they say the king is dying.
that he lies in a hospital bed. his dark skin is ashen. his built frame, now frail. his eyes are closed.
tubes appear to consume him. they run out of his nose, down his arms. across his chest.
the king is in pain.
not from his wounds.
not from the shock.
of an attack that resulted in an outcome not even the gods had forseen.
but the king is in longing.
he longs for his love.
a queen of strength, beauty and incredible grace.
he longs for the days of their love.
he longs to protect her in his arms.
but most of all:
he longs for the child whom he barely knew.
he was too consumed, obsessed with her protection.
he desired her to grow up in a world that was safe.
in doing so he failed her.
in doing so he allowed her to slip away.
the king longs for his queen.
in the last of his days.
the king longs for the family he lost.
