Alfred took a seat at the dining table. When his father was still alive, this habit was practiced at the minimum of once a day, though more commonly, the family would come together twice - to breakfast in the morning and to enjoy supper in the evening. Meals tended to be a boisterous ordeal that Alfie always looked forward to. Despite his naturally reserved demeanor, it felt comfortable to be the unmoving stone in the middle of the chaotic and rippling waters of the Achterecht’s.
And back then, even his mother could not remain the liverish woman she had quickly reverted back to upon Gotthard’s death. His father had a way of chasing back any discontent. It was an arranged marriage between Alfred’s parents, but as his father had always told him: ‘some love strikes you to your core, and some love must be fostered meticulously’.
The latter seemed to be the case for Ingo and Queen Ethel, as well, but Alfie supposed such was the fate of most monarchs.