Fate | Baldwin IV

letter II

Baldwin's POV

I sat slumped in my chair, the cold morning air creeping into the room like a thief. My disheveled hair, tangled like the thoughts in my mind, and the wrinkled state of my robes were a testament to the restless night I'd endured. My mind was a battlefield, the memories of last night clashing violently with the guilt that had settled in my chest. I was still reeling from the intensity of what had almost transpired, and though we hadn't actually committed the act, the sin clung to me, suffocating me.

I let out a weary sigh, rubbing my temples as if to massage away the throbbing headache that had taken root there. My thoughts were in turmoil, not only from the physical desire that had flared up in me— a raw, primal need, something I hadn't felt so strongly before that both frightened and thrilled me —but from the emotional connection that had been forged in those fleeting, heated moments. It was a connection I had long tried to avoid, knowing the cost of indulging in such feelings.

The sound of the door opening made me startle slightly. I looked up, my heart sinking when I saw my mother enter the room. Her presence was always foreboding, like a cloud that loomed over me, and today, her expression was one of thinly veiled concern mixed with the sternness that often accompanied her visits.

"Hello, darling." She greeted with a tight smile, her voice as composed as ever, though there was a slight edge to it. She approached me, taking in my appearance with a raised brow. "You look...unwell."

I straightened in the chair, attempting to smooth my robes, though the effort felt futile. "It was a restless night, that's all."

Her sharp eyes narrowed slightly as she scrutinized me, her gaze piercing through the facade I tried to maintain. "You've never let yourself appear so...disheveled before." Her gaze flicked around the room, taking in the untidy state of her surroundings —the scattered parchments, the untouched breakfast tray, the unmade bed.

I clenched my jaw, avoiding her gaze. I had always been careful, even in my weakest moments, to maintain a semblance of control, but this time it had slipped away from me. Before I could think of a proper response, her attention was drawn to my desk.

"What is this?" she asked, her tone laced with curiosity as she moved toward the desk, her elegant fingers reaching for the folded parchment that lay atop a stack of documents.

I followed her line of sight and felt a jolt of panic. The letter.

I had forgotten about the letter. Before I could react, she had picked it up, her eyes already scanning the parchment.

"Mama, wait—" I began, but it was too late.

Her eyes widened as she read the words, her hand trembling ever so slightly as she absorbed their meaning. My heart raced as I watched her expression shift from surprise to shock, and then to a cold, simmering fury.

She lowered the letter, her eyes now darkened with anger as she turned to face me "So, it's true," she said, her voice low with barely restrained rage. "You've...become entangled with her."

My throat went dry. I couldn't deny it; the evidence was right there in her hands. But I also knew the storm that was brewing within her, and how dangerous it could be.

"It was a moment of weakness," I tried to explain, my voice hoarse. "I never meant for it to go so far."

"A moment of weakness?" she repeated, her voice rising slightly, the thin veneer of calm beginning to crack. "You don't have the luxury to have those. Do you understand the implications of this?" she pointed at the parchment, her gaze searing into me with disbelief. "Hm? You're giving a commoner room to have strong claims. You ever thought of that?"