The Raven

Four

Henry's feet hurriedly lead him through the grand halls of the palace, his black shoes sounding heavily against the polished marble floor. He blatantly ignores the curious gazes of prying eyes as he passes by several onlooking servants, eager to displace himself from these overwhelming circumstances as quickly as possible. The farther he gets from his mother, the more relieved he feels. It is strange, really; there was once a time when her presence was not nearly as irritating to the prince as it is now. Henry's thought processes pause entirely as his body effortlessly guides him, descending upon a golden spiral staircase as if on autopilot. The tightness in his chest eases with every passing second until dissolving entirely, confirming that the distance from his responsibilities was wholly necessary.

Once finally outside the walls of the castle, Henry presses his back firmly against the bricks and closes his eyes. Breathing deeply, he allows himself to decompress after the meeting with his mother, his body now relaxing completely. Basking in the stillness of the palace grounds, Henry takes a moment to appreciate the silence and gives it permission to soothe his frazzled nerves. After several minutes, the prince pushes himself away from the wall, stepping directly into the well-tended garden.

Henry had almost forgotten how serene the place was, having been too preoccupied with his royal life to pay much attention to the things that usually offer him contentment. His lungs fill with the fresh air, the scent of roses filling his nose. Given the opportunity, he might remain in the garden permanently; at least then, his soul could always be calm.

His initial state of peace is short-lived as his consciousness reflects upon the previous encounter, instantly releasing a flight of butterflies within his stomach as his mind fires questions at him. Is there something wrong with him? Why can he not make his own decisions? Would he really fail his people should he marry a man? Should he just accept his fate and marry a woman?

As the cool breeze further musses his already disheveled hair and tickles his cheek, Henry feels a discomforting heaviness upon his shoulders. He wishes he could somehow change the traditions he despises so fervently. Understanding that arranged marriages were at one point acceptable and possibly appropriate, he likes to think that their society has changed since then. It is time for growth; there is no time like the present to pursue such transformation of their standards and beliefs. He sincerely believes that it would not cause any lasting harm to the kingdom to simply allow a royal family member to find love before vowing his or her heart to another. Marriage should be more than an empty connection and a contractual agreement between two uninterested parties.

Is it so much to ask?

Perhaps he is simply too selfish to become the king; maybe he should attend more to the needs of his people and worry less about his own love life. If you could even call it that.

If all goes well, Henry will not even take over his father's position until he reaches the age of twenty-one; why, then, must he rush to choose a spouse? Why must he choose one at all? In Henry's opinion, any king incapable of ruling without a partner by his side is likely not fit for the title and responsibilities; having a wife does not guarantee a strong leader.

Henry wanders through the palace garden, weaving his way between the perfectly spaced rows of trees and shrubs, wondering if the outdated tradition would still bother him if he were romantically interested in women. If he would still feel so utterly unsettled with the prospect of getting married at eighteen if his preferences were different. His life would undoubtedly be easier if he could change his feelings; choosing from the females that his mother has suggested for him to take as his bride would surely be less daunting if he were even remotely attracted to them. However, as much as he has tried, he cannot convince himself to pretend to be what he is not.

His body moves by memory, meandering along the stone paths and blankets of green grass, his entire being drinking in the sights and sounds of the garden as he finally manages to calm himself. All the wishing and wondering in the world will not change his predicament. If only he could change the ways of his kingdom, if only he had that power... but alas, the only person with the means to modify the existing rules is the reigning king--and Henry is unsure that he could ever approach the subject with his father.

Setting all of his worries aside, Henry turns his attention to the course his feet have set out upon. As he soaks up the sweet serenity offered by his surroundings, he allows himself to temporarily forget about his mother and how she is so adamantly planning his impending betrothal. Even a sliver of distraction from his duties is greatly appreciated.

Walking through the extravagant scenery, Henry allows his thoughts to wander. They float and flutter through his head, similarly to a butterfly in the air. As his mind roams freely, his feet remain expertly on course, never straying from their path, as if they have long ago memorized every step. They likely have, as Prince Henry has spent a tremendous amount of time following these exact pathways. Having never been allowed to venture outside the castle grounds, he had much time to explore this garden throughout his eighteen years. However, there has always been a longing within his heart. He has forever held a strong desire to see the kingdom with his own eyes. His requests to do precisely that had always been denied by his mother; it simply is not "proper" for the prince to be seen mingling with the commoners, she would say.

It is another of those ridiculous traditions that Henry would love to do away with immediately.

Unexpectedly, Henry's gaze is distracted from the flowers surrounding him, captivated by a bright red shining from a window at the top of the tower of the castle's West Wing--two beautiful scarlet orbs seemingly floating in the darkness. His heart picks up speed at the sight, beating faster for a reason the prince cannot quite decipher. His breathing follows suit, each rise and fall of his chest racing alongside the pounding drum within it. Each inhale and exhale sets the pace for questions shooting through his mind like fireworks. While he has not the faintest notion as to what could be the source of the mesmerizing glow, Henry finds himself undoubtedly enchanted.

What could it be? What is even in that tower? He has never stepped foot within the West Wing before, but he suddenly has the urgent desire to discover every one of its secrets. Whatever is hiding there, Henry is determined to find out.