I woke up alone. That wasn't such an uncommon experience for me, but usually it only happened in my own bed. I rolled over and drowsily patted the bed, double checking that King Edward wasn't beside me. It wouldn't have been hard to lose him somewhere in all of the blankets-- the king had a truly massive bed, after all.
But no, he wasn't there. The mattress wasn't even warm anymore, so he obviously hadn't been in bed for a while.
A quick glance at the blinds and the absolute lack of light coming through confirmed my immediate assumption about it being either quite late at night, or quite early in the morning.
I rolled out of bed with less grace than I would have liked, and padded out to the central chamber of the king's private rooms. This served as a combination of a private dining space, a study, and an intimate reception area. It connected to the enormous bedroom and the private bathroom on one one side, and the king's personal library on the other.
None of the connecting rooms were lit, so the king obviously wasn't having a late-night bath or reading session tonight.
For a different man, I might have assumed that he'd gone to his wife's chambers for some private time. But King Edward Greyhill visited the queen's chambers about once a month, and even then only after she reminded him several times that he had a duty to perform. The Greyhill home life was certainly not a warm or loving environment.
But then, if it had been, he wouldn't have needed a mistress, now would he?
I pulled on the white slip I'd worn earlier tonight, and a pair of luxuriously soft slippers. They were lined with real mink fur, and had been a gift from Edward to celebrate the three-month anniversary since he'd officially declared me his mistress.
After a moment's consideration, I also pulled on a plush housecoat that covered me from nape to ankle. It wouldn't do to wander the halls nearly naked, after all. My position had caused enough of a scandal already, no sense adding to it by letting the staff see me in my unmentionables.
I cracked the door to the main hall, and found two soldiers on guard outside. I immediately recognised the pair, seeing as I had made a habit of coming and going from the king's room late at night since he and I had first become intimate four months ago.
"Is his majesty out and about?" I addressed the woman standing at attention to the left of the door, Margaery.
"Aye, my lady," she greeted me with a polite bob of the head. No one really knew where I stood in the official hierarchy, and what greetings, titles, and formalities were necessary. Most of the guards and staff of the castle had opted for "my lady" and head nods that acknowledged my authority without being as deferential as the bows they would offer proper noble ladies. "He left perhaps an hour ago, stating that he wanted to walk around to clear his head. Henrick and Tellyr joined him."
I wrinkled my nose at the mention of the latter's name. Tellyr was the king's personal bodyguard, an ex-gladiator the king had enticed into his service while visiting my home country of Sawarra half a year ago. There was no better fighter in the whole of the country-- the tall, dark-skinned man was worth a squad of soldiers by himself. But I always got the impression he didn't particularly care for me.
"I think I will join his majesty," I informed the guard, although I didn't have to. Strictly speaking, I was allowed to roam the halls at my leisure. But it was always best to stay on the good side of the people whose job it was to keep everyone in the castle alive.
"Very good, my lady," she answered with another deferential nod.
I picked up a candelabra, lit it with a taper, and carried the light source with me as I drifted down the halls. It didn't take me long to find the king: he'd gone exactly where I would have guessed. Tellyr's looming presence outside of the throne room's grandiose doors only confirmed it.
"Is he inside?" I asked, somewhat unnecessarily. Tellyr stared at me motionlessly for so long that I started to wonder if he was just not going to answer. Finally, he gave a slight nod. "And are you going to stand aside so I can go in and see him?"
His answer came quicker this time: a small sidestep that moved him just enough that I could reach past him to open the door leading inside. Enough space that the large man couldn't be said to be blocking my path, but not enough for me to step past him without either turning sideways or bumping into him. And there wasn't much point in me trying the latter, since I wasn't even five-and-a-half feet tall, and Tellyr had the build and physique of the gladiator he started his career as. I could slam into the man at a full sprint and not move him an inch.
"You don't like me very much, do you?" I asked him quietly, not particularly expecting an answer.
To my surprise, after another drawn out stare, he actually deigned to spare a word for me: "No."
"And why is that, Tellyr?"
"The king likes you too much." It was the most words he'd ever spoken to me at once. Speaking six words in a row practically counted as being expansive or effusive for the king's surly bodyguard.
I could have let the matter drop at that, but if there was one thing I hated, it was an unsolved mystery. Even worse when that mystery was a person, and I couldn't figure out what made them tick... and what could be used as leverage for them. "And why is that a problem, Tellyr?"
He sighed and stood there in silence for a minute, and I was about to give up on him when he finally spoke. "The king likes the queen well enough. But if there was a threat to their lives, he'd let the guards secure her however we felt was best. You, he likes much more. For you, he might do something stupid like stand between you and an assailant. That's a vulnerability, and not something he can afford."
I stared slack-jawed at the man for a few long moments.
Was he serious? Did King Edward really care about me enough that he would risk his safety for mine? Sure, he obviously liked me more than he did his own wife, but that was a pretty low bar to clear.
"Thank you for telling me, Tellyr," I answered, and he gave me a shallow nod in return. Figuring that was as much as I could expect to get from him right now-- actually far more than I could ever have hoped for from a man like him-- I turned sideways and sidled past him to step through the door into the king's throne room.
During the day, this was a place of beauty and unrepentant excess. The throne room was meant to wow anyone stepping into it, and a century of architects, designers, and decorators had worked together to accomplish that goal. White marble columns with elaborately carved designs punctuated the space, benches of luxuriously expensive white woods imported from the elven homeland across the ocean flanked the walls, tapestries and paintings created by master artists swaddled the room in luxury, and a brilliant blue carpet ran from the receiving doors to the throne proper to show off the kingdom's casual use of rare and expensive dyes.
At night, illuminated only by the handful of lit sconces and the candelabra beside the king's feet, the room felt distinctly different. The tapestries and paintings were no more than grey-black outlines, the white wood and white marble looked shadowy and faded, and the blue carpet looked like a puddle of inky blackness. What light there was in the room was centered on the throne, with its beautiful white-oak panels inlaid with gold-filigree and topped with rich blue fabric.
The throne stood out in the room like a lone player standing in the spotlight on a darkened stage. And on top of it, wearing a matching blue-and-gold housecoat and slouched under the weight of the world, was the king himself.
Like the rest of the room, King Edward Greyhill was the very image of regal and resplendent during the day, where others might see him. Tonight, with his elbows on his knees and head bowed low as he stared at the crown he held, the king just seemed like a weary, lonely man.
"Your majesty?" I called out softly as I approached the lit circle and the man sitting inside of it. "Edward?"
"Bella." He seemed to come alive as he registered my presence, sitting up straight in the most powerful seat in the realm and reassembling the social armour he wore. "I didn't hear you come in."
"You don't have to put on your official king face." I crossed the rest of the distance until I was standing within arm's reach, one step down on the dais the throne was centered on. "It's just me here."
Edward's shoulders slumped like a balloon whose air was rushing out. "Yes, I... Sorry I left without telling you, my sweet."
"You don't have to update me whenever you feel like leaving a room," I reminded him with a laugh. "You're the king of Amella. I'm just your mistress."
"You're so much more than just that, Arabella." He had stars in his eyes as he looked up at me. The king held out a hand, and I took the last step up to stand beside him and hold his hand. It was funny how in just a few short months, the feeling of his hand on mine had come to feel so natural. "I couldn't sleep, so I left to walk about the castle, and found myself here."
The throne room, the place where ambassadors, dignitaries, envoys, courtiers, and the assembled masses came to look upon the kingdom's throne, the gleaming crown, and the man who happened to fill the space between the two. The place where decisions that would save or ruin thousands of lives were made daily-- where the crown always felt its heaviest, Edward had once told me.
Strange that in times of stress, he always seemed to be drawn here instead of trying to get away from it. He could afford any luxury in the world, yet he always drifted back to the source of the pressure that weighed him down.
"What troubles you, your majesty?"
"The usual, Arabella. Just the combined troubles and concerns of a million subjects, no more than that." He gave a tired smile to punctuate his comment. "Some days it all weighs very heavily."
"That's because you're a good king, Edward."
"Am I?" This was a side of the king that few others saw. Maybe no one else. The anxiety, the fear, the vulnerability.
