It was no surprise when Master Kenway dropped in for an unexpected visit later in the day. Charles knew that he had his own sources of information and, being only a couple of hours away in his townhouse in Boston proper at the moment, it would not have taken long for him to hear about the incident.
The incident. What an apt way of describing the mess Charles now found himself in.
He’d had so many thoughts as to how to solve his little problem, but they all unraveled before he could follow them.
He was paralyzed from where he stood outside the Assassin’s door, hand held up to knock, unable to think or move.
He was paralyzed when the servants announced that Master Kenway had come for a call.
And he was paralyzed as his mentor swept into the house and made straight for his son’s quarters without a single word or glance.
Absentmindedly, Charles made his way back down to the drawing room.
He imagined what would happen when that door opened again, and Master Kenway would step out, fresh from negotiations with his son.
He thought of how the man he so respect would look, how he’d gaze at him in contempt.
He shuddered at the thought of how he would be punished.
The options were myriad, and he could not influence a single damned thing.
Charles took a shuddering breath as he kept watch on the door to Connor’s quarters.
He wanted to blame Washington, for offering marriage to Connor and beginning this entire thing in the first place. He wanted to blame Edwards, who tried to weasel his way into Connor’s bed. He wanted to blame Biddle, for musing about how toothsome the boy looked in his captain’s uniform. He wanted to blame the young Omega himself, for being so very interesting and exciting and capturing Charles’s interest.
Charles was many things, but a liar, he was not.
It was his own fault, and he knew it.
His temper, his inability to control himself. His excitability and rage and feeling things so strongly.
It was a character defect of many Alphas, though common folklore would paint the Omega as the more emotional.
And Charles was the epitome of that.
Suddenly filled with manic energy, Charles paced relentlessly in his drawing room, casting frequent glances at that closed door.
It was hard, knowing that his mentor was inside with the boy who carried his child. It was hard, knowing that, in all likelihood, the boy would be trying his hardest to persuade his mentor to dissolve the engagement, and that Master Kenway would likely agree given his own anger at Charles’s behavior. It was hard, knowing that one of the items up for discussion would be Charles’s life.
Idly, he wondered if the Assassin would reveal everything.
He hadn’t told Master Kenway about the incident in the woods long ago, or the way he’d brushed the Assassin off in their earlier encounters, certain that he was just an idiot savage.
It would hurt his position in the Order.
It would ruin Master Kenway’s faith in him, shaky as it was these days. It would cause Master Kenway to doubt in his ability to make good and rational decisions for the Order; it would cause Master Kenway to question his competence.
Charles stilled his pacing.
And still, still he worried most about the child in the Assassin’s belly.
Would Master Kenway even allow him access to his own child after this? Would he want his grandson being raised in his care?
Even if, by law, Charles had final say (he was the father after all), Charles was not naïve enough not to realize that, as Grandmaster, he was powerful enough to challenge Charles’s right and deny him his child.
It would be different if Charles were commander (as he ought to have been), but he was not.
Charles stood to lose his child, his position, his fiancé and possibly his life as well.
It was ridiculous a single action on his part not 10 hours ago could cost him so much.
And here he was, meekly waiting for the verdict.
God, he was as ineffectual and pathetic as Washington.
Waiting here? Doing nothing but fret?
It was despicable!
He’d made a mess of the situation, yes, but standing around like an idiot wasn’t fixing anything.
Waiting for Master Kenway to exit that door, for a pronouncement to be handed out...one would think him a coward!
And a fool.
There was no possible way he could push for his own considerations out here. It was not possible to increase his influence and represent his interests when he was out of the actual conversation!
Determinedly, Charles walked up the staircase, and made to knock at that door that had captured his attention for the better part of the day.
He’d made mistakes. Grave, grave mistakes, true, but there was no going back and undoing them now.
All he could do was make sure that he didn’t allow future opportunities slip him by.
And he couldn’t do that locked outside of the negotiations. He couldn’t do that without being his own agent.
He’d made mistakes, and the only thing he could do now is make sure he didn’t make more mistakes later.
He’d make sure that the child was not taken away once it was born. He’d bargain for reconsideration from Master Kenway and his son. He’d push for a second, a third chance and remind his mentor of all he had done on their behalf.
He’d make sure that he had the chance to not make the same mistakes in the future.
He was sometimes rash and most definitely over-emotional and sometimes unstable. But that did not mean he couldn’t learn.
He refused to believe he couldn’t learn.
That would mean that he had no chance, and that was something to horrific for him to consider.
And so, steeling himself, Charles firmly knocked three times on the Assassin’s door.
Strange Fates 21
Chapter 21 - Considerations
It was no surprise when Master Kenway dropped in for an unexpected visit later in the day. Charles knew that he had his own sources of information and, being only a couple of hours away in his townhouse in Boston proper at the moment, it would not have taken long for him to hear about the incident.
The incident. What an apt way of describing the mess Charles now found himself in.
He’d had so many thoughts as to how to solve his little problem, but they all unraveled before he could follow them.
He was paralyzed from where he stood outside the Assassin’s door, hand held up to knock, unable to think or move.
He was paralyzed when the servants announced that Master Kenway had come for a call.
And he was paralyzed as his mentor swept into the house and made straight for his son’s quarters without a single word or glance.
Absentmindedly, Charles made his way back down to the drawing room.
He imagined what would happen when that door opened again, and Master Kenway would step out, fresh from negotiations with his son.
He thought of how the man he so respect would look, how he’d gaze at him in contempt.
He shuddered at the thought of how he would be punished.
The options were myriad, and he could not influence a single damned thing.
Charles took a shuddering breath as he kept watch on the door to Connor’s quarters.
He wanted to blame Washington, for offering marriage to Connor and beginning this entire thing in the first place. He wanted to blame Edwards, who tried to weasel his way into Connor’s bed. He wanted to blame Biddle, for musing about how toothsome the boy looked in his captain’s uniform. He wanted to blame the young Omega himself, for being so very interesting and exciting and capturing Charles’s interest.
Charles was many things, but a liar, he was not.
It was his own fault, and he knew it.
His temper, his inability to control himself. His excitability and rage and feeling things so strongly.
It was a character defect of many Alphas, though common folklore would paint the Omega as the more emotional.
And Charles was the epitome of that.
Suddenly filled with manic energy, Charles paced relentlessly in his drawing room, casting frequent glances at that closed door.
It was hard, knowing that his mentor was inside with the boy who carried his child. It was hard, knowing that, in all likelihood, the boy would be trying his hardest to persuade his mentor to dissolve the engagement, and that Master Kenway would likely agree given his own anger at Charles’s behavior. It was hard, knowing that one of the items up for discussion would be Charles’s life.
Idly, he wondered if the Assassin would reveal everything.
He hadn’t told Master Kenway about the incident in the woods long ago, or the way he’d brushed the Assassin off in their earlier encounters, certain that he was just an idiot savage.
It would hurt his position in the Order.
It would ruin Master Kenway’s faith in him, shaky as it was these days. It would cause Master Kenway to doubt in his ability to make good and rational decisions for the Order; it would cause Master Kenway to question his competence.
Charles stilled his pacing.
And still, still he worried most about the child in the Assassin’s belly.
Would Master Kenway even allow him access to his own child after this? Would he want his grandson being raised in his care?
Even if, by law, Charles had final say (he was the father after all), Charles was not naïve enough not to realize that, as Grandmaster, he was powerful enough to challenge Charles’s right and deny him his child.
It would be different if Charles were commander (as he ought to have been), but he was not.
Charles stood to lose his child, his position, his fiancé and possibly his life as well.
It was ridiculous a single action on his part not 10 hours ago could cost him so much.
And here he was, meekly waiting for the verdict.
God, he was as ineffectual and pathetic as Washington.
Waiting here? Doing nothing but fret?
It was despicable!
He’d made a mess of the situation, yes, but standing around like an idiot wasn’t fixing anything.
Waiting for Master Kenway to exit that door, for a pronouncement to be handed out...one would think him a coward!
And a fool.
There was no possible way he could push for his own considerations out here. It was not possible to increase his influence and represent his interests when he was out of the actual conversation!
Determinedly, Charles walked up the staircase, and made to knock at that door that had captured his attention for the better part of the day.
He’d made mistakes. Grave, grave mistakes, true, but there was no going back and undoing them now.
All he could do was make sure that he didn’t allow future opportunities slip him by.
And he couldn’t do that locked outside of the negotiations. He couldn’t do that without being his own agent.
He’d made mistakes, and the only thing he could do now is make sure he didn’t make more mistakes later.
He’d make sure that the child was not taken away once it was born. He’d bargain for reconsideration from Master Kenway and his son. He’d push for a second, a third chance and remind his mentor of all he had done on their behalf.
He’d make sure that he had the chance to not make the same mistakes in the future.
He was sometimes rash and most definitely over-emotional and sometimes unstable. But that did not mean he couldn’t learn.
He refused to believe he couldn’t learn.
That would mean that he had no chance, and that was something to horrific for him to consider.
And so, steeling himself, Charles firmly knocked three times on the Assassin’s door.
He felt as if he was about to enter battle.