Ashes of the Past ✔️

Their Love

───── ❝ Chapter Eleven ❞ ─────

Adieya's chest rose and fell with the rhythm of her conflicting emotions. Her fingers trembled against Henry's chest, torn between the allure of his love and the reality of their impossible union. A subtle breeze whispered through the castle walls, carrying the fragrance of blooming jasmine and the distant echoes of revelry against the turmoil in her heart.

"I have loved you since the moment I laid eyes on you in France, Dia, even under a mask and a false name I fell, I fell so hard," Henry's voice quivered, infused with a raw fervor that resonated in the quiet courtyard.

As Henry's words hung in the crisp night air, the courtyard seemed to hold its breath. His confession lingered, the weight of his emotions palpable as the stars twinkled above, casting a faint luminescence over the duo caught in a moment of profound intimacy. The confession, a blend of fervor and vulnerability, hung in the air like an unspoken promise of forbidden passion. Adieya's eyes glistened with unshed tears, her resolve faltering in the wake of his impassioned words.

"Henry, you have a wife. One who cares for you. And me, a broken Queen. Your wife broke me long before you ever met both of us," Adieya whispered, her voice wavering with an amalgamation of pain and desire.

The fleeting connection shattered as Adieya withdrew, her touch fleeing from Henry's chest as though it bore the sting of a searing brand. Her abrupt pivot marked the stark end to the intimate moment, leaving a void between them filled with unspoken truths and insurmountable obstacles.

"Dia," Henry's voice quivered with surprise and yearning, his hand reaching out for her arm in a desperate bid to bridge the growing chasm.

Yet, she was beyond his reach, already striding away, her figure cloaked in the darkness that enveloped the castle's grounds. Henry's heart raced as he sensed the distance growing, compelling him to move, to chase after the enigma of a woman who held his heart in her fragile grasp.

His footsteps echoed in urgency as he followed, the distance between them expanding with every passing second. Adieya quickened her pace, the rustle of her skirts punctuating the night's stillness as her pulse quickened with a mixture of apprehension and unresolved affection.

The moon cast its silvery glow upon the fleeing figure of the Queen, her hurried steps almost a dance of conflict and determination. Her breath, a faint mist in the cool air, carried with it words of a love that transcended time and tragedy.

"I have loved you always, Henry. Even when you killed me, I loved you," her voice, barely audible, floated behind her in the night, mingling with the breeze before disappearing into the vast expanse of the castle's grounds.

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In the dimly lit throne room, the aftermath of the elaborate party unfolded, leaving a lingering tension that veiled the air between Henry and Adieya. Their subtle avoidance was palpable as Henry remained seated on his regal throne, engrossed in discussions and political discourse, calling forth guests to partake in the exchange of ideas and pleasantries.

Adieya, meanwhile, drifted through the crowd, a figure of grace and poise, engaging in conversations with nobles and their families. Her approachable nature and genuine interest in the English way of life and politics resonated with those present, earning her both admiration and respect. Her demeanor, a blend of regal strength and warm congeniality, left an indelible mark on the court, endearing her to those who already esteemed her and swaying the opinion of those initially skeptical of a foreign ruler.

In the midst of the evening's ebb and flow, Charles, a perceptive figure among the courtiers, approached the dais where Henry sat. With a deferential bow to the king, he offered a goblet, breaking the weighty silence that enveloped the space. Moments passed in quietude as they both observed the Russian Empress captivating the court with her presence and grace.