X. Reunion

I find my recent mood intolerable. I cannot take this depression any longer, even though the castle thrusts it upon us. Today, I seek out an escape. I head to the library, where I wish to encase myself in the written word and lose myself to my imagination.

The library is empty when I arrive, as it often is. I walk among the shelves like a ghost until I force myself to select tomes at random. I pull several from the shelves and settle by the window. I reach for the first one and blow dust from its cover.

It seems no one reads these books but me.

It is a tome of tales, many of them familiar to me as they are versions of stories I heard verbally when growing up. I force myself to become lost in them, but it takes work as my mind refuses to accept the words written on the page. So stubborn am I that I force myself to ignore the commotion that takes place within the courtyard sometime in the late morning, even though the library windows overlook it.

Time passes. My eyes are bleary. I am sure I have missed luncheon, but strangely, I am not famished. I realize that I have been staring at the same page for more than five minutes at least. My mind pleads with me to go do something else – even listening to Adelaide's gossip – but I persist. I am stubborn.

"Beautiful is the lady who does persist in her studies while those who surround her mourn," a soft voice behind me says.

I snap out of my stupor. I raise my head, hardly daring to believe it. One year since I heard that voice, one year… am I sure I recognize it?

"Alas," I say, "I am stubborn and hope to succeed, even though my mind does not agree with me." I rise to my feet and turn – and there he is, standing several paces away, dressed plainly in black. I feel as though I could fly; yet I stay here, feet firmly planted to the library's floor. I do not know how I should act. Part of me wants to run and embrace him, another part wants to stand and stare at him. It has been so long since I last saw him. I realize with a jolt that I have forgotten details of what he looks like, even as they are renewed before my eyes.

I stand foolishly, rooted to the ground, my eyes drawn to his face, my heart pounding in my chest. I do not know if I want to laugh or cry, or both. Not knowing what else to do, I curtsey.

"My lord."

He laughs, but there is a bittersweet sound to it. He crosses the distance between us and gently raises my chin with his fingers so that our eyes meet.

"None of that," he says, kissing my cheek. He softly threads his fingers through a loose lock of my hair and kisses my other cheek. "Today I am many things before a prince," he whispers in my ear.

His hands move to my back and he draws me close. I throw my arms around his neck and my lips find his. I am lost in my joy as he kisses me – joy that he is here again, joy that I may see him and touch him, joy that my heart never thought I could know. Before I know it, the tears I have held back since the king's death come running forth uncontained. I gasp and draw back, looking blinkingly into his concerned expression.

He gently rubs a finger across my cheek, wiping my tears away. "Black does not suit you," he says, glancing at my gown. "Nor do tears."

"This is not how I would have seen our reunion," I say quietly. "I am sorry for your father's death."

His expression hardens. "They say he dies a natural death. Painless and fast. A good death for an old man. Do not say you are sorry – you cannot apologize for something beyond your control."

"Nevertheless, I am sorry."

"Thank you."

He holds me in his arms and we stay like that as the minutes pass, drinking in each other's presence and fighting pas the grief that has brought us together again.

Hamlet presses his forehead against mine; his eyes remain closed. "I say," he murmurs, "there shall be no more tears. The dead cannot return to us; let us be happy that they lived a good life. In the bleakness that surrounds me, there is but one ray that lights my heart, and that is you." He kisses me lightly. Smiling, he draws away, one hand resting on the side of my face. "So no more tears."

I press my hand against his. "No more tears," I echo.

Suddenly, he laughs and it is as if all the thoughts weighing on his mind are lifted. "Oh, how I have missed you, Ophelia," he says.

"And you."

"My heart thinks me a fool for staying away so long," he says. "Letters do not do your presence justice. A foolish man am I."

I smile – truly and genuinely for the first time in months. "You love me so, sir," I say.

"Yes," he says, stroking my hair once again. "I love thee so. No manner of grief can change that."

We both hear footsteps and draw away from each other. I retreat to my table by the window where my tomes lie open as a servant comes flying into the room.

"My lord," he says upon seeing the prince, "your uncle wishes to speak to you immediately in his quarters."

"I will come," he responds and departs the library.

I attempt to return to my reading, but it is impossible. Excitement is roused within me and I do not know what to do with myself. I cannot concentrate. Finally, I decide to return the tomes to their proper, dusty spots, as they have no use for me now.

The loose lock of hair falls in front of my eyes as I lean over the table to gather the tomes. I brush it away hastily and my fingers come across something rough and cold lodged in one of my braids. I realize it is parchment and I pull it out to look at it. It is merely a small scrap, but I unroll it, knowing that there is only one way it could have gotten in my hair and only one person could have put it there.

Written in his familiar, slanted script are words that cause my heart to beat. I steady my breath, never having felt so alive as in this moment, today.

Lady,

If thou dost love me so, meet me tonight and I shalt prove that I have never ceased to love thee.

I fold the note and tuck it into my bodice. Returning my borrowed books to their rightful places, I leave the library, wishing for the night to come with all its moonlit graces.