Under a silver, celestial moon, the votive candles of the chapel glowed radiantly, a thousand honeyed flames, like the eyes of a cat, prancing in the cool draft. The acrid, musty fumes of so ancient a dwelling pricked at the Kingโs irises as he entered, veiled with the rich aroma of perfume. It was a scent that Henry recognized with alacrity: musk melded with incense and infused with a flavour uniquely regal, though its familiarity brings little comfort. It is the odour of decay, of the fallen Lancastrian branch, rotting into the earth; the revoltingly sweet scent of wilted roses. The kneeling figure of Isabella of Anjou is no surprise, for he has been instructed to find her here: the she-wolf in repose, lips uttering forth solemn prayers, indulging in something of a depraved comfort in her own holy grief โโ the loss of the Lancastrian saviour. Was it Henryโs throne for which she sought divine communion, or would his death be sufficient?
The King of Englandโs heavy footfalls reverberate about the stone chapel, followed by the faint rattle of a ruby-encrusted sword, sheathed within the folds of his robe. Enveloped in a cloak of dignified silence, Henry chooses not to correct her, now, as he ambles toward the altar, a crusaderโs cross resting in his hands. The church is a sanctuary whose power Henry recognizes, fears โ it is Godโs will that his kingly knee bends to, that Heavenly figure who cradles his beloved prince in his sinless embrace. โIs this how you greet a friend, fair lady, after these many years apart?โ The King asks, now standing by her side. Thunder howls, buzzing with impending rain, stirring through the arched chapel windows; inky tendrils at the nape of his neck stand on end as he casts a sidelong glance at the former Queen.
โIt appears you are now more Scot than your native French, yet do we not pray in the same Latin? Do we not yearn for the same prosperity for our kin? Circumstance hath transformed us into adversaries, yet there was a time when our noble Lancastrian cause bound us as one.โ
The King, with his dark head bowed low, lifted one candle and with this lit another, its feeble flame a pathetic offering to the Trinity. โI offer my condolences on the passing of thy boy,โ He speaks, softly, turquoise eyes fixed on the candle, struggling to ignite anew. When, at last, it fumed with smoke and sputtered a magnificent yellow glow, he utters: โknow that our shared loss extends beyond the mere passage of time.โ ย