A Royal Affair

by John Wiltshire

  He looked more frankly at me. “Then you assume wrong. We are all subject to the same law.”

  I felt a chill wash over me. “Even the torture I witnessed on my journey? The burning? The… impalement?”

  Still watching me with that maddening intensity, he nodded. “Any man caught in such a compromising embrace would be punished according to the crime, yes. You would think that such a law would put any man off such perversion, would you not?”

  He was telling me something here of great import. I desperately wanted to be away from him to think it through, but Father Cavil made another unfortunately timed appearance. “His Majesty has graciously agreed to see you, sir.”

  I swallowed a retort that, as I was trying to save his life, the king’s graciousness was superfluous. Aleksey turned on his heel and began to stride away back down the long waiting room.

  CHAPTER 6

  LATER THAT evening, I sat in my study with a pen and small notebook, trying to order my thoughts. I had given my patient an incredibly detailed examination. In complete privacy, except for the presence of Jules Lyons, I had made the king strip. I examined him closely. I took some samples of his blood, which I planned to look at under the microscope, and I examined his stools and urine and hair. I had no doubt that he was being poisoned, but I was no further forward with determining by whom. I had questioned him more closely about his habits and routines. It was an impossible situation: people surrounded him all the time. I began to suspect that the prayer ritual was more to gain a little peace and quiet for a few hours than it was for devotions. He could not say where his food came from. Even when ordered that it was to be prepared under strict observation, it passed through many hands before it got to his mouth.

  Basically, anyone could be poisoning him. I could not, as I had so easily with Lord Salisbury, identify a culprit and isolate him from them. I made a list of suspects. It turned into a list of everyone I had met since I arrived in the castle, with a number of dashes added to represent servants and other people I could not name but who all had unlimited access to my patient. He even had one servant apparently responsible for collecting and replacing his chamber pot on the hour, every hour. Some people’s lives did not bear thinking about.

  Beside each name, I noted my thoughts about this person: whether I felt they had any motivation to kill a king. It was depressing. Everyone in some way or other benefited from his death. It was inevitable, I suppose, given he owned everything and controlled everything. It was like my observation at luncheon; the king absent allowed everyone to move up a place at table, metaphorically and otherwise. Assuming, of course, that people wanted to eat closer to the seat of power…. Perhaps they didn’t. What if someone didn’t want the increased responsibility of moving up or out of a comfortable niche? Aleksey, for example….

  Why did my thoughts always return to him? Perhaps because I could hear him at that very moment in the room next to mine. It sounded like he was bouncing a ball off the wall, but another explanation for the rhythmic thumping had occurred to me. Aleksey, then. If the king died, he would become heir to the throne, a position much more agreeable to some than being second in line, as he currently was. Did he have that much ambition for power? Had not almost his first words to me been most of us are trying to leave? Why would he say that about his own country to a complete stranger he had no expectation of seeing again unless it was true? Wanting to leave was very different from committing regicide to gain power. Perhaps I could cross him off my list? But then there was Anastasia. Perhaps she was the power behind a would-be throne. What princess would not rather be queen? Eliminate her rivals one by one? Perhaps she had not been the ingénue she had appeared. Perhaps my pathetic attempt to charm her to annoy Aleksey and appear not concerned by the discovery of his engagement had merely given her the opportunity to fool me and appear what she was not.

  I looked over my list. I could cross no one off; everyone was suspect. It rather left me with only one option: I would have to isolate the king from everyone and everything here at the castle. If I had him entirely to myself, he would recover. I doubted he would ever be the vigorous man he had once apparently been, but some semblance of health and life could be returned to him. I was determined to try. But it had to be all or nothing. If I left any gap in my regime, any access for someone to reach him, then it would appear as if my methods had failed. Ridding the body of poisons through sweat and the application of certain foods worked. I knew this. I had proved it to myself and others many times. But… how did you isolate a king?

  Either I mistook a knock for the rhythmic banging I had been trying to ignore, or Aleksey did not knock when he entered my study. I filed this away, making a mental note not to be doing anything in my rooms that might embarrass me should he repeat such behavior. Not only did he come in without waiting for me to give him permission, he began to wander around touching things, examining them. I did not fear for my notes, even though I had written him in as a possible suspect, for I had written in my own shorthand. Not only would it be entirely indecipherable to anyone who pried, it was usually entirely indecipherable to me.

  Finally he glanced over. “How long have you been back?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “I thought you might come and find me and tell me what your examination uncovered.”

  I genuinely had not considered this. Thinking everyone a possible murderer, I had forgotten that there might also be a concerned son. “I’m sorry. I should have….” He heard something in my voice, something that told him my news was not good. Before I could say more, he glanced at me despairingly.

  “Not here. I can’t stay inside a moment longer; I will go insane. Do you ride? Of course you do. You rode here. Would you like to ride? Now?”

  I stood up, laying down my notebook. “Yes. I would. Shall we ride to an inn?”

  He jerked his head back, and I heard the implication in what I had said. “I’m hungry!”

  “Oh.” He chuckled. “In that case, yes, I will take you out so you can eat. Is our food not to your liking? But I would rather eat at an inn anyway. Come, what do you need?”

  I grabbed my coat, pulled on my riding boots, and I was ready. We took the stairs toward the stables, Aleksey in the lead. My ability to navigate around the castle was still severely limited. I glanced behind me. “Where is the wolf thing?”

  He narrowed his eyes, as if communing with the damn beast. “Faelan, thank you for asking, is visiting with your horse.”

  “What!” I had a horrible vision of just what a wolf visit to a horse could entail.

  “They are discussing us, I believe.”

  “Are you completely insane, or is this just something you do to amuse yourself?”

  “Xavier has many interesting things to say about you. I suppose he would, after having you ride him for so long….”

  I didn’t rise to this. Perhaps I was imagining the flirting, the continual language translation needed between us making me misconstrue his innocent chatter. “How do you know his name? I have not told anyone what he is called.”

  “He told Faelan.”

  “And Faelan told you, I suppose.”

  “You suppose correctly.”

  I was astounded to actually find the wolf lying in the stable waiting for us when we arrived. I’d thought Aleksey was joking. I actually found myself eyeing Xavier to see if he appeared to be conversing before I shook myself with annoyance and saddled up. We rode out of the castle, but instead of taking the road I had arrived by that morning, we turned toward the beach and rode along by the waves for a while before turning up a path into the forest.

  When we were walking the horses slowly under the huge pine trees, the prince swiveled slightly in his saddle to face me. “So, tell me.”

  I proceeded to outline the fact that I knew absolutely nothing. I spun a professional web around this empty air, but he knew what I was saying. My conclusion, though, took him by surprise, as I’d thought it might: isolate the king from everyone—even hi
m.

  He turned back to face the track, watching Faelan. “No.”

  “No? You send all the way to England for my—”

  “No. I’m not discussing this.”

  “It’s hardly a way to make yourself look innocent, Aleksey!”

  He turned, his jaw set. “It’s not me I want to appear innocent.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Think about it, Nikolai! What if he died on your watch? The two of you alone! You were summoned here by one political faction—”

  “I was sent for by Madame—”

  “Don’t be so bloody naive. Do you think the ministers of this damn country have anyone’s welfare in mind but their own? If they want the king’s health restored, it would be for their own reasons. They are just as likely to want him dead. If he dies alone with you, you would be immediately accused of being in their pay! God, how dumb can an intelligent man be?”

  “Then what do you suggest? It is what needs to be done. What if I do it and it works? If he recovers? Is it not worth the risk?”

  “I did not tell you of the punishments we enjoy in this country for my own amusement—a storyteller of grim tales to keep you awake at night! Nikolai, you would be boiled alive. It takes hours. I cannot even imagine such agony. Can you?”

  I could not. Xavier shied nervously, perhaps sensing my anxiety. Maybe the damn dog was talking to him again. The sideward shift pushed my thigh against Aleksey’s. I felt the connection in my groin—immediate and pronounced. Apologizing, I moved Xavier back to his own side of the track. We emerged into an open meadow. The relief from the oppressive darkness under the trees was striking. I stretched, cricking my neck around.

  I turned to Aleksey. “Something must be done soon, or I will have wasted my journey.”

  He nodded glumly, engrossed in some small flaw on his glove.

  I sighed. “Xavier needs to stretch his legs. Shall we…?” I waved at the long, flat meadow ahead.

  With a sudden flash of smile, he kicked his horse to flight. I laughed and followed suit. I knew very well, without knowing anything about him at all, that Prince Christian would consider himself a very fine horseman. It was inevitable, he was a prince and a soldier, but I was better. It didn’t matter who my opponent was; I was just better. I had ridden wild stallions bareback into war.

  I had been raised by the people of the horse.

  Xavier and I became one mind and one body—as I thought, so did he. It was exhilarating. We passed Aleksey as if he were standing still. We swerved in front of him to prevent him coming alongside, and Xavier kicked the dirt up in his face. I lay so low over Xavier’s back that I could feel his body heat. All I needed was a lance and some savage paint upon my face, and I would feel entirely me for the first time in many, many years.

  I only reined in when we reached the coastline. I walked Xavier onto the sand and let him kick his heels in the surf. He pranced, turning, twisting, and preening. I flicked my gaze to the sound of Aleksey’s mount snorting as it slowed upon the sand. The wind caught my hair, that had fallen loose from its tie, and I ran my fingers through the blond strands, lifting them from my face. Aleksey was watching me, his own horse twisting, cooling down, overstimulated, excited.

  I swallowed, and something stirred deep within me. Everything around me seemed to collapse into a tiny tunnel through which all I could see and hear was Aleksey: his eyes made brilliant by the wind, the high color on his cheekbones, the muscles in his thighs as he controlled the wild horse. I slid off Xavier’s back, ignoring the cold water around my legs, and buried my face in his warm, familiar hide, smelling him, feeling his heartbeat. I was wholly unable to move until things had subsided. The intensity of my desire almost undid me. I let Xavier lead me deeper into the water until I was covered to my waist. The freezing soaking did its job, and I remounted, wet, cold, but myself once more, the self I presented to the outer world.

  Aleksey had also dismounted and was bent over, looking at something in his horse’s hoof.

  “All right?”

  He nodded, his back to me. “Go on. I will be with you in a moment. He has picked up a stone.” He waved in the direction of some smoke I could now see curling up at the side of the forest. “That’s the inn.”

  I nodded, although he could not see this, and turned Xavier toward the smoke. He pranced a little, and I reined him back, easing him around some driftwood that had accumulated from a storm at the high tide mark. I had not gone far when Aleksey rode up behind me. He did not say anything. I could think of nothing to say either, and so we arrived at the inn in silence except for the panting and snorting of our horses.

  I was immediately struck by the appearance of this place. I could see a small hamlet of houses surrounding the main building of the inn. For the first time since leaving civilization, I saw a place not degraded by poverty and ignorance. Each cottage seemed well cared for. Each had a small garden, likewise cared for and abundant with flowers and vegetables. The main street was paved with drainage channels. I had not seen its like outside of the capital, and even in that main city the paving was badly maintained. The whole place was well situated, as if someone who understood systems of drainage and prevailing winds and weather had placed a godlike hand down and commanded that there be light.

  Aleksey led us around behind the inn to a cobbled courtyard and dismounted. He was about to walk his horse toward a stable when something tackled him. It was small and noisy, and when my senses recovered, I saw it was a boy about four years of age. Aleksey rolled on the ground for a moment, apparently seriously injured. The boy held off, anxious, and then he was swept up in a vicious tackle and tossed in the air for a while. Screaming with glee, he began to hiccup alarmingly and was so let down with an all-consuming hug and a kiss full on the lips as one might give… their child. I bit my lip, thinking, as I dismounted. Perhaps this boy was another Stephen, a royal bastard—Aleksey’s bastard. This young prince was of an age to have many such children running around in these horrid hamlets. Quite out of humor now from my previous enchantment with the place, I led Xavier into the stable and fastened him securely. Aleksey came in with the child on his shoulders. The boy had his hands over Aleksey’s eyes, and the prince was pretending he could not see. He barged into me, which annoyed me excessively, and I told him to stop being a fool. The boy grinned and said in good German, “Why does he speak funny, ’Sey?”

  “Because, Sebastian, he is a very funny man who is pretending to be very annoyed with me.” This was said in German also, which he knew I understood.

  “Why is he cross with you? No one is ever cross with you.”

  “Ah, he does not yet understand that, my little corporal. He is cross because I have not told him how well he rides and how incredibly beautiful he looks upon his horse. He is very vain, and I do not want to encourage him.”

  “I do not think he is very beautiful.”

  “That is because you are a silly baby.”

  “I am not a baby.” And this argument went on for some time, with Aleksey claiming all kinds of evidence to prove his point and the poor child trying vainly to prove, by crying and smacking his tormentor, that he was actually very mature and quite Aleksey’s equal.

  Suddenly there was a roar. Even I jumped a little. The child started too but in delight and then flung out his arms, crying, “Papa!” and the bear of a man I had met in the forest swung him off Aleksey’s shoulders.

  “Stop abusing my children.” He tucked the child under his arm, clasped Aleksey with his other, and proceeded to knuckle-rub his head until he cried out in genuine distress. The giant chuckled, swung his son onto his own shoulders (narrowly missing braining the child on the roof), and said amicably, “There, you are both babies equally.” He turned to me. “I apologize for my friend’s appalling lack of manners. I am Gregory.” Then he laughed. “Ah, we have already met.” He turned slyly to Aleksey and added, “I see all desired things come to those who already have everything, hey, spoiled child?”

 
“Shut up, Gregory.” Aleksey moved swiftly and propelled me toward a door that led into the back of the inn. Once more I was surprised by what I saw, and yet it was only cleanliness, freshness, and openness of design and style that I had rarely witnessed. I had no time to comment on any of this, for two men rose from a table as we entered. I should have expected it: the scarred man and the boy. Aleksey made a murmured inquiry of the boy, only to receive a grief-stricken look and departure in return. Not understanding any of this, I sat, my head spinning.

  He thought I was beautiful.

  Or was he merely humoring himself, as he seemed to do in all things?

  Gregory came to join us at the table, and Sebastian was dispatched to the kitchen to find his mother. I expected this woman to come out and serve us food, but when she appeared, she sat next to her husband at the table. She was carrying another small child, a girl, who was playing with a little doll. It was a particularly affecting scene for some reason. I was extremely tired by now, of course, and hungry, but even this could not explain why I felt my emotions suddenly overwhelm me. I rose swiftly, made the excuse of needing some air, and returned to the stable.

  After a while, I sensed someone behind me. I turned, thinking it would be Aleksey, but it was Gregory’s wife. She smiled, swapping the little girl to her other hip. She was a striking woman: dark skinned, as if she spent a great deal of time out of doors. Her hair was black and luscious and curly down to her waist, for it was not tied up or covered. I had never seen the like. She wasn’t young or beautiful, but she caught and held the eye. Perhaps it was her frank way of looking at me. I held out my hand to the little girl. She reached and took my finger in her chubby ones. “She is very pretty, Madame.”

  “Pia. My name is Pia.” It was very unusual for women to address a stranger quite so frankly. I was at a loss how to respond, so I just bowed politely. She continued to eye me openly. “You have no family?”