"Of all the hardships a person had to face, none was more punishing than the simple act of waiting."
― Khaled Housseini, A Thousand Splendid Suns

Malachai grabbed the lady by the ankle and pulled her across the bed toward him so that she was halfway beneath him. He bent down and kissed her back in a frenzy, reaching upward to caress her breasts, making her giggle loudly. Her name was Anne and she was a vision, a beauty with russet curls and rosy cheeks; every time he'd had her, he'd felt invigorated and was left satiated. She was never a disappointment.

Until now.

Malachai pressed himself against her buttocks, eliciting a squeal from her mouth but it did nothing for him; all he could think about was her. The scarlet swan. Her voice echoed in his head.

"Bonnie, Your Majesty. Bonnie Bennett."

He closed his eyes and thought back to their dance, how his entire body ignited at the mere touch of her hand in his, the way the deep red of her dress illuminated her skin. He stiffened at the memory and opened his eyes, hastily ripping open Anne's nightgown to take advantage of his abrupt readiness. He knew this would not extinguish any and all thoughts of the Lady Bonnie but perhaps a quick dalliance would slake his immediate preoccupation with her, perhaps it would allow him to focus on matters other than when she would come to court.

Anne had flipped around on her back, smiling up at Malachai, eager and willing, and he saw … none of it. None of the intrigue that had cloaked Bonnie nor the quiet temerity that emboldened her. Those green eyes, brilliant and disarming were burned into his mind and Malachi was overcome with a violent frustration that he had to settle for something he didn't truly want. He sighed at his persistent softness and then dislodged from Anne, throwing himself down on the bed. "It's no good," he said. "You're no good."

Anne remained kneeling on the sheets and her lips quivered with confusion. "Your Majesty?"

"You have a strange air about you, rids a man of all his urgencies."

"My apologies," she said, lowering her head. "Is there anything I might do that could remedy the situation?"

"Yes," said Malachai turning to his side. "Leave. Now."

Anne hesitated for a second and then Malachai felt her slide off the bed. There was a pause in which she bowed to his back and then he heard the door open as she left. He stayed on his side, silently seething. He had barely said ten words to the lady Bonnie and yet she had utter possession over his mind, his body, his passions. It was aggravating. No, it was infuriating. She hadn't even bowed to him when he entered the ballroom, an offence deserving of a beheading. He could do it, thought Malachai harshly. Kill her. He'd be justified. And it would rid him of her, he could belong to himself again because this … this was … it was … she wasn't even at court! He had requested her presence over a week earlier and still she had not appeared; had she rejected him? Him? Royalty? The royalty? Malachai shot upright.

"AM I NOT THE KING OF ENGLAND?" he bellowed.

There was a quick rapping on the door and a servant entered the room.

"What?" snapped Malachai. "What is it?"

"Your Majesty, the Queen has sent word that she would like to see you."

"Sent word?" Malachai repeated. He got up from the bed and walked over to the servant who was shrinking into himself with each step Malachai took toward him. "Sent word? No one sends for the King! She does not summon me!"

"No, Your Majesty," said the servant quickly. "She merely requested your presence if you weren't previously engaged and the lady Anne had—"

"ALRIGHT!" said Malachai, snatching up his robe and throwing it around himself. He pushed open a set of double doors that led another apartment. The servants cleaning it stopped dusting and sweeping to bow. "Your Majesty." Malachai kept walking and pushed past another set of doors and another until he reached the Queen's apartments.

She was standing in the middle of the first room surrounded by a few ladies in waiting; each of them bowed when they saw Malachai was in their presence, murmuring "Your Majesty" in unison.

"Malachai? You came?"

"Caroline," said Malachai stiffly. He stared at the woman in front of him; blonde hair that encircled her regal face, as pale and frigid as fresh snow. There had been a time when she had intimidated him, a time when she had his adoration but now all she had was his dissatisfaction, his resentment.

"What is so pressing that you had to call me away?" said Malachai. "I do have a country to run."

"My apologies," said Caroline. The sincerity in her voice made Malachai want to retch. "I didn't realize you were meeting with the Chief Minister."

"What do you want?"

"I wanted to know how Naples went, how your sister enjoyed the country that will soon be her home."

"Is that all? This is why you feel you have the right to summon me to your apartments?"

"No one can summon the King of England, I merely requested to see you," said Caroline.

"It was fine. Josephine enjoyed Naples very much. Next time you can ask to see her."

"I was only thinking that perhaps an alliance with Spain would —"

Malachai's gaze hardened and he held up a hand to silence her. "Come here," he said.

Caroline walked over to Malachai and he opened his arms to embrace her, when their bodies touched, he whispered in her ear. "Have you lost your senses? You do not instruct me on my affairs, you are my wife."

Caroline pulled away from him. "Then I would like to be your wife. Malachai, it has been nearly fourteen days since you have shared my bed. Will you not come to my chambers tonight?"

He took a step backward. Her bed was poisoned, cursed with ineptitude and infertility. Each time they had been entwined on it the only outcome was miscarriage and one daughter.

"I must go," he said.

"Wait, there's one matter," said Caroline. "I have received a letter about our daughter. She is excelling in her studies."

Through the revulsion a strand of pride blossomed in Malachai's chest and he smiled tightly.

"She has a great affinity to music I've been told," said Caroline, smiling. "You have great cause to be proud of her."

"I am proud of her," said Malachai defensively. "Mary is the light of my life, you know that."

Caroline sighed sweetly. "Malachai when you say these things —"

He shook his head. "I have matters to attend to, Caroline."

As Malachai turned on his heel to leave the room, the door opened and Bonnie Bennett walked through draped in furs. He stopped moving. Everything within him stilled. Lady Bonnie without the burden of a mask, the moon unobstructed by cloud; it was more than beauty, it was magnificence.

Bonnie held his gaze, her lips parted and Malachai felt her eyes pierce into him, drawing him to the depths of their vividness, a green sea he could drown in at any moment. There was an energy he'd never felt before, binding him to her or her to him, a hypnosis that could not be interrupted save for the urges that plagued him with each second he looked up on her, the urge to trace his finger along her plump lip, the urge to see her naked and splayed , there for him to devour; the image made him light-headed and Malachai clenched his jaw to steady his resolve. He swallowed hard and noticed the stiffness of Bonnie's neck, an indication that she was holding her breath. The possibility made him anxious, he flushed red with arousal, his fingers experienced the same tingling sensation as when he had first seen her in Naples. Was she as impacted by his presence as he was by hers? The presence of him as a man and not of him as a King? Could he ensnare her so, rob her of sleep or of rational thought? She appeared to be a woman who wasn't so easily taken and should he be the one to overwhelm her … Malachai knew that then and only then would he know what true satisfaction felt like.

Bonnie blinked and lowered her head, startling Malachai out of his reverie, leaving him with a sense of overpowering loss and … pain, as if he were being ripped away from an artery. She was bowing to him.

"Your Majesty," she said.

He stared at the top of her head, spending a moment willing her to look up so he could be submerged once more in such fierce green, and then he turned to Caroline. He cleared his throat. "This girl," he said. "Will she be one of your ladies in waiting?"

"Yes," said Caroline, staring at Bonnie with a frostiness. "Lady Bonnie Bennett, I believe."

Malachai nodded his head. He pushed open the door to the next apartment and once he closed it, slumped against the wall, winded. A group of servants rushed toward him.

"Your Majesty," they said. "Are you all right, Your Majesty?"

"I can't breathe," he said. "She won't let me breathe. I can't breathe."