───── ❝ Chapter Seven ❞───

All was peaceful for a moment until King Henry, consumed by a storm of fury, slammed the heavy doors of his audience chambers shut. Anger flashed through his eyes, a tempest raging within him. The unsettling revelation he had uncovered weighed heavily on his heart, for it pointed toward the guilt of none other than his wife.

As he marched into the sunlit room, his sharp gaze fixated on his trusted confidant, Charles, who stood alone next to Henry's ornate desk. "You have concrete proof of her affairs?"

Unfazed by the King's furious presence, Charles remained composed, his voice steady as he responded, "Written or witnessed, Your Majesty, we have the evidence you seek."

"You are sure, Charles?" Henry growled, a mix of desperation and incredulity in his voice. "She is with child now, I- even if you are completely certain of her guilt, I cannot sign the damning decrees until the babe is born."

Charles arched an eyebrow at the King's reluctance, aware of Henry's stern nature but also his compassion when children were involved. "We are certain, Henry. There is no doubt it is her. Yet, I understand your hesitation. Even if the child is innocent of all crimes, there are others in their family who bear guilt as well. Be cautious with your actions, for secrets must remain hidden, at least for a little while longer."

"More and more things are found and hidden from me with each passing day," Henry sighed the weight of his responsibilities and the web of deception surrounding him taking its toll.

Charles smirked, a glimmer of mischief in his eyes. "Rest, Henry. You deserve it. Although, don't think I didn't notice your lingering glances toward the Empress while we talked. Perhaps you and the Imperial Queen would fit well together." With that cryptic remark, Charles left the room, leaving a stunned King in his wake.

Lost in a maelstrom of thoughts and shock, Henry wrestled with the realization that someone had already sensed his burgeoning attraction to the Imperial Queen – before his wife even knew. Eleanor, whose jealous gaze followed him everywhere, her possessiveness a constant shroud. He sighed deeply and picked up the letters Charles had left behind, bracing himself for the troubling contents.

As he read through them, the rage inside him threatened to overflow until he reached the final letter – the one that unleashed the floodgates of fury. It bore no addressee's name, but he recognized Eleanor's handwriting. The words etched on the paper ignited a burning hate that had been simmering within him, now blazing like wildfire. "𝔉𝔬𝔯𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔯 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔪𝔦𝔰𝔱𝔯𝔢𝔰𝔰, 𝔈𝔩𝔢𝔞𝔫𝔬𝔯," the damning message read, written with malevolence.

In a blind, seething moment of rage, Henry's grip tightened around the nearest object – an empty goblet – and he hurled it across the room. The glass collided with a stained-glass window, shattering it, and the morning light filtered into the room, mingling with the air of tension and anger.

As the shards of glass tinkled onto the floor, Henry walked to the fireplace and leaned on the cold bricks, his eyes fixated on the dancing flames. The haunting words of the letter echoed in his mind, tormenting him relentlessly. He felt betrayed and torn, his emotions roiling within him like a tempest at sea.

Memories of happier times with his wife intertwined with the newfound suspicions, creating an agonizing cacophony in his mind. Doubt gnawed at him, while anger fueled the fire that burned within. In that moment, Henry's once-steadfast world was shattered, and he found himself adrift in a dark sea of uncertainty and sorrow.

He knew that he couldn't stay in this emotional whirlpool forever, that he must soon make a decision that would have profound consequences. But for now, amid restlessness, he stood alone, seeking solace and clarity in the dancing flames.

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In the veil of darkness where the sun's light dared not tread, a lone figure strode down a hidden hallway. The echoes of laughter and music from the courtiers at breakfast grew fainter with each step until the man halted abruptly before an ancient painting. With a practiced touch, he pressed against the painting's edge, causing it to shift backward, unveiling a concealed room behind it. As he stepped inside, the painting returned to its place with an ominous click, shrouding the room once more in secrecy.

From the dim shadows emerged an unknown man, clutching a small flickering candle in his grasp. Drawing near to his brother, he spoke in hushed tones, "Brother, our sister is falling out from the King's favor."

"I am well aware of Jane's situation, brother," the newly arrived man replied, his voice tinged with weariness. "But it's not her fault that the Russian Empress has captured his Majesty's attention. He seeks someone with power to counteract the influence of that... woman. The Russian Empress wields the support of armies, the Pope, and many other countries. There must be a reason for the King's fascination with her."

The first man persisted, urgency evident in his voice, "Have you seen how the King looks at her? It's as if she's bewitched him. Jane's position is slipping away with every moment that Russian Queen stays here."

The second nodded grimly. "His Majesty's fascination is... unsettling. But we can't act rashly. One misstep and we'll lose everything."

"But have you noticed? The Empress never even mentions Eleanor's child. It's as if the babe doesn't exist to her. That's... odd, isn't it?"

The second brother frowned, considering. "You're right. It is strange. Perhaps there's more to this Russian Queen than meets the eye."

Unbeknownst to the Seymour brothers, a pair of keen eyes had been following their every move. Francesco Della Rovere, one of Adieya's most trusted councilmen, had observed their furtive glances and hushed conversations. His curiosity was piqued when they disappeared minutes apart down the same corridor.

Silently, Francesco followed, pausing in surprise when he saw the man trigger a hidden mechanism in a painting. After a moment Francesco repeated the man's actions and stepped into the secret room.

"Gentlemen," Francesco's smooth voice cut through the tension, causing both brothers to whirl around in shock. "Conspiring against the Imperial Queen is a grave offense. In Russia, such treason is punishable by death."

Francesco's features were barely visible in the dim candlelight, but the brothers recognized him immediately. The man whom Francesco had watched open the painting, Edward Seymour, responded with a mixture of confusion and shock, "Your Grace, what you suggest is outrageous."

"Not after what I've heard," Francesco countered with disdain. "As an Imperial Councilman, I am privy to information beyond your imagining. Russia's punishments for treason are severe – death by fire instead of ax. Next time I catch wind of your treachery, I may not be so forgiving."

The two brothers paled at the revelation that their supposedly private conversation was no secret at all. "So, Your Graces, mind your words. To answer your question about the royal child, the Imperial Queen need not meet Princess Margaret until she is formally presented by the King. Neither King Henry nor Queen Eleanor has chosen to introduce their heir to Her Imperial Majesty, so she has shown no interest in the child."

He continued, his voice thick with caution, "Many in England have already incurred the Empress's wrath. Do not add your family to that list. If your sister ever hopes to rise in favor in the Russian Court, you must earn the Empress's trust and goodwill. But beware, once you enter her circle, what is given is hard to reclaim."

Francesco noted the look of recognition on one of the brothers' faces, while the other remained defiant, his gaze ablaze with hostility. Francesco understood that one would attempt to forge a cordial relationship with the Russian Queen, while the other would vehemently refuse, breeding animosity where none was needed.

Edward Seymour took a deep breath, trying to maintain composure in the face of danger. "Your words have not fallen on deaf ears, Your Grace. We shall tread carefully."

Francesco nodded curtly and turned to leave the room. As he disappeared into the shadows, the tension in the concealed chamber lingered like a dark cloud, and the fate of the Seymour family remained uncertain, their alliances hanging in a precarious balance.

Once they were alone again, the brothers exchanged uneasy glances but lingered in the dimly lit room, their silence punctuated by the fading echoes of the Duke's footsteps. They waited, listening intently until they were sure he was beyond hearing range. Finally, Edward broke the silence, his voice a low murmur, "Brother, his Imperial Grace makes a valid point. The Russian Empress does not stand in the way of our family's ambitions, especially if the information I've received is accurate. Perhaps if we manage to win the favor of Her Imperial Majesty, our sister might draw even closer to the King. And once Jane ascends to the throne, we shall have the support of Russia and its allies. Perhaps one of us might even win the Russian Queen's affection."

Thomas scoffed, his eyes reflecting a darker thought process than that of his elder brother. Despite being younger, he possessed a much more ruthless streak. "Edward, as enticing as your plan sounds, we both know it is impractical. His Imperial Grace most likely went to report our conversation to the Empress. The moment we attempt to get close to her, she will shut us out. And though I share your desire to have her in my bed, I suspect that would only lead to ruin."

Disregarding his brother's inappropriate comment, Edward pondered for a moment before responding, "I understand your reservations, Thomas. But we cannot afford to dismiss this opportunity. The Duke has presented us with a chance, and if we do not take it, we may never know what could have been. Please, set aside your blood-lust just this once, and let us give this a try."

Thomas's eyes narrowed, his distrust evident. He weighed Edward's reasoning carefully before finally relenting, "Fine. We shall try your idea. But if it fails, you will pay the price for jeopardizing our family's favor."

Edward offered a fleeting smile, glad he had convinced his brother to consider the plan. "Agreed. If it fails, the burden shall be mine to bear."

"That it will," Thomas muttered darkly.

With their agreement in place, the brothers nodded to each other, ending the conversation. Thomas, who stood closest to the door, gestured to the right and walked out first, indicating his chosen path. Edward sighed heavily, as he waited to make sure it would not look suspicious. He was well aware of his brother's descent into darkness, a deep and ever-growing madness. Thomas's blood-lust was becoming increasingly difficult to control, and Edward knew he could only restrain his brother's dark impulses for so long. His hands trembled, a telltale sign of his inner turmoil, and try as he might to hide the madness, Edward could always see through his facade.

As Edward walked into the candlelit room earlier, he noticed the faint tremors in Thomas's hands, a sign that he was close to losing control. The younger brother tried to suppress these movements, but his elder sibling's keen eye caught every flicker of instability. Edward knew that tonight, blood would be spilled, for it was never enough for Thomas when he descended into his unquenchable blood-lust. There was no way to reason with him, and nothing could halt the carnage that would inevitably follow.

And so, after a few moments of contemplation, Edward left the room in the opposite direction of Thomas, ensuring that no one else knew of their private meeting. He preserved the secret of the hidden painting, the secret room that allowed the brothers to meet again in secrecy. The shadows enveloped them, their dark dealings shrouded from the prying eyes of the court.

With tension and a sense of impending doom lingering in the air, the Seymour brothers embarked on their treacherous path, where every step would be taken with caution, and every move weighed by the consequences that loomed before them. The darkness closed in, obscuring their intentions, while they navigated a treacherous web of ambition and intrigue, uncertain of the ultimate price they would pay to achieve their goals.

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Meanwhile, Francesco swiftly made his way to Adieya's chambers, where she awaited news of her court. As he entered, Adieya turned her piercing gaze toward him, her eyes gleaming with curiosity and authority. "What have you discovered, Francesco? Speak freely."

Francesco bowed respectfully before relaying the events he had witnessed in the hidden room. "Your Majesty, the Seymour brothers were indeed discussing ways to remove you from the King's favor. They seem deeply concerned about their sister, Lady Jane."

Adieya's eyes narrowed, her expression unreadable. "Continue," she commanded.

"They are torn, Your Majesty," Francesco continued. "One brother believes it is necessary to remove you from England to safeguard their sister's position, while the other is more cautious, aware of the risks such actions might entail. The Seymour family I believe. However, I feel as though the oldest of the two brothers might be easily swayed into our favor."

Adieya leaned back in the chair that was part of the desk in her room, pondering the information. "Edward Seymour if I am correct... interesting," she mused. "Keep a close watch on them, Francesco. Their intentions may shift as events unfold."

"As you command, Your Majesty," Francesco replied with a bow, knowing that Adieya's councilmen played a crucial role in maintaining her reign, sniffing out potential threats before they could bloom.

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It had been a few days since Adieya's first breakfast in the opulent Great Hall, and the days had been filled with silence regarding Henry's whereabouts. The faintest whispers among those closest to the King's chambers hinted at Henry's growing frustration and the sounds of shattering glass that had reverberated through the night. Fear gripped the hearts of the courtiers, preventing anyone from daring to enter the chamber and confront the King's wrath.

Charles, the ever-loyal advisor to Adieya, had ventured cautiously to Henry's chambers on brief occasions, just long enough to assess the King's condition and relay his findings to the Russian Queen. But now, Charles emerged from the dimly lit chambers, his expression betraying deep concern. Henry had descended into a pit of despair, consuming bottle after bottle of alcohol, flinging the empty vessels in reckless abandon, and unleashing his fury on any unfortunate soul who crossed his path. Today, however, Charles found the King passed out amidst a sea of empty bottles, an unsettling sight that underscored the severity of the situation.

Even Henry's prized mistress, Jane Seymour, failed to quell his anger. If anything, she seemed to ignite even greater fury within him. Charles, during the council's daily meetings, had proposed that Adieya be allowed to visit the troubled King, but his suggestion was swiftly dismissed. The councilors feared that allowing the powerful Russian Queen to witness their King in a moment of weakness would undermine their authority and leave them vulnerable.

As Charles made his way down the shadowy halls toward Adieya's chambers, a sense of unease washed over him. He felt a pair of eyes observing his every move, scrutinizing his actions with unnerving intensity. With a raised eyebrow and his senses heightened, Charles came to a halt, subtly signaling the guards stationed outside Adieya's chambers to be on alert. He turned his back slightly, creating the illusion that he was unaware of the lurking presence.

"My Lady, why do you hide in the shadows when you could simply request an audience?" Charles spoke with an air of calm authority, though he knew not if his words would reach the mysterious watcher.

The silence that followed his inquiry persisted, and Charles sighed, slowly turning in a small circle, never breaking his vigilant gaze on the corner of the hall where he had glimpsed a flash of white fabric.

"My Lady, I can still sense you lurking in the shadows, as your shoes have betrayed no indication of departure. But be warned, you are spying on royalty, an act considered a crime even in our land. In her country, the punishments for such offenses are severe, and even the smallest transgressions are met with harsh retribution. If anyone else were to discover your presence, you could face years of imprisonment for this act against the ruler of her nation."

He paused, allowing the weight of his words to settle, yet still, no response came. Charles motioned to the guards, conveying that they should be prepared for any sudden movements. He turned his attention toward the doors leading to Adieya's chambers, ready to usher in any visitors, when he finally heard the soft murmur of Adieya's voice drifting through the inner chamber.

With a brief smile flickering on his face, Charles adopted a blank mask, the concerns of the outside world momentarily set aside. He entered the inner chamber, observing Adieya reading a weathered novel to her ladies, with Mary perched gracefully on a window ledge, basking in the gentle rays of sunlight that filtered through the drapery.

"Please, my love, let me stay," said Andrei.

"But our love is all for nothing we are from families born of hate death is what our families want," said the girl hidden by the shadows.

"Let us forget about our families, run away with me Anya. Run away and forget his world."

"But I can not Andrei. Why? Because... because I am to be married in two moons' time; to Lord Wilis."

The Russian Queen's presence exuded an aura of strength and grace, even amidst the trials of a foreign court. Charles approached with a respectful bow, masking his unease and the lingering threat of the unseen watcher lurking in the shadows. Adieya's courtiers maintained a facade of normalcy, yet beneath the surface, the tension remained palpable, casting an ominous shadow over the chamber.

At the sound of Charles' voice, the ladies in the room let out a soft groan, hating the interruption from their favorite part of the novel. However, Adieya's head snapped to attention, her senses sharpening as she detected the panic laced behind her advisor's voice. She saw the desperation hidden behind his usual stone-cold mask, and without a moment's hesitation, she switched from Russian to Italian, a language known only to a select few in the room.

"Lyes! Lyes, what is it? I know you loathe dropping your courtly facade, but please tell me what has brought you rushing to me with such concern. I have known you for so long, that I can see through the mask you wear. What has troubled you so deeply?"

Charles had kept his head bowed, seemingly afraid of the words he needed to utter. But the moment Adieya acknowledged him, relief washed over him, briefly breaking through the panic. He lifted his eyes, meeting Adieya's gaze, a glimmer of desperation evident. His voice trembled as he spoke, "Henry has been drowning himself in drink, refusing to eat or see anyone. The council has adamantly denied your assistance, despite being aware of your medical expertise. I understand your reservations about being alone with a man, but I implore you, Adieya, just this once, Henry needs you."

Mary's eyes welled with tears as she restrained her emotions, but she made no indication that she comprehended Charles' urgent message. The only other person in the room who understood the gravity of Charles' words was Galina. Swiftly, she stowed away the prized novel in a secret compartment and leaned in to whisper reassuring words to Mary.

Adieya's concern deepened, and she replied, "I shall go to him immediately. I hope the council's delay in seeking my aid has not led to King Henry succumbing to alcohol poisoning. But to provide him with proper care, I must understand what led him to this state."

"Come, I will explain as we walk," Charles urged.

Adieya gracefully rose from her seat, smoothing her skirts before addressing her ladies, "Ladies, please continue your conversations. I shall return to finish our reading as soon as I have attended to His Majesty."

With a nod of acknowledgment, the ladies turned their attention to one another, leaving Adieya and Charles to depart in silence. Only when they were safely away from any prying ears did Charles speak again, his tone filled with urgency, "I discovered some dark documents the other day. Henry ordered me to investigate Her Majesty's letters, searching for anything incriminating. This morning, I informed him about the love notes I found, all signed by Her Majesty's hand."

"So Henry's anger stems from these letters?"

Charles let out a playful exclamation, "Henry, is it now?"

"Oh, hush you!"

He continued with a more serious tone, "The whore thought she could retaliate in kind, attempting to prove a point to Henry. But instead, her actions have only caused more pain."

"And you believe I can help him overcome this pain?"

"No, I believe you can offer him solace and support. You comprehend pain on a level few can fathom. It's not widely known, but you both carry scars of brokenness. His may be less severe, but broken nonetheless."

Adieya's eyes narrowed, and she hissed through her teeth, "You dare to forget your place, Charles."

Halting outside an ornate door heavily guarded, Charles suddenly grasped both of Adieya's hands, looking her directly in the eyes. "I must speak the truth, Dieya. While you may have healed physically from your past wounds, your mind will never forget. You conceal it from the world with ease, but not everyone knows you as those closest to you do. Please help him reclaim the strength he once possessed. England needs him strong."

Their gazes locked, almost as if engaged in a silent battle of wills. Charles' plea was evident in his eyes, and Adieya could not ignore the sincerity behind his words. Breaking the impasse, she gave a subtle, almost imperceptible nod.

Charles turned to the guards, commanding, "Let her in." 

His heart was filled with a mixture of trepidation and hope, for he knew that Adieya's presence held the potential to mend the broken pieces of their troubled King. But he also knew that facing the past and confronting the demons that lurked within the shadows of Henry's heart would be no easy task. As Adieya stepped through the door, her heart was heavy with the burden of responsibility, for she understood that as she tended to Henry's wounds, she would be facing her haunting memories as well. Memories of her past life and intimacy with him, but also of the childhood that Adieya Romanov never truly had.

Adieya paused before a portrait in the room. The man's eyes seemed to follow her, cold and calculating even in paint. It made her think of an old memory: "Your uncle Dimitri," her father's voice echoed in her memory. "A cautionary tale, my dear. Remember, power corrupts, and absolute power..." She shuddered, pushing the memory away. Some ghosts were better left undisturbed.

The guards closed the door behind her, enveloping her in darkness, and Adieya steeled herself for the challenging task that lay ahead. As the shadows whispered secrets and sorrows, she took a deep breath, summoning her strength to be the beacon of light amidst the encroaching darkness. As Adieya looked around the dimly lit room, memories of her past life flooded back, intertwining with the present. The opulent furnishings, the grandeur of the palace, and the familiar scent of the candles stirred emotions she thought she had buried deep within her heart. But she was not the same woman who had once graced these halls as a queen, and those memories now seemed distant and foreign, like a dream she had outgrown.

Her footsteps echoed softly on the polished marble floor as she walked toward the bed where she and King Henry had once shared moments of intimacy and trust. But the past was no longer relevant, and the love they once shared was now a mere echo in the labyrinth of her mind. The present reality was harsh, and Adieya had been hardened by the trials of her reign.

As she turned to her left, she was met with a sight that sent a pang of sorrow through her heart. King Henry, once a powerful and imposing figure, now sat slumped in his desk chair, lost in a haze of alcohol and despair. The room was a chaotic mess, strewn with bottles and papers, a reflection of the turmoil within the king's mind.

Adieya's concern for Henry outweighed any discomfort she felt about confronting her past. She approached him cautiously, her steps soft and purposeful. Gently, she shook him awake from his inebriated slumber, causing him to stir in confusion and disarray.

"Hush, Your Majesty," she whispered, her voice filled with tenderness. "Can you stand?"

Henry's eyes struggled to focus, and he peered at the figure before him, trying to piece together the fragmented image. "E-em-press," he managed to utter, his speech slurred.

Adieya's eyes softened at the sight of his vulnerability. "Yes, it's me," she replied a hint of sadness in her voice. "Now, come. Let me help you to bed."

With great effort, Adieya assisted Henry in standing, supporting his weight as they made their way to the bed. She called for the groomsmen, who arrived promptly and discreetly attended to their king, guiding him behind a curtain to change into his nightwear.

As Henry was being tended to, Adieya took a moment to light a candle, illuminating the room with a soft, warm glow. She poured a glass of water and set it next to the bed, preparing the space to be a haven of comfort for the troubled king.

Once Henry was settled under the covers, Adieya sat at the edge of the bed, holding the glass of water for him to sip. The room was filled with a profound silence, their unspoken connection speaking volumes of the bond they once shared and the possibility of a future yet unknown.

As the groomsmen left, Adieya made it clear that no one was to disturb their sanctuary unless it was her ladies or the Duke of Suffolk. The room became a haven where they could be vulnerable without fear of judgment or intrusion.

Settling beside Henry, Adieya felt a sense of familiarity and closeness. She whispered her voice a balm to his troubled soul, "Oh, how she has broken you, twisted you. You remind me of someone from long ago. He too was torn and broken, killed through the inside. We fell for each other, but he was killed and taken from me. They have done to you what they have to me and many others."

Henry shifted closer to her, seeking comfort in her embrace, and a small smile graced Adieya's lips. In this intimate moment, they found solace in each other, two souls scarred by their respective pasts, yet finding solace in each other's presence.

Adieya hummed a soft Russian tune, an echo of a memory from her childhood, as she sought to soothe Henry's troubled mind. The room seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them entwined in a cocoon of shared understanding and compassion.

Unbeknownst to Adieya, Henry, who had slightly sobered from the water, heard every word she spoke. His heart clenched with sympathy and a newfound determination to protect the woman who had shown him such kindness and vulnerability.

At that moment, something shifted between them. An unspoken connection that hinted at a future, where their paths may intertwine once again. They had both been through darkness, but perhaps in each other's presence, they could find a glimmer of light.

As Adieya eventually succumbed to sleep, Henry silently vowed to uncover the truth of her past and the pain she carried. His heart was filled with fierce protectiveness for the enigmatic Empress, and he knew that the bond they shared could not be ignored.

In the depths of the palace, two broken souls found solace in each other's presence, a beacon of hope and understanding that would lead them down a path they could not have foreseen. In the shadows of their pasts, a love story began to unfold, one that would defy all odds and blossom amidst the darkness of their worlds.