D' Arc || The King

Chapter XII

Henry clenched his jaw. "If you're going to cling onto this-" "I don't want to cling onto this, but it was murder... and what happened to be honest to one another?" She asked, her voice becoming soft as she finished. "You should have told me."

Isabel glared at him as her chest heaved. Her anger drained away and she placed a hand over her abdomen. The world seemed to spin and she shut her eyes as she fell to her knees. Her other hand clenched in the snow, her only anchor as she dumped what was left in her stomach out onto the ground.

"Isabel!" Henry stepped towards her, but she sat back on her heels and held up a hand. "Do. Not. Touch. Me," she snarled in a low voice, pushing herself off the ground and scuffing some snow over the disgusting contents on the ground. "Now excuse me, I have somewhere to be," said Isabel in a cold voice as she stomped off, leaving her basket behind as she headed towards the tent cleared out for the injured.

Later when the sun had set, Henry opened the tent flap, wishing that he had some other way to keep his men from freezing to death at night. He looked up and found Isabel sitting at the edge of the bed, blankly staring across the tent at the pale fabric. Her eyebrows were scrunched up slightly, as there was something on her mind that was bothering her immensely.

In truth, she was thinking about the incident at Anne's home after Thomas had left and after she had vented her frustration out on Henry. Isabel knew the signs of pregnancy, after all, she was the one who had helped many women in her little town give birth, but she kept denying it. Perhaps she was sick and that was all.

Isabel tore herself away from her thoughts and found Henry standing on the threshold of the tent and he lifted a hand. "Knock knock," he said and she smiled. "Come in, Hal. It's your tent technically."

She remained silent as he perched on the edge of the bed, respecting her boundaries and not wanting to intrude. "I know it is probably too late...but I'm sorry," he said before turning to look at her. "Can you find it in yourself to forgive me?"

"I'd be lying to say that I forgive you, Henry," said Isabel before her hand strayed to her stomach, but she stopped halfway and averted her gaze away from Henry who sat, trying not to look to dejected over her choice.

"Would you have felt the same if it had been reversed? If I was killed when I was taken prisoner and killed would you be like that?" He asked, finally speaking up, and she looked up at him. "It's different," she snapped and he leaned forward. "Do tell," Henry said cooly and Isabel clenched her jaw. "They were French and they were prisoners. They were beaten, did you have to kill them?"

"They took part in the slaughter," Henry reasoned and Isabel crossed her arms.

"Many of them were forced to serve. Most of them were farmers who were called to arms by their lord. I was lucky that Jacques wasn't taken with my father, you probably would have killed him," she snapped, her voice like ice.

"You think I'm overreacting, don't you?" She said and Henry looked down at the mattress and sighed.

"I do, but I can also see what drives you to this point. They were your people and I had them all killed," he said and she pulled her knees up to her chest.

"Yes, that is part of it, but do you see what kind of precedence you've set, Hal? By killing those men, you've said that it is alright to order the execution of unarmed men. Do you not see what could happen if your men were captured? What would the French king do if he defeated and captured you?" asked Isabel.

"I wouldn't let it happen," Henry said and she placed her hand down on the mattress. "You aren't a god," she replied bluntly and he pursed his lips. "Isabel-"