Love Without Measure

3. Shadows of Ardglass

The wind howled across the cliffs of Ardglass, carrying with it the salt of the sea and the echoes of distant waves crashing against jagged rocks. From his high tower, King Jacques Perseval stood alone, his cloak whipping around him like a storm-tossed banner. The kingdom stretched beneath him, a patchwork of forests, villages, and rivers glinting in the cold afternoon sun. And yet, despite the vastness of his domain, Jacques felt smaller than ever.

He was thirty-five, and he had ruled Ardglass for nearly a decade. His victories in war were spoken of in hushed reverence; his judgments in court were feared and respected. Yet all the power in the world could not fill the hollow ache in his chest, the emptiness that gnawed at him each night in the silence of the castle. The crown was heavy—not only in weight, but in isolation. Friends came and went, allies turned into whispers of betrayal, and trust had become a rare commodity.

The Great Hall, usually filled with the chatter of nobles, the clatter of feasts, and the hum of diplomacy, was today a hollow echo. Servants moved silently, their eyes downcast, as if they sensed the king's solitude and feared to intrude. Jacques had long grown accustomed to their careful distance. He did not desire conversation; he desired understanding, and he had long since learned that understanding was a luxury not afforded to kings.

A messenger arrived that morning, riding through the mists with news that tightened the knot of unease in Jacques' chest. Reports of a neighboring army amassing on the eastern border had reached Ardglass. Though scouts claimed the force was not yet a threat, the memory of past invasions—the scorched villages, the bodies of soldiers, the screams of the innocent—settled in his mind like cold stone. He knew he would have to act swiftly, but the weight of the crown pressed harder than any sword or siege.

As he walked the battlements, Jacques' gaze wandered over the sea. Storm clouds had gathered, dark and restless, mirroring the turmoil inside him. The waves below roared as though urging him to act, to make decisions, to fight. Yet beneath his steel-clad resolve, a different longing throbbed—a yearning for something beyond the battlefield and the throne. A companion. A confidante. A love untouched by ambition or politics. But he had long convinced himself that such things were luxuries for fools.

The door to the tower chamber creaked open, and a young squire appeared, bearing parchments tied with a crimson ribbon. "Your Majesty," the boy said, bowing, "these are the latest reports from the eastern border."

Jacques accepted the documents without a word, his fingers brushing against the parchment with an absent-minded precision. "Thank you," he murmured. His eyes, gray as the storm-laden skies, scanned the maps and letters, noting troop movements, the terrain, the potential weaknesses. Every detail mattered, every decision carried the weight of life and death. Yet even as his mind raced with strategy, a small, almost imperceptible ache whispered in his chest—a question he had long refused to answer: what of life beyond this endless vigilance?

Night fell, and with it, the castle's silence deepened. Torches flickered along the walls, casting shadows that danced like ghosts across the stone. Jacques descended to the Great Hall, alone except for the echo of his boots against the cold floor. He paused before the throne, hands resting lightly on the carved armrests, and stared into the empty room. Here, he was king. Here, he held power over men and women alike. And here, he was utterly alone.

He drew a deep breath, tasting the salt on the air that had traveled from the sea, and for a fleeting moment, he allowed himself to imagine something forbidden: a life not dictated by war or politics, a life where laughter filled the hall instead of silence, where hands reached for his not out of duty, but desire. But reality pressed in, harsh and unyielding, reminding him that kings did not indulge in dreams. Kings ruled, and kings alone suffered.