His Queen

10.

A/N: Please read!

This is a long chapter!

Read every word.
This is a very important chapter, so please, don't skip anything.
Take note of the year dates, you might be confused. In this story, Harry is 20, but he looks like his 22 year old self, 2016 but with the long hair.

Harry was born in the year 1680.
Current year is 1700.

I would like to say thank you to:
sweetpieharry
DayDrreamer_
Nina1712
Edward_Hills

Thank you for the super sweet messages!

I hope you like the chapter!

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February 1, 1687

Today is the day I graced the world seven years ago. I sat on my throne beside my father at the head table as he commenced a feast for me. I ate, watched, and grinned. Thanked the people for their thoughtful greetings and gifts.

My father kissed my head and said; "Happy Birthday, my son."

In return, I spoke: "Thank you, father."

I see a glint of happiness.
I see a glint of pride.
I see a glint of sadness.
I see a glint of longing.
All I can see behind his eyes.

You see, the eyes are the windows to your soul.
And for that, I can see it all as clear as the water from the pristine ocean, I can see it all through his eyes.

I see fury.

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February 2, 1687

I opened the hundreds of gifts, gold spilling out from the chests, jewels hanging from the rim of the heavy baskets full of luxury.
I wondered, if a commoner was to have his birthday, simple gifts would be offered. A wooden horse would be given to him.

But in my birthday, my father gave me a real horse.

His horse must have been plain wood, but it was crafted by his father with love. For he knew that his little boy would be more than ecstatic to have a horse. His little boy's dream horse. The horse's saddle will be made of their old leather jackets.

But the saddle of my horse was made of fine leather, gold encrusted in the reigns and a golden badge of Seforaux on the neck of my horse with my name intricately embedded within.

So why was mine exaggerated?

It could be all the simplest things in the world if I could just have it.
If I could just be with what my heart calls for.
My heart speaks for something.
My heart yearns for something.

There is a missing piece.
And I long to find it.

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March 7, 1687

I have nothing to do today. My lessons had been scheduled for the following week for I have been told that my mind's intellect equals an adult; therefore making the lessons appropriate for my age too dull and completed with such ease. My instructors had to pick a lesson that was appropriate for my advanced intellect.