When the door shut behind her and Anna sank into the windowseat, all she could think was that being a queen was not all it was cracked up to be.
Perhaps it was a survival instinct; her mind wandered away from the present, and drifted back to when she was young, and engaged to Richard. She'd never met him, and she had seen enough marriages from her parents, friends, and older sisters to know that it was a lottery at best, and unavoidable in any instance. But she was young, and naive, and dreamed of someone kind, who would perhaps want to listen to her play the piano.
A smile touched her icy lips, and she raised her tired head to look at the baby grand in the corner, and found her feet drifting across the carpeted floor towards it. The ivory was smooth under her fingers, and she found herself playing a piano wedding march. Richard was kind, though busy, and she had been fortunate enough to have a happy marriage, and when his father died, to be the queen of the country. Which essentially meant that people now had to call her 'Your Majesty' instead of 'My Lady', and that she had some petty paperwork to do at the end of each day. It also meant her husband was now the King; and became busier still. Their time together became more like visits with a friendly acquaintance instead of the intimacy of a couple.
And then Rafael was born.
she felt pins pricking at her eyes as they crinkled in a smile; her fingers playing soft notes without even thinking. Rafael, named by his father, was a beautiful little prince. Golden curls that she refused to allow to be cut until snickers about the Princess Rafael began to spread through the palace. He got into everything and anything; and there was constantly a flurry of maids and servants after him when he escaped his playrooms. He was rambunctious, loud, and a terror to his nurses.
Except if mommy was in the room. And she knew she spoiled him, she knew it, but she couldn't help it. He was the one person in her life that she loved anymore. Being a queen was lonely, except when you had a little prince to giggle and coo at. He made her feel young again; playing with Rafael took up every spare minute she had; and watched him grow stronger, his chubby hands and toes slowly but surely transforming. She would catch herself watching him play in the garden, and trying to picture him older. His rounded jaw straighter, firmer, his twinkling blue eyes with the wisdom and solemnity of age. Bits and pieces of a picture would float into her head, and be dismissed at some cry of delight or "Mommy look what I found!" Rafael, her little prince.
GNOOONNNGGGGG
Her forehead made the most non-melodic herald to her face as she leaned forward, folding her arms across the keyboard and her shoulders began to shake.
Being a queen was cold, and it was lonely, it held authority and respect and elegance. But in the end, prince or peasant, Queen or housewife; she supposed it didn't make a difference. Losing a child was still just as painful.