Their father sits nearby, King Baldwin, your husband, your love, wrapped as always in his layers of linen and cloth. The mask rests on his face, pale and unmoving, yet his eyes find you as easily as it always has.

You know he wants to sit with you three. You can see the longing in his eyes. But you know why he refuses to join you.

It is your eldest who talks first.

“Tell it again,” she whispers, tugging gently at your sleeve. “How you met Father.”

You smile, looking toward Baldwin. His head tilts ever so slightly, approval, and interest. As if he also wished to hear the story.

“Again?” you tease.

“Yes,” your youngest insists, already crawling into your lap. “It’s my favourite.”

You press a kiss to her temple and begin with the story.

“You must remember, I was not meant to meet your father at all. I was sent to the court for entirely different reasons. I thought him distant. Cold, even.”

A noise of amusement leaves Baldwin. You choose to ignore him and continue.

“He said very little. Watched everything. It was quite unsettling.”

“I was observing,” he replies calmly.

“You were judging,” you counter.

“I was deciding,” he corrects.

The girls giggle.

“And what did you decide?” your eldest asks.

“That your mother was the most stubborn woman I had ever met.”

You gasp softly in mock offence.

“I was not.”

“You refused to bow properly,” he continues.

“I tripped,” you argue.

“You glared at me.”

“I was embarrassed!”

The girls dissolve into laughter, clinging to you.

“And then?” the youngest prompts, eyes wide.

“And then I realised,” you say, glancing at Baldwin, “that your father was not cold at all. Only careful. Kind, in ways that were quiet and easily missed.”

Baldwin stares at you. Even behind the mask, you feel it as clearly as if his face were bare.

“And I realised that your mother saw me as I was. Not as others feared.”

Silence falls, soft and full.

The youngest shifts slightly, her small fingers fidgeting.

“Father?” she asks hesitantly.

“Yes, little one?”

“Will we ever see your face? Or your hands?”

The question hangs in the air.

Almost knocks all of it out.

Your heart tightens, but Baldwin does not flinch. Instead, he leans forward slightly in his chair.

“My sweet girl, my body is… different. It is something I must protect, and something that could make others afraid if they do not understand.”

She frowns.

“But we wouldn’t be afraid.”

“I know, I know you would not. But part of loving someone is also keeping them safe. And this,” he gestures faintly to himself, “is how I do that.”

The eldest considers this carefully.

“So it’s like armour?” she asks.

“Yes,” he says with a nod. “Something like that.”

The youngest leans into you, still thinking.

“But we know what you look like,” she says suddenly.

Baldwin tilts his head. “Oh?”

She nods, very certain.

“You have the prettiest eyes, Mama says so.”

Your breath catches, and you smile, brushing her hair back.

“It’s true. The most beautiful eyes I have ever seen.”

Baldwin is still for a moment, but you speak up before him.

“And you both have them,” you continue, looking between your daughters. “His eyes. Bright and strong.”

The eldest beams. The youngest gasps in delight.

“We do?”

“You do. Both of you.” Your husband confirms.

They look at him now, completely unbothered by cloth or crown or anything else the world might whisper.

“Then we look like you,” the eldest says proudly.

“You do,” he repeats.

You shift slightly, gathering both girls closer.

The four of you, tucked into a small world of warmth and love.

“Tell us another story,” the youngest mumbles sleepily.

“Tomorrow,” you whisper, pressing a kiss to her hair before helping them both to lie down in their beds.

And as your daughters drift to sleep, you meet his eyes once more.

You do not need to see his face.

You never did.

~Masterlist~