The King's Artist
Adelaide's hands trembled as she brought the paint brush across the canvas slowly. Her eyes stung painfully but she refused to let a single tear fall. She inhaled, shakily feeling her chest constrict painfully.
Adelaide looked up at the subject she was painting and felt her heart lurch in her chest like it usually did when she looked at him.
Henry's eyes met hers baring their signature ferocity. Not a single muscle twitched as he sat perched on his chair with his crown placed delicately on his dark hair. His jaw seemed tight, however, and his back ridged.
With the last stroke completing the picture, Adelaide set the brush down still with a shaky hand and took a step back from the canvas. She meant to turn and leave as quickly as she could, but before she had taken even two steps, Henry had seized her around the waist and pulled her to him.
"Forgive me," he whispered, pained, before pressing his lips to hers. Adelaide felt the tears finally fall. Even though it was wrong, even though she had no right to love him, Adelaide kissed him back with equal hunger letting herself fall into him. Forgetting, for a moment, that he was a King and she was nothing more than an artist.