KING OF ESSETIR

"I shall see you in the morning, Your Majesty. Thank you again for your hospitality..." With a low bow, Eirena paused only a moment before following the servant to her chambers.

"Good morning. I take it you found your room to be adequate?" he asked, as he began to lead the way through the elaborate rose garden. "The lake is in the western most border of the palace gardens. The sea is not far from the palace either, we are a coastal city, but I fear a display of your magic down at the docks may intimidate the fishermen, a little," he admitted, good-naturedly.

Still, he would not allow her to win. Not after everything he had endured in those past three weeks, and he stubbornly took Loki's outstretched arm. The warmth of his husband's body and his familiar scent were reassuringly real, and he was pleased when he did not flinch at all on the short journey across the room to the steaming bath.

It was with relief that he discarded his ripped and bloodied clothing on the floor of the bathroom. Undressed, the extent of Cenred's ordeal was evident. The healer had done an excellent job at fixing the worst of his injuries, but his chest and stomach was covered in lines of pink, fresh, newly healed skin and dark bruises remained over his ribs. Holding onto Loki's arm to stop himself from wobbling, he stepped into the enormous bath and quickly slipped into the water, a groan escaping him at the delightful warmth and he let his head full back against the rim of the bath.

And so she leant into her King as they walked, perfectly content to stay as close to him as possible. The scent of the roses flooded her nose moments later, and she inhaled contentedly.

“Ha! No,” she reassured; as adventurous as she felt, the lake was too far away at this stage of pregnancy. Cenred would have been in bits trying to dissuade her. “No lake today. The roses are enough, mo ghrá.”

Delicately, Lilé stroked petals with her fingers, caressed rich green leaves. The thorns did not seem inclined to seek tribute, for which she was happily relieved. With a single click of her fingers, her shoes disappeared, leaving her feet bare on the grass. Pleased, Lilé flexed her toes, a blissful smile emerging.

He smiled, staying near-glued to his mate's side, as he watched her brush her fingertips against the petals and the leaves. "Of course. We can come out here whenever you wish, but you must promise me you won't try without me," he insisted, although it seemed the bond itself would not allow her to leave the safety of their rooms, unaccompanied.

The silence that followed was both welcome and agonising all at once, and as they rolled through the cobblestone streets of Essetir he quietly watched his husband doze, slipping in and out of consciousness with his head lolling against the wall of the carriage. He looked so tired, sun-kissed face pale and drawn even in sleep, and it was only once he began to stir that Loki let his gaze stray elsewhere, afraid of staring too long or doing anything that might spook him when he seemed as flighty as one of his beloved horses.

Once awake, he was torn between wanting to stare out the window at the miraculous sight that was his home...and hide from the inquisitive gazes of the people they passed. Of course, he should have known that his husband would have prepared them for privacy, and he gave a grateful nod in response. "Thank you," he murmured again.

As they arrived at the rear of the palace, it was clear that his staff were thrilled to see him back, but thankfully none of them approached as he allowed his knight to slowly help him back to his chambers. Trying not to allow his panic to get the better of him at the thought of being alone with Loki, he dismissed his knight and turned to his husband.

It was almost amusing how Cenred’s cursing proved so reassuring amidst such uncertainty, even that spark of the king’s anger a heartening sign that Morgause had not broken him entirely. Loki had always known that Cenred was strong, both in body and in spirit, but the fact that he was sitting before him and still remained in possession of his faculties was irrefutable proof of that strength. He would be fine, in time. He supposed the only snag was that patience had never quite been his husband’s strong suit.

Of course, he had no doubts that Loki had made an excellent ruler in the three weeks he had been...indisposed. Relief made a fleeting appearance across his exhausted face that he did not return to a kingdom in the midst of war, although it was quickly replaced with horror as he thought about what Morgause had said to him, what she'd made the illusion of his husband say. "No, she didn't say anything about that," he muttered, his ragged voice wobbling with emotion. He lapsed into silence afterwards, the exhaustion claiming him and he spent much of the rest of the journey dozing against the wall of the carriage.

It seemed so quintessentially them that they were already dreaming up all the different ways that they might christen their new home once it was completed, enough that the florist couldn’t keep the bright, joyful smile from his face as Cenred continued to trail kisses down the column of his throat, eyes slipping shut in quiet bliss as he tilted his head back and savoured the brush of his lips — at least until his boyfriend pulled away and then mentioned yet another potential step in their relationship, albeit a slightly less significant one than buying a house together. “Are you sure you can handle Malus Alway with unlimited spending power?” He warned with a teasing smirk. “Because I will start shopping for things for this place at my earliest convenience.” The florist already couldn’t wait to begin, all the more so knowing that Cenred was generous enough to give him free rein.

The next free weekend the pair of them had, when Mal was not occupied with organising his new studio and Cenred had no daytime royal obligations, found them back at the cottage from dawn until dusk. Well, almost - they may have lounged around naked in bed in the palace for most of the morning.

Sunshine flooding in through the windows and music filling the halls, and not a single responsibility…how blissful it would be.

He couldn't help but continue trailing kisses down Mal's throat, encouraged by his easy laughter - one of Cenred's very favourite sounds. "Mmm. We better get started on the house right away then," he teased, as he finally pulled back to meet Mal's gaze. "I thought, now that we'll have a house together as well as being business partners, we could get a joint credit card? Then you can just buy whatever you want for the house, and nobody can make it difficult for you," he suggested. "You spend so much of my money anyway, might as well make it official," he teased, thinking back to the auction of the previous night.

He stepped across the room, to wrap his arms around Mal and bring him back to his chest. "Do you reckon if I put a piano in here, we'd still have enough space? Not a grand piano, just an ordinary one. It might encourage me to play a bit more than I am at the moment," he considered. He didn't want to lose his skill, but there was always so many other constraints on his time.

It did not escape her that even as he stepped back, his hands still held hers. As though he could not bear to let her go. Her heart twinged.

His question, however, had her eyebrow cock ever so slightly. It would not be appropriate, surely? Was the King not meant to dance with others? It was a celebration for him, after all. But in the end, Lilé did not voice her concerns. The urgency in Cenred’s voice dismissed all else. He needed an exit from the scene. So she simply nodded.

There were only a handful of couples outside in the evening air, and once Cenred led them through to the rose garden, they were finally alone.

"That's better," he smiled, relieved to be surrounded by his beloved plants rather than hoards of people. But, even then, he barely gave the elaborate blooms a glance; Lilé, as always, had captivated his full attention.

They had the sorceress in chains, ones he had imbued with his own enchantments to keep her bound and her magic contained, but it had only been the sight of his husband sprawled there almost lifeless against the cold stone that had pierced through that moment of icy fury where he could have so easily killed her himself, a flood of rage and pain and anger that crystallised into a spike of panic that pierced through his heart as he hurried into that secluded dungeon room, stumbling in his haste as all else fell away.

“Cenred.” His hands were trembling where he leaned in to caress his husband’s face, tears coursing down his cheeks as he searched those dark, hazy eyes and his pained, fearful expression, watching the man he loved slip in and out of consciousness with a dawning feeling of dread that curdled in the out of his stomach. “Cenred, it’s me — someone get a healer!” The dark-haired prince could hear the wavering panic in his own voice as he shouted desperately over his for aid, brow pinched in worry as the man before him seemed to weakly struggle beneath his touch.

Stroking matted, sweat-damp hair out of Cenred’s face Loki loosened a shuddering breath, squeezing his eyes shut as he softly settled his fingertips upon his temples, able to sense the magic Morgause had worked upon the other man still gripping his mind like cold, icy fingers. Summoning up every ounce of focus and strength he still possessed to sever whatever twisted spell kept his consciousness captive, forcing her influence from his husband’s head with a ragged breath and a surge of power from his own innate well of arcane strength, the emerald light gleaming in his eyes and at his fingertips then ebbed, his own shoulders slumping in relief as he felt her spell work severed.

“There is nothing to thank me for.” He insisted with a soft shake of his head. “Every day that you were left there with her was…it was my failure. We should have gotten to you sooner.” Despite the upheaval of having him rule in Cenred’s absence, truth be told the people of Essetir and those most trusted by his husband had shown him more respect and support than he ever could have anticipated — but even then he had felt the weight of every passing day that their true king remained missing, of sleepless nights spent tossing and turning and wondering if there was anything more that he could possibly do. Loki had not wanted to be a disappointment, not to his husband or to the people that had become his own on their wedding day, and yet he felt that he was despite all his best efforts.

"Sorry," he mumbled, chugging down much of the flask in a few gulps. With such little food over the past few weeks, he could already feel the warmth beginning to relax him further. "She...made me see things. It's hard to believe that this is all real," he admitted, and he wrapped his husband's cloak more tightly around himself.

They had the sorceress in chains, ones he had imbued with his own enchantments to keep her bound and her magic contained, but it had only been the sight of his husband sprawled there almost lifeless against the cold stone that had pierced through that moment of icy fury where he could have so easily killed her himself, a flood of rage and pain and anger that crystallised into a spike of panic that pierced through his heart as he hurried into that secluded dungeon room, stumbling in his haste as all else fell away.

“Cenred.” His hands were trembling where he leaned in to caress his husband’s face, tears coursing down his cheeks as he searched those dark, hazy eyes and his pained, fearful expression, watching the man he loved slip in and out of consciousness with a dawning feeling of dread that curdled in the out of his stomach. “Cenred, it’s me — someone get a healer!” The dark-haired prince could hear the wavering panic in his own voice as he shouted desperately over his for aid, brow pinched in worry as the man before him seemed to weakly struggle beneath his touch.

Stroking matted, sweat-damp hair out of Cenred’s face Loki loosened a shuddering breath, squeezing his eyes shut as he softly settled his fingertips upon his temples, able to sense the magic Morgause had worked upon the other man still gripping his mind like cold, icy fingers. Summoning up every ounce of focus and strength he still possessed to sever whatever twisted spell kept his consciousness captive, forcing her influence from his husband’s head with a ragged breath and a surge of power from his own innate well of arcane strength, the emerald light gleaming in his eyes and at his fingertips then ebbed, his own shoulders slumping in relief as he felt her spell work severed.

Expression softening sympathetically at the sound of Cenred’s chattering teeth, his body trembling like he was still confined within that freezing dungeon, Loki tugged his own cloak from his shoulders and offered the bundle of soft, warm emerald fabric towards him. “A few hours north of Essetir, past the mountains.” He explained, swallowing around the lump in his throat. “When we first extended our search this way we thought the ruin we found you in was abandoned, but Morgause had temporarily taken up residence in the dungeons and catacombs beneath. We believe she planned on taking you elsewhere so we acted before we could lose you altogether — it’s possible she has been a part of instigating all this talk of war with our neighbours, but the other knights will search her hiding places for any proof.”

He was free. It truly was his husband sitting across from him, and not an enchantment. The logical part of his brain accepted that now, joyfully, but he could not vanish the weeks of horror from his mind. Not when so much of his pain had seemingly been inflicted by his husband's very own hand.

They had the sorceress in chains, ones he had imbued with his own enchantments to keep her bound and her magic contained, but it had only been the sight of his husband sprawled there almost lifeless against the cold stone that had pierced through that moment of icy fury where he could have so easily killed her himself, a flood of rage and pain and anger that crystallised into a spike of panic that pierced through his heart as he hurried into that secluded dungeon room, stumbling in his haste as all else fell away.

“Cenred.” His hands were trembling where he leaned in to caress his husband’s face, tears coursing down his cheeks as he searched those dark, hazy eyes and his pained, fearful expression, watching the man he loved slip in and out of consciousness with a dawning feeling of dread that curdled in the out of his stomach. “Cenred, it’s me — someone get a healer!” The dark-haired prince could hear the wavering panic in his own voice as he shouted desperately over his for aid, brow pinched in worry as the man before him seemed to weakly struggle beneath his touch.

Stroking matted, sweat-damp hair out of Cenred’s face Loki loosened a shuddering breath, squeezing his eyes shut as he softly settled his fingertips upon his temples, able to sense the magic Morgause had worked upon the other man still gripping his mind like cold, icy fingers. Summoning up every ounce of focus and strength he still possessed to sever whatever twisted spell kept his consciousness captive, forcing her influence from his husband’s head with a ragged breath and a surge of power from his own innate well of arcane strength, the emerald light gleaming in his eyes and at his fingertips then ebbed, his own shoulders slumping in relief as he felt her spell work severed.

“I’m not letting her anywhere near you.” He had been quite clear with his men about that, though whether they obeyed his commands with their king newly recovered was another story. “Morgause is confined in one of the other dungeons, I saw to it that the wards on the door will keep her there until we decide what to do with her, and with those enchanted chains there will be nothing she can do about it.” It was far too tempting to torment her in the same way she had Cenred, to inflict her own cruelty tenfold for all that she had done when simply to kill her seemed too merciful a fate; but there was much that she had to answer for, all the more so when the sorceress had been fraternising with their enemies, and for all he craved her ruin his position demanded that he exercise restraint. He would not sink to her level, not yet.

"Good," he managed to murmur, as he relied upon his knights to half-carry him towards the carriage. It took more effort than he cared to admit to make the short distance towards the awaiting carriage: the healer had mended his injuries, but could not recover his lost strength so easily.

His body continued to tremble as he collapsed into one of the seats of the carriage, and he let out a relieved sigh at the softness of the furnishing. No more cold stone digging into his spine. He positioned himself up against the side of the carriage, subconsciously keeping as much distance from his husband as he could, and nodded for one of his knights to join them.

"Thank you, Your Majesty. I'm glad that it was up to your standards. I would hate for you to be disappointed..." Another bow, sweeping low. If she could stay on his good side with her water magic, perhaps things might turn out well.

"I suppose... both? I was born with an innate talent but it took years of practice to hone it into artistry." Eirena paused to consider the question at hand. How much was her natural ability and how much was her constant practice?

Could she find herself happy here? It was away from her family - which brought with it a sense of guilt - but wasn't that it's own positive. No more of her sister demanding all attention.

"A servant will show you to your rooms. I am sure you must be tired from your journey," he commented. "In the morning, you will accompany me through the gardens, to the lake. I am intrigued to see what your powers can accomplish with a larger amount of water."

They had the sorceress in chains, ones he had imbued with his own enchantments to keep her bound and her magic contained, but it had only been the sight of his husband sprawled there almost lifeless against the cold stone that had pierced through that moment of icy fury where he could have so easily killed her himself, a flood of rage and pain and anger that crystallised into a spike of panic that pierced through his heart as he hurried into that secluded dungeon room, stumbling in his haste as all else fell away.

“Cenred.” His hands were trembling where he leaned in to caress his husband’s face, tears coursing down his cheeks as he searched those dark, hazy eyes and his pained, fearful expression, watching the man he loved slip in and out of consciousness with a dawning feeling of dread that curdled in the out of his stomach. “Cenred, it’s me — someone get a healer!” The dark-haired prince could hear the wavering panic in his own voice as he shouted desperately over his for aid, brow pinched in worry as the man before him seemed to weakly struggle beneath his touch.

Stroking matted, sweat-damp hair out of Cenred’s face Loki loosened a shuddering breath, squeezing his eyes shut as he softly settled his fingertips upon his temples, able to sense the magic Morgause had worked upon the other man still gripping his mind like cold, icy fingers. Summoning up every ounce of focus and strength he still possessed to sever whatever twisted spell kept his consciousness captive, forcing her influence from his husband’s head with a ragged breath and a surge of power from his own innate well of arcane strength, the emerald light gleaming in his eyes and at his fingertips then ebbed, his own shoulders slumping in relief as he felt her spell work severed.

Loosening a soft breath of relief as the agony seemed to fade from Cenred’s face, the healer’s magic soothing festering wounds and beginning to knit bone and sinew back together, though he itched to ask the true extent of his husband’s injuries Loki suspected hearing what harm Morgause had inflicted would only enrage him even further; instead he nodded as Cenred finally sought his gaze, feeling his heart clench in his ribcage at the raw sound of his voice, hoarse from screaming.

The words that Morgause's illusion had spat at him spiralled round his mind, and he could almost feel the knife cutting back into the skin of his chest and stomach. The knife wielded so enthusiastically by his husband. Not trusting the remnants of his voice, he merely nodded and tore his gaze away from Loki as he wobbled to his feet.

His whole body was trembling, both from the intense trauma he'd suffered and the deliberate cold of the dungeon, and he was pleased that he was even capable of walking up the stairs to freedom - albeit, heavily supported by two of his men. He had to squeeze his eyes tightly shut as soon as they stepped into the light, but his expression lightened as the sun finally hit his skin.