A smiling lady to your lord.
My mission is not thine.
And the hand so subtly guiding yours—
Well, it’s hardly likely to be mine.
I could have stayed.
I could have won.
But our story was not done.
And so I scorned the throne
and left it to another,
Knowing scorn can break one’s bones
The way it did my mother’s.
There are men who need to fall,
I knew from a young age.
At four, I started leaving windows open
And smiling through my rage.
But our love, my love, was not one meant to fade.
I made my choice, then I made you
And at times you saw me,
Your match, your wife.
This is the story of my life,
A love so pure and true and right
I chose to lose the final fight.
But sometimes I think at night
Of the hand that holds the knife.
Some kings truly need to fall
While others just need guided.
Our gloved hands,
The Gilded Blade,
And none of us divided.
∞ ∞ ∞