Prince Ewan slid a wooden panel aside and stepped out from behind the tapestry that adorned Victoria’s chamber. As her words indicated she was alone, the 26-year old, handsome younger brother of King Richard stepped into the room without hesitation. His hazel eyes wore a complex expression that mixed equal parts desperation with exhaustion; passion with world-weariness – all mixed together with a blush from the brandy. The Prince was wearing his finest cloak, a golden clasp and some cobwebs. He did his best to sweep the worst of them off as he approached his lover of eight years.<br/><br/>“It’s wonderful to see you, too,” he teased as he offered to take her hand in his. If she let him do so, he then brought her hand to his mouth in order to kiss her fingers. Following that – and if she was willing – he pulled her gently into their first embrace in months. He exhaled loudly as their arms enfolded one another after what seemed to him like an eternity.<br/><br/>“By God how I have missed you,” he said, blinking rapidly. His lover, nine years his senior, had also been his greatest mentor since their first tryst. Still, he chose to ignore her recent advice for the time being. Instead his eyes searched hers for the passion they had known in the past. “I am so glad you came…” he added, his voice fading. “I… I need to sit…”<br/><br/>Once seated Ewan placed both hands on his head and gripped tightly, as if his mind was no longer under his control. It look him several moments to get out what he needed to say.<br/><br/>“I killed her,” he mumbled, staring at the floor. After another moment he looked up at Victoria with an expression of confusion. “Not by my hand… but by making her with child. It is my fault…” he said, his voice fading again. His tone sounded stressed and confused – though oddly without a sense of remorse.<br/><br/>“They sent for every healer in the capitol – but no one could stop the bleeding. They wouldn’t even allow me to see her… until it was too late.” His sentences were short and choppy, far different from his usual eloquence. Clearly Ewan was struggling to make sense of his emotions.<br/><br/>“And yet… yet I feel nothing. Nothing at all. How can that be? I never loved the woman – but I did not wish her dead. Still I feel – nothing.” He looked directly into the eyes of the woman whom he loved in place of his late wife.<br/><br/>“You are the only one I can say these things to,” he added, his eyes asking her for guidance in his existential crisis.