“Please, wed me, be my love.” He whispered, his hands dared tremble as he held out the symbol of his monarchy.

Cophetua had never felt those embers of love nor even lust, his heart and what lay beneath cloth unknown to a woman’s gaze. It seemed gods forgot him amongst their devoted.

He was a king, yet the crown felt heavy and hollow upon his brow. Power, gold and jewels were within his grasp. People bowed to his name, drank with him and praised his reign.

Yet Cophetua held no one. No one within his bed, no one in his arms nor to press his lips against skin.

He looked toward his window, his stubbled chin resting upon his hand. Eyes barren of thought as councilmen said their dues, words of gratitude or that of wisdom for his ears alone.

Then the light caught something in its fingers, a maiden, begging upon the streets. Her hands outstretched with hope to be filled by coin, lips pursed and features one of desperation as men and women alike passed.

The King… found his heart swollen, eyes widened by the beauty presented forth to him. He swallowed, his heart nearly clawing itself against his ribs as if to seek its escape and rip itself away.

Cophetua was never a lover, it never seemed within him. His heart did not want to. But now there he was, alone with only you. by his request you upon his throne. Him on his knees, an earnest and look of a beggar.

disheveled, ruined, no longer a man with power as he begged for your hand. For your love, to be his love, his everything by his side.