It was frustrating—frustratingly annoying that this day would be a series of events that would pull the proverbial rug underneath her feet. And yet Rosalyn Lockhart was the Queen and so she had to keep her composure. Keep it despite her pounding heart that toiled needlessly so in her chest.
Genuine. Raw. Vulnerable.
All of these could be said of the man in front of her and it would be a lie to say that his words and his expression failed to reach out and touch a portion of her heart—because it did. A child begging on her knees for acceptance flashed momentarily in her mind and left as quickly as it had appeared.
What a morning it has been, Your Majesty? Are you in some need for medication and tea?
