Monologue Of Ann

“Ann . . . Ann, I’m sorry,” King Caxton suddenly apologized, after noticing the fear in her eyes. “Please forgive me. I never meant to respond to your loving words with such cruelty and anger,” he tells his wife, the Queen. “It’s just . . . Being here, being back at court . . . There are things I need to figure out; and I just ask you please, as my consort and my friend. Do not doubt nor forsake me, or the love I have for you. Continue to believe in me and believe the man you marry underneath the willow tree, will come back to you.”

Queen Ann weeps, her voice breaking from the tears streaming down her face. “I want to believe somehow the bond of our love, will end this distance growing between us. But the longer the months continue, the more

He was not fully ready to bear his troubles: things that have been on his mind since returning home; things he never told anyone; feelings, he would never admit to having. Nevertheless, the king could not stand further hurting the woman he loves. “Ann . . .” he pauses, gathering his strength. “The reason why I have been distant, cold, untalkative; there are things about my past I do not wish to share. But I will, for I do not want to lose you, nor lose what we have,” he said, nestling her pretty head underneath his pointy chin. “I hated my father for how easily he bestowed kindness and compassion onto others; and how little of it, he gave me-his first-born son. It took, defying him, to finally earn my father’s respect.” The king did not expect his painful and emotional wounds to reopen all at once. “My father is known throughout the realm as a hero for placing his subject’s lives above even his own. Yet, when I was born sickly, and even the Seekers could not foresee if I would live. My mother was the only bright star amongst a sea of black. She nursed me, even after everyone, including my own father, believed my death was imminent.” His gaze diminishes as the memories of his childhood, overwhelmed him. “It was because of my mother’s strength, love, and devotion, the same you embody. I stand before you.” He struggles to curb the tears, bubbling at the surface of his gray eyes. “My father . . .” he pauses

He slides the queen’s long lock on the side and begins retying the lace of her dress. His fingers, reach the curve of where her back ends and her bottom begins. “Thank you,” she murmurs, peaking back.

Queen Ann turns around. Her skin was a pink hue. “I hope, my love. I have left you in a better mood, than which I’d found you,” she said, flirtatiously. Feeling their bond re-strengthen and the distance mended by King Caxton’s reveal.

“You have . . . My Queen.” King Caxton grins in a euphoric state, no longer consumed by his dreadful thoughts. He reaches for her hands, lifting one to his mouth. The touch of his lips on her knuckles nearly made the queen swoon. Like the love, she feels for the king, is intoxicating. “After my mother died, my father once told me, ‘Death is not the end, it is just the beginning of a new cycle.’ I never understood his words, until now,” he recalls, eyeing her round belly. He gingerly caresses the top of her hand, returning his gaze to hers. “On the day of my father’s funeral, my brothers and I had our father’s favorite, blue flowers, planted in the Garden as a way to honor him. I heard they have now blossomed. If you like . . . I’ll pluck some to sit at your bedside; like I used to when we live in our quaint little farmhouse in the