Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
word count; 2410
Alessandra
It was a normal afternoon in the Palace. The sun shone through the windows to illuminate us all. Thankfully, I was not imprisoned in there today. No, alas, I rode through the forest with such speed I feared my riding habit would simply fall off. But I enjoyed it. It was something I had done for years.
"Catch me if you can!" I called, looking back at Henry. His smirk grew as his horse caught up to mine, galloping at with such speed.
"Is that a challenge?" His reply was quick-witted and wholly within character. I giggled lightly as my horse slowed down, causing his horse to do the same.
"Only if you wish it." I teased, panting from all the swift exercise. His toothy grin was wide and his voice a little raspy,
"You're such a tease," He accused me. I scoffed as I dismounted my horse, turning to find him towering over me. "Not fit to be Queen at all."
"Oh, really?" I grinned, placing a hand on his chest. "How would you know? You're only a Prince."
"And you're the daughter of a banking family," He responded. I chuckled,
"A very wealthy one,"
"Ah, yes, how could I forget?" Henry smirked, leaning down a little. "My brother relies on your money to keep the country afloat."
"I think such slander could be considered treason," I giggled, pushing my lips together.
"Not if you don't tell him." Henry playfully winked. He leaned down and pressed his lips to my ear, his hands finding my waist. "Would you?"
His whisper sent shivers down my spine.
"I do not kiss and tell, Henry," I chuckled. "Though I'm sure there's some way you could persuade me."
"Oh, really?" He questioned, facing me once more. A shrill voice interrupted us,
"Your Majesty!"
Henry and I both looked to the frantic Mary. She was breathing heavily and her face a crimson colour -- likely as she wasn't used to running.
"What is it?" I asked, smiling sympathetically. "You seem worried."
Her eyes were filling with tears and her limbs were shaking. I frowned and walked towards her, inspecting her demeanour. I was, in truth, a little paranoid at times.
"Mary?" I questioned, my voice turning softer. "What is it?"
"He's-- Alessandra, the wound-- he's been wounded."
"Wounded?" I chuckled. "We are not at war, Mary. Of whom do you speak?" But as I questioned her, her expression remained the same, filled with grief as tears streamed down her cheeks, I began to realise who she meant. But I didn't believe it. Why would I? How could I? "Mary? Who?"
