The Red King [Book II]

XXVII

Daylight arrived early. The tired sun dozed through the windows whilst birds quietly lamented its wake. Alex laid on a bed that wasn't his, staring at the fresco overhead that he wasn't educated enough to understand.

ㅤIt was the only place he'd been guaranteed undisturbed solitude—somewhere James wouldn't think to go: the king's bedchamber.

ㅤHis stiff muscles resisted as he sat up. Tender shoulders were firm after being strained from their sockets, having torn his sword through the air. Browned blood still stained the crevices of his nails, regardless of how hard he'd scrubbed the night before.

ㅤThe shock felt brittle now in the stillness of the early morning glow.

ㅤ"I'm coming in!"

ㅤThe knock had come quickly, the maid entering without real patience for a response—she'd already assumed she wouldn't get one—which was why she'd frozen in the doorway, wide-eyed, when she found Duke Alexander, naked, in the king's bed.

ㅤHorrified, he pulled the blanket higher, and she jolted back, urgently alerting the two stationed guards. From how her shocked brows furrowed, Alex was sure they were signalling nothing was amiss.

ㅤHis burning face stung.

ㅤ"I- I apologise, Y-Your Grace? I didn't think this room would be occupied." It came out in a muddled rush.

ㅤAs if the implication wasn't mortifying enough, all the scars on Alex's body were sharp on display and it wasn't something to gloss one's eyes over. His skin was grotesque.

ㅤ"What time is it?" he croaked.

ㅤ"It- it was nine on the dial when I checked—Ah, some minutes ago. ...I'm sorry"

ㅤHis smile was tight. "Please give me half an hour."

ㅤ"O- Of course! Your Grace." Flustered, the maid's hair whipped as she hastily bowed and slammed the door. Alex heard her mumble under her panicked breath on the other side.

ㅤThe relaxation that'd offered him temporary respite vanished in a moment. The bed was now as uncomfortable as his tightened chest.

ㅤBecause the first royal court meeting was a formal event, he couldn't get away with minor comforts. His garments were lighter than the extravagance of the day before, but hot and stifling regardless. The cloak ached on his shoulders.

ㅤHe didn't let the mirror look for long. The tired slump of his frame, his dead eyes, darkened skin—there was nothing he wanted to see.

ㅤHe was so tired.

ㅤWithout ridiculing himself by acknowledging the knowing guards, Alex stomped out of the king's bedchamber with purpose he didn't have, eyes hot on the back of his neck. On his escape down the corridor, he passed the anxious maid.

ㅤ"I know your face," he warned, lower than he'd intended.

ㅤHe didn't pause as she peeped in fear. It didn't feel good.