Four Years Later (A "The False Prince" Fanfic)

One

 Four years since the war ended.

 Eight years since my family sent me away. 

My birthday is in six days, then I will be eighteen. 

Imogen and I have been married for two years. 

Our anniversary is in a week, the day after my birthday. 

I have been the King of Carthya for four years, and already I was growing restless.

I was sitting under the huge willow tree in the King's Garden, thinking these thoughts, all of these numbers. I have been in the castle for far too long. I ache to do something other than sit through boring meetings and dinner engagements.

It's a beautiful day, the sky is bright blue and the sun is warm and inviting. There's a light breeze and it ruffles the long sleeves of my light green shirt. I long to jump right over the wall and go exploring, like I used to. But my days of freedom are over.

My thoughts, once again turn to my family. 

Would they be proud of what I have done with Carthya?

 Would they think that I have made the right decisions?

What bothers me the most, though, is that I never got to say goodbye.

Darius would be twenty-two now. Mother and Father would be in their late fifties. I wonder if Amirenda still loves Darius? 

I don't know. 

I launch myself into fantasies of what they look like now.

I absent-mindedly twirl a piece of grass in between my fingers as I conjure up pictures of them in my head. Father might have gray hair and might have possibly gotten some weight around his middle. Mother would have some gray in her hair, but she would be as beautiful as ever. Darius would probably be more muscular, but that's all I really can think of for him.

"Jaron?" I hear Imogen call at the entrance to the garden. "Can Mott and I come in?" Her sweet voice is full of concern.

"Yes." I call out, not sure if I should be grateful for their company.

 I wanted to be alone, but a king is never truly alone. The guards are watching me through the windows right now. They also patrol the hallways, and some are posted at the entrance to my gardens, just in case they say.

Imogen and Mott walk over to me, and I make no improvement to my posture.

 Imogen is my wife, and Mott has seen me worse before. I can be myself in front of them. I still twirl the piece of grass in between my fingers, still imagining my family.

Imogen leans down and kisses my cheek. I give her a brief smile, but then return to my thoughts. Imogen and Mott know me the best, so of course they figure out something's wrong really fast.

"You seem out of it." Mott comments.

"Just thinking." I say softly. Imogen sits down beside me and wraps one arm around my back. She gently takes the piece of grass out of my hand.

"What's wrong darling?" She asks me. I shake my head and stand up, and then turn around to help her up.

I move my hand over the smooth bark of the willow tree that I was leaning against, and then, in my frustration I make a fist and hit it with all of my might. I am never going to see them again, the fantasies will never become reality.

"Jaron?" She asks again, the concern obvious in her voice. She comes over and takes my fist off of the tree and holds my hand. "What is wrong?"

I turn to look at her, she's just as beautiful as ever. I want to pull her in, to let her hug me, I need comfort. But I am a king, and kings need to be strong.