A Price to Pay

Another Royal Greeting

"Look, your highness, I mean no disrespect when I say this, but it's already happened, and there's nothing we can do about it. We may be the United States, the only superpower, but we have morals; we believe people should have rights." He did not want to be here.

First, he came home to a beaten and bruised Russia, then later got a call from his former colonizer telling him that his queen wished to have a meeting with him and his boss, but Obama couldn't make it because he's pretty much gone, and Trump is not quite yet in office, so it ended up being just him to deal with the delicate international affair.

The queen looked at him like he was but a child. He would normally have found it amusing, but he was tired, stressed, and strained from the government changes from the elections. All of this finally took it's toll on him, and right when he needed to be at his most diplomatic.

Alfred took a deep breath to steady his fried nerves. The room was much too small and stuffy for him to be in for very long.

"Ha, morals? Your government has had no morals since it was founded! Nothing that you American's do is based off of morals. Sometimes I don't think that you even know the meaning of the word!" she scoffed. The queen picked her teacup up off of her desk and took a small sip, watching the other for his reaction. He knew that he betrayed nothing; that's one of the perks of having the gambling capital of the world in your land.

"Well, your majesty, I have disclosed all to you that I am willing, and nothing has come of it. I will be taking my leave now," he practically spat. Proper English was one of those things that he only used when he was furious.

Cold, dry rage coursed through his veins as he made his way down the almost familiar corridors. He did not stop until he made it out of the castle and over to the irritated and slightly worried Brit that he knew too well.

"Hey Arthur!" he shouted, "I will be off, but please give my regards to your queen." With that, the tall blond dissapeared into the throng of people around Buckingham Palace. Blending in was something that he had perfected over the years, and England had no hopes of finding him again to ask him what he meant.

So instead, he turned into the grand building and went to find his queen.

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"My lady? My lady!" he all but screamed. The old woman was crumpled on the ground behind her desk. A teacup laid broken near her hand, but he thought nothing of it.

Swiftly, Arthur buzzed for assistance, and listened as footsteps approached the small office.

He sat there, clutching at his dead monarch, trying uselessly to keep back his tears. He knew that one day this would happen, but now he needed this wise old woman more than ever. He wasn't ready for it. Not yet.

So this is what he meant, then, huh?

It rained in the United Kingdom that day.