The afternoon sun filtered through the windows, casting dappled light shadows on the oak desk in the study of Windsor Castle.
King William IV was sitting in a high-backed armchair, draped in his favorite blue vest, wrapped in a loose white silk scarf. He held a cane in his hand, tapping it lightly against the carpet, in a hurried, chaotic rhythm that reflected his current mood.
"She refused?" King William IV’s voice was hoarse, his eyes half-closed, as if verifying an absurdly laughable rumor: "Is it true?"
Lord Chamberlain hesitated for a mont: "Your Majesty, the Princess indeed... personally transcribed a reply, in which she ntioned her youth and inexperience, and stated her willingness to remain under her mother’s protection, unwilling to defy her mother’s opinions, and willing to continue entrusting the control of finances and residence to her mother."
"She transcribed it?" King William IV repeated: "Did she transcribe it, or did she write it?"
"Your Majesty, based on the handwriting, I am certain this letter indeed is in the Princess’s handwriting." Arthur calmly added, "However, I cannot be sure whether the letter was drafted by her. As from my understanding of the Princess, there are many phrases in the letter which I strictly instructed her to avoid as much as possible."
King William IV slowly rose, his movents much more sluggish than before.
He walked over to the fireplace, stood with his back to the two, gazing at the oil painting above the hearth depicting the Battle of Trafalgar.
"They dare to do this... they actually dare!" King William IV mumbled softly, "This letter was definitely not written by Delina."
Lord Chamberlain stepped forward, trying to soothe with a steady tone, "Your Majesty, perhaps she is temporarily under her mother’s control, not by her own will..."
"Of course, it’s not of her own will!" King William IV shouted furiously, "That’s what I cannot tolerate!"
He whipped around, his eyes bloodshot, "I once endured plagues in the Caribbean, and steered through storms at Gibraltar, but no matter the difficulties, I have never felt like today, that Great Britain, this great ship, is about to hit the rocks and sink!"
"She is the Crown prince, the future Queen!" He raised his cane, striking the ground hard, "But now she seems like a bird kept in a gilded cage by Conroy and that woman, even the ti for pecking food is dictated by others! I want the whole nation to know, she is not their little puppet, at least not anymore! I will personally hand her the scepter on her eighteenth birthday, letting her understand, she belongs to the entire Empire, not..."
Before he could finish, King William IV’s face suddenly turned pale.
His body swayed violently, the cane thudded onto the carpet with a dull "thump".
Arthur, quick of eye and deft of hand, hurried forward to support him.
"Your Majesty!" Lord Chamberlain exclaid in alarm, "Are you alright?"
King William IV’s forehead was sweaty, his eyes unfocused for a mont, and his back could no longer stay erect, as if a bullet had struck his spine.
He raised his hand, mouth half-open, attempting to speak, but only a vague wheezing sound ca out, then he sank heavily backwards.
Arthur supported his shoulder and arm, gently laying him down on the armchair: "Quick, quick, call the Imperial Physician!"
Lord Chamberlain had already rushed out of the study, while Arthur bent down, carefully checking his breath.
King William IV’s lips barely trembled, seemingly still conscious, he opened his eyes with difficulty, gazing at Arthur beside him, lightly shaking his head.
"Your Majesty..." Arthur bent over and asked, "Do you need anything?"
He didn’t rush to say more, nor did he shout, rely asked this softly.
No one in the world understood the feeling of negotiations with death better than him, when he collapsed beneath the Tower of London back in the day, all he wished was for the whole world to quiet down a bit.
King William IV half-opened his eyes, a slight cough escaping his throat.
He weakly raised his hand, gesturing to the cushion beside the armchair, signaling Arthur to help him sit upright.
Arthur promptly bent and steadied him, picking up the cushion to prop behind his back.
"Water..." he rasped out the word.
Hearing this, Arthur’s suspended heart slightly relaxed, he turned and poured a cup of warm water, tested the temperature with a silver spoon, and then brought it to his lips.
King William IV took a sip, then rested his eyes for a mont.
After a long while, he finally spoke slowly, "Arthur, my good lad... tell ... can I... live until Delina’s birthday..."
Arthur looked at him, nodding softly, "You will for sure, Your Majesty."
Yet King William IV gently shook his head upon hearing this, his eyes suddenly clear, that clarity not like a recovery from illness, but more like an old sailor, confirming weather and tides one last ti before returning to port.
In that instant, Arthur seed to see the shadow of Jeremy Bentham in King William IV’s figure.
He still rembered the night before the Parliantary Reform when he last t Mr. Bentham, it was the sa feeling.
"I know I won’t last... this body... a gust of wind could blow it down..." King William IV chuckled self-deprecatingly, then coughed violently a few tis: "But as long as I see her... standing by my side... declaring her independence as Britain’s successor... then even if I die the next day, I wouldn’t... have any regrets..."
He closed his eyes lightly, then opened them again, his gaze seemingly passing through the study ceiling: "Of course... if God is rciful... I also wish... to live until June 18th... Waterloo Day."
User Comments
0 comments from readers