IV. Falter

On the day my father is to release me from my confinement, I receive the last letter of our correspondence.

My Lady Ophelia,

Today your father, the Lord Polonius, is to release you from your sentence. Shall I add my congratulations in fairing so well in prison?

And now to a serious note. I believe our halted conversation from that is long overdue to be continued. Perhaps the time has come for us to meet. If you agree, meet me in the forbidden room tonight.

Hamlet

My heart, once again, pounds. I press a hand to my mouth; I feel strangely excited. Hastily hiding the letter, I sweep to the fireside chair where my embroidery lies, not yet complete. I pick up my thread and resume my work, determined to finish it. This is how Father finds me when he comes to my chambers in the late afternoon.

"I see you are hard at work," he says as he enters.

"I am," I answer, not looking up.

"Daughter." He draws up a chair and sits down beside me. His voice is heavy. "I hope you have learned something of value. I do not want to punish you, Ophelia – in fact, it grieves me to do so – but that is a father's duty when their children stray. Solitude can be quite helpful to educate the mind."

I smile. I do not show that it is a half-hearted gesture. "Yes, Father," I say. I am quiet and obedient once again, to his eyes. I know it is the easiest way to get him to leave.

"Thank you, my child." He rises to his feet and sweeps away, leaving me alone.

I watch him go, smiling slightly, until the door is shut behind him. A glorious feeling rises within me. Triumph.

This evening, my embroidery is finished. I slip quietly out of my room, hoisting my cloak's hood over my head to cover my face in shadow as I make my way quickly and quietly through the cold halls towards the library. I do not encounter a soul.

When I push the door open, he is waiting for me by the window. It is a clear night. Silver moonlight shines through the window, illuminating his profile. He looks pensive… and sad. I step forward, not wanting to rush in and take him out of his reverie.

"Ophelia." He breathes my name. He does not have to turn to know I am here.

"Your Highness."

This time, he turns, giving me a small smile. "Come, join me," he says, offering me a hand. "The night is beautiful."

I do. I stand beside him as we gaze out the window at the bright stars pinned in the black sky, the silver moonlight washing over us.

"I brought you something," I begin to say, but he speaks before I can finish.

"I want to thank you, my lady," he says. "It was by a selfish act that I wrote to you. Your letters helped sustain me through a most difficult time in my life. You gave me a little happiness each day with your words."

"Sir," I answer slowly, "I am the one who needs to thank you."

"No," he says. "Please do not thank me. I will have enough nobles fawning over me, thanking me for my gratitude and mercy when I become king. This is a shallow world, Ophelia. We are all but small parts within it, but most do not like to contend with that reasoning."

"My lord?"

"Forget I said anything." He pauses. "All my thoughts of politics are hurting my head."

A long, uncomfortable silence falls between us. I can sense his distress. I want to soothe him, to comfort him as he had done me through his written word during my long confinement. I summon my courage to speak.

"Your Highness," I begin.

"Please don't call me that."

I swallow hard. "Hamlet…" I falter. It is not correct to address him so, but I have. I lose the words I was going to say and fall silent.

"Thank you," he says quietly. "My lady."

I fold my hands and stand silently at his side. How long we stay like that before I can speak again, I cannot tell. I count my breaths, waiting for my courage to return. I need to speak. I should speak.

"Hamlet," I say, "when we last spoke, you told me that you could not defy your parents. You then went on to guess the reason I have returned to Elsinore. My father does wish for me to marry, just as your father wishes for you to marry. I understand your position. I cannot see happiness in such a bond. I would rather spend a lifetime in a nunnery than to be wed to a man who cannot think, cannot love. I have not met a man who is nothing but boorish and unenlightened, where love is all but abandoned… except for you. I do not know where that leaves us. You are royalty. You must marry someone who deserves you and this country, if you are to take your father's crown."

He turns away from me, unsettled by my words. I almost stop, afraid that my next words will anger him, but I force myself to continue all the same.

"But you do not want the crown, do you?"

My voice settles into the dust of the library. I can hear his breathing in the dark: shallow and fast, as if he is under great pressure. I wonder what he is thinking, whether I have offended him in some way, or worse. I have nothing to do but wait for his response.

"I… I would rather my uncle Claudius take the throne than keep it for myself," he says. "I would throw the throne away for all the riches in the world. I do not want it. Let the election choose anyone but I when my father's time comes to an end. I am not ready for it. I cannot rule now. I do not know if I could ever have the capacity to rule." He turns around and gazes at me. "That is my one shame. I have not told anyone, not even Horatio, who is my best companion. Now you know."

"And I will keep it." I draw out my embroidered image of the library. "This is for you," I say, handing it to him. "That way, you will have an image of your favourite childhood place when you return to Wittenberg."

He holds the cloth limply in his hand. "I am not returning to Wittenberg, Ophelia."

I press the cloth tighter into his palm, closing his hand around it with my own. "Yes, you are. You want nothing else but to be a scholar. Why not? Go. Go from Elsinore and everything here, return to the place that you love. You have the strength and the ability to do that. I only wish that I could."

We stare at each other, eyes locked on each other's faces. There are unwanted tears in my eyes; they are usual companions to any defiance I have. I blink, releasing them, cursing myself for showing a sign of weakness. There is nothing more that I want than to see him achieve something that he wants for himself. Too many times have I seen others have their dreams destroyed by the desires and rule of their parents. If a prince can flee from that, it will spark a little hope in the hearts of the nobility. Hope that we could do the same. Hope that I can do the same.

If the prince returns to Wittenberg against the king and queen's wishes, perhaps I, too, can return to Paris.

I am not sure what causes him to act. Suddenly, I am in his arms, his lips pressed gently to mine in a kiss that makes my heart soar. I kiss him back, all thoughts of caution gone. I do not know whether this is love I feel, but his presence makes me happier than I think I can ever possibly be. We stand there in the moonlight, holding each other in a tight embrace, until suddenly he draws back.

"I…" He seems uncertain of what to say, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "I… That was very ungallant of me. I apologize, Lady Ophelia. I should not have done that." He walks away.

"Your Highness—"

"Don't call me that," he says.

He leaves the library. I stand alone by the window. Part of me wants desperately to follow him, but the other tells me to let him go.