That's all you see of me isn't it? A faithful knight who would die for his queen, nothing more than a serious face that will always smile to you, a body that will always protect you? You never care to look past that to what I really am, -to all that I have offered to you, and all that I have given anyway- because you do not care; not about me, or my feelings on any level deeper than a queen must feel of her tireless servant. You do not see how I've always been there, by your beautiful side keeping you from harm, shielding you from every pain you could feel on the battlefield, and there to comfort you when the true pain sets in afterwards.
Because you chose him for that task didn't you? You let me be the knight that would not only die for you, but would kill as well. You took and returned my lance like a true queen should, and I took up my armor in your name, slaying the foes of our country for the grace of your cause. And later you smiled, and you smiled and said 'Well done Sir Geoffrey' and I likewise returned my thanks for your praise, as if I could never be f worthiness to deserve it. I was never the man you pinned your hopes on, never the one you could place on that high pedestal you reserved for your love. Certainly you rely on me; you've made me your crutch in so many ways, that if I simply had died one day, you would have ground to a halt, all your moving parts broken from disuse. And I never protested, never once complained, because being in your presence, getting any small recognition from you was enough. On some level it still is, only now the love I used to feel for you is something new and twisted, a pleasure from the ultimate knowledge that you chose wrong, and that you now feel the same sickly sweet heartache of loving that which has rejected you.
Because he left didn't he? The battles are done, all the dead are rotting in the fields, and we are both left alone. He left not only you, but the continent, and took only with him his sword and the man he loved. No matter your pleas, he would not be your king, your idol to dote on in your coming years, and you are now left here behind in this tomb to our foolishness, this monument to all the things you built around him, now empty and silent, save for us. You sit on your throne, and spend your days running the country now blissfully at peace while you are consumed inside with the hopelessness that I've long since been incapable of feeling.
And I smiled as I waited on you, content to watch your sadness, and hope that maybe now you'd come to me, and notice the pains I went to, to keep your idyll unbroken. Now, I simply seek the end, and I have it grasped it in my hands. But you should know yet how I felt, what I've always felt. In a gracious world, you should feel the guilt that now you've driven yet another man away, because of your blind stupidity, and mine. I'm dying my queen, and I hope you can feel it now, that horrible bitterness that comes as it sinks into your soul that he would have never loved you.