His Queen

28.

A/N; hi! This is a very very important chapter. Read carefully. This is the bomb hahahah

———————

Who are you?
Who are you?

It once delivered joy to him for he was bound to make memories with his son. Writings that are to be written upon a blank paper. Yet here he was; four summers later, and the query could not bring forth anymore deep, scalding pain.

For who was he?
In the eyes of his son, who was he?

He was born anew, that vital moment that evergreen eyes met the world once more. Some remained, some woefully forgotten.

Once more, the pages of love and memories were burnt to ashes. A painfully blank paper awaits. Three months of pain; his and the kingdom's heart raw and bleeding. His love would have been here, completing the year with them. For how could he let her leave him; ten months and not be with him until the year changes?

Indeed three months is anything but a year. But it is, all the same for him. For he welcomed the new year with trembling arms for his son, lacking the love that his wife could only provide.

In his eyes,
a year had passed.
A year of growth,
a year of bitter-sweet happiness,
a year of lost love.

A year that shall never stop until he avenged what was taken from him.

He knew not who the bastard is, yet he will.

He will.

Now, as he stared at his son of four summers, he could help not but shed a tear.

My son, how could you forget Papa and Mama?
My little Harry, you promised to return; yet not like this.

Not like this.

His head shakes with a broken sob muffling past his lips, as his trembling hand tenderly runs through the soft hair of the sleeping prince.

There was he, a fallen King that begs to be redeemed as he silently cries through the peaks of the bleak night.

"Why must it be so hard, little lad," he whispers through the quiet chambers of his son and he continues, "I try so hard to complete this kingdom. Success had been redeemed after such fall, yet it seems that my success upon you would take longer than I could bear. I try so hard little Harry. I try. I try." He repeats brokenly as his whispers drift through the quiet night.

So tranquil, yet so scalding.

For this was not how nights were supposed to be.

No.
No.

The prince stirs beneath his ghosting touch, sleep lidded eyes striking through him beneath the soft candle light.

A whisk of hope.
Hope of return.

A glimmering hope.
Hope of remembrance redeemed.

And at that very moment, both die. Like small flames of candle light blown, smoke gently dancing through the air.

"Papa." The young prince speaks, a smile upon his lips.

The king however, hangs onto the promise of hope, for this, this was how he was before.

Please. My little lad, I know you are in there.

Please. Please.

"Yes my little lad?" Ever so slowly his eyes brighten, holding; grasping to something he so desperately wished and longed for.