“Isn’t he amazing?”, Madlenka sighed happily as she gazed down at her son’s sleeping form.

“He is the most perfect prince that ever was”, Eallair replied expansively, a tender smile on his face.

“I just can’t believe we made him”, she murmured.

“It does boggle the mind doesn’t it”, Eallair chuckled.

“Really, I think I could just look at him all day long”.

Kendrick stirred in his sleep with a sigh, eyelashes fluttering and rows of chubby fingers twitching as they reached for some invisible treat. He had finally collapsed onto the plush rug, exhausted from a tiring day of trying to master the art of sitting up. This he had not yet managed alone, plummeting face first towards the mercifully soft rug with its bounteous golden flowers and twisting vines, more times than could be counted on both fingers and toes. Eallair had confessed that his hands ached from the clinging of tiny, but strong sausage-like fingers, that had held on for dear life as the tiny prince swayed from side to side trying desperately to keep his balance.

His chest rose and fell, mouth slightly open as Eallair’s was when he slept. One hand was perched haphazardly on his round little belly, leaving a track in the folds of his velvety tunic as with each breath it slid closer to the floor.

“He looks like you when you sleep”, Ellair crowed, “He has your pouty little mouth”.

“I was just thinking the same thing, but it was the way his mouth hangs open that I was thinking of”, she giggled, “Although at least he doesn’t snore like you”.

“I don’t snore!”, Eallair cried in mock-outrage.

He thought for a minute, “Do I?”

“Yes but I still love you”, she giggled.

“Well at least he doesn’t make little snuffly noises like you do”, he glanced sideways at her, his lips trying not to curl up into a smile.

“I do not!”, she cried with a laugh.

A sighing snuffle came from the prostrate figure at their feet.

“Or maybe I was wrong”, Eallair chuckled, “guess he takes after his mother”.

“Better a snuffle than a snore!”, Madlenka scolded.

“That my dear Maddy, is very very true”, he wrapped an arm cosily around her shoulders pulling her against him.

“Oh Mads, I believe he is the best thing I have ever done”, Eallair sighed, “And I, a King. Let us hope he is a far better man than his father”.

She crept into his lap wrapping her arms around his drooping shoulders, “Eallair, don’t say things like that. You are the very best of men”.

“Oh love, I know you think so and it is kind of you to say, but I know that I am not”, he replied with a wry smile.

Madlenka knew that while Eallair was a good man he was not a good ruler. He fumbled and faltered at the worst of moments, his lack of confidence becoming more and more apparent to his subjects with each awkward hour he spent sitting on his throne. She knew that it had been even harder for him since she had given birth to Kendrick. She was no longer at his side all day long, watching and listening so she could advise him in the evenings.

Eallair had never been meant to rule but she had. She was born to be a Queen. And to think of the tantrum she had thrown when her father told her she was to marry the third son of the King of Branwhuld. The third son! She who had been prepared her whole life for something grander, to be shipped off to such a life at the request of her stepmother. A woman barely older than herself! It had not sat well, and all the long journey she had alternated between sobbing into Nyawe’s hair and raging between clenched teeth at the unfairness of her life.

And then she had pulled aside the curtains of the litter and he had been standing there, his mustache tickling the edges of a wide grin.

“You must be Madlenka”, he had said cheerfully with a bow, “but I was sort of hoping I could call you Maddy. Would you mind awfully”.

She had been so surprised she had simply nodded as his warm, strong hand had reached up to help her down from the litter and into her new life. From that day onwards she had never once regretted being sent to marry only the third son.

And now she was a Queen but it was no longer what she desired.

“I just, wish he had let me come along too”, Eallair pouted.

Lochan had led a group of men out to search the ruined church many hours ago. The Duke had done all but demand Eallair remain behind, he was the last of the bloodline and so on and therefore he must not endanger himself.

Madlenka had not pointed out that Eallair was the King and so he could choose for himself and did not have to listen to Lochan’s demands. It was selfish but she was frightened for him and she did not want him to go. And so, Madlenka of Lomorrad, raised to rule had behaved in a manner that did not befit a Queen. But she did not care, she thought recklessly. That Eallair lived mattered more to her than anything else, much more than the struggling remains of the Kingdom of Branwhuld.

“What if something terrible has happened? What if they have been attacked?”

“I’m sure they are fine my love, Lochan is a very capable commander and he has good men with him. They will be fine”.

He sighed mournfully, his mustache drooping with corners of his mouth.

“Perhaps I can distract”, she said with a wicked grin and then lunged towards him, her lips finding the sensitive part of his neck. She nipped at the warm skin there, her hot breath teasing up little goosebumps were it went.

“Maddy, oh Maddy don’t… oh you know how it tickles when you do that. Oh stop… oh”, his laughter became a moan as her mouth moved down to his collarbone and her hand found its way between his legs.

“Maddy…”, his whispered hoarsely, tipping her back and kissing her hard, as he gathered her into his arms, his body pressing her against the soft cushions of the seat.

The scratchy material of his tunic rubbed against the tops of her breasts illicting a moan as his hand slid up beneath her dress.

There was a tap at that door and then heavy footsteps behind the screen that separated the room.

She leapt off Eallair’s lap, struggling into a sitting position as she hastily straightened her dress.

Lochan strode around the corner. The King’s steward was busy writing up the year’s grain budget and so there had been no one to announce his entrance.

Madlenka smiled at him trying to look nonchalant. She felt Eallair’s body tensed beside her and wondered if Lochan noticed the fierce blush spreading across her face and probably forming splotches all the way down her neck.

By the disgusted look on his face she rather thought he had.

The Lochan of old would have made a joke or some sarcastic comment but this Lochan merely stood, staring at them with disapproval.

She supposed that flirting with your wife while one’s subjects were on a dangerous mission was not exactly the behavior of a good King.

“Lochan…”, Eallair squeaked, scrambling to his feet.

“Your highness”, Lochan drawled, his tone scathing.

“Is everyone alright? No one hurt?”

“Yes everyone is fine. We searched the whole place and the surroundings from top to bottom. We couldn’t find any sign of them. Nothing”, his voice was sour and flat, “Not a damn thing”.

There was a stirring at the hem of her gown and a small snuffle. Kendrick looked up, his eyes blinking sleepily. He let out a small whimper at suddenly being surrounded by big boots and tall people and tried to push himself up into a sitting position.

“Well hello then young fellow”, Lochan said with a softer tone, “You look very tired”.

“Yes he has been falling on his face all day long”, Madlenka said, bending down to scoop him into her arms.

“Trying to sit up”, Eallair explained hastily.

“I see”, Lochan said, the bitter edge returning to his voice, “There is something else too. We found a book.”

“A book? What kind of book? Where?”

“At the church, shoved into a crack in the wall behind where the altar must have sat. It seems to be a daily journal but it is difficult to tell since it has been so damaged by the weather. Perhaps it can prove some use though. I have enlisted Father Harndall to help me in deciphering what we can”.

Kendrick had begun to squirm in Madlenka’s arms whimpering as his little legs kicked uselessly against her waist.

“What is it my little man”, she gazed at his face noting a pouting lip that was trembling and eyes that were beginning to fill with tears.

She stroked the soft, downy hair on the back of his head. It had begun to grow in the last months but there was a bald patch at the back where his sleepy head rubbed against the bedspread each night.

“Still tired?”

He whined sulkily, wriggling in her arms, the floods of tears threatening to burst free at any moment.

“I’d better feed him and put him to bed”, she said, crossing over to where Eallair stood.

“I’ll see you later then”, Eallair said, reaching out to gently stroke her waist through the folds of clothing, the heat of his gaze on her face.

“Good evening Lochan”.

“Good evening Your Highness”.

She sidled from the room, Kendrick burying his wet face in her hair as he clutched at it with his stumpy fingers. She could still listen to what they said from the next room. Then perhaps, when Eallair came to their bed she could be his Queen once more and advise him.

Murchadh, The Royal Family