Freed

Twenty-Two

Harry hasn't spoken a word to me since we heard the news of his mother on the radio. After being parked in the middle of the road for a good half an hour, I eventually got out and sat myself behind the wheel; moving Harry to the passenger seat.

Since then, Harry has his eyes glued to the dashboard, while I've brought us to the airport.

"Stay here, while I arrange for the flight." I instruct Harry, as I get out of the car. Embracing him hasn't helped, speaking words of reassurance hasn't improved the situation, and so I've left Harry to sort through what he's feeling by himself. I think right now, this is the best way to handle the situation. Sometimes people should be left alone to sort through their emotions and thoughts.

I head inside, where I'm immediately recognized and organize for a private plane to take us back home. Once I've done so, I get back into the car - where Harry is still seated - and follow a buggy. The driver ahead leads us to the tarmac, and makes me park the car in a corner.

"Please follow me." The driver says, getting out of the buggy, and heading towards a plane.

"Come on, Harry." I say, getting out of the car. Still no sign of acknowledgement from my husband. I go over to his side, and open the car door. I wrap my arm around Harry's upper arm, and tug gently.

"Let's go, babe, we've got to get home." I say, successfully getting Harry to stand on his own two feet. However, we have barely taken two steps ahead when the man beside me crumbles to his knees. I grab onto his arms immediately, preventing a hard impact with the ground.

"Harry, I understand that this is a tough time." I say, cupping his cheeks. "But please, we need to get out of here. We don't know if that attack was meant for us, or our fathers. All I know is that I have to keep you safe. I've gotta get you home." Harry shuts his eyes, pressing his forehead against my shoulder.

Somehow I manage to get this broken man - whose heart has shattered in his chest - to stand up, and lean his weight on me, as I guide him towards the plane. A steward aids me in making Harry ascend the stairs, and take him towards the bedroom. I make him lie down, and pull the blanket up to his chest. Once I've taken off my shoes, I move over to the other side of the bed and get underneath the covers as well, bringing my body close to Harry's.

"I didn't love her," Harry says. I breathe an internal sigh of relief at hearing Harry's voice. "I-I barely even knew her." My husband rests his chin on my head, his arm wrapping itself around my body. "But she was my mother, and I lost her today. I'm not even feeling upset about losing a parent. No, I'm feeling remorseful considering a woman died today."

"The pain I'm feeling," Harry continues, "is because of the fact that our countries have now come to this; all this bloodshed, and violence. These were the reasons monarchy came back into play, and I don't wish to see the system being changed once more. I don't want war, Mus. I just want our people to know that the future holds more promise than our present."

"Our people do know that, Harry, they do. I mean, the locals don't hate the prince, they hate the king." I assure Harry. "I've lived among them for a few years, and so I know the internal on-goings."

"That's another reason for mourning. I'm a disappointment," Harry lets out a deep breath. "My people look up to me, and I can't even stand up to my own father. I'm just like the locals, I don't have a say in anything." There's a knock at the bedroom door.

"Yes?" I call out, pushing myself up on my elbows.

"A phone call for you, Your Highness." The steward says through the door.

"From who?"

"The King of England," he replies. Frowning, I look over at Harry, and then hastily head towards the door. I take the phone from him, and shut the door, locking it.

"Hello?" I say unsurely, answering the call.

"Mus! I'm so glad you took the call," Harry's father says. "I have some grave news."

"Yes, we know." I purse my lips, looking over at Harry. He looks at me forlornly, his eyes empty of the light that adds mischief to his features.

"Oh, then I'm assuming you're coming home to take your throne."

"Pardon, but I'm confused." Harry's mother died. How has this got anything to do with my throne?

"Your father. Now that he's dead, you're the heir." And just like that, a wave of shock ripples through me.

"Hell no," I whisper, ending the call.
*******

I don't know how our lives have changed so much in the past hours. Whoever controls the strings is probably laughing his ass off, a glass of beer in hand. Now I'm the one who does not desire to converse for a while. Surely not in grief though. After all, I didn't love that man one bit. He was my abuser, the cause of my tears, and pain.

My silence is due to the weight of responsibility that I feel on my shoulders. I am a queen now. Back when I was a child, I was prepared for this day. However, over time, due to circumstances and choices, I never thought it would come. Alas, here it is, a smack on my face.

"A penny for your thoughts?" Harry says, taking a seat on the chair opposite mine.

"I'm queen," I say. "But I don't want this title. I want to forfeit it, but then I know Mother isn't strong enough to hold our kingdom together; to protect it from deadly enemies. Hell, I'm not able enough either!" I throw my hands in the air, letting out a frustrated breath. "I give up, Harry. I cannot lead this life of responsibilities and titles. I'm going back home to Dean - to my desired life."