la vida

iii

The King never removed his eyes from her captivating ones while bowing to her. She curtseyed gracefully in response. "Your name, beautiful?" He asked her. His words came out shakily, longingly. He had stood before the world's strongest armies and didn't bat an eye, but this blond maiden, the blond maiden of the roses, had him under her spell.

"Loreli." She responded, extending her hand. Loreli, The King whispered to himself. Her name tangled up all of her beauty and wove it into letters. Loreli, Loreli, Loreli. The letter L slid through his thoughts and he could feel the sweet and sensual consonant flowing through his veins. "Why are you out here, m'lady?" The King inquired whilst kissing her outstretched hand savoringly. Her skin was soft and thin under his rough lips.

"To clear my head. I could smell the roses from all the way in there. Not that there is anything wrong with your gathering, Your Highness, I just couldn't keep myself from your garden. It's beautiful." Her words etched a smile across his hard face. She brought life into him, and he knew he couldn't let that get away. "You could smell that light of a scent amongst all the wine and ale, aye?" He asked her. She used one of her long fingers and traced along the cobblestone railing of the garden wall. "I suppose I have a knack for seeking out the purity in things." She answered through a smirk, looking up and down the King who had fought more wars than she could count on her fingers, killed and watched so many other men die, and overthrew their kingdom's previous dictator singlehandedly.

They were married the following week.

They ruled the kingdom of the Eastern Keys marvelously, with equal admiration for the wellbeing of their people and eachother. But Loreli soon became sick, and had to leave the King and all of their people. The Kingdom mourned the death and tried to celebrate the life of the radiant, life-giving Loreli, their queen and their hope.

But the now not-so-young king was lost. Loreli left him... His blossomed rose, his love, his life, his darling, his bride... Where was she now? Had she even been there in the first place? He never should have loved in the first place, it's such a dangerous game and no amount of esteemed battle strategy could have won him this war. No amount of supplies and troops could defeat the evil forces that tremored through his veins. The cold and sickening disease of heartache consumed him.

Many weeks after Loreli's passing, the King was still grieving in his chambers. On an icy night in December, similar to the one so long ago where he knew he needed to find love, he sat along his balcony in nothing but his night linens. He looked down at the garden below him. The roses were dead and brown, it's wasn't their season. Perhaps it wasn't his, either. But seasons come and go and are filled with a consistent promise to bring each of their own unique gifts, but oh! His grief was not a season. His grief was that of the moon-- forever cold and promising to come every day for the rest of eternity. And when it seems bright and full again, there's always a side turned away from the earth. There will always be a dark, frigid, empty side to the moon and to the King.