Chapter 15: With This Cup, the Kingdom Comes
****
A light rapping at the door caused Samuel to turn his head. He was sitting in his room and gazing at the painting of his wife. The candle beside him flickered, moving light and shadow across the kind face that was frozen in time. For a second, his heart stopped--had her chin just moved?--but then he shook himself from his reverie.
It was with great effort that Samuel got to his feet. It was late, and he had not been expecting any interruptions. He hadn’t gotten much sleep the past few years, and it was wearing on him, draining his energy and slowing his steps. The burden of regret and sorrow was growing heavier every minute of every day, and part of him was beginning to wonder how he continued to draw breath.
He opened the door with a creak and gave a slight smile to the man standing there. A part of him registered that the guards normally stationed outside his door were nowhere in sight, but he didn’t pause to think about it, not caring about their absence. “Alexander,” he said with as much warmth as he could muster considering the time of night and the depressed thoughts weighing down on him. “Please come in.”
The younger man was wearing white gloves and carrying a goblet much like that used for communion, and he did as he was asked after giving a slight bow.
Samuel shut the door and turned to his cousin. “What do you need, Alexander?” The other man normally did not pay him late visits. They saw each other frequently, and Alexander had served as a counselor of sorts to him for years. Samuel had been immensely grateful for the younger man’s assistance--through Alexander, Samuel learned most of what he needed to know about what was happening in the castle. Not having several different sources made it so much easier for Samuel, who was less inclined than ever to talk with people.
Alexander’s eyes rose to take in the painting, and Samuel’s gaze followed his. “Queen Ellena was a lovely woman,” commented the younger man softly. “Her daughter is beginning to take after her . . . . ” With a small smile, Alexander turned back toward Samuel. “I thought you would like a glass of wine, Your Majesty.”
Samuel gave the barest of smiles. “Thank you, Alexander.” He took the cup from his cousin and held it up to his lips. “It was kind of you to think of me. I am afraid I have been brooding too much these days.” He tilted the cup and felt the dark liquid slide coolly into his mouth and down his throat. “Ellena always did like a good glass of--” He cut off, making a choking sound. “Alexander?” he coughed in confusion. “What--” And then he collapsed to his knees, the goblet falling to the ground beside him. Wine spilled out and darkened the floor, spreading like blood leaking from a wound.
As Samuel turned his eyes upward to stare at Alexander’s cold face, he wondered if he would finally get to see his wife again--or if his sins were such that he would never even be able to look upon her likeness again. As the darkness of death claimed him, he threw one last prayer heavenward.
****
Alexander scrubbed the floor meticulously, removing all traces of wine. He also cleaned off the dead king and placed him in his bed with the covers over him. The poison Alexander had used was odorless and untraceable--no one would ever find proof that the king, whose health had deteriorated since the death of his wife, had not died naturally.
When he finally slipped out of the room and into the hall, knowing the guards that had been called away would be back soon, he allowed himself a slight smile. He glided through the halls like a ghost, cautious to make no noise, only to stop suddenly at the appearance of a man in unusual black robes with ruffles and buttons.
The dark-haired stranger’s eyes were gleaming with something much like glee. “I know what you did,” the man said, wasting no time.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Alexander said shortly. His breath caught in his chest, but he betrayed no outward signs of guilt as he tried to pass around this stranger.
“I won’t tell anyone,” the man assured him with a smile. He held up a hand in a weird sign. “Wizard’s honor.”
“Leave me alone,” Alexander gritted. He needed to leave the castle. He couldn’t be caught there.
But the man refused to budge, even going so far as to spread out his arms. “All I ask is one teensy little favor. I want to be your court magician.”
“I refuse to be blackmailed,” Alexander hissed, knowing there was no further point in denying what had happened. This man knew what had happened, but he would never be able to prove it. “I shall choose my own councilors, and *you* will never be one of them.” Finally, he managed to push past the insufferable man, feeling the hands of time chasing after him.
“Don’t you think it unwise to upset a magician?” the man called quietly after him. “One day, you *will* regret this.”
“Magicians cannot kill directly with magic, lest they lose their powers,” returned Alexander. “I think I’m safe.” And then he was gone, hurrying away to get out of the castle before the king’s death was discovered.
****
When Loisette woke to someone’s hands shaking her shoulders, she glanced upward in a fog, having been caught in the midst of a dream. “Mom?” she whispered.
But then the haze cleared, and she realized who it was looking down at her, and she corrected herself as she sat up: “Aliss? What are you doing here?”
“Oh, Loisette,” the older woman said, her voice shaky. Her eyes were filling with tears. “Your father--he’s . . . he’s dead.”
“Wh-what?” Loisette gasped. Her chest was constricting, and she couldn’t breathe. “What?” she repeated in shock, horror, disbelief. This was all just part of her dream. It had to be.
“Loisette, I’m so sorry,” Aliss whispered, her lips bunched up together in sorrow.
Loisette was like a bridge shivering under the onslaught of a storm as she stared at Aliss. And then the foundations collapsed inward, and she fell forward into her nanny’s bosom, wailing like a banshee lost in a turbulent sea. Loisette’s sobs rose and fell like crashing waves, and Aliss hugged her so tightly against herself that the princess would probably have bruises later from the pressure of her fingers.
But all that mattered to Loisette in that dark moment was that her father was gone--and she would never be able to hear him say, “I love you, Loisette.”
Her heart had cracked in two.
****
When the young girl finally cried herself to sleep, Aliss slipped out of the room. It was still dark out, and not even the early-rising caretakers of the stable had risen. Muttering calming words, she saddled Penelope Grace--wanting a connection of sorts with the deceased Queen Ellena--and rode out to a cottage in the middle of the woods. Dismounting, she hurried over to the door and knocked loudly.
It was a sleepy Peregrine the White who opened the door, though he snapped awake on seeing her face. “What is it?” he asked her.
“I have terrible news,” she said grimly.
He swallowed, worry splashed all over his face. “It’s not Clarkent, is it?” The fear and dread in his voice were almost tangible.
She shook her head. “No. It’s the king.”
Peri turned away from her, knowing what she meant immediately. “He’s dead.” He brought his eyes back to hers, his face darkening. “That means the next in line to the throne after the princess is--”
Aliss nodded. “Yes. Alexander.”
****
The next day, Alexander sat on the throne, pleased as a cat sipping cream.
Nobody had been able to come up with any proof as to what had caused the king’s death . . . and Tempos had been kind enough to supply Alexander with an alibi. As a result, Alexander was now the Regent of Metropolita. The King’s Council had panicked during the night and given him the position almost immediately. The pleasure he felt was so great as to be indescribable.
When the princess came of age, she would become queen, of course, thereby taking the position of power away from him. But that would be a while yet, as she was only fourteen. And besides--he intended to make her ascension work to his advantage. When she turned seventeen, it would be something to celebrate rather than curse . . . for then he would be able to marry her and solidify his grip on the throne.
He had considered killing her as well, of course, but her death coupled with her father’s would put him directly under suspicion, and he didn’t want that. It didn’t matter anyway. He could be patient enough to wait a few years to marry her while he reigned alone. She was certainly growing up to be as beautiful as her mother had been, and a having a pretty little thing to hang on his arm would suit him just fine.
Alexander had a slight smile on his face when his brother walked in to the throne room. The room was empty apart from them, the guards having been instructed to wait just outside the two great doors.
As the armor-wearing Tempos came closer and got a good look at Alexander’s Regent garb, he commented, “You look as ridiculous as a cat wearing shoes.”
But Alexander didn’t allow his brother’s comment to irk him. Instead, he told him, “You had better change your tune if you wish to be my tilting champion.”
With obvious sarcasm, Tempos said, “You are too kind, brother. That’s just what I always wanted.”
Alexander gave him a fragile smile. Their relationship was one of constant balance. While they were consistently helping one another out in precarious situations, each was always watching for the fatal chink in the other’s armor. It would not be enough to simply hurt a reputation. No. When one of the brothers struck, it would be to utterly destroy his kinsman.
Seeing Alexander lost in thought, Tempos asked, “Planning your wedding to the princess already? Aren’t you supposed to be friends first before you can be lovers?”
Alexander narrowed his eyes. Sometimes, they thought too much alike.
“Come, brother,” Tempos said. “You can’t fool me. I know your plan--remember?” He smirked. “We *are* brothers, after all. Our hearts will beat in time until one of them finally stops.”
The two brothers stared at each other, unhidden menace behind their gazes. Each intended to be the one to stop the other’s heart. But only time would tell who the winner would be.
****
In the morning, Loisette went to the stable after throwing on a dress with help from Catherine. The lady-in-waiting had attempted to come after her, but Loisette had told her to stay. She wanted to go to the stable, and she didn’t need Catherine with her. Her father was dead--what did it matter if she went to the stable alone? He couldn’t . . . couldn’t yell at her.
She walked into the stable, and there was Clarkent, and he turned to look at her, and she trembled in place. And then, after she gave him a mere look, he was rushing toward her, and he took her in his arms, and she was pressed up against him, crying, crying so hard, “My father’s dead; my father’s dead.”
He squeezed her against him, his cheek against her hair as she sobbed. He gently kissed the top of her head, and she shook like a tender sapling in the wind.
“I’m sorry, Lois,” he whispered into her hair. His unexpected use of a truncated version of her name filled her with a strange warmth amid all the coldness of reality, and she wished he would repeat it. “I’m so sorry.”
In his arms, she felt like maybe everything would be all right someday, like maybe her father wasn’t dead. But he was dead, she knew he was dead, and he wouldn’t come back. But maybe her father would be with her mother; maybe he would be happy. Maybe the world wasn’t ending; maybe there was still hope for happiness. But her father was *gone*, gone forever, and all her hopes had been dashed into nothings. There would be no redemption for her father; he would never hug her against him and tell her how proud he was of her. Dead; dead. Gone. *Forever*.
She let out another harsh sob. It hurt so much when hope had to die.
****
Alexander finally learned from his sources at the castle where the princess was, and the knowledge filled him with rage. He wanted to comfort the princess himself. For someone to get there before him . . .
He walked through the entrance of the Riding Stable, his eyes hard as they fell upon the princess embracing a stableboy. The girl’s lady-in-waiting was nowhere in sight, and Alexander had to take a second to calm his temper.
The stableboy happened to glance up and see him, and then the boy stiffened, though he didn’t remove his arms from around the princess. But Princess Loisette must have felt the change in his bearing, as she turned and finally looked at Alexander.
The Regent consciously softened his expression and approached her after bowing. “Someone told me you were here, Your Highness,” he said softly, trying to inject sympathy into his voice. “I am so sorry to hear about your father.” He dropped his eyes to the ground. “I only hope that I--as Regent--can be as good a ruler as he was.”
The princess gave a slight nod, her bottom lip trembling. Wanting to escort her away from this place, Alexander reached out an arm for her to hook hers into. “Please, Your Highness, let me take you back to your room. You must be tired.” He could practically feel the stableboy’s glare, but he gave the peasant no attention.
She hesitantly took his arm and began walking forward with him. But then she paused with startling abruptness and turned. “I want to see my horse, Alexander,” she said in a quiet but firm voice, and she pulled away from him.
****
As the princess walked away from the man who must have been the new Regent, Clarkent watched her. She moved up to High Flyer and began petting him, murmuring quiet words to him and soon pressing her forehead against his velvety nose.
Clarkent refocused his attention on the Regent, who was obviously enraged by the princess’s choice to stay. Clarkent locked eyes with him, meeting the black fury there unflinchingly.
And then Regent Alexander turned on his heel and left the stable, his displeasure as obvious as if he had shouted it.
Clarkent watched as Princess Loisette whispered to High Flyer. He wanted to talk to her--to hold her and comfort her again--but she had obviously shut herself off from him, and it was best that he give her the space she appeared to be needing. And so, he got back to work.
But he continued to watch her carefully, ready to run to her if she gave him the slightest indication that what she needed was him.
****
The funeral was a bleak occasion.
Black permeated the area, suffocating those who grieved. At one point, Loisette, desperate for something to comfort her, caught herself looking for Clarkent. But then she remembered that only Nobles were allowed at the funeral, and it saddened her. She could only console herself by remembering that at least she had Catherine at her side.
After Alexander gave his words for the passing of the monarch--her eyes were blurry, and there was a dull pounding in her ears, and she couldn’t focus on what he had said--he came to stand beside her. He attempted to comfort her, but she simply felt like running away from him. There was something about him that she didn’t care for, though she was conflicted about him, as she was grateful for his kindness even while she wanted to reject him whenever he reached out to her.
As she watched her father’s funeral pyre go up in flames, she found herself wishing that she could be back in Clarkent’s arms, sobbing into his chest . . . not watching as her father’s body burned in front a group of people who could care less about what Loisette was feeling. Clarkent could truly sympathize with her--no one at the funeral could.
