he degrade her more than he already had? No, there were still ways, and her body tensed a little with the onset of her rising anxieties. Eyes lingering on his chin, her features had settled into the expression of one who was only sheepishly bashful. She wouldn't allow him the victory of seeing her more heartfelt discomforts if she could help it.
"... If Your Majesty insists?" she quietly replied.
The King's gaze roamed her features as if searching for those very vulnerabilities that she was attempting to hide. In contrast to her apprehension, he seemed - as usual - relaxed and wholly at ease, as if he were treating himself languidly to some diversion.
"Oh, I do," he answered. "However, I am not unreasonable. If you entertain me well enough, I can find it in myself to be more merciful with your punishment." He offered a teasing look, as if to convey the generosity of this sentiment.
Her brows lifted, a breath emerging from her lips. There were innocent flavors of
entertainment
like singing or playing an instrument or dancing fully-clothed. Alais had no faith in his taste for innocence, but she was resolved to play her game nonetheless, her lashes blinking with confusion.
"But if you resist, I'm afraid I would have to resort to being more... stern with my discipline." He adopted a look of sympathy that was utterly unconvincing (not the least because of his smirk). "As loathe as I am to take these measures, how else would you learn the error of your ways?"
Alais shifted uncomfortably. While she hadn't planned on resisting, she wasn't quite confident that she could contain the more visceral of her reactions. "...Entertain, how?"
"Well," he drawled, "you could start by ridding yourself of your clothes." His grin was unapologetic, and he raised his eyebrows expectantly as if waiting for her to commence.
Alais kept herself steady, despite the hammering of her heart. Outwardly, her doe-eyed expression didn't change, didn't so much as blink. So far, so good.
"And yes, I remember how clinical you were last time. None of that now. You do
love
me, don't you?" He lifted his glass, as if in toast, a smile still playing at his lips. "Slowly," he instructed. "Sensually. Please me, and your punishment will be less severe."
