âWhen you gaze at a King, do not avert your eyes.â His fingers came up to reach for her, tilting her chin with the barest of touch to make hold her gaze in his. His touch was transient, like a daydream you canât quite capture â and before you know it, itâs gone. But his eyes stayed on hers, looking deep into hers. There were thoughts that sometimes entered his mind, about how heâd love to be able to hold her hand ( something that he wasnât even allowed to do away from prying eyes ), about how he would love her and made her his. But to make her his mistress was something he would never do. He had done what happened to mistresses ââ how his father had one and how what it led down to; family blood.
That was the last thing he wanted for fair Mabel.Â
And there were times when he dreamt of a world without her. A world where he felt unfamiliar in a skin that had never been touched by her, a world where she never chanced upon him by mistake ââ or was it by fateâs design? He had always preferred the latter, and often asked himself if he was secretly a romantic instead of a realist like heâd like to believe ââ and they had never been one. He never knew if it was a world heâd be happier in. He never knew how that story would have ended for he he hadnât lived in it. All he knew was when he woke from that dream, a cold layer of sweat covered his skin and his heart felt a painful twang. It was almost more painful that living in the present time where he could not kiss her anymore.
He told her anything would be okay. He was never one to fuss over food, never had anything he liked in particular ââ but the biscuits that she held in her fingers and fed to him once upon a time had always somehow tasted a little better than the rest and he wondered if he could ever taste it again. The way they always hid themselves under shadows and behind curtains, it was as if loving her was a crime in itself, and he couldnât help but thought that he had never craved jail so much. But he did, as long as heâs with her. That was the desires, the longing ââ of Henry, the young man whose heart had once been so full of love. But that was not him anymore and that very heart had been locked away and its key thrown somewhere he couldnât find even if he wanted to.
When she came in again, the question that had been lingering on the tips of his tongue were given a voice, and he asked her, âWhat was it that you meant to ask me?â He never was one to push matters ââ even when he was Henry and not king Henry. Always preferring to leave things as it was and never ever asked. Perhaps that was where the mistake laid, perhaps he should have asked. But he had never.Â
And yet this time, he asked, for when she addressed him, she had called him by his name, Henry. Plain Henry. And how long had it been since anyone but his siblings had called him that without the weight of regality lacing heavily upon it? So he urged himself to ask, to do the things that he never did. His eyes captured hers once more, smile that made time forgot about him and hair the color of sunset. There was a time when he could tell precisely where each freckles of her body was, and he wondered if itâs still the same. His thoughts, when heâs allowed one, were always about her and he waited for her answer patiently for even though it was her duty to wait upon him, he too had always been waiting for her.
Before Henry was âKing Henryâ, he was âHer Henryâ. There was, of course, an inkling of reason within her that told her that she could not really own a person, and that Henry could truly never be herâs. She knew from experience, to be owned, to be kept within someone elseâs clutch, to be seen as another personâs property instead of a free individual was no ideal life. But this, Mabel would convince herself, was different somehow. Mabel would utter the phrase, âMy Henry,â  to herself so often that even the many years after she was no longer apart of his life the words were still there on her tongue, reminiscent of the past like a ghostâs whisper. No longer sweet and tender like kiss they first shared, but bitter like the open wound he left.Â
How bad she wanted to blame Henry for her pain, if only to escape from blaming herself. Â If only to escape from feeling like the foolish girl she was. She could easily point fingers to Henry and say that he kept her employed just to rub everything in her face, as if to punish her for believing he could ever be hers. To keep her wounds fresh by showing off his beautiful wife, yet still hold the power to twirl plain Mabel around his finger with a simple look. She was a twenty eight year old hand maiden for Godâs sake, any hope of suitors of her own were running out and quick. If there was one thing thatâd make her family proud, itâd be bringing home a decent fellow. Somehow, Mabel never had an appetite for decent fellows, nor any man at all these days.Â
Something deep within her wanted to blame it on the King.Â
And there it was again, A ghostâs whisper of a touch against her chin. So minute, only the trained eye could spot it. Yet for Mabel it lingered for longer than it was supposed to. âMy Hen---â she stopped herself.
She peered up and into his dark orbs. Her gaze locked on, intense, flickering away not once. She wished from that he could see everything she could only dream of telling him. âYou broke me,â she hoped theyâd say, âDid my love mean anything to you at all? Was I just collateral damage, a casualty worth made in the grand scheme of things? Perhaps, Iâm just the foolish girl who thought the mountain of the molehill of our fling.âÂ
âPerhaps, Iâm just the foolish girl who thought the mountain o---â No, it sounded worse said out loud. âI thought the world of you,â no, stop. talking. She spoke the words with just a whisper barely loud enough for anyoneâs ears, let alone his --- A hitch in her voice involuntary sprung with the word, âyouâ. She cursed her momentary lapses of boldness. Her eyes flickered to her hands in panic, then back to Henryâs. As a quick effort to save herself, she spun in the opposite direction, âBiscuits was it? I...I...I shall hurry to get those for you, Your Majesty.â She took off.Â
