When it became clear that Markus would likely drown himself from sheer stubbornness than relent, Alexandros surface first, gasping and clinging to the side of the bath with a wet cough.
Markus followed suit twelve seconds later, light headed and sputtering.
The King did not look amused.
“You know, I think I am pretty lenient with most things.” The King said in a much put upon tone that he and his sisters favored, watching as his sons sucked in breaths, Markus clutching his chest with a pained expression, “Compared to my own father, one might even say I am –“ He sucked in a breath of his own to release in in a long sigh. “Laid back, as Godfather would call it. I don’t require all the things of you two like it was required of me, but I do need you two to do a few little things. Am I in the wrong here, Markus?”
“I do many things for you father,” Markus said, turning his gaze to stare intently at their father. “So I would think it would be Alexandros turn to fulfill a tradition or two.” The King nodded in agreement and looked to his second son for his inevitable rebuttal.
“But I’m not going to be King, Father!” Alexandros growled, “I’m only the spare! Besides, I already have four daughters, isn’t that progress enough!?” He grabbed at the chain around his neck, the four rings there clattering angrily as he shook them, and their father nodded before he looked back to Markus.
“If history has taught us anything, the spare must always be prepared to ascend the throne and that requires a queen!” Markus insisted as he climbed out of the bath. His father made a sound of protest, and to Markus’ surprise, the lazy King actually went after him, climbing out of the water faster than one could blink to toss him backward into the water with a large splash, displacing nearly a quarter of the water out of the tub. When Markus surfaced again his father was standing at the edge, looking down at them with a disapproving gaze.
Markus glared up at the ceiling while his brother glared at the water pointedly.
“I’m not budging boys, I’m sorry. Markus.” He looked to his eldest, who slowly looked down through the soaked locks that hung in his face to meet his Father’s stern gaze. “Your nearly sixteen now. When I was your age, I already had you and your brother, as well as seventeen of your sisters. Seventeen! You don’t have a single daughter, let alone an heir. Shameful!” Markus winced and lifted his gaze again as his father wagged his finger and tutted at him in disapproval. “And you, Alexandros.” The second son frowned, but looked to their father. “You should count your blessings. No spare to the heir is expected to marry, let alone have children until their older brother is dead and buried. For you to be allowed to take a bride and have children is a gift I give to you." He emphasized. "Spares that had even a single child before their brother was dead were seen as trying to take the throne and were slain on the spot– my allowance of your daughters is something you should be grateful for.”
“So very grateful, father.” Alexandros deadpanned.
The King clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “You blow me over with your gratitude.” He said dryly, his lips tightening in annoyance. “You may leave Alexandros, I need to speak privately with your brother.”
In his haste to leave, Alexandros slipped twice on his way out, dashing away as fast as he could to be spared any more talks of marriage.
Markus’s shoulders dropped as his father sat on the edge of the bath, the eldest son trying desperately to think of an excuse to leave, but at this moment his brain ceased to work, which was so very typical of it. It worked too hard when he didn’t need it, picking up on the thoughts of others, but refused to summon a single productive thought when he actually needed it.
The King stayed quiet for a long time as he gathered his words, staring down at his muddled reflection in the water. He knew he had to be careful if he didn’t want his son clamming up on him. Saying the wrong thing could result in Markus running off to the wilds to hunt until the subject was dropped, and that was the last thing Antonius wanted. It hurt him to have his son away from home too long, and the last time he had broached a sensitive subject with him, Markus had disappeared for nearly six months without a single word home.
It had been a very distressing six months for the King, Markus had heard. As the King dramatically retold him when he returned, having his heir away was terribly frightening, considering all the horror stories his Godfather liked to write to him about former princes that had failed to ascend the throne because of early and tragic deaths.
But this conversation needed to happen, Antonius conveyed to Markus with a firm look. He had been putting it off for far too long.
“Markus…” He started carefully, gripping the edge of the bath until the stone began to crack under his grip. “Everyone is very impressed with all that you have accomplished….you are quickly coming up on Cydonia with all the hunts you have accomplished.”
“Thank you, Father.”
Antonius swirled his foot around in the water thoughtfully. “But … there is … some … concern … amongst certain members of the senate.” He inked out, chancing a glance up to see his son’s intense gaze was on him. He looked back to the water quickly. “People have noted … your … hm …general avoidance of women?” Markus shifted uneasily in the water and Antonius hesitated. “You have been so busy, son, protecting our kingdom.” He said quickly, licking his lips. “But, perhaps, it is time to put the gossip to rest. I am sure a few brief little sightings out in the city with a beautiful woman will cease their clucking. If you were to have just a few daughters -” He laughed quietly, uneasy. “It would really show them, hm?”
Markus made his way to the opposite side of the bath and to settled there, staring up at the ceiling without a word.
The King carefully slide back into the water, his necklaces clattering noisily as he sunk into the water, staying opposite his son. “If you are worried about being a father, I assure you, there is nothing to be concerned about." He said gently. "Having daughters is such a great pleasure, Markus. Nothing brings me more joy than my girls – you just can’t do wrong in their eyes!” He tried. “I-is it that? Is that why you haven’t…mm, produced?”
“Yes,” Markus said plainly. “I suppose that must be it.”
TAPTAPTAPTAP
Markus shuttered.
“Then allow me to relieve you of your concern!”
His father went into a very lengthy list of reasons of why fatherhood had kept him youthful and fully energized, but Markus wasn’t listening. He instead stared at the broken pieces of the tub his brother had been lounging in, wishing one would fly over and hit him in the head. It might just be hard enough to hurt him, if it flew fast enough. Anything to get out of this awful conversation. He didn’t want to talk about children, about daughters. He didn’t want to talk about what it took to produce them. He didn’t want to talk about women. He didn’t want to think about women -
TAPTAPTAPTAP
Thinking about them brought back awful, awful thoughts, spurred on by the voice in the back of his head, the one he was so sure belonged to his long dead grandfather - and that awful sound!
TAPTAPTAPTAP
Memories of what he had been forced to watch his grandfather do to women, their screaming, the blood – he could keep them away if he didn’t think about women. He was fine with his aunts, with his sisters and his mother – they weren’t women, not really. They were family. But any woman not of blood relation was a trigger and his sanity couldn’t afford to risk what might happen if those awful memories came back.
He was already crippled by all the things he had to do to avoid thinking about them. If they were triggered again, he didn’t know if he could recover like he used to. He was just so tired lately.
TAPTAPTAPTAP
The noise was getting worse. Whenever he was stressed, it came back now-
TAPTAPTAPTAP
It was like a dagger twisting in his heart every time he heard it, half knocked the breath right out of him.
“-I have an idea!” His father climbed clumsily out of the water then and went about getting dressed in his long, deep purple trabea toga, then coming around the bath with a clean tunic and towel for his son. Markus climbed out of the water and dried himself, dressing as he followed his father out of the room. “You must rest – and I must write to Godfather! A magnificent idea has just occurred to me, but I need his approval before I do anything!”
As they went down the hall, they passed a trio of his Aunts as they came in from the courtyard where some liked to lounge by the pools there, dressed in full armor, purple gazes glittering with thinly veiled cruelty. All of his Father’s many sisters seemed to take a perverse sort of pleasure in the pain and discomfort of others, a trait that made them highly impressive warriors but devastatingly poor company.
His Father winked at them as they neared each other and they smiled tightly in return, the eldest of the three raising a hand in greeting as they passed, muttering “Good night, Anthony.” As she passed.
Antonius steps stuttered and he turned to look over his shoulder at the group of women that walked toward the opposite direction toward the doors leading out of the palace. He stared at them, his jaw tightening before he whipped his head back around to face forward. He ignored the searching gaze of his son to continue forward.
“Why did they call you that?” Markus asked his father, who had only ever been called Antonius to his knowledge.
“Call me what?” The King’s tone was unfamiliar to his son. It was daring him to ask in the way Alexandros liked to speak sometimes, so Markus did not. Though he was confident that he could take his father, bad things happened to princes that annoyed kings.
Plus, just as with Alexandros, Markus didn't think he was capable of actually fighting his Father. He was Markus' family, one of very few that he was comfortable with and losing him would be very upsetting. For all of his father's and brother's faults, they were still dear to him in their own way. All of his family was.
But it was a very strange reaction, one that he would not forget.
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