Alfred, for the first time in his life, was struck utterly speechless. The door slammed in his face, and he stared at it in shock for a long moment before turning back to his horse.
"Well, Abigene," he said, tiredly. "I think I may have bigger problems than a missing bride and a... what was it? Lay-about brother. Come on, girl, let's go home."
As he rode down the parts of his kingdom he usually avoided, he began to notice things he'd never seen before. The rows of tiny dugout shacks which he used to glaze over in boredom took on a new kind of importance. For the first time in his life, he realized that people actually lived in them. Not that he didn't know that already; it had just never seemed real before. A line of filthy laborers trudged past him and none of them raised their heads. The lack of this gesture was what had once caused him to write these people off as being too rude to bother with. Now it occurred to him that they might be too exhausted to notice him. He felt a concerning sort of wriggle in his gut; a new and unpleasant feeling. It made him angry, and he kicked his steed into a gallop.
He burst out of the slums and into his comfortable extravagance, but he couldn't leave the sights he'd witnessed behind him. They haunted him, nagged at him, jabbed him in the heart as he pulled his steed up in front of the stables.
"Frank!" he bellowed.
Frank scurried out of the stable, wiping his mouth.
"Enjoy your ride, your highness?" Frank asked.
"Has my brother returned?" Alfred asked impatiently, ignoring Frank's question.
"Aye, sire. He escorted your highness's fair maiden into the house but an hour ago."
Alfred stormed into the palace without so much as a thank you to his faithful steward, shouting for Burges as he flung the terrace doors open. Burges was waiting for him, his expression a mask of calm.
"Your highness. Your brother and your betrothed are awaiting you in the dungeon."
"Excellent," Alfred said, darkly.
He strode through the palace, barely noticing as servants scurried out of his way. He bristled with fury, and felt the beast within straining to be free as his hair thickened and his eyes yellowed. He suppressed it just enough to avoid shifting fully, though any onlooker could see that he was a breath away from turning full beast. He smelled fear as he slammed the dungeon door open, and the scent pleased him. Guards pressed into the walls as he passed, trying to be invisible. Fury and amusement battled for dominance as he strode past them and into the wide corridor which housed the two cells.
"What is the meaning of this?" Brennan demanded, haughtily.
Alfred snarled, the beast rising to the surface as long fangs sprouted in his newly-lengthened snout. He struggled to rein the beast in, to maintain control for just a little while longer.
"Explain yourself," he growled, as he regained his composure.
"You first!" Brennan said, his eyes blazing. "How dare you lock me up like a common thief?"
"A thief, yes, but not a common one," Alfred snarled. "You dare steal the queen-to-be from under my nose?"
"I brought her back," Brennan said, crossing his arms over his chest.
"Explain!"
"I don't need to explain anything to you. Your fair lady, however, has plenty of explaining to do."
Alfred shot a glance into the other cell. Oscar sat against the wall, arms draped over his knees as he stared up at the ceiling. His mouth moved soundlessly.
"He's counting," Brennan explained in disgust. "Oh, I'm sorry, I mean she's counting."
Alfred turned his furious glare back to his brother.
"Last chance, little brother," he said, darkly. "Explain yourself."
Chapter 10
The argument between the two princes cut through Oscar's consciousness like knives. Testosterone and fury poured into the dank, dark space beneath the palace, overwhelming Oscar's senses. He ignored them as best he could, counting the stones and beams on the ceiling. As their voices rose, however, he could no longer shut them out. He began to pay attention to what was being said, though he didn't change his posture. He didn't want them to notice him if they hadn't already.
"A common shifter, and a foreigner at that! I knew you were trying to pull something over on us, Alfred, but this is extreme! I cannot allow this to stand. Your people deserve to know the truth, and since you have so obviously proved yourself incapable of putting your people first, I demand satisfaction in the ring!"
"You would take the alphaship by force?"
"Of course I would! These are my people too, and you have done nothing but use and abuse them since the moment you took the throne!"
Alfred turned his back, and Oscar winced. He thought for certain that Alfred would shift and devour Brennan where he stood.
"Perhaps you're right," Alfred said.
"What?" Oscar and Brennan said together.
"I got a look into the other side of life in Nead this evening as I searched for my missing brother and bride. There may be something to your accusation, Brennan. However, it will not win you a chance in the ring."
"On what grounds?"
"On the grounds that you are currently imprisoned for absconding with my future bride," Alfred said, wryly. "Until your punishment is fulfilled, you are stripped of all rights of the royal court, including the right to contend my right to the throne. So, as you can see... I have the upper hand."
"And if I tell your guards what I know? It wouldn't take long for a rumor that juicy to spread."
"Shall I cut out your tongue to ensure your silence?"
Brennan didn't respond.
"I suggest you start talking."
Brennan folded his arms and sat on his cot, glaring silently at Alfred.
"Very well. Olivia, care to tell me what happened today?"
Oscar shot a worried glance at Brennan, who glared a severe warning at him. The glint in Alfred's eye told Oscar that he hadn't missed the exchange.
"We went for a ride," Oscar said, forcing a breezy tone. "He wanted to show me my new kingdom; all the parts that I hadn't yet seen. We gave the horses a break out on Breckenridge and I fell in a puddle, ruining my clothes. We stopped in at a farmhouse and the lady there gave me a change of clothes. I wanted to see the woods so, in spite of Brennan's misgivings, he took me. We got lost. Once we found our way, we returned here."
Brennan grinned smugly, leaving Oscar with a sick, oily feeling in his gut. He looked away from Alfred, praying that he hadn't believed a word of it, hoping against hope that he would focus on breaking Brennan instead of him.
"I see," Alfred said, angrily. "You disregarded my orders to stay inside until the wedding, paraded yourself around the kingdom like a whore for anyone to see, and lost your clothes in the process. You think me a fool? You imagine that you can fool me with that puddle story? You have sullied yourself with his filthy paws, and you dare set foot back in my palace?"
"No... no, wait, that isn't..."
"Shut up, Olivia," Brennan stage-whispered. "If you accept your punishment gracefully, he may spare us both."
"Wait, what?"
"On your feet!" Alfred snapped.
"No... no, Alfred, please..."
"You will address me as your highness, or I will have your tongue!" Alfred shouted.
Tears welled in Oscar's eyes, spilling hotly down his flushed cheeks. How had things gotten so twisted? None of it made any sense. Why was Brennan egging it on? That wasn't the story they had agreed upon. He glanced over at Brennan, who sneered at him.
"You bastard," Oscar choked.
"Careful with your word choice, dear," Brennan said, with an evil grin.
Oscar swallowed a retort, clutching his ribcage in his trembling arms. Alfred turned down the hallway, only to return a moment later with a key.
"Dawn is for horse thieves and traitors," he growled, as he unlocked Oscar's cage. "Cheating whores are executed at midnight."
Oscar sobbed as Alfred clamped shackles around his wrists and ankles. Beneath and behind his sobs, he heard Brennan's low chuckle. F
ury sliced through his anguish and he morphed in a flash, recoiling into his human form as the iron shackles bit into his skin.
"Now, now, dear, take it like a lady," Brennan said, patronizingly. "It goes faster if you don't fight it."
Alfred yanked Oscar by his elbow and led him, shaking and sobbing, through the dark corridors and up a hidden staircase.
Locked in a tower, Oscar thought miserably. How classic.
But he knew there would be no white knight galloping to his rescue. He sent a silent prayer to the universe, a prayer of protection for his aunt, cousin, child; and yes, even his sister. He didn't think his mother would need the help. He was fairly certain that she could survive a human-driven nuclear winter with energy left over to gripe about her hair. He slowly brought his sobs under control as they climbed higher and higher up the windowless spiral staircase. He tried to think up an escape plan, but hopelessness weighed on his brain like a thick, toxic fog; he simply didn't have the energy to cut through it. This is it, then, he thought. This is how the chaos ends, at the end of a rope in the middle of the night. Around the last twist of the staircase, Oscar came up with twenty-seven other ways he would have preferred to die.
Alfred slowed to a stop at the top of the stairs and turned to him. Before he could say anything, Oscar decided to take one last stab at survival.
"I never touched Brennan," he said, quickly. "I can't tell you what we did, but I swear I never touched him."
"This way," Alfred said, coolly.
"Please believe me, Alfred, I wouldn't do that. I wouldn't risk everything like that."
Alfred didn't reply. He simply quickened his pace and dragged Oscar down the long, narrow hallway toward certain doom. He opened his mouth to say something, anything, to convince the prince that he wasn't the threat Alfred imagined he was; but Alfred was done listening.
"Stop talking," he snapped.
Oscar pressed his lips together, biting back every plea, every curse, every terrified sound that pressed against his throat. His mind was screaming as he silently walked with Alfred down the dark and increasingly dusty hallway. Their feet kicked up puffs of dust with every step, and Oscar sneezed. Alfred turned, glaring at him with terrifying intensity, holding a finger to his lips. Oscar winced, and walked as silently and carefully as he could. He imagined the tower must be close; they had been walking for what seemed like hours, though his tiring day and internal turmoil were likely causing him to measure time incorrectly. Still, they had been traveling through the abandoned hallway for ages, and Oscar was beginning to wonder just what Alfred had in store for him. He'd promised execution, but Oscar had never witnessed an execution, nor did he know anyone who had. According to rumor, Alfred's grandfather was bloodthirsty and impatient, and had made a hobby of executing criminals in the ring. He turned public discipline into a sport. Alfred's father had changed all of that. Now, it seemed, Alfred was following in his ancestor's footsteps.
Alfred stopped in front of an ancient, dusty door and put his finger to his lips once more. He pulled the door, and it swung open without a sound, revealing a second spiral staircase leading up and down. Oscar nearly fell apart. He took a deep breath, trying to resign himself to his fate, and took a step upward. A yank on his elbow stopped him short. Confused, he looked at Alfred, who was pointing downward. Oscar cocked his head in silent question, and Alfred pulled him in the opposite direction. Bewildered, he followed Alfred, searching his mind to figure out where they were in the palace.
Exhaustion combined with the late hour and fear clouded Oscar's brain. He couldn't sort out where they were and couldn't determine where they should be. He stopped trying, and decided to simply look around and take in the details. Alfred led him down the stairs to another narrow corridor. This one, in direct contrast to the one above, was clean and well-lit. It could have been any hallway in his aunt's house, and had the same homey feel; a rare feeling in the gaudy, glittering palace. It didn't look like the sort of hallway which would lead to an execution. Alfred quickened his pace, and Oscar tried to keep up. His tired feet dragged as Alfred broke into a silent run, and Alfred tugged at him urgently. He drew on his last bits of energy, running as fast as he could in shackles. Alfred veered sharply to the right, nearly pulling Oscar off his feet, and pushed hard on the blank wall. It swung open, and Alfred darted through, dragging Oscar behind him. Alfred dropped Oscar hard on the floor, spinning on his heel to slam the door shut, closing them into some pitch-black room.
Oscar looked up at him, and was startled by what he saw. Alfred was out of breath and trembling, his eyes bright with adrenaline. A grin spread across Alfred's face, and he collapsed on the floor beside Oscar. He began to laugh.
"Wh–what?" Oscar gasped.
Peals of laughter rendered Alfred incapable of answering, and the longer he laughed, the angrier Oscar became.
"What's going on?" Oscar demanded.
He sniffed the air and felt around with his hands. Mothballs and thick carpet greeted his senses. He slid his hands until they found a wall; no, not a wall, he decided. A drawer face. He found the knobs and edges, and slid his hands up farther. Leather and lace, silk and rubber. Rows over rows of shoes. Above them, fine fabrics rustled beneath his hands.
"A wardrobe?" he asked.
"Door's around here somewhere," Alfred said, lightly. "Look out."
Alfred stepped on his foot as he passed, and Oscar winced. He heard Alfred bumping around in the small space, then was instantly blinded by the light pouring through the opened wardrobe door. Alfred grabbed his elbow and pulled him from the closet, closing it behind him as Oscar's eyes adjusted. Rich tapestries and curtains lined the walls. A massive four-poster bed took center stage, and the walls were lined with shelves, cupboards and desks, similar to Oscar's own room, but cluttered with interesting and expensive-looking things. A full-length mirror directly across from him reflected his shock.
"Your highness," he said, tersely. "Just what the hell is going on?"
Chapter 11
Alfred couldn't help but grin at Oscar's confused fury. It tickled him that his performance had been so convincing that even Oscar had bought it hook, line and sinker. He pulled the shackle key from his pocket and freed Oscar, rubbing the other man's wrists as they fell to the floor.
"Sorry about that," he said, sincerely. "Come, have a seat. Would you like a drink?"
"I think I need one," Oscar said, guardedly. "What's going on?"
"Drinks first," Alfred insisted.
Oscar sat at the little breakfast table, watching him warily. Alfred poured the amber liquid into two glasses, and pushed one over to Oscar as he sat.
"You look a little tense," he commented, teasingly.
"Wouldn't you be? Five minutes ago I was on my way to be hanged for whoring, and now I'm sitting in... is this your bedroom?"
"It is," Alfred said, evenly.
"Your bedroom, drinking booze. Why?"
"Because I'm not an idiot," Alfred said, with a shrug. "Brennan's got something on you, and I want to know what it is."
"How do you figure?" Oscar asked.
"Because I've seen you lie convincingly. And now I've seen you lie when you wanted to get caught. You aren't difficult to read, Oscar."
Oscar drank, then spun the glass back and forth between his hands.
"He threatened my son," he said, finally.
Instant fury crackled through Alfred's spine.
"He did what?" he asked, feeling his voice quiver on the edge of a growl.
"He told me that if I told you where we were, what we did, and what I know, that he'd have my son killed. At least that was the insinuation."
"Considering the fact that he is currently in prison, with no possible means of communicating with whomever he has watching your son, I suggest you tell me everything."
Oscar swallowed loudly, then finished off his glass. Alfred refilled it without hesitation, intentionally lubricating Oscar's tongue. There had been too many secrets darkening the royal halls as of l
ate, and he was determined to highlight each and every one of them.
"Before I came here, I was a sort of midwife. Unlicensed, but fully trained."
"If you were fully trained, why were you unlicensed?"
Oscar shook his head and looked away. "Do you know what the licensing entails?" he asked.
Alfred shrugged carelessly. "I've never had reason to know," he said. "Why don't you enlighten me?"
"The licensing requires that the aspiring midwife sign an agreement. Part of that agreement contains a phrase, almost an oath, that the skills you gain will never be... how did they put it... misused in the unnatural pursuit of male motherhood. I could never sign something like that."
Alfred frowned. That seemed like an odd stipulation for a health license. "Just how crucial is the role of midwife?" he asked, feeling suddenly ignorant.
"Important for female births. Vital for males."
"How often do male mothers die in childbirth if they are unaided?"
"Nearly eighty percent of the time. I was lucky. But then my son was small and early, and he was a single child. Approximately half of all births are doubles or more. For males, that number is even higher. About seventy percent of male births are multiples. That, combined with the naturally narrower hips, virtually guarantees that an unaided male will die in childbirth, and his progeny with him."
"If that's the case, why exclude them?"
Oscar stared at him, dumbfounded.
"What did I say?" Alfred asked, sincerely confused.
"You really don't know?"
Alfred shook his head, and Oscar sighed.
"Do you know why Nead and Garaidh are separate, in spite of the blood ties and proximity?"
"Something about a blood feud or an argument about rightful alphaship or something, wasn't it?"
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