The Prince and the Slave: Book Three

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Nineteen

The King turned his head a sliver on an inch as he heard the door creak open, opening his eyes just enough to squint through his eyelashes.

Three dark and blurry figures moved silently into the room. One he recognised as his wife as she glided over to his side, sitting in the chair next to his head and taking one of his hands in hers.

The other two figures were vaguely familiar, though the King didn't want to believe it could be them, only to have his hopes shattered again. One stood by the door, not wishing to intrude while the other slowly made their way to the other side of his bed, kneeling down next to him.

"Father?" The figure breathed, the pain and disbelief clear in his voice.

The King closed his eyes and sighed happily, tears filling his eyes.

"Y...You're back" He managed to croak, feeling his Son's strong hand grasp hold of his own.

William couldn't believe the change that taken place in his Father. As soon as they had arrived at the Castle, he had demanded to see him straight away, not even taking time to greet his Mother properly before he was running up the stairs, his hand still clasping Abey's, as he made his way to his Father's room.

When he had first gone through the door, he thought he must have the wrong room. The thin and fading man looking so small in the huge bed was nothing like the resilient and jovial man he had grown with.

He had finally let go of Abey to walk over to his Father, kneeling by his side and holding one of his hands tight. It felt almost withered and fragile in his grasp, as if it might break at any moment.

"Father?" It escaped his lips as a question, his mind still unable to accept that this man was the King.

His Father's reply was almost unheard, his voice so quiet. William swallowed, trying to control the surging emotions within him before speaking again.

"Yes, I'm back." He said, his voice cracking slightly. "I'm so sorry, Father. If I knew I would have been back so long ago. This is all my fault." He screwed his eyes shut and rested his head on his hands still grasping his Fathers, guilt and regret flooding through him.

I did this, he thought bitterly. If I hadn't left the way I did, put him through that, he would still be the way he was.

"No." A croaked yet defiant reply sounded, William lifting his head to look into his Father's grey eyes, still seeming to blaze in complete contrast to his body, now propped up slightly on his elbow. "This is my fault." He said, slowly and deliberately, his eyes boring into his Son's, the effort obviously exhausting. "I tried to stop your true happiness. All I ever wanted." He said before a raking cough rocked his frame, causing William and the Queen to jolt forward as he flopped back, both of them sinking back down as the King relaxed.

"Where is she?" He asked, looking at William.

"I'm here." Abey replied softly from her place near the wall. He had not needed to say any more for everyone in the room to know who he was referring to.

"Come closer." The King sighed, giving the tiniest of motions with his free hand. Abey came cautiously to the side of the bed, William letting go of his Father's hand and moving back, allowing Abey to fill his space as he knelt just behind her.

"Your Majesty." She whispered, bowing her head as he studied her warmly.

"There is no need for that." came the King's laboured reply. "I believe we must be family now." He said, reaching a hand to place on top of Abey's, which were clasped and resting on the bed in front of her. "You are married, I assume?" The King addressed William, a tiny spark in his eye.

William simply nodded and wrapped his arms around his wife's waist, ready to counter any argument or battle sent their way.

"Good." The King smiled, closing his eyes and lying back for a second. "Very good."

William was shocked by his Father's reaction, almost more than the Queen, though she did not let it show. Slowly, the King turned back to Abey, now lifting his hand to place on her cheek, her expression baffled.

"I thought he would be happier without the conflict such a match would bring. Now I see I was wrong." The old man breathed, his eyes now filled with sadness and regret. "You were fate, and there could never have been anyone else." Abey felt her eyes start to become damp as she listened to the King's earnest words. "Will you forgive an old and foolish man for the brainless and foolish things he has done?"

"There is nothing to forgive." Abey whispered, taking the King's hand and gently placing a kiss on it, before resting it down on the covers, her hand still over his. The King smiled and turned his gaze back to his Son.

"She will make a fine Queen. And an even finer wife." He said, a strange edge to his voice.

"What are you saying, Father?" William asked, both pleased and terrified by the implications of what had just been said.

"I don't have long, Son. In fact, I should probably have gone a while ago." He half chuckled, the sound catching in his throat as his wife gave a similar sound, her eyes filling.

"But first I had to see you happy. It was all I ever wanted, your happiness." He sighed, sinking lower into the pillows, his voice trailing. His wife moved to sit on the bed next to him, putting her arms around his shoulders as William grabbed his free hand, hoping in vain he could stop his Father, who seemed to be fading before his very eyes.

"And now that I've seen it..." He closed his eyes and let out a deep, contented sigh. "Now, I can go..."

He paused, before looking up at his wife one last time.

"My love..." The words were barely a whisper.

"I'm here. I'm right here." The Queen whispered back, furiously fighting the sobs that were threatening to overtake her body, resting her forehead on her husband's.

"My love..." He repeated, letting out another deep and contented sigh, closing his eyes once more, never to open again.

The room was silent, yet every sound reverberated around the space, echoing and rebounding a thousand times louder than normal.

The wind rustling through the leaves of the trees just outside the window. The songs of the birds as they continued to whistle. The gentle, ragged breathing of the slave girl, clutching the King's hand. The single, strangled sob of despair from the Queen. The nervous swallow of the Prince.

It seemed a lifetime before the Queen slowly raised her head and looked at her Son, a melancholy smile on her face.

"Long live King William."