Chapter 4: The weight of royalty

Arthur returned to the apartment in tears, hollowed out by an emptiness that seemed to ache in his very bones. Pushing the door open, he found Mary asleep on the couch. Her face was stained with the tracks of dried tears, her arms wrapped tightly around a pillow pressed against her chest. His heart plummeted. The crushing weight of what he had done settled into his chest; hurting her was the absolute last thing he had ever wanted. Yet, the alternative was unthinkable. If he told Isabella the truth, she would suffer, and her family would ensure Mary’s life became a living hell. In his mind, this devastating sacrifice was the only shield he had left to protect her.

He stepped closer, staring down at her as if he could absorb the very pain he had inflicted. His eyes drifted to her belly, a sudden warmth clashing with the cold dread in his stomach as he realized his child was growing there. Just as he reached out, wanting nothing more than to gently brush his hand against her, the sound of his own ragged sobbing woke her.

Mary blinked open her eyes, her voice soft but heavy with the remnants of sleep.

"You’re back," she murmured, adjusting to the dim light. "I was waiting up for you... Where did you go?"

Arthur could barely look at her, his voice cracking. "I just... I just drove aimlessly." He swallowed hard, the words choking their way out of his throat. "I'm sorry. Mary, I'm so sorry."

The apology triggered a rising tide of panic. His heart began to race erratically, his mind violently flashing back to the image of Mary crying earlier that evening. As he begged for her forgiveness, his breath hitched, suffocating him. Recognizing the onset of a panic attack from years of watching a childhood friend suffer through them, Mary didn’t hesitate. She pulled him into a fierce, unyielding embrace.

"Shh, just breathe," she urged softly, rubbing his back. "Look at me, Arthur. Just breathe. I’m here. I'm right here."

She anchored him to reality until the storm in his chest finally subsided into quiet, broken tears. Turning back to her, Arthur pleaded again. "Please forgive me. You never deserved any of this. None of it."

Mary simply wiped his tears away, her own eyes refilling as her face flushed a painful red. The love between them was undeniable, radiating in the quiet space of the room, but so was the unspoken truth that his time here had run out.

They sat together in a heavy, suffocating silence, holding onto one another as if they could stop time. When Arthur finally placed his hand over her stomach, looking deep into her eyes, he saw his own terror reflected right back at him. Yet, it was Mary who found her strength first.

"We're going to be okay," she said, her voice sharp and unwavering. "Go and claim your kingdom."

"I can't," Arthur protested, his voice desperate. "I can't just leave you here to face this all by yourself."

Mary remained unmoving, her gaze fierce. "You are not abandoning your legacy. Camelot belongs to you, Arthur. It always has. Its people deserve their king."

Left with nothing but his guilt, Arthur leaned his forehead against hers. "I am so sorry."

"I know," she whispered back, giving him her quiet absolution.

That night, they sought comfort in each other’s arms, making love under a shroud of profound sadness and impending loss. They moved together knowing it was the final time, Mary’s tears wetting Arthur’s skin as he shared in the agonizing depth of her pain.

The next morning arrived with a dark, oppressive downpour, as if the weather itself was mourning the day. The illusion of their sanctuary was completely shattered when servants arrived, pacing through the apartment to pack Arthur's belongings. Mary stood by, a silent spectator, watching as his luggage was loaded into the fleet of luxurious cars waiting below.

When the moment came to say goodbye, Arthur turned to her. He held her tightly, pulling her into a desperate, final kiss that tasted of salt and sorrow.

"The apartment is yours," he promised, his words rushed, trying to outrun the pain. "Every financial need you will ever have... I've taken care of it. For the rest of your life, you won't have to worry about anything. I promise you." He tried to look reassuring, but his eyes dropped to the floor, unable to meet her gaze through his own agony.

"I will be fine, Arthur," Mary cut through his guilt, her voice firm.

In a final, heartbreaking gesture, she placed a few items into his hands—treasures she had been keeping safe for him. "Take these."

Arthur looked down at the ring containing a picture of her inside, their baby’s first ultrasound scan, and a photograph from a day they had spent out together.

"I love you," he whispered.

"I love you," she replied. The words passed between them like a vow and a eulogy.

Mary fought with every ounce of her being to hold back her tears, desperate not to make his departure any harder than it already was. After one last embrace, Arthur forced himself to turn toward the door. He paused at the threshold, casting one final, lingering look back at the woman he loved.

In a frail, barely audible whisper, Mary spoke the final words that would haunt him: "Don't forget me."

Arthur nodded, a silent pact sealed in the dim light, and stepped out into the rain. Only when the door clicked shut did Mary finally collapse, breaking down into unrestrained, shattering tears.