Beyond the King's Gate

Chapter Nineteen

There was a rush of servants that ran past Ronald. He got out of the way to let them go past. They seemed to be in quite a hurry.

It was often hectic around the castle. But that made Ronald look twice. It wasn't every day that the nurse rushed with a swarm of servants.

That's interesting. He thought. Shrugging it off he walked over to the gathering room where he'd be meeting with King Fredrick's men to discuss the search and how it's going. If anyone had found her.

It has been a week and there was still no sign of her. King Fredrick had left the day of her disappearance, with very little information on where she could've gone.

Ronald was worried that milasicuous men could've taken her. Worries increased as fearful images circled in his mind. It kept him awake past midnight. Tossing and turning each night.

He hadn't slept well since her disappearance. Everyday he hoped she would come back, but if he knew Bethany well, he knew she was as firm in her place as a bull. There was no chance she would come back so long as the King himself did not invite her back.

He'd talked with her mother, but even she had no clue where she could've gone. The mother was looking unwell.

Ronald pulled a hand through his outgrown hair, he was a mess.

Walking down the hall that connected the king's quarters to the other side of the castle, he had all but reached the end, when a very frazzled Henry nearly knocked Ronald off his feet. Running up to him he was barely coherent.

Breathlessly, he informed Ronald, "Your father, your father," he gulped air in efforts to calm down, though it did nothing for him. "Your father has fallen extremely ill."

At those words, his stomach dropped.

With a sprint, he rushed in the direction Henry came from, forgetting Henry. He rushed to be at his fathers side, all the while flashbacks of their fight last week kept playing in his mind on repeat.

He had all but disowned the crown. Yes he was angry, he had every right to be. But at that moment he wondered if he had gone too far. Causing his father so much stress, that he had fallen ill. Ronald prayed earnestly he could still make it, to speak to his father.

When he reached the room, he froze at the image he saw there.

His mother knelt over the bed, weeping inconsolably. Under the covers, his father lay still. Too still.

"Mother?" He couldn't dare ask the question that consumed his mind. Is he alive?

Another sob and a gulp from his mother. He rushed to her side, ignoring the servants that kept him from her. Embracing her, he held onto her as though she were oxygen he needed.

A lump in his throat grew. Tears blurred his vision. His father was pale, his face contorted in pain.

Was he truly gone? He didn't want to believe it. While holding his mother, he reached for his fathers.

The king's hand was stiff and cold, it didn't respond to his touch. Ronald gave a sharp inhale. Shaking his head, he called out to his father, hoping he could hear him, "Father, please wake up. Please, I didn't mean to cause you such stress. I promise I will do what is right, for you, for the country."

"Son, he's gone." his mother pulled away from his embrace, her eyes full of tears. "He so badly wanted to see you, to tell you that he was sorry for pushing you all your life, instead of loving you the way you needed." She searched his eyes, "He loved you, more than himself. He knew you'd be a better king, though he never did tell you."

All he could do was pull her back into an embrace. Hiding in his mother's hair, he wanted to go back in time. Back when he was yet a kid, having no pressure except to study.

All his life he thought his father disapproved of him, why did it have to be so that only with his dying breath did he reveal his true feelings?

With all of his effort he pulled away from his mother. His eyes burned, and his throat constricted as the servants gently asked them to leave the room so they could tend to his father.

Before he dragged himself from the room, his eyes caught one last glimpse. He ran to his bed, and fell into his fathers limp arms. A bitter cry escaped.

"I wish I had more time with you." He swallowed the lump that threatened to suffocate him. He watched, hoping there might be life still in him, but as he felt strong arms pull him away, he knew there wasn't. Before he could leave his side for the final time, he said in a hoarse voice, "I love you paps. I always did. I sought your love and affections more than anything. Now I know you loved me, but it's too late."

Henry pulled him into the hall, "I'm so sorry, Ronald." He gave him comforting pats on his back. "I thought you could make it. He was just awake when I left his side..." his words fell.

Instead of trying to comfort him anymore, Henry knew to better leave him be, so he began speaking of his fathers funeral. "You will have to make arrangements for his burial." He held onto Ronalds shoulders for just another moment. "Be strong, my son. Be strong." 

Ronald stood taller then. Composure he didn't have before, gave him a small dose of strength. Enough to be there for his mother. The Queen stood a few feet from him with servants tending to her. All her married life, she was the perfect image of strength, and courage, in this moment she had neither strength nor the courage.

He needed to be strong, for her.

She loved Ronald's father with unfeigned love. And now that he was gone, she only had Ronald.

"Thank you, for everything Henry." He said, giving the head butler a pat on the shoulder.

His face was now contorted with guilt. "Your majesty, I should've called for you earlier. It's just...it happened so suddenly."

This caught his attention. "What did transpire to my father? What had caused such a quick death?"

"He had a heart episode a week earlier, I should've known it could happen again."

A week earlier? He knew exactly what day that was. The lump grew thick once more. Did Ronald cause his father to pass away? He recalled how he had screamed at him, dishonored him. Yes his father hadn't treated Bethany right, or him, but he did that all out of love. The king was raised that way, that there was an order to things.

How can Ronald blame him if that's all he knew his whole life? After all, his grandfather was much worse than his own father.

"It's not your fault, Henry. It's mine." His head came down, and he squeezed the bridge of his nose. "I yelled at him that day, I disowned the crown out of spite. I gave him a heart attack."

"No. You did not." His words meant nothing, for Ronald knew the truth.

Walking to his mother, he held her shoulders and whispered to her, "Come on mother, let's get out of here." They walked slowly, lining their shoes, dragging their feet, and they managed to reach the end of the quarters. They walked until the room was far away.

But the grief followed them.