“I like this, captain.”
Raymond grinned like a naughty schoolboy. It was two weeks till his coronation. He was in the throne room of the royal palace with Alex, who was showing him around his new home. Despite three days of palace living he was still ill at ease; this was not his element, and it showed. And he still looked like a foreign presence, hair and beard long and unkempt, feet bare, and he still wore his plain homespun monk’s robes not clothing that might have come from the modern world.
The throne room was the oldest part of the palace, and it had a wing all its own, the east wing. It had originally been built in the 1200s, but a fire in the 1600s made rebuilding and expansion necessary. The overall style was High Gothic. Pillars soared to what seemed an impossible height and supported a vast vaulted ceiling. Heavy, ornate wrought-iron chandeliers, scores of them, provided light. A corps of special servants was assigned to keep the myriad candles lit. And still more light was provided by dozens of stained-glass windows set high in the walls. Vibrant colors filled the room; when the light of the rising sun struck the windows, the throne room took on the brilliant aspect of a fantasy world. Even though Raymond was speaking in a low tone, his voice echoed quietly though the hall.
The throne itself was even older than the room or the palace. It was made of dark stone, basalt, carved with intricate designs of the kind that decorated the pages of medieval illuminated books. Long generations of Flausenthurm kings had sat on it, some happily, some uncomfortably, some indifferent to both its cold hardness and its careful, lovely workmanship.
Raymond sat on it and leaned back. He had illuminated enough manuscripts himself for its style and its designs to feel familiar. He leaned back and luxuriated in its feel, as if it were a plush sofa instead of a hard, cold throne. It was much too large for him; sitting there he looked smaller, younger and lonelier than he really was. “This is quite wonderful, captain. Like the benches in the monastery that are carved out of the living stone of the mountain. But—” He eyed Alex sadly. “But how often will I sit here?”
“You’re to be king. You call the shots, you give the orders. You can sit there as much as you like. You can have the seat hollowed out and use it as a commode if you want to.”
“Why would I do that?” He blinked. Alex had been Raymond’s guide and mentor ever since he arrived at the palace. But after days of keeping company with him, he showed no signs of catching on to Alex’s sense of humor. “I mean, the next king night not—”
“I was only joking, your majesty.”
“Oh.” The thought seemed to puzzle him. “I wish you’d call me Juniper, as the other monks did, captain. It’s the name I’m used to.”
“King Juniper.” Alex let it roll off his tongue. “No, it just doesn’t sound right. Bulvania has been ruled by Flausenthurms named Raymond since before the earliest manuscripts were illuminated by the earliest monks. You can’t expect the entire country to change that tradition, your majesty.”
Raymond ran his fingers along the arm of the throne, savoring its feel. “So I can order the throne made into a toilet, but I can’t be called what I choose?”
“I’m afraid that’s the case, your majesty.”
“Can I at least get you to call me Raymond, captain? At least when we’re alone together? I don’t much like the sound of ‘your majesty.’” Despite his youth, Raymond’s voice was mature—deep and mellifluous.
Alex smiled; this was the first sign that Raymond was warming to him. “If you’ll call me Alex and not ‘captain.’”
“Agreed.” For the first time Raymond smiled. It was only a faint trace of a smile, but Alex noted it as another breakthrough. His face, showing through the scraggly beard, was boyish and even appealing. “What did my cousin call you?”
“He always called me Captain Borodenko in public, Alex in private. As I hope you will, your m—Raymond.”
“We have a deal, then.” He reached out and shook Alex’s hand. Then he suddenly turned serious. “I never knew my late cousin. I mean, we had met once or twice when I was a little boy, but we were never anything like close. What kind of man was he?”
“I’m not sure how objective I can be, your m—Raymond. The king and I were very close. I was closer to him than to anyone I’ve ever known. Or ever will know, I imagine.” He wondered if he should say more but decided discretion was called for.
“I wish I had known him. I wish I could have known him. But living in a monastery on the top of a mountain… We were not exactly connected to the modern world up there, even with the internet. By choice.”
“There is something to be said for that kind of life.”
“Yes. But if I—how can I say this? If I’m to be anything like a good king, I’ll have to learn. Can I count on you to help me?”
“Of course, Raymond. It will be my pleasure as well as my duty.”
Raymond hugged him impulsively. “I know you’re a good man, I knew it the first time we saw each other.”
“Thank you for saying so. But there are other points of view. The archbishop of Flausenthurmopolis, for instance—”
“I’m glad you mentioned that. I’m wondering if we can arrange for Abbot Beech to conduct my coronation ceremony instead of the archbishop. The abbot has been my mentor for years, and I know it would mean a lot to him.” He added shyly, “And to me.”
Alex turned thoughtful. “That might be a problem. The archbishop is a powerful man and he has a lot of influence. He even has a seat on the Privy Council. He pushed heavily for you to be selected for the throne. I think he thinks that having a priest-king will only enhance his power.” He added sourly, “He wants you to be his puppet, or something like it.”
“I’m not a priest. I’m years away from it, in fact. And I’m no man’s puppet. I want Abbot Beech to crown me.”
“Well, it will be tricky, but I’ll see what I can do.”
“Thank you so very much, Alex. It means a great deal to me.”
“Of course. Have you seen the palace gardens yet?”
“Yes, and they’re beautiful. Having them in full, glorious bloom will make living here so much pleasanter.”
“Shall we take a walk, then?”
Five minutes later they were in the garden. Flowers blossomed everywhere in a riot of color and life. Raymond seemed more relaxed than Alex had ever seen him. They walked in silence for a time. Then after a while Raymond reached out and took Alex’s hand.
Alex was mildly shocked. “Your majesty?”
Suddenly self-conscious, Raymond let go of his hand. His cheeks turned a bright shade of red. “I’m sorry, Alex. You must excuse me. It’s only that I—”
“No, no, no explanation is necessary. You just caught me a bit off guard, that’s all.”
A bright orange butterfly flitted past them and lit on a gladiolus. Raymond bent down close to it. “Beautiful, just simply beautiful. I love God’s creation more and more every day I’m alive.”
“As you should. As we all should.”
“Alex, I—”
“Yes?”
“I don’t want you to misunderstand. I’ve always—I’ve always wanted one close, very close friend. Someone I could be with and love and tell my innermost thoughts to.” He turned self-conscious again. “Love as a friend, I mean.”
“I understand. I had such a friend. The late king. I still miss him.”
“I’m sorry. I tried to find someone in the monastery, but none of the other monks was ever, I don’t know, was ever in sympathy with me, or something. They all respected me, respected me for my mind at least. But none of them ever gave me what I needed emotionally.”
“Love is important, Raymond. It’s the most important thing of all.”
“Just… please, please don’t misunderstand me. I don’t want you to think I’m… well, I’m… please don’t think I’m a sodomite or anything perverse like that.”
“Of course not.”
“It’s just that I—I—”
“Relax, Raymond. I understand where you’re coming from. I understand where you are. I was there once myself, there in that same place.”
A faint glimmer of understanding showed in Raymond’s face. But the thought was too much for him. “Alex, I—you and my cousin—I—”
Alex put an arm around him. “I told you to relax. You’re not in St. Dymphna’s anymore. This is the real world. And you’re a king. You define what’s perverse and what isn’t.”
It was a new thought, and it was too much for Raymond to process. His confusion showed. For a long moment he stood stock still, struggling with this new information and what it implied about the world and his place in it. Then suddenly, abruptly, he threw his arms around Alex and kissed him. Before Alex could respond, Raymond pulled away from him and ran from the garden.
Alex was left standing alone amid the flowers and the butterflies. Yes, he had been there himself. Raymond would come through it, too. He would see to that.