Villainess Of Hearts

Last night had felt like he had been captured in between a dream and a nightmare—the fine line between those two had never seemed so frail until he had seen the Queen of Hearts approach him. When he had been sinking on the cusp of despair, she had reached out to him.

It broke through his defenses.

And though she may have denied all and any kind of personal involvement except for doing what was necessary in helping him be the King. When he felt her hand in his, it made him realize that he was still fortunate in a way. He had promised himself to try harder and break through.

Even if it was far out of reach, even when all he wanted to do was retreat—he would try.

He wouldn't forget it.

That one night gave him the strength to hold his head up high. Even in the dead of night and the harshest of times, he would do his best to be one who could actually stay at her side as an equal. Yes, he promised it. 

… One day, he'd see her smile and it would be because of him.

But the expression on her face right now, it was frozen. As if encapsulated in ice. The fury and temper in her posture and words faded away at his words. Alexander Hartsmichdt had never met the Queen's family, and yet for the past years that they were together, she had always looked longingly during the meetings with Nobility.

A distant look in her eyes, as if she was wishing to see them.

Was he wrong about this? Alexander threw a look at the Prime Minister, but even they were silent and with no kind of indicator to what had made the Queen fall into a stupor. He coughed and waved a hand, "Your Majesty? Shall we get you to your office?"

She blinked and then stared at him.

It was for the first time that he'd seen an unsure expression on her face. Her lips curling down, she was biting it softly with a sense of being unnerved. The Queen of Hearts didn't glare at him and neither was there any scorch in her tone as she curtsied, "I can handle myself, Your Majesty. A good day to the two of you, I shall excuse myself." 

Rosalyn Lockhart finally moved through the corridor and left him alone.

Alone with the Prime Minister, but it did feel like he had lost something. He glanced and narrowed his eyes at Blyke, "Did you have any idea what had just happened? Why did she react that way…?"

The white-haired man winced and glanced at him, "Your Majesty, I did not expect you to tell the Queen that her brother would be arriving, I had told it to you but..."

Alexander had the urge to run after the Queen and yet there was a stuffy sensation in his chest. He'd probably make things worse if he knew not a thing about the situation. He instead stared at the man. Why hadn't he mentioned this before?

"But what, Blyke?" he rubbed his face. It was silly to think that he'd actually change things, and yet all he did was make things turn for the worse.

The Prime Minister loosened the collar of his shirt while his other hand checked his pocket watch, "It… it's a bit of a long conversation, Your Majesty?" he glanced back to the corridor where the Queen of Hearts had left them. "It involves talking about the time prior to your arrival and coronation, and you had always slept and avoided historical lectures in the past."

"Just spit it out if you will, we don't have all day!"

"Her brother was meant to be the King before you came, Your Majesty."

"What?" He blinked and then grabbed the man's shoulders, "Why haven't you told me this?"

The Prime Minister shrunk back for a moment, "It's not exactly something to be discussed in polite company, Your Majesty! It's why the Queen is Queen now—at least, it's what she did to stop the coup d'état!"

"She… stopped it?"

"It's a long discussion really, Your Majesty!" he squeaked.

Somehow all the occasions in the past, their very first conversation, when the Queen spoke of people endangered before the two of them were crowned as the Rulers of the Kingdom. All the looks in her eyes when she stared at him for the past years, the unforgiveness in her tone and the unrelenting and unyielding hate—it started to make sense.

Everything began to click.

As if all the pieces in the puzzles were starting to form a clear picture. Information that he had chosen to ignore and bury to forget his past. His own attempts to forget and forge a life without no more pain. And yet the blood of the people that were on his hands because he had to get on the throne… it ran far deeper than he could imagine. 

He pressed his lips together and closed his eyes.

His thoughts probed his mind.

Examining all the memories that he could recall and weighed each one of them. When he first met her, the accident that had erupted in the castle and his inability to do a thing back then and even their recent moments together. His anger released once during the Gathering of the Suits and the rejection, the slap he had received, his accusation of her friend and when he had run away.

Terrible thoughts once again filled his head and yet… he opened and stared out to the corridor where the Queen had left. He stepped forward and then left the man behind him; he searched for the Queen. All the difficulty and hardship that had come in between them, the mistrust and secret heartache. 

The distance of a happy ending that seemed so far out of reach for him and her, all of it began to make sense. How could he only know of it today? If he knew, then he would have done something. 

The man skidded to a stop in the third hallway and forced himself to look up despite the burning sensation in his chest. He found the Queen right outside her door—about to step inside.

"Your Majesty!" He called out.

Only a few steps between them.

He'd cross it.

She blinked and stared at him in confusion. "What is it, Your Majesty—"

He threw his arms around her, engulfing her into a hug. Uncaring for a moment of all the rules, orders and disciplines instilled in him for the past years and only the emotions in his chest made him move. His right hand gently touched the back of her head, the woman freezing at his touch.

Alexander buried his face into her hair and closed his eyes.

All these years that had passed for them. Each of them unwilling and unrelenting to look beyond what the two of them wished to see, only concerned with what was comfortable to them. What made them feel safe and secure. Did it change things? It did, and it did not.

This could not erase the past. This could not wipe and blot away all that had already happened. All the tears that were shed, all the blood and people they had lost.

It didn't change anything at all.

But this could change the future.

Rosalyn Lockhart was struck in surprise.

All of this close contact in between them made her mind blank even further at the unnatural gesture, so rare, something she hadn't received from this man at all. Her face resting across his shoulders and her arms awkwardly at her sides as she received this warm contact.

What exactly was happening?

It wasn't exactly unpleasant to be in his arms, far from it—his physique, his warmth and the scent of fresh blossoms that tickled her nose. She wasn't exactly sure if the lack of disgust and revulsion was due to the young child within her who had longed for this. For a forgotten Queen that had once desired for his love and didn't receive it.

… Seriously, what was this?

Was he going to stab a knife in her back? She couldn't feel anything sharp pricking her, so it wasn't that. She chewed on her bottom lip and found herself not wishing to speak. This gesture was enough to momentarily take her thoughts away from what he said earlier about her brother. The anxiousness and frustrations she had in the beginning with the lack of Ginellevé's presence melted away. 

And yet she had to know.

"What has brought this forth, Your Majesty?" she didn't exactly return the hug and instead pressed a hand on his chest. She pushed him slightly back and fought back the heat in her cheeks. She stared up at his face and saw the expression on his face.

And yet even his face was a mixture of such emotions that it was hard to entangle one from the other. 

"I'm sorry," he said. "I'm really sorry and thankful, I had no idea—and here I was acting like some, I really didn't know. Rosalyn, er, Your Majesty." Alexander Hartsmichdt took her hand in his and grasped it.

There was a solemnity in his blue eyes that searched her face. A genuine tone in his choice of simple words and gone were those of staunch politeness and detached observation that he had often pulled and quipped in their interactions.

He had no smile on his face.

And yet there was only the vulnerability in his voice.

"I'm really sorry, Your Majesty. I do not ask for your forgiveness, it is only you who can give it.. But I will do what I can to make things right, I promise."