Topic: A Loophole To Exploit

Alys Beauforte

Date: 2013-06-12 17:28 EST
August 6th, 1613

The bright day before the young Prince Arthur's ninth birthday was alive with color and life. The gardens of Bannoc Rise, the King's residence within the capital city of Martel, were thrown open to the entire court and visiting dignitaries, a feast laid out upon tables that groaned beneath the weight of delicacies and treats chosen specifically for the youngest of the royal children's enjoyment. Polished oak had been laid in a wide square to allow for dancing before the high table itself, each corner holding a staff decorated with winding flowers on the vine, musicians set to one side to play constantly throughout the formally informal gathering organized for the young prince's amusement. Unusually for a court function, there were children everywhere, each dressed for the occasion but still allowed to play as children would, for this was the prince's birthday party. The joust had been arranged for the day following, and though there would be a ball to follow that evening, this day was entirely for the prince and his young friends and peers.

Through the gaily dressed courtiers, the king mingled with his guests, even playing with some of the children himself, determinedly keeping away from the subjects of war and politics as best he could. His whole family was gathered there, and this was what he wanted to enjoy. The Duke and Duchess of Monceau, Edward and Cecile, were seen in public together for the first time in many weeks; their son, William, with his wife and sons; the queen, the princess, and both princes.

But many eyes turned to the Lady Alys, Cecile's daughter and William's sister, who had gathered to her several suitors in the few short days since she had returned to court. Smiling and laughing with friends and hopeful others, she was truly the rose of the royal house that day, as playful with her own peers as she was with the children who mingled through the happy gathering.

Back at court among those he considered family and friends, Charles felt at home, even amidst the rumblings of betrayal and deceit and impending war. The celebration in honor of Christian's youngest son had begun, and Charles was one who loved celebrations, refusing to allow anything ruin the high spirits of the day or of those gathered there. He was dressed in a deep red velvet doublet with a frilled ivory collar and cuffs, black hose and boot, clothing that fit his station as a duke of the realm, though not nearly as rich as the clothing worn by the royal family. He had arrived with little fanfare, though many curious eyes had followed him, as they had Alys, whispers already circulating around court regarding the pair. He had greeted the royal family as was their due, but before he could make his way toward the Marilliers, he found himself dragged off by the royal princes who had very seriously challenged the new duke to a duel.

A small space had been cleared to make way for the challenge, and Charles - who made no secret of being fond of the boys and who was known to possess a childlike spirit - had accepted the challenge on the condition that he take them both on at once, for if one defeated him, he could not very well duel the other.

The little duel had attracted a good deal of interest, both from the children who wanted to see their princes defeat the noble duke who always had time for them, and from their parents and other nobles who were genuinely charmed by what they saw. The king himself stood as marshal for the duel, laying down the rules of the bout with as straight a face as he could manage, stepping smartly out of the way before the first blows could land.

Charles drew the ducal medallion from his chest and handed it to the king for safe keeping, along with a lavish bow, before being presented with a wooden sword that was far too small for his stature. He bowed low to each of his opponents, who were half his size, but whose challenge he seemed to take as seriously as if they were equal opponents. He then spread his feet, the wooden sword held lightly in his right hand, and awaited the first attack.

Predictably enough, the first attack came from the Crown Prince, Frederick, eighteen months his brother's senior and ever so slightly jealous of the fuss being made over Arthur's birthday. His wooden sword slapped heavily against that of the duke, and as though they had planned it from the start, little Arthur rushed forward to poke at Charles' leg with his own practice sword. At the edge of the crowd watching, laughter went up, Alys' distinctive sound of amusement clearly audible along with the clink of silver as friendly bets were laid among the adults watching this unexpected entertainment.

Charles sword parried the slap of Frederick's sword, but he could only defend against one boy at a time and Arthur's sword made contact, though it did little to deter the duke. He did, however, go along with the ruse, feigning a wound and limping back with a small cry of pain, before whirling around and plucking the smaller boy off the floor, holding him against his chest with his free arm around his waist and spinning him around once before using him as a shield against his older brother, which was decidedly against the rules, chuckling madly.

The boys' laughter was enough to bring more smiles to the faces of the courtiers around them, though the smiles were far more relaxed upon the faces of those who had children of their own or spent time with young relations. Some even called "Foul!" as Arthur was swept off his feet, the little boy giggling with wild abandon as his legs flailed, fully aware that his elder brother was trying to get another blow in and delighting in frustrating both prince and duke in the continuation of their duel.

Charles feinted, leaning in to slap his sword against Frederick's but instead he spun around behind the older boy and gave his rear a light playful whack with the flat of the sword before depositing the younger boy on his feet beside his brother and turning to face the pair again, sword at the ready.

Frederick, with all the youthful arrogance of his station in life, let out an indignant squawk at the indignity of having his rear smacked, however lightly, spinning about to step up beside his giggling little brother once again. By now, the princes were having advice called to them from the nobles who knew them well enough to dare such a familiarity, and some of that advice was taken. The next blow came from Arthur, the flat of his wooden blade aimed for the back of Charles' hand before the younger prince poked once again with the point. Yet while he did this, Frederick, Crown Prince of Francia, scuttled around behind His Grace, the Duke of Lonnare, and delivered a roundhouse smack to Charles' rear end that was painfully audible.

Charles was too fast for the young prince, moving too quickly for him to make contact with the back of his hand - a hand that he needed uninjured if he was to tilt in the games the following day as his brother's champion. He just managed to deflect the wooden point of Arthur's blade, but it was the slap to Charles' rear that finally made contact - tit for tat, as it were, as Frederick repaid the indignity done to himself. The smack stung Charles' barely-protected backside, though his expression betrayed only surprise, not pain. He turned toward the older boy, deeming he needed to save face with one final blow, just to ensure the boy knew he was truly no match for the duke, but could be once grown if he practiced, and then he'd gracefully allow himself to be beaten. He smacked his own sword against Frederick's, hard enough to let the boy know he was a worthy opponent, leaving himself undefended against Arthur.

A cry went up from the watchers as, behind Charles, Arthur lunged with his sword while his older brother held the duke distracted. Only the timely intervention of the king kept that wooden point from making direct contact with the duke's back, instead slipping with the guidance of a father's hand between Charles' arm and his side. "You're dead, Your Grace," Christian nodded, calling the duel with a grin. As soon as he saw the point of the practice sword sticking out, Frederick let out a whoop of triumph, declaring himself the victor, though it had been his brother who had finished the duel.

Ah, but Charles was not finished with the two boys just yet. He bent over as the king proclaimed him dead, groaning as though he were truly in pain, waiting for the boys to come close enough to investigate before grabbing them both around the waist and tumbling to the soft grass with them both to give them both a tickling.

Alys Beauforte

Date: 2013-06-12 17:28 EST
Applause filled the air around the laughing players as childish giggles erupted from beneath Charles' skilled fingertips. With an indulgent grin, Christian waited until both his sons were breathless and motionless on the floor, stepping up to smartly - and gently - rap the Duke of Lonnare across the knuckles for manhandling the Crown Prince and his brother, even as their friends and cousins swooped in to gather the triumphant pair up and bear them toward the food. "Well done, Your Grace," the king chuckled, offering a hand to help his friend back onto his feet. "But however will your reputation cope when it gets out that you've been defeated by a nine year old boy?"

Charles' laughter joined theirs, obviously fond of the king's sons as though they were his own kin. He let the pair get dragged away, not wanting to push his luck too far. Though he was a favorite of the king and was indulged on occasion, he knew he could only be so familiar with them, especially in public, and didn't want to make any presumptions or take advantage of the king's favor. He grabbed hold of the king's hand and found his feet, pausing a moment to straighten his doublet and shove the unruly curls away from his face, smiling with unabashed good humor. "Since that nine year old boy is none other than the king's son, I should think it an honor to have lost such a duel."

"It's a fine thing you've given him today, Charles," Christian smiled, clapping him on the back with a friendly, if heavy, hand. "Not many boys can say they have beaten their own Champion in hand to hand combat. I would have given much to be able to say the same at his age." His eyes scanned the mingling courtiers, taking in the brightness and gaiety of the gathering around him. "Tell me, how did Will take it?" he asked in a quieter voice as his gaze skimmed over the man in question, who was deep in conversation with his mother and keeping one eye always on the men who were lining up to speak with his sister.

Charles glanced briefly to the little family whom he almost thought of as his own, at least in part, frowning just a little at the group of potential suitors who were lining up in hopes of finding favor with Alys. It almost felt like cheating, knowing she was only going through the motions with them because her heart already belonged to him. "He was predictably upset at first, but fortunately, I saw the fist before it made contact," he answered honestly. "I believe he's come round, though I'm not so sure her father will feel the same."

"You might be surprised," Christian smirked behind a rub of his hand over the scruff of his beard, knowing his brother-in-law somewhat better than most people gave him credit for. "Still, you should be grateful it will be my decision, all the same. It's her mother I'd be worrying about. Knowing my sister as I do, you might well be next on her list of conquests."

An effected laugh rang out across the gardens, drawing their attention back to Alys and her friendly group. Count Francis Denhelm had managed to insinuate himself into her attention, laughing at something said in a manner that had to be designed to set all other men's teeth on edge. As the king watched, the Alanic noble bowed low over his niece's hand, pressing his lips to her knuckles in a courtly kiss that lingered just a little too long for comfort.

Charles cast another glance toward the group, his gaze falling over the Duchess of Monceau, who was a beauty in her own right, but not the lady he had his heart set on, not to mention the fact that she was that lady's own mother. Before Charles could reply to the king, his attention was drawn to the Alanic man had insinuated himself into Alys' personal space and was pressing a kiss to her hand. Charles clenched his jaw, his face flushing with anger and jealousy, despite his attempts to hide it. "Is it not enough that he bedded the Duchess" Must he have her daughter, too?" he asked, his voice low enough that only Christian could hear hm.

The king's brow rose, sardonic in his own suppression of temper. He could not be seen to offer disfavor to a visitor from a foreign court unless the man committed a crime. "Faint heart never won lady fair," he muttered back to Charles, his gaze quickly scanning the people around them to make certain of the rest of the young woman's male kin. Will was engaged with his sons, far enough away not to have seen that balancing on the cusp of ill behavior, and Edward was visible in discussion with the queen's personal chaplain. The group around Alys had dissipated somewhat since Denhelm's arrival among them. It was only visible to those who knew her well, but beneath her smile she was not pleased to be left with the count, who still had not relinquished her hand from his grasp, her skin white beneath his fingers as he kept her from reclaiming it. The king cleared his throat. "Your damsel is in distress, Your Grace. Try not to make him bleed."

"I shall make him do worse than bleed, Majesty. I will see him disgraced," Charles replied lowly between clenched teeth, but before Christian could say another word, be it of warning or encouragement, Charles was marching toward the pair with long deliberate strides. "Ah, Lady Alys," Charles interrupted the pair, a strained smile on his face. "Did you forget you promised me a dance?" he asked, reaching to rescue her hand away from the overly-presumptive count.

As Charles left the king's side, Christian's sister took his place, taking her brother's arm with a barely concealed smirk. "You are walking a dangerous line, brother," she murmured to him, unsurprised when he only laughed, leading her toward the dancing stage with a nod to the musicians.

"Your beauty has my body aflame, my lady," Denhelm was saying as Charles approached the uncomfortable pair, a flicker of something more than disappointment or annoyance crossing his face as his attempt to press his seduction was interrupted.

Alys, for all that she was playing the game as best she could, could not hide the relief in her eyes as the duke came to her rescue, finally able to take her hand back from the count and fold it in the other to hide the reddened imprint of his fingers against her flesh. "Your Grace, I had quite forgot," she smiled at Charles - hardly surprising, since the dance he claimed had not been mentioned at all before that moment. It did not stop her from giving him her hand, however, even as she turned her smile onto her by now thoroughly annoyed former companion. "Do excuse me, my lord."

Count Denhelm bowed his florid bow, his jaw clenched. "Of course, my lady." He did not even acknowledge Charles, discourtesy steaming from him as Alys turned away with her deeply preferred companion of choice.

Charles had arrived just in time to overhear the inappropriate and unwelcome remark from Denhelm and it took all Charles' self control not to throw a punch at the man and cause a scene. He, too, did nothing to acknowledge the other man, hurriedly ushering Alys away from his proximity to follow the king and his sister toward the stage to dance with her, as promised. "If he speaks to you like that again, I will gut him," he muttered quietly, for her ears alone.

Relieved to have been rescued, and touched by the jealousy radiating from her secret lover, Alys couldn't help smiling, showing her amusement at the whole situation openly as she allowed herself to be led away from the fuming count. "You may have to," she murmured back to Charles. "You missed his attempt to describe my breasts." Knowing that this was just going to infuriate him further, she laughed as she said it, sharing a wide smile with her mother as Cecile glanced back at them.

"He did what"!" Charles exclaimed, a little too loudly, losing that so-carefully guarded composure and coming to a full stop as he turned to glare across the garden at the man in question, missing Alys' smiling exchange with her mother altogether. "If he so much as looks at you again, I will kill him," Charles muttered between clenched teeth, his face flushed with anger he was no longer able to repress.

Alys Beauforte

Date: 2013-06-12 17:29 EST
His outburst brought more than a little attention from several quarters, not least of which was her own father, whom they were passing as it came. A look passed between father and daughter, and Duke Edward nodded his solemn nod, turning away with a dark look cast toward the count, who had chosen a lady at random to join the dancing that was proposed. Alys' hand tightened gently about Charles' fingers as they stepped onto the dancing stage, drawing him to their places as the musicians played through the first few bars of the dance chosen. "Your Grace," she murmured warningly, "the cracks are already beginning to show."

"I don't give a bloody hell about the cracks," Charles replied, though he had regained some of his composure, his voice lowered once again for her ears alone as he turned back to her. "I will be your escort for the rest of the evening," he declared, leaving no room for argument. He knew they were walking a thin line, but if Will found out what the count had said to his sister, there was no telling what he might do. He lifted her hand and offered a small bow as the dance began, guiding her through the intricate moves while keeping one suspicious eye on Denhelm. "We should have gone to Lonnare. We could have been married there and then asked for the king's blessing."

Caught as they were out in the open, Alys could not give into the flash of temper that showed itself in her eyes as he laid down the law to her. He was not yet even her betrothed, and still he thought he could simply order her time, did he" Her nails dug into his palm as she passed through the motions of the dance with him, still smiling. To everyone else, she was enjoying the dance - to Charles, she was flaming mad and awaiting an opportunity to make damn sure he knew it. "And you could be a head shorter," she muttered to him, before choosing to clear her temper. If he was determined to be a possessive fool, she might as well make certain of it. "Besides, do you truly think I would spare any thought at all to a man who told me to my face that there is nothing he should like more in the world than to kiss my pretty duckies?"

Charles' attention was drawn back to Alys when he felt her nails dig into his palm, not quite hard enough to draw blood but enough to get his attention. Despite his attempts to keep a cool head, his face flushed with anger, not at her necessarily, but at Denhelm and the situation he'd presented. He'd been perfectly willing to at least play at allowing Alys to court other suitors, but when that one suitor in particular made unwelcome advances, all bets were off, as far as Charles was concerned. Though she might think him possessive, in his opinion he was being protective. "Do you truly think a man who speaks so....vulgarly to a lady he barely knows is going to take no for an answer?" he countered, letting her think on that a moment.

"Of course I don't," she murmured, careful to keep their words low enough that those closest to them could not make sense of the conversation as it slipped back and forth. "I have no intention of ever being alone with him, Charles, for goodness' sake." That dangerous look was back in her eyes as she met his gaze, the dance passing her more closely into his arms than she had been for days. "Unless you've decided I raise my skirts for anyone, regardless of how I like them?"

"You misunderstand my concerns, Lady Alys," he pointed out as he led her in a circle, guided by one arm around her waist, his voice clear but quiet near her ear. "It is not you I distrust but him. He is like a snake, just waiting to find the right moment to strike. Mark my words, Alys. I have known men like him before. Be wary of him. He is not a threat to be taken lightly."

Her hand lay gentle over his at her waist as they promenaded, passing by the king and his sister before she answered the warning concern in Charles' voice. "He is a man, and all men have their weak spots," she reassured him. "I know how to find them, if I need to." But as reassuring as she sounded, she wasn't entirely certain of that. A man like Denhelm must have had women forcibly reject him before now. She doubted her meager store of strength would be worth even tuppence against him.

Charles had to repress a snort at the mention of that. "Weak spots," he repeated, when it was once again safe to talk without another pair of dancers overhearing them. "You kick him in the balls if he gets out of hand. That is his weak spot," Charles instructed. "And then you go directly to the king. Failing that, to Will or Edward or myself. If he so much as touches you against your will, he will answer to me."

"You need to calm down, Your Grace," she murmured, her nails turning against his palm once again, this time to distract him from his growling about a man he had taken against without even having been introduced to him. "Since you have already appointed yourself my escort for the afternoon, he will have little opportunity, will he?"

"This is calm, believe me," he assured her, feeling her nails scratch his palm again, which was doing very little to reassure him. The close proximity to her wasn't helping to calm his nerves, but he didn't want to be like his adversary and take advantage of her. He would try to do things the right way, if only to keep his own head attached to his body. "Am I like him, Alys?" he asked, suddenly wondering if he was anything like the man he thought as pretty as a snake but just as dangerous. "I do not wish to be." He turned toward her, lifting her hand and spinning her once in place before guiding her back into his arms.

The closeness was doing nothing for her composure, either, each brush of hand to hand or waist reminding her starkly of two encounters that could not be repeated, making her wish she had gone to Lonnare with him when he had first asked her. Even in disgrace, at least they would have been together, not forced to play this game for the court to see. "You are nothing like him," she whispered fiercely, her carefully constructed smile faltering in her eagerness to make sure he knew for certain that he shared nothing with the odious Count Denhelm. "Not at all, and I won't have you even entertain the possibility that you might be. Say it again, and I will have to remind you that I love you, Beau."

Her reaffirmation of her love for him, along with the familiarity of a nickname he allowed few to call him by, softened his mood and caused him to smile. "That is not much of a punishment, My Lady," he pointed out, thinking he would never grow tired of hearing her tell him of her love for him, tempted to repeat his question, just to hear her say it again. As the music slowed and the dance came to a close, he turned toward her and repeated that same action that the count had attempted, but so much more gracefully. He lifted her hand to his lips to brush it with a kiss, soft and gentle, his eyes finding hers, daring to ask for a moment alone, though here, they were never really alone. "Will you walk with me in the garden?"

The softening of his expression softened her, their tempers so evenly matched that she couldn't help but echo him when he softened or hardened to some word or deed. The brush of his lips against her fingers brought a smile to her face too delighted for anyone who looked at them to mistake where her favor lay. Knowing that the king stood nearby, and must have heard that quiet request, she let her smile speak as she drew both her hands into Charles' grasp. "With my uncle's permission, I should very much like to walk with you, Your Grace."

She tilted a glance toward the king, who gave up pretending not to be listening and snorted with laughter. "Yes, yes, go on," he waved them away, warning Charles with a look to stay within sight of someone at all times, or else be certain no one saw them disappear and reappear together.

The permission granted him by her uncle, the king, caused his smile to widen, his expression brightening. He offered a grateful nod to the king both in thanks and acknowledgement of the unspoken warning before offering Alys an arm to lead her from the dance stage out into the gardens where they could speak more privately. His eyes were only for Alys, ignoring every other woman who might have glanced his way, nor giving any heed to the gaze of Denhelm, which followed the pair of lovers.

Alys Beauforte

Date: 2013-06-12 17:29 EST
Alys' smile, too, was bright with thanks to her uncle as he waved them away, her hands folding into the crook of Charles' elbow with a familiarity not many would think odd, given their long acquaintance. She had no eyes for any other herself, certainly not the covetous count who watched them with dark intent. "I did not think he would simply wave us away," she chuckled quietly as they moved out from the milling group. "I thought for certain he would insist upon a chaperone."

There was something Charles knew that Alys did not, something he had guessed at since his conversation with her brother only a few days before. He knew Christian was secretly happy for them, secretly wanting them to be together, but that he had no choice but to follow protocol the same as they, if only to protect them from his enemies. Charles also now knew the reasons why Christian was so adamant about wishing a love match for Alys - something that was mostly unheard of among the royals - and it wasn't only because he was fond of her or her favorite suitor. But this was a secret Charles could not share without risking Alys knowing it came from her brother. "Is it so hard to believe that he wishes you happy?" Charles asked as he led her out into the cool breeze and warm sunshine.

Her smile was warm but resigned, knowing that her station precluded a great many things from her life. And yet she was not the head of her family, as was the king who, though he loved her, might not be given a choice if the tide of the world changed. "He might wish it with all his heart, but until we are wed, I cannot feel safe," she told Charles quietly as he drew her further from the crowd of courtiers, unaware of the gossip that painted them as a couple close to as handsome as the king and his queen. "Any number of things could change and leave him no choice but to sell me for political stability. That is what it means to be a king."

"Once we are wed, no one will be able to take you from me. You will be under my protection, and I will do everything in my power to keep you safe. Until then, we shall just have to be careful and hope the king sees fit to allow a wedding sooner, rather than later. It is no secret how I feel about you, Alys," he said as he turned to face her, taking her hands in his, only partially hidden among the flowers and trimmed hedges of the king's garden. "We are already favored among the court. Have you not seen the smiles cast our way?" While it was true they each had enemies and there were those who would rather not see them wed but use each of them for their own devices, the feeling among most of the courtiers so far seemed favorable.

"Once we are wed, I will not need to be protected any longer," she pointed out through her smile as he took her hands, gazing up at him with fondness in her eyes for the care he was trying to take of her already. Something had changed since they had come to court, she could feel it, a gentling in the way he approached her, as though she were a skittish mare and he a wary handler. His mention of the court gossips and opinions made her laugh a little. "They smile because they see no harm, or because they see more harm than they can name. It is not their opinion I care for." Her eyes flickered with a brief memory of the anger he'd incited in her as they were dancing. "Do not ever think to order me about as though I am one of your soldiers, though, Charles. I will fight you every step of the way if you do."

Whether she would need protecting or not, he felt that need inside him to do just that and probably would so long as they were together, which, if he had anything to say about the matter, would be for the rest of their lives. He mirrored the fondness in her eyes, his own eyes reflecting love and longing, not the lust that Count Denhelm had tried to impress upon her. His smile faded, however, when she admonished him, however gently given, for his over-protective possessiveness, however well-intentioned, remembering what Will had told him about her marriage to Henri of Edessa. "No, I should not have done so. I'm sorry. I spoke out of anger with Denhelm. It's only that I love you so much, I can hardly bear the waiting."

"We will have to bear the waiting," she reminded him, the feeling bittersweet all the same. Bitter, in that they had to wait at all; sweet in the knowledge that their union would be sanctioned by the king, at some point. Her smile flickered back into teasing life as she reconsidered something they had discussed briefly in the darkness of another family's home. "Though I could wish I had said yes when you asked me to go to Lonnare with you. My nights are become very lonely, and worse, knowing you are so close and yet so very far away from me."

He knew he had to be careful, so long as they were in public where they could be seen, and even more importantly in private, as those moments were forbidden. Even so, he found himself unable to resist touching her, lifting a hand to touch her cheek and brush an errant strand of hair away from her face. "If we want to be together, we can't take any more chances, Alys. Everything depends on it." The success of their plan depended on it. His very life could even depend on it. If they were discovered and he was disgraced, stripped of his title and lands, there would be no chance of them ever being together, and all would be lost. "Even though we are not together, you are always close in my heart. You have always been there, Alys, even when you thought you were not."

She smiled as his fingers brushed her cheek, knowing he was taking advantage of wayward strands of red to touch her skin and see the soft flush of her desire rise over her flesh once again. "I know," she promised him, her gaze flickering to the mingling party-goers not so very far away from them. There were curious eyes turned their way, but no hostility that she could see. Still, gossip could cause no end of harm. "I am impatient, that is all. But I know not to endanger you with my impatience. I swear it, I do know how to behave myself."

"Alys, there's something I must tell you," he told her abruptly, with a glance around to see if anyone was watching them. What he wanted to tell her required some privacy, but they could not risk slipping away to a place where they could not be found in plain sight. He reached for hand to lead her toward a bench in a quiet corner of the garden, where they could still be seen, but where few were found wandering about.

His sudden shift from gently romantic to secretive and tense made her frown a little, her glance returning to the other courtiers even as he drew her along the paths to a secluded corner of the beautifully laid out gardens. "Charles, what is it?" she asked, concerned by the change in him as both her hands wrapped about his one, enfolding his fingers between her palms. "What's happened?"

He pulled her down onto the bench beside him, both her hands wrapped around his. He wasn't sure if he should bring up a subject that was clearly painful to her, instinctively knowing she had already forgiven him for the past, and yet, he felt the need to confess and to ask her forgiveness, even though she didn't know what Will had told him. "Nothing's happened," he assured her, gentling his voice. "It's just..." He lowered his gaze a moment, ashamed of how he'd acted in the past and what he'd inadvertently put her through. "I should have told you how I felt years ago."

Drawn down in a sweep of skirts that almost drowned his legs in embroidered damask, Alys settled beside him on the bench, secure in the knowledge that though others were watching, they could not hear what was being shared. All those others saw was a couple courting, and hopefully they did not begrudge it. Her expression stilled as he brought up the past, force of habit rushing her memory past certain months to the coolness of him when her betrothal had been announced. "I thought you could not wait to be rid of me," she told him quietly, her lips touched with faint bitterness. "You turned so cold - I thought that you had only been pretending to be my friend for Will's sake, and as soon as you knew I wasn't going to be around any longer, you didn't feel the need to pretend anymore. I won't deny that it hurt, but I was a child. I know you didn't mean to hurt me, any more than I meant to hurt you."

"No, I never meant to hurt you. It was the exact opposite, in fact. I thought if you thought I didn't care, if you hated me, it would make things easier for you, make it easier to forget me, but Alys..." He drew closer, taking both her hands in his own once again, a look in his eyes that silently pleaded with her not only to understand, but to forgive him. "My dearest love..." His voice caught and he lowered his gaze again to gather his composure.

Alys Beauforte

Date: 2013-06-12 17:30 EST
"How could it ever have been easier, Charles?" she asked him, an echo of the hopelessness she had felt five years before making itself known in her voice. "I was being sent away, alone, to a country I'd never even heard of, to marry a man older than my father. There could be nothing worse than that for the child I was." She shook her head, her expression finding some impossibly soft vulnerability as his endearment fell from his lips. Her hand uncurled from about his, smoothing her touch to his cheek to urge his gaze to meet hers once again. "I did hate you, for a long time," she murmured softly, apology in her tone and gaze for that stupid response to her situation. "But I missed you more, my darling. I couldn't hate you."

He lifted his head, forced to meet her gaze, blue eyes suspiciously wet. "I'm so sorry, Alys," he said with heartfelt regret and honestly. "Can you ever forgive me?" he asked, knowing she had already done so, but needing to hear it. "I was such a fool. I never meant to hurt you. I never want to hurt you. I only want to love you."

"Oh, Charles ..." Touched as she was by the suspicious glitter of tears in his eyes, Alys couldn't help smiling as she raised both her hands to cradle his jaw in her palms. "I forgave you years ago. You were the first person I wanted to see when I came back. I thought you hated me."

"I could never hate you, Alys," he told her softly, his voice threatening tears, a rare occurrence. "How could I ever hate you when I have loved you nearly all my life?" Ever since he'd been brought to court and welcomed into the lives of the royals. "When you went away, it was like something inside me died. I thought I'd never see you again. I tried to forget you, but I couldn't. I couldn't bear the thought of you belonging to someone else."

"Shhh." Her fingertips stroked over his lips, willing him to be calm, not to weep where others might see him. Though they were still in full view of anyone who cared to look, Alys didn't give it much thought, her being focusing entirely onto her Charles as she caressed his cheek, leaning close to him in their secluded corner beneath the warm sunshine. "Why didn't you say anything?" she asked in a gentle whisper, regret for what might have been flickering in her gaze. If he had only spoken up when she'd been here, when she'd been younger, Christian might never have agreed to send her away at all.

He lowered his gaze again, ashamed and regretful of his action or inaction, shrugging his shoulders, unsure if any answer he might offer would seem adequate for all the pain he'd caused her and himself. "Who was I compared to a king?" he replied, lifting his gaze, barely controlling his emotions, a man of deep passions, just as herself. "I was nothing and no one. A commoner. All I was, all I am, all I've become is because of the generosity of the king. How could I ever hope to win a lady such as you when there were kings vying for your attention and your hand in marriage" There still are, dear Alys, but I am no longer a simple commoner. I have a title and lands, just as any noble. I have proven my worth, and I will prove it further still. I am the King's Man now and one to be reckoned with, not a mere boy with nothing to his name."

"Never say that to me again." That temper he so admired had been pricked once more, not by his description of himself, but by the unfairness of the comparison he placed at his own feet between himself and her long dead husband. "At ten years old, you were a greater man than Henri of Elan ever was. I will not have you compare yourself to him again, do you hear me" Never again."

Because she knew that, for all his faults, even the commoner Charles Beauforte had been would never have treated her the way her husband had in those first months of marriage. There were secrets from that time she had not even shared with her brother, fearful that her letters were being intercepted, that her husband might learn what she thought of him. She had been lucky when his injury had calmed his temper, but even so, there had been one time - a time etched into her memory with darkness and fear - when she had almost lost everything at his hands. "I do not care what you have, be it wealth or title or the king's favor. I love you, Charles. And if I could marry you tonight, I would, and damn all the politicking in the world with it."

Her words, though unsurprising, made his heart swell with pride and joy. There were those who saw nobility in him, though he was not of noble blood - Christian, William, Alys, as well as a few others, some known, some not so well known, but those three who knew him best. They saw in him what he did not see in himself or perhaps what he hoped to achieve, the potential of what he could become. Her words of praise stirred further emotion in him, and forgetting there were others who might be watching or perhaps not caring, overcome with emotion, his heart overflowing with love, he found himself dropping onto the grass to prostrate himself before her on one knee, holding her hands between his own. "Marry me, Alys. Be my wife. To hell with the politics and the protocol. You love me. The Goddess will favor our union, if only for that reason. I do not wish to marry you for any other reason than I love you, and I will proclaim it for all to hear, so help me."

"Charles!" Her exclamation was, thankfully, hushed, but no one could mistake the shock on her face as her companion threw himself down to make what could not be anything but a marriage proposal here in such a public place. Those with the wit to look around were by turns amused and annoyed by the reactions of the lady's kin - her mother's obvious disapproval, the barely readable neutrality of her father's expression, the king's resigned sigh, and worst of all, the laughing groan of her brother as he rolled his eyes. So much for keeping their preference for one another such a secret until the time was right. Although ....Alys leaned forward, speaking through clenched teeth and fixed smile. "If you don't get up right now, I'm going to hit you so hard you'll be seeing stars for a week."

"I will get up, just as soon as you say yes," he countered, his eyes shining with happiness. Yes, he knew the danger, but he was mostly among friends, and he still believed his only real threats to be Denhelm and Bereth. Everyone - or nearly everyone - who knew Alys loved her and was happy that she'd returned to court. Was there any who truly loved her who would deny her happiness" Surely not her mother or father, and certainly not her brother, and most importantly, not her king. "Better yet, kiss me here and now, where everyone can see and know that you love me and that I love you."

Amber-flecked eyes blazed with embarrassed anger at his impetuousness, yet he knew her well enough to recognize the heat deep within, the sudden heave of her breath and tightening of her hands within his. Yet it seemed to take a long time for her to consider her response, determined not to be taken for a woman who could be bowled over by a rake, nor yet so heartless as to deny a man in love. "Release my hands, and you will get your answer," she told him, though even in his reckless state, he could not miss the flicker in her expression that suggested her yes was likely to be a little on the painful side.

At least, he was not commenting on her breasts or claiming how she made his loins flame with heat, as another suitor had so recently done. He knew he was tempting fate, but he couldn't help himself. Whether this show of adoration was for Alys' benefit or to prove to Denhelm that he was already beaten was uncertain. It was more than likely a little of both, but Charles had found himself overcome, his heart swelling to burst with love for his lady, and he could simply not contain his passion any longer. "Will you promise to say yes, even as you hit me?" he countered, lowering his voice, knowing her all too well.

"Don't you trust me?" One brow rose to challenge him as she murmured that, acutely aware that the vast majority of those who had gathered for the prince's birthday were now riveted on his cousin and her suitor, waiting almost with baited breath to learn what her answer might be. Though her family knew her heart, and his, there were others who must be hoping desperately that the duke was about to be rebuffed with all the temper and spirit the royal blood could muster.

"I trust you in all things, my dear Lady Alys," he replied, as if only just realizing that so many eyes were on them. He lowered his voice for her ears only, looking up at her with an expression that spoke volumes of his torment. "I am no stranger who courts you. I have known you and loved you all my life. I stepped aside so that you could fulfill your duty, but that is over now. We have done all that was asked of us. It is true you have only just returned to court, but dearest love, we have waited long enough."

Alys Beauforte

Date: 2013-06-12 17:31 EST
For just a moment, she softened, her temper easing away under the force of his longing, her aching heart swelling with something very close to triumphant hope. But they both knew he couldn't be seen to get away with this impulsive action without some punishment, and it would be far better for them both if that punishment came from his beloved than from his king. "I know we have," she agreed in a low mutter, pulling her hands from his. "Stand up, for goodness' sake, Charles. If I do this while you're down there, you will land in the pond."

He wasn't even sure why he was on one knee asking her a question he already knew the answer to. She had already told him she'd marry him; it was just a matter of time and formality now, and the hardest thing of all for a couple deep in the throes of love - patience. He knew she was going to slap him, he knew she had no choice, but oh, how his heart ached for her, how he longed to take her in his arms right then and there and kiss her for everyone to see, and yet, even he wasn't that foolish. "Denhelm will try to win you tomorrow, while I am on the field. I will not let him win, Alys. My heart is yours. We belong together. You are already mine." That said, he did move to his feet, knowing his words might incite anger in her, as much as passion. He did not say anything she did not know already, and though he trusted her implicitly, he could not say the same for the count.

She rose with him, torn in heart between anger at the way he had returned once again to telling her how things would be and soft delight at the confident truth in his words. Her face had grown flushed, the flash in her eyes more passion than he had seen before, urged on by the thrill of knowing that others were watching, that this could have been stopped by any one of them who bore witness. "You, Your Grace," she declared, her voice loud enough to carry to the ears of those nearest them and thus through the interested gathering watching, "are insufferably arrogant to ask me such a thing in such a way." Her hand drew back, her expression flickered to the smirk he had seen once before when she had slapped him, and her palm swept forward to strike his cheek as hard as she could.

But Alys had more in mind than simply this public rebuttal of his impulsive arrogance, her well-educated mind having found the one loophole the king had not closed off to them. "And I love you," she went on, her lips quirking into a smile at the ripple of astonishment from those who watched them, however distant they might be. A moment later, she had pushed herself into Charles' arms, demanding from him a kiss that was in now way appropriate for anyone but lovers. A declaration of love made before a Prince of the Church ....Cardinal Bereth was going to be furious when he realized what Lady Alys had just made him a party to.

The sting of the slap was nothing compared to the flare of passion that her kiss ignited in him. He had taken a chance - a calculated risk, impulsive though it was, knowing she loved him and knowing that a public declaration of that love could not be ignored, not by the Cardinal and not by the King, no matter what political machinations might be going on surrounding them. They had been pawns in their little game of chess long enough - especially Alys - and though he loved Christian and had sworn fealty, his love for Alys trumped all other passions, desires, and loyalties.

Once her kiss lit that flame that burned brightly inside him and she forced her way into his arms, he could not help but wrap her in his embrace, returning her kiss with obvious passion. If Denhelm still thought he could win her now, he was more a fool than Charles had guessed. Their love for each other could no longer be kept secret, and he knew word of what had just transpired between them, in full view of the entire court and the king, would spread like wildfire by morning. The people of his own duchy, Lonnare, would have something more to celebrate before long - not only a new Duke, young and strong, but a new Duchess as well, to be their own rose among the thorns of the nobility.

"Witnessed!" The voice was easily recognizable as belonging to William, jumping perfectly to the role only he or his father could have taken in light of that little performance. A murmur sprang up around him as he grinned, stepping forward to lay a hand on his father's shoulder.

Duke Edward's usually solemn face warmed to a smile, both for his son's mischief and his daughter's triumph, and for the obvious love for her that was shown so openly by a man he had watched grow and rise and had even taught a little in days gone by. "Witnessed," he agreed with his son, and other voices rose, male and female alike, to join with that agreement.

Unable to keep the smirk from his face, the king turned to his Chancellor expectantly. "Well, Your Eminence?"

Cardinal Bereth drew in a slow breath, not quite managing to keep his expression from showing how sourly these events sat with him. But asked directly by the king before so many witnesses, he could not deny the Rites of the Church. "Indeed, sire, it is witnessed," he agreed with extreme reluctance. "The Goddess has shown her favor. I declare that a promise of marriage is agreed between Charles, Duke of Lonnare, and Alys, Lady Marillier. Blessings be upon their union."

As applause rang out over the sound of the children demanding to know what was going on, the cardinal was not the only one who seemed to have swallowed a whole lemon. Denhelm, the count from Alanic, was openly scowling, showing his colors yet unnoticed by the majority as Alys' lips broke from Charles' with a soft laugh. She beamed up at him, eyes dancing. "Am I, or am I not, a legal genius?"

Hearing the clamor going on around them and knowing it was their fault, Charles couldn't help but smile into his beloved's kiss. He had only agreed to the king's terms of courtship four days before and already, they had won the favor of king and court, church and family. The Goddess had surely smiled on them that day. They had taken a chance and had won. Charles beamed a happy smile back at her as she broke from his lips, her hand-print on his cheek slowly fading. "You are a legal genius only because I pushed you to it," he teased, claiming at least partial credit for their good fortune. Had he not taken a chance and gotten down on one knee, drawing the curiosity of those around them, they'd still be playing that silly game and holding to the terms of the king's agreement.

"Oh, I highly doubt you were aiming for that little loophole when you did that," she informed him, refusing to share the credit with a playful smile. "Whereas I, naturally, am so marvelously intelligent and wise, I went straight for the kill." She laughed delightedly, sliding a hand into the folds of his doublet and jerkin to extract the document the king had signed in approval of his friend paying court. "I'm going to burn this," she informed her promised lover, eyes sparkling as in the depths of the garden the party resumed its course with new gossip on the lips of the courtiers. "In front of the king."

"Of course, because you are so much more clever than I, Your Ladyship, that I could never have thought of such a thing on my own," he replied, mirroring the playfulness in her smile, teasing her in return. He may not have predicted this particular outcome, but he certainly had hoped for it. He leaned close to whisper in her ear, far less wary of being near her now that they were officially promised. "Methinks the good count shall have to look for another breast to fondle. Shall I introduce him to the Lady Marguerite?" Charles mused, unsure if Alys had heard from her brother about that particular lady's unique and irritating qualities, wish he wouldn't wish on anyone but his worst enemy.

She might have laughed, if she wasn't enjoying the freedom to tease him mercilessly in open company for the first time since they were children. At his suggestion of finding Denhelm a new bed-mate to seduce, she leaned back, that dangerous brow raised once again despite the warmth in her eyes. "And do you have the necessary familiarity to introduce the Lady Marguerite to a count you have not yet even made eye contact with, Your Grace?" she asked him sharply, daring him to admit that this woman he mentioned was the last to have shared his bed before he had found Alys once again.

"I might," he replied, neither confirming or denying her suspicions, not that it mattered. He belonged wholly to her now and no other. "But I think I should prefer to see him flounder and fuss and fume a while longer." He kissed her again, softer this time, affectionate, but not less passionate. "We should thank the king before he thinks us ungrateful," Charles told her, more than happy to let her burn that silly agreement once and for all, in front of king and court. Let someone challenge them now. Charles couldn't help but wonder if Christian had been secretly hoping things would turn out this way all along. He turned to offer her his arm once again, smiling warmly and affectionately. "Shall we, my lady?"

Alys Beauforte

Date: 2013-06-12 17:32 EST
"I think you are teasing me again," she murmured as his lips descended to hers, gleeful at how open he was with his affection now there was no constraint to keep them from one another before anyone's eyes. At his mention of the king, however, she laughed, rolling her eyes comically. "And you must belatedly ask for my father's permission," she pointed out, curling her arm through his to hug herself close against his side. There was no denying the love in her gaze, even for those who would rather have seen her matched elsewhere. "We shall, my lord. I am yours to try and command."

"I've no doubt you will continue to try and disobey me, despite your obvious inability to resist me," he teased in return. It was in good part her headstrong nature and passionate temperament that had always attracted him to her, in the first place. He wanted no empty-headed woman who could not think for herself or who only wanted to be like a bauble on his arm. He wanted a woman who was an equal and a match to him in every way; a woman with whom he could confide and share his thoughts and concerns and problems, no matter how great or small. While other women might have caught his eye and temporarily provided amusement, it was Alys who had always been his perfect match and to whom his heart had cleaved. "Your dear brother gave me permission to take you over my knee, should you forget your place," he teased further, a smirk upon his lips as he led her from the garden to rejoin the party, in particular that of her family and the king.

"And you yourself told me not half an hour ago to kick a man in the balls if he did anything I objected to," she countered with a smirk of her own, one hand uncurling from his arm to pat the back of his hand as though he were a child. He was a joy to tease and play with, though it remained to be seen how well they would get on when living in close proximity with one another. One thing was certain; they would never be bored. As they came up to her family, to the king, she subsided, lowering into a deep curtsey before their sovereign lord.

"No," he disagreed, reminding her quietly as they made their way toward the king, "I advised you to kick a particular man in the balls if the situation warranted it. I was not referring to myself. I would suggest if you wish to have children, my balls remain intact." His voice was thankfully low enough that hopefully no one else overheard. He, too, wondered what life would be like once they were married, but also doubted they'd ever be bored. He quieted as they arrived in close proximity to their sovereign lord, and he, too, offered a deep courtly bow.

Christian was still smirking in the wake of the cardinal's leave-taking. As much as he appreciated his Chancellor's administrative talents, he knew the man for what he was. His eyes turned to the newly betrothed couple as they bowed before him. "Don't even think about a small wedding in a hurry," he told them in amusement. "It will be big, it will be grand, it will be public, and it will have to wait until the Coimbrans have learned their lesson. Aside from that ..." His smirk broke into a wide smile. "My condolences, Alys, on capturing this cad in your net." He embraced his niece fondly, smothering her laugh in his shoulder, as Duke Edward caught Charles' eye.

The Duke had always been a constant figure in Charles' upbringing, the shadowy father figure of his best friend, the brother-in-law of the boy who was his prince and would become the king. While it was true that, yes, he rarely smiled, those who knew him could read the trip of his emotions through the expression in his eyes. And for the first time, those eyes were looking on Charles with open, obvious approval and pleasure, though the face they were set in remained neutral. "Your Grace."

"Condolences!" Charles echoed, laughing, as he straightened his bow to his full height. It was no secret that he was a favorite of the king's but not only that, they were, in all honesty, friends and had been since boyhood, despite his origins as a commoner. "You should be congratulating her, rather than offering your sympathies, or perhaps you should offer condolences to all the ladies who will not have the honor of sharing my bed now that I am promised." He flashed a teasing smirk, hoping the comment was as well-received as it was intended, and not as a jab or an insult to Alys.

Charles' demeanor turned solemn, however, as he was addressed by his future father-in-law, whom he held in great esteem. He was, after all, the closest thing Charles had had to a father after his own father had passed and he owed the man a debt of gratitude the could never be repaid. He bowed before the man, in reverence and respect, equals now in title, but not in age or experience. "I humbly ask Your Grace for permission to take your daughter's hand in marriage. I swear on my life I will care for her all the days of my life and love her with all my heart."

"The flower of Frankish womanhood will simply have to look to their king and his nephew for their comfort in your absence," Christian laughed, the laugh deepening at the outrage that painted itself across Alys' expression. The Duke of Lonnare was going to have a fiery few years, he predicted, before his wife calmed herself with the bearing and raising of their children.

As Alys muttered something highly inappropriate beneath her breath, much to the amusement of the uncle who was teasing her along with his friend, Duke Edward studied Charles for a long moment, those fathomless eyes seeming to see everything hidden and secret. "You have my permission," he said finally. "I trust to see my daughter wed before the New Year, and not made a widow in haste."

As amused as Charles was by the king's reply, knowing their teasing would inflame Alys' fiery passion - but then, that was one of the many traits Charles loved about her - he, nonetheless, sobered completely while in conversation with her father. He knew he was unlikely to win her mother's approval, in any case, but in truth, it was her father's approval that was far more important.

Though he wished to, he could not promise to stay alive forever, given his duties as Duke of Lonnare and faithful servant to the king, but neither did he plan or wish for death, especially given that his life had suddenly become that much more hopeful. He straightened from his bow, but offered a respectful nod of his head in affirmation of the duke's request. "We will wed as soon as the king gives us leave and the Coimbrans have been defeated," he replied, indicating not only his agreement with the king's wishes but his obedience, as well. "I cannot promise what will or will not happen in battle, Your Grace," he continued, "but I have no fondness for death and can assure you I will do my utmost to stay alive, barring cowardice." "Then it would seem, young Charles," Duke Edward said, raising a hand to lay it firmly upon the younger man's shoulder, a glowing sign of approval from the quiet man who had married into this passionate family, "that you have at last found your way into our hearth and home, just as you always said you would." He offered a nod to his future son-in-law, a bow to the king, and the transformation of a warm, affection smile to his daughter, stepping back to fade into the mingling courtiers once again as Christian straightened up.

The king had been whispering in Alys' ear while Charles and her father spoke, and whatever it was he had said, it had clearly not done much to calm her passions. Her face was flushed, eyes wide and blazing, evidently caught between fury and desire as her gaze turned once again to her beloved betrothed.

With Charles' attention distracted by Duke Edward, he had no idea what had been whispered into his beloved's ear by her uncle - their king and one of his closest friends - but he suspected from the fire in Alys' eyes that whatever it was, he was going to have to bear the brunt of her ire for it. Even so, Charles could not stop beaming a happy smile, happier it seemed than he'd been in years, filled with joy at the knowledge that he and Alys would soon share a lifetime of wedded bliss, albeit amidst their opposing passions.

"And just think, Charles," the king declared with a grin as he handed his niece back to the man she loved, "you'll be able to ask openly for your lady's favor tomorrow. What an interesting sense of timing you have." He gently chucked Alys' chin, and turned away with a clap of his hand to Charles' shoulder once more, leaving his friend to face the passionate temper he enjoyed so much.

Alys Beauforte

Date: 2013-06-12 17:32 EST
Alys' hands gripped Charles' arm a little more tightly than was entirely comfortable. "You have had more than fifty lovers?"

Charles beamed a smile back at Christian, pleased the king was not angry with him for being so presumptuous, though it was really Alys' quick thinking that had saved him from possible disaster. He looked positively fit to burst with pride and joy, just the opposite of Denhelm who looked about ready to burst with anger and resentment, but Charles hardly noticed the man now that Alys was officially his. Despite all that, he arched a brow as he looked to his intended, as surprised as she to hear the headcount of his past lovers.

He was certain that number was highly exaggerated, but as he'd never taken proper count, he couldn't say for sure. "I'm sure it is not so many as that," he replied with a small frown. "I can assure you that none of them were remarkable or memorable, all of them paling beside you." It seemed hardly enough of an apology to make, but as they were in public, he found it difficult to explain himself fully and truthfully. The past was the past, and he hoped she wouldn't lord it over him now that they were promised.

It was a little difficult to swallow. She'd known he was experienced, far more so than she, but to hear from her own uncle that those past lovers numbered in the dozens was galling to her pride. How could she, with a single lover behind her, possibly compare to the sheer variety Charles had tasted in the five years since they had first parted" "We shall have to see, won't we?" she murmured, her smile masking the uncertainty from everyone but him. She raised his hand to her lips, kissing tenderly. "The king can be very unkind when he wills it."

His smile faded, though his voice was kept low enough for only her hearing. To anyone who was casually watching, it might appear they were only in deep conversation, sharing entreaties made between lovers. He appeared confused by her comments, not realizing how she might try to compare herself to those past lovers or fear she would not hold his interest. "I am not sure I understand," he admitted, mostly regarding her remark about the king. Thus far, it seemed, they were in the king's favor and had been given everything they wanted. He was not sure what she meant by her remark.

She turned to face him, twisting her hands into his as she leaned close, close enough that her voice, barely above a breath, was audible only to him. "How can I keep you happy, Charles" I have had one lover - compared to some of yours, I am still a child. I do not think my uncle meant to tease when he told me so - he means to keep us apart with my temper, my jealousies." There was a brief pause as her lips brushed his cheekbone. "Because he has not known love with his own wife."

Oh, so that was all it was, he thought, with a bit of relief. It was strange how he thought he knew the king's heart better than his own blood, though it didn't really matter what the king or anyone else thought of their pairing. They had his permission, and that was all that was important. It was up to them to make their relationship work and to find happiness, to ignore the influences of outside forces who might try to ruin what they had for their own reasons.

"Alys, my dearest, do you know why I slept with other women these past years?" he asked, other than for the obvious reasons. "Do you even know how I felt when I thought you lost to me forever" The king is not jealous, love. He adores you and he values me, else why would he have lavished such favor upon us" Why would he have told me that he wished your next marriage to be for nothing short of love" He is not jealous of us, sweetest. He adores us and wants us to be happy, don't you see" If he was untoward about our marriage, he would have made certain to keep us apart by any means. He has the power to do it, and he did not."

She was not entirely reassured, but knew she could not give into her own fears and uncertainties here, where anyone might catch a word and create a story for the gossips to play with. Alys did not entirely trust the word of kings, with good reason, yet her uncle did seem to love her. Perhaps Charles was right, at that. She squeezed his hands, rising onto her toes to kiss him softly, adding in a breath against his lips, "You will teach me, won't you?"

He smiled, pleased that he'd been able to allay her fears, relieved that she seemed no longer angry or jealous of his past lovers, who had meant nothing at all to him. While he might have shared his bed with more than one, he had never given a single one of them his heart, as that had always and would always belong only to her. He returned her kiss with equal affection and gave her hands a soft squeeze of reassurance. "You have already taught me so much. There is nothing left to teach," he said against her lips, kissing her again, softly, slowly, savoring the moment as long as he could, overjoyed that he no longer had to keep his love for her secret but could let it show and shine for all to see.

A prod against Alys' hip was enough to draw her out of that kiss, however much she might have longed to have stayed in that moment forever, breaking her lips from Charles' to look down and find Will's eldest son, Christopher, tugging on her skirts. "Father says I must challenge the duke to a duel for your honor, Aunt Alys," the eight-year-old boy informed her quite seriously, bringing a faintly indignant smile to her face in response.

"Do you want to challenge the duke, Christopher?" she asked him in return, and wasn't surprised to see the boy shake his head.

"But I don't want Father to think I'm a coward," he added, looking up at Charles with worry painted all over his youthful face. "What do I do, Your Grace?"

Charles' attention was drawn away from Alys at the arrival of Will's eldest. Fond of all the royal children, he often lavished them with attention, so much so that he was in danger of spoiling them. It was no secret that he was fond of children and hoping for some of his own one day, partly due to his own loss of family as a boy. He looked to the boy with an expression on his face that matched the boy's seriousness. "I think perhaps your father is up to some mischief." He lifted his head to find Will's face in the crowd, knowing he was more than likely watching the threesome and seeing how this little ruse turned out. "Is your father so cowardly that he sends a boy to challenge me, instead of himself?" Charles made sure to ask the question loudly enough so hat his voice would carry through the crowd to William's ears.

Alys laughed at the turn of the tide, at the shy giggle that escaped her eldest nephew as the man who would be his uncle laid out a challenge of his own. Across from them, his youngest son up in his arms, William let out a bark of laughter. "Oh, no, I'm not too cowardly to challenge you," he declared merrily. "More afraid of what my sister should do to me if I were to win." Little Edmund, only three years old, beamed at his father's laughter even as his brother was drawn close to Alys.

"Then perhaps we should claim Christopher for ours, and see if you dare challenge us to take him back," she suggested to her brother playfully, her good mood returned by the banter that now passed through the crowd.

Will let out another laugh, lowering Edmund to his feet and taking the boy's hand securely. "I'll do you a deal, Your Grace," Alys' brother announced with impish mischief. "My son returned in exchange for my sister to wife. Will you deal?"

Charles seemed to seriously consider this a moment, though it was hard to hide his amusement, a broad smile on his face, blue eyes shining happily. "Hm, I believe we do not need your approval, Lord William, as we already have secured that of your father and the king, and I have grown fond of the boy these many years," he replied, just as playfully, as he added his arm to the embrace Alys was already giving the young boy, protective and playfully possessive, jesting with Will openly to the amusement of both his friend and those who were watching. The friendship and affection between the two men was well known, and it was obvious to any who knew them that they were enjoying the challenge of the banter between them.

Alys Beauforte

Date: 2013-06-12 17:34 EST
Will grinned, knowing he had a trump card to play in this little battle of wits and friendship that his friend would never be able to resist. He crouched down beside Edmund, murmuring into the little boy's ear, and a moment later, the youngest child of the House of Marillier came tottering over to where his brother was giggling in the embrace of aunt and prospective uncle. The little face looked straight up into Charles', solemn and wide eyed. "Give me back m'brother, y'Grace, or I ..." He glanced back at his father, who nodded encouragingly. Raising his eyes to the duke once again, Edmund squared himself as best he could. "Elsewise I will kick you."

There were several ways Charles could react to such a threat from such a tiny challenger. He could either laugh in the boy's face, which would embarrass the boy and earn him nothing but contempt; or he could sweep the boy off his feet and deposit him back in his father's arms, but that, too, earned neither anything, nor did it resolve the challenge that had been offered. There was only one way Charles could really respond to the boy's challenge that would please all parties involved, and though it would require some modesty from him, it was an act both charitable and honorable and worthy of his title.

Charles' expression sobered at this newest threat to his shins, and he offered a courtly bow to the small bow, letting go of the hold he had on Christopher. "My lady, I have been bested," he remarked aside to Alys as he bowed to small Edmund. "Good sir, you are a worthy opponent, and I fear I have no choice, but to surrender myself to both you and your brother's bravery. I relinquish my claim on Sir Christopher and offer my surrender to you both. I am at your mercy and your service."

The flush that rose on little Edmund's face at this noble surrender was bright scarlet, excited and a little confused that he'd brought a great man like the Duke of Lonnare to his knees with nothing more than a threat. "But why?" he asked as his brother was released to stand beside him, the boys automatically taking one another's hand. He held a foot out, looking down at it in bemusement. "I only has little feets."

Swallowing the laugh that wanted to make itself known, Alys crouched down herself, reaching out to tweak the younger boy's nose fondly. "Ah, but little feet can move the world, " she told him warmly. "And the duke knows the value of a little fist in his favor." The little fist being hers, of course. "Do you not, Your Grace?"

There were so many things Charles could have said, lessons he'd been taught as a boy. He had learned early on that size did not necessarily equate with strength or valor, and it did not take a large person to have a large heart. He, too, crouched beside the two boys, reaching to take both their hands in his own. "I would sooner be defeated by little fists that I love than conquer over the greatest of warriors," he told the three of them quietly. "And if your father does wish to issue me a challenge for his sister's honor, he can do so himself," he added, flashing a grin in Will's direction.

"Will Aunt Alys have lots of babies for you to love then, Your Grace?" Christopher asked, with the charming lack of sensitivity most children showed before they were taken in hand. "Because Father says that lots of babies make ladies fat and ugly."

Alys' jaw dropped, genuinely shocked to hear an opinion like that from the mouth of a child, even if he was only repeating something her brother had said in an unguarded moment.

Charles smirked, just barely holding back the laugh that was threatening to bubble up, both at Christopher's question and Alys' reaction. He let go of the boys' hands and turned his head toward his intended, eyes shining with adoration deep enough to either charm the pair of boys or disgust them with the sickening sweetness of the moment. "We shall have as many babies as the Goddess grants us, and I have no doubt Lady Alys will retain her beauty no matter whether we have one or ten." He turned back to the pair of boys with an impish grin. "Now, scat! Both of you, before I renege on my surrender and have to paddle you both!" He moved to his feet and to his full height, as if to enforce his threat.

The adoration in his eyes was more than enough to disgust the boys with them, made worse by the answering affection in their aunt's expression. With cheeky laughter, however, they were quick to escape the duke's threat, running back to tackle their father in a hale of laughter as Alys, too, rose to her feet. "I cannot believe William told his son such a thing," she said, astonished and not a little put out with her brother. "Look at our mother, for goodness' sake! Seven children, and still the handsomest woman at court!"

"Perhaps it is not your mother he was thinking of when he told him that," Charles remarked quietly as he eyed William, hoping they had his favor, but not wanting to presume. "Perhaps we should speak with Lord William and make sure we have his blessing, as well." Though it probably went without saying, since Will was the one who'd been the first to claim witness to their loving exchange and intentions.

"I think if I approach Lord William right now, I will mark his pretty face so badly he'll have to apologize to his mistress for bleeding on her tonight," Alys muttered, though her eyes strayed toward her brother where he played with his sons. Annoyed as she was with him, she smiled. "And I fear he may be too busy to give us the blessing we already have. He was the first to cry witness, Charles. Do we need more than that?"

"No," Charles replied. "Of all the court, it is Will's heart I am most sure of. I am happy we will be brothers by more than just circumstance, but it is not the reason I wish us to be wed," he said, turning to face her. He lifted her chin to meet his lips once again, delighted he could kiss her and love her openly, without having to hide his feelings any longer.

She smiled into his kiss, as delighted as he with their new-found freedom to love and show that love without fear of repercussions from the politics and gossips of the court and beyond. Wrapped up in his arms, she didn't care that they were still in the midst of friends and enemies, that between them they had made the first open move on the chessboard that ruled courtly life. She cared only that, after years of hoping, weeks of worrying, days of aching, she was his and he was hers. And with even the blessing of the Church on their promise, there was little in this life or any other that could prevent the marriage she had insisted would be hers when she was only six years old. Sometimes, it seemed, perseverance paid off, even in the shadowy world of intrigue. Oh, there would be other plans laid against them by the resentful and proud, but Alys did not feel the danger. She felt loved, and that truly was all that mattered.

((Ah, the joys of the unexpected twist. :grin: Where do we go from here? Stay tuned to find out! And, naturally, ubermungus hugiflorious thanks to Charles' player!))