*King Alexander*
The golden tray rattled faintly as Alexander stirred his tea, the silver spoon clinking against fine porcelain like a tiny, hollow bell. It was just a mindless gesture to give his hands something to do while the weight of unspoken words hung between them all. A breeze rustled through the greening hedges of the maze nearby, carrying the fragile scent of new growth and damp earth, brushing against his shoulders despite the thick wool of his tailored coat. The fabric suddenly felt too heavy, too constraining, like armor he couldn't remove.
Spring had barely begun to wake, the air still holding its knife-edge chill that nipped at exposed skin, but Belinda stubbornly insisted the sun was warm enough for a lawn tea. So here they sat—beneath a white canopy that snapped gently in the breeze, surrounded by crisp linens so bright they hurt his eyes, porcelain cups painted with delicate blue flowers, and laughter that skimmed across the surface of things without ever penetrating the cold depths beneath. Laughter that did not reach him, nor ease the tightness constricting his chest.
Once again, Alexander flicked his eyes toward the servants, his gaze burning like a brand as it landed on the one in question. Julia. The oldest maid stood apart from the rest, her apron pristinely ironed to a knife-sharp point, black eyes facing forward with an intensity that seemed to miss nothing, hands folded neatly at her waist, knuckles white with tension. She was poised and watchful, her chin slightly raised like a soldier at inspection, the tendons in her neck visible beneath aging skin.
Unlike the others, Julia wasn't giggling or sharing idle chatter, her face a perfect mask of servitude. She wasn't lost in the warm, honeyed hum of the afternoon that wrapped around everyone else. She was alert, a predator among sheep. Her eyes only betrayed her true attention when they darted to Belinda—quick, furtive glances that Alexander might have missed if he weren't watching so intently. A constant, thrumming vigilance seemed to be ingrained in the woman's very bones, taking note of her lady's every breath. Looking for any sign of discomfort, any flicker of distress, anything to spark her into action and rush to her aid like a loyal hound to its master.
Julia was loyal. That was no question in Alexander's eyes. Fiercely so. The kind of loyalty that burned like banked coals, never flickering, never wavering.
Too loyal.
If Johan's suspicions are correct... Alexander sank slightly into his chair, the wood creaking beneath him as he shifted his weight. His fingers traced the edge of his saucer, feeling the delicate ridges of painted gold that rimmed the edge. The tea was starting to sit like ash in his mouth, bitter and choking, as he tried to hide his growing unease behind a carefully constructed mask of serenity. His stomach churned with acid. Belinda had chosen well with her.
That only made things harder. The knowledge sat like a stone in his gut.
Someone like Julia wouldn't part with anything willingly—not a whisper, not a page, not a secret. Her lips would remain sealed even if they cracked and bled from the effort. That limited their options: to catch her in the act, to find evidence in possession, or to break her under pressure.
Alexander wasn't the man for torture. It went against his very nature, made his skin crawl, and his insides twist with revulsion. He also did not like resorting to such methods to extort information. The very thought of it made bile rise in his throat, acidic and burning. But it didn't mean the option was completely off the table either. Not anymore. Not if this was intentional. They were interfering with Anastasia's safety now.
That was a line that the king was not to have crossed for anyone. Even if it meant foregoing what he disliked doing most, the thought of what he might have to order done made his blood run cold in his veins. But still, it was just one option.
One of many. Another was well underway. Johan was at work.
While Alexander kept up appearances beneath embroidered canopies and polite smiles that made his face ache, Johan and his men were combing through Julia's room. Quietly. Thoroughly. If Johan thought the letters were there, he would find them. Whatever hideaway, what loose floorboard, what secret compartment sewn into the lining of an old dress—the man would sniff it out. Johan was like a bloodhound, unrelenting and unstoppable when it came to following his suspicions, his nose for secrets sharper than any blade.
All Alexander needed to do was wait. Watch. Hope. The waiting was almost unbearable, each second stretching like pulled taffy.
But if Johan does find something... Alexander drew a slow breath, feeling his lungs expand painfully against his ribs. No. Not now. It was too grim a thought for such a day, too heavy to bear beneath this perfect blue sky.
The sky above was startlingly blue, an endless ocean that made his eyes sting to look at. Sunlight gilded the lawn in sheets of molten gold, casting soft glows over the white tablecloths that rippled in the breeze. The maze shimmered with the pale green of budding leaves, a soft murmur of wind curling through its hedges, carrying whispers he couldn't quite hear. Spring had come to Dawny at last, painting the world in colors so bright they seemed almost artificial after the long, gray winter.
So, of course, Belinda had seized the opportunity.
The tables were arranged before dawn, servants moving like silent ghosts through the mist-covered gardens. The cakes were sliced just so, every crumb in its perfect place. Everything was perfect, as expected, and the scene was arranged like a painting. Even with their own reservations toward each other, the woman still rose to the occasion when it came to hosting. It was second nature to her, like breathing.
Or first. Alexander watched his wife effortlessly beam like a woman at court once more, her smile dazzling enough to blind. Entertaining made her glow with an inner fire that had once drawn him to her like a moth to flame. Especially now, with the only guest being her newest favorite. The woman was almost as enthusiastic for her daughter as she would be if the Bratha were here herself.
Her act was as flawless as her red lips, painted the color of fresh blood, her teeth pearl-white behind them. She was almost making Alexander believe the past months had been a bad dream. That things weren't tragically dead between them, withered like flowers left too long without water. Almost.
But Alexander could see a performer at her craft. Belinda was devastatingly skilled; each gesture, each laugh, and each tilt of her head was calculated to have maximum effect. And she had a show for all of them. For Nicoli. For Hidi. For him. Each one had a different performance, tailored to invoke the emotion she wanted from them. The perfect Mother. The perfect Queen. Or…the silent enemy.
"Darling, you haven't touched your cake," Belinda cooed, the lilt of her voice light and melodic, honeyed poison dripping from each syllable. "I thought you liked lemon. I had it especially made for you." Her glossed nail tapped his plate with a soft clink that seemed to reverberate through his skull.
Alexander couldn't help but lift a brow as he peered at the perfect slice on his plate. Yellow sponge soft as clouds. Glossy icing catching the light like it was wet. Untouched. His mouth slightly watering at the idea, the sweet-tart scent of lemon teasing his nostrils.
Is this a peace offering? Alexander could feel the tiniest sliver of hope unfurling in his chest, fragile as a butterfly's wing. He didn't want this animosity between them to go on, these invisible daggers they thrust at each other when no one was looking. He did wish that things would return to the way they were before, and they–
"You look like you are waiting for something." Belinda's smile grew slightly colder, the warmth never reaching her eyes, which remained chips of ice. "Johan, maybe?" She gave an open glance up to the castle and back before her smile thinned at the edges, sharp as a razor's cut. Her grey eyes were slightly darker, thunderclouds gathering.
Alexander felt his back stiffen just a hair, his spine becoming iron as he could read between the lines. The hope withered and died, leaving ash in its place.
She already knew what Johan was doing. Alexander gripped the cup handle tightly as he met her gaze, feeling the delicate porcelain strain under his fingers, threatening to snap.
"Yes. I am. I had him look up something." He answered with a guarded tone, a smile lightly grazing his lips but not softening the words, not warming the chill between them. He now had to mask because there were others at the table. And one in which, Alexander could feel a steady gaze boring into him.
He quietly cursed under his breath, the taste of it sharp and metallic, but it was too late.
Nicoli must have noticed the shift in mood and the sudden drop in temperature despite the sun's gentle warmth. Alexander saw it in the subtle tightening of his son's shoulders, in the way he stopped reaching for his teacup and folded his hands instead, fingers intertwining like a shield. He wasn't fidgeting now. He was watching—reading the silence like scripture, catching every sharp glance and polite deflection exchanged across the table like arrows in flight.
Then, with a lightness that didn't quite fool Alexander, Nicoli gave a smile. One Alexander had never taught him, but recognized all the same. Polished. Pleasant. Princely. A mask that shouldn't fit on a face so young, yet it settled there perfectly as it was being used frequently now. Much to Alexander's pain.
"I think I'll walk the maze with Hidi," he said, brushing an invisible crumb from his sleeve with fingers that betrayed the smallest tremor.
Hidi, mid-chew of snacking on another slice of cake, froze like a startled deer. She threw back her cup before swallowing with an audible gulp that made Alexander wince. Her peridot eyes grew wide as she blinked rapidly. "What? Now?" Crumbs clung to the corner of her mouth, a child's innocence Nicoli seemed to have shed like an outgrown coat.
Nicoli nodded, already beginning to rise, the scrape of his chair against the stone patio grating in Alexander's ears. "It's the perfect time." His voice had deepened recently, Alexander realized with a jolt, no longer a boy's soprano but edging toward the richer tones of adolescence.
Alexander could feel his stomach tighten at the sight, a physical pain that radiated outward. A sudden rush overwhelmed him in an almost desperate attempt not to want this moment to end. Not just yet.
Alexander gestured to the plate near his hand, stacked with the oatmeal cookies he'd asked the kitchen to make that morning. The scent of cinnamon and nutmeg wafted up, warm and comforting, a smell from happier days. Cookies Nicoli had once devoured without shame, crumbs speckling his chin as he laughed. Before. But now he was just going to leave them? Alexander's stomach only clenched harder, a fist squeezing his insides.
"At least finish those," he offered, pressing up a warmer smile that used to be so easy to do just last summer, a time that feels like ages ago now. When laughter filled these gardens, it was in place of stilted conversation. "I can't eat all of them by myself, you know." Alexander made to wink in jest as if it were any time before.
But where the boy would have used to burst into a laugh then, now Alexander could feel the weighted silence pressing against his eardrums. Where there would have been boyish delight, his son hesitated. His gaze quickly averted from him to the plate. It remained there as his expression slightly shifted, his lips twitching ever so slightly as if there was a part that might have wanted to sit down. To join him for a bit longer. To be a child again, if only for a moment.
The hesitation was so close Alexander could almost touch it.
But something shifted once again, like a door being closed against winter's chill, and the smile was back up. When his eyes lifted again, that small opening, that place Alexander had thought would always shine with warmth for him, was stolen from his eyes. Replaced with something that was harder, distant, a wall built brick by brick like it had to keep him out.
"I think I'm getting a little too old for sweets now, Father." There was no bitterness in it. No sting. But the words still landed harder than they should have, each syllable a physical blow that left Alexander breathless.
Alexander felt it in his chest—something small and familiar cracking further under the weight, splintering like glass. It wasn't just the sentence. It was the very idea of it.
Too old for sweets?
"Of course," Alexander said after a beat, his voice smooth as he had to swallow down his own feelings, tasting copper and regret. At last, he managed a faint nod, tight and almost foreign to him, where he felt his insides burning with a grief he couldn't name. "As you like."
Nicoli smoothed his coat with a gesture that was too practiced for his age, already turning toward Hidi. Too precise. Too grown. Lifting his head, his profile was a spitting image of Alexander, his face growing more mature, shadows beginning to hollow his cheeks where baby fat had once been. Another change that he seemed to have missed overnight.
His smile was still on but measured, as if not having a natural rest. He kept it as he turned and walked off, Hidi skipping after him, casting a last curious glance back at the table. Her golden braid bounced behind her as the only excitable thing before they disappeared between the hedges, swallowed by the green maze that suddenly seemed to be another wall, another layer, to put between them.
The hedges swallowed them soon enough. No laughter followed. Just the restless whisper of wind moving through leaves not yet in bloom, a sound like secrets being passed.
Alexander set his teacup down a little too firmly. It clicked against the porcelain saucer with just enough force to make Belinda glance his way, the sound sharp and final as a judge's gavel. "Since when did that happen?"
Belinda's smile faded like melting frost, slow and deliberate. She turned back to her tea, her posture unchanged, but the performance was over. Her eyes no longer danced for show. They were flat and cold as winter lakes.
"Since what, dear?" Her voice nearly stabbed his ears at the word, the bitter, sharp tone in her voice almost as sharp as her gaze as she stared straight forward. The endearment was a weapon, twisted like a knife.
Alexander didn't answer immediately. He dropped the pretense altogether, hands curling around the rim of the saucer, now still in his lap. The porcelain felt cold against his skin. "When did Nicoli stop liking sweets?" His voice was lower now, not meant for the garden to hear, a private pain he couldn't quite hide. "He's always loved them."
He looked toward the maze again. The path where his son had vanished. "When did that change?" The question was about more than cookies—it was about everything else. Everything that seemed to keep slipping away too quickly.
Belinda tilted her head, her earrings catching the sunlight like a blade's edge, sending pinpricks of light dancing across the table. Her lips curled—not into warmth, but into something like contempt worn in silk, beautiful and deadly.
"Oh, who's to say?" she said with syrupy indifference that barely concealed the acid beneath. "Children grow fast. Too fast, sometimes. You blink, and they're no longer tugging at your sleeve but walking away from your table."
Her gaze met his, slow and level. Grey eyes swirling in shades darker, hidden from the children till now, unleashed like a ravenous dog finally out of its cage. In them, Alexander saw all the nights he hadn't come to bed, all the dinners he'd missed, all the promises broken. Continued to break.
"It's hard to notice the change when you're not watching. Let alone when you're not here." Each word landed like a physical blow, precise and merciless.
Alexander froze, feeling the blood drain from his face. His fingers went numb against the porcelain.
Belinda's smile thinned to nothing, just a pale line in her perfect face. "But I suppose you're fine with that, aren't you, Alexander?"The sound of his name in her mouth was like glass breaking.
His jaw clenched so tight he could hear his teeth grind together, a sound that echoed in his skull.
He didn't answer right away. There was nothing to say that wouldn't wound further. Her words were a direct hit all on their own because they were true. Painfully, undeniably true. And he couldn't fight a single thing about it. The truth sat between them like a third presence at the table, unavoidable and damning.
"I suppose so," he finally murmured, voice tight as iron bands around his chest. The sound of footsteps crunching against the grass broke his thoughts, a needed distraction from the wreckage of what once was. He only broke her gaze to see who he already knew was coming their way. Alexander welcomed the interruption like breath to drowning, a desperate gasp for air.
"Your Majesty," Johan's voice was level as always. He betrayed nothing on his face, a perfect mirror to Alexander's own forced composure. But Alexander knew what he meant with just a look, and he could read the message in the slight furrow between his brows.
The search was over.
Alexander flicked a glance at Julia once more. The woman hadn't even moved an inch, rooted to the spot like one of the garden statues. Her face was the picture of polite detachment even at the approach of Johan. Not a single sliver of worry or apprehension crossed her features. No quickening of breath, no widening of pupils. Her own stoicism could match his wife's coy smiles to a tee. Each was more than capable of hiding secrets beneath layers of performance.
It made his skin crawl, gooseflesh rising despite the woolen coat.
Did she know too? He clenched his fist against the saucer, feeling the ridged edge bite into his palm.
"Johan," Belinda looked past him to Johan, her grey eyes darkening like storm clouds gathering. "Find what you're looking for, I hope?" Her voice was sweet like fruit-soaked wine—deceptively intoxicating and blurring if one wasn't aware of its potency, of how it could poison the mind.
If Johan was at all surprised, he did not show it, his professional demeanor uncrackable as much as Julia's was. Not a flicker of emotion crossed his weathered face.
"Your majesty," He only remarked, eyes shifting back to Alexander in a quiet message that spoke volumes in its silence.
"Very well," Alexander said, rising from his chair, the metal legs scraping against stone with a sound like nails on glass. He could feel her grey eyes watching him carefully, cold and calculating as a winter predator. He could feel Belinda's gaze tracking every motion, weighing every step like a merchant counting coins. "I have piles of work still to do. They have to be done."
"Yes, of course," Belinda said with a slight nod, rising with the grace of a dancer, not a hair out of place."It never ends, does it?" the barest smile of politeness on her face, a mask that no longer even attempted to reach her eyes.
He gave her a nod, feeling the distance between them stretch to miles though they stood mere feet apart. "Thank you for the tea, wife." The word felt foreign on his tongue now, a title rather than an endearment.
She offered a poised, ghost-thin smile. "Good afternoon, Alexander." His name sounded like a farewell in her mouth.
He turned before she could say more, following Johan back toward the castle. The sun had dulled behind clouds that gathered like bruises across the sky, casting shadows that seemed to reach for him with dark fingers.
What had been a warm spring moment now felt cold again, as if winter had returned in the space of a breath.
He didn't look back at the hedge. Or at the table. Or at the plate of untouched cookies that represented everything he was losing, everything he'd already lost.
There wasn't time for regret.
He had to stay the course.
For her.
Alexander glanced sideways at Johan, the man's weathered face revealing nothing but a soldier's patience. The castle loomed before them, gray stone catching no warmth from the fading sun.
"Well?" he asked, voice hoarse but steady, the word carrying the weight of kingdoms. "What did you find?"