The King ~ Timothée Chalamet

Surely doomed

King~ Ch 8

Amice let out a slow breath as she sized up the tree across the small clearing. She was alone, far beyond the castle walls, releasing arrow after arrow into the trunk of an old oak tree.

She had taken a white steed on her trek, and the beast grazed on the lush grass nearby.

Amice released her eleventh arrow, and it let out a sharp twang as it embedded into the bark of the aged wood.

She stared at the line of red in the tree, recalling how one of her arrows had saved the kings life but a few short days before.

As she drew back another arrow, she felt a pang of frustration flow through her, causing her to tug sharply on the bow string, snapping it in two. She stared at the broken weapon numbly, before muttering under her breath and slamming the whole thing down onto the ground.

She sighed, before venturing to sit beside where her horse fed.

Taking a small blade from its holster, she began knocking at the dried dirt beside her, her mind riddled with thoughts.

Had Henry agreed to go to war? What would become of England if they lost? Should she have tired harder to influence him? Should she have not tried at all?

Sighing once more, she stood, coming to one finite conclusion: she was in way over her head.

~

She rode back to the castle briskly, in search of another bow.

When she dismounted her steed, she did not wait for greetings from the knights nor did she nod to them in passing. She simply made a beeline for her room, swinging the door open sharply as she entered.

But she quickly came to a halt.

"Amice?" Henry spoke, his voice tired and shocked.

He was stood in the centre of her room, two knights beside him.

Amice felt a shiver run down her spine, had he come at arrest her? To kick her out?

Her eyes narrowed as she sized up the two men, but when they made no move towards her, she continued on her quest for a new bow string.

"Leave us." Muttered Henry to the men, and they nodded before briskly exiting her chamber.

"I thought you had left." His voice was almost a whisper, far from the angry shouts it had emitted earlier. He sounded like a boy again, lost and alone.

"Did you want me to?"

"No. No of course not. I just- where were you?"

"I was training." She kept her reply curt, still rummaging in a large chest, not meeting his eyes. She had realised the intent of the men- they were the makings of a search party.

"You weren't in the yard."

"I went for a ride."

"Oh. Where to?"

"Not far."

He couldn't take it any longer.
"Amice, please, look at me." His voice was pleading.

She stood silently, still facing away from him, before turning eerily slowly. Her powerful gaze cut into him and he shivered under it.

"What is it Henry?" She sounded tired and exhausted... of him.

"I- I'm not going to war with France."

She let out a strangled cough.
"You're not?"

"No."

She opened her mouth, about to speak again, but snapped it shut, opting instead for a polite nod, before turning to continue her search.