Rule of The Monarch

Three: La Vie En Rose No More

7 August

'Well what was I supposed to say?' Astor asked, a bit of whining in his voice as he moved his queen six places to the left.

'Sorry,' his brother said pointedly. 'And prove to them that we aren't the self important arses they think we are.' Nathanial moved his pawn two spaces forward.

'But you weren't there.' Astor moved another piece. 'The way she looked at me, well, I think I know what father calls the Carlton glare.'

'Your father's a fool,' Lady Everton commented, sipping tea in the armchair next to them. 'This Carlton-Hemingway business, it does nothing good for you.'

'That's what mother says,' Nathanial muttered and claimed his brother's rook before raising his arms in triumph. 'Checkmate!'

'It seems you're a fool as well, Astor. That's the third match you've lost to your brother.' Lady Everton smiled.

'Nana, he's twelve. There isn't any stress clouding his mind yet.'

'And what stress do you have, hmm? Certainly not paying rent,' she watched her grandson turn a delicate shade of red. 'You've been living under the same roof for twenty two years.'

'I'm still looking for the right estate.'Astor said meekly.

'At least he has a job,' Nathanial interjected. 'Much better than all the other highborns. Sitting around with nothing to do.'

'Yes, now I have someone to tend to me when I'm older,' she ruffled her grandson's hair.

A knock came at the door and a servant entered, bobbing a quick curtsy as he spoke. 'Lady Everton, apologies but Lord Hemingway has requested all three of you at the front gates immediately,' he looked blankly for a moment at their confusion. 'Word has spread about the King's death.'

•••

The ride was quick and silent with all their minds churning in anxious worry. But even that couldn't stop Astor from noticing their weather acting more dreary than usual. The clock tower struck two upon their arrival and the sky was already a dismal grey. As if Keydon itself already knew of the terrible possibility.

'Carter.' Lord Hemingway shook his hand. It was the first non-threatening exchange between the two and evidently surprised everyone. Even Lord Carlton.

'You certainly looked better dressed last week.'

'Ah, Miss Carlton. Hardly a pleasure,' Astor exchanged a glance before turning towards the two men and their curious newfound truce. 'Funny how death brings people together.'

'Hilarious that you've forgotten our rivalry. We're to be thrown against each other like gladiators in a battle of finery,' she smiled at the familiar levity between them.

'Well, murder by someone such as yourself should be interesting enough.'

'Lord Hemingway, Lord Carlton,' an elderly face greeted them. 'This way.' There was something about the way he spoke, the curt nods coming too quickly and his fumbling steps that left all their hearts sinking further.

'Is he—'

'He's alive,' he replied hurriedly as they reached the king's chambers. 'Barely.'

Astor had never seen anyone bedridden. Even Lady Everton managed to go through her years with only discreet coughs and rare sniffles. But Astor had feared it before, and fear was most cunning when mixed with imagination. The room was a spitting image of the one in his head. The king lay weak, pale and frail, several sizes smaller than when they last saw him. But the small rise and fall of his chest clung to their single thread of hope.

'I've never seen anything like it,' the doctor's grim tone let on more than he intended. 'All we can do now is hope he'll pull through another day.' He snapped his bag shut— and something snapped in Astor too.

He watched as each pair of feet left the room, loitering mere steps from the royal physician. 'Sir? I was wondering if I could ask a few questions concerning His Majesty's condition?' he motioned to the immobile king.

'Always a pleasure, Mr. Hemingway,' he met Astor with a genuine smile. 'Is it something about my practice? I can't begin to tell you what a relief it is to have someone else in the field ever since it declined in favour. It seems our citizens are more squeamish than brave.'

'I've only started, still learning. I'm not actually a physician,' he gave a nervous chuckle. 'Um, no. Nothing about the practice,' he said sheepishly. 'The way you spoke implied you do know the king's illness.'

'It isn't what I know, it's what I fear,' he steered Astor out of the room so as to grant the king his much needed rest. 'Fool's webcap,' he assumed his earlier grim expression. 'I think that's what's caused this.'

'But that's—'

'Poisoning,' he confirmed his thoughts. 'The rest can't know yet, you have to understand. If the death of Lady Isabelle Rose was anything, perhaps keeping the cause between us will delay the news. A city wide panic is one thing but if it reaches the north, it would kill the kingdom,' he said with utmost seriousness. 'You have your talents, Mr. Hemingway, I'm sure,' he clapped a hand to his back. 'Until next time,' he said and proceeded in the other direction.