At His Majesty's Pleasure Ch. 08

"What a funny creature you are. And of all the things..." he chuckled. "What could have possibly inspired you?"

Abruptly, Alais whirled around. The gentle mirth brightening up her countenance was evidence aplenty that it had been for her enthusiasm for the topic rather than for any revulsion spurred on by his touch. Though to be fair, the finger did leave a trail of goosebumps in its wake, but that was neither here nor there, nor was it inherently a negative.

"I'm the funny one? If only you'd seen the look on your face. I wish you had!" Raising her finger demonstratively, she mirrored that half-asleep, half-stunned, and a quarter slack-jawed expression which so amazed her to the point of delighted laughter, enhanced with a comical tilt of her head. Who would have thought the mighty King could be so ticklish? Trying that again, eventually (most likely later today), wasn't even a matter of if, but when.

She relaxed her features, that amused yet ever affectionate smile returning. "That was inspiring."

The King was staring again. The faintest dash of red touched his cheeks, in of itself a rare wonder to behold, and for a moment he looked almost endearingly cross. It said something about him, she supposed, that nothing else thus far had even slightly embarrassed him - neither his selfish cruelty nor his intrusive advances - but that a tiny showing of human vulnerability (alright, perhaps not that tiny) was the thing that caught him off guard.

"Didn't you think so?" she prompted. Her hands motioned back behind her to finish the clasping of her snaps. He was being a bit... inefficient behind her. There were of course appropriate times to be 'inefficient' in any marriage, which she did not mind condoning, but this morning she really did want to get herself dressed before long.

The expression left him, however, as quickly as it had showed, swept away by the renewal of a particularly wide smirk. "I like to think I'm inspiring, yes." His hand rose to her back again, ostensibly to fiddle with a hook or two that had not fully clasped, though his fingers were more toying than dutiful. The bewilderment over this sudden, inexplicable change had not left, but he seemed to be adjusting to it, exploring what she was presenting. "Though, since you're so awfully proud of yourself..."

Slowly, his arm encircled her waist, entrapping her slight frame with ease, and keeping her pinned there, against him. "You should know that my reputation for enacting vengeance is not wholly unfounded." This could have come across as threatening (and perhaps it still did, just a little), but his tone was amused, perhaps mischievous, and in any event, his subsequent action took all gravity out of any perceived menace.

He tickled mercilessly into her side, his fingers dexterous and roaming; the other hand did its best to keep her own arms immobile and flattened against her sides.

Her eyes widened at this sudden offense. To her credit, she actually did manage to stand stone still against his onslaught, her lips pressed together as she suppressed the laughing fit threatening to burst. She lasted for all of five seconds, not even flinching with her lips drawing into tight and almost challenging smiles here and there, but in the next instant she was squirming unceasingly within his grasp.

"No!" she gasped between giggles, "Mercy!"

Her forearms managed to worm their ways just loose enough to prod her fingers simultaneously against his sides, a haphazard counterattack indeed. The King, however, now vigilant and wide awake, anticipated this ploy and therefore steeled himself the better for it. He intensified his own assault, as he soon picked up an awareness of just where she was more sensitive and vulnerable - his fingers, which had been so skillful in wresting reluctant moans from her, now sought to elicit her tickled laughter.

Why did he have to be so good at this too? Fresh giggles burst forth, as she writhed in his arms.

But he did eventually ease up, and abruptly released her. Something of a grin was still painted upon his face, as it was not quite possible to have engaged in something so silly as tickling without emerging with some mirth. "I suppose I can show mercy, just this once."

He had not stepped back nor distanced himself, however, and they were still quite close. Resting a hand upon her cheek, he gazed down at her, studying her features. "I'm glad to see you're in better spirits," he mused. His lips curved, teasingly. "And how long have you allotted for this phase of yours? Another couple of days?" It was a sensible question, after she'd gone from uncertainty to muteness to love. "Should I cherish it while it lasts?"

The tickling affair left her breathless, and it was with an enigmatic silence that Alais responded to his questioning of her conduct. It was not the vacant, unresponsive reticence of before, clearly, as she was all but nuzzling the softness of her cheek against his palm. He did have a point. How long could this be trusted to last? She liked to think that he had no need to waste thought upon such trifles, just as long as he continued to incentivise such behavior.

Either way, she was prepared for the long commitment. He couldn't force her back into her honest self even if he tried his worst.

"How mysterious," said the King, when this was her only response. "Well, if no answers are forthcoming, then I suppose we should set out for the day."

"What do you have planned?" she asked. He did, after all, know everything about their schedule. That much wasn't flattery.

"After all the...complications we experienced," he said, glossing over the assassination attempt and her fever, "we're rather behind schedule, so we'll have to be industrious if we are to make the most of our trip. We'll start the morning off with a hunt."

"And then?" she queried.

"And then, you'll see," he replied, lightly. "I wouldn't want to ruin the surprise. Now, why don't you go and get ready."

He reached down, giving her heart-shaped bottom a playful (and brazen) swat, as if to encourage her. His gaze flickered back to her features as he did, even as his smirk returned - of course, he was already testing new boundaries.

Caught by surprise, she jerked a little from the sudden smack, the stunned confusion lingering upon her features for a moment before she knit her brows at him with a playful indignation (a perfectly natural response from one who adored him so).

"Out!" she demanded, a disbelieving laugh on her breath as she raised both hands and actually attempted to push him toward the door. "Out, out, out!" It was a foregone conclusion that if this should fail, she would have resorted back to the tickling.

*

As the preparations were being made for the hunting party, Alais made sure to sit down with each maid and embraced them all individually (including the tall, fair, and shapely one who made loud noises at night, treating her not a single note differently whatsoever), and apologised profusely for all the trouble she must have caused them these past several days. Things had changed, and all would be better for them, so she reassured vaguely. Whether they actually believed her, her entire assortment of servants did appear to be in gladder (almost relieved) spirits in the aftermath.

She met him in the courtyard, all smiles and adoring mood.

*****

The hunt took up most of the morning and, to be fair, lingered a little past noon as well. Eschewing the bow and arrow - made for hunting easier game such as stags and deer - for the spear, Alexander explained to her that their prey would be the boar, notorious for its strength and savagery. The object was, after all, not to make easy kills, but to make challenging ones. Such were the luxuries of the wealthy, who had to create artificial struggles from nothing.

The hounds were released again, as excited and eager as before, though this time they were given a more appropriate target. They sniffed about readily, loping out ahead of the horses and occasionally raising a howl when they discovered any particularly strong scent.

Alexander had decided to be pleasant again - fallen back into it, really, as the mood had begun yesterday - and attentively pointed out to her all the subtle tracks and prints that marked the boar's path. He would have likely done the same even had she not made a sudden turn for the cheery, as her role in aiding against the assassin was still fresh in his mind; Alexander was not known for being particularly honorable, as he preferred practical cunning over so-called noble ideals (he would not have won his wars that way), but if he did have some principle he was more likely to abide by, it would be that of paying his debts. This was, in a sense, the other side of the coin when it came to his well-known proclivities for vengeance. It was a very narrow, personal, and often unfair form of justice, but it was a form nonetheless. And so, while it was not his nature to be effusive with his feelings (especially when they were sincere), his brand of recompense manifested in a more amiable mood.

As for the dramatic reversal that had overtaken her - that was favorable too. He didn't bother asking why this change had occurred, or why, after retreating inwardly, she would emerge out of her cocoon with these particular intentions. The strength of her newfound conviction surprised him, but not the conviction itself, nor the rationale behind it. They both knew it to be a matter of pragmatism for her to cooperate with him - if not merely for herself then for the sake of her family and kingdom - and in that sense, her present adoration (silly as it seemed to him, in all its suddenness) could be perceived as a submission... and this he could easily accept. It would take some getting used to, but there was some fun in that too.

But why she had taken measures to this extent did puzzle him. Her change was necessarily artificial - no matter how believable she was now, the fact remained that the shift had come abruptly and overnight, and that she had spoken of it the day prior was all the more reason to consider it a move of cold pragmatism. She was too clever to think he'd be fooled.

And yet, if it was an act performed simply for the sake of survival and appeasement, why go so far? She was not being merely compliant, or even only indulgent - she was actively being affectionate and playful, and the sheer conviction of her act (how did she manage to smile so genuinely? how could she touch him so easily when before she was so anxious?) went quite beyond pragmatism. What was the point of it, if he already knew all of this to be false? Should she not have gradually altered her demeanor, and not announced her intent so mechanically, if she wanted some semblance of his belief?

No, he concluded that it was something more strange and complex than the dichotomy he was presenting to himself. She wasn't trying to fool him. But she also was earnestly pretending to love him. There was a reason there, but it eluded him. It mattered little, though - the behavior was a favorable change from before, and for long as it continued to please him, he would incentivize its continuation. Frankly, it was kind of fascinating.

All these ruminations reminded him how little he really knew of her - beyond a rudimentary sketch, anyway. He understood she was clever and sly, perhaps devious (all this to his liking), and that she put a great deal of conviction into her intentions, once decided. But in all other respects, she remained essentially an enigma, as her actions had been either too standard (in all their ladylike manner) to derive a conclusion, or too widely variating to pinpoint a consistent personality. This probably should have mattered more to him. To other husbands, it probably would have. Alexander was not most men, however, and for so long as she entertained him and conformed to some baseline expectations (for now, for the ominous now), he was entirely fine with her remaining a mystery. She was, after all - titles and luxuries and chivalry aside - essentially a glorified plaything.

That was not to say a plaything couldn't be pampered, though - and he intended to do just that. It was easier to be charming when he had a more receptive audience, and, as he didn't mind what he perceived to be the artificial flavor of her adoration, they got along quite well throughout the morning hunt.

They must have tracked the boar halfway across the forest by the time it tired, and this was when it was finally opportune to strike. Catching a glimpse of tusks and snout, and seeing his hounds give chase in full, Alexander spurred his horse forward into a full gallop, charging into the dense undergrowth. The rest of the party would find him victorious some yards further, a spear impaled bloodily through the head of the boar and the dogs circling the corpse with proud jubilation.

*****

Artificial though it may be, Alais took special care in not appearing overly effusive. She did not, for instance, feign or exaggerate excitement where so much more could be expressed with subtlety. The sport engaged her just enough to signify a healthy dose of interest, and she made sure to sound off a few curious and yet cleverly thought out questions here and there so he might showcase his expertise.

There were a few silly ones too, all to bolster that theme of acting naturally, like: "Are there many boars in the forest?" or "Are you the only one who hunts here?" or "Once upon a barren moor, there dwelt a bear, also a boar. The bear could not bear the boar. The boar thought the bear a bore. At last the bear could bear no more... Can you say that five times fast?"

During one instance, she goodnaturedly lamented the absence of her falcon, Ser Swoops-a-Lot - the height of any and all dissatisfaction from her that day.

The King, in all fairness, was back to his charming self today, and it was not difficult to enjoy their conversation once she'd rid herself of her objections.

"Poor thing," she observed, upon catching up to the remains of the hunt - emulating a classically gentle demeanor without stepping into the bounds of overbearing. On the other hand, she had been mildly enthused enough for the event where flattery for his victory risked being construed as excess. Everything needed to be as balanced as a tightrope walk. Beyond reproach. "What shall be done with the body?"

Her horse cantered a few more paces up ahead, so as to afford her a closer view of the corpse. Alais was hardly ignorant to these all but universal traditions of hunt, but different regions were liable to have their differing variations.

The boar was a beast of a creature, and its hulking body made for quite a gory vision in the middle of the clearing - tusks wide and gleaming, blood still gushing out fresh from the spear wound. The King had dismounted, looking with satisfaction upon his handiwork; as to be expected, he did not seem squeamish in the least (wouldn't it be silly if he did, after he'd done worse, and to men instead of beasts?).

"It will be skinned and dressed, and make for a fine dinner," replied the King, with an answering grin, and none of her gentle pity. He traded his spear for a burlap sack, and from within this he produced several treats for his hounds, all of whom began barking with furious delight. Tossing one strip of meat, and then another, he laughed good-naturedly as he watched the dogs pounce with such enthusiasm. He made sure that all of them, the runts included, got a taste of something, before generously dumping the whole of the bag's contents onto the ground.

"Its death was swift," he continued, as if he were actually concerned for her feelings. Perhaps he was, in his way, but not nearly enough to look genuinely troubled by it (but enough, apparently, to extend the courtesy of speaking of it).

Alais smiled as though she found his simple delights to be the sweetest thing - all feminine pity for the boar aside. She did feel sorry for it, albeit in a detached sense, but her feelings on the matter were nowhere near as profound as they probably should have been for one of her delicate station. Even in her default setting, she could hardly count this as among the greater tragedies. The blood of an animal whom she did not know meant less to her than the blood of a knight defending her honour (and failing to do so). Unless if the boars of this forest were being hunted to extinction, in which case, that was a bit tragic.

Besides, it would have been so silly for hunting to be the one thing she could not stand, after all the events of these past weeks. Perhaps it suited them both that her compassions seemed more than what they were; she needed to be just as she seemed, a queen so full of grace and beyond... reproach. (The mantra circled on and on in the gears of her under-thoughts.)

"And now, how would you say it - 'the boar will have to bear no more?'" The King grinned, mounting his horse again, his spirits bolstered by the success of the hunt; as always, some showing of violence and blood seemed to always sate him and brighten his energy. This was, comparatively, a small trade-off compared to his usual ventures.

"In the meantime, there's something I'd like to show you, since you were so patient with my hunt. Come." They left behind the boar and the dogs, as well as a healthy gaggle of servants with which to handle them.

"What are you showing me?" A breath escaped her as she found herself cantering after him again. "Where are we going?"

"Come find out," he said, his tone teasing.

It was well into the afternoon by the time they reached their next destination, and when they did, her eyes blinked with a mixture of curiosity and surprise. They had broken through the density of the woods and onto a lakeside - a wide expanse of silvery-blue water, bright with the sky's reflection and glimmering from the sun's rays. The trees opened up properly here, showing off the open space and air to their advantage.

"Beautiful, isn't it," he remarked softly, as he rounded up next to her. "Lake Iona," he informed her, back to his pleasantries. "So named after the wife of King Steris the Wise, who founded these lands and also constructed the first iteration of the palace."

Her hands quietly stilled. The air felt crisp in her lungs, and for all the excuses she had to be discontent about her circumstances, the natural scenery had never been one of them. Her gaze lingered with genuine traces of captivation. When she replied, though, it was with more teasing cheek. "Are we going to stare at Iona for the remainder of the day?"

He smirked. "And here I was beginning to think you weren't the jealous type." He did, though, take that as a cue to move forward, gesturing for her to follow. "All that riding must have made you hungry."

"I can't compete against a lake," she mumbled, trailing after. It took a bit more willpower to disregard the rumbling of her stomach.

As their horses were taken away by servants, the King walked her to a picnic area, which essentially resembled a feast (only absent a real table) - definitely an excess for only two people, but this seemed consistent with his general level of extravagance anyway. The prospect was also indulgent, as it was situated over a prominent ledge that overlooked the lake.

For the moment, though, her attention lingered on her departing mare. Even in her more irate moods, she had never had a foul thought for the dapper grey, who'd carried her steadily and gently throughout this adventure. Now that she was no longer troubled by her thoughts, she could also better appreciate the horse's coat, which resembled the first, freshly fallen snows of winter.

"Kumquat," said Alais suddenly. "That's what I've decided to name the horse."