Lost in Time: A Visitor in the Tudor Court

The air in the castle had shifted lately. Charles could feel it, a gnawing sensation in his chest, something restless and simmering beneath the surface. And the source of it, to his great frustration, was Naomi. Or rather, the way she interacted with that man—Daniel.

Daniel was one of the castle's scribes, a scholarly man with an easy smile and a tendency to linger too long in Naomi's presence. Charles had watched, brooding, as Naomi worked beside him, laughing at his quips, leaning in just slightly when they spoke in hushed tones over some document or another. She seemed comfortable around him—too comfortable. It was the kind of comfort she rarely showed around Charles, and it infuriated him.

He had always prided himself on his control, his ability to keep his emotions in check. But this was different. This was an itch beneath his skin that he couldn't ignore. He found himself watching them more than he should, lingering outside the study hall where Naomi spent time with Daniel, his fingers curling into fists at the way Daniel would rest his hand on the back of her chair as he leaned over to discuss some text. It was innocent, but to Charles, it was intolerable.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the castle walls, Charles could no longer restrain himself. He found Naomi alone in the library, her fingers skimming over the spines of books, her expression serene. He stepped closer, his voice low and firm.

"You seem to enjoy Daniel's company," he remarked, watching for her reaction.

Naomi glanced at him, raising an eyebrow at the odd tone in his voice. "He's good company. Easy to talk to."

Something flickered in Charles' eyes, something dark and unspoken. He took a slow step closer, his presence suddenly overwhelming in the quiet space between the bookshelves.

"You don't talk to me like that." His voice was measured, but there was something possessive lurking beneath it.

Naomi blinked at him, momentarily caught off guard. "What?"

Charles' jaw clenched, his frustration spilling over. "You laugh with him. You let your guard down with him. You never do that with me."

Naomi exhaled, crossing her arms. "Because you're always so serious. So guarded. You always have this intensity about you, Charles."

He took another step forward, and Naomi found herself caught in his gaze, something unreadable but undeniably charged. "Maybe I don't want you to be comfortable around him," he admitted, his voice lower now, rougher. "Maybe I want that for myself."

Naomi's breath hitched slightly at the weight of his words, at the way his eyes bore into hers with an unfamiliar heat. "Charles, you don't own me."

A muscle ticked in his jaw, but he didn't back away. "No," he murmured. "But I can't stand watching you give pieces of yourself to someone else."

Silence stretched between them, heavy and taut. Naomi's heart pounded, uncertain of how to respond. And Charles—Charles was drowning in a feeling he didn't fully understand but was too deep into to deny.

The moment stretched, unbroken, as if both were waiting for the other to make the next move.

Naomi squared her shoulders, her breath steadying as she met Charles' gaze. There was something raw in his eyes, something unguarded that she hadn't seen before. But she couldn't let it sway her.

"You don't get to decide who I spend time with," she said firmly. "Daniel is my friend. He respects me, listens to me. You don't get to take that away just because you don't like it."

Charles' expression darkened, his hands curling at his sides. "I'm not trying to take anything away from you, Naomi." His voice was tight, measured. "But I see the way he looks at you."

Naomi scoffed, shaking her head. "And how is that any of your concern?"

Something flickered across Charles' face—something possessive, something dangerously close to jealousy. "Because you're different with him," he admitted, his voice lower now, as if the words cost him something to say. "You smile at him without thinking. You let your guard down. I want that—I want to be the one you trust like that."

Naomi felt her heart pound, but she refused to let him see how much his words unsettled her. "Trust isn't something you demand, Charles. It's something you earn."

His lips pressed into a thin line, frustration flashing in his eyes. "And have I not?"

Naomi exhaled, shaking her head slightly. "You've always been... intense. Guarded. And now you're acting like I owe you something just because you want it."

Charles took a step closer, and for a moment, the weight of his presence made it hard to breathe. "That's not what I mean," he said, softer now. "But I can't stand watching you be so free with someone else while I..." He cut himself off, shaking his head as if frustrated with his own thoughts.

Naomi looked up at him, studying the storm in his eyes. "While you what, Charles?"

He hesitated, and in that hesitation, Naomi saw the war raging within him. He was used to control, to certainty, to bending the world around him to his will. But this—her—was something he couldn't seem to grasp the way he wanted.

"I don't like feeling this way," he finally admitted, his voice almost a whisper. "But I can't stop it."

Naomi swallowed, forcing herself to hold her ground. "That's not my problem to fix."

Charles stared at her for a long moment, then exhaled sharply, as if grounding himself. "I don't want to be your problem, Naomi. I just—" He ran a hand through his hair, a rare sign of frustration from a man who was usually so composed. "Forget it."

But Naomi knew he wouldn't forget it. And neither would she.

As he turned and walked away, she let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. Whatever had just passed between them was far from over.