The Calm They Pretended to Have
982 Words
The blood had appeared without warning.
One moment Alex had been listening to a report—head slightly tilted, expression focused, fingers resting calmly against the arm of his chair—and the next, a sharp, metallic taste flooded his mouth.
He froze.
Just for a heartbeat too long.
Alice, seated slightly behind and to his right, noticed immediately.
“Alex…?” she whispered.
He turned his head just enough to cough into his hand.
Red bloomed against his glove.
The room went still.
Alex stood at once.
“Enough for today,” he said calmly, already moving. “We’ll reconvene after the delegation arrives.”
No one argued.
No one dared.
He exited the chamber with measured steps, posture immaculate, pace unhurried. To anyone watching, it looked like nothing more than a ruler ending a meeting early.
Only Alice saw the way his shoulders tightened—just once—before he disappeared down the corridor.
---
He washed his mouth quickly, efficiently.
Cold water.
Steady breathing.
Control.
By the time Alice reached him, he was standing straight again, expression composed, the evidence gone.
“You’re bleeding,” she said, voice tight.
“I was,” he corrected lightly. “I’m fine now.”
“That was blood, Alex.”
He smiled faintly. “Very observant.”
She grabbed his sleeve. “Don’t joke.”
“I’m not,” he said gently. “I have guests arriving. From the west.”
Her grip tightened. “You can’t seriously be going out there.”
“I have to,” he replied simply. “They’re already suspicious. Cancelling now would only make things worse.”
He adjusted his coat, movements precise, practiced.
Alice searched his face, panic and anger warring in her eyes. “At least let me stay with you.”
He shook his head. “Not during formal reception.”
“Alex—”
He leaned in, voice low, soft enough that only she could hear. “If I fall apart, it’ll be after. Not before.”
He pressed his forehead briefly against hers—a fleeting, grounding touch—then stepped back.
“Wait for me,” he said.
And then he was gone.
---
The reception passed without incident.
Alex spoke.
Listened.
Smiled when appropriate.
No one saw the way his vision dimmed at the edges when he stood too long.
No one noticed how often he sipped water.
By the time he returned to Alice, night had fallen.
“You look like you fought a war,” she said flatly.
“I won,” he replied, collapsing onto the couch beside her. “Barely.”
She stared at him for a long moment, then huffed and shoved his shoulder. “You’re an idiot.”
He laughed softly. “You married me.”
“Unfortunately.”
They sat there, close, knees touching, neither speaking of what had happened.
They never did—at least not directly.
---
The next morning, Alex insisted they go out.
“Fresh air,” he said. “Normal people do that.”
“You are not normal people,” Alice replied.
“Exactly. That’s why we need practice.”
She eyed him suspiciously but agreed.
They slipped out of the palace early, before duties piled up. The streets were quieter at that hour, merchants just beginning to set up their stalls, the smell of bread drifting warmly through the air.
Alice walked beside him, matching his pace instinctively.
He seemed fine.
Too fine.
They reached a small café near the square, one Alex had frequented long before the crown had learned his name.
“Breakfast?” he suggested.
She narrowed her eyes. “You’re sitting.”
“I was going to anyway.”
They ordered simply. Tea. Bread. Fruit.
Alex sat down slowly, carefully, disguising the sharp flare of pain in his chest behind an exaggerated sigh.
“Oh no,” he said lightly. “I think the chair is plotting against me.”
Alice sat across from him, unimpressed. “You’re hurting.”
“I’m hungry.”
“That wasn’t an answer.”
He tore off a piece of bread and popped it into his mouth. “Delicious. Clearly, I’m thriving.”
She watched him chew, then swallow—too carefully.
“Alex,” she said softly.
He met her eyes.
The pain surged again, sudden and vicious, stealing the breath from his lungs. His fingers curled tightly against the edge of the table.
For a split second, he thought he might lose consciousness.
Instead, he smiled.
A ridiculous, forced smile.
“Wow,” he said. “I forgot how good this place is.”
Alice’s throat tightened.
She reached across the table, placing her hand over his clenched fingers—not pressing, just anchoring.
“You don’t have to perform,” she murmured.
He exhaled slowly, riding out the wave, forcing his body to obey.
“Yes,” he said quietly. “I do.”
Not for the world.
Not for the crown.
For her.
The pain eased, leaving him shaky but upright.
He leaned back, relief flickering across his face. “See? Still standing.”
Alice swallowed hard, eyes burning.
“Next time,” she said, voice trembling despite her effort, “if you throw up blood again—”
“When,” he corrected gently.
She glared at him. “When—you tell me first.”
He nodded. “Deal.”
They finished breakfast slowly, pretending it was just another morning.
They talked about nothing.
Argued about whose tea was better.
Mocked a pigeon that seemed far too confident.
To anyone watching, they looked happy.
They were.
And they weren’t.
As they walked back toward the palace, Alice slipped her hand into his.
Alex squeezed once, reassuring.
The world could shake.
The pain could return.
But for that morning—for those stolen hours—they chose to breathe.
Together.
- Writer
