Newly crowned, King Julian must come to terms with his new life and obtain old justice for both himself and others. But, standing in his brother's shoes and unravelling the king that'd come before him, Julian begins to find out just exactly what kin...
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The air was still damp from James' announcement.
ㅤAround the Arkingham's royal amphitheatre, nobles sat in the front rows, moods shakily tampered by their post-outrage sigh. It wasn't like the small theatre show in Korcaster; tall arches held the monstrous structure four storeys high—one of the largest in existence, Fletcher boasted.
ㅤUnlike the theatre, the stands didn't face a single stage but circled the arena in an oval. Tightly packed commoners were relegated further away, their screams seeping down each level, unwittingly swaying the stewing nobility with their excited energy.
ㅤAn announcer boomed in the centre, echoed by his voice carriers. He drummed up pandemonium and the applause deafened against thinking about James' offensive promise.
ㅤFrom his chair, Alex slanted a glance at James beside him. With relaxed fingers entwined, the other man's face remained trained forward.
ㅤRather than sitting in the open, the highest of nobles huddled in their own boxes—Alex and James included. Rather than be sheltered by the long ribbons of cloth overhead, their roofed cave flaunted luxurious comfort inside.
ㅤ"No executions?" Alex asked Fletcher, who was sorting through some papers behind them. Games typically began with those, yet the announcer had declared a warm-up chariot battle as the first act.
ㅤ"It was deliberate." Fletcher was forcibly upbeat. "It would remind the nobles of, well..." He trailed off.
ㅤA scoff slipped out. Right, of course.
ㅤFletcher leant over their shoulders. "What's the current mood like?"
ㅤAlex wondered if Fletcher had known about James' citizenship plan in advance. He always seemed to be in the loop where Alex wasn't.
ㅤFletcher mused to himself when neither Alex nor James responded. "They seem to be cheering up. You couldn't have broken the news at a better time, James."
ㅤAgainst a spiteful remark, Alex's jaw clamped shut, teeth grinding. Silence was better than facing mockery as a result of an unwarranted tantrum.
ㅤBecause he'd never been allowed to get angry, he'd long lost the sense to know when it was appropriate.
ㅤInstead, he watched the horse-drawn chariots spill from the gate tunnel and into the sun, the wainmen raising their fists to the roar of the audience. Alex stared, his face resting on his knuckles, unstirred.
ㅤ"James!"
ㅤPanicked, Alex's head snapped up, pulse spiking. Fletcher was horrified, covering his mouth. He was gawking at James' lap.
ㅤBefore Alex had realised, he'd reached out; James' wrist was in his tight grip, snatched between the two of them. His swollen, disfigured thumb trembled with the rest of his hand in the open air.
ㅤ"I'm getting a doctor," Fletcher blurted, jerking away and slamming the door behind him.
ㅤSharp words almost barked out of Alex—to assess or maybe to chastise—but any noise died in his throat, stilling into silence over the distance rumbles.
ㅤJames was looking at him, his reds quiet with guarded contemplation, and it was enough to render him silent.
ㅤTeeth grinding, Alex clicked his tongue and swiped his limb back.
ㅤAlex scoffed at the sarcasm, his barely controlled civility slipping. Below, chariots were circling like sharks, hooves rapping on packed dirt. The wainmen wobbled uncertainly as competitors pressured them to fall.
ㅤAlex was a man who prided himself in being grateful. He was, after all, born to deserve far less than he'd ever received. Even under his father, he'd been granted luxuries and education far beyond the miserable dreams of his bitter boyself. He didn't dare to ask too much, nor did he greed for more.
ㅤEven so, wasn't this too cruel? At least he'd always known his place, so he would never be left hoping for anything. This, though, it felt like he'd been tricked—that James had promised high privileges and swept him away from his cautious nature into believing he'd have everything he'd ever wanted.
ㅤRespect.
ㅤIt was hard to convince himself he was receiving the dignity promised. The sweet syrups of James' vows were as poisonous as they'd tasted. Too good to be true. They'd been as much lies as the rest of James' words had ever been.
ㅤ'Respect him, but don't trust him.'
ㅤIf only he'd heeded his father's good advice with the seriousness it had deserved.
ㅤLord Lagarde's murder had been overshadowed by James' ridiculous political suicide. Making an announcement like that... Alex now wished James hadn't turned up to his own coronation after all.
ㅤThe prospect terrified him. Yet, he was nauseatingly partial to the tint of his disgusting, stodgy hope. Nobles weren't so obedient though. Even if James relied on an old royal privilege to declare this now, there was no way the Curia would shy away from getting involved and correct that mistake.
ㅤ"You're covered in love bites," James crassly observed and Alex's flushed face stung in the heat.
ㅤHis molars whined. "That was your fault."
ㅤThe whole palace had been able to see them—an obvious claim to his body. The quick glances mid-conversation to his neck and shoulders had been humiliating. Bite bruises healed as slowly as any other.
ㅤ"...I see."
ㅤThe colosseum applauded as a man fell from his chariot, protectively raising his forearms amidst the danger of swirling wheels and hooves. Alex didn't want to speak to James further.
ㅤUnable to escape, he instead closed his eyes and pretended to sleep. He only broke his pretence to demand a bottle at a servant's offering of wine and grapes, and James hadn't spared a judging remark about his poorly hidden petulance.
ㅤThey sat silently that way for a long time. Alex paid attention only to his drink; otherwise, he mocked sleep.
ㅤFletcher did finally arrive with a doctor at some point and, whilst Alex didn't watch, he did listen. A very specific injury—his thumb had been twisted and broken from its joint. When asked if it'd been self-inflicted, there'd been no answer. Over Fletcher's gasp, Alex hadn't been able to ascertain if James' breath had even hitched when the doctor corrected it. Only the rustle of fabric indicated he was present at all.
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