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Just as there never seemed to be any question of Geoffrey taking the throne on his father's death, there had never been any question of him marrying Alais. He had been betrothed to an infant Constance of Brittany when he was eight years old, and they had married when she finally came of age. Geoffrey had been twenty-two then. It could have been worse. He could have been married off at the age of five, like his eldest brother, Young Henry. At least he'd had those years.
And Alais had always been intended for Richard, from the day she'd joined them at his father's court. She'd been just two years younger than Geoffrey, and though he was already busy with his training by that age, learning to wield a sword and lance and to command troops, still he'd noticed her. She was thin and gangly and her hair was like poured honey. She spent most of her time with his mother, doing embroidery and weaving, singing and playing the lute, and whatever else women did with their time, for this had been in the days before Eleanor was locked away.
Richard barely paid her a second glance, for he was far too preoccupied and superior to pay attention to a girl, but Geoffrey watched her. Sometimes he would speak with her - always politely, of course, and with chaperones present, as befitted a princess and his future sister-in-law. He brought her little gifts, nothing spectacular enough to attract unwanted attention, but small things, a flower perhaps, or some berries as a treat. And he thought she'd begun to look back at him, from under modestly lowered eyelashes.
Even though he was little more than a boy, he knew that it was wrong to feel this way about her. She would be wed to his brother one day, and he knew how hard Richard had thrashed him when he'd dared to take one of his hounds out hunting without asking first. It could only be worse with a wife, he was sure.
But he couldn't help himself. One hot summer's day, as they walked along the river's bank, just out of sight of their companions, he kissed her. Alais pushed him away, as he'd expected, but he noticed how she leaned into him first, eyes half open to watch his reaction, and he was pleased.
Geoffrey fully anticipated being displaced by his brother in due time. He hadn't counted on his father. As Alais grew, so did her beauty, and one day, all of a sudden, King Henry noticed the flower that had grown in the shade of his own garden. The marriage to Richard was postponed, perhaps indefinitely, and Alais began to spend most of her time with the king. It was highly improper, of course, but no one could speak out against it, not without incurring Henry's wrath. Eleanor might have been able to say something, but by that time she was no longer in a position to see what her husband was doing.
When Geoffrey was seventeen, and Alais had been his father's lover for a year or more, he approached her again. He was less worried about Richard's anger now, knowing what he did of his brother's preferences, and, having recently made his peace with the king at Gisors, he doubted there would be another outbreak of violence so soon, as long as he was reasonably cautious. He came to her in secret, and proposed a clandestine marriage. He knew it was foolhardy, but it might also be worth the risk. He told himself it was for the Vexin, for the alliance with France that would inevitably follow, but in truth it was for her honey-blonde hair and the dark eyes that looked up at him from beneath her eyelashes.
She said no.
For a moment, he entertained mad visions of forcing her. Either forcing her to come with him, or just forcing himself on her, there on the rush-covered floor, he didn't much care which at that point. But he quickly pulled himself back under control and made his bow, polite as ever despite the vicious thoughts that were whirling in his mind. Alais offered him her hand to kiss, and he did it, resisting the urge to let his lips linger longer against her skin than was appropriate. Stiff and cold, he left her there, and went to find a whore with honey-blonde hair to vent himself on instead.