Princess of Cleves

She is not found, not in the French apartment, not in the river, nor with the
potato peelings and gristle in the trash. She had been taken swiftly, when no one was watchful. He claimed to adore her, went to study her often before stealing her under his jacket and walking away, as he had with so many others. When he was finally caught, he claimed his mother knew her worth, and yet she destroyed them all, afraid for her son, for herself.
The princess portrait with her long hair unbound, awaiting her betrothal, her smile wistful, her hands crossed.