At His Majesty's Pleasure Ch. 12

The fort was roomy enough for both of them, and so he entered her little makeshift sanctuary. "What story is that?" he asked, innocently. "Not the one with the big, bad wolf?"

His grin was a little wolfish himself as he reached for her, tilting her chin up for a kiss.

Her lips were soft as silk, and she even had the courage to sink into the kiss a little - but still seemed motivated to duck away from him sooner than later. A lovely flush graced her cheeks as she edged away.

He always enjoyed the effect he had, especially when it was painted upon such a beautiful subject. "And what does that make you then, Alais?" he said. "An innocent little piglet?"

His fingers settled on one of her toes, giving it a pinch and wiggle.

She gasped a little, pulling her foot away from him. Then she crossed her arms. "No, the house dining room table."

This did catch him off guard. "What?"

"The pigs must've had furniture," she said, whimsically. "You know. Like a dining room table."

"And you're a table?"

She cleared her throat. "Why not?"

It was bizarre enough that it actually did slow his advances. "How do you resemble a table, then?"

Surely she must have enjoyed seeing him taken aback with her own willful nonsense. Her expression grew pensive, for an instant, before laying down on her back and setting a stray pillow over her stomach. "Table," she said.

He stared at her for a few moments, before laughing. "You like confusing me," he said, and this was confirmed when her otherwise deadpanned features cracked into a guilty smile. He looked over her, laying demonstrably for him to see. "Very well, you're a dining room table."

He settled his hand over her bare ankle, smoothing it over. "If only I had the proper plates and utensils to set on you," he mused. His hand reached the hem of her shift, beginning to brush it up in the same leisurely way. "If only I had the proper food to eat off you."

It was his turn to look mischievous, as he lowered his lips to her thigh, kissing the soft flesh there.

"Oh." Her voice was soft and sweetly nervous. "That's such a shame."

"Isn't it?" he agreed. He slowly bit into her skin, sending a quiver up her leg. "I suppose I'll have to make due."

"You don't - you don't need to go so slowly every time." The nervousness was beginning to edge out the sweet.

He glanced up at her, noticing the quick rise and fall of her chest. "I like going slow. I like how it affects you," he told her, even as he teased her with a swirl of his tongue. "But..."

Alexander withdrew, shifting to pull off his shirt. When he spoke, more mischief sounded in his voice. "If my Queen is impatient, I can certainly oblige."

Those bashful eyes flickered toward him, catching the contours of his abdomen, and still managing to appear vibrant even in her half-panicked state. Her dainty fingers gripped at the bed below. "Whatever my husband likes."

"What a dutiful wife." Apropos of nothing, he felt an odd twinge of irritation somewhere in the back of his mind - how could she look so genuinely adoring when they both knew her to be playing a role? What was the point of such commitment? Did she really think to fool him?

"Why?" she added. "Should I kick at you instead?" As she drew a foot toward herself, her knee lifted experimentally.

"Only if you'd like to wear my ropes again," he replied, otherwise not bothering to evade this potential attack. "Though, of course, I wouldn't blame you if you did. You did seem to enjoy it particularly last time."

Her lips pursed together, and when she did finally 'kick', it was only to prod that ticklish spot of his lightly with her toe. "No ropes, please."

It elicited a short laugh, before his hand locked around the ankle and pinned it down. "Oh, I don't know," he said, feigning a tone of thoughtfulness. "Last I knew, dining room tables did not attack their owners. This may be such a dangerous development that confinement is necessary."

She actually did seem nervous, speaking quickly to dissuade him. "But... I'm here now. If you leave to gather your equipment, who knows where I'll be when you return again?"

Alexander couldn't help a smirk, at that. "You underestimate me, Alais. What makes you think I don't keep such equipment close at hand, in my own quarters?"

He did release her ankle though, so that he could tug at the drawstrings of his trousers, and then cast them aside. Filled with desire as he was, it was no surprise that he was fully erect.

A shiver coursed through her. She scrambled for a moment, before her eyes alighted with convenient recollection. "How... how did the interrogation go?"

Alexander uttered a short laugh, not deterred for a second. "Trying to distract me, are you?"

Alais swallowed quietly. "I'm curious, really."

He smoothed his hands over her creamy thighs, spreading them open. "Are you? And you have no other designs, in asking that question?"

"What other designs?" Her grip about the throw pillow tightened.

"Keeping me at bay, of course. You do seem to love doing that. But I'm afraid I'm quite determined..."

Hands still firm over her legs, he pressed forward, slowly sheathing himself inside of her. Her eyes at first fixed over him curiously, but they wavered now. She shuddered and bucked enticingly at the languid protrusion, squeezing that security-pillow intently, and words momentarily choked out of her.

That wasn't all she was squeezing, either. His repeated trespasses did not seem to have lessened her tension; she was incredibly tight, all around him, in spite of her ostensible arousal. This was only enhanced by the way she clenched under him - no doubt the product of nerves, and he allowed himself to enjoy the pleasurable constriction. Each twitch of motion drew from her heady breaths.

"No more distractions," he murmured.

Even as he spoke, he pressed yet deeper, so that she utterly enveloped him.

"But—" she tried, and then was silenced again by her own whimper.

Alexander chuckled. "Exactly."

The half-finished interrogation had left him with some residual anger, simmering in the back of his mind. It left him with a craving for violent release, and when he took possession of her, it was with greater ferocity than usual - ramming her hard.

"This - this is too much," she breathed. She tried to push him away, but only weakly - her real reaction betrayed by the pleasurable gasps flowing through her with each of his strokes.

His hands found the hem of her shift, roughly pushing it up to expose more of that lovely skin - only to be caught about the presence of that pesky pillow she still clutched to her chest. He tugged it from her, tossing it aside.

"It's too much," she repeated, her eyes fevered.

He thrust into her again, hitting her deep - causing another gasp. "Whatever your husband likes, didn't you say?" he teased, a little wickedly.

Now that he'd scrunched the shift past her chest, he was able to lean down, clamping his mouth over her breast.

Her hands could only trade the pillow for his head, as her back arched into the mattress and her neck exposed. "I can't..." There was only a hint of real complaint, the line muddled by the crest of sensation.

He continued to fondle her breast with his tongue and lips, delighting in every tremor and gasp he elicited. Part of him did enjoy granting her pleasure for pleasure's sake, but this, like many other things, was also tied up in ideas of power - to be able to control her body and her responses, even potentially against her own will, had a certain exhilaration to it.

"Shh," was his only response, his breath hot on her skin. "You will."

Even then, he continued pounding her, driving the both of them closer and closer to the edge. Each plunge had him moving faster, lured back by the intoxicating tightness of her canal gripping his cock, and those sweet mewls that she seemed so reluctant to release. His eyes closed, that much better to savor the sensations - the taste of her at his mouth, the feel of her soft and delicate body as she shuddered beneath him. And that tightness. She was all warmth and pressure, helpless as he trespassed over and over again.

Here, like this, she was stripped of all her false smiles and pretensions. There was only their bodies, and the bared truth of his effect on her - how her legs clung desperately to him, how her expression had cleared as if she could not now focus on anything but the pleasure taking hold of her. A ragged gasp tore from her, and then she thrashed and trembled, the climax claiming her wholly and utterly.

He reached his release not long after, pleasure rippling through him with a powerful pressure. He growled as he gave a final push, pumping her full of his hot seed.

In the moments after, he remained atop her, his mind still foggy and his breaths falling on her breast.

After a moment, the soft pads of her fingertips hazarded to smooth his hair down to the back of his neck, the motions hesitant and a little unsure. When he stared down at her, she met his gaze with a sweet if uncertain smile. She was already beginning to recover herself, even if the faint redness of embarrassment lingered at her cheeks.

Were such gestures a taunt, showing him how quickly her pretensions could return? Was that a trace of slyness in her eyes, or was it a trick of the light? She was always so difficult to read - but then, that was part of her allure. There was, after all, no victory in conquering an unworthy foe.

He could play that game too. Mischievously, he caught her hand, bringing it to his lips for a courtly kiss. "Well, I've never done that with a dining table before."

Her breaths were still uneven whispers in the air. "...And the fort's still in tact," came her observation.

He chuckled. "Yes, well done," he said wryly. Shifting, he came to rest beside her - there was plenty of room to do so, after all, on his spacious bed.

"So how did the investigation go?" She rolled halfway to gaze at him. There was an expectant if not tired glimmer in her eye.

"Better than it could have."

"You're very detailed."

He smile, and after a moment, he consented to elaborate. "I discovered the identity of two other conspirators." He let his knuckles brush over her cheek, idly. "You'll get to meet them soon. Would you like that?"

She seemed to stew in her curiosity, and then her soft cheek nuzzled against his skin in almost a feline sort of way. "Why not," mused Alais. After peering at him quizzically, though, she continued, "But there are others, aren't there?"

Alexander arched his brow. "Why do you say that?"

"You seemed...frustrated." A tinge of red colored her cheeks again.

He laughed. Yes, he supposed he had been more aggressive than usual tonight.

"The investigation is ongoing," was his only answer. He would humor her, but not so far as to confide in her any actual secrets. Amiable as she currently was, he didn't trust her as far as he could throw - though, he thought with some one-sided amusement, he imagined he could throw her pretty far.

Her lips pinched, as if she could tell he wasn't being forthcoming. But she leaned against his shoulder, seeming to trade one line of questioning for another. "I'm also curious about Evelyn's mother. What happened to her?"

The question caught him off guard, though it probably shouldn't have. It was a natural inquiry, if one that most avoided around him, as a sensitive subject. "Hmm," he said, rather distractedly, as his arm curved about her waist, pulling her to nestle against him.

"She's..." Alexander considered the phrasing of his answer. It was undoubtedly too late not to spook her with his...tendencies toward violence, and if she were so inclined, she could probably find the answer elsewhere. Still, for her to hear that one of his former lovers had been so casually discarded might strike a little too close to her own situation - even if she did have the much greater propriety and importance of being a queen. "I preferred not to have her around," was the misleadingly simple answer. His smile was probably not reassuring. "She caused me trouble."

He stroked her hair back, his movements alarmingly gentle, even tender, in contrast to the crude subject. "It need not concern you," he continued, quite pleasantly. He lowered his lips to her neck again, kissing lightly.

"What?" She nearly laughed. "Do you hear how ominous that sounds?" Little shivers moved her body again, though, as a result of his touches. "What was it, really?"

Alexander paused. "She committed treason," he said, but only after he had waited long enough that it seemed he might not answer at all. He kissed her again, his hands resting supportively at the arch of her back. "And I punished her accordingly."

More euphemisms, but at least the meaning was now abundantly clear. Treason was uniformly punished by death, even in more civilized countries, and Obsivia was not universally considered civilized.

"Treason?" She stewed for a bit. "I think -" Her breath caught at the doting touch of his lips. "...It would be helpful to give me a list of your treasons - so I may know what to avoid."

Alexander chuckled. "I don't think her particular crime is something you need to be concerned about." In explanation, he continued, "I take particular care in my dalliances, as I've no desire for bastard children."

There were some kings who cared not for caution - perhaps due to their utter indifference to the existence of bastards. Alexander was unable, however, to fully divorce his feelings from someone who carried his blood.

"Evelyn's mother, however, schemed to have it otherwise. She believed that bearing my child would entitle her to my attention, which she could then leverage. Cunning, I suppose, but I think she misjudged." The "think" was meant humorously, in his typically awful way - as if he were merely speculating, when he had been the arbiter of her fate.

He withdrew, offering her a reassuring look that even he wasn't certain was sincere. "So you see? Very little to worry about." Even if he was admittedly speaking casually about having one of his lovers put to death. "I want quite the opposite from you."

"That - does explain why you don't have more," Alais theorized, pursing her lips thoughtfully. "I'm guessing the successors to this... hapless woman were then motivated to be especially careful."

"Yes," he agreed. "It was not a pleasant precedent to follow."

"So in my case, it would be treason - not to have children?" A note of skepticism sounded in her voice, as she stared up at the fort ceiling. "...I don't know if that's something so easily controlled."

She sounded oddly worried, but then, he supposed it was a common concern shared by many women. "We'll worry about it if it happens," said Alexander, more confident in the matter.

"In any case, I don't know why you're so worried about treason. I'm quite the merciful ruler." He grinned, shamelessly.

She was apparently still daring enough to prod at his side, where he was proven to be so uncharacteristically sensitive - but gently and only once, little more than a silly, extraneous gesture for his attention. "You're not," she protested his claims of mercy. "And you know you're not."

"I don't know what you could possibly mean, Alais. I am merciful. The most merciful." His grin was downright wicked. "Saying otherwise is treason, you know." He raised his eyebrows meaningfully; it was a joke, of course, but he probably shouldn't be joking about such things, all things considered.

She sighed. "You still haven't answered. What happened to her, ultimately? What was her punishment?"

He traded his lips for a finger, tracing casually over the line of her long neck. "Oh, you want to know the details?" He tilted his head, as if earnestly considering how he might characterize the situation. "She was always very fond of gold, my Lady Lenora. Absolutely greedy. Nothing delighted her more than gold jewelry - gold earrings, gold bracelets, gold rings. I suppose she was very easy to please."

He glanced at her, as if sharing his amusement. "Well, perhaps not, in retrospect." His hand drifted down, across her collarbone, and then to idly circle her breast.

"I had her cast in gold." He met her eyes, his smile edged with pleasant malice. "She made a fine statute. You might have seen her, actually. She's just outside."

More incredulity flitted across her eyes, in place of what should have been horror.

He laughed, suddenly, his hand stilling again. "I'm joking," he assured her (unconvincingly). "Merely joking."

"Are you - are you really?" Her brows furrowed together, and she removed one of her arms from her chest to lay her hand upon the side of his faintly prickly jaw.

He smiled, watching her uncertainty. He shouldn't have been so amused in causing it, but he was. "Of course," he said. "Of course, I'm entirely joking."

His hand smoothed over her hip and down her thigh, as he spoke in would-be soothing tones. "I had her hanged. It was a just, entirely proper affair - you know, renowned for mercy as I am." He looked like he might laugh, at this self-characterization. "But no, her death was quite quick, and painless. All the more because of the weight: I had her don all the gold I had ever given her. My last gift."

Alais stared at him for a length of time, brows knit together. "I still don't think I believe you."

She was right not to (and had better intuition than Jarrett, in this respect). It was not in his interests, however, to disclose the truth of the matter to her. He decided to put an end to her inquiries.

"That is your prerogative, of course." He pulled himself upright and moved to straddle her again, noticing her nervous surprise even as he did. "Just as it is mine to test the sturdiness of this fort." He couldn't help a smirk. "Let's see if it holds this time."

*****

Sleep came easily to Alais that night, after the King had exhausted his ravenous appetite. She was pulled swiftly from the waking world and into her dreams.

And in her dreams, she flew.

Alais soared high over the spires of Kastalus, held up by winds gliding below feathered wings. She saw the perpetual lights of the evening flickering in and out, of those whom sleep escaped. She saw the torches of the behemoth palace standing vigil on its parapets and remarkably high towers. There, just 'round the corner, stood her own balcony - her balcony now. Even from this angle, there was no leaping from it without facing certain death. A Queen's Landing, they would call the bloodied ground below, if she so attempted an escape in this way.

Her wings beat against the air as she circled the castle's towering walls, searching for more troves as she watched from overhead. And listened.

"Poor Commander Gustave, eh?" said a guardsman warming his hands against torchlight.

"Retirement doesn't suit him. Too proud," agreed his companion.

"Not much to be proud of with a broken hand. Haha!"

She kept flying.

It had been so long since she had felt such freedom. Here, there was no one to constrain her, no one to hold her hostage. With a beat of her wings, she could go anywhere she liked, and leave the torments of her real life far behind.

As she glided past a window, the reflection of a falcon winked out at her.

*

The King left early that morning. "Your handmaidens await you in your quarters," he had told her, half-asleep as she was. "They'll ready you for the wedding."

Later, the somewhat obfuscated message did manage to linger in the periphery of her thoughts. A robe had been pulled over her shoulders for the morning, and with her slippers upon her heels she walked soundlessly back to her quarters.

"Good morning," she started upon easing open the door, blinking groggily at whomever stood to greet her. In truth, Alais was perfectly aware, observing keenly (if not curiously) for the ones who were most likely spies. He had been charming lately, but she doubted he actually trusted her enough not to spy on her. The obvious solution to this was to be as boringly, unassumingly sweet and innocent as possible.