The King's Artist

Ch 53: A Sweet Kiss of Alcohol

Adelaide had never understood what it felt like to hate someone. Her world had been so small, revolving around Henry and the people who revolved around him. She had never had enough energy or time to grow to hate someone. At most, she disliked a few people. But never hate. 

But she hated Elizabeth of York. 

She had heard so many things about the young woman, who was probably lurking somewhere in London giddy over the prospect of becoming queen. Adelaide wondered if she enjoyed it; the repetitive pattern of title changes she seemed to stumble through. It must be exhausting going from the daughter of the king to the sister of the king, and now to the niece of the king. And one day she was going to be the queen to the king. The thought had Adelaide downing another glass of whatever alcohol she was drinking. She'd had so much to drink she couldn't recall its name. 

Henry had been to see her since the announcement. A couple of times. But both visits had ended with Adelaide crying and Henry looking so pained that it just made her cry more. They had both known this day was eventually going to come, but now that it had arrived, the pain was unbearable. Every moment that Adelaide spent awake was filled with images of the perfect Elizabeth who was going to take away her Henry. 

Another swig. Another burn. A cough. 

Charity sat on the floor next to her. They were at the foot of the bed to Adelaide's room, sitting in front of the fire. Neither had said anything for a while. Eventually, Adelaide was going to have to get up and return to her duties. She was currently faking an illness, but that could only last so long before people would start to get overly worried. 

"I hear she's a beauty," Adelaide suddenly blurted. "People who have seen her can't seem to shut up about how tall she is, how fair her complexion is, or how gorgeous her reddish-gold hair is."

"Addie," Charity whispered softly. 

"I'm sure Henry will fall in love in no time," she continued. "He'll forget all about me and have loads of children with her. I'm sure she's going to make a great queen."

Charity said something else, but Adelaide didn't hear her. It seemed that her drunkness was gradually leaning more into her anger than it was her sadness. Abruptly, Adelaide got to her feet, swaying dangerously. The entire room tilted precariously and she felt her stomach give a shaky gurgle. 

"Maybe I should marry Kayden," she began to rant. "That'll be my payback. I'll marry Kayden and have hundreds of children and be so happy, while he's off ruling England with little miss York."

Of course, she would never do that. Her being miserable was one thing, but being intentionally cruel to Kayden? No, she couldn't do that but drunk her didn't know that. 

"Maybe I'll become a famous painter and just paint Henry as super ugly in every portrait!" Adelaide's rant was gaining volume and Charity's panic seemed to be rising. Several times she attempted to grab Adelaide and bring her to the bed or at least get the bottle out of her hands. 

Suddenly, the door to Adelaide's room flung open. Charity froze mid-swipe as Henry entered the room. Dark bags hung under his eyes, purpled and deep. His eyes were rimmed red and his hair tousled and tangled. He looked about as bad as Adelaide was bound to feel tomorrow morning. 

Without a word, Charity nodded her head and slipped out of the room, leaving Henry to stare at a dizzy Adelaide still shouting slurs. His movements were surprisingly quick as he grabbed Adelaide around the waist and wrestled the drink from her vice-like grip. She fought, throwing her head this way and that, before catching Henry in the mouth. He grunted but didn't let her go. He effortlessly lifted her and discarded her onto the bed like she was a bag of feathers. 

"Why are you here?" Adelaide had intended for her voice to come out firm and strong, but it had escaped as a whimper instead. The agony that passed through Henry's face seemed to physically wound him. 

"Adelaide," he whispered, his voice breaking midway through her name. 

The future king of England crouched down on the bed and rested his head in the crook of her shoulder. He wrapped his arms tightly around her waist and tugged her to him. The warmth of him, the smell of sweat and alcohol, sobered Adelaide a little. She stopped thrashing around but didn't return Henry's hold. The only reaction she could muster was a hand lazily drifting through his hair, occasionally loosening the knots and other items making them worse. 

"I'm sorry," she croaked. Silent tears traced a repeated pattern down her cheeks, but Adelaide could feel the side of her neck becoming damp. "I thought that when this day came I would be strong."

Henry didn't say anything. 

"I wanted to be able to face you and smile. To be able to support you and England," she continued, her voice so quiet she barely could hear it herself. "I didn't know it would hurt this much."

What sounded like a muffled sob wracked through Henry. Before Adelaide could say anything else, he was kissing her. It was fierce and messy, a mingle of tears and hair and longing. 

"I love you," Henry said against her mouth. "I love you so much."

And Adelaide knew he did. She had never doubted his affections for her. But she had always known that being with him, no matter in what shape or form or capacity, came with limitations and barriers. Henry was to be king. Not for himself, but for the Yorks and Tudors. He had long since discarded his own desires and needs in place of what his people needed.

"Will you still stay with me?" Henry asked in a hushed tone. His entire body had gone rigid and he hung his head, avoiding eye contact. Adelaide knew it was the most that he would permit himself to ask. They both knew he was being cruel, but they also both knew they weren't ready to part. 

So, though Adelaide didn't know for how long she'd be allowed to stay, if it would be just for tonight or until the moment he was married, she would stay. Because she was much more than a simple lover. 

"Of course I'll stay," she eventually said back. She wrapped her arms around his neck and held him tightly to her. "But, just so you know, I'm not going to like her."

Henry laughed a little under his breath.

"As long as you're with me, I might be able to pull this off," he whispered.

And Adelaide knew he would. Because though his ties to the throne were dubious, it was unquestionable that Henry was born to be a king.