Embers

Chapter Three

The queen was stunned to find the king behind her. Thinking he might have seen what was happening between the boys, she waited for him to say something to her, but he simply looked at her. She smiled at him and approached him gracefully. She reached for him and he grabbed her elbows, bringing her closer to him. His frown lines grew deeper as he smiled at her. After a small embrace, she decided to break their comfortable silence. 

“The boys were being noisy again,” she said, turning to go to the railing to look down the castle walls. The railing was old but not creaking, just needed a new paint job. She ran her hands on the grooves.

“I thought I heard something like that. Were they bickering with Franklin?” The king asked, joining her calmly. They both looked at one another.

“Yes, but everything is alright,” she said as though she wanted assurance that nothing was wrong.

“I hope you’re alright. You look stressed. What’s wrong?” He said, coming closer, almost whispering to her. Her warmth was already giving him calm inside.

“Nothing’s wrong. I was just checking in on things and then going to bed,” she said with glassy eyes. On her shoulders laid a gigantic burden. It was to keep everyone happy and tolerable for one another. As a queen and a mother should, she supposed in her head.

“Okay, yet you look like you could use a little company. It’s fine. I really didn’t think my work would be this difficult,” He said, trying to shed his trail and scratching his neck. It looked like the trail weighed a lot than it seemed, and yet he wore that nonsensical thing. It didn’t make sense to her why he would, yet she refused to say anything. Perhaps he had his reasons.  

“It’s okay. You need to focus on your work. I wanted to talk with Franklin too,” she told and with that, she started to move off from him, giving his hand one last squeeze goodbye.

“What about? I hope it wasn’t about what we talked about, is it?” he declared, standing straighter, as though at any moment he would need to defend himself.

“No. It is to make sure he knows someone is there for him if he wants to talk. You put a lot of pressure on him if you were not aware,” she said, looking at him with an even straighter posture as though they were battling.

“I know, but he needs to learn. His anger is getting out of control. Prentice does what he can, but the anger is still there. Harboring what he cannot control,” frustratingly, the king whispered harshly. He spoke from experience; she knows to herself. She had seen firsthand what happens when a king is stubborn and strong-headed to listen to anyone while his anger can flow in rivers and yet not be enough.

“You were like that all the time I knew you growing up, yet I notice it now with him more than anyone else. He feels you share favoritism with Marcus and Freitas more than you favor him,” she revealed to him, making his eyes go wide with surprise. Then it turned sour, as though he was angry. He wasn’t angry at her, but the thought that Franklin would think in that way.

“That is not true. The boys show a lot more progress than he does, that’s why I am hard on him. My queen, is that what worries you?” Now the king wrapped his wife from behind and cuddled into her. No one would dare to roam the hallways seeing the king and his queen together so close. There would be consequences and everyone knows better than to intrude on the royals and their moments.  

“No. Nothing is worrisome more than you and the lack of sleep you’re getting. I know what I am going to do for you tomorrow,” she said, with a sudden change in her voice. She sounded excited and with that, he laughed at her sudden change of mood. It was one of the reasons why he fell in love with her and why his marriage was one of the happiest when he saw she was one of the women lined up to capture his heart. Immediately, he chose her, unable to keep his heart from escaping with her.

“I hope you make some quality time for me. I want you to,” he said, and she smiled brightly at him. Even though they might be seated next to one another on the throne, they couldn’t be more apart from one another. They would have a turbulence of work to manage so many lands and its people, and they try very hard to please and provide for everyone.

“I could ask you the same, too. We are two busy people who have busy lives. We must compensate,” He said, holding on to her a little more to avoid her from leaving too soon. She longed for it too, since she leaned into him even more. They both shared a fondness for one another, yet they rarely show anyone the meaning of one another.

“I know, and I always do.” His wife said softly, holding his cheek in her palm and her smiled turned down a little. She remembered her burden, and she turned away once more to let her husband go. Without looking back, she could tell he was trying to do the same as her, not to look back yet yearning to do so.

The queen stood at the door for a while, contemplating her options she had to face with Franklin. The door was not open when the queen turned the knob to open it. She didn’t hear a sound, and she was hesitant to knock, thinking he might be asleep. She didn’t want to disturb his sleep. Suddenly, as though Franklin sensed her at the door, it creaked lazily on its hinges. It was too creepy for her and she made a vital mental note to have the door checked the next day. Knowing very well how angry he might be, the queen was a little scared to approach him, even though she knew very well he might not hurt her. In her mind held a little doubt. Franklin was scary when he was angry. She didn’t know where he got it from, or how it built itself so sturdily for such a prolonged period. In her calming walk, she strode into his room and found it in a pile of broken furniture, the beddings all tumbled and torn, and Franklin in the middle of the mess with his head in his hand. She carefully took her steps to come closer into the room open space. Nothing was salvable, she noticed, but she didn’t talk about it. It wasn’t the reason she was here.

“What do you have to say for yourself?” She decided to look at him while speaking. Franklin looked terrible, sporting himself with a blue eye and a bruised cheek. She now began to wonder how the other two might look. She can’t hide the bruise marks from their father.

“I bet you know exactly what I would say,” Franklin said, still not removing his hands from his face, and kept on rubbing his face up and down to ease the pain. His voice was unlike his own. It was rougher compared to his gentle, soft one.

“I want to know if perhaps your wordings would change. Afterall, you spend so much time in the library, you ought to be well spoken,” she said in a taunting voice. She meant well when she started off like that. She wanted to make their conversation lighter than it was.

“What do you want, Mother?” He was not in the mood for any games or gimmicks, and she was sure to get the idea from the one phrase he used.

“I want to know why my son is behaving like he is a lunatic. What is going on with you, Franklin?” She said also in her no-nonsense voice. He knew now that she was serious about what she said. He looked at her now, and he saw she was frowning.

“You would be the same way if everyone treated you like an outcast. My own family treats me like I am a pest,” he said, standing now to look her in the face. Normally one does not look the queen in her face, instead shows their respect to her not making eye contact with her.

“That is not true. Your brothers are only taunting you. You should not let that bother you,” she said, equally defiant. Now she was storming as well as he. He had no right. Yet he feels as though he is losing control of what he says. It was a constant inner turmoil.

“That’s easy to say when you are a queen. Mother, when was the last time you had to stand up for yourself?” He asked and then crouched down so she could see his sneer on his face.

“Don’t you think you’re being unfair? With positions come responsibilities. I avoid certain situations, and I think you should too,” she turned away, not wanting to look at him anymore. It hurts how much hatred she saw in him and didn’t know where it came from.

“You didn’t answer my question, Mother,” Franklin said, his voice had gone sinisterly low. He was now seated back at the edge of the bed, or what was supposed to be a bed, now all torn up like garbage.

“Watch the way you talk to me, Franklin. You might be old enough to throw fists with your brother, but it won’t work on me,” she said, losing her patience at such disrespect and the audacity he has to his mother, yet alone a queen. He could be beheaded for his actions, one which she would regretfully have no say in. Not by law, but by choice.

“I would never hurt you, Mother. You are untouchable. Just like father, and Marcus, and Freitas. I am just your sand bag,” he said, sighing loudly as though he became one with the world. Inside his head he was screaming for it all to stop, but he was hurting and someone has to know how he feels.

“Don’t say that!” she shouted angrily at him. Her chest heaving up and down.

“Then what would you call me? Your lapdog, your slave, because the way I am treated it is not the way a prince should be treated, or much less, a son,” Franklin said. His voice had gone louder and deeper. It still had its sinister tone to it, and it gained fright on his mother.

“You are none of those things. I didn’t come to fight with you, Franklin. I came to have a talk with you. I want you to know that I love you.” She said, approaching him to give him a hug. He extended his hand, a bold move on his part and the only one he chose. He wanted her to not touch him.

“It seems more like pity to me. You’re not an exemplary mother, you know?” He asked, but he knew she would not answer.

“Franklin,” she said, her voice had gone softer now. She took a few steps away from him, clearly showing the hurt his words brought on her.

This certainly wasn’t the son who showed her happiness when he was little. He got lost, and she just watched as he stared at her with blank eyes and didn’t blink. He was urging her to utter another word so he could work her defenses down more. She wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction. Instead, she told herself to wish him a good night instead of continuing their conversation. He was too angry to listen to reason.

“Franklin, my love. I wish you a good night. When you are ready for us to talk, let’s talk. Your mother loves you dearly. Sleep well.”

She didn’t wait to listen if he replied or not. She simply stepped carefully out of the room, as quietly as she could, and left the hallways with a heavy heart and one that yearned for answers about her son. 

Franklin stood up with an aim. It has to be done right now.