XVIII. Selfish

We have managed to steal a few precious moments away from the commotion of the rest of the castle. It is the day after the state funeral, and most of the aristocracy is acting as though it never occurred. What is in the past is in the past, or so they say. I suspect that these words could be attributed to King Claudius, who no doubt never wanted his brother's state funeral to overshadow his coronation and wedding and did everything in his power to prevent it from doing just that.

I am unusually quiet today, and I have not said much. My thoughts preoccupy me more than they normally do. So much is my preoccupation that it prompts a teasing statement of "You look even more melancholy than I" from Hamlet. I laugh, but it is not whole-hearted as I am distracted.

Guilt is a strange emotion. It sits at the back of your mind, gnawing away at you while you try your best to ignore it, until, finally, you cannot bear it any longer. I feel guilt – I have betrayed my own family's trust, and they do not know it. Never before have I had to lie to my brother; never have I had to carefully step around my father. Elsinore has changed all that. This castle has changed me in profound ways, and I do not like the person I am becoming – a woman who must tells falsehoods and pretend to be someone she is not, all for the sake of love. I do not like what love is doing to my family; I can already feel the effects of the breach between myself and Laertes.

I do not wish to have such a breach. I know the royal family and how torn apart they have become. They do not speak to each other; they lie and deceive and then turn around and stab each other with the truth. Despite my wish for things to be different, there is stubborn refusal. Hamlet is becoming a stranger in his own country, and Gertrude barely knows her son.

I do not wish for that to happen to me with my own family.

"I would suggest avoiding comparisons," Hamlet says after I muse my thoughts to him. "My family is, after all, of its own kind." He speaks the last phrase coldly. Tomorrow is the dual celebration of coronation and wedding, and everything about Elsinore right now continually reminds us of it.

"I did not mean to compare," I say. "I only meant… I love my father and my brother. I do not want to be separated from them by something that brings me joy! I should be happy, but I—"

"You discovered they were spying on you. Palace intrigue never brought happiness to the victims of watchful eyes. I should know."

"They only meant it for the better."

"The better of what?" He locks eyes with me, his expression intense. "Better for you? What if you had come to me, and we were discovered? Your father would not let such a relationship stand, he would not want his beloved, virtuous daughter shamed. Do you think he would let this continue?"

"I do not know."

"No," he says firmly. "The answer is 'no', and you know it. Do not play naïve."

"I am tired of secrets and lies."

"As am I, but that is the way of the court. Everyone has secrets, everyone tells lies. Everyone leads a double life of some kind or another. And then there are those who enjoy unravelling the threads to discover them." He pauses, looking at me cautiously, trying to gage my reaction. "Like your father."

"What are you trying to accuse my father of?" I say flatly.

"Merely an observation," he says. "Your father is meddlesome."

"I know. He does not mean to—"

"He does mean to! There is nothing that occurs in this castle that your father does not wish to know of. Surely your brother's actions are examples of that, pure and simple."

"There is nothing pure and simple about this," I return. "You have… I have… agh!" I have a great urge to hit something, unladylike though that may be. "I remain caught up in lies, and will remain so until your promise comes true."

"Ah." He observes me warily.

"I do not want to continue hiding who I am from my own family."

"You wish to confirm your father's suspicions?"

"No!" I can feel colour rising to my cheeks. "Yes. Oh, I do not know… My lord, we are as good as promised to each other. Why cannot we—"

"No."

"No?" I arch an eyebrow. "You made me a promise."

"A promise made will be a promise kept," he answers, "but I did not say when."

"Why can it not be now?"

"Why must it be now? Because of your own whims?"

"Is it because of your own whims that it will not be now?" I snap back, my temper flaring. "Is it because you are furious at your mother's marriage that you have decided to ignore the entire union itself?"

He glares at me coldly. "I do not need my own opinions spouted back at me in such a way."

"I do not agree with you, my lord."

"That much is evident."

"Marriage is sacred and should be honoured," I say hotly, "not ignored!"

"You wish it not to be ignored," he points out furiously.

"Everyone in this world does not ignore it," I retort. "Only you do. A single man's opinion, prince though he may be, does not change social tides."

"Perhaps it can!"

"You would sacrifice my good name simply to make a statement?"

He rolls his eyes. "And once again, it returns to you and what you want."

I glare at him, and I can feel a familiar prickle behind my eyes. Tears will come now, whether I bid them to or not. "I will not be a virgin on my wedding night," I say quietly. "In the eyes of most, that is a sin."

"And what of in your eyes – and not theirs?"

I frown. I have lived with the assumption for a year now that some day I will be married to him. With that assumption, I did anything I pleased. Was it foolish of me to believe so? Was it wrong of me to go to him without the sanctity of marriage vows? I turn my face away so he will not see the tears falling liberally down my cheeks.

"You… you would not marry me?"

He sighs – he hates seeing me cry. He walks to me, placing a hand gently on my shoulder. "Ophelia—"

I move away abruptly and face him. "You would have had me commit a sin for nothing?"

"Is there not life beyond marriage?" he says. "Is love a sin?"

I shake my head. "No." The word catches in my throat.

"Is that what you truly believe?"

I nod, rubbing tears from my cheeks with the back of my hand. "Yes."

"Then you have not sinned," he says simply.

"I am yours alone," I murmur. "If we be not wed—"

"Then nothing."

I cannot stop the tears now. They cling to my eyelashes, blurring my vision. "Is it selfish of me to want a material symbol of what I feel for you?" I say, almost voiceless.

"Is it selfish of me to not want to be bound by the laws of tradition?" he says softly.

I cannot help a hollow laugh. "What fools we are," I say. "Selfish, selfish fools brought to an impasse."

He looks at me sadly. "All humankind is selfish, one way or another."

"Why must it be so?"

He embraces me gently, an apology in his touch. "The world is an unfair place where we cannot always receive what we want."

"Then today I hate the world."

He shakes his head. "Dear Ophelia, you are turning into me. Perhaps I am a poor influence on you."

"No," I say softly. "Perhaps you should be the one I hate, for refusing my one request that would save me much pain and guilt. But I cannot bring myself to do so." I brush my hand beneath my eyes again, wiping away my final tears. "All roses come with thorns. Love, it seems, does not come without a price."