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The alternative of who she was pushed me closer to the insanity I was always trying to keep contained.
The doors to the Throne Room open again and I look up expectantly as another guard appears.
He looks up and down the hallway, his eyes widening when he sees me sitting huddled on the bench.
“Do you have business with the King?" he asks after he has recovered from examining my outfit.
"Yes, I'm an old friend of the king," I explain. Surprisingly, my explanation seems to satisfy him. “He will see you now.”
I stand up, my legs starting to shake. I was going to throw up. There was no other way to describe the feeling I had as the guard ushered me through the doors, into the Throne Room. I walked in and I immediately saw him in the center of the room.
He was as beautiful as ever.
He’s lounging in his throne, laughing with one of his advisors. I soak up the view of him like I was dying of thirst and he was the only one who could quench it. Every memory, every touch he had given me came flying back through my mind. It felt like the hundreds of years that had passed had disappeared. At that moment, I was the same girl in the apple orchard, seeing her prince for the first time.
Although he was King, his rich brown hair was still overly long for the current trends. It was tousled as if he couldn’t stop running his fingers through it and a few pieces of hair have fallen across his forehead in messy disarray. His cheekbones have gotten even sharper with the passage of time and I trace them down to his strong jaw, a jaw that is covered in at least a few days’ worth of growth. From there my eyes follow the line of his firm, full lips which sat under a long, straight nose in perfect proportion with his features.
It was a magnificent package, but I knew his eyes were what completed it. I was desperate to see them.
"James," I whisper. He stiffens mid-sentence. It’s obvious to everyone in the room that he recognizes my voice as I can feel their attentions turn away from their conversations and towards me. He sits up sharply in his high-backed throne, his posture becoming stiff and unyielding. Almost in slow motion, he turns his face to look at me, his gaze wide and unbelieving. I watch a myriad of emotions cross his face, shock, awe, something that looks a little like love...and then hate. His eyes hold me spellbound—that same perfect, sky blue color surrounded by thick, dark lashes. Beautiful.
We stare at each other; the entire room falls into silence as they watch us.
James looks like he’s seen a ghost. He tries to get up to walk towards me, but he falls back into his chair as if he’s too weak to stand.
"Your Majesty," someone comments nearby worriedly. James holds up a hand to hold whoever spoke off, not taking his eyes off me. I hope he can read the message in my eyes...the one that says, please forgive me, I love you...I’ve never stopped loving you.
He must not see it, or he sees it and he doesn’t care. James’ eyes fall to slits of steel, his jaw more tense than I’ve ever seen before. I’m afraid the vein on the side of his neck will explode as it pumps up and down with the grinding of his teeth. More disturbing than any of that is his silence. I stare at his hands, clenching and re-clenching into fists by his side. I whisper his name again, but he flinches at the sound of my voice. The curious stares around the room turn into glares as they follow the King’s lead.
James is silent. His eyes turn light and empty before my eyes. Nothing, no emotion. Not the expressionless expression that usually is given away by the intensity in his gaze. There’s nothing there when he looks at me.
“James.” his name comes out choked this time.
I’m afraid.
Afraid that it was a mistake to come here, afraid that we could never again be us. The rigid set of his shoulders straightens even further, and his lip curls up.
“Guards, take her to the dungeon,” he orders in a cold, unfeeling voice.
Oh, no. No, no, no. “Please, James. Let me explain . . .”
“Get her out of here,” he roars angrily, cowing everyone in the room with his rage. He settles back into his chair, his face changing from anger to devastation.
He finally speaks to me.
“I can’t look at you.”
I close my eyes in defeat, wishing I could melt into the ground and into non-existence.
The guard who allowed me into the room is next to me then in an instant, the hint of his body odor filling the small space between us. When I look up, there’s a hint of compassion in his gaze, but it does nothing to alleviate my heartbreak.
Taking my arm, he practically carries me towards the door since my legs seem to have failed me. Breaking free, I throw myself back towards James eliciting a gasp from the crowd who I’m sure have never seen such unseemly behavior towards their monarch. He dips his head away, closing his eyes as he does. With his hands fisted, he remains stiff underneath my seeking grip.
“Look at me,” I whisper, wincing at the desperation that clouds my tone. “Please.” A single tear falls over my lid, cool against my heated cheek as it drops in slow motion and with the movement of his head. The man I love beyond reason blurs like a hologram before me, as if he could disappear in an instant if I make a wrong move. Fighting against the tears, my fingers clench into his biceps. When our eyes meet, I choke on a cry. He’s buried under too many emotions to understand them all, but one is very clear. Revulsion. His mouth trembles with it.
“I can’t be near you right now,” he says.
The words are a train, barreling at full speed and slamming into my chest.
