I could have bolted from the king’s side, run to him, thrown my arms around him, damn all the consequences. I could have kissed him as if history did not exist, as if war was only myth. I could have grazed my fingertips over the line of his cheekbones, taken his slender hand in my own. Could, could, could. All those possibilities opening up again, blooming in his presence. But instead we remained in our respective positions, like two perfect strangers.
