"Would you care if Lady Gwen never bore a child?" he asked bluntly.
Alexander's back stiffened. His hands stilled on the shelf, and for a moment, the room was silent. It was suffocating. Slowly, he turned around, setting another parchment down on the table.
"I would not," Adjusting the ink bottle, he reiterated, "I will not."
Brand eyed him, "But you ought to further our line."
Alexander tsked. "You know I have never cared for that, posterity or whatever it may be. A hundred years from now who would care for me, or the life I lived? But I care for my wife and the life I have now. With or without a child, my love for Guinevere stands true, and it kills me that I cannot show it to her."
Brand stared.
His brother surely declared his righteous loyalty now, but how long until the need to further their line became too great to ignore? Until the desire to become a father overshadowed his commitment to remain faithful to her? Would he seek sons from another?
Brand shook his head, disappointed at his thoughts. It was inconceivable. Alexander was much too righteous, and plagued by their father's deeds, to consider such. He would never.
"She worries about becoming with child greatly," Alexander said softly, "and according to her, I do not seem to worry enough."
Brand remained silent, refusing to judge. A smile of distaste formed on his lips. "Has it ever come to your thought? The prospect of children?"
"Of course it has," Alexander replied, passionately, then in contrast dropped indolently into his seat behind the table. "I want a family. However, I want one with Guinevere." He emphasized. "I long to see her big and heavy with my child. But if that wish will never come to pass, why should I trouble myself? I am happy with my life, truly. It only pains me to see her so dismayed." His hand ran through his short hair as a heavy sigh escaped him. "I wish she would lay the thought to rest."
Brand stepped away, returning to his former position across from the table. Mirroring his brother, he ran his hand through his much longer hair. "I do not believe it is as easy as you think."
Lady Gwen was more than his wife; she was the queen of their country, and her duties included giving her husband an heir. They were king and queen, bearing heirs was not just a family matter—it was a matter of state. She had every right to worry about it, though perhaps she was becoming too consumed by that right, it seemed.
"I am aware." A pause. Alexander played with the ink bottle, adjusting it again. "Children. A good home. An impossibly large kitchen." A faint, wistful smile flitted across his lips. "I fear I have disappointed her."
Brand frowned, taken aback. When he felt his right eye blinking lonely, he blinked both. What nonsense was Alexander on about? Lady Gwen was incredibly happy to be his wife. She was proud—prouder than a peacock—and not because of the elevation in wealth and status. She was freer, and as he had on multiple occasions painfully witnessed, more outspoken, and it was all because of Alexander.
Indeed they had had their troubles coming together, but since they had accepted each other, he had never seen his brother happier, nor the queen more radiant, and he spoke not of her beauty.
"Brother, I do not think Her Majesty would appreciate your words," he admonished, but his brother flicked his words away.
A miserable smile appeared. "Allow me the liberty of sadness as I cannot alleviate the one in her heart." Erroneously, he knocked the ink bottle to the side, unsettling it, but continued nevertheless. "I am a king who cannot give to his wife the one thing she wishes for the most."
"Children are in store for everyone if they truly wish for them." Or so Mary, his housekeeper claimed. Brand frowned. Until that moment, such sentimental and insensible words would never pass his lips.
A scoff. "Perhaps I have not made my wish great enough." Alexander mumbled.
Brand gaped, unbelieving. His brother had always been a man of certainty, sure and determined in his affairs. Nothing unsettled him, and whatever did, he dealt with decisively. He was king and even with the weight of duty on his shoulders and an entire nation to cater to, he had never once wavered.
Not once, until Lady Gwen.
Dear God! What had happened to the king?
It would not do, he thought. Straightening, he flexed his shoulders and rose to his feet. "Very well, Your Majesty, rather than become teary-eyed like old housewives, or grow fat on meat and gossip, let us speak of our woes with our swords as men ought to."
Gingerly, Alexander rose as well, a mad grin settling on his face. "Thank you, brother."
"It is nothing." He ought to expel his anger and disappointment as well.
They started from the room. At the door, Alexander gave Edmund his command, and the kingsman hurried ahead to prepare the swords and shields.
"By the by, I sail on the morrow as mentioned before, at sundown." Brand informed.
"You speak as though you would pay no visit until then."
A few maids hurried by, bowing to them as they did. The guards posted at the door to the gallery bowed as well. Alexander and Brand walked by with the littlest of acknowledgement.
"I hope I can, but this is rather if I cannot," he said, sending his hair behind both ears. He would much rather remain at sea, away from the annoyance of his mother and the weight of his crown. He would have himself as far from all as he could, at least, until he could not stay away anymore. Until duty demanded his presence.
"I see." His brother nodded. "Very well," he grabbed his shoulder, "remain alive and well. And if you can, find an inkling of happiness. It is a command."
For the first time in hours, Brand found himself genuinely smiling. "Of course, Your Majesty."
"Have you made the courtesy visit as you told me?" Alexander continued, as they stepped out of the main doors, walking down the stairs. "To Whitmore House?"
Brand nearly missed his footing. His pulse heightened and his hands clenched. "Lady Wilmot and I have conversed. At length."
Alexander nodded, patting his shoulder fondly.
Soon they were at the ranging grounds and as he clashed swords with his brother, Brand completely forgot about his worries, his awaiting duties and his disappointments as he struggled mightily to remain alive, rather than win.
***
The clearing was as quiet as expected when Alexander found her, one with nature. She was always one with her surroundings, either in the throne-room, the cluster of duties, or in his bed. Guinevere stood at the water's edge, her reflection trembling in the ripples at every instance she dropped a tiny pebble. She had her golden hair unbound and falling loose about her shoulders.
He refused to call her at once, no. Instead, he leaned against a tree, watching her, drinking in the beauty and grace that was his wife. She smiled at whatever thought crossed her mind and he smiled too, unaware of the very thought. At last, she turned and their eyes met.
"Alexander!" she called out, her eyes brightening and her face lighting up.
His heart missed a bit. His smile broadened and he stepped away from the tree. "I have been searching for you."
She blinked, bringing herself from the edge of the water. "That is an anomaly. I asked Paula to relay my whereabouts to Edmund."
That was true. "The information found me late, though thankfully, it led me to you."
Guinevere chuckled, rolling her eyes as she walked to collect another handful of pebbles. The hem of her dress brushed over fallen leaves and dried twigs and in that moment, Alexander was reminded of the day she marched towards him in her immaculate white dress, smiling as brightly as she always did, promising her love to him in the presence of a great multitude as he promised her his life.
"Given knowledge or no," she said, flushing, "I could never be lost from your sight. You would never allow it."
His heart warmed over. Truly, she would never be. He had given her his solemn word whilst he yet pursued her, and meaning it, but befittingly when she taught him to love rightly.
Alexander walked up and stood beside her. Then he collected some pebbles from her and threw them into the clear brook. "A fine day for thoughts, I see."
She nodded, according the brook another pebble. "As it is a fine day to engage His Highness in a swordfight." Another pebble went in. "What was the reason for it?"
Michaelson and his philandering words! He almost blunted, but he knew he couldn't. "A respite before Brand returns to sea." He paused, "although, I now am led to believe he fancied one greater than me."
"Why?"
"He fought with a fiercest unlike him."
He was not ignorant of the cause of the darkness that brought about his brother's foul mood. Brand had met with Lady Wilmot and presumably must have quarreled with her. There was no knowledge lost of the strain relationship he had with his mother, and even though he wished it otherwise, he had given his solemn word to Guinevere that he would no more interfere in their affair.
Guinevere's eyebrows jumped. "Did you wound him?"