Books have always had a certain recognition of love. They just express it in different ways, in different styles, and in different manners. I have seen some call it the kissing of the rain with the land; I have read somewhere the liking of the stars by lonesome human eyes; I have seen others liken it to the wail of the lonesome wolf to the lone sailing moonlight up high above the horizon; how beautiful isn't it? It is, of course. We all fantasize about such a kind of love—that which feels like the air we breathe, that which makes us kneel in adoration—but we all know it is not always as it is. It is different; love is pain, love is suffering, love is heartache, and love is just... And what is there to love if you don't fear? If you don't fear the minute you blink at the person next to you, the person with whom her eyes and beauty mesmerize you, without caring about anyone else who does, all you hope for is that she will be the lone who shall see you as you do to her.
This was the feeling I had with the princess that night. I was scared she would leave, and I would be left in the coldness and fog of my mind. I feared she would not recognize me the next minute I took my hand off her; I feared she would turn away the minute I stopped talking to her; and I feared she would shut her ears off me the moment I continued talking too much. I believe that was the first time I talked more than a million words in one minute, just hoping, only hoping, she would cherish the moment and remember the bastard, who had nothing but admiration for her. I wanted to tell her about my adventure. I wanted to tell her that if I were to come back to England and become the Duke, I would marry her. I wanted her to just give me the reassuring that maybe she would write for me, but she just kept nodding to my words and making a little sly smile until she just made the most crashing statement on my face: 'I liked you better then; you bore me with your words.' And I remember stepping back. I watched myself turn away from her, the pain still fresh and intact, hoping she would say I did not mean it or she would say I was playing with you, but she did not; she just left.
Before saying the word, I had offered the drink, but maybe my speaking scared her, or maybe my dressing made her hate me. I say this as I am watching the natural rivers of this country flow down the rocks. I am alone, just remembering everything. The way she walked out on me, the woman with whom somehow made me feel all sorts of feelings, I had not engaged with her much, but the little was important for me to feel; it was aching, this heart that had somehow turned cold from the world. I saw her dance with the Prince of Italy, the bastard, with whom I did not want to recognize me. I saw her let him touch her hair—that which I alone had ever touched—while we were watching the people dance in the various ball dances back in England. I am not sure if she enjoyed the touching; I am not sure if she even enjoyed the company of that hot, handsome-looking prince. Of course, maybe what killed me was the fact he was handsome, his beards, which women went crazy on observation, and he was a prince. And who was I, a random man living with hopes and beliefs about survival and the future? Uncertainty.
I was currently throwing some stones at some birds that were somehow eating the mold in the rocks with which the river flew. I never really had much idea of the residents of this country; all I did was sit in the castle and maybe teach the princes and princesses how to play the piano. Today was the only day I felt like moving out and having some fresh air. The house was depressing because all I could think of was the princess with that lousy man, a prince of Italy. I hated the feeling; after everything I did, after the many fights I had with William for this girl, just because he felt I was playing around with her feelings, and all along I was just trying to protect her from my world, But why did it hurt me so much when, all along, I just wanted her to be far away from me? I know, it hurt because, despite the fact that I wanted her far away from me, I just wanted her to somehow have a waiting for me, to figure my life out, to make dead-end deals for us, to maybe form a stable future, a stable home, that she and I would make our small heaven. Was it really the plan, or was it the simple plan I was putting in my head right now and then? The truth still remained that that was the first time I had faced rejection from a woman; it was deeper than a burn. I remember that I did not even sleep that night; I sat on the stairs as Ezron found me sad, just observing the darkness. He laughed first when I told him the issue, and I don't know, I somehow caught his collars, as if I wanted to fight him, until I somehow stopped myself. I was angry, angry with me, angry with myself, angry with my world, angry with what I was, and I knew I needed just someone to punch, something to beat me into finding myself passed out, as I wanted William to during our fight about the princess. Sometimes I felt worthless, worth nothing in life; it was just another hate level if someone really took their time and fitted into my shoes, but that did not matter until that day. Until that day, 'you bore me' were the words that just recalled in my mind. If a woman called you that as a man, it was something like back off, or I hate you, or stop, or just leave. I hadn't figured out the hell hole of a life I dug myself into or found myself in until that time. However, Ezron became cozy with me and took me to the room we shared. He gave me some advice, but they were just nothing but little talks of little matter, for my heart and mind could not contemplate the thing that happened.
'You'll find a better ladyship'
'Princess Hasimine has a liking for you' Anyway, this princess was all beautiful, Princess Hasmine for clarity; she was indeed gorgeous, but she could never intercede my likeness for the princess of England. Princess Hasmine had quite an intimidating character but was quite good indeed—a caring character, of course.
"Sir Willock, Prince Amir, has asked for you." The soldier called out to me, removing me from my crazy thoughts. Amir was always worried about me when I left the castle or when I was away from his eyes. I wasn't sure if it was some brotherly love or something, but he just did not like it. So I just went down wherever I stood on this rock and followed the man.
"Where were you, brother?" Amir asked right when I arrived. It took us some fifteen minutes to reach the castle.
"Checking out the hills—I mean, the river—it is quite beautiful."
"It is not safe for you to walk around wearing that." Amir stated, pointing out the way I was dressed. The same red wear in addition to the cap, like some English commanders.
"I just needed to clear my head."
"Is it about the princess?" He asked.
"I would rather not speak about it." I stated, trying hard, that I was not ready to talk about it, because when you actually come to have an inspection of the issue, I have little to no reason to be worried or saddened because, first things first, I was the one who always pushed the princess away.
"She declined her engagement for you. The engagement with the second prince of Russia," Amir forced. I knew it was to my interests, but I really did not feel like listening to any blurts about her; it felt heavier and heavier for me, but these news stories of course surprised me: "You left right when the King was deciding to let you two have it." Amir uttered his statement and left. We were in our room, which we shared, and those words suddenly killed me. The chants, so where were they from if not from the king? I suddenly started checking my old crafts on my bag, those which I never really even touched but which I always carried with me—the little painting of my mother, the papers, and all the words I used to describe the princess.
'I never saw another as beautiful as she,'
'She told me her name is Diana, and she is a princess, Princess Diana'
'Her laughter quite mesmerizes me'
'She has a smile similar to her sister'
'Her face is blemishless like mine'
'She likes nature like I do; I shall take her to Lake Tigris; we shall enjoy'
'She loves white and blue roses'
'She does not have a liking for art; it broke my heart quite'
'She said I have beautiful eyes'
'She called me handsome'
These were the many words I described the girl with, so you can imagine how much of a liking I had for her. Oh hell, imagine. She got me lost, Princess Diana.