Chapter 49: Chapter 49: Accused
Carlton’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, his expression a mix of incredulity and trepidation. "Wait, so you’ve seen it too? Your reflection doing its own thing?" he asked, almost as if hoping Alaric would deny it.
Alaric rubbed the back of his neck, looking slightly sheepish as he recalled the unsettling incident from a few days prior.
"Well, I did see something strange when I first returned from the war... but to be honest, I was so exhausted and overwhelmed at the time that I brushed it off as a trick of my tired mind.... but what I saw was definitely different."
Carlton leaned forward eagerly, his curiosity piqued. "What exactly did you see?"
He leaned forward eagerly, captivated by this new development. Could Alaric’s experience somehow tie into his own time-traveling predicament? The possibility sent a thrill of excitement through him.
"I..."
Alaric began hesitantly, only to be cut off by a long drawn-out groan that seemed to emanate from every corner of the room simultaneously.
"Uuuhhhhhh...."
Both men jumped in their seats - or rather Carlton did; Alaric seemed more used to these unexpected interruptions by now.
"Oh sweet merciful heavens, I nearly forgot..." Carlton muttered, his eyes darting towards the long sofa across the room. There, sprawled out like a beached whale and clearly just rousing from some deep slumber, was another figure.
Of course, the groggy figure slowly stirring on the nearby sofa was none other than Tristan. After his dramatic fainting spell, Carlton and Alaric had debated whether to hauling him off to the infirmary – but given the palace’s current rumors had been swirling through the palace ever since Kastiel spread whispers about an "infectious disease" afflicting Alaric (all thanks to that incident involving Carlton and three days of non-stop lovemaking), they’d decided it best not to draw further attention.
Instead, Alaric had opted for a more... unconventional approach. He figured he might as well put this unexpected day off from paperwork and royal duties to good use. After all, Lucas should be arriving soon to ’check on’ Alaric later as part of his cover story. As his trusted physician, Lucas was supposed to visit this wing just to check on his fake illness.
As Tristan finally blinked his eyes open, he rubbed at them groggily, clearly still disoriented from his fainting spell. It took a moment for his foggy brain to clear and recall the events leading up to his current state of unconsciousness - including that terrifying vision of Carlton’s...ahem...’massive thing’ dangling precariously close to his face. No wonder the poor guy had fainted again upon waking!
Tristan let out a pitiful whimper as he clutched at his head, looking like he might pass out once more if not given some serious TLC pronto.
Alaric and Carlton rose to their feet, striding over to Tristan who was attempting a shaky sit-up. As Tristan watched Carlton approach, his eyes widened in horror as fragments of the last thirty minutes slammed back into his brain with the force of a runaway carriage.
Despite now being neatly dressed with his long blue hair tied back in a ponytail, Tristan couldn’t shake the image of Carlton moments ago – completely naked, striking an unholy pose that could only be described as "vengeful female nurse ghost meets contortionist gone wrong."
The memory of Carlton flinging his upper body backwards in what looked suspiciously like an attempted wheel pose, hands flailing uselessly in the air while his unruly mane cascaded down to obscure his face... it was enough to make anyone question their sanity.
And then there was that other memory - the one involving Carlton’s...’anaconda’ almost making contact with Tristan’s face.
Double trauma!
Tristan felt an overwhelming urge to whip out some holy water and perform an impromptu exorcism on unsuspecting Carlton. He just wanted someone else nearby so he didn’t have to face this alone.
Alaric, oblivious to the internal turmoil raging within Tristan, approached with genuine concern etched on his face. "Tristan," he asked softly, "are you alright? You’ve fainted twice already - I’m starting to get seriously concerned about your health..."
Alaric’s words did little to soothe Tristan, who was currently experiencing a full-blown existential crisis brought on by the sheer presence of Carlton. His health? Compromised. His sanity? Questionable.
"Your Highness," Tristan managed, forcing a smile that looked more like a grimace, "Thank you for your concern, but I assure you my health is merely...compromised by recent events." He coughed awkwardly. "Perhaps it’s just exhaustion from these past few days...especially since Kastiel hasn’t been around..."
Tristan lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper as he added, "...and perhaps a touch of trauma.
But Alaric heard him loud and clear – he didn’t need further explanation. The mere mention of ’trauma’ in this context painted an incredibly vivid picture – one involving ’contortionist ghost’ and ’rogue serpent’. Honestly, Alaric wasn’t surprised; anyone who had spent five minutes alone with Carlton lately probably needed therapy (and maybe some heavy-duty tranquilizers). Even he was sporting a headache that wouldn’t quit thanks to Carlton’s...unique brand of chaos.
Carlton raised an eyebrow at Tristan’s response, tilting his head as if pondering the answer to a particularly perplexing riddle. "Huh? Where is Kastiel? He’s usually glued to my darling like a lovesick puppy," he mused, his voice dripping with honeyed sarcasm. "I suppose while we were busy...entertaining ourselves these past few days, he was diligently handling all those pesky paperwork duties in my darling’s place."
Carlton’s words hung heavy in the silence that followed, punctuated only by Tristan’s sudden blush and his frantic fiddling with his hands. Alaric, meanwhile, stared at the ceiling as if searching for answers to life’s greatest mysteries – or perhaps just trying to avoid eye contact with Carlton who seemed blissfully unaware of the awkwardness he had created. Every now and then he would glance at Carlton, as if desperately searching for the words to express his profound bewilderment.
Carlton knew Alaric was dying to ask him something. With a flick of his index finger, he lifted Alaric’s chin, forcing him to meet his gaze.
"Is there something you want to ask me, my love?" Carlton purred, his voice dripping with honeyed seduction that would make even a stone statue blush.
Alaric felt heat creep up his neck as crimson painted his cheeks. He tried to step back but Carlton’s grip was surprisingly strong – like trying to escape a particularly clingy spider monkey. Even though they had...shared the intimate evenings - a mistake he desperately wished he could erase, this morning Alaric had sworn off any further entanglement with Carlton. But now? Now every fiber of his being screamed "run!" while simultaneously whispering "oh god what am I doing?".
Meanwhile Tristan, bless his slow-witted heart, finally caught onto the fact that Carlton referred to Alaric as "darling" or "my love." The thought of the notoriously stoic and aloof Duke Carlton, a man who could make a statue look emotionally expressive, being... affectionate? It was simply mind-boggling.
For days now he’d kept a respectful distance from the Duke – after all, Carlton was infamous for his stoicism and aloofness. But whispers had been swirling around the castle ever since their return from war: Duke Carlton wasn’t quite himself anymore. The man seemed possessed by an insatiable need to be glued to Alaric’s side, which Tristan initially attributed to post-traumatic stress or perhaps a particularly nasty case of battlefield hiccups.
Then three days ago, Kastiel and Rowan casually dropped the bombshell that Alaric and Carlton were...well, let’s just say they weren’t exactly sharing tea and crumpets. Tristan felt like his brain had short-circuited – The Crown Prince? And the Duke? It was enough to make him question everything he thought he knew about reality.
Tristan’s mind raced, conjuring up wild scenarios. Maybe Alaric and Carlton had been drugged by some nefarious villain! (He would probably faint dead away if he knew the real culprit was Carlton himself.) Or perhaps they were just casual... partners? (Tristan’s innocence was endearing, but his imagination could rival a soap opera writer on a caffeine bender).
The truth hit him like a rogue wave – they weren’t just partners; they were lovers! Oh dear God in heaven, Tristan had actually seen Duke Carlton naked! Was this going to be his last day on Earth as the Crown Prince decided to gouge out his eyes for witnessing his lover in all his glory?
Tristan stared at Alaric with wide, teary eyes. Alaric, about to answer Carlton’s question, paused mid-sentence, utterly bewildered by his assistant’s sudden emotional outburst.
What in Merlin’s name was wrong with Tristan?
But then Alaric shrugged off Tristan’s distress and turned back to face Carlton.
"There are a few things I’d like to discuss with you," he began cautiously "and they concern Kastiel... and Rowan..."
Carlton’s grip on Alaric’s chin tightened. He didn’t even let go when Alaric turned his face away. It was like he had a vice-like hold on the poor man’s jaw – probably because he couldn’t get enough of that beautiful face.
"Heehhh... what’s wrong with them?" he purred. "Are they dating now? Or are they having sex?"
Alaric froze, as if struck by lightning. Tristan gasped so loudly that everyone could have sworn he’d swallowed a whole lemon – his mouth hanging open like a startled goldfish. If this were some kind of melodramatic soap opera, the camera would zoom in on each of their shocked faces for an eternity, accompanied by dramatic music and sound effects worthy of a Shakespearean tragedy – highlighting their utter shock and disbelief at Carlton’s unexpected words.
"How did you know...?" Alaric stared at Carlton, his jaw practically on the floor. It was like someone had just told him that the Empress’s corgis were secretly training to be assassins – utterly unbelievable!
In this world, Rowan and Kastiel were sworn rivals since childhood. They bickered more than a pair of squabbling magpies, competed over everything from who could tie their shoelaces fastest to who could hold their breath underwater longer.
Dating? Sex? It was about as likely as finding a unicorn riding a unicycle in a tutu. If you asked anyone who knew them both what would happen if they were locked in a room together, the answer wouldn’t be "passionate embrace," but more along the lines of:
Scenario A: They’d try to strangle each other with decorative throw pillows while screaming insults worthy of Shakespearean villains.
Scenario B: A full-blown wrestling match erupting, an epic brawl straight out of Gladiator: neck-grabbing, hair-pulling wrestling with flying limbs and dramatic groans – think WWA meets medieval jousting tournament.
Scenario C: They’d team up to demolish whatever flimsy door separated them from freedom and sanity – set fire to the door and blamed it on Duke Carlton’s morning sickness, leaving behind only splinters and ashes as a testament to their destructive power.
Carlton, for his part, looked genuinely surprised. "Huh? Are they really dating now?"
Alaric sighed, ignoring Carlton’s hand still lingering on his chin like a lovesick puppy. "About that... I don’t know for sure," he mumbled, cheeks turning the color of a ripe strawberry. "But... they are definitely... having sex..." The word hung in the air like a particularly pungent cheese.
Carlton’s eyes widened with excitement. "Howaaaa!!! They’re progressing so fast! I didn’t expect them to do it right away!"
He removed his hand from Alaric’s chin and then proceeded to make the most vulgar hand gesture imaginable – two fingers forming a circle with an enthusiastic index finger going in and out like a metronome on overdrive – basically giving everyone present an impromptu anatomy lesson they hadn’t signed up for.
Tristan choked back a gasp and covered his mouth with both hands as if he could somehow prevent the world from seeing this scandalous display of enthusiasm and questionable anatomy. His face was bright red – looking more like a tomato than any human being should ever look after witnessing such vulgarity.
Alaric reacted faster than a startled cat, clamping down on Carlton’s wrists like he was trying to stop a runaway sausage. "Stop making those vulgar gestures!" His cheeks and ears were practically glowing with embarrassment, looking like someone had just dipped them in tomato soup.
Carlton chuckled, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Darling," he purred, leaning closer, "your rosy cheeks are so cute! Can I bite them?"
"No!!! No biting!"
Alaric yelped, releasing Carlton’s wrists with the speed of a startled gazelle and taking ten panicked steps back in what could only be described as superhumanly fast reverse parkour. He landed awkwardly back beside Carlton within what felt like half a second – clearly not comfortable but also apparently incapable of staying away from this chaotic pregnant man for more than five seconds at a time. His hand flew up to massage his temples as if trying desperately to untangle the knots of frustration forming there.
He looked at Carlton with a serious expression that could curdle milk. "Carlton," he said carefully, "I’m just asking you this... not accusing you... but did you give Kastiel anything three days ago?"
The playful smirk vanished from Carlton’s face like a puff of smoke, replaced by an expression as cold and unreadable as a glacier. His voice dropped to a chilling whisper.
"Do you suspect I drugged Kastiel, darling?"
