───── ❝ Chapter Eighteen ❞ ─────

Throughout his journey across the vast and tumultuous sea, the waves refused to calm, mirroring the turmoil in Henry's heart. His modest vessel, a small brigantine, bounced upon the restless waters, its wooden frame creaking ominously with each rise and fall. As he stood on the deck, gripping the railing, Henry's thoughts drifted back to the fateful night in the palace. Eleanor's screams still echoed in his mind, haunting him with the memories of betrayal and bloodshed. Finally, a letter from Adieya lay heavy in his coat pocket. He had reread it countless times, her words a mix of sorrow and hope. 'If you still care, come to me,' she had written. This voyage was his chance at redemption, his hope to mend what was broken between them.

His yearning to see Adieya, to seek her forgiveness and prove his worth, had overpowered all reason. He had left England in haste, bringing only his most trusted guards and a handful of advisors, hoping against hope that his unannounced arrival would not be in vain.

They had scoured the library and apartments for any map with information on Russian ports. It had taken a few days as little information about Russia ever left without the Empress's knowledge. Within weeks, they arrived at one of the few Russian ports open to foreign vessels, hoping it had not been closed or destroyed since its documentation. To their surprise, the docks remained very active, with Adieya's ships anchored regally, if idly, in the harbor. Unwittingly, they had happened upon Russia's main port for trade and royal ships.

Yet despite this discovery, an unsettling tranquility pervaded the area. Henry scanned the strangely vacant piers, so unlike the usual crowded chaos of the season. Where were the bustling merchants and stevedores loading ships with silks and spices? The air seemed to shimmer with suppressed energy as if the entire port waited with bated breath for some unknown catalyst. Unease simmered in Henry's chest as their ship dropped anchor. He led the way onto the creaking docks, the wood groaning under their steps. Before they made it twenty paces, six armed men materialized from the mist, weapons aimed steadily at Henry's chest.

"Halt in the name of the Imperial Queen!" their leader shouted, his voice echoing across the vacant port. "What business have you in the Empress's lands?"

Henry raised a hand to still his guards before responding, though his heart pounded with growing unease. 'We come in peace. I am King Henry Tudor of England, and wish an audience with the Empress if she will permit it.' As the words left his mouth, he couldn't shake the cold knot of fear tightening in his chest. The news of war and locked borders sent his mind racing. What enemy could be so formidable to drive Adieya to such drastic measures? His thoughts spiraled, imagining the worst as he awaited the general's response.

The general scoffed. "Her Imperial Majesty is occupied with urgent matters of state. She has not the time to entertain foreign rulers who arrive unannounced."

Thomas Seymour stepped forward angrily, his hand instinctively moving to the hilt of his sword. "You dare address royalty in this manner?" Thomas, ever the hot-headed protector, couldn't stand the slight against his king. His eyes flashed with a dangerous mix of loyalty and barely contained fury.

The general stood firm. "I address all trespassers as the situation warrants." He gestured broadly to the empty port. "Surely even you must understand the need for caution in such times as these."

"And what times might those be?" Henry asked sharply, a feeling of foreboding growing within him.

The general straightened. "Russia is at war. The Empress has locked down all borders. None may enter or leave without her knowledge. Now, come along cooperatively, and no harm will befall you. She will decide what is to be done with you."

Though he kept his face neutral, dismay flooded Henry's heart. War? Impassable borders? Had such tidings reached England, he would never have embarked on this ill-fated endeavor.

After months of silence from Adieya, Henry's yearning to see her again grew ever more difficult to bear. He obsessed over earning her forgiveness and proving himself worthy of her faith. This longing finally overpowered his reason, and he hastily arranged passage to Russia, sending no envoy ahead to announce his arrival. Reckless and desperate, he convinced himself she would agree to meet if he appeared in person. So upon the seas, he sailed, heedless of the consequences.

With no choice but to comply, the English men surrendered themselves to the Russian guard. As they were led away, Henry glanced back at his loyal retainers, his heart heavy with guilt and helplessness. He could see the fear in their eyes, mirroring his own. They were escorted none-too-gently down to the palace dungeons, their footsteps echoing ominously in the silence. Henry, on the other hand, was taken to a different path, each step feeling like a march toward an uncertain fate. The corridors of the palace seemed endless, the oppressive silence only broken by the distant clinking of chains.

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As he sat in the chamber alone, Henry's mind raced with speculation about Adieya's mysterious war and border lockdown. What enemy could she be facing that required such drastic measures? Henry wracked his brain trying to recall any tidings from Russia that might explain the current situation, but came up empty. Communications from the empire had been sparse of late, ever since that fateful day Eleanor died.

Henry shuddered as images of that day flashed through his mind - Eleanor's panicked expression as the guards seized her, her shrieks and pleas still echoing in Henry's ears. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the memories, but they only grew more vivid.

With a gasp, Henry jolted upright, banishing the chilling visions through sheer force of will. He began pacing the chamber just for some distraction, his boots clicking sharply on the polished stone floor. There would be time enough for regret later; for now, he must focus on making things right with Adieya.

Just when he began to give up all hope of seeing the Empress, the great doors burst open. Adieya swept in, surrounded by no less than twelve stone-faced guards. Once she was fully within the room, the doors slammed shut with an ominous finality, and the locks clicked into place. She settled gracefully into a chair and beckoned for Henry to do the same. The arrangement placed them directly face to face, forcing Henry to meet her piercing emerald gaze. He shifted under the intensity of those eyes, feeling stripped bare before her.

Adieya regarded him coolly before speaking. "Well, what a surprise. The King of England, trespassed on Russian soil uninvited and unannounced, just as war ignited along the border. How very fortuitous."

She tapped slender fingers on the armrest as she continued. "Now whatever shall I do with you? By all rights, you are an enemy who has infiltrated our territory using guile and deceit."

Henry held up a hand in supplication, keeping his tone respectful. "Please, Your Majesty, we intended no deceit, nor had we any notion of your current conflict. We would not have encroached were it otherwise. I assure you, we come in good faith."

Adieya's eyes glinted. "Oh come now, Henry. We both know you'd brave far worse than warring borders for a chance to speak with me."

Sensing the guards would permit it, Henry dropped all pretenses. "Please, Adieya. I know I have broken faith in you and hurt you deeply. But I beg your forgiveness. I am consumed by remorse for what transpired between us."

The Empress remained silent, face unmoving as granite as she searched Henry's countenance. He pressed on desperately.

"Command me as you will; I will do anything to make amends. My kingdom, my armies, all I have to offer is yours. Only please, release me from this torment of regret."

Adieya stirred, regarding him curiously. "You would truly abase yourself so, simply for hurting me?" She tilted her head. "Why such anguish over Eleanor's death? Did you not rid yourself of a deceitful manipulator?"

Henry sighed, the sound seeming to echo in the stillness of the chamber. "I cannot defend my actions. Rage blinded me, and I reacted without thought. That a woman controlled me so...it wounded my pride beyond reason. I felt betrayed, and betrayed logic for vengeance."

He met Adieya's gaze beseechingly. "I know not how to atone, save to vow it shall not happen again. I beg your mercy, and a chance to regain your good opinion, whatever it takes."

Adieya leaned back, her eyes hooded and unreadable. "I can forgive, but I will not forget. Take care not to test me again." She paused, considering. "Still, perhaps you may yet prove yourself."

At a subtle signal from her, the guards began exiting the room until none remained. Once they were alone, Adieya's demeanor softened, though her words remained blunt.

"I did not end our friendship lightly. But I could not watch you debase yourself further by Eleanor's manipulations."

Henry's eyes widened in surprise. "Whatever do you mean, my lady?"

She arched one delicate brow. "Come now, Henry. Do you know nothing of Eleanor's lover and their schemes?" At his baffled look, she continued resignedly. "No, I see that you do not."

Rising, she paced to the expansive window, gazing out into the shadowed courtyard as she gathered her thoughts.

"To say Eleanor was merely self-interested would be a gross understatement. She was ensnared in machinations that I believe extended well beyond her comprehension." Adieya turned back to Henry, her expression grave.

Though Adieya spoke vaguely of having "her ways" of uncovering information, the full scale of her spy network was known only to her most trusted advisors. She secretly maintained dozens of spies in France itself, posing as servants, merchants, and even clergymen.

Though Adieya spoke vaguely of having 'her ways' of uncovering information, Henry knew that her spy network was vast and formidable. He recalled a conversation with one of her trusted advisors months ago, a man who had detailed the extent of their operations in a hushed tone. 'We have eyes and ears everywhere,' the advisor had said, 'from the grandest courts of Europe to the smallest villages. Narcisse's movements have been tracked for years, his every plot and scheme documented. Eleanor was but one pawn in his elaborate game, her manipulations extending far beyond England's shores.' As Adieya shared this with Henry now, he could see the weight of her burden in her eyes, the constant vigilance required to protect her throne.

"Surely you recall Damyon Valor, the man who shot my brother to usurp my throne? Before his execution, he escaped to France where he married. His descendants have not forgotten their disgraced lineage. His son, Narcisse Valois, would see the Russian crown in his family's grasp again."

Henry sucked in a shocked breath. "Narcisse? The very man with whom I discovered Eleanor?"

Adieya inclined her head. "The same. After his flight from your Tower, he resumed leadership of a dangerous faction determined to destroy Russia's monarchy. His followers raid villages, burning homes and capturing innocents for their cause. They have assassinated countless nobles loyal to my family."

She paused, letting the implications sink in. "So you see, Eleanor may have caused your kingdom harm, but the damage she wrought here was far worse. She used you to remove those most effective against Narcisse and his schemes."

Numbly, Henry sank into a chair, his legs giving way under the weight of Adieya's revelations. "My god. I had no idea she was part of something so twisted."He dropped his head into his hands, the enormity of his mistakes crashing over him like a wave. "I have been a fool. Worse than a fool."

Adieya's expression softened marginally. "You could not have known. But now that you do, I trust you will be more wary in regards to Eleanor's remaining allies."

She made her way toward the door before pausing. "One last thing. We have reason to believe Narcisse's mother carried the bleeding sickness. Perhaps that will provide some comfort regarding Margaret's death."

With that, she quit the room, leaving Henry alone with his swirling thoughts and revelations. Rather than grief, he now burned with rage at the dead woman who had deceived him, and the very much alive man who even now threatened Adieya's reign. He vowed then that he would do everything in his power to protect her from these forces and become a man she could trust completely.

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In the dank confines of the Russian dungeons, Thomas Seymour paced like a caged animal. The guards had long since given up trying to make him be still, wary of the wild look in his eyes.

"We should never have come here," he muttered, more to himself than to the other imprisoned Englishmen. "Edward's influence could have prevented this, but where is he now? Lounging in the lap of luxury while we rot!"

The other men exchanged uneasy glances. They had all noticed Thomas's growing agitation over the past days, his mutterings about his absent brother becoming increasingly bitter.

"Peace, Thomas," one of them ventured. "I'm sure Edward knows nothing of our plight."

Thomas whirled on him, eyes flashing. "And that's supposed to comfort me? That my brother is so ensconced in his new life that he's forgotten his duty to his family, his country?"

The outburst left a heavy silence in its wake. As Thomas resumed his pacing, the seeds of a dangerous resentment began to take root.

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Days blended into an indistinguishable blur in Henry's gilded cage. Henry waited alternately with dread and hope, fluctuating between shame at his naïveté and rage at those who had exploited it. The opulent furnishings that had once seemed impressive now felt suffocating. The heavy brocade curtains, eternally drawn, let in only the faintest slivers of light, leaving him unsure whether it was day or night.

The silence was the worst. It pressed in on him from all sides, broken only by the occasional muffled footsteps of guards outside his door. Henry found himself talking aloud simply to hear a human voice, even if it was his own.

The rich foods brought to him at irregular intervals began to taste like ash in his mouth. The wine, once a comfort, now turned his stomach. Even sleep offered no respite, his dreams filled with Adieya's accusing eyes and Eleanor's mocking laughter.

As he paced the confines of his room for what felt like the thousandth time, Henry's fingers trailed along the intricate wall hangings. He paused, feeling something odd beneath the fabric. Pulling it aside, he found strange markings carved into the stone - tallies, he realized with a start. How many others had been confined here, marking the days of their imprisonment?

The discovery sent a chill down Henry's spine. For the first time, he truly understood the precariousness of his situation. He was not a guest here, no matter how luxurious his surroundings. He was a prisoner, at the mercy of a woman he had wronged deeply.

Every once in awhile Henry would press his ear to the door of his opulent prison, straining to hear the murmured conversation of his guards.

"...another village burned to the ground," one was saying, his voice heavy with fatigue. "My cousin barely escaped with his life."

"Narcisse's men grow bolder by the day," the other replied. "I heard they've begun recruiting among the peasants, promising them riches beyond their wildest dreams."

"Fools," the first guard spat. "As if Narcisse would share power once he has it. Still, people are desperate. This war has stretched us thin."

Henry pulled away from the door, his mind reeling. The situation was far worse than he had imagined. Adieya wasn't just facing a rebel faction - this was a full-scale insurrection threatening to tear Russia apart.

In darker moments, he berated himself as a fool for sailing unannounced into a war zone, fixating on his desperation. What good did it serve Adieya to have him underfoot in such perilous times? Surely she had graver matters to attend to than soothing a heartsick king who ignored all reason.

When despair threatened to consume him, Henry would hastily refocus his thoughts on Adieya herself, picturing her vivid eyes and gentle smile. He clung to cherished memories of their times together - strolling in palace gardens, stealing away to countryside villas, laughing freely in a way he could with no other. The memory of her touch was bittersweet agony.

During the long, lonely nights, Henry poured his jumbled thoughts and feelings into letters he knew she would never read. The mere act of writing brought some small measure of comfort, despite the futility. He tried to put into words all she meant to him, all he hoped they might share again. The growing stack of parchment was a testimony of his devotion.

Though distant, Adieya was ever in Henry's thoughts as he strove to transform himself and his rule. When implementing even minor reforms, he would pen secret missives to her detailing his progress. These letters were carefully encrypted and sent via complex channels to avoid interception. Though uncertain she would ever read his words, Henry hoped rumor of his changes would reach her ears, wherever she may be.

At last, after two interminable weeks, the doors burst open unexpectedly to admit the Empress herself, without her customary retinue of guards. Henry jumped to his feet in surprise.

"Have you come to gloat over my humiliation?" he asked bitterly, the long days of isolation wearing upon him.

"Certainly not," Adieya chided, her expression neutral. "I am here to tell you that you and your men will soon be released."

Henry blinked. "Just like that?"

She nodded once. "The damage you could do is limited now that you know the truth. Sending you back to England accomplishes nothing more."

Unease pricked at Henry's mind. "You speak as though we shall not meet again."

Adieya turned away slightly. "For now, it is best we keep our distance. I have provided everything you need to combat Narcisse. The rest is up to you."

Desperation clawed at Henry's heart. "But we have an alliance! As your friend, I can aid you against these forces who threaten us both!"

"Russia no longer needs your help, Henry," she said simply, her words landing like stones.

Before he could protest further, she summoned the nearby guards. "Bring me the release decree."

Within moments, they produced a scroll, which she offered to Henry. "This states you must depart Russia promptly. Sign it, and you and your men go free."

Having no choice, Henry signed the document, his hand trembling slightly. True to her word, he and his party were escorted onto their ship mere minutes later. The anchors were weighed and sails unfurled before he could even gather his turbulent thoughts.

As the shoreline faded into the misty horizon, Henry stood at the railing long after the land had disappeared from view. His heart felt as leaden as the gloomy grey clouds rolling in from the east. Adieya's last cold words echoed hauntingly in his mind. She had closed the door between them, perhaps forever. The loss pierced him deeper than any blade.

Still, as the inky waves churned endlessly around him, Henry swore a silent oath. No matter Adieya's mistrust, he would work tirelessly to regain her faith and rebuild their sundered bond. He would become the man and monarch she once believed him to be.

The return voyage felt interminable to Henry. He found no comfort in his cabin, the memories of the journey out still painfully fresh. Instead, he spent long hours pacing the deck, buffeted by frigid ocean winds. When exhaustion finally claimed him, his dreams were troubled with visions of Adieya slipping further away.

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As England's shores came into view, Henry felt neither relief nor comfort. His thoughts remained consumed by Adieya; winning back her trust became his singular focus. Even news of Margaret's death could not long distract him from this mission.

Upon his return, Henry was alarmed to see the state of his kingdom after his long absence. Poverty and unrest had risen sharply, the people were losing faith in their aloof king. Crops had failed in many regions after a brutally harsh winter, leaving many peasants starving.

Henry toured the countryside incognito, seeing firsthand the suffering of his people. Where once he might have shrugged this off as the natural plight of peasants, now he took the conditions as a personal failure. Adieya's wisdom guided him as he implemented reforms to alleviate poverty and injustice. He walked among commoners and lords alike, striving to rule with compassion and humility.

A day later he stood before the great window in the council chamber, staring unseeing at the English countryside. Behind him, his advisors droned on about the necessity of his marriage to Jane Seymour.

"Your Majesty, the people need stability," one insisted. "A new queen, the promise of an heir - it would quell much of the unrest."

The religious tensions from Eleanor's day had cooled somewhat in her absence. Though Catholics still held sway in court, the Protestants and Lutherans kept quiet, wary of provoking Henry's wrath.

Thus the Catholic councilors renewed their fervent pressure for Henry to marry Jane Seymour. Though no trace of his former ardor for her remained, Henry acquiesced, knowing the council would never relent otherwise. It was clear this marriage would be a matter of politics rather than passion.

Henry's thoughts drifted to Adieya, her final cold words echoing in his mind. He had vowed to become the king she believed he could be, but was this the way? To marry a woman he did not love, to father children out of duty rather than desire?

Weighing his options regarding marriage, Henry could find no suitable alternative. Further chaos over succession could prove catastrophic. However distasteful he found the council's demands, he recognized the pragmatism in acquiescing

He thought of Jane - kind, gentle Jane, who deserved more than a husband whose heart belonged to another. Yet he could not deny the logic of his advisors' arguments. His people were suffering, and they needed more than just policy changes. They needed hope.

With a heavy sigh, Henry turned to face his council. "Very well," he said, the words tasting like ashes in his mouth. "Begin the preparations for my wedding to Jane Seymour."

As the men filed out, triumphant, Henry turned back to the window. "Forgive me, Adieya," he whispered. "I do this for my people, as you would have me do."

For perhaps the first time in his reign, Henry exercised complete sovereignty over his rule. He would answer to no one but his conscience - and to the Empress, though she knew it not.

There remained but one complication in this plan. Only two of the Seymour siblings were present at court: Thomas and Jane. Edward still had not returned from Russia, even after Henry's homecoming.

Upon inquiry, John Seymour insisted no word had come from Edward since departing with Adieya. As none knew of Henry's detainment, all assumed Edward had willingly chosen the Russian splendor over his English titles.

In time, a letter arrived announcing Edward would briefly return for Jane's wedding, then depart again for Russia. While the family expressed surprise at Edward's intentions, this news angered one man in particular.

Having lived so long in his elder brother Edward's shadow, Thomas Seymour harbored a deep and bitter jealousy of him. As children, he watched Edward receive the finest tutors, the greatest esteem, and the lion's share of status and praise, while Thomas was relegated to the background. In Russia, far from family oversight, Edward seemed to have secured a position equal or even superior to his standing in England. To Thomas, this abandonment of duty felt like the deepest betrayal. It ignited his long-simmering resentment into a blaze of rage and retaliation.

Thomas Seymour fumed over the letter in private, balling it in his fist. His brother's abandonment of family duty felt akin to betrayal in Thomas' mind. For years, he had watched Edward receive the finest tutors, the greatest esteem, and the lion's share of status and praise, while he was relegated to the background. Now, Edward's defiance felt like a final, unforgivable slight. Though Edward was his flesh and blood, his actions could not go unpunished. Thomas would not soon forget this sworn enemy growing in their midst.

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