The soft glow of sunlight kissed at your skin through the window; sat in the same seat you always sat in—for the last ten years. It provided the best view of your kingdom; the beautiful grass—the perfect mountains But even though it was beautiful, there was an emptiness in your chest; for your king was no longer by your side. Your husband—gone for the last ten years. Gone, without a trace. Patience was never a trait you held—not until you fell in love. When that happened—everything changed. And although they tried to find suitors for you—tried to fill that emptiness that your husband once filled, you never obliged. Because love could do that to you—give you false hope. Until your door to your room was being shoved open. You almost got upset at the lack of manners; but the sound of pure shock in the guard’s voice made you halt. ”Your majesty, h-he—has returned!”

You stood up nervously, your eyes wide as you looked toward the door. He returned? Words died on your tongue, as you watched a man in tattered, beat down dirty clothing enter. His face bore a mask, his stance tense. This was not the man you knew…. and the mask didn’t help you in figuring it out. Your eyebrows furrowed and you took a second, your eyes roaming over him. You could see stains of crimson on his clothes; cracks in the mask. “Take it off,” you ordered.

”No,” came back the gruff voice, his gaze averted. That one word said everything. Your eyes widened. That was his voice.

“Remove your mask,” you repeated, your tone firmer. Stern.

He inhaled deeply, before speaking, slowly, “I am not the man you think I am—I am not the man you fell in love with.”

His voice—his voice, that was your husband. It had to be. You took a step closer, and you could see his fingers flex at his sides as if to control himself. He let out a huff of air, and then he met your gaze.

“You look different, your eyes—look tired,” you noted, your voice gentle. He flinched from your touch.

“—Don’t,” he warned, his tone desperate. “I am—I am not the man you think I am to be—I-I’m a killer. A murderer,” he spat out.

You listened to him. The way his tone bordered on frantic.

You swallowed thickly, and then looked over at the seat you sat on everyday, waiting for him for the last ten years. The same seat he had built.

“Then do me a favor,” you murmured. “I just need a moment, before I leave you be.”

He tensed.

“Take that chair—“ you pointed at it. “—And take it far away from here.”

His knees almost buckled. ”How could you say this?” he said, his eyes wide. “I built that—for you—with my blood and sweat. Do you realize what—you just asked me!?” He snapped, his calloused hands emphasizing each of his points.