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The Prince of Spades was going to die.
Arthur was going to kill him.
After years of being groomed, poked, prodded, pushed and pawned to be a perfect Queen-to-be, a little throne warmer to sit beside the King and look pretty, the time of waiting was quickly closing. Generations upon generations of etiquette and training were shoved in his poor headspace, trying desperately to mold him into something else, then shaming him when he didn't follow their exact protocols, because frankly, they were ridiculous and unnecessary and beyond outdated things. To become something terrible, something nearly useless, to let it happen would be a joke to his pride, to the tiny sliver of hope he may still have had.
It was a hard fight, perhaps one greater than Arthur, perhaps one he could not win. Spades had doomed itself after the previous handful of failed Kings and Queens and Jacks did nothing but take, take, take from other territories for themselves and run their own to the ground for an extra gold piece in their coffers. Now, the rest of the Kingdoms hated the once glorious Kingdom of Strength, as it also loathed what it had become.
Porcelain cups rattled. The loveseat beneath his rear squawked. A quiet, "Yes, sir," of a maid filled twin teacups with scalding water. Prince Alfred sat beside Arthur, smiling and nodding approvingly at the tray of biscuits and jam she set on the coffee table. Off to the bottom west side of the palace, a parlor for extravagant and loathsome parties was currently a place to rest in the meantime, nestled on top of the mountain's overlook to observe every bit of the sunset. Something romantic. The end of the day. The end of a life.
Arthur was going to kill his Prince.
The maid took her cart and scurried away, leaving them on their own. They were alone besides a single guard across the parlor standing beside double doors. It would take him a few decent seconds to reach them if needed.
Arthur did not even know if he could rule a Kingdom by himself. Then again, if he even managed to get away with murder of the highest degree, it wouldn't just be him doubting it. The entire court, palace, Kingdom could scoff and laugh. Queens are supposed to be elegant and proper! They were to care for the palace as if it were their own brood. A Queen shall seek nothing else but whatever made the King happy. A happy King made a happy Kingdom. Except it didn't. All those happy Kings that came before them gobbled and taxed the Kingdom to pieces, making it one-way lane and letting the other side rot.
Alfred's blue eyes pivoted to Arthur's face, pulling him out of heavy plots. He always looked at Arthur as if he were a better thing than the sunset. "Can you believe it?" One of his warm hands breached Arthur's, taking it and giving a so-gentle squeeze. "Our wedding is only in a few weeks now. It's so close."
The tea. The tea, damn it. Arthur could have slipped in something fatal, quick, and quiet.
"Yes, love. Soon."
Alfred tightened his clutch on Arthur's hand, and it was the most violent thing he had ever done to him. 'Please don't kill me,' his kindness silently pleaded. 'I have so much to live for.'
Arthur swallowed the lump in his throat. It didn't go down. He pulled a tight-lipped smile and nodded, saying nothing, yet received the stars from Alfred's eyes in return. He had to do it. It had to be done. Soon. Eventually. One day. Alfred had to meet his end. He may have not ever struck Arthur (yet), or anybody really for that matter (yet!), as far as everyone was concerned. He hadn't sparked yet another war or plague or revolt in the time he settled within the castle to begin his equally rigorous training. He would rather laugh off grievances instead of raising his voice. He was simply too lovely. However, he would be the King, and Kings rotted into a heap of spoiled power. Therefore, he must die before Arthur could see him become such a thing. Not-so simple as that, wasn't it? Everything screamed at him to do it. Everything else screamed not to, but what could he do? Watch Alfred be twisted and slowly chipped away? If only Arthur could find a way to preserve that lovely and youthful optimism, to keep that lively grin on his face. Would it take all of the life in his own eyes to make it stay? To save himself and to save Alfred, such horrors must be done. Maybe not today, not tomorrow, just another day more in their momentary bliss, but one day indeed.
Alfred shoved two more biscuits in his mouth, catching his fiancé staring, time ticking louder and louder with each jumping secondhand. Their courting, the dates, all the flowers and affections Alfred would shower on him, how could Arthur pay him back? With a knife in his neck? It wasn't what Alfred deserved. Not the one sitting beside him now, broadcasting his chewed bits with a short smile. He welcomed his head to Arthur's shoulder, but quickly perked up against a tense body. "Something wrong?"
"I—no." Arthur stashed the break in his voice to his teacup, "Just a bit of a stomachache is all."
Alfred nodded in sympathy and snagged another biscuit.
"So, that means I can eat the rest of these?"
"Go ahead, dear."
Alfred did.
A shame. He was still a young man, so close and so perfect, as a Prince should be, to be inevitably ruined. Of course, Arthur didn't want to kill him, or kill anybody for that matter. Killing Alfred, not only the highest crime imaginable in the entirety of Spades, would also be utter treason to his heart. Alfred managed to woo Arthur enough to give him some hopes and dreams of a fluttery future, a wedding with nothing but smiles, a lifetime of holding and squeezing each other's hands. How could killing him be worse than their own Kingdom crumbling!
"Hope you'll feel better soon, hun. If it's not too bad, maybe we can take a walk through the gardens before it gets too dark? Walk it off? Maybe?"
Arthur kept his gaze to the cup in his lap. What would those other Kings, their own Kingdom do to Alfred? Encourage power, take what they claim is his, stuff him full of arrogance and let it leech into their own coin purses at the fight and fall of those who they'll say stood in their way. How dare they think they could touch Alfred, taint and corrupt him like that? Strong, lovely, his Alfred could be the one to laugh in all their faces, resist what they want from him, refuse to be their puppet, go his own way, bring the Kingdom up from those who that want to cut others down just to fill the coffers—it was a gamble, a too great of one. Arthur, considering he was so selfish, would steal it from them before they could even get to it. See, he was already twisted. How fitting for a Kingdom crumbling bit by bit every damn day. He'd be a perfect throne warmer, a perfect widower. They already loathed him. He already loathed them. Selfish indeed—Arthur simply did not want to see his beloved rot whilst still walking.
"The circle inside the maze," Alfred continued. "It's where we met. Do you remember?"
Arthur clenched his jaw. Bile touched under his tongue. He slowly set his cup down on their table and drew a shaky inhale. "Love, I can't. I..." He swallowed. How could he even look at Alfred and raise a hand to grey those precious eyes? He had to do it, for if he didn't, it would be worse for the both of them. Arthur had to do it for Alfred's sake, most definitely for Alfred. If he weren't face to face with it, perhaps he could surlily smile at such wicked irony.
Maybe not today, though. He could barely speak, let alone do anything like that, but he would plot and prepare, and it would be done. Maybe Arthur could find a way to do it so he would not have to see Alfred's face whilst doing it. Yes, poisoned teacups didn't seem so bad. A pillow to catch breath in the middle of the night. Even a lethal biscuit. Something. Anything. Nothing slow.
"I need to go."
Of course, his fiancé leaped off the loveseat as Arthur pushed to his feet. "Whoa, hey, Arthur, are you okay?"
"No. No, I am," Arthur quickly said, but Alfred took hold of his sleeve and pushed around the table. Arthur tried to pull away. Alfred followed, ever so worried. "Alfred, enough, just-!"
"Do you need to go to the infirmary?"
Arthur bowed to slip out of Alfred's grip and whirled on him, backing away for space. "Stop being so precious, damn you! You're making this harder than it already is!"
Alfred's hand suspended in the air, blue eyes wide and face screaming everything confused at the abrupt pop of what was a quiet, peaceful date. "Making what harder?"
"Shite." Arthur shook his head and spun away. Alfred's soles squawked on the floor. Arthur lurched forward, dashing for the door, heels to marble, eyes on wood.
"Hey, no! Stop him!"
The guard beside the door side-stepped in front of it. Arthur stopped on a gold piece. He whirled around and headed for the other one across the room.
Blast his beloved, for he had longer legs and practically threw himself at Arthur and spun him into a tight embrace. They twisted, stomping in a circle, but Alfred managed to get his arms around Arthur's and pinned them to his sides.
"Enough!" In Arthur's ear. Arthur squeezed his eyes shut, giving another thrash that didn't get him too far. "No, it's all right," Alfred commanded the Knight. "I have him. As you were."
"Let go of me."
"No. Not until you tell me. Something is obviously wrong and what's running away gonna do? Seriously, this isn't you!"
"You don't know me," Arthur grunted indignantly. It was a stupid thing to say. Of course Alfred knew him. They knew each other since they were kids. He couldn't struggle. He didn't want it. Alfred quickly adjusted their crooked embrace to one around his waist. Arthur grabbed at the arms around him, but silk gloves merely squeezed at a thick suit jacket; it was as if everything to do with himself, with a Queen, would never go against their King.
"Art. Come on. Tell me."
"I can't."
"It's...not about the wedding, is it?"
See, see, they were already falling in line with the same old dance. Being held and squeezed against Alfred—Arthur would think he could never defy him at all. He cupped a hand over his mouth, every bit weak to the warmth and heartbeat against his own. "Oh, Gods."
"You don't-" Alfred audibly swallowed behind his head. "You don't want to get married, do you?"
"No. No!" Arthur tried pushing away. Alfred spun him around, so they were facing each other. Arthur ducked his head, speaking to the tiles across the room. "I do! I-it's not about that."
"What is it about, then!" Alfred gave a shake. Not hard, but enough. "I can't play guessing games, Arthur!"
It started with this. Passion. Fury trickled in. Then loathing. Hatred. Violence. Arthur would burn to ashes if Alfred's hands became any rougher on him than that. What if he slipped? What if his Alfred did or say something he didn't mean? What would be the excuse next time? Then the next, as it inevitably happened?
"I'm going to kill you."
There. Arthur managed to get the words out. Quite clearly and easy. Funny, that.
Alfred just gave a small shake of his head.
"I mean it."
Surprisingly, Alfred didn't release him and screech for the guard to lob off his rogue Queen-to-be's head. He kept calm, or at least his voice low and level, "You're gonna kill me?"
Arthur quickly turned his head away. The guard by the door swayed foot-to-foot, steadily staring.
"Arthur?"
Then came the shame in a murky hot swamp to fill his entire being with its ache. Arthur couldn't look at Alfred's face. It wasn't Alfred's fault that he had been chosen as King and inevitably had to die. He didn't ask for it. Neither did Arthur. "Yes."
"Like, right now?"
"I don't know. Soon. Eventually."
"You said you're going to kill me," Alfred shrilled, "and you don't even know when?! That's like the first step you plan when you're doing that kind of thing!"
Arthur leaned his head away, gawking at Alfred anyway. "Excuse me?" Alfred took a breath, but Arthur sputtered, "Are you bloody kidding me?! That's what you're going to say?" He immediately wriggled to get out of Alfred's grip.
"Hey, hey, no! You come here!"
"You utter idiot! Unhand me! Unhand me this instant, I cannot believe I've been betrothed to such a fool!"
"Okay! Fine, then!" Alfred let go of him. Arthur stumbled forward and spun around to see his fiancé throw his arms to the air. "Kill me! Kill me right now!"
Arthur's mouth slackened. Alfred's hands fell to his hips as he glanced around the room, rapidly blinking. The clink of armor shifting from the Knight foretold of a hand gripping a hilt. Alfred held up a palm, and the guard stayed put. He took a deep, shivering breath and released it all in a great sigh. Then, he raised his chin, gazing down Arthur's rosy cheeks with his own. "What do you think that's going to do?"
"...what?"
"You kill me, then you'll have to kill my brother. And anyone else who they move in to fill our places-"
"It's not about that."
"Then what are you saying?!"
Alfred performed a hurrying gesture when Arthur didn't say anything.
"I can't let them do it to you," Arthur barely got the words out. "Be their poppet. Gods know how deep corruption runs through these halls. I can't bear to see you become rotten like our predecessors. I know it's not you, I want to say everything that you'd resist and not fall to them, but my love, Spades is ruined from the core! We're inheriting a steaming lump of rubbish. It's far from what you deserve."
"And?! You think killing me is going to help anything?!"
"It'll help you from having to suffer a lifetime with the entire line of suits and courtiers and-"
"I don't give a fuck about those people!"
"Well, you should!"
"Well, I don't!"
Arthur had his mouth open, but no words came out. He just scoffed instead.
"I know. I know what those people want. I don't care. You're the only one that matters," Alfred punctuated each following word with a shake of hands, "and Yao, and Mattie, but still. You."
"I'm just a figurehead-"
"You're everything."
"Nothing to them." Arthur swiveled halfway away as Alfred took a step toward him. "They won't follow a word I say. It's all formalities."
"I don't care. I'll make them."
"Alfred," he pleaded as his beloved snagged him into a clutching embrace all over again. Arthur found himself leaning to the touch, anything to suck up another moment of its innocence. "Spare yourself."
"Make me, then."
"What?"
"I said. Make me. You want to kill me-"
Arthur tugged backwards. "I don't want to kill you, you idiot-"
"Whatever! Do it! Right now." Alfred let go of his forearms and backed away with an overly determined fix on his face. He stopped several steps back and raised his arms from his sides. "Right here!"
Of course, Arthur did nothing.
"You know I've always had a problem with listening." Alfred turned away almost gracefully, not sharp as a vengeful monarch would. "If they don't hate me yet, oh, they will. If stopping this ship and getting it turned around is going to do it, then I'll do it a thousand times and a thousand times more. This Kingdom is ours, Arthur," he said to the walls, the palace. "I didn't wait this long just to let them have it, and I didn't climb through your window and roll my ankle how many times to serenade you just! To make you! My puppet!" Back again with a point and the blue flame in his eyes, "Do you really want to rule alone? Do you think I'd let them step on you like that? Don't pretend you're useless to me! To the Kingdom. To yourself!"
"Enough of that," Arthur swiped a hand over his cheek, baffled at the theatrics. "You're making sound all too good to be true, now."
Alfred swooped forward, tucking his hands behind his back, and leaned to be nearly nose-to-nose together. Arthur braced a heel behind himself and instinctively set a hand to Alfred's chest.
"Alfred," he did not know much else to say. Either he killed Alfred, or he didn't.
"I will fight to the ends of our Kingdom to make it happen, but Arthur, I refuse to have a lifetime of you doubting our fight or expecting me to be some monster to you."
"I'm sorry, love, how can I not?" Pressure clawed its way up Arthur's throat, making his voice weak all over again. He could laugh or cry and did not yet know which one would win. "Look what they dragged all the other Queens through." He had always subjected the horror stories and remains of tears of those that came before him, potential and lives choked on arbitrary standards and demands within whims. Yet here Alfred was, stoking optimism Arthur did not even know was there, as he usually could and did so well, right from Arthur's nose, the loveable bugger. Arthur slowly shook his head, not wanting to believe they would fall into the same steps. They can shake, they can burn with passion, but could their love and dreams be enough to stave from the worn path? Arthur almost believed it as he settled over Alfred's heartbeat and felt the life and love against his palm. "I don't hate you."
Alfred's smile bloomed ten-fold to steal Arthur's breath away. "Well, Arthur, I sure the fuck hope you wouldn't."
Arthur let off teeny scoff as he ducked his head, and Alfred took him tightly into his arms again. "You idiot," he croaked. "I just told you I'm going to kill you. How are you so calm about that?"
"Because..." They started to rock side-to-side under Alfred's thoughtful hum. "I don't know! I'd think with anybody else, I would tell them 'No thanks,' but I guess I like you enough to let you kill me."
"Alfred," Arthur groaned.
"Sir," the guard started.
Alfred pulled back enough, just enough to fill Arthur's blued gaze with his own blue eyes and relentless grin, "But, if I have to say, I rather you not kill me just yet, Arthur."
Arthur cupped the biceps wrapped around him, keeping him strong, safe, and warmed. Past those stupid, stupid and eager tears, he dared halfheartedly to jest, "Is that you pleading for your life?"
"Yes, it is. It's me pleading for a life with you, my darling and murderous Queen."
The guard glanced back and forth, looking just as stumped as the laughter sounded coming from Arthur. "I'm not! I'm not murderous, you oaf."
"Yet?"
"Yet. You really wouldn't mind?"
Alfred gave a shrug, a crooked grin, just to squeeze Arthur's heart to smithereens.
Arthur observed this man for a long moment. Alfred was handsome, for sure, with that squish still to his cheeks and hope in his deep blues. Passionate. Powerful. Righteous. His betrothed. How those rich boys and dressy girls would fan and fawn for his attention, only to be brushed by with an easy laugh as he ended in Arthur's company and later, in his arms. He pulled a somewhat-smile to match. "Gods, you're absurd. I love you."
"I love you, too," Alfred immediately relayed, "but you're calling me absurd? You just looked me in the eye and told me you were going to kill me, and now you're letting me hold you like this. Me, absurd, Arthur? Really? This is making the both of us!"
"I don't want to do it!" Arthur hung his head to Alfred's chest. "Oh, bollocks, I'm already doomed. You've won before I could even begin, my love."
Alfred laughed, shaking Arthur just to shake another foolish grin out of him. He voraciously nuzzled his face through Arthur's hair. "What do I win? You? A hot date? Cuddles? A little more than cuddles? A lot more than cuddles?"
"That, and the entire Kingdom, if I can help it." Arthur lifted himself up and patted his cheeks dry with a sleeve. Alfred took his hand, lacing their fingers together as they would look nowhere else. "I'll spare you." Something a little wicked found its way through Arthur's smile. "For now."
They started for the door on the other side of the room. "Yes, spare me, Arthur, but nobody else who stands in our way." Alfred squeezed Arthur's hand until both their arms shook, vowing such hopes with such tenacity, Arthur found himself turned on as they made their way across the waltz of dark marble. Finally, a chance he was willing to take. Indeed, take he would: the rules, the Kingdom, the King!
The guard glanced around the room, at nobody in particular except for the shocked air. "Oh, Gods!" He exclaimed, hurrying after his ambitious royalty. He was going to be very busy and alert during—yet he found himself somewhat looking forward to—these turbulent changes.