Gilded Heart

Introduction of a New World

I lift my head, watching the smallest figure in the darkness. His eyes are soft green, hair white as snow. Who is he to me? Everything. I cannot even begin to think of a world without him. 

To him, I am everything. The last thing he has, I would like to think, but I know that's far from true. I can't villainize the woman who brought him into the world, as much I would like to. She cannot be blamed for this.

"Aidan. Sit down, little one." I chuckle, watching as he settles into bed. Silken pajamas that match mine, little blue and white stripes with the letters A.B. looped into the breast pocket. 

"Dad?" his arms are outstretched. I pick him up deftly, shifting my weight. 

"You're getting heavy!" I smile. "What are the cooks feeding you?

"Too much sugar, that's what." a woman appears in the doorway, the hem of her dress brushing against the floor. 

She greets me and Aidan with a respective kiss to each cheek. 

"Anastasie." She's soft, like she's always been. And she looks at me with such trust, what am I to do now? I focus on Aidan. The time to think about it isn't now. There isn't ever a time to think about it. 

"Mama!" Aidan reaches out his hand, and she takes his chubby fingers in her slender ones. "I missed you!"

"I was only gone for a few days. You know I can't stay away from you both for very long." 

Aidan nuzzles into my shoulder, yawning quietly. 

"You must be tired, little prince." I set Aidan down and wrap the covers around him. Soft quilts, in beautiful intricacy. He snuggles a blanket, despite it's roughness. It was meant to be a tapestry, a gift for Anastasie upon the birth of our son. I made it by hand, spinning it into existence bit by bit. 

He loves it, for some reason. Maybe it's the picture of the three of us, forever encased in joy, that makes him feel like everything will last forever. 

Anastasie leans over him, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. "Goodnight, dear." Her hand gently inlocks with mine, and, on instinct, I smile at her. 

"Goodnight, little prince." I say, brushing his hair out of his face as he giggles, snuggling farther into his blankets. "Sleep long and soft."

Anastasie and I slowly inch the door closed behind us, greeting the guards with a nod of our heads. They always stand watch. There are more of them now then ever. It makes me feel paranoid. It makes me feel safe. I'm not whether it helps or hurts. 

"How was your trip home?" I slowly walk side by side with Anastasie. 

"It was lovely." she smiles; her smile brings back memories. She smiles just like her brother, and just like me. The smile we all learned from each other. "It's always good to see Percival and my mom and dad."

"I wish I could have gone with you. It's been ages since I've seen him." Her hand is still tight in mine. It feels right, yet wrong. Her hand too soft, too steady for my shaking doubt. It will be four years next week. Four years married. And it seems like it was just yesterday. And, sometimes, I wish it was. Maybe then, it'd be easier to run. 

"He does miss you." she and I meander to the left, watching the maids put out the daytime lanterns. "I think they all do."

"They should visit soon." 

"I'll send him a letter." she pauses. "Would you mind if I slept in your chambers tonight?"

I dread this question. It's tradition in the Underground that the king and queen have their own separate chambers. Makes it easier for the women of the court to help the queen get ready for the day every day. She's my wife. I should be happy. I am happy.

"Of course." I send her my best gaze, the softness around the edges that I know she craves. 

I tap a maid on the shoulder. "Gather the Queen's belongings for the night from her room, if you will, please?"

She nods, eyes wide with shock. She must be new. I've never seen her before.

Anastasie whispers something in the maid's ears, and she snickers softly, nodding before rushing away.

"What's that about?" I ask. 

"Oh, nothing. Just wanted to tell Everest to grab my sexiest lingerie from her room." She busts out laughing at my expression. "God, no! Silas!"

"What?!" my ears burn.

"You're so red! I just wanted to remind her to get my best soap!" she twirls my ponytail in her hands. "I just want to sleep."

I let out a small sigh of relief. "I'm sorry. I just don't think I'd want to do that tonight."

"Oh, no! I didn't mean to ask that!" she presses an apologetic kiss to my cheek. "I just wanted to mess with you."

"It was funny. I'm just bad at jokes."

"I know, love."Her eyes, silver and green. Gorgeous, softly tilted upwards. Any man would be lucky to have her. She's understanding and kind, funny and generous. She's a wonderful parent and spouse. Why can't I be that?

What does she see in me? Or, more importantly? What doesn't she see? The letters I send in code under false names and carrier pidgeons that roost in my private tower. The long lines of golden ink and a signed name in return reading:

Ajax.

Ajax. Four years fly by like winter never came. How am I supposed to love you now if you never know? Your script is looping and beautiful, and now I know your words better than your voice. Your face fades in and out of memory. How am I supposed to love a visage? One who I cannot touch. One who I am no longer supposed to love. I never was. 

Tears always threaten to form at the thought of your name. What would you think of me now? If you saw all of this? My wife, my son, my kingdom. All I have seen of you is the golden shimmer in your ivory towers as I stand in the middle of a bloody field. What thief has war made of your heart?

You write your words with tears that stain the pages. You beg me to stop, stop the war, stop my life. Give up everything and run to you. I want to run to you. Justice must be served, a life must be lived. 

My father would have wanted this for me. He would have wanted a wife, a son, and a conquest. He would have wanted unyielding leadership. But, as my hand brushes the still-sore scars that left me blind. How am I supposed to love this now?

The war has taken much from me. It took my right eye, it took my innocence, it took my love. It stole you from under me, swept the rug from under me. Ajax. 

Ajax. 

May your letters never come. I pray for the day you stop sending them. 

And for the day I stop responding.