The King ~ Timothée Chalamet

Never alone

King~ Ch 10

Amice stood on the concrete balcony, leaning on the ornate carved out rail. Her forearms rested on it nonchalantly, her body weight supported by them. Her injured shoulder screamed out in protest but she ignored it, the bandages doing their duty.

The cold night air nipped at her skin, reddening her nose and cheeks. A cool wind whipped her hair about her, the strands entangling in a flurry.

Her tired eyes observed the sleeping city, watching the scarce movement of passers by, and the few lights that flickered in the distance.

But the night sky was alive, for stars danced overhead, entertaining the glistening moon as it illuminated the darkened world.

Amice drew in a heavy breath, the sharp air staining at her lungs. Her thoughts ran away with the breeze, her mind lost in thought.

Henry watched her through the glass of the door. She seemed so peaceful, he did not want to disturb her thoughts. Yet, his own selfish worry got the best of him, and he turned the handle, stepping out to join her.

Amice did not turn as leant beside her, mimicking her position. The icy night brought a shiver to his spine, and his feet were cold on the cobblestone. But he did not worry for his own well-being.

From the corner of his eye, he watched her. Her hands were limp against one another; resting. His gaze traced up to her shoulder and there he spied a tightly wound bandage, and he was unable to stop himself from cringing. But what truly brought a dagger to his heart was her expression- her delicate rosey cheeks tear stained and lifeless. Even in the twilight, he could see her saddened eyes, moistened by emotion, yet seemingly empty. This usually fierce looking girl suddenly looked so small, so broken. She looked like she needed comfort, affection, care. Yet in that moment, Henry found himself lost for words, and so a silence hung between them, haunting and distancing. And so he turned back to the city, his eyes scanning the streets, looking for some sort of comfort in the blackness.

Until finally, a voice broke the silence. It was quiet and unsure, hopeless and exhausted. "Who was he?"

Henry's gaze shot to her, yet hers remained, cold and empty.

"I do not know." He spoke. He wanted to reassure her. To promise that he would find out who did this, who wanted her hurt. But he knew that it was a promise he was unsure he would be able to keep.

"It's too much." She whispered, more to herself.

"Yes. It is." He agreed, already knowing her well enough to understand what she meant. "And yet we must do it."

"No. You must do it. It is your duty as king. But me? Who am I to them? Who am I to tell them what is right or wrong? Who am I to sleep within the castle walls and dine at glorious feasts? Who am I to dress in wondrous gowns and sit at the royal table? I am nothing more than a lucky shot. They need you. They do not need me." Her tone was broken as she waged a war within her mind. Another tear escaped her but she made no attempt to wipe it away. She was not ashamed of her emotions: her sadness, her loss... her fear.

Henry weighed the words carefully. Each syllable tugged at his heart. She seemed so hopeless, she was destroying herself with thoughts of worthlessness.

It took him a moment to reply, but when he did, he felt a weight lift off of his shoulders.

"Perhaps not. Perhaps the men in the courtyard do not want to listen to the commands of a woman. Perhaps the people in the streets do not see you as worthy. Perhaps even you do not see how no gold nor silver nor jewels could ever be your equal. But none of that matters. It does not matter what they say about you or think about you. Because to me, you matter. There is nobody to tell me no but you. Nobody to put me on my arse in a battlefield, nobody to put me in my place, nobody to show me the colours of the world... but you. You may not see it Amice, but I have witnessed something in you that I never have. And from it, I have come to realise... I need you. They may not, but I do. Greatly so. Please. Do not give up on me."

His words drifted off into the night, mingling with the mist of their icy breaths.

He looked away once more to the city below. Only when he felt a cool hand slide over his did he glance to her.

She was looking at him. No, she was looking into him. Her gaze held such passion, such determination, such fury that he dared not look away from its intensity. Her face was suddenly alive again, full of colour and wonder and hope. All because of the boy before her. He was a leader, a swordsman... a king. But to her, he was the realest person she had ever met.

And so, she took his hand and wrapped both of hers around it, looking at him.

His touch was warm and it made her feel alive.

Her hands were gentle and it made him feel safe.

They were two strangers, lost and alone in the world. But together, they had come to realise, they needed one another.

~

And so, Henry showed Amice into a bedroom across from his, where they bid each other farewell at the doorstep. Finally, they were able to find sleep, at peace, but not alone... no, never alone.