"Do you really have to go?____Why don't you send any of the Associates? Whether or not you go, Aniceto will rest peacefully with his ancestors". The harmonic voice of a woman sounded as the vivid image of her pressing her body hard against the back of her husband, can be easily made out under the awakening dawn.
With his hands on the window frame and the cool breeze of Axematch vigorously slapping his face, he let his mind wonder in the direction of his wife's question as different answers and arising questions clouded his brain.
Having no effect whatsoever from the antagonistic breeze face-slapping, he tightened his grip on the window frame when he felt a warm fluid at the back of his night robe and heard the soft sobbing of his wife.
"Marcella, I am only going to bury a brother. I am not going to fight a war neither am I going to sleep at the crypt. I will be back the day after tomorrow at the first cock crow". He tried to coax her but the sobbing tend to increase drastically as the last words left his lips.
With anger in his eyes, he gripped the frame harder and did not stop until he felt the metal crushing under his fists.
Out there on the fields, he was brave. Brave enough to swing his swords in multiple, adjacent positions. Brave enough to slice through flesh, watch red fluid gush out of internal holes. Brave enough to set thousands to flight but in his room, his bedroom, such quality seemed to be lacking. He was not brave enough to look into his wife eyes. To watch crystalline fluids flow from her brown eyes, down her milky white cheeks and more water gathering up again in her eyes.
Taking in a sight like that was like delivering his heart on a platter for a blacksmith to break the iron case with which he used to guide up the organ against pleas and cries of the wicked when they are being smitten. The case he used to border and gate the delicate organ against feelings of guilty when he relieves the Breakers of the Law of their head or watch others do it___ that earn him the name 'The Iron hearted king'. The one his wife mocks him with when with just a slight brush against his skin, his manhood is already looking up.
His heart would bleed each time he glance at her pathetic face. So no matter how hard he tried to be brave out there___in here, his wife took up the quality. Being brave enough to cry, knowing fully well that her husband will not take the risk of looking at her face.
"I was his king, my queen. His elder brother, his confidant, his friend. His was my closet brother of all my mother's children and as an elder and his king, it is my duty to attend his funeral. To see to it that he is buried according to customs and tradition. I have to..."
"If that's the case. If you really want to make sure that his burial will be conducted in line with your tradition. That his corpse would be buried in the Clove of Honour and funeral rites be performed adheringly to custom. Then it will be. It will be done without, under Arcani's supervision. Send Arcani in your stead. He is a knight fighting for the Greater Course. Send him with a few members of the Associates. He would make sure things go in a cordial manner, according to the tradition ". Marcella suggested.
"Arcani, surely would be there whether or not I consent or send him. He was Aniceto's youngest brother". He said as he watched a few birds flap up in the morning sky. "But it seems like your trust in him is of high esteem than mine. That man may be good at war, but he is not good at handling matters. That is why he is not a Lord as his brother. I cannot trust myself to let him represent me". Albert, the King, rebuffed her suggestion and turned to face her.
Cupping her cheeks with his palms, he gave her a gentle kiss on her lips and stoke it afterwards.
"Let me come along then. I was his sister-in-law. I am still in regards of the living. Let me witness the burial of a brother. Let me stand by your side in this times, please ". She begged with his palms still on her cheeks.
He removed his hands and replaced them on her waist. " If you do, who will take care, adequately, of my baby boy. You know he's still a lad and he needs the care of a mother ".
The Queen wound her left hand round her husband's neck while she gingerly poke the tip of his nose with the other. "Then I will lodge him with us".
He rose the left side of his cheeks to imitate a smile. "Since when did you become this cunning?". Was the question that ensued after he had wiped out the tears that lingered on her milky face, with his left thumb.
The Fourth King of the Axematch, Albert Dokatridge, his name or The Iron Hearted King, as his subject may call him, combed the shoulder-length hair of his beloved bride with his fingers. Her brown hair which curled at the tip matched the brown pupils of her eyes. The first thing that caught his attention when he first saw her was the brown eyes that stood out elegantly on her white face. Such a beauty to behold, was his first thought of agreement before his father introduced her to him as his bride.
He inhaled her wet garden scent which normally reminded him of the Palace's garden after a heavy downpour.
"I will take the blame for turning you into a bad girl ". He said and did not wait for Marcella's response before locking lips with her and carrying her back to the bed for a morning dose of lovemaking.
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