The Raven

Two

Prince Henry anxiously paces the length of the pristine sitting room, his right hand repeatedly raking through his blond locks in sheer frustration. His mother sits primly upon the sofa, her legs crossed regally at the ankles as she reads aloud from the yellowed notepad in her hand. In his distracted mind, Henry can only vaguely hear her voice. While he occasionally responds with a quiet hum or a repetitive "no," his mother's words certainly are not taking up purchase in his head. No, Henry has absolutely zero interest in his mother's incessant droning at this time.

Unfortunately, it is a pretty typical circumstance, if he is honest.

Henry has been feeling entirely overwhelmed with his princely duties recently, wishing for just a moment to himself between his required tasks. Even just a second to breathe would be acceptable and greatly appreciated. Instead, he is currently being unwillingly subjected to his mother's complaining as she unfruitfully suggests princess after princess to fulfill the role of his wife and future queen. She is persistent that he must decide quickly, and his failure to show even a slight interest in the topic irks her dramatically.

While the prince wholly understands that tradition clearly states he must marry in order to take his rightful place on the throne, he finds himself unable to agree. In fact, he is incredibly agitated with the archaic idea. He simply wishes that he could be allowed to choose his own life partner under a different premise. Henry's heart aches at the thought of marrying for convenience rather than love. How can a king thrive if he is paired with someone who doesn't complement him perfectly? How, then, can he proffer his best to his kingdom if he is not complete?

If marrying is to be required, surely the search for a bride could be postponed for a few years, at the very least. Such a delay could ensure the appropriate appointment of his future partner; having the time to get to know someone before selecting her as your wife could only be beneficial. In Henry's opinion, eighteen is far too young to take on such a responsibility and commitment as marriage.

And do not even get him started on the topic of ruling an entire kingdom before he is barely even a man.

Henry has spent hours dredging the room this day alone, likely wearing the lush cream carpeting thin in places. He ponders as his feet move across the floor, silently plotting any potential escape from his current predicament as his mother recites name after name, all belonging to ladies of noble birth that would be deemed suitable for the position. Unfortunately, all of them are not quite what Henry is looking for in a wife.

In fact, he is not looking for a wife at all.

Although he has never admitted it aloud before, Henry would much prefer to wed a man.

It is the male physique that sets his heart racing. The idea of a slender yet manly figure instead of womanly curves sends his blood pumping straight to his groin. If Henry is forced to marry, the partner of his choice would most certainly be of the male variety.

Of course, this is something that Henry's mother, the queen, could never understand... nor approve of, for that matter. Always such a stickler for following the rules, shattering such a long-lived tradition would likely shatter his mother, as well. No, she could never dare to allow her son and future king to break tradition, much less cause such an unprecedented disturbance with the people of the kingdom. Especially not to fulfill his own happiness. It just is not how things are done.

"Henry, are you even listening to me?" the queen's shrill voice asks as she raises a questioning and perfectly plucked eyebrow at her son. The flame of anger within her burns hotter as she observes him, recognizing that the disobedient child is obviously slacking in his royal duties. He is not paying any attention to the matter at hand. If only he could take his job seriously for a change. It is literally what he was born and raised to do; it should not be so difficult.

The prince's feet stop moving at the question, likely wholly out of surprise that his mother's words actually registered within his preoccupied brain. "Uh... honestly? No," he replies truthfully, not feeling even the remotest pang of guilt for his unexpected and entirely too forthright admission. "I apologize, Mother. I just have a lot on my mind right now," he explains, although his apology does not hold even a thin shred of remorse. Actually, Henry is quite pleased with even this short pause from his mother's list of names.

"I see," she says, standing from her seat and crossing the room. "It is imperative that we select the right candidates, Henry," the queen states, asserting her power over the situation as best she can. Surely, her son will accept his responsibilities and do what is asked of him. She has never had much difficulty controlling him previously; this instance should not be any different. "Whoever we choose will someday rule the kingdom by your side."

A lump suddenly grows in Henry's throat at the reassurance that his mother will not change her mind. He attempts to dislodge it by swallowing, but the presence is persistent. A shaky sigh escapes around the imaginary obstruction as Henry acknowledges the queen's words. "I know, Mother," he whispers, then clears his throat to force himself to sound more confident. Now is not the time to show weakness, especially when he feels so strongly about his opinions. "Although, I still disagree with this whole ridiculous tradition. How is someone supposed to choose the correct person to spend their life with, to rule a country with, at only eighteen?"

"Now, Henry, let us not say anything that we do not mean," his mother replies, a sharp edge to her voice that her son has become familiar with over the years. It is the exact tone she uses when she wants to manipulate him into obeying her without question.

Although Henry figured this out some time ago, he had fallen victim to his mother's wicked ways many times in the past. After a lifetime of doing precisely as told, even against his own wishes, Henry has finally had enough. He allows his emotions to fuel him, feeding the words to his mouth before his mind can thoroughly process them. "But I do mean it, Mother," he insists, drawing a surprised look to cross his mother's features. A sudden wave of strength washes over him, causing Henry to correct his poor posture and stand taller, the newfound confidence practically rolling off him. "I understand that it is the way it has been done for many generations, but that does not change my views," he continues, his eyes locking on the familiar blues that stare back at him. "This tradition is antiquated, and I believe it is time for a change. Eighteen is too young to commit to marriage, just as it is too young to ascend the throne."

"Henry, that is enough," the queen reprimands him, her brows furrowing and lips pressing into a firm line. She had thought she had remedied his rebellious nature years ago; perhaps she should have sought stricter disciplinary methods during his childhood. They likely would not be in this mess right now if she had. No, she would have the obedient little boy she has always wished for. This is tradition, and you do not mess with tradition."

With another sigh, Henry tugs lightly at the roots of his hair in a failing attempt to calm himself. "I am sorry, Mother, but I have had quite enough of 'potential brides' for today," he announces, void of feelings, hoping that his abruptness is enough to end the conversation. Preferably permanently, but even a temporary reprieve would suffice. Henry turns on his heel, his head held high and the muscles in his shoulders tight with tension. Every step away from the situation feels like a breath that had previously been denied to the prince, allowing a minute sensation of relief. It is as if his lungs are finally filling with oxygen that he had been so carelessly deprived of.

"Do not dare walk away from me, young man," his mother's commanding voice trails behind him, but Henry continues on his way without hesitation.

He has to get out of this room, this castle, away from his mother. It is prudent to insert a large quantity of space between himself and the previous discussion at his earliest convenience. It is almost as if his life depends on a minute of silence. He relies on having distance between himself and any princely requirements. Henry needs some fresh air, just a single second of freedom.

To hell with this stupid tradition.