Chapter Text
Arthur was three when he first learnt the word “magic”. Granted, it was a garbled and mispronounced mess, but a good effort all the same. His father laughed at the attempt, his eyes wrinkled at the edges and his smile radiant.
“That’s right, Arthur!” His mother beamed, pinching his cheeks.
“Not all carry magic…” His father lifted him in his arms, swinging him high and touching their noses as they met face to face.
“But all Kirklands do!”
♠️
Arthur was five when he earned his first broken bone. The boy took an unsavoury tumble out of the family oak tree, and it’s safe to say he never climbed it again.
His eldest brother, Alistair, scoffed at Arthur’s tears and healed him in an instant. The soft warm glow from his brother’s hands was a most prominent and pleasant memory. The pain of his flesh and bone knitting back together? Not so much.
Alistair told him to do it himself next time, wiping his hands of a job well done and ruffling Arthur’s hair a tad too roughly.
♠️
Arthur was six when his brothers left him behind in the forest one day. A simple mistake or a lapse in judgment; Arthur just couldn’t keep up. He looked on in wonder as Dylan bent the river water with his fingertips, he cried with excitement as Connor walked on air, and he mimicked Alistair’s spell when he brought forth a storm from his voice alone. He was so mesmerised, he didn't notice when they took a sharp turn, and before he knew it, he was alone.
His mother was the one to find him, wet, sickly, and scared. His brothers went without dinner that night.
♠️
Arthur was eight when he first heard the maids talking about him. Their whispers were hushed, but their laughter was loud.
“Perhaps a late bloomer.” One said.
“Or better yet a lost cause.” The other hissed.
♠️
Arthur was eight when he cried himself to sleep for the first time.
♠️
Arthur was nine when he took his first magic appraisal. The norm for all of the noble Kirkland bloodline, and the formal procedure of testing one’s magical ability in Spades.
A man in a strange white cloak greeted him in his father’s study on the second Friday of the fifth moon. A full goblet of water was presented to him, with a mint leaf placed precariously on top. The cloaked stranger had a kind smile, and was patient with Arthur as he timidly placed his fingertips on the rim of the glass.
“Not all carry magic Arthur.” The man spoke softly.
“But all Kirkland’s do.” Arthur smiled, finishing the well known phrase.
♠️
Arthur was nine when he failed his first magic appraisal.
♠️
Arthur was ten when he started to notice a shift in his father’s gaze. No longer did he look at him with adoration and pride. Some days his father glared, others he wouldn’t even chance a look at him at all.
Arthur missed his warm smiles.
♠️
Arthur was twelve when he first heard his mother cry.
His father had hurt her. Not with fists, but with words.
He didn’t believe Arthur was his.
After all, not all carry magic.
But all Kirkland’s do.
♠️
Arthur was thirteen when he chanced upon a rather high fall. Maybe, he thought, if there was enough fear, his magic would come to him to save him. It was a stupid idea, but it was one his brother Connor jokingly convinced him to do.
Arthur was hospitalised for a week, but it wasn’t the broken bones that had him crying into his mother’s arms.
Alistair did not heal him this time.
♠️
Arthur was fourteen when he noticed it wasn’t just his father who had started to treat him differently.
Although nothing sinister, his brothers began to look at him in pity. They’d often tease and baby him, but they also kept him at arm's length, scared to break him, lest he have no magic to protect himself with.
Arthur thought them foolish, one day he’d awaken his magic, he merely needed more time.
♠️
Arthur was sixteen when his family gave up on any hope that Arthur held magic. However, Arthur still believed he had a chance.
“I’m just a late bloomer!” He scoffed at his mother one day. “It will show before my eighteenth birthday, I’m positive.”
“Arthur darling, not all carry magic.” His mother held a sad smile, she brushed away his ash blonde hair and placed a kiss on his forehead. It was to be a source of comfort, something she always did to soothe her children. But all Arthur could feel was his mothers powerful magic being pushed onto him, crushing him with the knowledge that he may never have it. His jealousy was ripe.
“But all Kirklands do…” Arthur whispered.
♠️
Arthur was seventeen when the new Jack of Spades was presented to court. A young man of Heart’s ancestry by the name of Yào Wáng; a scholar from the East whose mark had presented in his sleep. The previous Jack had passed away from old age a month prior. Yào was not only academically gifted, a skill suitable for his role, but also magically apt, not unheard of for a Jack, but still a cause for celebration and notably rare. The Spades Kingdom would prosper with such a talented Jack at the helm.
Arthur had no heart to celebrate.
♠️
Arthur was eighteen when he took his second, and final magic appraisal.
This time a woman awaited him in his father’s study, similarly cloaked in white. A goblet full to the brim with water awaited him, a mint leaf once again had been placed on top of the liquid. She gestured for Arthur to begin.
Arthur's hands shook.
He placed his fingers on the rim.
♠️
Arthur was eighteen when he failed his second, and final magic appraisal. And he was eighteen when he gave up on magic for good.
♠️
Arthur was nineteen when his mother died. She always had a sickly disposition, something Arthur himself had inherited from her. However, he always saw her as indestructible, a talented and powerful mage, often cited as more powerful than his own father.
Yet one day she collapsed in the garden, never to wake again.
♠️
Arthur was twenty-one when his father declared him illegitimate. Officially an adult and no longer his concern, Arthur was disowned from the Kirkland estate and stripped of his noble title.
Arthur feared for where he’d go, but it was Alistair who took him in, vouching to house him in his own much smaller estate, safe from the prying eyes of the public. Their father begrudgingly approved, on the condition that Arthur receive no monetary support.
No longer a noble and not wanting to freeload, Arthur took a job as a tutor to the local children in a nearby village. It was discreet, and his own personal joy. It was something he could call his own, and something he worked hard to obtain by his own merit.
♠️
Arthur was twenty-five when the King of Spades passed away. And he was twenty-five when Alfred F. Jones took his place. Arthur wasn’t exactly fond of politics, but he was knowledgeable enough due to his noble upbringing. The Kings were chosen due to their lack of magic, not just in Spades, but in all four of the suit kingdoms. The Fates themselves only deemed the role fit and fair for a person with no magical ability whatsoever.
At one point in his life, Arthur wondered if he were secretly the next King of Spades, a small sliver of hope to win over his father’s approval. Yet this Alfred's appearance certainly quashed that fantasy.
“Poor lad.” Alistair scoffed. A maid served him some tea whilst he and Arthur enjoyed their breakfast the same morning news of the new King was released. When Arthur looked at him baffled, Alistair gestured to the newspaper Arthur happened to be holding. ‘THE KING OF SPADES HAS ARRIVED!’ was printed in bold ink on the front page.
“I’m not exactly feeling much pity for a rags to riches fairytale ending for him, Alistair.” Arthur quipped, peering over his teacup coyly.
”Not him, his brother.” Alistair grunted, cutting into his poached egg with less finesse than one would expect from a noble. “Page six, Matthew Williams. He’s the Ace of Spades, half brother to the King who presented at the exact same time. Doesn’t get a line in on the first page though, does he? Poor sod’s barely got a column.”
Arthur quickly flipped the newspaper, and lo and behold, the Ace of Spades had been presented to court at the exact same time as the King, Arthur wasn’t even aware that the previous Ace had passed. The sorting by the Fates doesn’t tend to favour relation or bloodlines, but he finds the thought of the two brothers being together even through cosmic hands to be rather poetic.
”I suppose the Ace has never really been at the centre of the spotlight.” Arthur replied, sipping his tea as he flipped back to the front page. One thing in particular caught his eye. “Oh how dreadful, looks like the Queen has fallen ill as well.”
“Aye, they say she’s dying of a broken heart. Almost a reshuffle if you don’t count the Jack ten years ago.” Alistair chuckled.
”A broken heart? How dramatic.” Arthur sneered. He stuffed a slice of toast rather un-elegantly into his mouth.
”I’m not just saying it for the drama.” Alistair replied. He waved one of the maids to clear his plate, how he managed to wolf down his entire breakfast in under five minutes, Arthur will never know. “They say the King and Queen of Spades can’t bear to be apart from one another, it’s rumoured to be a curse.” Alistair sneered. “It’s a well known fact that if one dies, the other will shortly follow after.”
Arthur hummed in acknowledgment, suddenly losing his appetite. Something about being tied to someone in such a way made him feel rather ill. Suddenly he’s glad that his childish dream of being the King never came true.
The Queen passed away just short of a year later. The hunt for the next Queen of Spades began the following Spring.
♠️
Arthur had just turned twenty-six when he felt a sudden pain in his chest, just above his heart. The pain left just as soon as it arrived, and after giving himself a quick once over, Arthur deemed himself alive and kicking and continued his journey to the school he tutored at. The spring air was warm for this time of year, and Arthur had chanced the walk to the local village despite the risk of a spring shower.
He barely made it a few more steps however before collapsing to the ground in a heap, the pain from earlier returning tenfold. Before he could truly panic and attempt to call for help, black spots entered his vision, and the next thing he knew he was back at his brother's estate, tucked back into bed.
Alistair was hovering over him, hands outstretched in a useless manner, Arthur looked blearily up at him, well and truly confused. A gentleman who Arthur could only assume was a doctor was attempting to unbutton Arthur's shirt.
“I swear to the Fates you’ll give me a bloody heart attack, Arthur.” Alistair sighed. “One of the kids from the school found you collapsed near the town, what in the world happened?”
”Uh…” Arthur supplied groggily. “My chest…I think?”
As if on cue, Arthur began to seize in pain as his heart once again felt inflamed. Alistair and the doctor scrabbled at his shirt as Arthur gasped for air. He felt winded, and unusually warm, almost like his body was trying to flush a fever. Eventually, the pain yet again subsided, and Arthur readily decided he was quite sick of this. He managed to breathe in deeply, and slowly relaxed back into the sheets. As he properly came to, he realised Alistair and the doctor were still gripping his shirt like it were a lifeline, both ramrod in posture.
”What in the world…” Alistair’s voice shook. He wouldn’t take his eyes off of Arthur’s chest, and at this point the blonde was feeling rather self conscious of his partial nudity.
“Alistair, leave it be, for goodness sake. I’m fine.” Arthur attempted to swat his brother’s hands away, but he wouldn’t budge. The doctor however, snatched his hands away like he’d been burned, and abruptly stood to attention. Flabbergasted and a little flustered, Arthur chanced a look at his chest, expecting to find a third nipple of some kind, or blood to be cascading down his chest from some gruesome, unnoticed wound.
However, what he found on his chest was something he believed impossible. On his chest, directly where his heart would be under his ribcage, Arthur found the mark of the Queen of Spades.
♠️
Not all carry magic.
But all Queens must.
♠️