Crown Prince Nicholas Seymour of Monrique

22 November, Year 32 of King Frederick V of Monrique's reign

Roche Manor, Roche

Monrique

It was dark, and utterly quiet. On any other night, I would not even have dared to leave my chambers without a candle, fearing the dark as I did.

However, as I was coming to learn these days, no one had the time to think or worry about themselves in Roche Manor. It was an utterly volatile place, where every day brought with it a new tempest. One always had to be ready to brave through it, and handle the destruction it left in its wake, regardless of the circumstances.

It was thus that I now found myself sprinting to the other end of the Manor, towards Lord Thomas' chambers, with my heart thudding in my mouth. I heard the manservant trying to keep up with me, but I could not care less about him. I needed to reach there, I needed to know if he was telling me the truth -

It could not, it could not happen this soon -

We all laughing, celebrating Tess' accomplishments just yesterday -

I leapt down three steps at a time on the stairway. Impossible, impossible, impossible -

He seemed stable - there was no way - how -

I skidded to a stop in front of his chambers, panting and perspiring.

The doors were wide open, and the overwhelming grief and pain in the atmosphere washed over me like a tidal wave without warning. It weighed heavily down on my shoulders, and filled me with dread, even before I could make sense of what was happening.

Oh nay -

Lord Thomas was lying on his back on his bed, unnaturally still. His thinning blond hair stuck to his forehead, which was, for once, free of the worry lines that always graced it. His head had rolled to the side of the pillow, and his mouth was hanging slightly open. There was some dried crusted blood and foam at the corner of his lips, but otherwise, he could have simply been sleeping in peace for all I knew.

He was gone. He was truly gone. I grabbed the doorway to steady myself.

Tess and Clara were both curled up together on the side of his bed. While Clara clung to her sister, and was openly and silently sobbing into the curve of her neck, the latter sat upright, as still as a statue. There were no tears, no emotions on her deathly white countenance. Her ocean blue eyes stared straight ahead, unfocused and lost in her own world, as she cradled Clara tightly with one arm, and held her father's body close to her with the other.

My throat clogged up.

All the Earls of Roche, including Ned, were kneeling around Lord Thomas' bed, still in their nightclothes. The maids and menservants of the Manor stood in a group behind them, all in complete silence. Hands folded, heads bowed, the light brown carpet beneath their feet was dotted dark with their tears.

I did not realise that a broken, choked sound had left my lips, until everyone glanced up at me in surprise. Upon seeing me, Ned stood up and strode towards me at once, his eyes rimmed red, and pulled me into a tight hug.

"How are you holding up, old chap?" I whispered.

"Awful," his voice broke.

I looked past his shoulder at Tess, who held my gaze, and nodded at me once. "Please come in, brother," she sighed, "come see Papa."

Ned released me. Lords Alexandre and Timothée, who were kneeling near the head of the bed, made some space for us between them. I rubbed my face clear of the drops of sweat and tears streaming down my cheek, as we began to walk towards them. However, we were hardly halfway across the room, when I sensed a sudden shift in the atmosphere.

We stopped short. Both Tess and Clara were now sitting upright, glaring hard at something behind us with a mixture of fury and hatred.

Clara jumped out of the bed at once, and strode past us. "Stay the hell away from us!"

Shocked, the both of us turned around. Lady Rosanna was gliding gracefully into the chambers behind us, closely followed by the four Corporals who were watching her every move.

I raised an eyebrow. In a sea of white and grief, she was in screaming colour.

Countenance caked with powder, dressed in a cherry red gown, and adorned from head to toes in the brightest of jewellery, she was quite a vision to behold. A serene smile was playing about her rouge tinted lips now, as she caught Clara's arm and dug her nails into it before she could strike her.

The hair on the back of my neck stood on end at the very sight of her.

"You insolent child," she crooned, "have I not taught you any manners?" Her ocean blue eyes, so like her daughters', glittered with cruel amusement as she pushed Clara aside none too gently.

Ned caught her before she could fall, and held her up, as she rubbed her arm where she had gripped her.

"Why are you here, my Lady?" I growled.

Lady Rosanna glanced at me, surprised. "Ah, Your Royal Highness. Forgive me, I did not notice you among this...pathetic group," she offered me the briefest of curtsies, "greetings. I have but come to see my late husband. The Corporals kindly offered me this small mercy." She gestured to the bed.

"One that you do not deserve."

It was Tess who had spoken. Everyone's eyes were on her, as she slowly rose from the bed, and she approached us. Although her countenance remained empty, and her movements graceful, her blistering, blazing blue eyes spoke volumes about the rage that was boiling inside of her.

Lady Rosanna's smile faltered slightly at the sight of her. "Well, I do not have time to chat with you all," she waved a dismissive hand at her, "I need to plan the funeral - "

"You need to do nothing of that sort," Clara snapped, "I do not want you an inch near Papa. Sister-mine and I will handle what needs to be done."

Lady Rosanna's lips thinned, as she glared at her. "My dear daughter, mayhap you forget that he was my husband too - "

"Nay, he was not. He was nothing but a treasury full of wealth and power to you," Tess' voice was dangerously quiet, as she grew closer to her mother, "you neither saw him as a husband, nor as a living, loving being who meant anything to you. If you had, none of us would have had to see this day - and have this conversation over his dead body."

She did not shout these words, but she might as well have. Lady Rosanna flinched as if she had physically struck her.

"But now that we are," she continued, trembling, "I am forced to come to a decision on what I should do with you." She came to a firm stop in front of her.

"What to do with me? What a ridiculous notion - "

Tess stared straight into her eyes. "I could slit your throat in this very room, and no one would bat an eye," her voice was soft, full of venom, "I could strangle you and throw your corpse into the Guillame Sea, and no one would even think of searching for you, let alone miss you. I could hang you upside down on Tower Green and disembowel you and stab you until you bleed to death, in agony and misery - and believe me, I am extremely tempted to do that at the moment."

Lady Rosanna was stunned into silence by the amount of loathing in her words.

My forehead creased, as I eyed Tess' red-rimmed eyes, her deathly white countenance, her pursed lips, her clenched fists by her side with some anxiety. I noted the manner in which she was holding herself back, trying to remain firmly in control of her emotions - and for once, failing miserably in that aspect.

That was when I realised that she was not becoming angry - she had always been angry. Her calm, her silence all this while, had been but a façade of control. This was years' worth of misery, resentment and fury that had been boiling, bubbling, festering within her, just beneath the surface, slowly ascending towards the tipping point, towards today.

Even Clara was wary, as she now placed a hand on her forearm in concern. "Sister-mine - "

"Y-You can do n-nothing of that sort," their mother tried to brush it off, although pure fear flashed across her eyes, "I am the D-Duchess of Roche - "

"Dowager Duchess," Tess' ocean blue eyes blazed, "you are now a Dowager Duchess upon my father's death. You are a figurehead, an empty title, nothing more. Most importantly, you need to realise that as his eldest daughter and heiress presumptive, I am now the sovereign Duchess of Roche - and start thinking about what that means for you. Because you see, Mother dearest, words cannot describe how much I despiseyou."

Lady Rosanna pulled herself to her full height, affronted. "Therese - "

Her ire only grew. "I despise you, and everything that you are. I despise how you dare to stand before me here, in this very room that Papa died - where you killed him little by little over the years - in this bright red monstrosity, cheerful as ever, as if we are about to leave for a celebration," she raised her voice, "without an ounce of regret or remorse for what you have done to us all, in these damned jewels - "

Her eyes gleamed with tears, as she reached out to rip the ducal coronet from Lady Rosanna's head.

She flinched in shock, and took a few steps away from Tess at once, but the latter only moved forward. She proceeded to vengefully rip the diamond earrings from her ears, the pearl necklaces from her neck, and the golden bracelets on her arms, and flung them on the ground with a loud clang.

All the jewellery was dotted with blood. The pearls became loose, and scattered and rolled all around us.

Lady Rosanna's screams of pain continued to reverberate throughout the chambers, even after she managed to shake herself out of Tess' hold. She tried to nurse her bleeding ears and shield herself from her at the same time.

My eyes widened in horror. Everything had happened in a matter of seconds. Alarmed, Ned and I hurried to restrain Tess before she could hurt her further.

"Corporals, seize Lady Rosanna," I commanded.

At once, the Corporals nodded and swiftly grabbed hold of Lady Rosanna, and forced her arms behind her back before she could recover and retaliate. She continued to howl loudly with agony, as the blood from her earlobe and the gashes on her neck and her wrists dripped on the carpet.

"Tess, that is enough," Ned remarked quietly, "you do not want to kill her."

She struggled against us for all it was worth. "Kill her? Nay, I want to dispatch her to hell with my bare hands - "

"It is not worth it," I tightened my hold on her, "she is not worth it."

"Let me go, brother - "

"She does not deserve your anger or your pain," Ned shook his head, "and she is definitely not worth the blood you wish to spill on your hands - not today, at least. Today is not about her, but about your Papa."

She paused.

"He is in a better place now, far and away from her, where she can no longer hurt him. Her role in his life, in yours and in Clara's has come to an end," he whispered, "regardless of whether or not you choose to forgive her, you need to let go of your hatred for the moment, mon ange - so that you can focus on grieving for Papa like he deserves to be, and honouring his memory, his legacy."

Her countenance crumpled at that. All the fight left her body.

Sensing that the storm had passed, the both of us loosened our grip on her, and stepped back from her to give her some space. In the meanwhile, Clara tentatively stepped closer to her, and wrapped her arms around her.

Tess allowed her to hold her, closing her eyes, as she leaned against the top of her head. "Get that wretch out of my sight, and lock her in her chambers," her voice was thick, "I do not want to see her ever again in my life."

Taking a deep breath, I nodded at the Corporals.

***

Rex

28 November, Year 32 of King Frederick V of Monrique's reign

Roche Manor, Roche

Monrique

I slid in through the double doors, and crept off to a corner of the throne room, trying not to attract attention. The chamber was abuzz with chatter, the atmosphere equal parts sombre and anticipatory.

Sombre had been the theme of Roche for the past week. The skies were constantly grey. It would not stop snowing, even for a moment. It was cold, miserable, dreary all day and every day.

It was expected, I supposed. His Grace Lord Thomas George Alexandre Charles De Beauharnais, the most beloved Duke of Roche, had recently passed on, after all.

Finally.

It was not a shock, considering the many months he had been hovering between the realms of the dead and living. Still, everyone had been rather unprepared for it all the same. A hasty funeral had been arranged the very morning after the late Duke had been found cold and unbreathing in his bedchambers. All eleven Earls of the earldoms of Roche, who had already been staying at the Manor on a visit, had helped with the arrangements.

Many people had braved this terrible weather to attend the funeral, despite the fact that it had been held on such short notice – and even now, a week later, people were still flocking to Roche Manor from all over Roche, and from the rest of the country, to pay their last respects.

The late Duke had been a good overlord, friend and patron to many.

However, I did not bother attending the funeral. Why would I want to mourn death, and pile unnecessary misery upon myself?

Instead, I chose to celebrate life. 'Tis why I arrived at Roche Manor today, uninvited and unwelcome, as usual, to attend the new Duchess of Roche's coronation.

"Announcing Her Honour Lady Therese Diane Jeanne Isabelle De Beauharnais, Lady Justice of Monrique!" the heralds cried now, as the double doors to the throne room swung open.

Oh, yes, Lady Justice of Monrique. I had forgotten about that.

Lady Therese stood at the threshold of the throne room, a perfectly regal statue. Her pale, heart-shaped countenance was void of all emotions, and her large, clear ocean blue eyes were cold, ice cold.

Those luscious, golden tresses I had loved running my hands through - and still dreamed these days of doing so - were pinned up into an elegant bun, leaving a few strands hanging that glimmered in the light from the candles on the chandelier above.

She was wearing a dark red gown of silk. A gold robe with the Roche coat of arms hung over her shoulders. Her pale hands were clasped firmly by her waist, her long neck upright, and her back straight.

I could not take my eyes away from her. Red had always been her colour. She was bonny, buxom, and so ethereally beautiful.

And clearly, she had grown only more so in the last eight years.

That red gown hugged her form like a second skin, in all the right places. The gentle mounds of her breasts were visible over the cut of her gown, and they rose, as she took a deep breath to steady herself.

My eyes followed the movement, captivated. God, I missed her body.

Almost at once, I was brought back to eight years ago, when she was on my bed, beneath me. In the warmth of the dying fireplace, I remembered burying myself in her ample, smooth cream flesh, gasping her name all night long, over and over again –

A soft groan left my lips now, a guttural sound. I felt my loins harden under my breeches.

It had been eight years, and still, the memory was so fresh. She was pleasure and acrimony, fire and ice. To this day, all other women paled in comparison - even my late wife, and all of those nameless, faceless whores I fucked in the taverns after her death.

Lady Therese was, and always would be, the gold standard.

God, I wanted her in my bed. Under my control, under me, as it should be.

All of these – pursuing law, making petitions, fighting to govern by herself – were a few of her new, radical pursuits that should be discouraged at once. It was not her jurisdiction, and it was not natural. Governing and decision-making were men's work. She, and all women, should be able to fulfil their biological destinies in peace without all of these distractions.

However, she did not understand that. I blamed the late Duke for that. He had given her too much freedom raising her.

After I had alerted her in Bordeux exactly how ill her father was, Lady Therese had abandoned her plans for the petition, and moved to Roche to focus on caring for him. Now that he was dead, I knew she would do all she can to keep her sovereignty, and she would not go down without a fight.

Indeed, even after all my threats and attempts to frighten her these couple of months, she had still refused to stop this nonsense.

She was infuriating, but I loved the challenge she presented me. She was fire. She scorched, she burned, she was the epitome of desire - and I would be the one to tame her. There was no one better, or more capable.

If I had wanted, I could have killed her and her pathetic father any time these few months, but I chose not to. I celebrated life, not death.

But the time had now come for me to get to work.

Once I bedded her and impregnated her, she would be ruined for all others. She would have no choice but to marry me, and after she did, I would make sure that I throw out every last thought about her independence out of her silly mind.

She would be mine for all eternity, body and mind –

The orchestra began to play a slow, dreary melody, much like funeral music. It startled me out of my scheming. The whole room had fallen silent.

I watched Lady Therese now, along with the crowd of spectators around me, as she floated down the throne room with her head held high, her red skirts billowing about her ankles, her gold robes sweeping the floor.

The eleven Earls of Roche, six on one aisle and five on the other, bowed to her, holding up swords above her head – and a few of them openly sobbing with pride or grief, I could not tell – as she inclined her head at them, and glided past them.

The youngest of those Earls was Lord Raymond, Earl of Testalt who was representing his nephew Lord Thomas Delaborde, Earl of Alençon, as his regent.

A ghost of a smile, broken and splintered at several places, passed between him and Lady Therese, as she crossed him towards the dais.

I did not miss it. She chose her lover well, I mused, he was handsome, and if rumours about him circulating in society were to be believed, he certainly was virile.

But no matter. Once I married her, she would never see him again.

The old priest, who had been waiting patiently on the dais, now reached for her hand, and helped her up the dais. She pulled her robes as she turned around in one smooth motion, and slowly sat down on the throne set up for her.

The orchestra stopped playing. She was handed an orb and sceptre, which she gripped tightly until her knuckles turned white as she stared straight ahead, solemn.

In the meanwhile, the priest turned to his right, where the thick, golden coronet of the dukedom of Roche sat on a red cushion on a smaller, empty throne. Had the Duke been alive to see this day, he would have been seated there next to his daughter, wearing that coronet.

Now all that was left of him was the coronet.

The priest lifted the coronet towards us, the people, before he placed it on Lady Therese's head.

"Do you swear to govern the people of Roche, according to the statutes and customs of this land agreed upon by the Council of Roche, the Crown Council of Monrique, and the Court of the Lady Justice?"

Her voice was strong, clear. "I do."

"Do you swear to ensure that law and justice is always upheld in Roche, and that every citizen is treated fairly, regardless of whether he or she is sick or healthy, rich or poor?"

"I do."

"Do you swear to always stand by the people of Roche, and do your duty by them, keeping their welfare in your mind in every decision that you take?"

"I do, I solemnly swear so to do."

She then rose up from her throne – an unprecedented move – and held out the orb and sceptre towards the audience.

"This is not only my day, but yours, as well. You have my word that I will strive to be as good a leader as my late father was to you, if not better," she continued quietly, her voice ringing throughout the silent room, "all of you here are my...my only remaining family. I promise, with everything that I have, that I will always do right by you."

Her ocean blue eyes were glassy with genuine tears for a brief moment due to emotion, before they vanished.

But I had caught it. The audience had caught it. Almost at once, the tension in the atmosphere eased a thousand-fold, as true smiles, full of compassion, began to unfold on the countenances of the people around me.

They loved her. She had always been beloved among them, as much as her late father had been, and more so since she had taken over his duties after he had begun to fall ill.

The priest, who was also beaming, now escorted her to the edge of the dais. "Presenting to you Her Grace Lady Therese Diane Jeanne Isabelle De Beauharnais, sovereign Duchess of Roche, and Lady Justice of Monrique!" he announced jubilantly.

The whole room burst into cheers and applause. As the people around me hugged each other in happiness of the birth of a new reign, a hopeful future, and chatted animatedly among themselves, I moved back, and slid back out of the doors once more.

'Twas time for the first step of my plan.

I strode along the corridors, and down the spiral stairways to the ground floor, and headed straight for the guest bedchambers, where I knew Lord Testalt was currently staying.

It was easy. The heavy protection in the Manor that had once been provided by the army officers was considerably relaxed after the Dowager Duchess of Roche, Lady Rosanna, was carted off to the madhouse on the new Duchess' orders.

Lady Rosanna had always been the sole, and most dangerous threat in this Manor. However, she had not been the only one, and Lady Therese seemed to have forgotten that in these few weeks.

In any case, a coronation was in progress, and I supposed most of the security was focused on the throne room. As such, the corridors were empty, and as always, there was no one guarding Lord Testalt's chambers.

It was easy. Too easy.

I quietly swung open the door, and peeked inside first. Confident that there was no one else in the chambers, I crept in on my toes, careful not to make a sound as I closed the door behind me.

There, on the huge white bed in the middle of the room, a small, five-year old boy slumbered peacefully on, with a brief smile on his face from whatever he was dreaming about.

It was easy. Too easy.

I smirked, as I took out a piece of parchment from my pocket, and placed it on the bedside table, tucked under one of Lord Testalt's many books. I lifted the child into my arms, careful not to jostle him or wake him.

I then climbed out of the open windows, and swiftly disappeared into the dark, dark night.

***