Hi everyone!

I decided to add to this little experiment. Hope you enjoy it! Please leave a comment and let me know what you think.

I was a covetous boy. My mother oft told me. There was not a time when I would realize the connection between those I loved and another and not feel the cold sting of betrayal. If only I knew then that those moments were infants in comparison to what true betrayal of love would feel like. That understanding would come later without warning and nearly destroy me.

She is not mine to want. She never was.

But my mind, even knowing this all along, could not stand watching her face drop before she turned from me at Brockett Hall. It could not fathom her thinking that I don't desire her, love her, cherish her, far beyond what would ever be appropriate as her Prime Minister. Perhaps it was actually my heart overruling my mind in it all, driven to madness at the sound of her sniffling as she walked from me.

So I sent the orchids to her and found my delight at their appearance on her costume that night. And I not only danced with her but spoke of Elizabeth and Leicester despite how terribly ill-thought out and impetuous it was of me.

And each time she looks at me or smiles or brushes her hand against mine I can feel the covetous child within me reaching for her, grasping her with first one and then both hands to keep her with me. She would let me keep her, too; she would allow me to spirit her away solely to myself but I cannot allow either of us that reality. How I wish I could.

When she tells me while painting another image of Elizabeth that she has decided to rule alone with the possibility of companions, I know the covetous boy must be stopped. Just because I had refrained from fully keeping her solely to myself does not mean I have successfully allowed her to be free. But she must be.

So I do my duty: I ask about her Coburg cousins and relate their fast approaching arrival. She looks displeased but I know it's truly at her Uncle's disregard for tradition and her position as Queen. Her wariness is warranted; he would run her as Sir John would have if she allowed it. Her hurt pride, however, needs to be smoothed.

"I will not be your Prime Minister forever."

And when I am not there will be no real use of me; no excuse for me to be near.

She resists hearing it of course; she would not be my stubborn and clever Queen if she did not resist. She wishes to hear my words no more than I wish to say them. But while I will not be her Prime Minister forever, I still am right now thus it is my duty to continue, despite either of our objections.

"Let the Coburgs come; perhaps Prince Albert will surprise you."

Of course she does not invite change from this bubble created these past years. I do not either.

"I do not want things to change."

My heart screams out for her, the boy grasping again that he might keep her for himself but it will not do.

"I know, Ma'am, but I do not believe you will be happy alone; even with companions."

I will not be enough for your enduring happiness.

"You need a husband to love you, honor you, cherish you."

And as much as I wish it to be different, that man cannot be me.

"There is no one I care for."

Because I have been here, selfishly keeping you from that.

"I do not think you have really looked."

I know she's been told too many times that she needs a husband to advise her, that she needs a man who can lay a steadying hand to control her. They mean for her to be the puppet of another as they believe her to be right now because they cannot imagine her possibly capable of fulfilling the responsibilities of her role alone. They underestimate her dearly.

No, she does not need a husband to advise her; she needs a husband solely to fulfill the true, eternal responsibilities demanded by love. Those responsibilities that too few of us prioritize and do finally satisfy. The most sacred vows that I, myself, failed to uphold in my own marriage and to which I would spend the rest of my life devoting all of myself if my inclinations could be realized. But they cannot; they must not.

"I was so happy before."

Emma is proved correct at the end of it all: my attachment to the young Queen will never do. I could not before stand to let her believe I do not love her, though that would have been much cleaner for us both, but I also cannot be the reason she forfeits the joys of life she still has not yet known.

I had my chance once and I squandered it. If I were decades younger it might be different; we might run away together if need be and I would allow it in the youthful selfishness that is so common at that age. But I know better now. Everything I touch turns to ash and I cannot burn her.

At first I liked to think she would not let me wreck havoc in such ways but that day, with spent leaves and fallen feathers as our only witnesses, her eyes had shone such that I knew she would gladly allow it all to smolder if I asked. That is simply too much power for one man.

It is too much temptation.

Her love is the sun whose face I cannot resist touching though I know its scorching touch will ruin me. I know she too cannot resist it. In that happy moment that lies between want and ruin we would both revel in contentment, heedless of the inevitable outcome but what does one do with the ashes from such a venture? I do not wish for her to have to find out, for I already know I cannot in good conscience let her make such a destructive decision; not when my time has already been spent. She deserves more.

I have not done many things right in my life but I can do this: I can watch her walk away into the dawning light that will be her beautiful life.

"…you were happy?"

How could she ever doubt my happiness with her? As she looks at me with such sincere vulnerability and naivety I am reminded of her youth, of the nervous eighteen-year-old at Kensington. I despise Sir John and the Duchess both for the pain they have inflicted upon her that would cause her to doubt another's ability to feel happiness and joy at her presence. And for what? The promise of power. At least this remarkable woman has seen to it that they will not realize that which they pursued at such a dear cost.

But my anger at their callousness does not matter now; only reassuring her of my devotion and the incredible light she's brought to my life matters.

"You know I was."

The anxiety that had pinched her face finally eases, disappearing from her eyes. Quickly I see the mask of determined confidence fall into place again and she returns to the regal affect that has lent her to challenging Robert Peel and Wellington as well as anyone else who stands against her. My Queen will not be found faltering now.

"Well, I won't marry just to please you."

Oh, if only she knew what a marriage pleasing me would be. If only I could tell her truly I would convince her to sacrifice or otherwise compromise her reign easily so that I might have what I desire most. And I am constantly on the brink of doing so. But I know the difference between duty and inclination.

So I laugh.

"No, you must please yourself."

That, my Queen, means you must marry someone other than this covetous boy.