She Sleeps
As we rode toward the shoreline to meet the French boat carrying my younger brother's betrothed, Princess Madeleine, I couldn't help but gaze intently upon Mary as she slept.
She was so beautiful. Hair like ebony. Eyes the color of fine whiskey. Flawless skin that surely rivaled the finest silk in texture.
She was so enticing. So puzzling and infuriating. Her quick mind, stunning smile, and fierce determination drew me to her like a moth to a flame.
No matter how resistant I was to getting married, I couldn't find fault in Mary. She was everything a man could desire in a wife. If only I had chosen her to be my bride, instead of my father when we were both children.
I sighed and leaned back in my seat. It was best that I think of something else to occupy my thoughts or Mary would slip even further under my skin and into my heart. I couldn't allow that to happen.
If I ever marry, it is going to be my decision. Not my father's or anyone else's.