Page 2 of Stalked By the King

But inside, I am drowning.

After the meeting concludes, I make my way through the bustling marketplace. My subjects bow their heads and curtsy as I pass, extending gifts of bread and flowers. I accept them with a smile, asking each by name how their families fare.

Despite my reservations, a warmth fills me as I provide comfort and reassurance. I lay a hand gently on old Farmer John's shoulder as he describes his struggles with the harvest.

"Worry not, my friend. We will provide extra grain from the royal stores to get you through the winter."

His weathered face cracks into a grin. This is why I endure the burden of the crown—to protect the most vulnerable.

As I continue on, a young couple catches my eye. They stand entwined, stealing kisses behind a hay cart, oblivious to all else. A pang of longing pierces my heart.

How I envy their freedom. While they follow their hearts, I am bound by duty to marry a lady of standing, where she is a woman I love or not.

I sigh heavily.

This is the sacrifice I must make for the kingdom. My desires come second to their needs. And yet how I ache for a love like that young couple's—one untethered by obligations and unencumbered by my title. A love true and free.

***

Alone in my chambers, I sink into the plush velvet chair by the hearth. The fire crackles, casting dancing shadows across the stone walls. Here I can remove the heavy mantle of kingship for a moment and just be Henry.

I take a long sip of wine, letting the bittersweet liquid roll over my tongue. If only it could wash away the bitter taste of duty that consumes my days.

A soft knock at the door stirs me from my brooding. "Enter," I call out.

My manservant James slips inside. "The royal jeweler awaits, Your Majesty. He has brought the royral crown for your inspection."

"Tell him I will be along shortly." James bows and takes his leave.

I stare into the flames, clutching the engraved goblet until my knuckles turn white. The weight of my crown bears down upon my shoulders, threatening to crush me where I sit.

With a heavy sigh, I rise and straighten my tunic. I must play the part, wear the polished mask of kingship. My true self remains hidden, sacrificed upon the altar of obligation.

Smoothing my features into impassivity, I make my way to the throne room where duty calls. The crown glitters in the jeweler's hands, a beautiful prison.

The throne room is filled with petitioners and advisors, their voices creating a dull roar that pounds against my temples. I take my seat upon the ornate throne and nod for the first subject to approach.

One by one they come before me—farmers seeking tax relief, merchants requesting trade sanctions, lords vying for lands and titles. I listen and adjudicate as best I can, but my responses feel wooden, my judgment clouded.

How can I be expected to rule a kingdom when my own spirit feels shackled? These people look to their king for wisdom and clarity, but all I can offer are hollow platitudes and lukewarm compromises.

As the afternoon drags on, the mask of kingship grows heavier upon my face. With each decision, my inner turmoil swells. I am split in two—the monarch who must live for his people, and the man who yearns to live for himself.

Right now, in this stuffy hall beneath the scrutiny of countless eyes, I envy even the lowliest subject who can follow their heart. What good is a gilded cage, no matter how comfortable, when the soul inside cries out for freedom?

I am bound by duty, but oh how I wish to feel unbound by anything but love. To bask in a gaze that sees beyond the crown upon my head, that embraces the essence of who I am. Is this too much to ask? Or must a king's private desires be ever sacrificed for the sake of kingship?

The questions flay me from the inside, even as I maintain a veneer of royal composure. If this continues, I shall be torn asunder. But the queue of petitioners seems endless.

I must endure.

CHAPTER

THREE

Jane

I scrub the floors with fervor, determined to make them shine like a mirror. The castle's vast rooms and towering ceilings always manage to humble me, reminding me of my modest upbringing. My auburn hair falls into my eyes as I work, but I swiftly tuck it behind my ear before continuing.

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