Birthrights: Part 16 (AmericaxReader)

You weren’t exactly sure where you were in comparison to your room, and you definitely had no idea how to get back to the tall doors that had trapped you in this place, so you decided to wander around until you found something to distract you from your more tormented thoughts. Unfortunately, it seemed the only things to see in this place were immense oil paintings and expensive tapestries. Nothing much to keep your mind from dwelling for too long on the ominous warnings of queens past.

“It was just the one queen,” you told yourself, shaking your head to clear the more disruptive thoughts from your head. “Just one.”

Another hall ended, leaving you with the option of turning left or turning back. Looking down the next hall, all you could see was more stone and paintings, including portraits of previous kings and queens. You groaned and ran a heavy hand over your face, inner monologue screeching at you that the symbology of these stupid hallways and that stupid painting and Arthur’s stupid warning was all too convenient to be coincidental.

Fortunately, you didn’t have to make a decision that would no doubt be held over your head by none other than yourself when the time actually came to get married, as you were found by one of the residents of the manor.

He was a young looking boy, most likely no older than eleven or twelve, already in breeches but still wearing short knickers. His cropped jacket and knee-length pants were made of pale blue, decorated by dark lace. The small bit of his ruffled shirt still visible under the pale fabric was dirtied and one of the pearl buttons was missing. You smiled to see him rushing through the halls, glancing over his shoulder and laughing at whatever was behind him, and couldn’t help but chuckle under your breath at the way his loud laugh filled the halls.

Chasing behind him was none other than your husband-to-be. He turned the corner just as the young boy was half way across the hall, hands extended to try and catch the tails of his coat, but stopped as the boy wound around your legs, peering out at him from behind your skirts.

Alfred rose to stand up straight, still stumbling a few steps forward, his cheeks dusted with a soft pink and a small smile gracing his lips for just a moment before he lunged down at the boy again, managing to snag his ankle as he fell to the floor. The boy plopped himself down on the floor and tried to kick his way out of Alfred’s grasp, but it was to no avail.

You watched the little show and stepped a bit away as Alfred tugged the boy closer, barely managing his monologue of poorly-worded threats around his grin. With your own smile, you waited for either the little boy to concede or Alfred to “lose his grip”. He didn’t, and the boy gave in with a sigh, flopping back against the rug. Chuckling, you offered a hand to the boy, giving him congratulations for his valiant effort against the evil king.

He immediately perked up, raising himself up to his knees. He sat with his hands still firmly planted on the ground and his neck craned so that he might look you in the face. “Are you the new queen?” he asked, a bit of awe in his voice.

The words still took you a bit by surprise even if you knew by now they were true. “I suppose I am. And who might you be? My very own knight, perhaps?” Behind the boy, Alfred shifted so that he was also sitting, his legs stretched out and crossed in front of him. He gave you a quick wink as you caught his eye and you felt your cheeks grow warm.

“Soon, my queen!” the boy chirped, pushing off the carpet to bow ridiculously low. You held down a grin as Alfred struggled to contain his own amusement. The boy raised his face to you again, a broad grin brightening his round face. “Peter Kirkland!” he told you, holding out his hand for yours.

Unable to prevent the small smile that tugged at your cheeks, you reached your own hand out, offering your name to him.

Very gracefully, considering his age, Peter lowered his head and pressed a quick kiss to your knuckles. “It’s really quite a pleasure,” he said earnestly, still holding your hand even after he stood straight again.

Waves of endearment suddenly overwhelmed you as you looked at the boy, and you allowed yourself to give him your best smile. “The pleasure is all mine, Peter.”

You felt yourself getting a bit choked up, for no reason other than the solstice of finding such pure happiness in such a place where fear had been licking at your heels, forcing you to darker places. He was young and he was so, so happy. Alfred seemed to catch on to your mood, and quickly distracted Peter, shooing him away to whatever it was that little boys did in the manor. The boy gone, Alfred was slow to approach you-- cautious as a man approaching a wounded beast. You met his eye, vision blurred by tears (the origin of which you weren’t exactly sure of), and he finally made contact, bundling you up in his arms and holding you close.

“Have I done something to upset you?” he murmured into your hair, catching his fingers against the back of your neck and cradling you there.

Face hidden against his chest, you shook your head, hoping the tears that pricked at your eyes wouldn’t fall and ruin any more of his clothing.

He chuckled, though it sounded somber compared to his free laughter from earlier. “You’ve been crying pretty often since you’ve come to me; I can’t say it doesn’t hurt.”

You clutched him tighter against you, finding yourself soothed by his presence so near to you. “It’s a bit overwhelming, I suppose.”

“I know, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

“Ok.”

You hoped Arthur was right about you and Alfred, and you hoped the queen before you eventually understood the king wasn’t meant to be a huntsman to cage her, but a guardian to allow her room to grow. Perhaps she did: perhaps she didn’t. But, you did know that you and Alfred were different. You may have had your doubts, but never about him.

He truly did love you.

And, you supposed you loved him as well.