No Fury

Now: Forty Seven

I step inside the shed, and find Harry sitting on our bed, legs crossed, head bowed.

Only two days have passed since the death of his father and Harry's declaration of war. I hate that this has happened to him.

I hate even more that I am glad his father's death means he cannot leave the kingdom; he is the only remaining royal family alive here.

Making my way over to him, I crawl on the bed, moving onto his lap.

Harry takes me in his arms and lays us down, curling over me.

"How are you?" I ask, kissing him all over his face. "Harry. Tell me you're sleeping, you're eating. Tell me something."

He shakes his head as a tear escapes, and I feel a frantic sort of helplessness, the kind that is choking and wild. I have barely heard his voice this past month. I require occupation. I need to help him.

"What can I do?"

"Talk to me," he croaks. "Hold me."

But before I can think of some inanity to prattle on and on about, his mouth comes over mine, opening, kissing me deeply. We have not made love in at least two weeks and I need him, need to feel his solid presence all along my body. It is almost as if my mind and my hands keep forgetting that he is here, he is safe.

He is here, he is safe.

On our sides, with him behind me, he takes me. He is careful of my round stomach, my aching joints. With his mouth pressed to my neck and his hips rocking steadily behind me, he can be lost for this tiny slip of time.

My body is wound so tight I fall apart quickly - as if plummeting from a cliff - and then again under the attention of his circling fingers; the second time, pleasure comes over me like a roaring wave.

But Harry stalls, holding on, drawing it out. After a tiny eternity with his grunting exhales and sweetly begging words, Harry lets go with a long groan into my neck and stays there, inside me, his hand curled around my bare breast.

"Are you sleeping at night?" he asks at length, sucking at my skin.

"Fitfully."

"Same," he whispers.

We fall quiet. I don't know what to say. There is no right thing to be said here, no easy reassurance that all will be fine.

"Cath?"

"Aye?"

"I love you."

I smile into his arm stretched beneath my neck, press back into his hips. "And I love you."

He breathes in, and holds it. He is too still.

Some tiny part of me jerks into awareness.

Harry exhales, and his breath shakes against my neck.

"What is it?" I ask. "Tell me."

"I'm going out with the front."

My life cracks into a thousand splinters, and they scatter across the floor.

"What?"

"I cannot stay here and protect my kingdom. These actions are at odds with each other. I cannot hide in the castle."

He is still inside me. How can he say such a thing?

I choke on a sob.
I have no thoughts in my head.
I am empty of words.

Is this death? The stillness of thought, the ache in my chest so enormous it feels as though it may burst me to pieces? Is this how it feels to plummet into darkness: first the air leaves the body, then the mind slows. Blood thickens and then the only thing remaining is pain?

"Forgive me," he whispers, kissing my back, my shoulders my neck. "Forgive me, Cath. I have no choice."

"You do," I cry. "You can choose to stay here, with me. You can choose to protect yourself."

"And what of my men? How can I expect them to go and fight for me, to possibly die for me, when I will not fight for them?"

"You would die for them?"

His words come out shocked: "Any king would die for his people."

With a blow to my chest, I realize for the first time: Harry is king. His worst dream has come true.

I did not even think it.
How could I not have?
With the king dead, Harry is never again a prince.

"You can't leave," I tell him. "What of the royal line? What will happen if you do not return?"

He stares at me, eyes softening as he sees again that I have not thought this through. "Maria is here," he whispers. "She is queen now."

"I don't know how to breathe," I tell him. "I feel as if the air won't stay inside."

He quickly pulls out of me, rolling me to my back. I gaze at his tear streaked face; he has been crying for some time. Crying the entire time he made love to me.

"Do as I do," he says, taking a long inhale and nodding as I try to do the same. "Good," he says, "now let it out, slowly."

My breaths are shallow, my thoughts vague.

"Breathe, Cath. Breathe."

But blackness descends.

~~

I open my eyes and he lets out an enormous breath. "Thank God. I thought . . ." Bowing, he rests his head on my shoulder. "I could not rouse you."

"I fainted?"

"Aye. Some ten minutes have passed." He kisses me once. "You gave me quite a scare."

And then it all comes back to me: "You mean to leave me."

He cannot hide his frustrated wince. "I mean to protect you, by fighting for what belongs to all of us."

"When?"

He shakes his head, unwilling to say.

"For how long?"

"I do not know. Of course I hope it will only be a matter of days. I want to be back for the birth of my son."

I close my eyes, trying to lose myself in the pounding heartbeat in my ear.

"You know I will leave with half a heart," he says. "No, even less than that. Please, darling, look at me."

And I do.

I see all of him: his bright green eyes, lined at the edges with the deeper green of the forest. His smooth skin, stubbled at his chin. The soft pink lips, brown curls falling over his forehead.

I pull off his shirt, making him entirely naked so I can simply see.

I look with my eyes and feel with my hands, and I ask him to love me one more time because part of me knows deep down that he wouldn't tell me when, because he leaves at tomorrow's first light.

And a darker part of me knows that it will not be a short fight, that it will not be easy, and that the Harry who returns to me - if he does - will no longer be the same man I have loved since the day I was born.