As I was holding him in my arms, that night, I couldn’t help but feel incredibly blessed. He forgave me. I had been stubbornly demanding his apologies and in the end, I was the one who asked for his mercy. What I did to him wasn’t right, and I knew it. It just had been so hard to face it. It had required the unbearable weight of his loss. I had kept on coming to that dark chapel every night, hoping he’d show up. Because this place was the only one he could really go to and I refused to visit his apartments. I wanted him to long for me. I wanted him to deeply regret his fit of anger. How dared he shout at me? But as a result, I had been the one longing for him. I’d been the one regretting my rash actions. During that week without him, I’d been unable to just focus on anything. Every single thought would bring me back to him. What was he doing? How was he? Did he miss me? Was he thinking about me? All this was pure torture. I couldn’t endure this anymore. I was so angry with myself I’d gone to visit my wife. I needed relief, of any kind. I was rough with her. I couldn’t help but hold her responsible for what happened. Had she just shut , nothing would have happened. But I knew the truth too well to fool myself into this lie. I didn’t protect him. Because really, I had been stupid enough to take him for granted. I thought that, being a King, he would never reject me, that he’d always give into me… he’d proved me wrong. My power was nothing to him. He didn’t care about my title. And I realised his affection was genuine. Knowing I had disappointed him hurt so much. I had failed him. I’d thought he was my thing when he had always belonged to himself. I was so afraid he’d decide to take his love back. However, my pride couldn’t let it go. So I kept on waiting for his apologies. But they never came.

I had always tried to convince myself that, as a King, I was almighty. I had lost my parents at an early age and all I remember of my father is this unpleasant impression of a weak man, who didn’t really own the power he was given. He used to let his ministers take the decisions for him, he would always delegate his power and never take responsibility for anything. I refused to be such a king. I wanted to be strong. That my own people hate me didn’t really matter, I wasn’t meant to be anyways, I was here to govern them the best I could, so that I’d create a State strong enough to keep its enemies away, to let peace regulate my people’s life. The Italian bankers and the Holland merchants would flee this country otherwise and my people die out of hunger. I had to be better than my father. I had to be more qualified. And my inflexibility had earned me the nickname of the Steel King. Unfortunately, the reality was way different. My counsellors would often try to manipulate me in order to guide me into the decision of their choice and really, sometimes I often wondered if the decision I’d taken was really of my own will. I couldn’t trust anyone. Nobles would befriend me so that I’d give them more lands or they’d try to make me sleep with their daughters, hoping she’d fall pregnant with a boy so that I’d recognise him as my own and thus grant their family an eternal wealth. It was all nothing but plots again and again. Truly, I was expecting the same kind of behaviour from Cheolyong. I knew Lord Sheffield was exactly doing the same thing as the other nobles were. He knew Cheolyong’s efforts would influence his estate. That’s the reason why I hated him somehow. And in the beginning I thought Cheolyong had an unvoiced agreement with him. But I was wrong. Cheolyong’s affection was sincere. And this is what made me feel so blessed as I was laying with him, tenderly caressing his cheek as he was sleeping peacefully into my arms, his head lightly resting on my chest. I understood that night that he was my only true friend.

Unfortunately, giving him a title was harder than I thought. See, you need a sort of godfather to be recognised as a noble, and being English excluded Lord Sheffield from this task. But no one would ever accept to take Cheolyong under their care as it would bring on them the Queen’s wrath. Yet, shall I die tomorrow; I refused to let Cheolyong being kicked out of my palace without any place to go or any wealth. Lord Sheffield could also die and his possessions would all go to a cousin. I wanted Cheolyong to be safe. For once both my mind and my heart agreed.

The solution came on my mind unexpectedly, as I was half listening to Suzy’s endless conversation with one of her ladies as we were having tea in the afternoon. They were gossiping about a certain Lady Eunha, whose debts to the state kept on rising, laughing about how desperate her situation was. I got struck: money! Money was the solution! If my wife’s wrath was scary poverty was even scarier for a noble. If that Lady Eunha was as indebted as they said, she’d to be desperate and undoubtedly would accept to be Cheolyong’s godmother if I erased her debts. I smirked at that thought and sat up excitedly, bending forward to kiss Suzy on the forehead. She squeaked happily, unused to that kind of effusion from me. How ironic! She was probably the person here who wished Cheolyong away the most and had she not been there, I’d never have found such a solution that would enable me to make him untouchable. I left the room quickly, heading to my private office to put my plan into action.

            It turned out Lady Eunha was a lovely young woman. I appointed an audience to meet her on the next day. She was suspicious at first. She knew having an appointment with the King when having as great a debt as her was no good omen. But when I explained the matter to her, she seemed to relax and even eager to get rid of her debts. Everything was settled in a short amount of time. She would be Cheolyong’s godmother and even be as sweet as teaching him the basics of the protocol along with M. Mahaut. I was surprised that she didn’t seem intimidated by my wife. She even seemed satisfied to be able to become a nuisance for her, thus taking her revenge on Suzy’s constant gossiping about her perhaps. I have to say I was delighted to observe how easily this matter had been sorted out. Besides, though her apparel was far too simple for the current trend at the court, Lady Eunha was so good mannered and elegant I was sure she’d be an excellent teacher to Cheolyong. Soon, because it was now only a matter of months, he would become Marquis of  Mourre. It was the highest rank after royal princes and Dukes and I was pleased with that. Cheolyong would really become invulnerable.

            I was about to go and meet him when an envoy came to me in a quite distressed state. --  Your Majesty, it’s terrible! He panted, bowing respectfully, his right knee on the ground. The Pope died yesterday night.

-  Did he? I simple answered, trying to do my best to hide any emotion that might be showing through my voice and features.

This was indeed some bad news. With the death of the Pope, France, which had become since a short period his living place in Avignon, was bound to lose its privileged place as the church’s most influential state. I couldn’t let the new Pope be appointed without my consent. This was a matter of power.

-  There is something more, your highness, the envoy added, ripping me away from my thoughts.

-  What is it? I said, raising an eyebrow in wonder.

-  The cardinals are thinking about leaving for Rome. They don’t want to elect a new Pope in France.

I sighed. The matter was more serious than I first thought. It was understandable, though. I had forced the previous Pope to settle in Avignon instead of Rome, to keep him under my control; it was just too obvious that the cardinals would want their independence back. But that was out of question.

-  Tell my servants to prepare my horse and gather my knights for tonight. We have to leave as early as possible. Once you’re done with these, you can go have some food and rest in the palace, I ordered.

I hurried to Cheolyong’s apartment. I had to tell him I had to leave for a few days, two weeks maybe, whatever time it would get to have a new Pope elected in France, one who would be my ally.