The meeting concluded, and as Joseph rose, the weight upon his heart did not lift. The north was a flame waiting to be kindled, but the greater unrest lay within his own breast. Natalia's shadow loomed over his thoughts, and though he had agreed to Angela's counsel, the peace he sought eluded him.

"Edmund, thou mayst take thy leave," Joseph spake at last, turning to the duke. "I shall speak further with the queen."

Edmund, ever respectful, did bow low once more. "As thou dost command, Your Majesty. I bid thee both a restful night." With that, he took his leave, the chamber doors closing with a heavy finality behind him.

Now alone with Angela, Joseph's shoulders did tense, the air thick with the weight of their unspoken strife. The silence between them, though quiet, was filled with the unrelenting tension of their differing minds. At length, Joseph turned toward her, his voice low but resolute, "Tell me, Angela. Why dost thou believe that diplomacy doth offer the better course? What persuadeth thee that it shall not fail?"

Angela, unflinching, did meet his gaze, her hazel eyes steady, though imbued with a quiet intensity. "My lord, I do believe that much is to be lost should we too swiftly take to violence. The northern lords be restless, true, but traitors they are not—not yet. Should we approach them with understanding, with an ear toward their grievances, we may halt this strife ere it blossometh into open war. We must show ourselves rulers who heed their people, not ones who govern solely by force."

Joseph listened, his countenance unreadable, though the tension in his jaw betrayed his thoughts. Though he did honor her words, doubt yet lingered. "And if they refuse? If our embassy be seen as weakness, and they rise against us? What then?"

Angela sighed, a softness to her tone, understanding the fear that did underlie his words. "There is ever risk, this I cannot deny. Yet war, my lord, beareth far greater peril—innocent lives lost, our people turned one against the other. If we may prevent even a portion of such woe, we must strive for it. Peace must be our first endeavor."

Joseph's lips did press together, forming a thin, thoughtful line. "I do understand thy reasoning," he replied after a pause, though his voice did carry a weight of unresolved conflict. "But force hath kept the peace aforetime. Should these lords seize upon our leniency, seeing it as naught but frailty, then we stand imperiled. If we strike now, the conflict may be ended ere it truly beginneth. There are times, Angela, when war is the only path to safeguard the realm."

The space between them did grow heavy with unspoken words, a gulf yawning ever wider as they sat in silence, each contemplating the other's view. Angela, her posture calm, did remain in quiet contemplation, but she could see the shadows that plagued him, the silent turmoil that stirred beneath his measured facade. There was more than the northern strife that troubled her husband this night.

Softly, Angela broke the silence, her voice gentle but laden with meaning, "Joseph," she began, the shift in her tone unmistakable, "wilt thou visit my chambers this night?"

Joseph's eyes did darken for but a moment, her question striking him unprepared. The weight of it did hang between them, and his reply, when it came, was slow and quiet, his voice low and uncertain. "No. Not tonight."

A soft chuckle did escape from Angela, though it was tinged with sadness. For a brief instant, her regal mask faltered, and beneath it, a glimpse of her vulnerability did shine through. "I see," she murmured, her voice no louder than a whisper, yet steady and resolute.

With a grace that seemed innate to her, Angela rose from her seat, her hands smoothing the folds of her gown, as she did compose herself. Bowing deeply, her gaze did fall to the floor as she made her leave. "Good night, my lord," she spoke, her voice formal once more, distant as the space between them widened.

Joseph watched her depart, a pang of guilt gnawing at him, though he knew not how to breach the wall that had grown between them. As her footsteps faded down the corridor, the door closing softly behind her, he was left alone in the silence, the weight of his decisions—both of state and of heart—settling heavily upon him.

The chamber, though still, was filled with the unease that lingered within him. The choices before him, in matters both political and personal, bore down with a weight that seemed impossible to bear.

~To Be Continue