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She felt ageless, like she could still see the rise and fall of kings for all time to come. She felt young, alone in the world and feeling its bitter pain to her bones for the first time. She felt old, that she had felt too much pain in her two measly decades on this earth.
All her confusion dissipated as the pain of childbirth brought the world around her into focus. She had her goal in mind and the feminine instinct to accomplish it. Even if that failed her, the nursemaid would refuse to let her forget her duty.
"Push, your majesty!"
Caroline pushed away from the table, beyond annoyed with the rabble-rousing of young soldiers bloodthirsty for war. "It's not something to proud of," she spat to the elder Lord Salvatore, who bragged of his kills on the battlefield. "War is to be endured for the good of the whole, not your ego."
Before the lord could utter a retort, she dumped the contents of her wineglass down his shirt. "So you can prepare for the bloodstains," she explained snidely, turning on her heel.
Fuming, she wasn't paying attention to her surroundings as she stormed down the hallway. It's the only excuse she had for nearly running into the king himself. Embarrassed to be caught so out of sorts, Caroline quickly dropped into a curtsy. "I beg your pardon, your majesty," she said, not looking up from her feet. She couldn't trust herself not to vent her frustrations, and the king would hardly welcome sure vitriol against his men. "I was just leaving."
"So soon, Lady Caroline," he asked, a teasing lilt to his voice she had never heard before. "I sincerely hope you've finally stabbed Salvatore with a fork."
Floored by the familiarity and genuine amusement in his tone, Caroline's eyes flew to his. King Niklaus had always been a stern ruler, rarely relaxed among his people and downright cruel with his enemies. His smirk was cutting dimples deep into his cheeks, however, and Caroline had never seen him so light.
"I don't follow, your majesty," she all but stammered in response, cocking her head in curiosity.
"Please, formal titles aren't necessary, are they Caroline," he asked, bowing slightly.
Despite the kind demeanor, or likely due to it, Caroline was immediately on her guard. Kings were only kind without provocation when they were searching for allies or mistresses. She was already an ally, had encouraged her father to pledge his army with her attendance; she had no intention of becoming a mistress. "I must disagree, your majesty," she said with emphasis. "If you don't mind, I'd like to be on my way."
"Just one drink," he offered, blocking her way. "I find that I enjoy your particular fire, I only wish to spend more time with you."
Chin jut out defiantly, Caroline faked a bright smile. "Then you may join me when I break fast at dawn," she said, knowing full well that his nocturnal activities would make rising at such an early hour a chore. "Good night, your majesty."
She ducked around him swiftly, leaving him to stare after her as she marched toward her chambers. If her senses were to be believed, she could almost feel his gaze burning into her back the entire way.
Even accepting the oddly intense focus that night, Caroline hardly expected the king to follow through on her breakfast invitation. And yet, he did.
She grit her teeth, bearing down on the women supporting her in the birthing bed. With a low moan, she felt a sudden, slick emptiness as her nursemaid caught and held aloft the newborn.
"It's a son, your majesty," she cooed as the boy took his first breaths and let them out as fierce cries. "A young prince."
Tears burned in her eyes and fell down her cheeks, but Caroline couldn't pinpoint their exact emotional cause. Relief that her son was delivered safely, exhaustion at the ordeal, despair over - well, any of them could be the reason. Regardless, love bloomed within her when the nurse laid the baby in her arms.
"Hello, Henrik," she whispered, running a delicate finger along his little cheeks. Call her crazy, and many did, but she could have sworn he already had dimples. "I'm your mama."
"Does your mother know what you're doing?"
Caroline spun on her heel, mortified to have been caught in her position. The feeling only got worse when she realized it was the king himself to catch her. "Your majesty," she greeted, throwing down the sword she had been wielding against a wooden dummy.
"Again with the formalities," he sighed, picking up her sword to inspect it. "This is a fine weapon, and you clearly take good care of it. How did you learn to use it?"
"A woman can't enjoy swordplay," Caroline asked in a huff, then blushed when her brain caught up with her words.
"Oh, she can," King Niklaus answered lasciviously, his expression conveying his joking manner. "I meant no offense, I was merely impressed with your skill."
Stunned, Caroline shyly looked down. "Thank you, your-"
"Klaus, please," he insisted, stepping toward her. He gently lifted her chin to face her fully. "Did your father teach you?"
"I attend his army for a reason," she defended, then belatedly adding, "Klaus."
Had she known what a beautiful smile he had, she might have used his preferred name sooner.
"Your name is Henrik because of your father's youngest brother," Caroline explained, speaking in soft tones as she took in every inch of the babe's tiny face. "A life taken too young, we wanted to honor the joy he brought to your father's life. The same joy you will bring to mine.
"I am sorry your father is not here," she cried as she clutched him a bit tighter. "He often boasted his reputation as the immortal king, just as I often warned him against such hubris.
"He used to call love weakness; I was the fool who convinced him it was strength. As it turns out, we were both right. His love for me ensured his death."
Smiling softly, she cradled Henrik closer to her. "But it also saved your life."
"I know you will never forgive me for asking," Klaus said, stroking the side of her hip through the bedsheet, "but is there anything I can say that will keep you here tomorrow?"
Placing a gentle kiss on his lips, Caroline ran her fingers through his messy curls. Bedhead was a good look on her kingly lover. "I can forgive you for asking," she admitted softly, "but only if you forgive me for denying you."
Sighing, Klaus let his head fall against her naked shoulder. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised," he answered. "You came to fight alongside your men."
"And my king," she added. "Allow me the honor of fighting for our kingdom, together."
"On one condition," he said, laying soft kisses along her collar bone before meeting her gaze. "Be my queen, and we can defend our kingdom in every sense."
Caroline's laughter was an automatic reaction, but she quieted when he didn't smile. "Klaus, you can't be serious," she said, breathless.
"I can," he replied. "In fact, I must insist, for I want nothing more than to call you wife as soon as possible."
She fell into disbelieving giggles again, only for Klaus to kiss them out of her. The morning before they rode to war, the chaplain married them with the armies as their witnesses. Should Klaus die in battle, they would be able to vouch for Caroline's authority as queen.
They ought to have realized the precarious irony they were setting up for fate to complete.
But as Caroline was set upon by three enemy fighters, Klaus broke in to defend her. Dispatching the first two was simple enough, but the third provided enough distraction for more fighters to overpower the king where he stood.
Unable to focus on anything past the swords sticking out of Klaus's graying body, Caroline flew into a rage. When the soldiers found her in the aftermath, she was soaked in the king's blood and holding his corpse in tears. She was seemingly unaware of the other body parts littered around her.
She had been his death, and he had been her life.
"I was unable to appreciate the surprise you were when I missed my bleeding a month later," Caroline joked wanly. "But I know Klaus must be at peace, because he would have been proud to lay his life for yours and mine.
"They said he couldn't be killed, but anyone can be," she whispered, more tears burning at her eyes. "Yet, I refuse to let his memory die. You will always know the story of your father, the wolf, King Niklaus. The man I loved."