The crowd cheered as I peered over the balcony, a sea of upturned faces smiling up at me. Lines of soldiers like the neat trim of a summer dress stood to attention by the palace gates, backs to me. Protecting a woman who had her name written on the inside of her wrist so she could remember it.
The king slightly turned his head, catching my eyes and then my hand. He smiled and then flipped my hand, pressing his lips against the veins of my wrist, over my name.
The crowd roared its’ approval, the sound slamming into my ears like tribal drums.
“Wave Seraphina,” he murmured, “they shout for you.”
I obeyed, watching as the crowd shuddered its support of the action. I smiled and leaned against the railing, looking out and waving at the people before me. A small feeling began to lift from the bottom of my heart, rising through my body. As though a forgotten song lyric danced at the back of my throat. I had stood here before. I had worn a crown like the one resting on my brow. I had been happy.
“My people!” The king cried, silencing the crowd as though he had cleaved his sword through the air. “Your queen returns to you! Queen Seraphina knew of your love throughout her illness, she loves you as surely as though you all stood vigil by her bedside. Your king thanks you for your love.”
He gently nudged me, and I cleared my throat, “and your queen loves you.” I said, stretching out my hands palm up as I had practised in the mirror that morning. I had grown accustomed to my oval face, my tumbling auburn hair.
The king took my hand and together we bowed, his hand firmly keeping me from falling.
We turned together and his hand slid to cup my waist, pulling me through the double doors. The crowd was still screaming as the doors shut behind us.
The moment the doors shut the king gently detached himself from me, offering me his hands. King Alaric smiled down into my face, his slightly hooked nose marring his streamline features. It had been broken as a boy I was told. I was told I had been there when it happened, had laughed at him as he held a kerchief to his face as a girl. I was told a great many things.
I was told that my name was Seraphina Aurarius, lady of the Northern Planes and queen of Silvestris. I had been so for almost a year when the accident had left me wounded and lying on the palace steps on the last day of Autumn. That I had been a Queen-in-waiting since I was nine, trained in the way of Regal and arranged by the court politics as a babe.
The moment I woke from my accident King Alaric had been asleep, his head lying by my elbow as he slept. He had woken and exclaimed, “Sera! My love, my wildfire!” And cradled me in his arms.
And I had screamed.
I had never met such a patient man. I could not remember a man before him, so I suppose I had little to compare it to. By our laws he could not be rid of me, I was his queen. Memory or not. He sent me flowers every day. At first it had been Sneezeweed, as it had been my favourite flower as I had found the name amusing. When I showed no sign of remembering after a week, the King provided a new flower every day. A bunch by my window, a single flower on my pillow.
He would subconsciously reach for me at times, only to quickly pull it back or make an excuse for taking something near me. A cup near my elbow at dinner, to remove something in my hair, to gently turn my head and comment on the earrings I wore that day.
It pained us both that I wore the face of the queen he clearly had dearly loved. I spent hours each day with doctors, each one brewing me bizarre concoctions or having me perform strange mental tasks. I became an expert in counting backwards in sevens or recounting my entire day down to minute detail.
Each day the king would come to me and gently take my hands, looking me deep in my eyes. Not a word would pass between us, but he would smile and say, “it’s okay Seraphina, as long as you remember me now. As I am.”
As he did now, taking my hands and smiling down into my face.
“You did well,” he said, “the people remember you.” He shrugged apologetically at the slip, yet I felt the jab slide harmlessly past me, tracing the smile lines around his eyes, the gentle wistful smile on his mouth with my gaze.
“Are you okay?” He asked as my eyes watched his mouth slip into a frown. I shook my head to clear it, forcing my eyes up.
“Yes, it has been a challenging year.”
He nodded his understanding, dropping my hands and taking some unknown parchment from an attendant to skim over. He signed it and returned it before offering me his arm.
My dress whispered as I moved to take it, letting him lead me away and down the corridor. My mind buzzed with questions I didn’t know I cared the answer for.
Did he like my dress? Did he think I was beautiful? Did he still think of me as his wife? Or an imposter? Did he care that I had no memories of him – did I hurt him?
We entered one of the castle top gardens, one that I often visited. I was not sure how he knew, yet he led me to the sunlit pillowed bench I favoured, and we sat together.
He offered me a flower. It was an Asiatic Lily, one that I had become partial to over the year. It reminded me of a sunset, a promise of tomorrow. I wondered how he knew.
“Seraphina,” he said softly as I took the flower, “you never say my name.”
I looked down at the lily, “no, I do not feel I have the right Sir.”
He looked bemused at the title, but smiled, “am I a stranger to you?”
“No.”
“Am I a friend?”
I looked up at him and felt a blush run across my face, “yes.”
“Then I ask, that you call me by my name. After all,” he looked away, “today is the anniversary of our wedding.”
I watched him the way those who know they are hidden can. His navy-blue tunic was bright against the green around us. His blond hair was neatly brushed behind his ears. I found I knew every curve of his face, his cheekbones, his eyebrow lines. And I realised.
He looked alone.
“Alaric,” I said, reaching out for his hand, “I’m sorry that you lost your Sera, I’m sorry that I am not her. But,” I ran my thumb over his hand, “I want to love you. Truly I do.”
He smiled. Nay, he beamed. His eyes shone crystal blue as he stared at me.
“Seraphina,” he said, “I married you body and soul. Whether that soul remembers me or not. Let us learn about each-other.”
Tentatively he leaned forward until our foreheads rested against each other.
“I will learn to love you as you are.” I whispered.
He closed his eyes and smiled, “and I repeat my vow. I will love you, body and soul. Though the sun set on our love. It can begin anew.”
ns 108.162.216.86da2
and then Add to home screen.