Because this love I have for Eoin isn’t a polite, appropriate affection. It’s not the carefully managed emotions that fit neatly into my royal schedule. It’s messy and desperate and all-consuming. It’s me finally understanding why people write poetry and start wars and do impossibly stupid things. Because when you find someone who has seen your worst and still looks at you like you’re worth dying for, you don’t let them go. Not for protocol. Not for propriety. Not for anything.
