Perfect. Here's a first-person POV narration from Edward, written with Tudor-style elegance and inner turmoil. The scene takes place a few weeks or months into the marriage—after Queen Eleanor’s death, after his new marriage to Princess Mohini, and amidst Edward’s growing emotional distance from everything… except the child.
King Edward's POV:
They say kings do not mourn. That grief is a luxury of the common soul, not a crown-bearer’s burden. But I—I have mourned in silence, in candlelight, in the stillness of chambers too vast and too cold.
It has been four months since Eleanor died, and yet the scent of her lingers in corridors I no longer walk. Our son, Henry, is but three months old, soft as morning mist, and the only tether left between what I once had and what I must now become.
They forced my hand. A king cannot cradle sorrow too long; England demands heirs, alliances, a queen. And so, I married again. A princess not of Lancaster blood or English womb, but of Indravati. Princess Mohini.
The court calls her exotic behind raised goblets and veiled fans, but she is more than silk and sandalwood. She walks with fire in her spine. Her tongue is sharp when needed, silent when not. I do not share her chamber—by choice, not by law. We are husband and wife by parchment and politics.
And yet…
I’ve seen her with Henry.
In the quiet hours, when no lords linger and no servants speak, she holds him with the gentleness of spring rain. Hums lullabies in a tongue I do not know, but Henry quiets at her voice as if it were his mother’s.
She cradles him as if he were her own. As if Eleanor's ghost does not haunt him. As if I am not watching from behind heavy doors with a heart I do not know how to name anymore.
I should thank her. I never do.
Instead, I speak only when needed. As I did tonight.
"The child sleeps better in your arms than he ever did in mine," I murmured from the shadows. She did not turn, only whispered, "Perhaps... because I carry no sorrow when I hold him."
And I... I had no answer to that.