Headcanon that Crisélia and Augusto were once more than friends. Takes place years before the pilot. For my dear @acourtoftruelove 😉
~800 words
Crisélia Monferatto, Queen of Montemor, adjusts the mourning band on her arm. She grips the balcony rail, her knuckles turning white as she breathes in the fresh air, needing to get away from the pitiful looks and the stifling atmosphere of the mourners. The sky is clear, not a single cloud to be seen, the streets quiet and sombre and it seems so wrong.
It seems wrong that the universe should not mourn with her, that it should not grieve for her brother, grieve for the kingdom that lost its king too soon.
It seems wrong that the heavens have not opened, haven't shed every last raindrop, like she has shed tears and she feels the weight of her duty crushing her.
Queen of Montemor.
Even the title tastes bitter in her thoughts.
Afonso was supposed to rule. Her dear brother, not yet twenty but he was supposed to be king for decades to come.
She still can't get the image of his lifeless body out of her mind, can’t believe that she’ll never hear him laugh or see him smile. She shakes her head, a futile attempt at trying to rid herself of the thoughts that plague her, like carrion birds to a corpse.
Someone clears their throat behind her, and Crisélia straightens her shoulders, hastily wiping away the last trace of tears.
Queen of Montemor.
Augusto stands awkwardly, shifting on his feet. His head is bowed, shoulders slumped and he looks anything but a king. "My condolences, your majesty."
Formal words, respectful distance.
Nothing to suggest that just days before, those lips had whispered sweet promises of a future, those arms held her through the night, those eyes looked at her with such tenderness, she'd felt it in her very soul.
She inclines her head, accepting his words but she can't make herself meet his gaze. She knows what the consequences of losing her brother are, and although the dread of ruling a kingdom settles deep within her, it's the personal loss that makes her heart ache.
She can't help but wonder what future would have awaited her if she went further with the courtship. If she decided to become Queen Consort of Artena.
But the people of Montemor would never accept it and the decision is already made.
"Your brother was a good man," Augusto says. He pauses, and though she still avoids his gaze she can tell he is thinking through his words. "And a good king."
Not that he had long to prove it, she thinks bitterly.
"Thank you, your majesty."
It's the first she's said to him since discovering her brother’s passing, but the words are clipped, and she only says it as a formality.
She doesn't think she has the courage to say what she really wants.
Couldn't, even if she had.
But Augusto takes it as an opening and steps forward, hesitantly. "If there's anything I can do, anything you need-"
She shakes her head, cutting him off. "I appreciate that, but I don't think there's anything you could do."
I need you, she wants to say, but chokes back the words, trying to keep her head cool.
"Crisélia..." Augusto sighs, running his hand through his dark hair. She's never known him to be so nervous, always cool and suave. Always kind. "It feels wrong for me to ask this but I want to know what's to become of us."
"I-" she starts, looking at the hope shining in his eyes and she finds herself at a loss for words. She wants nothing more than to keep that hope flaring, to say that yes, maybe they have a chance.
But she knows better than that and she hates herself for the way his eyes dim as she whispers, "I think you should go back to Artena. Thank you, for being here and for all that you were to my brother."
All that you could've been to me remains unspoken.
It’s not lost on her that Afonso was the reason she met Augusto and the reason she has to let him go.
Augusto nods, something like regret flickering in those bright blue eyes and she turns away again.
She needs to get away from here, needs to find somewhere else to clear her head. She'll take the pitying looks of the courtiers over the lost hope of the King of Artena.
"I'm sorry," she says, wanting that to be enough, always wanting, and knowing it never could be.
Queen of Montemor.
She strides past him, not daring to look back at her once-future, not daring to look back at the person who could have been her so-much-more.
Crisélia shuts the door behind her, closing that unwritten chapter of her life and thinks of the future.
