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"We shouldn't have let them go," Harry said and paced around the room once more in his night garments. "We shouldn't have let this slide."
Michele looked up from his notes for a moment, but said nothing. It was dreadful to write in wax in the grim northern climate but he had gotten used to it. He had a lot to record for this day and was sure that some details had evaded him still.
Charlie was the king's best friend ever since the fae dropped him in a failed attempt to exchange him for the crown prince himself. Though, during the last days a change had gone through the changeling; Charlie had become more and more like the shrewd fae, who kept to themselves and dealt dire consequences to those who wronged them. His own supernatural strength had grown and his control over it had vanished.
Charlie's transformation had coincided with the arrival of a delegation from the English court. They had been led by Sir Robert, one of the knights who was held in the highest regards by King Arthur of England. Strange things had begun to occur all over the English kingdom and the delegation had come in peace, to seek out both news and advice from the Irish court.
Today, all had been revealed to be a lie. A potion, concocted by King Arthur's magician Tahir, had been the cause of Charlie's condition. Robert had doused Charlie with it, who had thought little more of it than a trivial expression of their longstanding antipathy towards each other.
Far from trivial, since the outcome could have been grim. The English knights had made many remarks about the dangers of fae folk at a human court and even frightened a great number of people with their talk. None of the King’s and Queen’s closest men had been impressed by it, most certainly not the giant Paddy, who had already served their late father and mother loyally, but the common folk had whispered wishes to exile Charlie from court. When Charlie had gone into a rampage at court, Robert had thrown himself into the fray, under the pretense that he was too far gone to reason with and to slay him would be an act of defense.
Only he hadn’t reckoned with the King himself. Harry had engaged his childhood friend in battle and endured many serious wounds, while his own blows were harsh but not fatal. All throughout, he had appealed to Charlie and spoken to him as if he was a young knight in need of good-natured discipline.
The tone had switched at one point to the one of a playful battle between two young warriors in training. Harry had jested where the strength and cunning had been all throughout their youth. On the floor, battered and bruised, he had cheerily exclaimed: “You’ve beaten me! What a feat you accomplished! Hear, Gwendolyn, are you not proud of your son that he defeated his brother on the throne?”
Whether it was Harry’s remark or the voice of the aged lady who had raised him as her own, the spell had been broken and Charlie’s rage had subsided. Though there was one last attempt by the English knights to point to the damage and say that the changeling clearly could not be trusted, it was their words which were met with suspicion. In the ensuing turmoil, they had slipped away.
“What do you think?”
Michele emerged from his thoughts and blinked at Harry. “Huh?”
“I asked you what you think I should do now. We cannot let this slide, but should we lay this at Arthur’s feet directly or only at the one of his knights?”
Michele considered taking another look at his notes, as he had also recorded the brief council held earlier, but deemed it unnecessary.
“If you ask me for an opinion, it is to leave it to your men and women tomorrow,” he said. “Today, not everyone could gather, and you discussed in a rush, with much confusion about what happened still. I am humbled to be asked for my opinion, but I am a mere outside observer. I dare not make a call about your foreign politics.”
Harry looked at him for a few moments. “Hm. I see your point.” Michele returned to his readings and Harry returned to bed. “You are also consort to the King though, and I’d expect mine to speak their mind on such matters.”
Michele’s heart slowed down as he froze, the end of his stylus against his lip. An elated smile spread on his face and his cheeks turned red when his heart pumped faster the next moment. “I am the king’s consort?”
“I share my bed with you each night, do I not?” Harry asked and put his arms around his waist.
“That much is true,” Michele said as he stared lost into space. He didn’t react when Harry kissed his neck.
“What did you think you were?” Harry asked and pulled back. Michele finally turned his head to look at him.
“I … I just didn’t know that you had designated such an important role to me, I merely thought I was in your good graces in many ways.”
“You think I treat anyone I like like my lover?” Harry grinned.
“No, no, I just … consort to the king … I never held office at home and neither had I ever been married, so to have to fill this role when I thought myself a mere historian all this time…” Michele fumbled with his tablets and stylus, which he dropped in the process.
“Calm yourself.” Harry picked up the stylus. “You have to change nothing about your behaviour or tasks. I don’t ask of you what is expected of a queen consort. I do ask that you speak your mind as part of this court. I don’t think anyone who once helped rescue the Queen and King should think of himself as a ‘mere observer’.” He took Michele’s hand and put the stylus in his palm. Hand between hands, he lingered as he looked him in the eye. “And especially not a man who’s done a lot more than ‘observe me’. You don’t write down things about our nights in your little books, do you?”
“No, no,” Michele lied about the taking no notes about the king’s sex life. Most of them never made it onto scrolls anyways and were for personal use the day after only.
Harry released his hand and he put his stylus into his notebook. He collected all of them and got up to put them away in his personal chest, where his scrolls were stored as well. With quick steps, he went back into bed and Harry’s waiting arms.
He did not deny him the first kiss, but after it asked: “So … I may do the same things I did before, but I should speak my mind from now on?”
“Aye, that’s what I ask of you. On all matters.” Harry stroked his side.
“I see. May I do it right now?”
“Of course.”
Michele leant in to whisper into Harry’s ear, who laughed afterwards.
“I never thought you coy in such matters!” Harry said.
“I never was!” Michele replied. “But I will from now on speak to matters of politics just as bold, if you wish so.”
“I do.”
Michele fluttered his eyelashes with an expectant smile. “So what do you think of my suggestion?”
“Oh, I agree wholeheartedly.” Harry seized Michele, who giggled with delight, to sit him upon his lap and kiss him deeply.