The wedding took place on Alfred's twentieth birthday, just as tradition dictated. Beautiful Spades roses and white and gold wildflowers decorated the arbor and willow tree beneath which Alfred stood, dressed in summer finery, his silver crown resting upon his brow. He looked very striking up there, the brilliant sunlight bringing out the gold in his hair and the regal jut of his jaw. His cape draped in just the right way around his body. In other words, Alfred was the very essence of the royalty of Spades, the image that every other Kingdom on the continent pictured when they thought of Alfred's country.

But as Alfred stood up there, his brother and an ancient priest by his side, he knew that this wedding was anything but normal. How could it be, when he was waiting for the most wonderful man in the world to join him at the altar? Alfred glanced around at the assembled guests once again, his gaze flickering over the royalty of Spades and Hearts and Diamonds and Clubs and Fey, and even some of the Chessmen from across the sea, at the other various nobles and people of standing that his parents had invited. Back at the edge of the of the small garden clearing stood a crowd of lower class folk, some Human, some Fey. Alfred could feel his nerves thrumming as he stood there before them all. What ifs ran through his mind.

And those all stopped at once, along with all other thoughts that his brain might have held, the moment that Arthur stepped into sight. Alfred's mouth dropped open, his breath leaving in a rush. He couldn't seem to tear his eyes away from the sight of Arthur slowly making his way down the petal-laden aisle, one hand resting on the hilt of the ceremonial sword that had been quickly forged for him in the past few days. Arthur looked striking, draped in the blues and silvers of Spades, but with accents of the greens and golds of his own people. Every inch of his clothing, from tunic to breeches to the half-cape that draped over one arm, had been sewn from the cloth that the Fey typically used in their dress. He seemed almost to shine in the sunlight.

Or at least, that was how Alfred saw him, and honestly, Alfred didn't quite care what anyone else might have been seeing. He was far too busy being breathless and amazed by the man he loved- the man he was just about to marry. His eyes met Arthur's, bright above his flushed, freckled cheeks, and a jolt of terrified, beautiful excitement leaped between them. Trembling slightly, Alfred held out one hand. Arthur smiled and took it, and Alfred felt his fingers shaking just as much. It calmed him somewhat, knowing that Arthur was feeling the same way.

Then they were standing together at the altar, staring at one another, both flushed red with happiness, their fingers interlaced between them. Alfred couldn't remember another time where he had felt like this, so excited, so alive, so in love. The ridiculous little grin on his lips refused to go away, even once the priest began to speak.

The ceremony itself was somewhat of a blur for Alfred, something that he faintly remembered but could only focus on bits and pieces. Every one of those parts revolved around Arthur. The priest's voice was but a murmur in the background, and Alfred heard his own voice join it every now and then, repeating words and vows, and Arthur's voice spoke after him, rolling and soft and strong, catching in Alfred's ears. He felt Arthur's hands in his own, slender and only slightly calloused, mostly smooth, and the way they moved around and shook when a ring was slipped down over one pale finger. He felt those same hands hold his own fingers in place as an identical ring was placed upon one. He remembered Arthur's eyes, and Arthur's smile, and those freckles that were brought out by his blush, and the warmth in his expression and words, and how right it felt to have their hands connected, and that wedding could have consisted of him and Arthur alone, and he would not have noticed.

Alfred only really came back into himself at the very end, when a beautifully crafted silver circlet was pressed into his hands, and he found himself standing before Arthur, who was kneeling down on the stone stairs. He looked down past the silver and into Arthur's flushed, nervous face, and knew that this was it. The moment he set the crown down upon Arthur's head, they would be bound together by the laws of the Kingdom of Spades. Alfred and Arthur, side by side, married, destined to take the throne when the current King and Queen stepped down.

He couldn't imagine a more wonderful future. So it was with a wide smile on his face that Alfred lifted the circlet up high, allowing all of the guests to see it gleaming in the sun, before placing it down gently upon Arthur's head. Respectful silence settled over even the most roudy of the wedding guests. Without taking his eyes away from his new husband, Alfred bent down and offered his hands to Arthur, who, smiling and still blushing, took them. They rose back to their feet together, standing tall in front of their audience.

"Beneath the eyes of the gods," the priest called out from beside them, "these two men have now bonded. With the gods' blessings, I give you the Crown Prince Alfred of Spades, and his royal consort, Princess Arthur of the Fey."

Someone snickered in the crowd- Alfred thought it might have been the pompously dressed King of Diamonds- and Arthur's shoulders tensed. The Princess title had been something they'd fought long and hard against, but Alfred's father had insisted. There were old laws in place, he'd said, put there when two brothers had tried to rule side by side and made a complete mess out of everything. Two Kings couldn't sit on the same throne, and two Princes could not ascend it together. And, since Alfred was adamant about not taking a wife for Queenly duties, Arthur was unfortunately relegated to that title. He'd accepted it, if only because there wasn't any other way, but Alfred had been forced to make hundreds of promises to change things the very second he could.

For the moment, though, all he could do was squeeze Arthur's hand and give him a reassuring smile. "Don't worry," he murmured, just loud enough for Arthur to hear. "No one will even remember it after a while."

Arthur sighed. "I hope you're right."

But there was no time to dwell on that, because everyone was standing and applauding, and then there was a rush to get over to the refreshments and the dancing that any good wedding party simply had to involve. Of course, the newly wedded couple were given the first dance. Alfred, who had always been surprisingly light on his feet, swept Arthur around the makeshift grassy dance floor, unable to resist adding in bits of country dances he'd learned, just to catch Arthur off guard. Arthur, obviously, did exactly the same, slipping in movements that Alfred had never seen before. And by the end, they were laughing, and Arthur's silver circlet was tilted a little lopsidedly on his head, and Alfred was pretty sure he'd stepped on someone in the audience's toes once or twice. They ate and they drank and they met people and it ended up being one of the best days of Alfred's life so far.

Night fell. With it came the end of the celebration, and so all the villagers and Spades nobles went back to their homes or a nearby inn, and the foreign royals retreated to the guest rooms they'd been provided. That left Alfred and Arthur to go up to their rooms. Their rooms, which only had one bed.

The moment the bedroom door closed behind him, Alfred was nervous. As embarrassing as it was, he had never been the type to try out a roll in the hay with any available chambermaid, and now there he was on his wedding night, hopelessly virginal. He hoped that wouldn't change Arthur's opinion of him. Fingers shaking slightly, he lifted his hands to the clasp on his cape, pointedly staring at a spot on the far wall just over Arthur's shoulder. "So, now we, uh…"

"Consummate our marriage, yes." Arthur stepped towards him, his hands brushing over Alfred's to take over in removing the cape. His face was very, very neutral, almost bored, Alfred noted anxiously.

He laughed, a little higher than usual, and tried to return the favor by taking off Arthur's cape as well. "Right, exactly." His fingers were still trembling, though, and the very idea of what he was doing, undressing Arthur, wasn't helping to calm himself down. He fumbled for far too long on the clasp before it finally fell to the floor. His own cape had been removed much faster, and Arthur was now working on loosening the belt that held his tunic in place. The gentle touch seemed to kill his ability to speak properly, so Alfred kept himself painfully silent, barely able to hold back the nervous gulps his body demanded.

The rest of the disrobing was equally as awkward. The air felt far too warm when Alfred's chest was finally bared. He tried to keep his breathing in check as he slid off Arthur's tunic, and then the shirt beneath it, and found himself staring at Arthur's bare torso. It was pale, even paler than his face and hands if that was at all possible, and partially covered by hair so thin, blonde, and sparse that it was almost invisible. He was slender with lean muscle, but still had strong shoulders, and Alfred thought faintly that he had never been more attracted to anyone in his life, and he hadn't even removed Arthur's breeches yet. It was only as he reached for the laces that he noticed how Arthur's hands had stilled.

"Arthur?" he asked, confused. Arthur refused to meet his eyes, his hands reaching out towards Alfred's breeches again before hesitating. And now that he thought about it, Alfred realized that Arthur hadn't looked him in the face even once since the door had closed, at least as far as he'd seen. He cupped Arthur's face gently in his hands and leaned down slightly to look him straight in the eyes. "Arthur, what is it? What's wrong?"

That didn't seem to be the right thing to say. Immediately, Arthur pulled away, glaring down at Alfred's exposed collarbone. He crossed his arms over his chest. "It's nothing."

"No, it's something." Alfred stepped forward again, pulling Arthur's slighter body carefully into his arms, and tried to meet his gaze again. "Please, Arthur, just tell me. Did I do something wrong? Can I still fix it? I'm sorry if it was me."

"No," Arthur mumbled, then sighed. He raised his eyes to meet Alfred's worried look, the gesture surprisingly timid and out of place, and his hands clenched where they were still covering his chest. "It's not you, Alfred. It's… It's me." His face and neck flushed slightly. "I've never…"

"You've never?" Alfred repeated, uncomprehending. "You've never what?" It was rather hard to keep himself from thinking about the fact that they were pressed chest to chest, both topless, but he struggled to keep focused.

Arthur cast him an irritated glare, but it appeared somewhat resigned. "You would have me say it aloud, wouldn't you?" His hands slowly moved away from his own chest and hovered, hesitant, above Alfred's shoulders. "I've never…" he whispered again, his eyes moving from Alfred's face to his neck to his chest. "I've never done this before, Alfred. With anyone." His voice was soft, embarrassed, and Alfred realized with a start that Arthur thought he was more knowledgeable about all of this.

He couldn't help but laugh. It came out a bit too loud and not quite relieved enough, and Arthur stared up at him with obviously mounting irritation, but Alfred quickly dealt with that by leaning in and catching Arthur's lips in a quick, passionate kiss. He pulled away just as quickly, his own lips spreading into a wide smile. "Arthur," he said, unable to keep the laughter out of his voice, "Arthur, I've never done this, either. Never."

"You… What?" Arthur gaped at him. "Never? But you're- I would have thought-"

Alfred chuckled, his grin widening. "Never. I just never found the right person, I guess." Then, as he looked down into Arthur's eyes, that smile softened, and he reached up with one hand to brush some of those messy bangs out of Arthur's face. "I've found him now, though, so I think I'm ready to try this."

"You've really never…?" Arthur was still staring at him, but the shame in his eyes was fading, and a faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips. His hands finally settled on Alfred's shoulders and slid slowly down onto his chest, resting just below his collarbone. "I'm surprised," Arthur murmured, watching as his fingers traced patterns upon Alfred's skin. "I would have thought that a man like you, a Prince, would have the choice of any woman or man you wanted."

"I did," Alfred breathed in reply. The soft, feathery touches were sending shocks of heat through his body, and the warm air from before only seemed to be getting hotter. "I didn't want any of them." He caught Arthur's chin with one hand, lifting it so that their eyes would meet again. Every thought, every emotion, everything that he felt as he looked at Arthur, he tried to pour through his gaze. He wanted Arthur to know, to understand that this was it. He meant every word that he'd said and left unsaid.

And Arthur did. A gentle shudder rolled through his shoulders, and though the candles in the room were still burning bright, his eyes seemed to darken. "And you want me?" he whispered, voice barely loud enough for Alfred to hear, as his hands trailed even farther down Alfred's chest.

There was no hesitation. "I do."

Hands tangled in Alfred's hair right at the same moment where Alfred grasped at Arthur's back, and they pressed hard against each other, mouth against mouth, chest against chest, fingers touching every bit of one another that they could reach. This wasn't anything like their previous kisses, and at the same time, exactly alike. There was still love in there, passion and care and adoration, but there was more, a burning fire that glowed between them, sparking wherever they touched. Alfred's breath came out in gasps when their mouths separated for the briefest moments, and Arthur was muttering what sounded like nonsense whenever he had the chance, and, fumbling, they moved back towards the bed.

It was only when the backs of Arthur's knees hit the edge of the bedframe and he fell back onto the sheets, away from Alfred's hold, with a choked gasp, that Alfred realized Arthur was still wearing his somewhat lopsided crown. His stuttering breath caught even more in his throat. The image before him, Arthur sprawled out in the rich blue sheets, shirtless and with breeches undone, his pale skin flushed, his hair mussed, that circlet resting just above the tips of his pointed ears… Alfred wanted him, craved him, desired him, more powerfully than he'd ever thought possible.

In one graceful motion, Arthur rolled his shoulders and languidly reached up towards where Alfred still stood, smiling, beckoning. Not even Alfred was fool enough to ignore such a wonderful invitation. Grinning, he climbed onto the bed over Arthur, bending down to capture his lips once again. Soon enough, the bed was a mess of blankets and pillows and sweat. Though they both lost their breeches, somehow, their crowns did not fall, no matter how vigorously they moved. And at the end, when they were laying there in the tangle of sheets, sweaty and sated and aching a little, but happy, Alfred chuckled at the sight of the silver band still barely hanging on to Arthur's forehead. Arthur, of course, rolled his eyes and demanded that they both take them off so they could sleep, so they did, setting the two crowns carelessly on the bedside table.

Then they slept.

That was the beginning of a lifetime together. It wasn't perfect, and it wasn't quite the happily ever after that the old stories spoke of, but it was just right for the two of them. They remained Prince and very male Princess for many years, until Alfred was nearly thirty, before his father suffered from a fatal hunting accident and it was time for the Crown Prince to take the throne. And so they ascended to that throne, and they were Alfred and Arthur, the King and Queen of Spades. Arthur didn't even mind the female title by then. He'd taken it for his own, and felt no need to change it.

They ruled for a long time. Alfred grew a beard and mustache somewhere along the line, which Arthur quite liked, but insisted that he keep trimmed and neat. Arthur expanded the castle library with books from around the world, and at Alfred's urging, opened it up to the village people as well as the nobility. They took in a young orphan boy, a half-breed, known as a Fey-born by some and a Changeling by others and Peter to almost everyone, and named him their heir. Matthew stayed in the castle and became the new Spymaster when the old one passed away, and the Kingdom of Spades had never before had quite as much secret information about its allies and enemies. Relations between the Humans of Spades and King Gilbert's Fey continued to improve.

Of course, it wasn't all fun or good. Alfred and Arthur dealt with famine and threats of war and bandits on the borders and failed diplomatic ventures and even a few raidings on the coast from the Chessmen. But they took it in stride, and though there were arguments between them, and sometimes they went to bed alone in one of the guestrooms, it was never enough to tear them apart, just as they never let those outside problems tear their Kingdom to pieces.

When King Alfred of Spades died at the very, very old age of seventy-one, it was in bed, in the arms of Queen Arthur, at peace. Arthur died only hours later with a smile on his face. Crown Prince Peter took his adopted father's throne. And any schoolboy would say that King Alfred's reign was a good and prosperous one, and all the history books claimed that he saved the Kingdom from what would have surely been destruction, but only one thing was for certain.

Crown Prince Alfred of Spades was born in the midst of a war that he couldn't remember, and King Alfred of Spades had died in the midst of a peace that he'd brought, and had never, ever given up. The proof of it all was right there in the two graves sitting in the gentle shade of a willow tree in the gardens of the castle, over which were growing the most exotic of Spades roses, ones that were not only blue, but brilliant violet and passionate red, and the two names engraved into the stone.

A/N- And that's it. The end.

Of this story, at least. As I mentioned before, I like this world I built, and I left myself a lot of room in which to play, so I will likely return here again.

Oh, and as I know some people will wonder who the Chessmen are... I decided to add in the Scandinavians. Since there are no more card families, they can be associated with chess pieces. They come from a land across the sea.

But wow. Writing this has been a challenge, because I'm not used to doing something so long in so short a time period, and it's been absolutely wonderful, even in the hard parts. I sincerely hope that you've all enjoyed reading it as much as I have writing it. Nearly thirty five thousand words is more than enough for a writer to fall in love with a piece of her work.

Thank you to everyone who has been reading this from the start, to everyone who joined in along the way, and to everyone who will find it in the future. I really appreciate all the views and comments and everything.

Until next time, White Mizerable, out.