Take The Heart I Never Wanted to Give

Chapter 30

The dining hall doors closed with a resounding slam, leaving the two monarchs in tense, bordering on hostile silence. John laid slouching in his seat, weariness taking its toll on his demeanor and thoughts. Naomi sat stiffly in her own chair, nails digging rivets into the skin of her palms, quiet fury clouding her scent.

"John," she says through clenched teeth.

He eyes her sideways, a second warning that won't be granted the next time. She shoves down the spark of rage that shoves it way up her throat and raises a placating hand.

"Your Highness," she corrects. "I would request if you felt so kind as to do so, an explanation for this deviation in your original plans as well as the deal we graciously agreed on. If you wish," she adds on despite the strain it took to do so.

She thinks for a brief moment that he had ignored and the rage forces its way back up before it's quelled with a long sigh from the man in question. He leans forward in his chair and stares intently at his lap, his eyes unfocused and disturbingly distant.

"How long have you run your kingdom, Naomi?" He asks suddenly, eyes still not meeting hers.

The question throws her, brows drawing in confusion at the randomness. "I beg your pardon?"

He finally looks at her but she's not entirely sure he sees her, the far-away look firmly in place. "How long have you run your kingdom?" He repeats, though this time it's slower and much more tired.

"Ten years," she says this time, frustration at such a random question growing just as quickly as the rage had. "I don't see how—"

"I inherited my kingdom at the age of 8," he interrupts softly.

Naomi quiets, thoroughly shocked at the confession. Ruling a kingdom at a young age was not unheard of. That being said, "young" meant 15, at the very least 14 years of age, and even then, said child would have 5-6 years of training in royal politics under their belt to assist. Eight was far too young, training for such a thing nearly always began at the age of 10. John would have had no training in becoming a king so young.

"My father disappeared when I was seven," he continues, unaware of Naomi's shock, "The High Council spun his disappearance in such a way that implied he had been killed in battle. Only those living inside this castle knew that wasn't true. Of course, he's long dead by now, but no one truly knows what happened to him. He just," John spread his fingers limply like he's released a cloud of smoke, "vanished. The High Council refused to find an outside man of royal blood to rule, my mother was out of the question due to her own lineage and sudden madness at my father disappearing, and seeing as I was his only son, they saw fit to crown me king. Fools," he spat, brief anger overtaking his features. "What the hell was an eight-year-old child supposed to do with one of the oldest kingdoms in this region?"

Naomi watches as the man dissipates into weariness again, a shaky hand coming up to cover his face. "44 years, Naomi," he murmurs. "44. <i>Years.</i>" he repeats with a slight tremor in his voice. "I have run this kingdom for 44 years and I'm <i>tired.</i> I'm tired of all the mistakes, I'm tired of the lies, I'm tired of traitors and vile men in my ear convincing me my wrongs were right. I'm tired..." he pauses, swallowing down a lump in his throat. "I'm tired of the wedge I've driven between me and my children. A wedge I made. A wedge I'm not even sure I can remove any longer." John lowers his hand, some of the fogginess had vacated his eyes and they bore into Naomi's soul. "I miss my children Naomi. I miss the brief moment of happiness I had when they came into this world, where my wife still kept me sane." He reaches out and places a careful hand on Naomi's shoulder who barely hides a flinch. "Once again I apologize for dragging you and your sons into my half-mad decisions. And I'm sorry for ending our relations so abruptly, but I cannot allow this to continue much further than it has. We will discuss the issue of our children's mating tomorrow. Until then, I will leave you be. I...will retire to my chambers and..." he pauses again and nods as if he's come to a conclusion. "I will think greatly on my actions and my future ones. Good day to you, Naomi."

The man bows in her direction and stands to slowly make his way out of the dining hall, the door closing with a much softer thud than earlier. Naomi sat there shell shocked, an array of emotions swirling violently in her being.

"Shit," she whispers, nails drumming wildly against the oak wood table. "Shit!" she bellows, a hand slamming down loudly on the table, silverware rattling at the sudden violent motion. She stands up quickly from her chair and makes her way down the cellar. She and Alastair have pressing business to attend to.