The Object Of His Thoughts
"Our fathers were once close friends," Lord Cossington began, his voice measured. "But our families' relationship has since soured."
A wave of relief washed over Gwen and unintentionally, she released a breath of air, her erratic heart momentarily calming down. He did not move to disgrace her. She hastily grabbed her cup and emptied its contents in one gulp. When she set it down, the minister seated beside her kindly refilled it. She bowed slightly, thanking him. He gave her a slow smile and she quickly looked away, feeling a pang of discomfort.
"I see." remarked the King, his attention still focused on his meal. "It's a pity about your families falling out." He continued to saw away at the meat on his plate. "Have you truly let go of any lingering feelings?"
Gwen froze.
"Lingering feelings? There are no lingering feelings, Your Majesty." Lord Cossington replied tersely.
"Good," the King mumbled around a mouthful of food. His eyes went to Lord Cossington. "I would hate an altercation in my home."
As Lord Cossington's gaze shifted from the King to the Duke and then to the Prince, Gwen couldn't help but wonder about the events that had transpired after she had left Beth in the corridor. There was certainly something significant there, something she was not privy to. Possibly something she didn't want to know about.
Lost in thought, Gwen felt the minister beside her nudge her with his elbow. "Soup will do you no good, My Lady, unless you mean to faint later," he remarked, taking a piece of meat from his plate and placing it in hers. "Eat this, and gain a bit of strength."
"I am content with my soup, Sir," she insisted, but he paid her no mind, adding yet another piece of meat to her soup.
"Women often claim they are perfectly fine only to swoon in the hands of the closest man," he continued, a hint of amusement in his tone.
Was he insinuating that she might faint in his arms? "Believe me, Sir, I am in no danger of swooning. I am perfectly fine indeed," she reassured him, but he persisted. When he touched her hand in an attempt to hold it, Gwen flinched away as though scalded. Just then, the clacking of cutlery against glassware echoed through the room.
"Ladies and gentlemen," announced the king. "It is a delight and a privilege to have such beautiful faces at our dinner table, no?" Murmurs of agreement rippled through the room. "Let us, in good faith, raise a toast to the lovely ladies: Lady Beth, Lady Lucy, and Lady Guinevere."
Like everyone else, Gwen rose to her feet and lifted her glass in a toast. As she did, her eyes met the King's, and for the third time that day, he returned her gaze with a smile.
***
Days after.
As Alexander stood on the balcony, his gaze traversed the expanse of his estate. He stood, acting as though observing the crowd below, but his attention was singularly focused on a figure amidst them all – a vision of radiant beauty that captivated his senses. The object of his unwavering gaze was none other than the enchanting golden-haired girl. Guinevere. She stood with her back to the stables accompanied by her sister and their cousin. All three were engaged and consumed in animated conversation and laughter.
From his vantage point, Alexander couldn't tell the specifics of their dialogue, yet the infectious joy radiating from her was unmistakable. Impulsively, his lips pulled to the side in response to her laughter as his eyes threatened to burn through her skin. Although he remained a silent observer, Alexander couldn't help but feel a sense of warmth at the sight of her happiness.
Despite his stoic demeanour, Alexander could not shake the notion that the colour of her attire, a vibrant yellow replica of the morning sun, did not suit her ethereal beauty. In his opinion, a dress of darker shade, like royal blue or purple, colours to oppose the fairness of her skin. Yet, even in the seemingly mismatched ensemble, she exuded an undeniable charm that rendered her utterly captivating. She somehow made it perfect.
As the sun bathed the landscape in golden hues, casting a warm glow over the scene below, Alexander found himself entranced by the sight of her. In that moment, he realized that true beauty transcended mere aesthetics, and that she possessed a rare quality that made even the most unconventional choices seem perfect in her presence.
From the moment she had walked into the courtroom accompanying her sister and Carlisle, he had been captivated by her beauty. As she stood now, bathed in the soft morning light, and away from the yellow glow of the night lamps, her features seemed to radiate with an ethereal glow, captivating his gaze once more.
Recalling the other evening's dinner, where he had given himself the opportunity to stare at her as long as he wished. Seated her across from him, he had noticed her shifty eyes, running between the Lord of Sorway and her sister. Cossington swore nothing stayed between them, but he would be a fool to believe. Whatever it was, was no concern of his, all that concerned him was Guinevere who refused to exit his thoughts.
"I must have her." Alexander suddenly decided, murmuring to himself. Maybe afterwards, he would think less of her and her beauty.
"Did you say something, Your Majesty?" Edmund asked.
Alexander had forgotten the man was still present. He ignored him, keeping his eyes set on the beautiful lady.
And a true beauty she was indeed, even more than her relatives. And she was not the one Carlisle was interested in. Good!
As he continued to look, he saw her excuse herself from the company of her relatives, and began to walk in the direction of the castle. Alexander moved. The desire to see her in the full light of day had long been lingering in his mind, but she was constantly in companionship with her sister and their talkative cousin. Now, with her finally alone, he would seize the opportunity to approach her. There was something about her, and he was beyond determined to find out.
"Do not come along." He said to Edmund, who was about to follow him. "I do not need you for this."
"Yes, Your Majesty." Edmund bowed as he left.
Alexander wasted no time searching for her, and there was no need to. One place alone she would go to – their assigned chambers. If only Lady Fitzgerald had not asked that they stay together, Alexander reckoned he would have had the chance to converse with her a long time ago.
As he sauntered down the corridors, swinging one of his hands, a faint melody reached his ears, emanating from the piano room. His feet stopped immediately and his curiosity was piqued. "What the hell?" He cussed.
Abandoning his resolve to go to Guinevere, Alexander marched to the piano room. 'Who had deemed it fit to defile his command?!' He hastened his steps, determined to punish whoever had dared to lay hands on the instrument he considered sacred. The pianoforte belonged to him, and the thought of someone else trespassing upon it stirred a possessive instinct within him.
The melody grew louder as Alexander approached the room, fueling his initial anger. He was more annoyed at how beautifully the offender played, than the fact that they were playing. Should he have them flogged for treason or thrown into the dungeon? He would show no mercy, he thought to himself. However, as he reached the door, his irritation dissolved into astonishment. There, before him, was Guinevere—the very object of his thoughts. She had come to him. Albeit unknowingly, she had ventured into his sanctuary alone. It was perfect.