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sleepyconfusedpotato · 1 year ago

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I don't know if you ever received this ask or had this idea before but here goes nothing Since Ghost already met Jade's family, what if she meets his? ....angst material. Sorry not sorry.

Oh my God... Anon... You sparked something in me, and I cannot go to sleep now without posting this. Thank you so much for the idea.

(I think I'm gonna make a full on comic out of this, and I will make an art at some point for this fic, but let's use this lovely GIF of Ghost first)

She's The One

Jade meets Ghost's family.

Pairing : Simon “Ghost” Riley x Charlotte “Jade” Le Jardin (OC) Word Count : ~ 1.8k words Warning : Medium to heavy angst and mentions of death, but ends with a full on fluff because you know me mate I want Ghost to be happy ok.

Title and story inspired by the song 'She's The One' by Robbie Williams

"...How's your family, Simon?"

Jade asked Ghost. They had been having a small outing, which included watching the cinema together and going around the streetside shops to find new wardrobes for Ghost to wear. He initially thought that it was unnecessary, but as Jade insisted, he went anyway – as long as he could spend his off-duty time with her.

He'd met her parents, and though he was apprehensive about it at first, they turned out to be pleasant and strong people. It was such an unfamiliar feeling for him, to have a family to come home to, a supportive family and kind and can take care of their own. He's foreign to that concept.

Ghost just stayed silent to her question, his expression which was usually unreadable turned sorrowful, his eyes gazing down at the pavements they walked. She thought she should change the subject before Ghost muttered,

"You want to see them now?"

Jade opened her eyes wide in surprise, not expecting him to say anything about meeting his family this fast, and the way he said 'now'...

The woman knew Ghost wouldn't ask her that question if he was adamant as he was a straightforward person. And so, she answered, "Of course, if you don't mind it." He then proceeded to enter his car that was parked not far from where they just watched a movie in a cinema, not forgetting to open the passenger door for Jade beforehand.

They drove for a full 30 minutes of silence, save for the sound soft songs on the radio. As Ghost drove, Jade looked out the window and understood that they were going to a familiar place that she had passed by a few times in her life. He drove to the nearest available parking area, parking his car flawlessly before stopping the car engine, leaving the both of them in complete silence.

Jade felt the atmosphere around him grow heavy, his hands still on the steering wheel as if he was still pondering whether or not he wanted to get out of the car. He let out a soft sigh, took his keys and got out of the car. Jade got out of her own and looked at the surrounding area.

Cemetery.

The sun had disappeared behind the heavy grey clouds that constantly covered the England skies. Tiny drops of water had touched her cheek, in such a way it reflected Ghost's inner thoughts right now.

The man looked at her, "Over here." He walked with Jade following right behind him. After about 10 minutes of walking and treading through the tall grasses, Ghost stopped in front of a group of gravestones, four of them, which were placed more tightly together than the other. The grasses were tidily short, a sign that the keepers attended to these graves properly.

Jade then looked down, reading the engravings on the stones, and her heart shattered to pieces.

"Susan Riley, November 17th, 1965 - December 24th, 2017"

"Thomas Riley, July 21st, 1990 - December 24th, 2017"

"Elizabeth Riley, May 8th, 1991 - December 24th, 2017"

"Joseph Riley, March 19th, 2013 - December 24th, 2017"

It was his mother's birthday.

She looked up to find Ghost's eyes gazing down at the names as well, noticing that the ground he was standing on was right at the front of his mother's grave. No tears in sight, only sadness, and as an MI6 agent of two decades, she could deduce an expression of regret. Jade didn't need to wonder why, as the dates of their deaths were all the same - the reason he hid his identity, lived as no one, avoided any relationship with anyone, and the reason why he was adamant about meeting her parents – His past came to haunt, and it's target was not him.

Jade couldn't say anything. What could she say? That she's sorry this happened? She knew Ghost hated that phrase the most, of someone pitying him, that they wished things could be different. But what use is it to wish? It happened. His entire family died because something happened during one of his missions, and his family paid the price for it.

As if on cue, she heard a small sniff from him the same second the raindrops started to grow more frequent, falling harder, creating white noises and wet spots on their clothes. Being the Londoner she was, knowing that sunny days were never really sunny, Jade fished out her floral purple umbrella, holding it above Ghost's head beside her, making sure to cover his broad shoulders fully as her left shoulder grew wet.

She saw his face, and it was enough reason to stay silent and let him grieve. She didn't know if this was the first time he'd visited their graves after years or if he always come here at some time every year, but no matter which one the answer was, if she could see one thing, it was that his tears never seemed to run out, even after years.

Jade let him cry, the sound of his sobs completely drowned by the white noises of the heavy rain.

She knew that he wasn't a big fan of any physical touch, nonetheless, she lifted her other hand softly and rubbed at his back, going up and down in an attempt to soothe his sorrow. And after a minute of him not flinching away from her touch, Jade mustered up her will to slowly encircle her arm around his own on his side, their sides touching as she rubbed his bicep, and going even further as she leaned her head to touch his shoulder.

Ghost's shoulder still shook for a few minutes as he cried his heart out, Jade kept doing what she did as he let his sorrow out.

Soon after, another surprise hit her when she heard and saw that the rain started to slow down, albeit still going down on both of them. Her other arm started to grow sore after moments of holding the umbrella high to accommodate his height, yet what alleviated the pain was the fact that she felt a small weight on her head, realizing that Ghost had eased his cries, now only soft sniffs, and that he leaned his head on top of hers as well.

He still stayed silent, not a word spoken ever since they arrived, but she knew that this was a good sign that he knew that she would be there for him, even when he was vulnerable.

"Happy birthday, Mrs. Riley."

Jade muttered softly, the man beside her still looking down on his mother's grave even though he was slightly dazed at her words.

"This is our first meeting, but I can tell that you were a kind person, and an even more amazing mother and grandmother."

He then glanced at Jade as she continued, "Your son is a very skilled and intelligent man, traits which I assume he got from you. He's confident, a great leader-- oh! And he's handsome as well, so that's a plus."

That prompted a scoff out of his mouth. Nevertheless, she went on. "He's not much of a social person. He's a little bit intense and stiff - We can work on that. He shot my hand once! I have the scar to prove it. His choices of words are sometimes foul, though, again, we could always work on that." Jade joked lightheartedly, seeing him softly smile above her.

"But if there's one thing about him that I love, is that he's a strong man with a warm heart, and I don't have to assume to know that he got it from you." Jade continued. "Your son is the strongest man I know, and I will stop at nothing to protect him and make him happy."

Ghost looked down at her, astounded at her words. "Thank you for bringing him into this world. Happy birthday, Mrs. Riley."

As she finished her message, Jade looked up with a soft smile, "I'll be sure to bring some flowers the next time we visit, and every year after that."

She thought he was going to say something, until the arm that was intertwined with hers moved, though nervously, gliding across her back and found its home on Jade's shoulder, before lightly pressing and pulling her towards him. Jade blushed, not only at the warmth of his body but also at the fact that he initiated the touch.

"Thank you, Lottie." He muttered in his deep voice, "So much."

"Anytime, Love."

After about 15 minutes of standing in front of the graves, the rain had stopped, and the sun showed up to light the rest of the day as the sky turned orange. Jade had stored the wet umbrella back in its container and hung it on her wrist before she walked back to the car per his request. Jade figured he wanted some alone time with his family, and so she obliged.

"How's she, Mum? She's a beautiful bird, isn't she?"

Ghost finally spoke, his hands tucked inside his pockets. He then glanced at his brother's grave, smirking. "What about you, Tommy? You think she's the one?" He asked no one, not expecting any answer anyway, yet he just wanted to let it out.

"I thought I'm gonna bite the dust on some fucking rathole somewhere, and that was what I wished at some point, but..." Ghost sighed, shifting his weight on his hip, "I kind of want to die an old man, after living my life to the fullest with her-- Fuck, I can't believe I'm saying this." Ghost chuckled at his own words, not expecting it to be this heartfelt. "I'm arse over tit for her. Yeah, you're gonna laugh at me for this Tommy, but at least I didn't laugh when you said the same thing about Beth."

"And Mum, knowing you, I think you'd like her. She's a bit like you, in a way." Ghost confessed, still eyeing her name on her gravestone, "She cares too much. In a good way, and I find it endearing." He suddenly recalled the memories he had with Jade, from the first moment they met to this moment, replaying them over and over and being surprised about how much she reminded him of his mother.

"I want to protect her with all my life. I love her, Mum."

And with that, a burden on his shoulders felt like no more. He'd never said those words to anyone, and he might be insane to be in love with someone considering how he'd lived his life, but he'd made a promise to protect her, and if he'd be a fool, then a fool he would become.

"Anyway, she's waiting back there, and I'm hungry. So I'm going to leave you now." Ghost then stood up straight, his hands still in his pockets. He glanced at every single one of the gravestones, before looking at his mother's.

"Happy birthday, Mum."

-----

(All of the Riley's birthdays are entirely made-up. Their date of death was also made up, but I remembered there were something with Christmas, so I'll just place December 24th to make my heart hurt more) ಥ_ಥ

Anyway, thank you for reading, and hope you love this! (❁´◡`❁)

#call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #cod mw #cod #simon ghost riley #cod mw22 #sleepy answers #call of duty modern warfare 2022 #charlotte jade le jardin #call of duty oc #ghost x oc #ghost x jade #simon ghost riley fic #simon riley #call of duty fic #call of duty mw2 #angst #tw angst #tw death

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ciceroprofacto · 3 months ago

Text

Castling

Manhattan, February 1774 - Part 1

'Tonight's company' entailed what had to be half of the city's nobility.

If New York had such a thing as aristocrats, this was them. Alexander recognized a handful of familiar faces from Elizabethtown as the Livingston's frequent visitors. He recognized another handful only as familiar names from the balancing sheets of Beekman and Creuger- who were also apparently in attendance.

Both hands full, he occupied himself with listening, observing, nodding along and politely shaking or kissing hands when offered.

Mulligan stayed by his side through countless introductions, gentlemen and ladies in their finest, dresses and embroidery and perfumes and powders. As a student and a tailor they were not these aristocrats' interest for the night, but they made pleasant conversation with them anyway while everyone waited for their meal to be served. All exceedingly polite, imminently important, somewhat familiar, and entirely forgettable.

Miles Cooper was indeed there, along with James Rivington and his wife Elizabeth, but so were Isaac Sears and his wife Sarah Drake, John Lamb and Catherine Jardine, George Clinton and Cornelia, Alexander McDougall and Hanna Botswick, Phillip Schuyler and Catherine van Rensselaer and his business prodigy William Duer, James Duane of the Manhattan Chancery Court with Mary Livingston, his friend James de Lancey, and Lancey’s rival Lewis Morris, Lewis’s brothers Staats, Richard, and Gouverneur who was the first familiar face Alexander had seen and the only person he knew well enough to linger near.

His smile was starting to ache, so he grabbed Mulligan’s wrist for a reprieve.

Mulligan looked at him and then up to Gouverneur who had been attending to Sarah and Sally while their fiancé and husband talked a few paces away. “I’ve been a negligent host to our young friend.” Mulligan confided to the young lawyer. “He’s without a drink,” he said, “Would you-”

“Of course! Come, Alex- we were just congratulating Sally on her recent triumph over the ton.”

Right…Alexander had heard about John Jay’s proposal just a month ago. He had very little direct contact with the Livingstons since he had decided to enroll at Kings- too Anglican for their association- but Kitty kept him involved. Barely eligible for a year and Sally was to be married to one of the brightest lawyers of their generation. He reached to take her hand. “A triumph indeed,” he said, gently brushing his lips to her lace glove.

“It is so good to see you, Alex,” she said, lowering her voice as if it was a confession.

He supposed it was. Calling him anything but ‘Mister Hamilton’ in their present company was closer to scandalous than his attention deserved and she knew it. But, her familiarity did make this stuck-up place feel more-comfortable.

Sally was a darling girl and a tender friend. Though he hadn’t been able to return the compliment, Alexander wasn’t oblivious to the favor she’d paid him while he boarded with her family. Innocent and aimless as it was. He’d felt her gaze at times, watching from the window while he recited latin speeches and poems to himself in the garden. He knew it had little to do with his private performances and far more to do with the vision of him generally- because he felt those same stares when he was simply sitting and reading. But, he would never pity a girl stationed so far above him for her feelings, and when he had disclosed his suspicions, hoping to warn her against them, she assured him that she wanted nothing more than fraternal love from him.

Which he was delighted to give.

Tonight, Sally was a vision in her bright green dress. It made her youth all the more stark, especially in their current company. It was no wonder that Kitty had been glad for Alex to be in New York, here to assist the scheming on her behalf as a brother should.

In the city, where men “could find all sorts of diversions to keep them from marriage until they’re rotting in their boots”, a preeminent bachelor of thirty was not a bad catch at all for a capable hunter like Sally.

Unfortunately, Livingston women were captives of their ton and the rules of courtship, dependent on fathers and brothers for introductions to suitors. Perhaps Alex had lacked the status to make such introductions, but he was a gallant defender. If not the Sword, at least the Shield, capable of subtly repelling the undesirables on her behalf. If the matter had been left up to Gouverneur alone, Kitty worried her sister might end up with a man four times her age.

Jay moved so slowly, there was a time that Alexander had feared she might. The older suitors were the hardest to deter.

Meanwhile, Gouverneur was so sure he’d orchestrated the grand match completely by himself, “All that I’ve seen of him at the practice, he’s kind and dedicated to the right. A true, honest man,” he was saying. “Which are so rare to find these days.”

“True. Women must make their own more often than not,” Sarah Drake Sears agreed. "Honest men that is."

“If only we were allowed to the bar-" Sally said, smiling tauntingly, "better yet, to sit at the bench. It would take a judge to make Gouverneur honest.”

Jay had stepped in closer at his fiancé’s side, near enough to hear her jab. “My ears were itching a moment ago, but now I’m not sure I want to hear why…” he said.

He'd brought Sears along with him to supervise their wives' ribbing. The gracefully-aging sea-captain-made-merchant wasn’t looking at Alexander, and yet still, being so close to the man that practically owned the city’s fealty, Alex's lungs felt tight.

To his credit, Morris had recovered quickly. “I was telling your darling Miss Livingston just how lucky she is to make your match, but now she's got me questioning the very concept of wives."

The glint in Jay's eyes cast a small warning towards Sally not to drive the knife too deep, but Sears was openly amused.

"A tricky one, I agree. Especially with one so quick-tongued and rudely beautiful." It should have been an insult, and from anyone else it might have, but Sally was pressing down a flustered smile against the King's harmless attentions. Sears turned to Morris to say, "Women age like wine. I would advise you to find a match that's been held in reserve a little longer, though there is something to be said for a crisp bite to the pallet."

"I do prefers sweets myself..." Gouverneur said. "But, if the freshest fruit wants to bite my pallet who am I to complain?"

"Incorrigible," Jay's eyes rolled. "I fear for your future wife."

“We all do," Alex heard his own voice tumbling out before he could stop it. "But, he's so far from marrying, I'm sure his future wife hasn’t even been born yet.”

No one laughed.

The joke sunk in slowly and they all just stared.

There was a line somewhere back there and Alexander would very much like to be back on the other side of it.

Gouverneur's lips had parted, uncharacteristically speechless.

Sally's brow had pinched in a mix of confusion and concern. Alex could see the moment his cruel meaning struck her because her face flushed.

Sarah Drake was shaking her head and her husband was struggling to press down a pinched smirk at Gouverneur's expense.

Jay was entirely unamused.

This wasn't Bill Livingston's parlor. If there was one thing that Alexander had learned from his days there, it was that humor was delicate in this echelon of society. Familiarity was fleeting and grace was a thin mask, easily shed. The Livingstons tolerated his rough-hewn edges because his wit could be good fun in private, but in front of their peers...

He didn't say another word. Turned and strode away as fast as his legs would carry him without running.

Mulligan was in his escape path, carefully holding two crystal wine glasses. His eyes widened, and he spun to fall into step beside him until they reached a secluded corner.

Then immediately, "What happened?"

"This is not my scene," Alex said, facing the wall. He pinched his temple, ran his thumb and finger sidelong over his eyes, then squeezed the bridge of his nose as if that might soothe the lingering urge to flee. "I can't play this part and I need to be recast. Immediately. Look- I thought I saw Marinus Willett here," a classmate that he had spotted, talking to the most unfortunately-shaped British officer that Alex had ever seen. "Give him my notes- he can talk to Sears. Make him your pen."

Mulligan's gaze was lost, confused and worried. "Did someone say something?"

"I did! I..." Alex shook his head. He sighed, took a breath, and reached for the wine glass perched in Mulligan's fingers then emptied it in one wide gulp. "I made an ass of myself. Unwittingly cruel to Gouverneur Morris. Deserved or not, it wasn't well done."

"I see..."

"This is not like drawing rooms and dinner talk," he said. "I could explain the Tea Party there. I can dominate the conversation if it pleases a room of friends, but this is something else altogether. These people are...you should have told me what to expect, I don't..." have anything to say.

For a long moment, Mulligan was quiet, just stared at him and then handed him the second glass and took away the first.

The alcohol helped, and it had to be the most flavorful wine Alexander had ever had. He looked at his glass.

The surprise must have shown on his face because, "Lamb's," Mulligan explained. "He provided the wine for tonight. Indisputable taste in vintage. That's why the import business has made him rich."

Alex finished the glass and handed it over.

He should slow down, shouldn't get drunk here, but Mulligan just gave him a sturdy smile. "Y'know, John Lamb's father was a thief- an indentured servant because of it, shipped with his wife to America for burglary just before John was born. Everyone knows it. He'll even talk about it if you ask."

Alex turned back to the parlor to search the crowd for the man in question. Tall, and broad yet he held himself gracefully as anyone else in the room, with round cheeks and a long smiling face. Another titan in human form.

"If this were England, there'd be no accounting for a man out of that background standing in this room, with these men, providing them with his wine. Any gentleman in this room could secure his wines and trade them- could do it easier with far more-ready access to any vintage they'd like to sample. Their tastes have been refined since they were children given their first sips of the grape. But, he's here, and do you know why?"

Alex was far too used to the tailor's roundabout ways of making his point to let himself be this intrigued by the journey.

"Because he can write." Mulligan reached down and fixed some invisible defect in the way Alexander's collar was laying. "His advertisements were poetry. His descriptions alone could make your mouth water more than a draft of the strongest rum. His words made him rich and his wealth made him powerful."

Turning to face the crowd as well, Mulligan put himself beside Alexander and pointed into another group of conversing gentlemen.

"Do you know who that is?"

He shouldn't. Recognizing faces in this room would imply that Alexander had been watching the streets for his social superiors. Gossiping. The whole point of being at King’s was to finish his education quickly and catch up with his peers. But, with a host like Hercules Mulligan, one couldn’t avoid certain stories and when one knew certain stories, one knew to look for certain faces. "Alexander McDougall."

"Mmn, indeed. The Wilkes of America.”

In this house, on the end of John Street, Alexander was standing in the shadow of Golden Hill. Here, just a few years ago, the Sons of Liberty had put up such a stand that certain names were embedded into the city's collective memory, Isaac Sears, John Lamb, Alexander McDougall. They had become symbols of bravery and resistance. More legends than men.

"To the Betrayed Inhabitants' was him," Mulligan said. "So, the force that pamphlet drew out, the energy and power that it stirred, that was his too. It's words, my boy. We all have them, but if you can get yourself the chance to use them wisely, they turn themselves into power."

Alex knew that well enough. Of course he knew- he'd had a taste of it already, just enough to get him into this party, but, "My words are the problem tonight," he said. "When they come from my hands, I can control them...my mouth is another story."

That earned a sympathetic laugh, "No, I suppose that's true. Oratory is quite a different beast from writing, and we both know where your talents lie. The voice is the rudest publisher- no retractions, no edits..."

"I can just write my piece for Cooper and submit a separate one to publish," Alex said.

"You can, and you certainly will, but not without a pseudonym unless you want to lose your course at Kings," Mulligan pointed out. "The point of bringing you here was precisely this. Showing these men the origin of your thoughts so that, when they make it to print- they have no doubts who wrote them."

"I can't speak those thoughts to them if I can't get into a conversation without putting my foot in my mouth."

"Which is why we are going back." Before Alex could protest, Mulligan had a hand on his shoulder, gently steering him back into the crowd towards where Morris and Sears were now talking. "Maybe you can't take back whatever you said, but...you can always amend it. Give it more fabric until it forms a desirable shape..."

Apologize or lie. That was all he was saying, but as they came back to Gouverneur, Sears and his wife, Alexander searched for Sally as they walked- the one person he truly should apologize to. But, she and Jay had moved on to a new circle.

Still. He knew what fabric to sew and how to let it lay, an admission, a concession, sacrifice, apologies and lies. He came to a stop in front of Gouverneur, and as soon as he had his attention, said- "I'm sorry I was rude to you and vulgar." Then he looked at Isaac and Sarah. "You are my host and I was offensive in your home against my own friend. I stepped away from it because I did not know what to say to make that right."

"It's alright, Alex-"

Before Gouverneur could stop him, Alex held up a hand to let him finish.

The young lawyer stepped back and folded his hands.

"It's not alright. I need to confess, the topic of marriage has vexed me since Sally debuted. You are aware of how her family welcomed me when I came from St Croix. Without intrinsic connections, I was their boarder, but more than that, when I had none of my own, they were my family. So, Mister Morris, you must understand, the duty that you were able to fulfill to Sally as a gentleman is one that I envy."

This was not a secret he ever expected to trade, but this performance was working. His small audience was hooked, waiting to be reeled in with the story and feeling. Sarah in particular was studying him with a certain consideration that had him convinced he was transparent to her. Yet still, she was watching.

So, he laid it on thick, "I have no sisters of my own, but I once did."

They were words Alexander hadn't spoken aloud in half a decade. Yet here he was, offering up this piece of himself for the good graces of powerful strangers. It felt worse than groveling.

"She would be a few years younger than Sally now, and I just think...if she were alive, she would be eligible next year. With me as her brother, so distant and untethered in this place, her prospects would be dismal. Girls are held so helpless in this world, and when Kitty asked you to look out for Sally...I resented being helpless too."

Gouverneur obviously didn't know what to say.

So, "I know this doesn't excuse my rudeness. I just thought, if you knew it was envy, you might more easily forgive-"

"Water under the bridge." Gouverneur pulled Alex under his arm and squeezed him by the shoulders tightly, dragging him into the fold.

Alex got a final glimpse of Mulligan's smirk as he slipped off to talk to Willett and the vulture-like officer he was engrossed with.

The conversation became a whirlwind from there.

Gouveneur and Issac were already speaking of politics. They were unrestrained in his company. With the rest of their guests at a safe distance to speak candidly, it took nearly no effort for Alex to learn why it had been so important to recruit a reporter who had seen the state of Boston Harbor.

The Sons of Liberty had been awaiting a similar shipment of tea from the East India Trading Company in New York Harbor for months. Their shipment had, unfortunately, been delayed in arrival, allowing the Bostonian Sons to act first and take center stage, but Sears and McDougall were feverishly planning their own performance.

With time to prepare their case before taking action, they were looking, not just for writers, but for agents on the ground, capable of spreading information through other means besides print and collecting information from corners of the city which would become increasingly inaccessible to them- Anglican corners.

Arguments would have counterarguments, and counterarguments needed prepared defenses.

The servants had finished setting the tables for dinner, and their hosts excused themselves to oversee their meal's arrangement before the procession into the dining room.

It was a show of grandeur, the lords and ladies marching in to their places at the feast. Music and talking and tasting exotic dishes. Knowing how much control the people at this table held over the rabble outside the doors, how much of their scheming was done in quiet conversations and casual dealings, Alexander tried to hear as much as possible while seeming as unassuming as he could. With Mulligan at his side, bragging about fitting the governor for a new suit, asking about a visiting theater troupe's upcoming playbill, joking about the latest cases at the chancellory court, it was easy to fit in.

As a student in one of the most Anglican universities in America, Alexander was understanding the role Mulligan saw for him, but his time in Sears' eyes had been so short, he felt keenly insecure about it.

Throughout the meal, he smiled and strained, not knowing for sure if his place here was an ephemeral illusion. If he would return to his small room above Mulligan's foyer, shed these fancy clothes, return to his books, and be forgotten to everyone he'd met tonight.

He knew he couldn't impress them when the dancing began. But, there was one sure way to know if he had made an impression on Sears...

After the last course was served, parties began rising from their tables and milling about, resuming previous conversations and drawing one another away from the dinning room to go visit the great hall where strings were beginning to play.

As her guests departed, the lady of the house lingered behind to continue directing the servants. Sarah Drake was a thin brunette with a round face and laughter lines framing her eyes.

Alex lingered long enough for her to notice him before he approached. He'd kissed her hand when he was first introduced, but he did it again now. “I was told I shouldn’t call your husband King tonight, but am I allowed to call you Queen?”

She laughed, a delicate, melodic sound, and leaned in to confide, “I'm sure you know there's little love for monarchs here, but if this were a game of chess, I rightfully would be one.”

Alex smiled because she was indulging him and it was delightful. “I agree. I assumed he had you making his most important moves. The wives so often are."

She gave a small laugh, dodging his eyes, but it was confirmed, if not outright. “There are advantages to your sex’s tendency to underestimate mine," she said. "The Queen can always travel further in directions where the King is limited."

"Quite true, and her placement commands the other pieces just as much as his," Alex agreed. Perhaps her husband would not tell him what role he could play, but, "She determines the strength of their defenses, and the best angles for attack. Since she moves in every way, and guards just by her proximity, when you have her protection, you're free to move at will. There is something to be said for a woman's leadership in war."

That finally earned her gaze, locked onto his. "That's a word that will set people on edge if you're not careful."

"I don't think I need to be careful with you...I feel quite protected."

She held his eyes steadily for another moment before breaking away to direct a slave that was carrying a bowl of pastries towards the kitchen to take it out to the great hall instead.

Alexander waited, clasped his hands behind his back.

She returned to him, leaning lower and dropping her voice. "There's an excellent little bakery on Cherry Street. I recommend you purchase their brioche tressée on Wednesday. If you find yourself with inquiries about it... Miss Lottie knows the recipe."

Alex nodded firmly, sealing the deal more resolutely than any handshake between businessmen.

#This needed to be out there for the plot points #ficlet #historical hamilton #Charles Lee jumpscare #part 2 of 2

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