At His Majesty's Pleasure Ch. 11

"Goodnight, children," said William, to his mother's chagrin.

The King offered his arm to her. Part of her felt a fleeting temptation to refuse contact for the one important issue (literally, issue) he'd so conveniently forgotten to inform her about. His only saving grace was that she more or less took to the discovery of his child with nothing short of rational thinking.

Without further complaint, she began to follow his lead - not that she would have known where to go without it, such remained the state of her unfamiliarity to the palace - and leaving Jasper behind with no small amount of relief.

When they were out of earshot, and only then, she piped up, "Do you have more children?" She had already said everything that needed to be said in that stare she'd fixed him, at the very beginning. There was still a touch of "goodnatured" sarcasm, though, in the inquiry.

The King chuckled. "Just the one, I'm afraid," he said. "Why, are you fond of children?" He posed the question innocently, as if he could only possibly imagine her upset by the lack of more bastards to keep her company. He had to know why she was offended - how could he not? And yet, he persisted in his cheerful demeanor, a parody of ignorance.

As usual, she felt as if he were intentionally baiting her, ready to find amusement in her outrage. And also as usual, this only encouraged her otherwise, so as not to give him the satisfaction.

"One is enough of a surprise today." Her tone remained ever the light and unoffended affectation it was. She even proceeded to tease, "How would you feel if I suddenly had a bastard?"

He laughed. They both knew how he would feel - and the punishment lying in wait if it were to happen. Such were the double standards of their society. "In all honesty, it slipped my mind."

It slipped his mind that he had a daughter he hadn't told her about?

Her incredulousness must have shown, for he continued, "To be fair, a lot has happened in the last few days." After a moment, he allowed, "Perhaps I could afford to be more communicative."

That seemed like the understatement of the century. When did he tell her anything? She was aware though that it was already a stroke of progress for him to admit as much. Might as well call it a victory for today. As they turned a corner, she said, "About Evelyn, though..."

"Yes?"

What followed must surely be the part where the quintessentially wicked stepmother would importune something like I don't like her, or Send her away for me, or even the more benign and perfectly reasonable I wish you had told me.

Instead, she only said, "Didn't you mention having more cat figurines? I think she might be happier if hers had less...frills." Pleasantly, she added, "Like William's."

The King appeared surprised. "I hadn't noticed." He glanced sideways at her. "What does that matter to you?"

Really, it mattered to her very little, but it probably mattered to Evelyn somewhat more. And it was such a trivial thing not to pursue when it had the potential to mean however much to the child unfortunate enough to be born a bastard girl. His expression had turned sly; she suspected he thought her to be putting on a show of compassion for his benefit. But her motives were more utilitarian than something so crass as to heighten his regard (and she really wasn't that obvious).

"If you are to impart souvenirs from my home, I should at least have some input. Make sure Vvaria is being well-represented, no?" she said.

The King only smiled. A few moments of silence followed, broken only by the sound of their footsteps. "You always take things so gracefully," he remarked, thoughtfully. "Even this. You must have remarkable self control. Or perhaps I'm so uniformly terrible that I'm becoming predictable." He smirked, using his arm to tug her a little closer. "I'll flatter myself that it's the former."

She allowed herself to be thus maneuvered - not that she could have resisted. "Is that so bad?"

"No. It's merely a challenge."

It was then that they arrived at his quarters. Alais didn't need anyone to announce as such. Though Adeline's suite had been liberally flecked with guards, this was nothing in comparison to the quasi-battalion that stood sentry near the King's own halls. It was, despite the excess, probably a necessary precaution; he did seem to have far too many enemies to entrust his safety to the goodwill of others. The cost of business for ruling with an iron fist, she supposed.

Two dead-eyed slaves pressed open the massive double-doors to his lair, standing aside in stooped postures for them to enter. The sitting room within was as luxurious as might be expected, but also appeared oddly spartan at the same time. This was a byproduct of the sheer size of the place; what furnishings that did exist were certainly opulent, but were also easily swallowed up by the hollow expanse of the quarters. It was big - bigger than the courtyard they'd arrived in, at the very least, and the vaulted ceiling rose excessively above them.

The room itself was a museum of warfare. A variety of relics were sprinkled thoroughly throughout the chambers, each a testament to a battle waged and a country bludgeoned into defeat. Some were even disguised as mere furniture, though the astute eye could quickly make out differences in craftsmanship and origin. The artisanal silk rug that greeted them had the smooth consistency and near-invisible stitching of an Aldosian hand (and indeed, she remembered it from the throne room of the hapless Aldosian King some seven years ago). The same could be said of the lavish steel working of an ornamental sword, mounted above, or the plush tapestry hanging from the wall opposite. Even the ornate silver candle-holders had the telltale etchings that designated their place in a Kastellan temple, such that their casual use here was comfortably sacrilegious. The whole thing was, essentially, a hunting lodge, but worse - the trophies not of animals but of extinct cultures, greedily gobbled up by Obsivian expansionism.

At the center of it all was a magnificent fountain, carved of elegant white marble and spurting plumes of water into the air. It loosely demarcated two sides of the room. Before it was a pleasant sitting area, a dash of divans situated around a warm hearth fire, and haloed by three (doubtlessly stolen) oil paintings and the aforementioned (stolen) tapestry. Beyond the fountain appeared to be a simple dining parlor, dominated by a great beast of an oaken table and flanked by enough chairs to seat a dozen and maybe more. The entire side of the back wall was comprised of glass, exposing a treacherous view of the mountains and ravines beyond the castle; the two classical statues at the corners of the room were, of course, distinctly of Fallonian design.

There were other, less classical statutes too - and there her eyes were drawn. Two likenesses of entirely nude women flanked the marble fountain, their bodies arranged into provocative postures. Each was elegantly arched, such that their pert breasts and erect nipples were fully on display; their hands were placed behind, coyly accentuating the equally bountiful curves found there. It was - salacious, to say the least, but there was something aesthetically pleasing with how the symmetry of the statutes complemented the fountain. And they were so...lifelike.

Even by the typical standards of opulence, this was obscene - for more than one reason. Her first steps into his chambers saw her more or less silenced, her eyes flitting across each blatant artifact of domination.

"Is your bed twelve feet wide? Is it stuffed with the feathers of a unicorn?" Nevermind that unicorns had no feathers, assuming they existed in the first place (by law of common opinion, they did not).

The King had the self-awareness to recognize his indulgences, even if that did not come paired with embarrassment. "I know, I know," he said, laughing at the look on her face. "I shouldn't live so ascetically."

He strode in, gesturing her to follow. "Come. I can see you're eager to see Ser Swoops."

It was to the table that he led them, for upon it was, indeed, the promised falcon, enclosed in a generously large cage. And once that cage appeared in view, all seemed to be forgiven.

"... Oh."

Her light steps quickened so that she actually ran ahead of him to first greet Ser Swoops, the trail of that elegant dress sweeping behind her. She extended a thin arm through where the bars were spread farthest apart, tending to the soft head of the bird with two practiced fingertips. "Hello, Ser Swoops-a-Lot."

When the unlocked the door, the falcon fluttered his large wings before landing atop her outstretched wrist. His claws were sharp enough to typically require the barrier of a glove when handling, by she was familiar enough with the bird to bypass the formality. Ser Swoops perched casually atop her wrist, his feet leaving white but harmless - and just beneath the threshold of painful - scratch marks across her skin where he preened. His eyes were dark and black, and he did not seem to acknowledge either of them for a moment.

Then the pale-feathered falcon took flight over both their heads (for there was plenty of room to do so), before landing blithely over the shoulder of - was that a tiger.

In a way, the general exoticism and grandeur of the room was a valid preamble to the presence of a pet tiger, but the fact remained that an actual tiger was lounging in his chambers. True to the apparent scale of things in the King's preferences, the tiger fell comfortably into the oversized category - but at least it was not out of place here. He was sprawled lazily in front of the fireplace, napping luxuriously, and only stirred as the falcon perched on his shoulder. One eye slowly blinked open, and then another, before he dragged himself up - to a height that neared her shoulder - and opened his mouth in a half-yawn, half-roar. Turning his head, he regarded the falcon, but made no attempt to dislodge him. Instead, he merely padded past the fountain, looking demandingly up at his master before the King consented to scratch his ears and neck.

"Oh," Alais said again, following the feline's approach. Her prior (minimal) experience with tigers was such that the usual compulsory fear - even wariness - of them was yet to be instilled in her being. It was more the surprise that had her blinking rapidly, and just how large he was. Still as he was, it had been easy to mistake him for a fixture - a stuffed creature of that scale would've been less surprising than a live one. In hindsight, she shouldn't have been surprising at all.

"Aren't you the benevolent one today," said the King to his tiger. He looked upon the animal fondly, squatting to run his hands smoothly over the white pelt, and was rewarded with a lick in his face for his troubles. He laughed, wiping his cheek as he rose. "Ser Swoops is a brave bird," he told her, noting the falcon's perch on tiger. "Thunder here devoured Countess Fiona's parrot only the week before this. He is not always...fond of other animals."

Thunder fixed his gaze on the new Queen, his stare level and oddly piercing. For a few moments, he was quite still.

"Thunder," the King said, warningly. When the tiger made to approach, he shifted forward as if to stop it - only for the large cat to lower his head to Alais's hand, nuzzling against it. His fur was clean and well-brushed, his ears pricked up in curiosity.

"Huh." The King's wariness was gone, but replaced by no less potent bewilderment. It registered beautifully over his face. "Even stranger."

Alais considered the tiger carefully for a moment. Ser Swoops-a-Lot seemed to be getting along with him. Ser Swoops, who was typically much too aloof to approach other animals when he himself wasn't being territorial. It was unlike the falcon to be so well behaved after being penned up in that birdcage, however large the cage, for who knows how long. If Thunder had Ser Swoop's approval, why not? In little time, she had her other hand caressing him indulgently behind the ear.

"Have you made a friend, Ser Swoops? If one of you eats the other, I'll be very cross." Ser Swoops turned those ever-stoic eyes toward her, large and black, and made a chirp sounding halfway to a squawk. She smiled, wondering what sort of mischief had they been communicating to one another.

Thunder's fur was very soft beneath her fingertips. Nuzzling at her so benignly, he really did give her an impression of a ginormous, oversized cat than some deadly predator. Thunder. Upon making a swift connection in her thoughts, her head lifted, and she found herself glancing back toward the King. Her hands remained gently laced in the tiger's elegant white fur.

"Is Thunder short for... King Thunder?" It would follow the trend he'd started in naming his warhorse.

The King laughed, his hand momentarily going to the back of his neck (a rare show of embarrassment, slight as it was). "I'm afraid his title is less grand." He hesitated, but conceded to elaborate, "Prince Thunder."

Prince Thunder. King Storm. If there was anything she did not have to feign, even in her strangely self-compelled way, it had to have been those tugs of endearment she felt for that which he construed as embarrassments. The names were silly, and maybe part of her could not help but gravitate toward silliness. "Should I expect a Duke Typhoon? Count Lightning? Baron Hurricane?" Nudging at his arm in a lighthearted manner, Alais smiled openly and was, in contrast to those first few days, wholly at ease in doing so.

The King met this with another laugh. "Again, I was fairly young when he came into my possession. How can I be blamed for the naming decisions of my youth?"

"Oh, I had heard something of that. A tradition in your family?" She hadn't thought she'd see the custom in person.

"Yes. The tiger is our sigil, after all."

Thunder offered something of a snort, as if he could understand them. He pulled back to engage in another yawn, apparently having not fully shaken the effects of sleep yet - in doing so, he bared a row of lethally curved fangs, sharp to the touch.

The King studied the tiger again with a mixture of confusion and suspicion - perhaps it was rare indeed for him to be well-behaved around strangers. Seeming to decide it was a mystery to be pondered later, however, he gestured to her. "Come, let me show you the rest."

The theme of bountiful excess continued. The balcony beyond could be rightfully characterized as a garden, for all the exotic greenery and vine-wrapped pillars. Back inside, the first door led to a small private library (the tomes of which mostly belonged to military literature, to the surprise of no one), which also functioned as his study, if the stacks of maps and letters and quills were anything to go by. And finally, the adjacent door was the entryway for a luxurious bathing room - more pool than anything else, given the size and decor, and certainly large enough for echoes. The basin for the waters was carved entirely of white marble, like the fountain in the main parlor, and on the far side, four more statues of nude women were placed in various poses.

The prolonged exposure had her acclimated to his excesses sooner than later. Occasionally, a glimpse of another stolen treasure afflicted a vaguely discomfiting pressure in her chest, the reminders of his aggressive expansionism (putting it lightly) dragging her a peg below comfort.

All this opulence was at the expense of - what? How much bloodshed? The deaths of how many legacies? Soldiers? Lands razed to the ground? What right did he have to seize that which wasn't his?

Well, not her concern for now. If his people weren't up in arms in rebellion, then he was probably doing some things right. They even seemed to admire him. She wondered just how long that could last, if they were to realize just the extent of his luxuries. Or perhaps they viewed him more like a god? And that they were all of them at his mercy?

"Most of these rooms existed in my father's time, though I took the liberty of making some minor renovations," the King was explaining. The way he grinned suggested that he meant minor in an entirely facetious way. "Now, would you like to see your own suite?"

"I assume the scale is somewhat more...grounded?" she remarked with a tentative half-smile.

"You could say that. I hope you don't mind," said the King, mildly. He led her back through the sitting room, this time selecting the lone door on the other side, which opened to a short walkway of endtables and vases.

When they emerged, it was in an almost absurdly normal environment, given what they had just passed through. To be sure, her new parlor was richly furnished and could not be found wanting of any comforts - and in any other situation, might have earned the label of excess on its own - but the precedent had been set so high that now it was downright modest. This pattern followed for the rest of her suite, which seemed to be a miniature echo of his own: balcony, study, bedroom, and bathing room. The furnishings themselves were new and pristine, luxurious enough to give indication that he was pampering her. There were a few frills here and there, and feminine shades of pink and violet predominated, but for the most part it was surprisingly tame and tasteful.

For her, it was normal, normal enough to breathe a dainty sigh of relief that her quarters were a place she might actually grow to call her quarters without feeling too terribly out of place for it. Living on the other side of that walkway felt like some absurd malapropos; she didn't know how anyone could do it. Then again, it made sense, for one like him.

"These are only basic fixtures, for now," said the King, as they returned into her parlor. "You may redecorate your rooms as you please, within reason. I intend to spoil you." He turned his smile on her - the expression annoyingly handsome, as usual. "And, of course, you have free access to my quarters as well, barring the study. I want to spare you the risk of drowning in all those maps and papers."

He spoke humorously, but did not bother to expand on his real reasons. Loving as she might appear, and married though they were, he did not trust her near sensitive information. Not that she blamed him.

"Is there anything you can think of that you'd like, presently?"

"I...could do without so many frills, but it's no urgent matter. Thank you." Alais reached for his hand, her digits brushing softly against the sides of his palm in sweet gratitude before retreating. Then, a single snap of her fingertips had Ser Swoops lifting off from his comfortable tiger perch and fluttering her way.

She made for the balcony, taking the liberty (for it was her balcony now) of easing the tall double doors open to let in the crisp night air. It was pleasant out. That lethally steep drop beneath her balcony made for a particularly pleasant view (and an objectively impossible keypoint for any hypothetical attempt at escape), framed with floral vines wrapping strategically about the railings. While it lacked the scale of his garden terrace, it had its own charm that she was much more comfortably accustomed to.

Ser Swoops had his claws atop her upturned forearm once more. "Look around," she whispered to him, quiet enough not to be heard by others. And with a flick of her wrist, she relinquished him out into the wide open.

The ease of her posture as she leaned against the bannister suggested this to be a common occurrence. Ser Swoops-a-Lot would have his fill of the wilds, and then he would come back.

"Is the tour complete, then?" she asked, turning back.

"Yes. We should ensure we rest before tomorrow's festivities. Come." He offered his arm to her again, and back they went through the walkway and parlor.