Guinevere's eyebrows jumped. "Did you wound him?"
Alexander smirked. "I am not unfair." A simple cut on the wrist could hardly be termed as a wound.
"Did he wound you?"
"I would never allow that." although now he wished he had. Years after marriage and he still craved her attention. She was a mighty force that rattled his existence and now he could never live without her.
"Why did you come alone?" He looked around. She was perfectly without her maid or a guard.
"I needed a moment to myself. To think."
"About what?"
She harrumphed. "Nothing in particular, everything universally, I suppose."
"About us?" Alexander asked carefully, fearing her answer. Should he not have come? But she had left instruction denoting her whereabouts. Should he still have refrained from seeking her out?
She raised her eyes to him and his heart lost a beat. However, her smile broke out. "Alexander," she called affectionately, "it is the one thing that never causes worrying thoughts."
His errant heart calmed. "What are you thinking about, then?"
Silence. Then, "The future. Our future." Throwing the remainder of the pebbles in the brook, Guinevere retreated and planted herself on the grass.
"Guinevere, do not sit there." He hurried to her. "The ground is cold. You have hardly recovered."
"It has been a month, Alexander," she returned almost immediately, her smile fading. "I am very much recovered. Perfectly so."
"The ground remains cold still."
"Come warm me then." She held out her hand, invitingly, "Sit beside me." When he made no movement, she waved her hands, blinking easily. "Do not delay, my love. It is annoyingly cold, I must tell."
He was caught. Tenacious, she was at all times. Agreeable, he was with her in all seasons.
Alexander dropped himself beside her, and looked around. This cove was his sanctuary, their sanctuary. A protection from the madness of the crown, a place hidden from the guards and the maids. From his brother even. A place he alone could enjoy. A place they alone could enjoy.
Recalling the very first time he ever brought her to his secret place, his lips pulled up. He had slept off the moment he laid down, and even though she claimed to hate him then, she did not leave, waiting beside him until it was eve and their whereabouts were being questioned. But she had left the next day, and he had been frantic in returning her to his side.
He reached out his hand and held Guinevere by her waist, pulling her to himself. She obliged. "What are your concerns for our future?"
A moment passed.
One hand about her waist, she placed hers on the other that laid on knee. "I must apologise for…"
"Guinevere." He breathed out, knowledgeable of her train of thoughts.
"But I must."
"For what crime?"
"I might never be able to bear you heirs." He grimaced. "I am truly sorry."
Were his family in cohorts? "This very afternoon," he began, an amused smile coming to sit on his lips. "Brand questioned, asking if I did care that we are yet without children. Do you know what I think, my beloved?"
"No." She whispered.
He rubbed her hair slowly, patting her. "In a thousand years from now, a hundred even, when all who knows of and knows me have retired to their graves, and perhaps the scrolls of my lifetime lost or destroyed. Who would remember me?"
Guinevere scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Alexander…"
"I do think of the future." He took her hand and stayed it over his heart. "But it is the present that has me preoccupied most of the time," he kissed her temple. "Especially ones as consuming as this, where I am fortunate enough to be with you."
Her smile appeared faintly. "Your words are soothing to my hearing."
"Why?" he searched her face and found doubt. She doubted him? "You do not think us fortunate?"
"I rather think myself very fortunate to have received your love, even if I am undeserving of it." Her hand left her lap, as did the other he placed over his heart. She pulled her knees to herself and held them there.
"Undeserving?" he echoed, taken aback.
He should be the one to speak such words, after all, she had forgiven him for the odious mannerism of which he brought her to the castle, and loved him nonetheless. Day after day, he was overwhelmed by her grace, her wit and the ease with which she commanded the respect due her.
Beyond the crown, she reminded him that he was still just a man. She helped him realise how selfish and fallible he was, teaching him to be a better man, a better king, and loving him regardless of his mistakes. She never loved him for the crown but for himself, giving him all the love he had ever wished for and more.
He was most undeserving of her.
"You have loved me for as long as you have known me," she said quietly. "And I am sorry I have failed you."
"Guinevere…"
"I wish I could," her voice fell, "but after our disappointments, I must accept that I may never bear you children."
Tears had gathered in her eyes, and Alexander felt his heart break. How he despised those tears. "Would you listen to me, my love?"
"I have always wanted a family," she continued, refusing to let him speak, refusing to let him console her. "Not only for me, but now for you as well. You cater to the entire kingdom, and even though you act strictly with His Highness, it is unhidden how much you love and dote on him like one would a son." She held her hands to her eyes. "Goodness! You think of him as your son." The hands came down. "You need your heirs and I—" her voice cracked. "I have disappointed you. Forgive me."
Alexander gathered her into his embrace and held her tightly, shielding her from the storm in her heart, as he could. And then he waited. He waited until she was spent from her sobbing, and her trembling calmed.
Softly, he kissed her forehead, comforting her. Guinevere was a woman whose emotions were fierce and focused, fired in her blazing anger, ardent in her deep passion, especially when she responded to his ministrations. This… this quiet sorrow was unusual.
Has she heard any unkind words?
Did anyone ask stupid questions?
Had her monthly visitor returned after their last misfortune?
In the days leading to the visit of her monthly caller, and the days succeeding it, he alone knew the despair she felt at each disappointment. When the sadness would overwhelm her and she would cry in secret. He alone had heard her in those nights when the bleeding had first appeared and her despair would gain the greatest of her. Nights when he had held her close, consoling her as he did now, until she would will herself out of the mire, becoming once again the smiling, strong queen the nation knew and adored.
He alone held her all six times they had lost each baby before they could celebrate the life given, before they could welcome it to their arms.
Gently, Alexander took Guinevere's face, caressing her chin. No matter how strong she was, he would be stronger, to protect her, to keep her from all hurts.
"Look at me," he murmured. She refused, shaking her head. Carefully, he wiped the offending tears and lifted her chin with a softness he had only shown to her. "Please? My love?" and he waited.
Finally, she did. The blue orbs held tears, and his heart clenched painfully at the sight of them.
He exhaled slowly. "Have you ever seen me unhappy?" No answer. "Have you?" Guinevere shook her head, sniffing. "From the day you accepted my love, from the moment you told me you loved me until this very second, I have been gloriously ravaged with happiness."
"But—"
"But nothing," he interrupted her gently, and firmly. "If anything, I should be the one apologising."
She choked and mewled. "Why?"
"I promised to give you all you desired, and I have failed."
He remembered her sincere wishes. He remembered them all too well. A husband who respected her, children of her own to surround her breakfast table, and an unreasonably large kitchen.
Children of her own.
"I am sorry." He said.
"Alexander, don't say—"
"But I speak the truth."
He could command men of great power and might; men who other people trembled before, bending them to his will, yet he could not command away the tears from his wife, set her despair afar, nor give her what she wanted the most.
He brought her hand to his lips and kissed her palm. "I wish I could give a decree to see it done. But alas, the might of my power is all but limited."
"The blame is not yours." She pressed the hand he was kissing to his face. "Perchance it is fate, who had deemed us unfit to bear children."
Alexander almost laughed at the absurdity. She would comfort him now? How ironic.
Lightly, he took her face and planted an easy kiss at the corner of her mouth. "If fate says we cannot have children, then I do not care for them. You are all I care for, Guinevere, and I wish… I wish you would see it rather than what perhaps cannot be. It breaks my heart to see you sad."
She hesitated a moment, then placed a trail of kisses on his cheek, his eyes, his forehead. "I love you, Alexander," she whispered, "and I was a fool to punish you for chasing me."
"But I caught you," he said, his hand flirting over her collarbone. And then he kissed her jaw. "And I am never letting you go."
Her eyes glistened with unshed tears. "I let you catch me."
He smiled. This was her, this was his Guinevere. Fierce and determined, never one to surrender outright, and he loved her all the more for it.
"And I am the most fortunate, not because of title or wealth, but because I have you, the greatest of all women." He kissed her shoulder reverently.
"You exaggerate."
"Believe me, I do not. I would be a fool to." Then he took her chin, and bringing her face to his, kissed her deeply, tenderly, as if his world began and ended with her.
And surely, it did.