The Raven

Eight

Disheartened after his failed attempt at entering the tower, Henry paces his bedroom, his mind whirling with new ideas about how to accomplish his goal; he holds no doubt that he will eventually venture into that tower and find the holder of those entrancing red eyes.

Red eyes.

Henry still cannot believe it; the glowing red orbs he has been so fascinated by are eyes, stunningly beautiful windows to what could only be the most alluring soul one could possibly possess. But how? How could this be? Henry has never heard of anyone with red eyes before. And why is the owner of those shining rubies locked in the very top of the dark tower? This just does not make any sense to the prince. Regardless of the reasons, Henry simply has to meet the person belonging to those incredible eyes. While he had already intended to enter the tower and find the source of the mesmerizing crimson glow before, now... now he has an unyielding tenacity, an all-consuming desire to see those breathtaking orbs again. And soon. He aches to explore them, to discover all the secrets hidden within them. His heart yearns to connect with them, with the person they belong to, knowing that whomever those enchanting eyes belong to has to be just as indescribably beautiful as the orbs themselves.

A dreamy sigh escapes him as he ends his daydreaming about whoever is locked in the tower, ready to revise his initial plot with something much more thoroughly thought out. He knows he needs to devise a solid plan to get into that tower entirely undetected by the guards. He had believed that he would make it to the room at the top today; however, there were more guards than he anticipated. Unfortunately, now that he has been spotted trying to gain access to the tower, it is likely that the security will be increased once word reaches his mother and father. This throws another unpleasant and challenging obstacle in Henry's path. In the grand scheme of things, however, it is but a tiny stone to step over. He will find a way around it; he is sure of it.

Henry appreciates and particularly enjoys the quietness of his room, basking in the peace the silence allows with great fervor. He had been right; sneaking away into the West Wing tower had undoubtedly been an excellent way to avoid unwanted conversations of marriage with his mother.

Unluckily for him, though, the queen has been furiously stalking her favorite sitting room as she awaits him, growing increasingly displeased with his absence with every passing second. With the list of potential wives refreshed with new names, she was initially confident that she had finally found someone her son would accept as his bride. However, her disobedient son must be some sort of magician, disappearing into thin air when he should have been meeting with her.

A knock sounds on Henry's bedroom door before a meek maid peeks her head into the room. Quietly, she informs the prince, "Excuse me, Your Highness. Her Majesty has requested your presence."

Lost in visions of glowing rubies, Henry almost does not hear the young lady as her whispery voice floats through the air. It is not until he reaches the window and turns around that he notices her nervously glancing at him, her eyes darting around the room before settling on his face. "I beg your pardon?" the prince asks politely, keeping his tone gentle so as to not scare the girl. A twinge of guilt inflicts upon his chest that he had not caught what she had said; she looks so anxious that Henry is somewhat afraid she may faint.

"I apologize for intruding, Your Highness," the maid squeaks out, her voice barely above a whisper. "Her Majesty wishes to see you."

"Yes, I am sure she does," Henry replies, sighing exasperatedly in understanding where this conversation with his mother will likely lead. "Thank you," he adds, not bothering to stop his pacing. He wonders what the person in the tower looks like--surely, he must be a sight to behold. Assuming that the person is, in fact, a male, that is. Perhaps it is just wishful thinking, but Henry has a feeling that whoever is being guarded in the West Wing is likely the most beautiful boy he will ever see; he wholeheartedly believes that whomever it is, there is some sort of magical force drawing them together. This unknown person could potentially be the very thing Henry has been so longingly wishing for his entire life; this assumption only further arouses Henry's desire to meet his mystery boy.

Quietly clearing her throat, the maid interrupts Henry's daydreaming once more. "I apologize, Your Highness," she says, her voice trembling slightly as she forces the words out of her mouth. "But Her Majesty has tasked me with escorting you to her."

With another sigh, Henry turns to follow the maid, knowing well that his mother will be upset with him when he arrives in her sitting room. He is unsure whether he genuinely cares, though, as this is nothing new; she is almost constantly upset with him for one reason or another. It is a mother thing, he supposes. Or possibly a queen thing; as his are one and the same, he would not be able to distinguish between them.

Silently, Henry obediently allows the maid to guide him. He keeps a slight distance between them yet stays close enough that she knows he has not run away; he would not want such a seemingly sweet girl to panic because of his oftentimes childish and ridiculous behaviors. As tempting as it is to turn around and neglect meeting his mother, he would not want the young maid to suffer the consequences of not delivering him as instructed. Henry knows his mother's punishments can sometimes be more severe than necessary.

When the two reach the room where the queen is impatiently waiting, Henry gives a short nod to the maid in thanks as he knocks on the door. Without awaiting a response, he throws the door open and enters the room, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he disinterestedly gazes at his mother. "You rang?" he asks, his tone indifferent.

The maid's eyes widen in shock at the prince's boldness before she briefly glances at the queen. Knowing that Prince Henry is likely about to be harshly admonished, she quickly scurries away. She had done her part; there is no reason for her to linger and overhear the storm that could very well be brewing in that room.

"Henry," the queen says, her voice firm and the name slipping off her tongue like a poisoned dart as she locks her sight on her only son. "What is this I hear about you entering the West Wing?"

Henry breathes deeply through his nose, his shoulders raising slightly as his muscles tense in preparation for the verbal assault he will likely incur. "About that," he begins.