The King's Mistress

Chapter Two

(King Wesley)

Resting my face in the palm of my hand, I allow my eyes to roam the sea of faces before me. Thirty men fill the throne room, each hungry for a chance to be heard. A faded parchment lies before me, outlining the possible match between myself and Princess Alexandria, my cousin. My jaw aches, teeth grinding together. My blood boils at the notion. I have spoken time and time again of my intention to never marry or bed a woman of my own blood line. Other royals may engage in this...abhorrent practice but I simply refuse. They know this and, still, they bring this abomination to me.

Laughter bubbles in my chest, taking not only me but the rest of the men by surprise. I was not a man of mirth, as they all were well aware. A ripple of concern runs through the group, a few even offer half hearted laughs of their own. A few others shift nervously. My hand turns into a fist, nearly breaking the table in half as it comes down upon the wood.

“Have you lost your bloody minds?!” I snarl, my amusement suddenly merging into unadulterated rage. I pluck the contract from the table, shredding it before their very eyes “I will not wed a woman that is of my own blood.”

Edgar, the eldest of my advisors, leans forward. What possessed him to speak in that moment, I do not know. But, alas, the daggers in my eyes are not enough to dissuade him from his desire to be heard. “I beg you to reconsider. She bore her previous husband three sons.”

I rub my thumb across the bridge of my nose. "The answer is no. It will always be no.  I will not marry her. End of discussion." I rise abruptly. "I do not care if she's produced a hundred sons. My decision is final."

"Your Grace, please," another advisor implores. "Your brother seeks to wage war on your kingdom. You need an heir!"

My fists slams down onto the table again, nearly finishing off the already cracked table before me. "Your forget your place, sir,” The snarl tears from my throat as if I am a wild beast, “I am your King. You will not speak to me in such a fashion again or you will find yourself banished from my court."

He sinks back into his chair, eyes wide and hands shaking. Without another word, I storm from the meeting hall. I stalk back towards my room, already aching for my mistress that lay beyond that door. My hand is mere inches from the door when world shattering sounds reach my ears. The creak of a bed, the soft gasp of a woman in passions soft embrace. Ears ringing, I burst within the small room.

I know what I will find but, still, the sight of the two of them intertwined is like a slap to the face. She's on top of him, moaning in such ecstasy that she doesn't hear me enter. I stalk towards the bed, skin burning with rage. How dare she invite another man into my bed! My hand curls into her locks, ripping her away from him. She tumbles to the floor, scurrying to cover herself. Her eyes widen, lips parting in fear as it dawns on her that she has been caught. I stand there for a moment, hovering over her. My hands ball into tight fists. Never before have I struck a woman but I fear what this discovery will force me to do. My eyes drop to her swollen belly. It is enough to temper my rage...for the time being at least.

“Why?” Though my words drip with pure rage, my heart is another story. I feel it shatter into a million tiny, sharp edged pieces, “After all I have done, after all I have blessed you with, why?”

Shame forces her chin to her chest. Good. She should be ashamed. I do not imprison my mistress’s like so many have in the past. I do not rip their offspring from their arms the moment they are born. I treat me like Queens, each and every one of them. In the end, in one form or another, they always betray me. 

The man shuffles in the bed behind us. I spare him a second glance. His fingers are inching towards his blade that is slung over the foot of the bed. He pauses. My lip curls into a snarl. I cannot lay my hands upon my pregnant mistress but he is no one special to me. I turn from her, my intent clear. 

She is off the floor, nails digging into the silk fabric of my tunic, “Please, your majesty,” She begs, “Do not do this.”

I shove her away, “Begone woman. This man has committed treason by lying with you. You know the punishment for such a crime.”

“I love him your Grace!” She declares.

Those words pierce my chest like the blade of a sword. Those were words she had never spoken to me, though I’d hoped she’d felt them. I pause midstep, the anger draining from me. It is replaced with such sorrow that I can barely stand beneath it.. Love. That word has been and will always be a thorn in my side. No matter what I offer these women, Love is the one thing I can never give them. I cannot afford to be weak, to open myself up to that one thing that, in the past, has left me crippled. I turn to her, masking all signs of hurt.

"How long?" I hiss, “How long has this man been allowed the privilege of touching you? A privilege that should have mine and mine alone.”

She hesitates a moment, hands moving to cradle her swollen abdomen, “Months, your Grace. Tis not a planned a thing.” A single tear rolls down her cheek, “I-I did not know how to tell you. I care for your highness a great deal.”

My eyes drop to her belly, swollen with the child I’d thought to be my own. "The child that grows within you. Is it even mine?" My voice breaks.

Her eyes drop. I have my answer. I do not remember plucking the sword from the bedpost but here I stand, the hilt gripped between angry fingers. It clatters to the floor before me. I know what must be done. I cannot, will not, force her to remain when her heart so clearly belongs to another.

"You will gather your belongings and leave this place. You are never to set foot in this place, ever again. Do I make myself clear?”

Her lips part but she thinks better of it. Her eyes slid to the man still quivering in my bed, “And...what of Thomas?”

My jaw clenches once more, “I will not allow your child to be raised a bastard.” I turn to the one called Thomas, “I release you, Thomas. You are free to wed my former mistress if that is your desire. I will tell no one of this. I suggest you do the same.”

Catherine says nothing. There is nothing she can say in that moment that would help her. She knows that I speak the truth. Should this ever be discovered, I would be forced to execute them both. That would leave the child currently growing in her womb an orphan. Despite the rumors swirling about me, I am not a monster. I know what it is to grow in this world without a family, without a home. I, afterall, was nothing but a bastard until the eve of my sixteenth birthday when the King fell ill. He’d chosen in that moment to announce me as his heir, his only living son, and the boy who would inherit the crown.

Of course, that had turned out to be a lie. I had only recently discovered the existence of another son, one older than I. He should have become King. He held a better claim to the throne. But, unlike myself, he did not bind himself by moral constraints. He did what he wanted, with whom he wanted, without any thought of the consequences. I refuse to leave MY kingdom in the hands of such a man.

When I look up once more, the pair have gone. She leaves nothing in her wake, save the diamond pendant gifted to her on the eve she had accepted her official position as my mistress. I snatch it from the floor, fingers curling around it. I should rid myself of this. Instead, I set it back onto its rightful place at my bedside. 

The door creaks open, a girl of small stature stepping within the chamber. My eyebrow c***s. She must be brave. It is forbidden to enter the King’s bedchamber unless summoned...even for servants. Her eyes survey the empty room, a light flickering into her gaze. I know what she desires. Her space still warm, this young girl aches to take the place as my Mistress. I tilt my head, examining her. She is rather attractive, in a way.

“Mistress Catherine is no longer, I see.” 

“Aye, that she is not.” I approach her, allowing the tips of my fingers to caress her cheek, “You should not be here, little one. You know it is forbidden.”

A soft giggle emerges, “Aye, my Grace. I saw Mistress Catherine fleeing and thought...perhaps you would require the company of another tonight.” Her fingers lift, slowly undoing the place of her bodice.

My own fingers curl around her wrist, not allowing her to disrobe before me. I know this girl would soothe the ache that twists my gut but, alas, I cannot allow myself to take another. I grow weary of these games. 

“Tonight, I sleep alone.”

Her lips tilt into a pout but she does not argue. She knows what would happen should she push the subject. She turns on her heels and departs the room. I watch. When she is at last gone, I collapsed into the space that Catherine would have been. The sheets still carry her scent. I did not delude myself into believing that she loved me or that I loved her in return. My feelings for her were always made clear. Aye, I cared for her a great deal but love? No, they never developed that far.

Perhaps, if she had not betrayed me, they might have. But, alas, now we shall never known.