Pushing open the double doors, King Harold stopped cold, letting the doors swing shut behind him. His mother sat calmly on the couch before the fireplace, reading a magazine.
"What was that?" he asked, as he strode to the couch.
"What was what, dear?"
"That! The way you just...left. I thought you wanted to see my wedding!"
"I know what they're about, Harry...I've had one of my own, you know."
"Stop calling me Harry. It's Harold; I'm a man now. A king." He rounded the couch to stand beside her. Reaching down, he took the magazine from her hands. "Would you just listen to me?" He tossed the magazine onto the coffee table. "If you had already moved out, you would have demanded an invitation."
"Harold...sit," she said, and he complied. She looked over at him. "Maybe I just don't think this girl is the right choice."
"Wha..." He stared at her. "How could you say that?"
"How could I? Harold, her love for you is not real. It's smoke and mirrors."
"She proposed to me," King Harold responded.
"And she only loves you because she was forced," his mother said gently. "And if this Olivia lady finds something to hold against you, she can take it all away. And, Harold, I'm not sure she hasn't already begun."
"What do you mean?"
"Think of what...Think of whom you've already lost." His mother looked sad. "I just wish you had found a nice girl whose love for you was...genuine."
"Excuse me, her love is genuine."
"She's just a puppet," his mother answered hotly. "A test monkey. All I'm saying, dear, is be on your toes."
"I would, but you just stepped all over them."
"I'm sorry," she said simply. "I just worry about you."
Then they were quiet. With nothing left to say, she stood and glided from the room; leaving her son and magazine behind.
Feeling bitter towards her, King Harold stood and went his own separate way, heading toward the patio. Pushing open one of the doors, he approached the edge.
And he stopped. Took a hesitant step back.
The fate of your firstborn will be in my hands.
Gazing out at his bride, worry crossed his face.