The Red King [Book II]

VI

Alex dragged his heavy legs with a slight limp. He ran his hands through his hair and fixed his clothes, his palms moist with a paste of sweat and dust. He tried to make himself presentable.

ㅤSince his encounter, he'd composed himself. The adrenaline had passed and Alex's body was too tired to summon real panic. Instead, his anxiety was a low-felt sickness, conjuring a mismatch between his throbbing pulse and slow, tired figure.

ㅤEven though an audience with James was all Alex had ached for, he didn't feel ready. A contemplation to flee was dampened by his frustration with James. James knew Alex's mind well; he would've known what his silence would've done. And he'd done it anyway. Either James had already lost interest, or he was that sick. Alex wasn't sure which possibility was worse.

ㅤ'Alex.'

ㅤHe faced Fletcher, snapping out of his trance.

ㅤThey'd arrived. Towering wooden doors bodied over them in its stone frame, standing higher and firmer than a cliff. Its mount was a thin outline compared to its weight. It glared; Alex felt like an insect at its feet.

ㅤBlunted alarm struck him, registering the throne room entrance— a hall purposed for official matters in audience. A sharp voice muffled from within, startling him.

ㅤMercenaries guarded it, murmuring a message within of Alex and Fletcher's arrival before Alex realised it.

ㅤ'Fletcher?'

ㅤBut Fletcher didn't have time to explain beyond a single look Alex couldn't identify. The hinges groaned, the ground vibrating, as the strength of multiple men forced the gate to give way, its oak trembling. The doors hit their limits with a dusty echoing bang, and a cautious silence followed.

ㅤAlex held his breath.

ㅤ'A Lord Alexander, Your Majesty,' one of the mercenaries announced. His family name went unsaid.

ㅤHe took his cue, swamping his body forward, head down, eyes trained on the long red carpet passing under his feet. It was stained in places. Blood. It was almost silent as he did so, the heat of the afternoon sun pouring through high windows and sweating the back of his neck. His skin stung.

ㅤThen, he was at the steps to the throne, a long robe spilling down, into Alex's sight. James. He got on one knee, bowing down, deeply, shouldering the weight of the court's scrutiny.

ㅤ'Your Majesty.'

ㅤA quiet beat passed.

ㅤSmooth, deep, and velvety, James' sickly familiar voice rumbled with an audible smile. 'Raise your head, Lord Alexander.' Alex did so, looking up from his lowly position, his chest squeezing.

ㅤSeated with a casual grace, James' air was dignified even with his face leaning against his knuckles; dressed in cherry red robes like his eyes and shimmering gold like his hair, a crown lying crooked on his head. He was so gorgeous, his existence so casually illustrious, Alex for a moment forgot he was only a man.