Alternate Realities

Prisoner's Crown

A little surmising on what follows King's Cage.

Cal approached his bed chamber anxious and dreading the next ritual more than any leading up to it. His mind held painful reminders of every intimate encounter and all were too fresh, too precious to wash over with someone else. He feared recalling a kiss in the rain and not remembering the taste of salt from her sweat. He craved the sparks from her fingertips on his back. He wanted to see the flush of red pulsing under her skin. Behind the door which guarded his upbringing, he'd find nothing of his roguish past. Just every reminder of a life lived soley to become a silver King with a silver Queen in a silver country.

His crown was not his companion but his prison, and forever he would be bound not just to it, but a woman so unlike his true love, that his stomach turned. Cold as metal and twice as sharp as any blade, Evangeline would not set him afire, she would stake him to the ground. He wanted no part of this plan, but even as King, his destiny was not his own.

For her part, Evangeline didn't relish the expectations of their marriage. She knew that there's was no heart in ruling Norta, but she too grieved their union. Unlike Cal, a transgression on her part wouldn't risk leaving complexities. Some how, she knows he will likely be faithful. While she understood and even felt the pressing burden of their obligation, at lest for her, Elane would be a respite. Cal would only have his responsibilities, his kingdom, a wife that would never love him, a bed that would be more cold than warm. Cal may have been the only person in the world with less control than her.

The pity written across her features confused him. Confusion was one emotion too many. His knees weakened. He slid into the chair just inside the door, resigning himself to be present in body and never in mind. Escaping inward, part of him pushed him to run. It wasn't too late to join the Guard at Corvium. To find mare. To break his crown at her feet and yield to her vision, share in all of her hopes, again.

Evangeline moved without sound, avoiding the joints between floorboards and kept even pressure on the souls of her feet. Cal wanted space, separation, time to grieve, but she could not give him the opportunity to run, and until they had completed the last ritual of the night, she knew he might.

His wife's hands landed on his shoulders. Cal drew one last free breath and let it out slow, final. It was too late. The Guard was nothing more than an extension of his kingdom, Corvium an outpost beyond his concern, Mare a lover lost to memories of youthful foolishness. Mare is dreaming alone without him – about a world without him. His prison is tight on his head.

Evangeline made it easier. She encouraged his eyes closed when ever they flickered open and expertly moved through the motions: removing his tunic and pants, separating the clasps of his bracelets, risking a gentile kiss. She tasted less like the iron he expected and more like the wine from diner. But she tasted nothing like Mare.

She'd done it before, but he would never pry into her own heartbreak, a small favor for her compassion for his lack of interest. He could barely look at her, the moments in his head that he used to complete their task a transgression against their marriage. He had already wondered outside of his wife. And he would live with that shame. He hoped for an heir. The only hope he had left.

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