Andrellia

9. Alaric

The castle bustled with an unnerving quiet. Queen Ilara, her steps uncharacteristically hurried, navigated the familiar corridors with a storm brewing in her eyes. Alaric's blatant disregard for her orders, the report from a sharp-eyed kitchen maid about the dismantled furniture in the mess hall it all coalesced into a simmering rage.

She found him in his quarters, not sprawled across his usual chair with a mocking goblet in hand, but crumpled beneath a heap of furs. His face, usually a stoic mask, was flushed and contorted in discomfort. She reached out, her touch hesitant at first, before landing on his forehead.

A jolt of shock ran through her. He was burning up. A feverish heat radiated from him, making a mockery of her anger.

"You're truly infuriating," she hissed, the words losing their bite in the face of his illness. But the concern gnawed at her. Alaric, for all his faults, was her loyal guard, a shield against the ever-present threats to the kingdom.

He didn't stir. His labored breaths were the only sign of life. The anger that had fueled her steps evaporated, replaced by a cold dread.

"Guards!" she barked, her voice echoing in the silent chamber. Two guards materialized instantly, their faces grim.

"Take him to my bath," Ilara commanded, her voice tight with urgency. "We need to cool him down as quickly as possible. And fetch the best healers all of them. I won't lose him to a stupid fever."

The guards shared a surprised glance, but wasted no time in obeying. Carefully, they lifted Alaric's unconscious form, the heat radiating through the furs a stark contrast to the tremor running through his body.

As they rushed through the castle, Ilara followed close behind, her mind a whirlwind. The memory of her stern letter flashed before her, a silent accusation. Had her orders pushed him too far? Had his bravado been a desperate attempt to mask his pain, his injuries?

She gritted her teeth. There would be time for recriminations later. Right now, all that mattered was saving Alaric. Her infuriating, reckless, but undeniably loyal guard.

A jolt of surprise shot through Alaric as the Queen hesitantly hovered her hand over his head. The cool touch of the bathwater had eased his feverish haze somewhat, but the unexpected gesture sent a shiver down his spine that had nothing to do with the chill. This wasn't a formal inspection, the kind where she'd acknowledge him with a curt nod from a distance. This felt... intimate. His gaze flickered up, meeting hers for a fleeting moment before shyness forced him to look away.

The Queen's touch, when it finally landed, was feather-light. It brushed against his damp forehead, a lingering caress that sent a spark through him. It was a stark contrast to the harshness of her words just moments ago. He held his breath, unsure of how to react, how to reconcile this gentle concern with the fiery queen he knew.

The silence stretched, broken only by the quiet murmur of the water and the occasional, almost imperceptible, chatter of his teeth. He could sense her gaze still upon him, a mixture of worry and something else he couldn't quite decipher.

Finally, she spoke, her voice softer than he'd ever heard it. "Alaric," she began, "you are a valuable asset, but you are also... expendable. There are others who can train these recruits. But none who are as... infuriatingly effective as you."

A ghost of a smile played on his lips despite himself. Infuriatingly effective? It wasn't exactly a royal compliment, but somehow, coming from her, it felt... earned. Knowing her, it was probably the closest she'd come to admitting his unorthodox methods sometimes worked.

"Just promise me," she continued, her voice dropping to a husky whisper, "no more unnecessary heroics. Your health is not a game to be played with."

Alaric dared another glance, his eyes meeting hers once more. This close, he'd noticed the worry etched in the lines around her eyes, a vulnerability he hadn't dared imagine. It wasn't just the concern of a queen for her most loyal guard, there was a flicker of something more... personal. A secret he couldn't quite grasp.

"I promise, your majesty," he rasped, his voice rough but sincere. He may not have agreed with all her methods, but seeing her concern, the woman beneath the crown, filled him with a newfound sense of loyalty that went beyond duty. Perhaps, a hint of something more, a budding respect that surprised even him.

He felt an overwhelming urge to reach out, to bridge the physical distance between them. However, the fever and his exposed state held him back. Instead, he surprised himself by doing something utterly out of character. He grabbed her hand, hesitantly at first, then with a growing sense of determination. He pressed his lips to the inside of the palm of her hand, a chaste but heartfelt gesture.

The Queen's breath hitched, a flicker of surprise crossing her face. For a moment, their eyes locked, a silent conversation passing between them. It was a moment of vulnerability, a glimpse into a connection neither had dared to acknowledge before.

Then, just as quickly as it began, the moment shattered. A cough wracked Alaric's body, a harsh reminder of his weakened state. The Queen quickly withdrew her hand, her face regaining its usual composure, though a hint of pink dusted her cheeks

"Rest, Alaric," she commanded, her voice regaining its authority. "We'll discuss your punishment later. For now, focus on getting well. And Alaric," she added, a hint of amusement flickering in her eyes, "perhaps next time, your unorthodox methods can involve slightly less... furniture climbing."

A weak chuckle escaped Alaric's lips. "Well your highness," he rasped, emboldened by his fever and the surprising turn of events, "if it's a punishment coming from you...I shall eagerly anticipate it..." The playful remark hung in the air, a challenge laced with a newfound respect.

The Queen's lips twitched, a hint of a smile threatening to break through her stern facade. She cleared her throat, a flicker of something akin to shyness crossing her features. "Don't push your luck, Alaric," she said, her voice softer than the command. She slipped out the door "Guards help the Captain return to his quarters.."

Ilara's concern for Alaric momentarily overshadowed her surprise at Phillip's sudden, spectral arrival. His celestial, glowing eyes seemed to pierce the dimness, his presence both unsettling and curiously comforting.
"Phillip?" she breathed, surprise softening the anger that had fueled her steps.

"Your Majesty," Phillip inclined his head in a curt bow, his voice devoid of inflection. His gaze flicked to Alaric, taking in the Captain's flushed face and trembling form with a practiced efficiency.

Before Ilara could finish her initial command to confine Alaric, the Queen surprised both of them. A soft smile touched her lips as she spoke, her voice gentled with a newfound tenderness. "Actually, confine him to his room," she said, her eyes lingering on Alaric's face for a beat too long. The ghost of his lips, a memory of their unexpected touch, lingered on the palm of her hand.

Alaric, fueled by a feverish defiance, protested.
"Confinement? You can't be serious?" He attempted a clumsy escape from the bath, only to crumble against Phillip's arm as the Intelligence advisor caught him with surprising ease.

"Easy there, Captain," Phillip said in a low, steady voice. He deftly maneuvered Alaric to a waiting towel, his movements practiced and efficient despite the situation. His voice dropping to a barely audible tone that only Alaric could pick up "I suggest you comply...I have some interesting 'information' it's closer to 'My realm' than yours"