All the World (Hand in Hand Chronicles)

Chapter 7: "Instead of ink, I'll write it with my tears"

And that is the story of how I wind up standing before the king of all of England. It is the small hours of the morning. I'm covered in mud and other people's blood.
Next to me stands the crown prince, heir to the throne, not equally muddied, but just about.
We didn't have permission to leave Langley let alone enter the tournament. I'm about to be banished or executed. I don't even care which one but Edward might and I can't ask him right now.
We're both kneeling on the hall of Langley. Edward looks like his fear has taken over leading to rage and he's quivering in anticipation of his father's reaction.
"You left. Without permission. To participate in a joust—?" King Edward asks, staring down at us.
"Yes, your grace," I say.
"Yes, father," Edward says, weakly.
"Next time inform someone where you are going. Now go get cleaned up you're filthy."
What?
"What?" Edward says it.
"You heard me, Edward," the king says, but when I glance up there's nearly a smile in his eyes.
Edward looks at his father's retreating figure, then at me.
I smile.
So we just won?
We did. In the coming days the king inflicts no punishment. His amusement that his normally peaceful son had not only gotten into a brawl, but had also willingly gone to a joust, was more than enough to convince him to deal with us leniently. We are both sent an official message that we needed to actually tell someone if we went jousting.
Later on Edward confirms it with his sisters that their father was primarily entertained. Not annoyed.
And so life slips back into a comfortable routine. By the time fall comes I am accustomed to my finer set of rooms. I don't have a servant but people came and started the fire, and brings us food and wood. Aimee mysteriously has new clothes with the change of season, and is invited to accompany me to the odd dinner if it was going to be interesting enough people.
And I am Edward's loyal shadow. Sometimes I can cajole him into coming to spar with me. More often than not we walk Langley's grounds in his usual non-routine. Sometimes we'll go into town to buy fish. I do not know why he likes chatting with fishermen and just buying several (already dead) fish but he does. I'm equally bemused as to how I became the princes' preferred companion. But I'm glad I am. I truly enjoy Edward's company, and he's pleased enough with mine.
I'm naive enough to think that this is how life perhaps works. I've found a good position. My job is less a job I'm being supported to simply wander about. And I am surprisingly myself with how happy I am. Content rather. I no longer think of going home. My letters to home are getting more and more vague. I tell my brothers I'm doing well. My father that the king is still pleased with me. I don't mention Edward. For some reason it doesn't feel like something anyone needs to know. Like they don't deserve to almost. Even if there really isn't anything to know.
One fall evening, we're getting ready to go to a tournament. I got permission to enter this time so I'm actually cheerful. I'm in a solidly good mood, but I know Edward doesn't usually look forward to this sort of thing. And I know I'm more flippant about it. So I decide to go and tell him I've finished fixing my mail so I'll be grand no reason to worry about me being impaled.
To that end, I set about finding him in his quarters. That's not at all unusual for me to do, to the extent that the staff merely nod in acknowledgement of my presence and little more. I'm a fixture right up there with the dogs.
So when I reach his room and see the door ajar, I don't think anything of it. For some, blessed reason I don't start speaking before walking in, and I catch sight of Edward standing there.
He's not alone.
He's standing there with a girl. A girl probably our age. She's got long black hair, and her eyes are on him like, like I never want some girl to look at me. He's got his hands on her shoulders, and he kisses her lips gently. Her hands slide down his chest.
I bolt.
A sick feeling wells up in my stomach. And I don't know what to do with it. I refuse to let logic prevail until I've run all the way out of Langley. But I'm shaking and some sort of burning rage is crawling about gaining strength behind my collar bone.
Thankfully it's starting to rain because my skin feels like it's on fire.
I walk out towards the trees, pushing water of my face and trying to breath normally again. I need to think about my reaction to that, but I don't want to.
Reluctantly, I let logic back into my head, but only for a moment. I'll evict it again.
That was nothing sordid.
It's perfectly normal for him to have a small affair with some girl working here.
My father had an affair and nobody holds it against him, nobody in the family.
I'm not getting married so I've always assumed I'd have an affair if I wanted. I just don't want to.
That's how people do things, specifically the royals. He'll be engaged for a political union he ought to have someone he just likes.
So what is my problem?
I throw up finally once I reach the trees, just leaning on one for support. I can't take it. I'm going insane. And I need to confront reasons why.
Reason 1: he's never told me about any girl or any crush.
That is not what is wrong and I know it, but I'm going to focus on it for a while. It does make sense. I'm supposed to be his friend. Why hasn't he mentioned a girl he fancies? That's hurtful he could have told me. It really isn't very polite. He honestly could have told me. He's my best friend and he lied to me.
Reason 2: I'm suddenly religious. Yeah, no.
Reason 3: I'm refusing to think about.
Good think.
I run deeper into the woods, screaming up at the thunderstorm till I run out of breath. Then I collapse in my knees in the mud.
I'm jealous.
I'm jealous.
The feeling that's been burning in my chest is unadulterated jealousy. And I know it. And yet I don't even know why. Jealous of what? His attention? He pays attention to me all the time? Him kissing girls when I want to be kissing girls? No. Jealous he likes someone better than me?
Yes, all right, maybe.
But that's different. That's a girl. That's not the same as your—brother. Yes brother. I love him as a brother that's really good. And he lied to me that's rational. A really rational reason to be annoyed with him. Yes.
Is it normal to run till you're out of breath and scream then collapse in the middle of the woods because your only friend was kissing a girl?
Yes, I'm assuming yes I've not lived before so I'll have to assume yes.
But all I know is I'm so jealous I could tear my own heart out and give it to him so he'd know the depth of my pain. And I'm going to ignore for the sake of my sanity that that may not be a normal reaction.
I could kill her. Wait, no, what's wrong with me? Nothing's wrong with me this is normal considering I've no other real friends. And no one likes me.
So why do I still feel his lips on mine when he kissed me that day before we sparred? And his fingers on my tongue as he wiped honey in my mouth? And why do I cease to breath when I think of how his hands were on her shoulders, ready to slide off her dress.
This is killing me, I can't breath.
I gasp, clutching my chest. I don't even like feeling this way. There's something wrong with me I'm sure but I don't know what. Surely someday I'll be all right again but I don't know when. And I want to be all right now. I can't stand this. I'm going insane. How dare he do this to me? This is all his fault.
And every time I close my eyes I see him there. Sunlight reflecting through the water in his golden hair, smile on his face as he pushed me back under the water of the river. That day we swam to the far bank and the dogs followed us one by one. He had to leap back in to help one of the older dogs, and he carried it to shore, water rolling off his back, laughing. That laugh that now echoes through my head.
I think I hate him.
That's it. Yes I truly think I hate him. I despise him. That's what's wrong. I must. That's the only explanation I'm comfortable with it's that I hate him. Why else would I moved thus upon seeing him happy? He was happy in a lover's arms as is a young man's right and I was driven to rage. So I must hate him. I want to hurt him like his existence hurts me. But above all that I never want to see him again or speak to him ever again.
I go back to Langley and slip back up to my room. I'm still burning with rage. Blessedly no one tries to talk to me. Aimee is with friends for the evening.
So I go back to my room and directly out the window. And I climb upon the roof. It's slick with rain but I care very little for my life. The only reason to stay alive is to keep hating Edward. A good enough reason, but not a compelling one when I need to stand in the rain.
No one can see you cry if you're in the rain. And tears are just pouring down my face. I sob, clutching my own chest. I hate him. I hate him. I hate him. This is hate I've never hated anybody so much before in my life. I want to die hating him. And then he'll have to look upon my grave and know this was his fault.
That's a good idea.
I'll get killed.
That's not even that hard I nearly die all the time. I'll get killed and I won't have to hate him this much anymore. It hurts to hate him so badly when I once thought I cared for him.
Thus resolved, I climb back down to my room. I pen a letter to Richmond, who is an Earl which I forget about. But I want to write to him since I'm now going to die.