Geordo is not a great man, he does not try to be good and there is no-one who believe in his upstanding morals, but he is at least decent. Or, at least, he hoped so. Desperately, he hoped he was a good enough king and a good enough husband. In spite of his excellence in every skill, there are occasions when even this low bar may not be achieved, but at least it is not for lack of effort.

Being who he was, what his surname was; what he was raised and bred for, if he could not be both, he would not amount to be anything at all. So, he poured his heart and soul into every moment, into being dedicated to both Sorcier and his adored wife, Catarina. However, sometimes it became just too overwhelming, too much happens at the same time. There are not enough hours in the day to satisfy both.

Catarina is patient, loving and undemanding. All the good things in the world somehow wrapped up in one perfect human being, and that does not escape the notice of the court and the kingdom. Alas, Sorcier cannot live off of devotion to its monarchy and it rarely can wait.

Government was demanding and cruel. It required every ounce of his attention, every hour filled with tending to the country's needs. Ensuring grain for the people, weapons for the troops, diplomats for their allies.

The hours where the world was dark was his only escape. It was the only time where he could crawl into bed, shroud himself in warm comforting furs and wrap his arms around the queen's sleeping form. Before the sun started to peek from behind the curtains, he would be gone, and she would wake up alone again.

Tonight, however, things looked different in the chambers. The dark bedroom held nothing but dismay. On their small personal dining table, tucked away next to the grand fireplace, a few candles flickered, sputtering on their last lives and wax dripping slowly down their sides and onto the tray beneath. It was obvious they had been burning for a while and were left unattended as the night dragged on.

Two large platters piled high with food, each paired with a red glass of vintage wine, were left abandoned, forgotten in the lapse of time. The roasted asparagus that had surely once been steaming was now as lukewarm as the baked fish sitting pathetically beside it.

Then, there was her. Catarina was curled up into herself, nestled into the high back leather chair stationed beside the empty fireplace. Her hair once perfectly done up was now beginning to falter, strands falling away haphazardly. The beautiful dress she wore, a navy blue as deep as the sea depths that were once under his own feet, was wrinkled as if it had been tossed aside into a laundry pile.

Worst of all was her face. Even in sleep, her head slouching onto her shoulder, pain and loneliness are laced deeply into her expression. Her eyebrows had furrowed together as her mouth stayed frozen in a permanent frown. Heavy bags had formed under her eyes from staying up throughout the night, waiting for her lover who never arrived.

His heart burned in his chest, seizing in grief over his own actions and anger at himself. He had done it again, another screw up. Another anniversary missed, one with the only person who could force him into cracking a grin. For what was likely the hundredth time, he had failed. Geordo had failed her.

Careful not to make any noise, he crossed the room, sliding out of his high leather boots and discarding the military jacket onto his empty chair. The pins signifying decorum flashed tauntingly in the wavering candlelight.

It was times like this where he felt the country itself was mocking him, mocking how it would devour him whole, all while the man had not said a word. For the good of the country, was his mantra when making any decision, from when to wake in the morning to what trade routes to fund.

When would it become for the good of his marriage?

The king lingered by her side, watching how Catarina slept. He watches each single shallow inhale, the way her breathing would hitch in her chest as if she had recently shed tears. Since he rarely spoke to her while she was awake, he managed to learn how to identify her moods through her sleep, and this is not what happy people should dream of. She had not been truly happy for a while.

Gently, he looped one arm under her knees and supported her back with the other. Lifting her from the chair, Geordo held her firmly and lovingly in his arms, pressed against his chest.

"I'm sorry." He whispered and then repeated it again and again until he thought he might go hoarse.

Delicately, he laid her down upon their bed, careful not to jostle her head in fear of her waking. Not only did he want her to rest easy, he also wanted to be spared from the sad look on her eyes for at least a few more hours.

Deep within his heart, he knew this is the last straw. This is the time she will ever reach out to him. She will never divorce him, she would never try and he would never let her, and she will not stop loving him, but she will turn away from him, she would not "bother" him anymore. Even if all he wants is to be bothered as much as possible.

With shaking hands, he dragged the silk sheets and heavy furs over Catarina's form until they came to a rest right under her chin. Standing there for a second, he took a moment to admire her— a moment that was a first in a very long time.

"Goodnight, my love." He whispered, leaning over and pressing a soft kiss to her temple.

Sighing, Geordo reluctantly stepped away, retreating to the leather chairs he had already spent one too many nights sleeping in. This would simply be another for the books.

Settling down in his seat, he took one long swig of the wine his wife had set out before wishing for sleep to overtake him.


Waking up in the morning was not any easier than walking into the room the night before had been. In fact, it was decidedly more painful.

As his eyes blearily blinked open, adjusting to the blindingly white morning light, the silence filling his once warm bedroom was obvious. Catarina flitted about the room, her expression muted as it has never been, as she put away folded clothes one of their maids had piled high on a chair.

Surely, she knew he was awake. Surely, she felt his gaze burning into her back, begging her to say even a single word. Yet, she does not seem to notice as her hands delicately smoothed the wrinkles on his undershirts.

The silence from her seamlessly replaced their typical morning routine, at least the ones in which they wake up together. Gone are the greetings for a good morning whispered wearily, a warm kiss pressed to his cheek, the platter of sweets and the pot of tea. The candlelight that had once warmed their room, made their grand space in the palace feel so intimate was starkly absent.

Geordo could now feel the chill of marble floors under his bare feet, the frigid air sinking into his skin until he felt he might turn blue. His wife also seemed touched by the winter as well, moving stiffly like a stone statue sprung to life.

"Good morning." He hummed, stretching out his long arms as every muscle in his back seemed to protest after the uncomfortable sleep.

There was simply no response echoed from Catarina. No smiles, no mindless chatter about gardening or high society, no comment on the state or welfare of his being. Simply silence, that horrible empty type that somehow filled the air until it was suffocating.

"Look…" Geordo started, praying to the gods above for even a drop of mercy this morning. "I know I screwed up, and you shouldn't forgive me. I know. But there was a blockade that I needed to make a decision on and…"

His meagre excuse simply trailed off into thin air as he realized the reality of the pathetic words dropping from his lips. A one-off accident would evoke an excuse, but it would not work the hundredth time. Not when he knew exactly what he was doing.

Catarina stopped dead what she was doing, drew in a deep breath and hung her head, even if she would not turn to face him. Her hands fell limply at her side as her gaze skilfully darted around the room; focusing on anything but him.

"Forgive me." He pleaded, voice wavering as it began to crack. "I'm sorry. So, so sorry, love."

"That's fine, Your Majesty. I understand." She kindly but detachedly replied, refusing to meet his sorrowful gaze. "I'm leaving for my field. If you have any more need of me, ask Anne to give me a message. Excuse me."

She turned on her heel and, without raising her eyes, bowed at him sloppily, trying to emulate a taught behaviour she had never once used, not even when meeting her father-in-law. After that, she exited the room, leaving Geordo brewing over his actions in her wake.

He knows there must be something to do, but right now, all he wants is to grieve.