At His Majesty's Pleasure Ch. 12

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There are secrets around every corner.
10.7k words
4.74
49.6k
48

Part 12 of the 15 part series

Updated 06/07/2023
Created 03/03/2016
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lady_temily
lady_temily
1,158 Followers

Authors: Thank you for your comments, as usual! Each one means a lot to us, and we promise to get back to you guys sooner with them. Also, look out for another comment game at the end of this chapter!

*****

Alexander watched as his wife obligingly climbed into bed, lingering on the way the sheets outlined her figure and hinted at her curves. It was difficult to pull away from that enticing picture, but the matter couldn't wait.

He had half a mind to shackle her to the bed, lest she find some other hiding place before his return. The idea amused him, but he dismissed it as unnecessary - this time. She seemed to be under the impression that behaving well would serve her own interests.

As he reentered the parlor, he indicated for the guard to admit his guest.

It was only a few moments later that Bartholomew emerged, bowing low enough that half his features were temporarily cast in shadow. "I do apologize for the intrusion," he said, clasping his spidery fingers together. "But ah! Your Majesty did say to alert you when I had news?"

"Yes," said Alexander, briskly. "You found him?"

"He's on his way now," confirmed Bartholomew. "I assumed you wanted to question him personally. Though of course I am always delighted to conduct such investigations myself - "

"No, I will handle this."

It was not even a question. Anyone reckless enough to make an attempt on his life automatically became worthy of his personal attention. There was more to this, though - whoever behind it had more leverage than the average small-time conspirator. He'd given the public a false destination for his retreat, and only entrusted the real location to a small circle. And yet, his plans had been compromised all the same.

He would not allow that to happen again.

Alexander looked back across the room. "You found him quickly." Too quickly, almost. "Where was he?"

"Attempting to flee the city, through the Butcher's Gate. He had little with him - a dagger and a small sack of coins. Confiscated, of course."

Alexander's frown deepened. "Only a fool would attempt to flee now, with the whole city searching for him. Any man with a lick of sense would secret himself away until the attention is elsewhere."

"Well, you know what they say, Your Majesty. There are more fools in the world than drops of cum in a whore's belly."

Alexander uttered a short laugh. "And who has said that?"

"Well, I have. Just now," said Bartholomew, cheerfully.

Alexander smirked, just a little. Bartholomew was always a colorful character - as colorful as he was good at his job, and so Alexander was content to be generally amused by his antics.

"Perhaps that's so." And yet... he said no more, deep in thought. If their culprit intended to get caught, then to what end? All that awaited him was an ignoble death, steeped in pain and humiliation.

There was a knock on the door.

"Bring him in," ordered Alexander.

Two soldiers hauled in their prize: a sallow-faced man with greying hair and pale eyes. The years did not seem to have treated him well, for he carried the hard wrinkles of premature age, and his complexion was not helped by the fresh bruise purpling at his temple. He was dressed finely, though some of his garments looked roughly handled.

"Ah, Count Jarrett," said Alexander. "Good of you to join us. Have a seat."

The soldiers dragged him to the nearest divan and forced him down. Jarrett's first look was to the grandfather clock, to his left, before he lowered his gaze.

"You know why you're here, I presume?" continued Alexander. He sat as well, making himself comfortable.

Jarrett said nothing.

"Your King asked you a question," said Bartholomew.

Alexander waved away the threat, however, and merely studied the man for a few moments. There was something subtly wrong that he couldn't quite put his finger on. Jarrett should have been anxious, fearful; Alexander was not in the habit of being merciful, and he was well aware of his own reputation for cruelty. But Jarrett seemed calm - unnaturally calm, his eyes glazed over as if he did not see what was before him. He bore the serene look of one who had reached some resolution.

And yet, if he viewed himself as a martyr, why attempt to flee the city? Or if he had accepted the futility of escape, why not take his own life, painlessly, rather than turn himself in and suffer the excruciating consequences? Alexander paused, something occurring to him. Perhaps Jarrett did not intend to suffer such consequences.

Alexander's gaze fell on the man's expensive clothes, and then drifted to the clock which had so captured his attention before. He felt the eyes of both Bartholomew and the soldiers upon him, confused as to his silence.

Finally, he allowed himself a smile. "You know, I find myself in the mood for some wine." He snapped his fingers at a nearby slave. "The red one," he indicated, to the wine rack, "at the bottom. And a glass for my esteemed guest as well."

Two glasses were set on the table between them, and the slave knelt to carefully pour a share into each.

"All the way from Majapian Valley. Aged to perfection, or so I'm told," said Alexander, as if the situation were perfectly friendly.

When Jarrett hesitated, he smirked. "If I'm going to kill you, I'd be more creative." And to put such doubts at ease, he took a sip from his own glass. "Come, Jarrett. Enjoy the finer things in life. While you're still able."

After a moment, Jarrett seemed to shrug. He reached for his glass, drinking from it.

"Good, isn't it? Now then... As you know, I was recently wedded," said Alexander, his tone still deceptively mild, almost pleasant. "I decided to retreat to Ibarith with my new wife and enjoy our time in privacy. Imagine my displeasure when such blissful days were interrupted." He swirled the content of his glass, before bringing it to his lips again. "My assailant disguised himself as a monk. Naturally, after I disposed of him, some inquiries at the monastery were in order."

Jarrett did not give any indication of hearing this. He sipped some more of the wine.

"Your name was given." Alexander studied the man before him. "In fact, Brother Galen's assistant seemed very convinced that you were the mastermind behind the whole enterprise. You brought him the plan, you paid him his weight in gold." He tilted his head. "I must express my disappointment, Jarrett. What have you to say for yourself?"

More silence. Distantly, the temple bells tolled, heralding the advent of midnight.

Oddly, it seemed to be this that roused Jarrett. He twitched in the direction of the grandfather clock, glancing briefly at it, and then finally to Alexander. He took a final swig of the wine and set it down.

"Ten years ago..." began Jarrett, his voice low and gravelly. "Ten years ago, you seized my family's mines. You turned every last one over to House Wippennus. You left us nothing."

Alexander raised a brow. "Is that what this is over? A few mines?"

"They were our livelihood," said Jarrett, for the first time showing a trace of emotion. "My ancestors built those mines. We've tended to them for generations. And you spat on all of our traditions because - "

"Because you and your father refused to supply me with what I needed for my wars, yes," said Alexander, without any trace of guilt.

"We did not support those wars - "

"Nonetheless, you have a duty to obey your King, just as any faithful subject should," cut in Alexander smoothly. "I was being generous, actually. I could have taken more."

"You left us destitute. That - that is your generosity?" He hesitated, glancing at the clock again, and then to his hands. "Yes, I coordinated the attempt on your life. I do not regret it."

"You claim responsibility, then?"

Jarrett jerked his head in a nod. "Full responsibility. And - and I would do it again."

Alexander merely stared at him for a few moments. Then he shook his head and laughed - long enough that Jarrett actually broke his trance to look up in confusion. The soldiers appeared equally bewildered, behind him.

"Well done, Jarrett," he said, not bothering to mask the patronizing tone. "Very well done. And if you weren't so poor a liar, I might have even believed you."

"I don't understand," said Jarrett, though he subtly stiffened.

"Oh, I commend you all the same," said Alexander. His smile became sharper. "Not every man can find it within himself to take the fall for another."

"I don't know what you're talking about," said the other man. As if it were a nervous tic, he looked at the clock again.

"You're not stupid, Jarrett," said Alexander. He sighed, as if the explanation were beneath him. "Attempting to escape through the Butcher's Gate, when the whole city is looking for you? Wearing your most expensive clothes, instead of donning some less conspicuous garment? Your intent was to get captured and brought before me, all so you could play the sacrificial lamb and save the rest of your conspirators from my bloodlust."

Bartholomew's eyes lit with comprehension, peering at Jarrett with a sharper scrutiny.

"The product of panic," said Jarrett, "nothing else -"

"Don't insult my intelligence," said Alexander, coldly. "You called yourself destitute but a moment before, and yet you had the gold to curry favor with monks and assassins?"

Jarrett looked uneasy. "A loan..."

"Who would give you one, when you've no manner of repaying them?" Alexander said, dismissively. "I'm certain you were paid well yourself. Not well enough, of course, to suffer my punishment. But then, you never intended to."

Now was the time to test his hypothesis. He leaned forward. "You poisoned yourself, didn't you?"

Jarrett went quiet again, but it was a different sort of silence; he stared incomprehensibly across the table. "How could you know?"

"Easier than attempting to smuggle in a weapon, isn't it?" said Alexander. "You didn't confess until you heard the bells toll. I imagine you timed everything so you'd have just enough time to tell me what you needed, and save yourself from whatever consequences might arise afterward."

Jarrett exhaled deeply, looking resigned. "Even if you're right, there's nothing you can do. I've failed, but I'll be gone before you have your vengeance. It won't be long now."

Alexander allowed his smile to become unsettling. "Won't it? You haven't checked the time in a while. It's past time your poison should have worked, isn't it?"

Jarrett's gaze found the hands of the clock again, as if despite himself.

"The wine, Jarrett," said Alexander. "You've been drinking an antidote."

Jarrett's eyes snapped back to him, then to his glass, which was now half-empty. His expression became disbelieving.

"You didn't think I'd let you die that easily, did you?" said Alexander, and he went so far as to reach for his glass, extending it as if in toast. "So you see, we'll have plenty of time together after all, you and I. I think it'll be productive."

"But you - you couldn't have known which poison it was," said Jarrett, almost desperately. "You didn't know which antidote to administer."

"It's rosewine," said Alexander. "No elixir more purifying - no poison beyond its reach. It doesn't matter what you imbibed. Your blood has already been purged of it."

"I don't believe -"

"You wouldn't be alive otherwise."

For the first time, a look of fear - real fear - touched Jarrett's features, at this reality finally began to sink in. Like some skittish animal, he suddenly lunged from his seat in a mad panic to escape - only for Alexander's soldiers to haul him right back, slamming him roughly against the chair.

"Oh good. There's some life in you after all," said Alexander. He took a casual sip from his glass, as he watched the other man flail unsuccessfully against his guards. "I was beginning to worry."

He made a gesture, and one of the soldiers struck Jarrett, winding him enough that he stopped struggling.

"I will make this very simple for you." Alexander swirled the contents of the glass, rather leisurely. "I will give you one opportunity, right now, to voluntarily give me the information I want. Make no mistake - this will be the only opportunity you have. And if you choose to cooperate, I will be merciful."

"You'll kill me either way," said Jarrett, suspicious.

"Of course," said Alexander, without so much as a pause. "You committed treason. But it will be a painless death." When the other man appeared no less troubled, he continued, as if it were rote, "And I will offer my protection for your family. I assume you are wary of your employer taking vengeance against them, should you disclose his secrets."

Jarrett looked uncertain. "You would?"

"Your children are not to be blamed for the ill-conceived decisions of their father," said Alexander, in a matter-of-fact tone. "You will die in obscurity, the circumstances never to be discovered, and I will provide a modest living for them."

Jarrett placed his head in his hands, grasping tightly at his temples. Bartholomew exchanged a look with him.

"I'm a busy man, and therefore I reward expediency where I can," said Alexander, with an air of magnanimity. "But... if you do not cooperate, or if you are not forthcoming in any way - well, then I will have to resort to cruder means of extracting information."

Jarrett's hands ran through his hair, pulling at the strands.

"Look at me, Jarrett." Alexander waited until the other man's eyes rose. He met his gaze. "I will get what I want either way. Make no mistake of that. I have broken men more resilient than you. It'll take time, but pain does wonders to the human mind." His smile was unsavory. "You'd be surprised how forthcoming you become."

His eyes didn't waver, allowing Jarrett to see the promise there. A light sheen of sweat had broken over the man's face.

"If you force me to waste my time with this, I will gladly make you suffer," said Alexander. His smile remained fixed. "I won't leave a piece of you larger than that glass." Nonchalantly, he continued, "And, of course, I'll make you disclose the location of your family. They'll be hunted down and slaughtered."

"You - you said they wouldn't be blamed for my actions," whispered Jarrett.

Alexander laughed. "Yes, they'll die blameless, if that's any consolation. It is only by my generosity that they live."

A despairing look overtook Jarrett, as he shook his head incomprehensibly.

Alexander set aside his glass. "Well then. Have you reached a decision?"

"I..."

"It's a simple question, Jarrett. Suffer for no reason, and your family along with you. Or give me what I want, and I spare them."

When the man still seemed unable to find words, Alexander sighed and made a gesture. The soldiers seized Jarrett by the arms, as if intent on dragging him off.

"Wait!" said Jarrett, fighting them. "Wait - I'll talk - please, I'll talk. Let me talk..."

Alexander smiled, feeling a thrill of satisfaction. He nodded for the soldiers to halt their progress. "Excellent," he said. "Now tell me who else is involved."

"My family," Jarrett insisted. "You'll provide for them?"

"Yes," said Alexander, impatiently waving this away. They hadn't much time. "Answer my question."

Jarrett coughed, and then let out a shaky breath. "Ser Lucas. He overheard your plans for Ibarith."

"Of the Chevaliers?" Bartholomew interjected.

Jarrett nodded weakly.

"He was in the room," recollected Alexander. If this was true, his personal guard was compromised. "Who else?"

"Duke Nolan. I only heard his name mentioned once, but he was apparently providing us with a lion's share of the funds." Jarrett coughed again, his hand going to his throat briefly.

"Knew it, that dandified cunt shiner," swore Bartholomew. He cleared his throat, when eyes fell on him. "Apologies."

"And?" prompted Alexander, turning back.

Jarrett seemed the most hesitant with this last name. "Someone close to you - one of the High Lords." A flash of uncertainty showed in his eyes. "You have to believe me..."

Surprised, Alexander felt his interest sharpening. "Go on."

But Jarrett was coughing again - and this time, he didn't seem able to stop. Away he hacked, his whole body spasming, such that he lurched forward and fell on all fours. Blood splattered on the ground, as well as a sickly yellow fluid; he clawed at his throat, as if seeking relief from some terrible constriction.

Then he collapsed.

Alexander made a frustrated noise, standing and pacing away.

Peripherally, he could see Bartholomew kneel and turn the man over. Jarrett's eyes stared lifelessly at the ceiling, a trail of blood leaking from his mouth.

"Rosewine isn't a cure-all, is it?" ventured Bartholomew.

"No," said Alexander. "No such thing exists. Though it does slow the process."

"Long enough for you to bluff him into revealing his secrets," noted Bartholomew, with a knowing grin. He straightened. "Well played, Your Majesty."

"Not well enough, evidently." He seethed to know there was a mole so close to him that had evaded detection. When he got his hands on the traitor...

"Still, he would have given us nothing if it hadn't been for your quick thinking," said Bartholomew. "With the poison and all. As it is, we have more leads to work with. Shall I have Ser Lucas and Duke Nolan detained?"

"Yes. Immediately." Alexander cast a look back at the corpse, recollecting something. He leashed his anger for now - he needed a cool head. The situation could be salvaged. "And send word to your spies. See if you can locate his family."

"Yes, Your Majesty. To what end?"

"Why, to offer my protection, of course. We did have a deal." Alexander smirked. "And keep an eye on who else is looking for them."

"Ah!" said Bartholomew, touching a finger to his temple. "The conspirator will know Jarrett's talked, once Lucas and Nolan are arrested. He may well plan revenge."

Alexander nodded. "See to it."

Bartholomew bowed and hurried away, while the soldiers busied themselves in hauling off the body.

Alexander took a few moments to finish off his glass, and ponder these new developments. He had a lot to do in these next few days. It wasn't long, though, before he returned to his bedroom. After all, there was another puzzle waiting to be solved.

*

It turned out that his wife had been quite busy herself. Alexander looked with amusement at the newly constructed fort of pillows - likely a product of boredom - and the massive bedsheet that had been fixed gingerly atop these walls to act as a makeshift ceiling. Her outer garments were pooled on the side of the bed, ostensibly leaving her again in a gossamer shift.

His residual frustration was disrupted by some amused surprise. "And here I expected to find an empty bedchamber - my wife having stolen into some other hiding place. But I see you've made much more valuable use of your time."

Her head poked out from between two pillows, inadvertently baring a pale shoulder at him, with something equal parts mischief and sheepishness dancing in those large, expressive eyes. "You were gone for a while, so I made my own."

He looked over the fruits of her labor, almost laughing at the elaborateness of the design. The perfect symmetry and angles reminded him, funnily enough, of a certain card tower long ago. He approached, climbing atop the bed.

The fort proved structurally sound against his weight, though she retreated a little into its shade when she saw his intentions.

"And a stout fort it is," he said. He smirked upon seeing her retreat, drawing ever closer. "Though I wonder if it really offers much protection."

He drew aside part of the sheet, so that he could peer inside.

She was seated on her knees, the thin garment of her slip bunched about her atop the mattress, and didn't make to move further. "Not really," she murmured. Her eyes followed his movements. "You could probably sneeze it down. Do you know the story?"

lady_temily
lady_temily
1,158 Followers