Forenote: Three drabbles, all with glimpses of a noble's life - but through different angles. All but one of the characters are anonymous, by the way, for the sake of a literary art.
- - - - -
coronation
A clock was ticking somewhere, ticking loudly and oddly enough, slowly – as though time was slowing down, and then becoming normally paced again, and then becoming leisurely once more. It was an odd thing; but neither of the men took notice.
A hasty swish of a purple, velvet-lined cloak. A large mustache, grey and faded with age. 'You will go through with this as planned. You are now King; much is expected of you. Obedience is one.'
'But to marry one who is not my beloved?' A younger youth, with a finely boned face and dark eyes that blazed with fool's passion. 'The country does not demand that.'
'It does, my son.'
'It cannot. It cannot expect it.'
The old, once-King laid a wrinkled hand upon his son's. 'She is perfect for you. She will do anything for your good and that of the kingdom, and she is beautiful. The country will love her.'
'My personal life is none of their affair. My marriage would be none of their affair.'
And wisdom passed into the once-King's eyes, wisdom that was sad and begging the son to concede to a quiet, painless resignation. 'As a monarch, everything is their affair. At your crowning, you lost your life, you know – the country now holds you. You are, by honor, obliged to give it everything.'
'Not this, not this.' But the son could only look into the once-King's eyes and see not his sovereign but his father, a once-lad with a once-wild spirit that was, it turned out, either gone or long broken.
- - - - -
He had his head in his hands, his royal ring-wearing hands, as he brooded - silent and unmoving and unlikely to awaken from his stupor in a short while.
On the couch sat a young woman – or a girl, rather; she was not even in her twenties – who was very beautiful and very gentle looking. One pale, slender arm was stretched out in a pathetic manner, as though to stroke the standing King's hand, but she could not reach him and so settled for keeping her hand forever outstretched.
More minutes passed. Finally, the girl dropped her hand. Folded it neatly with the other one – small and white – onto her lap.
'She was beautiful – was she not?'
Her King, her dear husband-to-be, pounded his fist against the wall. Flaming eyes, ardent passion that could only express itself in terrible rage. 'She was perfect – you could never understand – she was clever, she was lovely, she was everything to me – how you could speak to me as such – '
But the pretty young lady on the couch bowed her head in a manner that made it hard for him to continue. Silver-white curls slipping down the sides of her face. Lovely angel-blue eyes that dared not meet his own. 'My Lord. I beg your pardon. I spoke out of turn. Please, forgive me.'
'Forgive you? Milady, this is not a predicament of your own devising. You are a pawn in this game just as well as I – '
'My sire, I can scarcely believe I had you to raise your voice. Oh, how I have sinned. Do not explain things to me, milord – only forgive me. Surely you can!'
A silence. Deathly. Puzzled. She is perfect for you. She will do anything for your good and that of the kingdom, and she is beautiful. The country will love her.
Perfect blue eyes. Perfect golden hair. Snowy skin that stole the light in the room. She was an angel. She was perfect. The country will love her.
And the look in her eyes – oh, it was not possible. No woman could be so submissive – no woman could be so dependent on her man – no woman could be so…
Perfect for you. For the kingdom. Because the politics of the land and the politics of the heart were two separate games, games that were not meant to mix.
Well, she had long given herself to her country. She waited only for him to surrender his.
More silence. And then – 'Yes, dearheart. I… forgive you. For your sake alone, I shan't raise my voice again.'
And she stood, crossed the length of the floor, and laid her small hand atop his. Together they stood by the chamber casement, not in love but nonetheless completely devoted to one another – if only for their country.
Though only affianced, in the silence – in a way that only sovereigns themselves could understand – the two became King and Queen.
fin.