ALTHER

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“And I would never awaken?” Alther asked.

“Those afflicted with slumberskull are doomed to a life of foul dreams.” The elderly mender roughly placed his fingers about Alther’s head while he spoke. “Or so we assume, since none awaken.” A stab of pain went through Alther as the man pressed a bruised part of his scalp. “Please, be still.”

“He was a madman,” Alther overheard Crella say to the handful of members of The Guard in the other room. “He ripped the necklace off and struck me… Yes, his hand… Then he absconded—he ran… No, I did not recognize… Well, I suppose it could have been… I do not know all of the estate staff…”

“There are no signs of fracture,” said the mender. “But you did suffer a good blow. You’ll need to listen and remember my instruction—”

“Crella,” Alther called to his wife.

“You should not raise your voice or exert yourself in any way,” scolded the mender.

Crella entered the living area hurriedly. In addition to some minor bruising, she had a worry upon her face that was almost believable. “Will he be all right?” she asked of the mender.

“I was just explaining to your husband that he must remain awake for a full day, no less. I will have a tea brought that will aid in the task. A bitter tea, but it should be sipped regularly. Also…”

Enduring bitterness is a task I am adept at, thought Alther as the mender rattled on for several minutes.

“The tea,” Crella said, “would there be any harm in my sharing in it?”

Alther found Crella’s explanation of what had occurred—far fetched as it was—more plausible than the idea that she meant to stay up with him out of selfless concern. Alther had awoken after what she said was the better part of an hour, surrounded by guards. Her pearls were strewn about the floor, and she was overly distraught, repeating often how unfortunate it was that Stephon had so recently departed to stay with some of her friends, as he surely would have slain the assailant.

“It would do no harm,” said the mender.

Hours later when the commotion had subsided and the two of them were left alone, she explained.

“I did not want them assigning you some little tart to stay with you all through the night.”

Crella sat across from him in their living room, her cup approaching her lips and the plate in her hand unfortunately obstructing the view of her bust. Had I ever told her that was my favorite of her dresses? he wondered, admiring how the thin fabric revealed form without baring skin.

“No, I suppose not,” Alther replied, a devious smile growing on his face. “For all your flaws, you never had an issue keeping me roused.”

Something about having been told by a mender that he might never wake had given Alther new license. Should this be his last conscious night, he had no intentions of spending it in fear of his wife’s rejections. After her charade with the questioners, in stark contrast with her current look of concern that appeared somehow honest, Crella no longer seemed so much the imposing Adeltian princess that he had always known. She is perhaps as vulnerable as any other.

“I am afraid you have had your wits knocked from your head. That is no way to speak to a lady.” Crella took a hastened sip of her tea, clearly bothered. “And of what flaws exactly do you speak?”

“Oh, I would not wish to name them all. We are only to remain awake for one full day,” he said, wondering in amazement why he’d never taken this tack before.

She blushed with anger. “I would slap you if not for your recent trauma. You have no right—”

He stood dismissively to interrupt. “I believe the heir to the throne can speak to his wife in any way he pleases. You forget your place.”

“I am an Adeltian princess. Daughter of King Adellos II.”

“That you are. But he is dead, and so is your aunt. It is my father, King of Rivervale, who now sits atop the throne. And without me you are just another pretty Adeltian girl. Have I not treated you well? And treated your daughter as if she were my own?”

It was incontrovertible that he had. Ethel was just a toddler when they were married, and Alther played the part of father well despite the embarrassment it caused and advice from his father to the contrary. Ethel, now nearly eighteen, lived in the Adeltian Throne where she attended a school for manners with other debutantes, all paid for by Alther.

“I would still be every bit as highborn as I always was,” Crella said with certitude, but she changed the subject so quickly that it let Alther know his point had been made. “And you will be happy to know that after this incident with the bedlamite who stole my pearls and nearly killed you, I no longer have any desire to live here in Eastport. It simply is not safe.”

Alther was surprised to hear her say as such but was also fully ready for her explanation of how she must return to the Throne to be closer to Ethel or something of that nature.

“And provided we can find somewhat decent accommodations in Westport, I will be willing to make the sacrifice,” she finished.

This was not the Crella Alther knew. What is it you are hiding?

“Of course,” he replied, unable to think of what else to say as he gazed out the window.

“Then there is the issue of the lady servants,” said Crella.

“Do not worry about them.” Alther walked back to his seat. “I will speak with Cassen personally and see the matter resolved.”

Crella simply nodded. He knew she bore no love for the man. She only ever spoke poorly of him.

“While we are being completely honest with each other, there is one other thing I would like to ask you, my dear wife.” Alther stared at her with all his newfound confidence. “How is it that Stephon and I had broken our fast together this morning if he was with your friends?”

The blood visibly drained from Crella’s face. So it was Stephon. I’ll need to have a talk with that boy. Alther had not actually eaten with his son that morning, and having tricked his wife only further swelled his confidence. He could understand why his son had struck him. Alther had borne witness to fights between his own mother and father as a child. He knew what it was like to wish to intervene, though, of course, he never had. If Stephon had walked in at the wrong time and seen them grappling, he could have thought Alther posed a true threat to his mother’s safety and acted to stop it. Better a vase than a foil.

After some time Crella finally responded. “You must be mistaken. You have suffered a bad blow to the head, and your recollection is askew.”

“Yes, that must be. However…” Alther went completely serious. “It is important that none of the estate staff be wrongly accused of this crime. I will not stand for an innocent suffering punishment when the real malefactor yet roams. Do you understand my meaning?”

“Very well,” said Crella, turning her head away, resigned.

Alther took the opportunity to study her nape’s slender curve, as it met with her strong yet feminine jaw. She was truly beautiful, in spite of her manner, and he now felt he had a greater grasp on how best to deal with—if not finally conquer—her.

If a broken vase is the price of her amenability, perhaps I shall be buying her more flowers. The thought made him grin. It was the most Alther had smiled in his recent memory. He sipped his tea, enjoying both his new contentment and the lovely sight before him.