Page 117 of Of Monsters Of Kings

“Hearts,” the king repeated.

“What of love? In mythical stories of kings and princesses, there always seemed to be some mention of love.”

“I am from mythical times, yes, and it was so. The notion was a romantic one and likely not felt as often as it was professed.”

“Why don’t you speak of love when you ask for my hand, See?”

“Because love is not a matter for ancients or immortals, Perantiqua. Love is a fleeting notion that might be overridden by many trivial things—a greater lust, greater riches, a breaking of mind, a changed purpose, or even a change of mind. Love is mortal and easily dies, and so it is not what I would feel for you, nor you for me if you were wise. What we feel for each other must be immortal.”

The spiced wine soured in my throat and stomach. His words devastated me, and I felt young again for speaking of love. I’d grown up in a place where companionship was the maximum of what most adults could be to one another. Even if companions didn’t often create children together, I’d witnessed love between them many times. I’d felt love of a different nature for my mother, and the love I held for her persevered to this day though she was gone.

Wasn’t that immortal? If two people decided to love one another every day, and treat each other accordingly, then why couldn’t love exist on an immortal scale? Monsterdom had exceeded my human life in every way so far, and that must hold true for love also, even if See wasn’t convinced of it.

“Your answer disappoints me, sir,” I replied. “It disappoints me more than anything you’ve admitted tonight.”

I rose from the table, spilling the goblet when I jostled the table with my hip.

I strode for the entrance.

“You storm off in passion because I would feel something greater than love for you?” King See said in amazement.

I whirled back. “You’ve only spoken of what you will receive. What do I get but the title of princess?”

He stood, fists pressed against the table. “I do not make the rules on what princesses can and cannot do. But you would get me, Perantiqua. You would have me as I would have you. Is that not enough? Why am I not enough?”

My king needed reassurance. I released my held breath. “I see so much I want in you. I see hours of lovely conversation. I see the warmth of great company through the ages. I see someone to depend upon. But all of that would be monotone and tuneless without love. Without love, those things are the actions of puppets—talking for the sake of it, touching because we should, remaining with each other because we cannot reverse our union.”

“I don’t know what to say, mistress. I have not loved in my immortal life, and the love I felt for a mortal does not compare to the certainty I feel that you are mine.”

“You don’t need to say more, sir. Without love, without purpose, I will not be your princess.”

He focused on the table between his closed fists. “Disappointment weighs heavy in me. I had hoped, Perantiqua.”

“So had I.”

“We are immortal. Might it be that your mind changes?”

“You have my criteria. They could change. I have never been immortal before and can’t say with surety that they will not. But you could also be the one to change your mind.”

“Perhaps on the direction of my purpose, but I have little respect for love. I have it in my mind to pretend purpose just to have you.”

I sighed. “You’ve told me now, so I’ll know to suspect falsehood.”

King See straightened, and how I longed to see his face. As ancient as I thought and acted these days, I wasn’t ancient enough to look at him. Was this a factor in my decision tonight? Did I seek a reason to remain apart from him?

Did I feel enough of a monster for him?

“Magnificent creature,” he said. “You are decided against my offer of princess, but what of us now then? How can we be friends when we are meant to be? How can we engage in acts of pleasure with one another without feeling a claim too?”

I rested a hand on the frame of the entrance and rested my forehead against the cool stone. “I’m very uncertain about the future always, See. I will not try to guess it, but just act as I feel best in each moment.”

“How do you feel now, Perantiqua? Do you feel leaden with futility as I?”

“Yes,” I whispered. “I feel futility. I feel frustration. At every meeting with you, I wish for resolution and anticipate your touch.”

“A touch we can never share,” he said, and I felt and heard him draw nearer.

His power pressed against me, and he stopped.

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