LXXIV
James got distracted.
Alex stopped, Fletcher limp in his arms. "James?"
On the other side of the courtyard, Harrison and Duke Straton lingered by the armoured carriage encasing the prisoners. Arrows stuck out like jagged traps, the wood splintering where its weak points had been hit. Harrison had the key in his hand, huddled in discussion with the duke.
"You go on ahead," he told Alex. "You'll find me here."
"Don't hurt anyone."
James smirked.
Splitting off, James approached the carriage, his silent steps serving nothing to the already edgy men. They spotted him almost immediately.
"You're not going to reveal our other prisoner so openly, are you?"
Harrison chuckled. "Of course not. She's a problem, though. She screams her identity to any person who touches these doors."
That woman was too tenacious for her own good.
"My men already know," Duke Straton admitted.
"I heard you're the one who started this mess," Harrison said to James. "You've put us in a difficult situation. You shouldn't have let her identify you."
"Isn't that why you let me walk around, though? I thought you and King William wanted people to recognise me."
A silent beat passed and Harrison smiled. "You figured that out, huh? Why do you think we did so?"
James hadn't realised it at first since he'd been so swept up in his delusion of fleeing and forgiveness that it never occurred to him to work out King William's intentions. They hadn't mattered before. He'd always planned to run away regardless.
Now, though, after being forcibly woken up with a slap in the face by Alex, James could see the strings King William had laid out. Every twist, every tangle, every intersection, James knew what would happen if the king tugged on each one.
"Well, you thought I was going to run."
It was bitter. James had read the situation wrong. He'd been so predictable that King William had been a step ahead of him the entire time. He'd believed he'd played them like idiots but the joke had ultimately been on him.
James was too arrogant.
"You probably realised it right away, hm?"
"Naturally."
If James had realised this a little sooner, he could've better prepared for this situation. King William and Harrison were out to control him, sewing the necessary seeds to do so. James, on the other hand, had wasted his time by being idle.
However, knowing what they wanted from him gave him some potential advantages.
"That was reckless of His Majesty," James commented. "What would he have done if the wrong person saw me and told King Fabian?"
"It had been my idea, actually. King William brought up the exact same concerns as you. But, in a way, that would've been fine, too. It would've been interesting."
James looked him over. "I can't tell if you're clever or crazy."
Although James knew nothing about Harrison's background, despite the man's high position and long service, he knew Harrison had succeeded by merit alone. Harrison's brain was a frightening one.
"I'll transport the prisoners," the duke said, clearing his throat. He held his hand out for the key.
"Better leave Fabian's wife in there," James suggested. "I don't trust any of these men not to help her."
The duke stepped up on the ledge and began unlocking the doors. "Is it really necessary to kill her?"
"Yes."
"You treat death so lightly."
"If I treated death lightly why would I be trying to prevent a war?"
"I could think of a reason," Harrison supplied.
James gave him a sideways glance.
As soon as the doors swung open, Marigold began screaming, demanding help. The duke grabbed the two widows quickly, passing them to Harrison. Harrison was lucky they didn't try to struggle, he was weaker than a twig.
Duke Straton quickly slammed the door closed, muffling the screeches, and collected the two widows again. The carriage shook with each thud of Marigold throwing her body at the door.
"I'm taking my leave."
Harrison waved the duke off.
"I want Alex," James stated.
Although the demand was sudden, Harrison didn't seem surprised. He nodded to himself, providing a bland response. "Lord Alexander is his own man who can make his own decisions."
It was a delicate bridge that James was standing on, assembled with nothing but eggshell.
Alex was a slave. It was unclear whether Harrison knew this or not, and James couldn't reveal it if he didn't. The risk was far too great; for a slave to parade as a noble, holding confidential information, giving out orders— it was fatally outrageous.
"He's stubborn so he will need some convincing," James explained, twisting the truth. "I am keeping my promise so I want you to promise me you'll support my attempts absolutely."
Harrison raised an eyebrow. "How do you expect my support could make any difference?"
"It would," James insisted. "Alex is principled. I'd have a use for you."
Harrison considered it. If he believed James' explanation, it wouldn't be too big of a hassle for him. However, Harrison was sharper than that. It was possible he'd become suspicious of why James needed his help with such an easy task.
"Why do you want Alex?"
"Your crown doesn't value him enough. I need a good foundation once I'm made king to ensure maximum stability." James hesitated, before adding: "It'll give you more control over me, also. It's a good deal."
"Is it?"
James blinked. "Is it not?"
Harrison's gaze became distant as he retreated into his thoughts. It was subtle but his eyes sharpened, narrowing, becoming critical. He had that careful mask back, the one that made James believe he was smiling on the inside, and this grin was a big one, indeed.
"I think I could come up with something," Harrison hummed. "I'd feel bad that King William would have an unfairly large return. How about we negotiate your repayment after I fulfil my end of the deal?"
Such an agreement would normally leave Harrison vulnerable to being scammed. The suggestion momentarily stunned him.
He voiced this. "How do you know I'll keep my end of the bargain?"
"I just have a feeling you will."
Was it cockiness? No, Harrison wasn't so uncareful. He had assurance, somehow. Did he know the truth about Alex's background? Or, was he trying to trip James up by pretending to know more than he did? Why else would he sprinkle hints?
There were too many unknowns.
Once Harrison discovered the favour James asked for was difficult, he could request excessive compensation in return. But, to ensure possession of Alex, what choice did James have?
"We have a deal."
He gripped Harrison's hand and crushed it slightly.
This agreement would prove to be a reckless one, James was sure. But, if it meant Alex was safe and by his side, it would be worth it. He just needed to pressure Harrison to keep his word.
"Now, if you'll excuse me, I must report to His Majesty."
"And Marigold?" James asked.
"We'll keep her in there. I'll think something up later."
Harrison took the key with him. Left alone, James sighed deeply and took a seat on the carriage ledge, yanking out one of the embedded arrows.
The arrowhead was long with a barbed diamond tip and small ribbed hooks trailing down the neck.
Identification was impossible but it was a nasty creation designed to do as much damage as possible once hit.
Such a thing had stuck Fletcher's face.
Bastards.
"Hello? Let me out!"
Another bang, the impact rippled through James, creaking through the coach.
He stood, hefting himself up and sliding across the observation window cover. Marigold's long fingers immediately wrangled around the bars like claws, clinging to the little light available to her after hours encased in her black prison.
"Who's there?"
"Me," James replied.
Finally, she was silent.
Only half of her face was visible through the small slit. The small amount of sunlight that was almost in reach, James' head had blocked. She was still stuck in the dark.
"Juli," she whispered.
James viewed her dispassionately. "I said I wouldn't kill you until you have your child, but I can do so much worse if you tempt me."
"Why do you say such mean things?"
James shifted his weight, leaning forward, and a golden beam of light caught her, her eyelashes and hair glowing a coppery hue and her eyes melting into honey. She was pretty; sickly sweet.
"Quit kicking up a fuss or I'll force you myself."
"Would you remain quiet in my situation?" she hissed. "I haven't done anything wrong!"
It quickly became apparent, once again, that arguing with her achieved nothing.
"Keep telling people you're Queen Marigold, then. No one would believe it anyway."
It wasn't unusual for prisoners to claim to be nobles to confuse soldiers. James, himself, had tried the tactic before. It never worked.
"They will," she insisted. "Eventually, someone will."
"Okay." James went to close the panel but Marigold urgently pushed her fingers through the gaps in the bars, blocking it.
"You can't do it, Julian! He's your only brother, you're going to regret it!"
"That didn't stop him."
"He was scared!"
James slammed it shut, his chest heaving in a sudden emotional swell.
It had come suddenly, seizing him violently, descending upon him heavily to the point of breathlessness.
Fabian had been scared, she'd said. After everything, after every choice, that was what it all came back to. Fabian had been scared.
He shut his eyes, his head hung.
And James hadn't?
Day after day, James had curled up on a street corner waiting to die whilst clinging onto Eris so hard the bones in his fingers ached, terrified of losing her, too.
The cold had bit him, hunger eating him from the inside, relentlessly, even as he wasted away into nothing.
Nothing had shown him mercy, not the environment, not his body, not the people— nothing.
Fabian had always had everyone; their sympathy, their warmth. James had been alone.
He felt choked. Here, he stood, forcibly dragged out from his dream and chucked onto the altar, still bleeding and aching, screaming out on the inside.
His entire life, every stumble over jagged rocks, every scratch from thorns, every sacrifice he'd made along the way, it came to mean nothing.
Not his mentor, not Eris, not himself, what mattered, and had always mattered, regardless of his wishes, was Fabian.
It was always Fabian.
"Fuck."
He took a deep breath, filling his lungs beyond their limits, holding onto the burn of air.
If his life was always going to have been like this, no matter how hard he struggled, then he wished he'd never taken that first breath, cried that first cry, found that comfort in his mother's gentle arms. His existence was too wretched to have been fair and he'd wished he'd never been so cruelly gifted it.
He wished he'd never been born.
"We should've died on that street corner," he murmured to Eris. "If only he hadn't found us... Well, that's probably what would've happened... Something like that."
Eris' ripples were bruising, messy and incomprehensible in thought.
It hurt.
What was there left to live for? Had there ever been a reason or had he always bided his time, patiently waiting for a quiet end?
"She won't bring you any comfort, James. You oughtn't bother listening."
James turned his head, his eyes squinting at the light.
Alex stood behind him, on the ground, with his perpetual lowered brow, rigid shoulders and straight mouth.
Those eyes— those black endless eyes that James couldn't see the end of— he wanted to fall into them and disappear into the peaceful solitude.
James had lost everything and possessed nothing, except for Eris and Alex. He still had those two.
He still had Alex.
It came suddenly, the inner assault, the sensation that was akin to bloodlust.
Alex hesitated. "Are you... are you okay?"
James nearly crumpled, muddled with the desire to fall and the desire to crush Alex in his arms until the other man broke entirely. Alex. Alex...
"I'm sorry, Alex," James said. "I think I've lied to you."
Cocking his head, Alex looked amused. "What's changed?"
James' whole being shook with the desire to encompass Alex so completely. That small quirk of the lips, the dancing gaze, he wanted it. It was dangerously visceral. He didn't know what he would do if he let go of his thinly stretched control.
"My sincerity," James confessed, his voice coming out remarkably normal. "I changed my mind about something. I'm sorry."
Alex blinked in confusion, and it was such an overwrought gut-twisting sight, one that made James burn with affection. James wanted it.
"I'm sorry," he repeated, meaning it.
He would possess Alex or he would die.