“Ed.” Elane gently pushed through the double doors. She couldn’t disguise the trepidation in her heart and the urgency in her steps. The secret.

“Poor Madame.” Muttered the maids who made her bed, carving the whispers of a mysterious mistress in the forbidden room deep into her heart. Someone King Edward probably holds dear to his heart, a childhood sweetheart perhaps? Or a practiced seductress like Countess Delacroix?

She paused, the thought of her insignificant country and equally insignificant dowry stopped her in her tracks. What would it have mattered? What right did she have to uncover the sham? 

She pressed on with the assurances of her “Ed, not Your Majesty.” The firm conviction from him that she was just Elle, not her status, country, or her dowry. His pledge of aid for her country even if the promised bride galloped away then and never looked back.

It was also the promise that they would make this better than their parents the first time he exploded into her in the wake of moonlight and peach blossoms.

Turning, she was met by the sight of a ghastly mess. Shattered glass, smashed vases, streaks of paint on the carpet that darkened to resemble rust. No secret mistress just mirrors lining one wall and canvases covered by taupes.

And her Ed had his arms outstretched like a bird in front of the open window wearing nothing but the thinnest of silk underpants. He appeared so much at ease as-if he was anew. 

Slowly, he turned. “Elle?”

Gone was the quiet authority from his broad shoulders and the sober intelligence from his piercing eyes. A hazy light glossed over his features that it seemed to envelop him from reality. His face flushed red from the cold but didn’t seem to register. 

Suddenly, the haze cleared and he was staring at his wife with such an intensity that he ran forward to grab her.

“Elle, come. I will show you Elysium.”

Shock. The Place of Divine Paradise from the Greek Classical Mythology she studied when she was a girl? How? 

“Come, come.” 

Led by hand, she stopped in front of the largest canvas and the taupe flew in a whoosh. Eleanor stared. 

It was a kaleidoscope of mad colors that no artist worth his salt can commend. AND it was also the most powerful artwork Elle had ever laid eyes on. The hard strokes of green and red shaped the trees, encompassing yellow orbs that she assumed to be fireflies, and swishes of blue and purple that carved out the ripples of the lake. It certainly lacked harmony and composition in all standard artistic principles. 

“But It’s magnificent.” She was breathless.

“Your eyes.” He childishly pointed to the lake. 

“I know an angel took me there once. One day I’ll show you too. Promise.” 

She understood everything then, the periodic nightly absences, the oddly small King’s Household, the relief this hidden studio served to calm the chaos in his mind. She wished then for nothing but to restore the tranquility he was denied in his years of torment as the royal heir. Her Ed needed her. 

“I will wait for that day, my love.” She pressed closer to him.