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James sits up, not bothering to hide the fact that he’s only half -dressed. But then again why should he, she’s his wife.
"Did you forget how to knock. Although I must say, it’s such a pleasure to wake up to the sight of you,” he says sarcastically, not bothering to hide the fact that he loathes her.
It perversely makes me feel slightly better.
I struggle to understand their relationship and who this woman is. She isn’t the French princess, so I suppose that’s an improvement. But who is she?
“I was just curious to see how long your plaything will be in town," she says, examining her perfectly groomed fingernails as if she doesn’t have a care in the world that her husband appears to have slept with someone else. “I have to say, James. I thought you had better taste than this. I suppose she’s pretty enough, but then again; they all are. But it's obvious that this girl is a commoner."
James growls protectively behind me and it does something to my insides.
Finally, I speak up. "Pardon me, but who are you?" I tentatively ask.
She laughs. It’s a cold, cruel, laugh, one that makes me instantly dislike her more. James’ laugh was the exact opposite of hers. It had always been warm and carefree. It was always hard to get, but when it happened, it was priceless.
"Surely you can't be that out of touch that you don’t recognize your queen,” she says, almost as if I’ve offended her. "Are you from that small of a village? I thought it was mandatory that our subjects had lessons on the monarchy.” She laughs again. “Oh James, I didn’t think you would ever sink so low. Wasn’t the last woman you slept with Countess Doria?”
This time as the images of James and Countess Doria...who I had met before, filled my head, I couldn’t hold back how sick it made me feel.
I leaned over the side of the bed and threw up in an already semi-full chamber pot. Disgusting. I had forgotten how much I hated chamber pots.
"Get out of here, Francesca," James barks, looking so furious that I wouldn’t be surprised if he got up and snapped her neck.
I sit up shakily and wipe my face with the edge of the sheet on the bed. Francesca puts on an innocent expression. "Surely you haven't sired a bastard already. Especially since you’ve failed to produce an heir to the throne with me."
"The day I touch you, is the day England is no more,” he spits at her.
"You and I both know you won't be able to hold out forever," she says. "But enough of that, it bores me. I just stopped by to see if our guest will be attending the banquet tonight."
James gives me a side eye as if he was weighing her question. "That's unknown at this time. You can leave." She opens her mouth again. "That was a direct order from your king," he barks.
She frowns, his order obviously eating at her overabundant pride. Then, a suspicious sparkle lights up her eyes before she curtsies sarcastically before leaving and slamming the door shut behind her.
The minutes seem to stretch on as we sit there in silence. Evidently, we both don’t know what to say after that.
James is married.
It had been one thing to read about it in a history book. It was a whole other thing to face the realization of it.
How cruel was fate to bring me back to my love...too late?
"So, you're married?" I finally ask, my voice sounding heartbroken even to me.
He gets out of bed without answering me. It was obvious that it wasn't a happy marriage. But unhappy or not, the fact that there was a Queen of England meant that there was no future for us.
"James?" I begin. He cuts me off.
"You don't get to say anything. I don't owe you an explanation. I don’t owe you anything. You left me. I would've given up my world for you. I would have given you the world. And still I wasn't enough. What could have seemed like a better offer to you than the Prince of England?" he asks in a pained, angry voice that sounded closer to a wounded animal than human.
Tears well up in my eyes. "If you would only let me explain," I begin again.
"If you haven't noticed, I'm the King of bloody England. That, my dear, comes with an overwhelming amount of responsibilities that unfortunately have already started for the day. We’ll have to talk later," he says walking to the other side of the room.
He pulls a tasseled rope that is hanging from the ceiling. I can hear a bell ringing in the distance, I'm sure signaling some type of servant.
Just like I had predicted, the cruel light of day had brought back all of the problems that we were able to ignore last night along with an assortment of new ones that I hadn’t even thought about.
I watched him as he got dressed, savoring the intimacy of it. We had missed a lot in our relationship. I haven't seen most of the day to day things with James that I had been able to with my other men.
