XLVIII
"An amphitheatre?"
"You never been?" Alex asked in surprise.
Theatre was the kind of entertainment that even commoners could indulge in. It was a standard part of life, people couldn't work all the time, and they needed to unwind somehow. Alex wouldn't have considered the possibility that it wasn't something James had gone to at least once.
James was regarding the entrance with a cocked head, scanning the queue that lined up outside. Above the tall entrance was a heavy stone with King Godfrey's name chiselled, the structure having been built in his honour.
"I wasn't really one for entertainment," James replied.
But, that wasn't quite true. "You like dancing, though."
James' expression brightened at the thought. "I do. I always have done. It's like sparring in a way, just without the violence."
Alex couldn't see how dancing and sparring were comparable whatsoever, but he didn't argue that point.
It seemed James' life mostly revolved around a handful of activities; killing, boozing and soliloquising. But, Alex couldn't criticise that, his own life mostly revolved around his own job too. He must've seemed quite boring and rigid to others, but he had reasons to be that way.
Other than James' desire to break him, he didn't know what the other man liked in him.
"I've written some plays," Fletcher told them, admiring the sheer scale of the building, a stone giant built into the natural curve of the terrain, following the houses uphill. The amphitheatre was screaming out for attention, begging to be admired, like a greedy model.
"Why waste your time doing that?" James questioned, cynically. "Novels would make more money than that."
"Well, only nobles could afford novels," Fletcher said, "which is exactly the issue.
King William often commissions me to write plays because it's good propaganda and it's cheap enough that it spreads amongst commoners.
Entertainment and mockery are the best tools to sway public opinion, hence it's illegal to make fun of royals. "
"My wife and daughter love your stuff," Thomas told the scholar. Fletcher beamed. "When Emily was four she would have tantrums if the play about the bear wasn't on."
"You don't think that one was too violent for a toddler?" Alex asked.
Thomas sighed with a tender smile, looking exhausted; an expression that only a parent could muster. "The part where the bear bites the protagonist's head off is her favourite, she squeals and claps in front of everyone. It's embarrassing."
"A lot of kids are quite morbid," Fletcher said. "It's normal. Besides, it might not be a bad thing for them to get acquainted with violence quite early. They'll experience it anyway later in life."
"Well, I've now got a candidate for the next Jay, which is good," James stated in a serious tone.
"My daughter is not going to be a mass murderer."
"That's not very accepting," James scolded, "I'll have her, then. Alex will help me raise her."
Even though it was a joke, Alex took a step back and held his hands out, warding away the thought. "I do not like children. No, thank you."
James sniffed. "Well, at least it wasn't the idea of co-parenting with me that put you off. I'd be an excellent dad, I bet."
If there was one thing Alex could tolerate about his own romantic and sexual aversion to women, it was the sense of security that came with knowing he'd never accidentally get someone pregnant.
"You'd raise a murderous tyrant," Thomas argued.
"Your kid is the one who gets joy out of a bear mutilating a man," James retorted.
"It's not real!"
"She wishes it was."
Alex pulled the back of James' shirt, wanting to stop the bickering. But, before he could properly register what was happening, James had stopped his hand short, a knife pressed against his wrist.
"What the fu—"
"Don't touch my back right now," James warned him.
Alex pulled his limb away and cradled it in his other hand, looking down at the broken bleeding skin in horror. "The fuck is wrong with you?"
Did James even want Alex to like him back when he was doing shit like this? The man was violent and unhinged. It was easy to forget that fact when James could pretend to be more normal when he wanted to.
"Charming," Thomas commented, deadpan.
Fletcher was wincing at the scene, he came over to inspect the small cut on his wrist. "Actually, Alex, you shouldn't have done that."
Alex glared at both men. James' back had never been off limits before, how could they expect him to know there had been a change in the status quo? This was victim blaming.
James had the decency to appear apologetic, but he shrugged as if it couldn't have been helped.
"I didn't intend on breaking the skin."
"Fuck you," Alex spat.
James looked wholly unimpressed by the outburst, which only pissed Alex off more.
"I'll pay for our tickets if that makes you feel better," he offered.
Alex flailed his arms, his chest puffed up, gobsmacked by the suggestion. "It's my fucking money!"
"He's winding you up deliberately, Alex," Thomas informed him. He was pointing a dirty look James' way, silently accusing him of something that Alex wasn't entirely privy to. James didn't seem affected by the scowl, raising his eyebrows in a quiet challenge.
"I know he is," Alex scoffed. He sucked the blood away from his cut, metallic. "And he's good at it."
So much for his attempt to cheer James up, James didn't deserve Alex's efforts.
"This is a different kind of anger, not that I need to explain myself to you," James uttered. Alex glanced up in confusion, but the comment had been solely directed to Thomas and no one else.
There was a pause where the two seemed to have an unsaid conversation with their eyes. Alex scanned both of them, trying to grasp the undercurrent.
"The cut was genuinely an accident," James insisted and Thomas clicked his tongue.
"You should apologise."
"I did. Not that it's any of your concern."
Fletcher put a comforting hand on Alex's arm, deafening out the bickering like normal. "You'll understand soon. Don't get mad at him. He had a reason."
Alex softened, even if he thought James deserved a stronger repercussion. Whether it was deliberate or not, Alex had no idea.
"When Riley gets back," he asserted. Fletcher nodded.
James didn't know what to expect inside an amphitheatre, but despite being a mainly commoner form of entertainment, it was particularly grand.
A semi-circle of ascending stone steps climbed upwards, darkened by material that was stretched overhead in rectangles to give shelter from the sun.
There were a few gaps where the heavy light bulked through in straight lines, unfortunate for anyone who didn't get in early enough to snag a better space.
There were already over a hundred people there, talking to one another. There were too many.
"Hey, let's sit at the back," he suggested, twitching at every loud noise.
The back was a lot quieter than the front and they managed to find some shaded spaces with ease, but it did little to calm James' nerves. He felt naked without Eris, he needed her steady protection.
Eris had been quite silent as of late, but due to the frequency with which he had talked to his travel companions, he hadn't noticed until recently.
Despite his reservations, he'd understood her necessity; he'd gone halfway to crazy without her and the thought of becoming deranged scared him.
But, it seemed he still hadn't fully recovered from the downward spiral he'd climbed up from.
He felt more emotions now than he had done a couple of months prior.
He was scared that this change would be permanent, that he'd ruined himself. So much was different.
Riley had accused him of having feelings for Alex and James sincerely denied that immediately.
He was fond of Alex, yes, he liked him for his own satisfaction, because he selfishly wanted to keep him around.
That's not the same as having feelings for someone, especially a man at that. So, why did Riley think so?
He needed Eris to stop it all.
Fletcher was sitting on one side of him, and Alex on the other.
He looked at Alex's face for a length of time, like he might find the answers on it.
But, nothing. A pang of guilt struck him as he examined the cut on Alex's wrist. It wasn't big, nor was it fatal, but it worried him in a way, and it made him feel uncomfortable.
Yet another sensation he wasn't used to.
He leaned to his side to murmur to Fletcher.
"Do you think Riley was right?"
Fletcher regarded him strangely, side-eyeing him. "About what?"
"Me for Alex..."
Fletcher pursed his lips in thought, understanding.
"Well..." a beat passed, "isn't that something people grow out of?"
"Is it?" James asked, concerned.
"It's not going to be the same as it is for a woman, right? Plus, both of you would have to marry later on anyway. Men never pick other men over women. So, I doubt it's comparable."
James rested his chin on his hand, watching as they prepared the stage. It was supposedly common to take same-sex lovers when men did their mandatory service, simply because there were no women around. Afterwards, they'd always grow out of it and leave that past behind them.
Those who did try to hold onto their old lovers would be branded as immature. Gods forbid they were the obvious woman in the relationship; James had seen those types of men become the targets of violence and rape. That kind of trauma was normally enough to return them onto the path of marriage.
"That sounds about right. But, then, I feel something. I care."
"Isn't that just friendship?"
Oh, maybe. Perhaps this feeling was just a deep friendship.
Even if Alex told him that he felt no desire towards women, surely that couldn't be entirely true? Yes, many people would happily fuck both sexes, but loving someone of the same? That could never be compared to loving the opposite.
"Then, why do you think Riley thought that?"
Riley had been under the impression that such a thing was both possible but also significant.
Fletcher didn't seem to have an answer for that, he thought deeply, his eyes squinting.
"Perhaps he was just mistaken?"
James hesitantly nodded. Perhaps, indeed.
Regardless of whether it was platonic, sexual, or romantic fondness, it was uncomfortable.
Once he ran away and got to spend some more time with Eris, hopefully, this sense of friendship would melt away. Even if they didn't always get along, he didn't like his mind being so consumed by thoughts of the other man. He would slice the thin string that dangled between them once he could.
"Oh! It's starting," Fletcher gasped, pulling out his notebook.
"You're going to take notes?"
Fletcher seemed unaware that this action was weird. "Since it's a good way to get a feel for local public sentiment," he justified. "So, it might be useful to King William."
James supposed that made sense.
The audience fell silent, hushing themselves, and James yawned, his expectations for the play low. If he hadn't felt so twitchy about the density of people and Riley, he would've considered having a nap.
"Don't look too excited," Alex said to him.
"I honestly didn't mean to cut you."
Alex sighed. "It's fine, I'm nearly over it."
James knew there was something severely wrong with him when a grown man like Alex being grouchy seemed cute.
The audience waited with bated breath as the curtains slowly crawled open, a lone man standing in the centre of the stage, dressed solely in red.
James closed his sore eyes, wanting to rest his vision until it was over.
"If there is one thing certain in life, it is death," the man spoke, his loud booming voice reverberating through the amphitheatre, sharp and transparent.
James inwardly rolled his eyes, disappointed that he wouldn't get the precious rest he'd so eagerly welcomed in this racket. The most important part of a story was the first line, and he'd rather pretend to sleep for an hour than watch this clumsy philosophical drivel.
The man unfortunately continued, his voice taking a solemn tone. "As the old sun sets, and the sky burns, in the dark the people will mourn, in wait, until the new sun is crowned."
James' eyes cracked open.
"Hey," he whispered to Fletcher, "isn't that a line from your—"
Music swelled, drums hammering, the audience cheered, stamping their feet, the velarium overhead shook, dust falling. Characters filtered onto the stage, their steps quick and rumbling against the wood.
The narrator spread out his arms. "This is the tragedy of the world's greatest swordsman!"
James felt the blood drain from his face as the music quietened, and two young boys got into their places, donning long blonde wigs.
"Even from birth, it had been obvious that Adeia had blessed Kheria with a mighty leader," the narrator continued. "It's said he'd never lost a single fight."
The two boys clacked their wooden swords together, the younger one getting thrown back onto the ground. A different man on stage applauded this, lifting the victor into the air.
"That was amazing, my boy!"
The winner beamed. "Thank you, dad!"
"I can never beat you," the younger one laughed, picking himself up and brushing imaginary dust off of his knees.
James turned his head to Alex, cold.
"I don't want to watch this," he breathed, his voice trembling.
His hand clenched, instinctively reaching out for Eris' unsympathetic comfort.
Alex's brows were heavy in concern, hesitant.
"It might be good for you," Fletcher suggested.
Even if James wanted to leave, he felt rooted to the step he sat on, his body heavier than steel, welded in place.
"But, it wasn't to last," the narrator lamented as the cast cleared away, "for Moira became enraged that the young prince had been divinely blessed."
An older-looking Fabian ran onto the stage, grinning, he inspected an older Julian and their father, scrutinising their faces.
"Wow, brother, father, what happened to your eyes?"
The two actors said nothing, standing, staring. Fabian took a step back, flinching.
"Father..." the boy tried, "brother... No! Who are you?"
"A blight had struck humanity," the narrator said, "sent by Moira, demons began to possess our precious people."
Alex nudged him. "Hey, are you okay? We can leave."
James couldn't tear his eyes away, it was like he watching the stage through another stage in his head, detached and unmoving.
Then, the scene changed again. James watched as his younger version opened a fake door to some men. The adults' bodies and faces were wiped in an oily brown paint, greasy orange patches catching the light, their skin looking dirty and inhuman. They spoke in heavy Ashadi accents.
They looked grotesque.
"This is disgusting," James said. "This is..."
It seemed like the stage was getting further and further away, blurring around the edges.
"Our prince saw demons in the palace that night, he was but a child, unable to stop the spiteful creatures from destroying everything they saw... every person they saw."
The scene changed once again into carnage, red paint being splattered around like blood as men in brown paint and men with red eyeshadow slaughtered every servant in their path.
James was able to stand up, then. He held his mouth and clambered for the exit.
Each step was uncalibrated, wrong, even as he forced himself through the back door, the image couldn't leave his eyes, reality blurred. He could hear it, it echoed through the roar of blood in his ears, the people choking on their last breath of life.
"Oh, fuck."
He forced his hands against a wall, flat, his back hunched, the floor tilting and swaying and bucking underneath him, like a ship on hard waters, nauseating him. His chest was crushing under its own weight.
He couldn't breathe.
"James?"
The voice sounded distant and unreal. A body came and stood beside him, not touching.
He clasped onto Alex's arm, holding on tight, giving the man his swaying weight.
"Alex," he choked, "fuck, I think I'm dying."
It was like someone had doused cold water over his head, his brain tight and high-pitched. Was this what happens when someone dies? It was terrifying.
Alex grasped his elbows, his grip warm and firm, and tried to pull James' body to the ground, sinking with him.
"Come on, you need to sit down."
He didn't deliberately fall, his knees gave out and he toppled to the floor and into Alex, who caught him. His body had lost all strength, despite how tense it was, like a wooden rag doll.
"I don't want to die like this."
It was too painful, too cruel.
"Thomas, go get Eris," Alex said, his voice quiet. James concentrated on the way it rumbled in Alex's chest. "It's at the lodge."
The music from the amphitheatre bloated up again, and it was like chaos ringing in his ears, trembling through the ground. It muddled him up inside.
Alex's hands left his arms and came up on either cheek, warm, grounding, showing him which way was up. James' eyes fell shut, his body still tilting inside, rotating.
"James," Alex murmured. "Open your eyes."
James did, looking at Alex's spinning and unfocused face. Alex gently urged James' head to lean against the wall, cold, and then he wrapped James' fingers around his thumb.
"I want you to count my fingers, okay? Out loud."
It seemed stupid. James' heart was striking so quickly that his pulse was all he could feel through his skin. But, as calm as Alex appeared to be, he was blinking too often, worried.
James didn't want to worry him.
So, he did. He held onto each one of Alex's fingers, counting as he went, as difficult as it was to force the words out. James' mind became a bit clearer.
Alex nodded. "Now, I'm going to name an object, and you're going to tell me what colour it is."
James' eyes pricked.
"The sky?"
James barked out a wet and pathetic laugh, sniffing. Something else warm dripped down his cheeks, he tried to bring his trembling hands up to his face, but Alex wouldn't let them go. James didn't have the strength to fight.
"Sometimes, I have no fucking idea," he replied.
Alex narrowed his eyes.
So, James played along. "Blue."
"Leaves?"
"Green."
Alex continued to list out random items, at some points asking James what they felt like to touch, or what noises they made.
As it went on, James' heart became steadier, his head coming down back into the present.
But, he was still fluttering horrifically inside, like birds were trapped in his ribcage, their wings beating him from within.
Even so, the ground was no longer bucking against him.
Somehow, he was alive.
He wasn't sure how he felt about that.
He steadily became aware that he was on the ground in an alley, slumped half against the wall, and half against Alex. He felt ashamed, weak. He tried to stand up, but Alex wouldn't let him.
"Oh, no, you don't."
The wall was cold and hard so, since James wasn't allowed to stand, he instead leaned his head against Alex's shoulder. He breathed in and out, deeply, slowly, like how Alex was showing him.
He pretended not to see the others, even after Thomas had returned, and ignored the fact that Alex was conversing with them. He shut his eyes again. He didn't care about any of it.
Only Alex's steady metronomic heartbeat was worth listening to.
"James," Alex lightly nudged him.
"Shut up," he complained.
Alex wordlessly untangled their hands and put Eris in them instead. Eris wasn't as warm as the other man. But, he held Eris close to his chest, gripping her with loose strength, willing her to help him. Thankfully, Alex didn't leave like James thought he would, he stayed.
His head ached so much.
"You two go wait near the palace for Riley," Alex murmured, "the sun is going to set soon."
"What about James?" Fletcher inquired. "Is he okay?"
"We'll come meet you guys in a moment," Alex said instead.
James listened as the other two shuffled away, their shoes scraping against dust. Exhaustion had soaked into his body, bone-deep. But, he was now calm.
"How did you know what to do?" he asked, his eyes flitting open.
Alex breathed in deeply and let it out slowly, contemplating his answer. "Well, I've had my fair share. And, the duchess showed me how to manage."
James gazed up at his face, seeing the vulnerability underneath his stern features.
He felt better knowing Alex had gotten like this before too.
Even if his chest ached from before, it still reacted to the sight.
Was that a thing that happens when you're friends?
Do you become enamoured by their likeness?
His mentor's face had never stirred up such sensations before.
Even if Fletcher said otherwise, he still considered Riley's words, slowly chewing them. Had Riley really been mistaken?
In his eyes, Alex looked so mesmerising, his gaze was always being dragged back to him, lingering, transfixed. Alex's skin couldn't be compared to that awful greasy paint he'd seen on the actors.
"They're awful," he croaked.
"Hm?"
"Those people," James said, anger hardening him.
The abhorrent and false retelling of his childhood— his older brother portrayed as an innocent victim— all of it was vile.
If there were demons in this world, his brother would've been one, not him.
Combined with the decision to bring slaves into the situation, like they were somehow to blame for any of it, even though none of them did anything, was unfair and blatantly false.
James had always thought that cleaning up the streets would fulfil his end of the prince contract, that he would make a substantial difference. But, it was hardly a drop in the ocean.
This place was so much more disgusting than he ever would have thought.
"None of them know what actually happened," Alex told him, "they don't know better."
That wasn't the only thing James had been talking about. "Is it really that normal for you? That it's not even worth keeping it on your mind?"
Alex blinked. "The paint?"
"Yes, the paint."
"Well... what could I do about it, even if I did get mad? Nothing will change."
A crinkle of paper snagged James' ear, and he looked down, seeing a few pages that he'd stolen underneath him, crumpled. Alex must've seen them, but he hadn't brought it up, nor scolded him, even though he must've known what they were.
That's because, unlike him, Alex was a kind man at heart.
That golden view he'd had of the kingdom as a child, as contradictory as it was, had started to crumble. Those two realities could no longer coexist in his head.
"I'll kill him," James promised, not entirely sure who he, himself, was talking about.
"Okay," Alex placated him softly, "if that's what you want."