Malachite | L. S [Completed]

22: The Darkness Speaks To Me

This one's the second last chapter so maybe (just maybe) comment?

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The month preceding Alfred's death passed in fragments of faux mourning, adapting to his new role and shifting into the Royal Keep completely. Preparing to be the new King was anything but pleasant, be it the endless sittings with the council or being surrounded by the King's guards at every given moment. He despised how much thought he had to put in his words and how less he saw of Harry.

Harry.

His poor precious was being thrust into the role of being the Queen too, and while Louis had been polished to be the King for years now, he feared it was all too sudden for his beloved. Harry had a group of maids now, handpicked by him to be the Queen's hands. Oh, how Louis loved to watch Harry torment them with his whims and demands for every little thing. But regardless of his dislike for their situation, Harry was a graceful queen.

A jewel in the thorn of Louis' messes.

It was nearing midday and Louis was completely exhausted. He had stayed up the entire night knotting Harry after the omega had thrown a temper about Louis not spending time with him, and therefore failed to rest properly. And knowing just how dearly the Gods loved him, he was expected in the chapel to rehearse for his coronation in fifteen minutes. Walking down the hallway with his guard shifting behind him like his shadow, Louis groaned at the sight of the soldiers greeting him at the entrance.

"The Mortsian ship is expected to arrive in two moons, your Royal Highness, and the Duke of Kenthigna has written back informing that he will be attending the coronation. Pirates ships have been seized at the Drowning Sea but I fear the Claw has managed to flee, and the fire in the west has begun to ca--"

"Lord Henders, forgive me, but I have an awful headache and I do hope these matters can wait until tomorrow. Unless anything is short of life and death, I would rather perform the rehearsals for the moment. Thank you." Gareth Henders was Lord James Henders' youngest, a jolly lad who was determined enough to fill in his role as Louis' valet without a dent. Louis appreciated him, truly, but his patience was slipping sand and Gareth had an extremely punchable face.

"You look pathetic, darling," Harry cooed from where he was surrounded by his Hands, spitting instructions for the placement of flowers. His cheeks dimpled as he walked closer, the gold of his gown an appreciable sight for Louis eyes as it glimmered under the golden rays of the sun that seeped in through the windows on the ceiling of the chapel. "Do you feel poorly, my King?"

My King.

With a flutter in his love-sick heart, Louis merely groaned as he embraced his beloved and kissed his cheek. "I wish for nothing more than a bed and your bosom to rest upon," Louis whispered. Harry's arms were his haven, and when Louis pulled back, he longed for them instantly.

"A King gets what he wishes for," Harry announced, smiling. "My Lords, His Majesty is feeling poorly, I hope each of you shall understand if he wishes to rest for the day." Eyes widening, Louis glanced at Harry, who appeared as graceful as a feather, eyes sharp as he looked at each minister and watched them nod in understanding. A moment later, Harry was looping his arm around Louis' and guiding him towards the Keep.

"I was not aware I could do that." Astonishingly, his precious laughed, glancing at Louis with stars in his malachite eyes.

"Oh, my love," he sang. "You are the King, the ruler of the Realm. Have you no notion of how much power you hold? You mustn't live as though your father were here to punish you for failing to do your duty. There is no soul who can question you."