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Saphron
Author of 23 Stories |
A Torrid Affair
By Saphron
A/N: Thanks for answering my Alex question guys! Now the second thing I need your help on: should change the rating from T to M? The sexual nature of the story clearly says “yes,” BUT—there’s always a BUT—I've been debating with myself over that because FF.N automatically shows only K-T fics on the main page—you have to manually change the search criterion to K-M if you want to view others. Most people won't bother, they'll just go to the main page and read whatever is there...which means if I change the rating, there will be a LOT less visibility for this fic, fewer people reading and reviewing and enjoying it, and (in my humble opinion), that's just sad (because I'm convinced this fic is at least marginally worth reading, though as the author I am by definition biased lol). Dilemma, dilemma, eh. What do you think?
Also: we've crossed the 100 review mark people, oh glorious day :-D
Alex trailed his fingertips along the water-droplets bubbled on the rusted railing, observing emotionlessly that the only thing separating him from a hundred foot drop to his death was a thin metal bar designed by gods-knew-who what incompetent metal-worker. He was standing on the top of the north tower under a slight overhang, though the ferocious winds that whipped all around him made sure he still got plenty soaked. It was a ridiculous place to be, really, cold, and wet, and potentially dangerous. But lately Alex felt like it was the only place he could score a measure of privacy…and right now, he just needed to think.
And what he was thinking about was, of course, Duke Roger. (Lately it seemed like that’s all he ever thought about…wasn’t that the very definition of ‘obsession?’) The man who had been his knightmaster for over three years, the man who had taught him how to wield a sword and how to cast the most powerful of magical spells, the man whom he admired and respected above any other male figure, including his own worthless father—yet also, terribly, the man who was asking him to betray his King and commit high treason.
The Duke was out for the throne—he had never said it to him out aloud, but Alex wasn’t stupid. He could see that Duke Roger had plans for the kingdom; plans that didn’t include King Roald or his son. And slowly, very slowly, over the years Roger had been working on Alex, gradually getting him used to the idea and recruiting him for his cause.
Alex hadn’t realized that’s what he had been doing at first, of course. Roger had simply started our small, making light barbs of Roald’s kingship (“my, my, ‘the Peacemaker’ doesn’t seem to have much political clout when it comes to military affairs, does he…”; things like that), but he had then progressed to suggesting that he’d make a much more competent ruler (“if I were king, I would certainly invest in a mage’s university that could rival that of Carthak! It’s terrible how under trained our mages are…”) Finally, he had made insinuations about how he always amply rewarded loyalty to him—and punished disloyalty even more (“Delia has been such a pet to me these last few days Alex, I bought her a new mare to express my appreciation and made sure she got included in the Queen’s private luncheon today with a duchess from Tyra, such connections are good for the girl. Of course, she was acting rather pouty this morning, so I may just have to let the Tyran Duchess accidentally overhear how Lady Delia got warts from kissing a toad…”)
All of these comments were innocent enough, Alex rationalized—if it hadn’t been the for the telltale sign of the Duke constantly asking him for information on the Prince, or even on his lowly little squire. (“So who are Jonathan’s closest confidants, Alex?”, “So is Alan truly the best fencer of all the squires?”, “Just out of curiosity Alex, but do you happen to know if the Prince has any deadly food allergies? Peanuts, perhaps?”) The man was nigh obsessed!
When Alex had tentatively questioned his former overlord about his constant probing, Duke Roger had craftily avoided giving any sort of direct answer, smoothing his words with unctuous spoonfuls of honey that coated everything he said with the infamous Conte charm. So Alex had dropped the subject, knowing he’d never get anything out of the older man. But he kept reporting random bits and pieces of information to him nonetheless…he just kept telling himself that it was harmless to do so (what he didn’t technically know, after all, couldn’t technically make him feel guilty…)
Scraps of information, really, stuff he wouldn’t even consider worthwhile except for the fact that the Duke seemed to think so. Data like, Gary and Raoul thought Jonathan was crazy for abandoning Delia at the last ball mid-dance, or that Jon and Alan had ridden to the city together on Alan’s first day off probation. Trivial details of daily palace life, but details Roger seemed to feed off of like a hungry parasite sucking its host dry.
Whatever other explanation could there be? No, Roger had never told him explicitly that he was planning to usurp the throne, but Alex could formulate an educated guess.
The only question that mattered now then was—which side did he fall on?
He had been friends with the prince and the others—Gary, Raoul, even Alan—since they were pages together, though they had grown apart over the years. Truthfully, he hardly considered them close companions anymore—Duke Roger was definitely his best friend in the palace, if he were to use such cheesy terminology—but that didn’t mean he felt nothing for his former peers. They had trained together, ate together, suffered at the hands of jousting instructors and etiquette masters together, laughed with each other over how hopeless they were on the dance floor, and shared their youth together, twenty four hours a day, three hundred and sixty five days of the year. And although they had lost touch recently, that wasn’t a bond that was easily broken.
And the King—Alex didn’t have any particularly strong feelings towards the King one way or the other. He thought Roald was decently competent as a ruler—he wasn’t a tyrant, after all, nor was he entirely a meek little mouse, despite Roger ‘s less than flattering impression of him. The Queen, too, he felt ambivalent about, not particularly caring if she lived or died.
The only member of the royal family that he remotely cared about, besides Roger of course, was the Prince, and even that was a shaky sort of caring. He hadn’t ever been quite as close to Jonathan as the others; being of the solitary, somewhat anti-social sort in general meant he hadn’t really ever been as close to any of them as they had been to each other. And Alex always felt more than a tiny seed of resentment for the arrogant young man who walked around as if his shit didn’t stink like everyone else’s—did Jon even appreciate how lucky he was to be born a prince? Alex doubted it very much; it seemed to him like the cocky little prince took his royal birth pretty much for granted.
And it was annoying how everyone lavished so much attention on him. Alex was just as handsome, just as smart and talented, just as skilled a fighter and mage—more-so, actually, on both counts—as the Prince, yet all his talents hardly mattered when contrasted against Jonathan’s noble pedigree. The very idea was maddening, to say the least.
But did that mean Alex wanted Jon dead? The idea seemed more than a tad extreme. He wouldn’t have minded one way or the other if the Queen’s perpetual on again off again illness finally did her in, or if Roald suffered a fatal hunting accident. But did he want Jon to suffer the same fate? It was hard to imagine a life without the Prince…
And what of his squire? Roger seemed almost as obsessed with Alan as he did with Jon, and that was truly saying something. Alex and Alan had never been particularly close, however, or at least, they hadn’t been since he became Duke Roger’s squire. Alex could remember Alan being friendly enough when he was a page—sometimes he’d even help the lad out with his mathematics homework—but Alan never seemed to take a shining to the Duke the same way others did, and his relationship with the Duke’s then-squire had consequently suffered. Now they were cool to one another, perfectly civil but not exactly chummy. The time Alex accidentally almost killed him during a ‘friendly’ fencing competition probably didn’t exactly do wonders for their relationship either…he still couldn’t explain what had happened that day, his memory was hazy and at best he could recall coming out of a foggy daze as if he had been bewitched, which, of course, Alex knew enough magic to know he had been. Duke Roger—who else could it have been?—had spelled him to kill Alan on the training courts.
But why would the Duke have done that? Didn’t he care that Alex would have been arrested and imprisoned on the spot for such a crime? How could Roger do that to him?
No, perhaps Roger hadn’t meant for Alex to kill Alan after all…maybe he had spelled him for some other reason, to make Alex fight as hard as he could in order to test the boy and see how good a fighter Alan really was…there was no way Roger would actually sacrifice him like that…it was just his paranoid imagination running away with him…
But what if it wasn’t? Duke Roger depended upon, enjoyed his company, and gave his aid to him—but that didn’t mean he was entirely trustworthy. He didn’t confide in Alex—the sign of a true friendship—and he had a cruel streak in him that left Alex wondering sometimes if the sorcerer was as actually deserving of his respect as he thought. People who crossed him had a nasty tendency to disappear—and Alex didn’t want to be one of those people.
Was it worth it to stick by his old friends whom he no longer knew very well at all, was it worth it to stick to the honorable route of the Code of Chivalry? Doing so meant abandoning the one person in the palace he was actually close to, the one man who could teach him everything he ever wanted to know about swords and magic, the one man whom he respected and admired above everyone else…not to mention the one man who would reward him amply for his loyalty, imbuing him with the de facto power he always craved…
Rainy thoughts that day, rainy thoughts indeed.
--
“Alex please, be a pal…” Gary begged, trotting along in Alex’s wake as the two made their way to his father’s office. He had bumped into Alex at the base of the north tower (“Mithros Alex! You’re sopping wet! What were you doing out in the rain? Didn’t have time to take a proper bath this morning?”) and fell in line with him, seeing as they were heading to the same place. Running into him had actually been a struck of good luck, Gary had soon realized, as it gave him the opportunity to implore Alex to help him.
“No, Gary, it’s not happening, sorry,” Alex responded, shaking his head. Mithros, Gary could be annoying when he chose. Was he really worth protecting?
“Aw c’mon! You know how much I’ve always wanted him!” Gary continued pleading, clearly refusing to give up so easily. His footfall matched the steady sound of rain beating outside against the castle walls, which, Gary thought with a note of bemused irony, perfectly matched his mood: grumpy. Rainy thoughts that dripped with grumpiness! “But of course Jon got him, since he’s the bloody Prince.”
“Do I detect a note of bitterness there, Gary?” Alex scoffed, “Tsk tsk, you shouldn’t be jealous of your cousin, you know.” There’s already another cousin whose filled that role, Alex thought dryly to himself.
Gary grumbled, “I’m not jealous, it’s just not fair…”
“Life’s not always fair, Gary,” Alex shrugged (and boy do I know it, he couldn’t help but think to himself). “And you’re not getting him. It was my idea for the whole thing, therefore, I get to chose who I want first. Why don’t you just switch with Raoul, Gary? I’ve sure that can be fun for your little foursome.”
Gary groaned as he followed Alex into the Duke’s study—maybe he could plead with his father! Except when had Duke Gareth of Naxen ever allowed his relationship with his son to influence an administrative decision? No, Duke Gareth the Elder had always been maddeningly fair in treating Gary like just another one of the boys, and if anything had probably over-compensated a wee bit to avoid nepotism by punishing him extra hard when he got in trouble. Gary had little hope that today would be any different…
“Now, the knights I’m sure have already filled you in on the plan,” Alex and Gary walked in to hear Duke Gareth addressing the sea of squires stuffed into his office. Between every squire in the palace and their respective knightmasters, there was barely enough room for everyone to squeeze in—vaguely Gary wondered why they weren’t conducting this meeting in a larger space, say, the grand ball room, for example.
(Unbeknownst to him, the ballroom was not available for meetings since it was busy being decorated for the upcoming celebrations of the Prince’s birthday, and the Great Hall was closed during non-sanctioned meal times to give the cooks and kitchen helpers a chance to clean up after the swarm of hungry soldiers decimated the room with their food scraps and dirty boots. The training courts were the only other large enough space inside, but Shae was busy training the pages in there during the early morning lesson period, and it was pouring outside in torrents, vetoing the option of using the outdoor archery or jousting fields. The stables may have theoretically been able to house them all, but there was no way Duke Gareth was going to administer an official palace issued meeting four feet away from a pile of horse dung! No, unfortunately, his tiny study was the only conceivable option; luckily, squires were still scrawny little scraps, and they could squeeze together like sardines just fine.)
“So now all that’s left is to give you your new knightmaster assignments!” Duke Gareth continued, finishing with a resounding flourish that echoed around the tiny chamber and caused a dither attack among the excited squires who instantly broke into a fierce tide of whispers.
Only Gary was silently glowering in the corner—apparently the assignments had already been made, leaving no hope that he could nab his father for a quick chat to try and convince him. When had that happened? He and Raoul and Alex had discussed who they’d want to switch with, and Alex had told them he was going to get first pick since the whole thing was his idea. But Gary thought the rest of the knights would have the opportunity to at least pick second, or third, etc., and give their preferences…but apparently, that wasn’t the case. It looked like his father had just randomly assigned new squires without their say…so not fair.
“Douglass and Sacherell, you two will switch knightmasters”—the pair of them high-fived happily, pleased to have been paired up with knightmasters who they already knew decently well, not to mention the fact that after Jonathan, the next two most popular knights were easily Gary and Raoul.
“Timothy and Richard, you two will have Sir Daral and Sir Nathan, respectively,” the Duke prattled on, as the wave of fierce whispers—(“quick Richie, what’s Sir Daral like? I heard he’s kind of strict…please tell me that’s just a palace rumor!” Timothy asked fiercely in the quietest whisper he could muster. “Oh yeah, Daral is like a drill sergeant, I swear sometimes he’s worse than our training master! Get ready to do a lot of push-ups in the morning, mate,” Richard replied, causing Timothy to groan in displeasure.)
“Casey, Gabriel, you know the drill—Sir Chung and Sir Sayshu for you two…” And so on and so on, until finally only two squires were left—Geoffrey and ‘Alan.’
“Alan, I’m sure you’ll enjoy the company of Sir Alex for the week, and Geoffrey you lucky boy, you better be on your best behavior with the Prince,” Duke Gareth concluded, wagging a warning finger at Geoffrey who was grimacing in anxiety. “All right, now that you’ve all gotten your assignments, please head over to your rooms and pack your belongings if you have not already done so. There’s no need to move every object you’ve ever owned, just take what you’ll need for a week, clothing and toiletries and training weapons, etc. Then you may unpack in your new rooms, and head over to the Shang-Do training courts. You’re all fortunate to have missed mathematics lesson this morning, but you better be on time for your martial arts lesson, got it! Alright, squires dismissed.”
The squires squeezed out in a bottleneck, still eagerly exchanging worthwhile information with one another (“does Sir Sayshu like to write love poetry? Because Sir Chung always asks for my input on his poems for the ladies, I’ve gotten pretty good at rhyming ‘your lips are redder than a rose’ with ‘they’ve pierced my heart with arrows!’” Gabriel sighed plaintively.)
Only one squire didn’t seem very pleased; no, not very pleased at all. As the lone-red head in the room fell into the back of the crowd, she couldn’t help but wonder what new trials and tribulations the week would have in store for her…a week that had started off distinctly cold and gray…
Saphron
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