the guard {h.s.}

9- la lune

Harry regretted his words as soon as they were out of his mouth. He regretted knowing that he was responsible for the submissive bow of the princess's head as she schooled her expression into perfect neutrality. Even without her confirmation, Harry was intelligent to know that there was nothing neutral about the internal emotions of the princess in that moment. For, before she had spun, he had watched the slight pull in her brows and the tightening of her lip. He knew that she was biting her tongue. But, for the life of him, Harry couldn't figure out why.

It was the confusion of that moment—the wondering of why the princess would hold her thoughts from him, emphasis being on she a princess and he a meager guard—that prevented him from opening his mouth and eating his words. There was nothing he wanted to do more. Harry abhorred the knowledge that he was responsible for such a beating on the spirit of the princess. Prior to their escape, Harry would admit with ease that he hardly knew the princess. For some reason, he now felt qualified to speak on behalf of the princess. He would paint her with the picture of his words as indomitable. Whether or not this statement would be accurate, he was intent on giving the princess her merit. It's clear to him now that the princess had been guarded, sheltered from the life that her parents were living. But, on the other hand, Harry finds it to be just as clear that she refuses to back down. An admirable trait, the guard finds himself acknowledging. Admirable, to be sure.

Without realizing it, Harry had begun his mindless pacing again. He found himself walking through the collection of the brush without much active thought in his brain—just the continuous mulling and turning over of the information that the guard had just received. Harry would be lying if he said he wasn't intrigued by the princess. He wanted to know more about her than what little he knew, but there was a voice in the back of his head saying that it would never be enough.

Harry was terrified by this voice.

So, he continues walking. He doesn't let himself think so actively about the siege on the castle or the princess herself. Instead, he focuses on his mother. Painful as it is, he doesn't let himself back away from the information. He forces himself to think about what might have happened to the woman. Flighty as she might have been while he was a child, Harry has a hard time believing that his mother would have just left without a word. But, he has a harder time believing that there is no one in the world who would contact him upon her death. Certainly, Harry thinks to himself, certainly someone knew.

The alternative is much too painful for him to even consider; the guilt of it would bury him alive. It would bury him while he is still breathing, and Harry can't imagine a worse way to go. Stuck in a sort of stalemate between the thoughts he finds most painful, he instead opts for nothing. He pulls the cards out of his packet—a guard is never caught without a pack of cards—and begins to shuffle without conscious thought as he walks.

Gwen watches this all.

She doesn't want to watch him. In fact, she returned into the cottage indignant and angered. Walking away, she'd felt timid and scared; not wanting to separate from the guard as she knew that by his side was the singular place that she felt herself to be safe. But, the second that the cottage door shut behind her, she felt herself stewing with a sort of anger. She couldn't believe the ease by which he sent her away. She understood that she may have stepped on his toes—Gwen had a habit of doing that—but she couldn't believe that he would not give her a chance for redemption. A princess through and through, Gwen was not used to being told no.

It pained her that she felt so inclined to watch him from the window. She first found herself attempting to bury in one of the books that remained around the cottage. Try as she might, the words refused to stick. Gwen had never been much inclined after literature anyway—she felt it to be far too passive of an occupation—but she was aware that this was particularly bad. After reading the first sentence no less than seven times without a single word making sense in her brain, she slammed the book shut and let her eyes follow the guard.