A Royal Affair

by John Wiltshire

  “No, Aleksey, you have not overstepped anything, and I would be more than grateful for your… steadying arm… whenever you think it appropriate.” With that rejoinder I left him. If he was playing games with me, then I was more than willing and able to play him back. He was master of his own little universe; this I could see quite clearly. He was beautiful, charming, intelligent, a royal prince, and, as he had so adroitly managed to inform me, head of an army, with all the attendant power and influence that gave him. But I was equally intelligent, and I could be charming when I cared to be. I had also spent my more than thirty years learning one or two things that he (a cosseted infant in my eyes) could not possibly guess at. I didn’t think war had been declared between us, more like cards dealt and the rules of the game yet to be agreed upon. I was good at cards too. We would see.

  I confess that I needed some time and space to recover from Aleksey, even at this very early stage of our relationship. My respite was merely a walk back down to the stables to ensure that Xavier was being properly cared for. He was; he was stabled with the royal horses. He would never be the same again. Perhaps he was thinking the same about me.

  Very soon after leaving the stables, I was accosted by a young boy who declared himself to be my new page. When I raised my eyebrows at this title, he corrected himself to servant and heaved his shoulders theatrically. I smiled and beckoned for him to follow me. “What is your name?”

  “Stephen, sir.”

  “What was your job before you became my… page?”

  He grinned and came up to walk alongside me, against protocol I am sure but welcome nonetheless. “I didn’t have one, really. I’m the bastard.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “I’m Prince Peter’s bastard. He was His Majesty’s oldest brother, but he’s dead now—my father, not His Majesty. His Royal Highness Prince Aleksey thought I would like you.”

  “You mean I would like you.” He was confusing me.

  He frowned, apparently as confused as I. “No, ’Sey said I’d like you and that you’d be good for me.”

  “You’re my servant, but I’m supposed to be good for you?”

  He grinned. “Pageboy. We’ve agreed on that. Are you hungry? I am. We’re supposed to attend luncheon. You have to meet the rest of the family. Lucky you.”

  “How old are you?”

  “Ten. Well, I will be next year.”

  “Can you read and write?”

  He gave me a derisive look. I could honestly not tell whether this was a Yes, of course, how stupid are you? or Read? Write? Hardly. I waited patiently with raised eyebrows, and he mumbled, “I prefer stories, if I do have to read.”

  I chuckled. “So do I.” He led me through some gardens, and I saw again the sea. The wind had got up, and white horses flicked the top of the waves right across the harbor. “Tell me who else I have to meet, Stephen.”

  “Oh, there’s heaps of them. They all look alike, or the ladies do. And they all smell the same: pretty horrible sometimes. His Majesty has two brothers now, but His Royal Highness Prince Harold is visiting—”

  “Stephen, just between us, can we drop some of the titles? Just Prince This or Prince That? I only have a few more years of life, and I feel them rapidly being used up.”

  He nodded solemnly. “Aleksey said you were quite old.”

  I spluttered. “He what? I’m thirty-five!”

  He grinned suddenly and thrust his hands in his pockets.

  I studied the smug look. “Did he put you up to that?”

  He nodded. “He wanted to know how old you were.”

  I couldn’t explain the sudden flush of warmth I felt wash through me at this. I wanted to ask the boy what else Aleksey had asked about me but had the certain belief that this would be reported straight back to the subject of the inquiry. I held my tongue. With some prompting and reminders to try and simplify the names, I managed to get out of Stephen that the king had two living brothers: Harold, who was never to be called Hal, and John, who was a fool. Whether the boy meant John was a literal fool in a cap with bells or whether he was just deemed stupid by a stupid nine-year-old with too much time on his hands, I could not decipher.

  I was soon able to make up my own mind on this, as I met the prince almost as soon as I entered the dining hall. This was an impressively long, high chamber with two tables arranged to form a T: a short table at the top for the more important diners and the long one laid on both sides for the less significant. I gathered that the farther you were from the high table the less was your perceived importance and wondered where I would be seated. Apparently I was considered to be very important: I was right at the top, in the junction between the lesser beings and my illustrious betters. Before I could sit, a man who introduced himself as John accosted me. I will skip all the titles and His Highnesses and whatever else he gave himself. I was tired of them already, and I’d only been in the castle a few hours.

  I’m not given to snap judgments about others. Most people I have discovered have hidden depths, and if given a chance, they will reveal treasures they might otherwise have kept private. This man, however, I disliked on first sight. I might even go as far as to say detested. I almost recoiled from his handshake. Why? He was it. He was that one hidden fear we all have, that one secret we keep from everyone. He was a man who preferred the company of other men—as did I. I suspected he acted upon his preferences, however, in a way that I had renounced. But he showed me that terrible path. He reminded me that it existed and that with one slip, one weak moment, I too could be following its siren call. From the look he gave me, I believe he would have taken my hand and led me down that road personally.

  I swallowed deeply, trying to concentrate on his words of greeting, not on his scent, his hand in mine, his knowing eyes. He was disturbingly seductive. I was extremely relieved, therefore, when Stephen tugged my arm and said I had to meet the rest of the herd (his word, not mine) and pulled me over to a small group of beautifully dressed men and women who comprised the main body of the court.

  Prince Harold was away on a visit to southern Europe, so the only other member of the family I had yet to meet formally was George. I was about to ask Stephen where the king’s eldest son was, when there was a little commotion at the end of the room, and I turned to see Aleksey enter. The smile that had begun to creep over my face at seeing someone I was beginning to think of as an ally, even a possible friend, faded, leaving a slightly sick feeling in my stomach. A striking, beautiful young woman accompanied Aleksey down the room. They were arm in arm. I could not deny they made a stunningly attractive couple as, indeed, nature intended.

  Stephen was tugging my arm. I ignored him, then changed my mind and asked in sotto voce, “Who is that with Prince Christian?”

  He looked faintly amazed and then replied, “That’s Princess Anastasia,” as if he were surprised I could walk and talk at the same time, being so impaired as to not know the name of this apparition.

  The paragon and her escort reached us. I bowed low. Aleksey waited until I’d straightened and then said rather grandly, “Doctor, may I introduce the Princess Anastasia,” and added after a slightly telling pause, “my fiancée.”

  I gave him an open, unreadable look and turned to her. I went against all my better nature and used and abused the power I knew I had. I smiled; I had perfect teeth too. I spoke; I was educated and traveled, clever and witty. I charmed; I was amusing and self-deprecating. I totally and deliberately ignored Aleksey, and within half an hour I had the princess on my arm, and we were taking a slow turn around the room.

  To my great disgust, Anastasia was utterly delightful. She was unassuming, funny, intelligent, and surprisingly independent. She was from Vienna, which helped. She didn’t appreciate Hesse-Davia and its antiquated ways much either, although when I told her some of what I had seen on my journey—obviously not the final and worst horror—she was appalled. Much of the poverty and degradation had been hidden from her. She had gained most of her impressions of the
country from her maids, with whom she seemed to have a very forward relationship: they gossiped like sisters.

  I had been in the castle almost five hours, and I was beginning to regret my sleepless night and very hurried breakfast. I felt an unreasoned and unjustifiable anger at everything, but I could not discern its provenance other than hunger and fatigue. To say something, rather than allow the silence to say what I did not mean it to, I asked politely, “When is the wedding to be held? Surely not in the winter?”

  “Wedding?”

  I frowned. “Your wedding to Al—to His Royal Highness Prince Christian.”

  “Oh, yes, of course. Forgive me. In the spring. As you say, winters here are very unfortunate. We could not travel on our wedding tour in the winter.”

  “Have you been here long?”

  “Forever.” She pouted a little and added, “I came here when I was fourteen.” Seeing my hesitation, she helped out, “I have been here five years.”

  “Five years!”

  She chuckled and patted my arm again. Strangely, it was not patronizing. “I have a very fortunate life, Doctor. God has blessed me.”

  I wondered whether she meant by being engaged to Aleksey. I could see how she might think this. I glanced around to see where he was. He was watching us, leaning in a very unroyal manner against the wall, the wolf lying alert at his feet. For a moment I thought Aleksey’s eyes were on me, but clearly they would not be, for I was walking with his beautiful bride to be. I suggested that if we made for the table, some food might appear, and she sighed softly. “I’m afraid we are all waiting for George. Nothing will happen until George arrives.”

  She was right. Half an hour later, His Royal Highness Prince George did arrive. He marched in, demanded to know why luncheon was not already served, and sat down at the head of the table. I wondered where he sat when his father was well. Did everyone shuffle down one space every time one of these entitled royals got sick? Platter upon platter of rich food arrived. It was enough food to feed a peasant village for a whole year. I felt sick just watching them eat. Then the reason for my sick feeling washed over me once more. I leaned back, unable to eat even the small amount of food I’d taken.

  What had he thought as he’d been dragged naked through the street? Had he looked around for his… lover and, not seeing him, despaired? Was I creating fantasies out of nothing? It was entirely possible he had been a pervert indulging in shameless fornication. I glanced at John. He was eating sparingly, finicky little mouthfuls, patting his lips between chewing. I took up an apple and bit into it savagely. Fornication. Wanton. Fiancée. I was a fool. I resolved to keep my thoughts more to myself, guard my behavior around them all, and do the job I was here to do. With this in mind, I suddenly rose, bowed to my neighbor to excuse myself, and left. I shouldn’t be eating and passing the time in idle conversation. I had a man dying in my care. He deserved better, despite being the king of a court of deceiving liars.

  Pleasantly cheered by my angry and miserable thoughts as I walked back toward the king’s chambers, I was annoyed to have them interrupted by the cause of them. Aleksey jogged up behind me and caught my arm. He handed me a bread roll with slices of cheese and apple pressed into it. “You didn’t eat anything.”

  “Are you a servant now? Responsible for my eating habits?”

  He didn’t seem offended. “Your servant is busy fetching your trunk from Mme. Costain’s, and as I suspect it weighs more than he, I felt duty bound to ensure our new physician does not faint on his first day at work.”

  “Do I look like someone susceptible to fainting?”

  He actually had the nerve to hold my arm, stop, and assess me, rather as if he were buying a horse. I almost expected him to check my teeth. I shook him off and said less irritably, “Stop it. You’re acting like a fool.” I plucked the bread from his hand and bowed deeply. “Thank you for your kind gesture. I am charmed.”

  He continued to walk alongside me, his hands plunged into his pockets. I felt like pointing out it was neither a military nor princely look. “What will your examination entail for my father?”

  “I will try to make it as noninvasive as I can, but I must examine him mentally and physically, internally and externally.” He made an uneasy face, not uncommon for laymen when medical examinations are discussed.

  “You should have someone else in the room with you—not me!” He’d seen my surprised expression and perhaps thought I had been about to suggest he stay. “I don’t do sickness.” He shuddered. “But given the circumstances and rumors, I would not like anything to… happen when you were with him alone. Or afterward, come to that.”

  “If he dies, you mean, I may be blamed?”

  “You do have a habit of speaking your mind, Nikolai.”

  I laughed bitterly. “Not really. You’d be surprised.”

  I felt his eyes on me and decided to deflect any possible response he might make to this. I’d just broken my new vow to be more circumspect around him. “I thank you for the proposal. But if someone else is present, it should be someone beyond reproach.”

  “His priest?”

  I laughed, then realized how inappropriate this was. For all I knew, Aleksey was a devout Christian—as well as about to be married. I needed to stop making assumptions about him based on things I wished to be true and to treat him according to the things I was finding out about him that were the truth. I knew he was still watching me, so I hastened my step, causing him to fall a little behind. “Doctor Lyons would be acceptable, if you think he would agree.”

  “Doctor Lyons is our servant. He does not need to be asked for his agreement.” And there it was again: that swift mood change I’d observed before. One moment he was free and easy, almost too free (one might almost call it a charm offensive; one might even call it flirting), and then the next, he was the cold, entitled, spoiled child again. It was tiring. I stopped and looked frankly at him. He did not appear to like being studied as much as he liked putting me under close observation. “What?”

  “We are here. I need to proceed with my examination.”

  “Oh.” He frowned, glancing around, as if he genuinely had not noticed that we had arrived outside the royal bedchamber. “My father will be at prayer in his chapel. You will have a long wait.” He was staring at me again.

  I felt he wanted to ask me something and was eager to hear what this question might be. It appeared I had a long wait for that too. Finally, sick of his games, I snapped, “Stop it!”

  He recoiled. I heard the inevitable low rumble of warning from the creature at his side.

  I turned away, aware there were many ears around to hear, should they decide to listen. He caught my arm, though, and I had to turn back or look ridiculous. “What’s wrong? Why are you so out of humor?”

  “I do not like being put under your royal microscope, Your Royal Highness.”

  He let my arm go, frowning. “My what?”

  I sighed. “It’s a new instrument for examining things that are too small for the eye to discern.” I hesitated. “I have one in my rooms, if you would care to see it.”

  He grinned, and once again I was subject to that abrupt change of mood. It was like being a little boat tossed around in a storm, one moment in favorable wind, the next fighting to stay upright. “Are you inviting me up to your rooms to see your instrument, Nikolai?”

  I jerked my head back a fraction. Could I mistake that for anything other than flirting? Yet it seemed so incongruous that it should be so. Cautiously, but in the same light tone, I replied, “As you have set my rooms directly adjacent to your own, I suspect you will be able to hear me using my instrument, should you wish to listen.”

  He thought about this for a moment. To my great annoyance, whatever reply he might have made was forestalled when a priest slid out from the royal chambers. He saw Aleksey and came forward, rubbing his hands unctuously. “Your Royal Highness, His Majesty has begun his prayers. I will return to hear his confession in two hours.”

  “
Two hours! I need to see him now!”

  The priest turned to me with a look as if he’d stepped in me. Aleksey quickly made introductions. Father Cavil made me a small bow and apologized if he had offended me. “I did not realize the imperative nature of your desire to see His Majesty. Perhaps, this once, I could persuade him to curtail his devotions.” He scurried away.

  Something was tickling at the back of my mind, but I could not yet bring it to the fore. “Who has access to the king when he prays?”

  “No one except God, and I do not think God is trying to poison my father.”

  Why not? I thought. He’s poisoned almost everyone else he’s had contact with. Something of this must have appeared in my expression, for I saw a tiny flicker of amusement quirk the corner of Aleksey’s lips. He suppressed the heresy, though, and added, “The chapel is reached from the bedroom. It is entirely without access except from the bedroom. We have thought of this.”

  “But nevertheless, it is the only time he is wholly alone.”

  “Yes. You are right. It is the only time we cannot account for him. Perhaps we do need to look at God.”

  “Hmm. I would say rather look to the priest.”

  He ignored this and suddenly asked me, “Do you know what the punishment for poisoning the king is?”

  I raised my eyebrows. “No. I know nothing of your laws. But I suspect it is not a fine and some form of charitable works.”

  “No, it is not. It is being boiled alive.”

  I recoiled. “You have savage laws.”

  “These are savage times.”

  “No, Aleksey, they are not. Not in most other places I have lived.”

  “You live here now.”

  “Until I have helped your father, yes. Then, trust me, I intend to return as quickly as I can to somewhere else. Anywhere else.”

  He appeared a little put out by my response. I think I wanted him to be more put out by it, and because he wasn’t, I added spitefully, “You and the rest of your family would not be subject to such punishment. I assume you reserve the harsh laws of your country for those of lesser station?”