francesiia:
ALTHOUGH PRAISE USUALLY SOOTHED her nerves, it served only to anger her further this time. she settles one hand protectively over the length of cloth to obscure the pattern — of course one of her womanly talents would be so quickly praised. “ideals you clearly dislike.” she returns, worrying gently on the corner of one lip. she does not move; it’s not her place to tell her husband where he can or cannot sit, or what to do, so she waits. she stares into the fire, and when she blinks, color dances across the black in her eyelids.
SHE BITES BACK A scoff, shaking her head minutely. it might not have been what she wanted to hear in the moment, but — she knew there was an earnest truth behind his words, and treating it like a lie in a fit of temper would do neither of them credit. she pauses, for a moment, and though the words are gentle, the anger behind them has not abated. “you are not the only one from whom expectation takes a toll.” she says, slowly. it’s an unhelpful thing to say, she knows, but it must be said.
HOW SHE HATES TO carry anger farther than its worth. still, this is one soul-deep and built almost entirely of her own insecurity, with nikola’s words caught in the crossfire, like a flint and steel, like a jeering bystander. she lifts a goblet off of the table next to her and drinks, hoping the sweet drink inside might soothe her. she has any number of cruel things to continue with — but she fights it back, and sets the goblet down again. she taps slender fingers on the back of one hand, and finally looks at him — “i am not a stupid, common wench whose only duty to you is to lay back at night and be silent. i want to share your burdens. woman or not.“ she wants to continue, to say i am your wife, your queen, i know my own mind, let me help —— but she does not. she continues tapping her hand, turns back to the fire, and grits her teeth.
mortification coursed through his temperament as he saw her hand move to cover her embroidery. as he did when his nerves consumed the better half of his emotions, he laced his fingers against his lap to twiddle his thumbs as though he were a child being reprimanded. again, her words wounded him to assume he did not respect her ideals nor her involvement. perhaps it was merely the thought of being ridiculed as a benign king who would capitulate to the requisition of his wife and only be remembered for her endeavors and trials; not his own. an unfeigned sovereign would have adjured her compliance. moved waters to invoke capitulation and raised storms to remind the world who he was. but these sentiments were not so easily executable for someone who considered themselves resigned and furthermore, a loyal subject to both God and his kingdom. a mere vessel by which god commanded to service his earthly communion.
the inner turmoil caused a brief silence when she concluded. unable to gaze directly upon her, he watched the neurotic movements of his hands. in his reticence, he sought his answer from god. alas, no one spoke to him. only the hushed whistle of an pestiferous wind, accompanied by the crackling of fire to illuminate the otherwise desolate and dark chambers. accountability was held within his own jurisdiction, not god’s.
‘ i understand your grief, ‘ a deceptive statement nikola was taught when he witnessed the quarrels of his own kin. it was more veracious he could not understand, but he could commiserate. his words hurt her and to deny they did would falsify her sentiments that he did not command. ‘ i wish only you had more faith in my competence. your duty is done and should hold you at least another year. mine own dexterity is not proven until i am gone to join our heavenly father. my work never ceases and my legacy is eternal. ’
shifting in his chair, he crossed one leg over another and leaned back into his seat. with his elbow rested upon the arm of the seat, he pressed his index and middle finger to his temple, showing a hint of vexation as he contemplated exactly how he would be remembered.
‘ i am your king, ‘ he began, ‘ but believe i am still human. a god-fearing man and more a servant than any peasant in croatia for it is i they look to when their food runs scarce. it is i they look to for religious guidance and it is i they blame when their children die of malady. ‘ his voice raised at the mentioning of children, a subtle crack in his throat to indicate his effort to conceal his poignancy. ‘ they don’t judge you as they judge me and my love, ‘ his gaze finally met with her own ‘ i’m sorry, but they never will. this world is not ready for your fire. ‘
