A/N: This Story begins in the 1550s and was inspired by Henry Tudor and Anne Boleyn.
Disclaimer: The Originals is not mine, nor is the little conversation here you recognize from the TV Show "The Borgias".
Chapter 1
Fingers of golden sheen threaded through the fog, the winds intensity filtering through the branches, as the four black stallions tugged our carriage onward. Outside I could hear hooves of at least ten more horses – maybe fifteen – all muffled by the muddy road beneath them.
I recognized my brother Aedan´s fleeting form at the helm of the party. The young sunlight hitting his armor created a halo about him, engulfing him in brightness. He kept his eyes strictly on the path we had been following for weeks now, not daring to turn back, not daring to meet my eye. Beside him rode Charles Brandon, apparently neighbor to our residence in Great Britain, as well as friend to my father. They whisper he was stripped of his titles after the King caught him abed with his sister, which was hardly doubtful, for once because the call her, the great whore of England, surely not without reason, and second because the good Charles Brandon had quite a reputation as well.
Despite that I was pure-blood English, I felt rather like a foreigner in my home country. For when I was two years old, my Sister Evelyn and I were shipped off to live in France, because our father had secured us a steady family seat at French court. He had climbed the ladder to power over the bed of King Francis, having my elder sister lure him into bed. But now that the King of England is tiring of the French alliance, we were no longer safe in the chambers of the enemy.
Paris, a month ago
"What kind of sick perversion is this, Brother? You would have me become King Niklaus´ mistress for gaining his favor?" I exclaimed through gritted teeth, feeling the blood boil through my veins as I kneaded my hands in my lap.
"I had no choice!" Aedan retorted defensively, although pity nested in those crystal pools of blue.
I stood immediately, the wooden stool pushed back with a shrill shriek. Striding towards him, I leveled my eyes to his. "You weak, shameless pitiful excuse! If I was a man, I would have run him through! I would have cut his tongue out before I let him speak about my own sister in this way!"
"It was for the good of the family, I had no choice!"
"You had every choice!" And just as those words of venom left my mouth, my hand struck him hard across the face, leaving a pulsating angry red mark.
He gasped in mere surprise. I had rarely raised a hand on him in my life. Especially for the crimes not he had committed, but my father. I tried to control my inner demons, but instead they possessed me. A part of me felt the guilt arise; the rest sentenced him guilty.
He filled the few steps between us, framing my face with his hands gently, the pads of his fingers digging into my tender flesh. He rested his forehead against mine and gazed me into the eyes, our lashes touching. "I would have killed him where he stood. I would have cut his heart out of his body, but I restrained myself, for the good of the family."
"So the King of England shall make me his slave, for the good of the family." I said barely above a whisper, the shoulders sagging in just slightly. My stare withheld my brothers, unbroken.
"I am so sorry." The unbearable ache in his voice infected my chest, dragging it through my whole body limb by limb. And the anger alighted. I desired to remain mad at him, to hate him for forcing me into this. But I knew this wasn´t his fault, he´s nothing more than a puppet in the games my father was playing. Like we all were.
Exhaling, I tore away from him. "Even if he were to have me, who says he would keep me? Rumor says he has never invited a woman to his bed twice. And do not forget that he´s married to another."
"Perhaps you will find a way to make his liaison to you permanent. I am well aware of your charms, Sis, and not only the ones you had learned at French court. There is something about you, Lyanna… not even a King could resist. Those eyes of yours are like silver hooks for the soul." He skimmed my cheek with his thumb, dipping forward to touch his lips to my forehead.
The sky was flushed with pink and orange tones, the sun sinking lower and lower on the horizon when, the large carriage came to a halt. Blinking the sleep out of my eyes, I carefully, not to startle her, squeezed my sister´s hand to wake her. "Evelyn." Her breathing hitched, and after a moment her eyelids fluttered open, revealing grey-blue irises. A wrinkle deepened between her sculpted brows as she stared at me, obviously confused.
"What?"
"I think we have arrived," I gulped the information, peering over my shoulder through the window. The last rays of sunlight illuminated the castle walls of the great keep, two men stood by the gates – I identified my father immediately and suspicioned the other man to be my uncle – their dark shadows stretching largely behind them. Some horses surrounding us whined at the lack of movement, as their riders dismounted them.
I instinctively clutched Evelyn´s hand, seeking support, and she gave it a reassuring press. "Calm, Sister. You needn´t fret."
"Of course I need to! He hates me, Eve. We have not seen him ever since…"
"I know, but you´re not to blame! It was mother´s decision, hers only."
Flashes of her smile, the smell of blood and roses and her brave bright eyes glistening with tears, all those things I avoided thinking of, forced their way to the front of my mind, painfully knocking against my skull. The saddest part is that I don´t even remember what she looked like, just parts of her face remained to me, the rest had blurred. A lonely sob escaped my lips, joined by another.
"Stop!" She hissed, alerted by an upcoming outburst, her gloved hands hooked behind my shoulders, shaking me. "Lyanna, quit it!"
With a shrill creaking sound the door by my side was pulled open, inviting some fresh air in to neutralize the thick tension within the carriage. I sobered up instantly, whipping around, a few strands of raven black curls tumbling out of the lilac netting in process.
I could barely identify the man standing before me, expanding his hand for me to take. He had been a boy of fifteen the last I had seen him, with crooked teeth and smiling amber eyes. Now he was a fully grown, with stumbles framing his mischievous grin.
"Welcome home, dearest cousin," he greeted, the bright smile eating up half his face, his dirty blond hair falling onto his forehead.
"Eugen!" I breathed, the corners of my lips curving upwards, spreading until it mirrored his expression. "Look at you, how much you have grown."
I courtly placed one in white silk wrapped hand into his open palm, and held my purple skirts out of the way of my feet in the other as he lead me down the three steps. "I cannot say the same about you," he said mockingly, a playful spark glistening in those amber orbs whilst he looked down upon me.
"Oh do not mock me, dearest cousin; after all I used to beat you in every game we played." I tapped my fingers on his chest, squinting against the orange sunlight shining into my eyes, with a challenging smirk on my lips.
He snorted in retort, looping my arm with his own. "Lying is a sin, Anna-"
"Then I must be a Saint." I interrupted him mid-sentence.
"Please," He rolled his eyes, "But no more of that, my father and yours are already awaiting you. We will surely find time to discuss this later."
I nodded stiffly, unable to mutter a response, for the joy I had been feeling dusted in my mouth. He covered my hand with his; giving me a small smile, continuing towards the gates.
Feeling their eyes on me, I straightened my posture and lifted my chin. Evelyn stood next to my uncle, attempting to lure him into a conversation with her, so he paid less attention to me. But she failed miserably, because as soon as I stepped closer, his attention was with me. I untangled my arm from my cousin´s, walking the last few strides on my own.
The gaze of my father was emotionless and icy cool meeting mine, displaying the state his heart was currently in. It has morphed into nothing much but a cold, shapeless stone, ever since my mother´s body was buried. And I feared him, this affectionless creature. So I shifted my gaze towards my uncle, his brother.
His face was warm and welcoming, quite contrasting, actually. I sunk into a curtsy, bowing my head to the two elders in respect. "Father. Uncle."
"Rise, my child." I heard my uncle order, and obliged. "We welcome you into our home, may your stay be pleasant."
"I am very thankful for that, uncle. I hope not to be much of a burden."
"Nonsense, Lyanna. Now if you will excuse me, I will show your sister to your chambers."
Nodding, I said: "Of course."
With a friendly smile from him and a sympathetic look from my elder sister, they disappeared inside the keep.
"Sweetheart," My father, Jonathan De Vere, called. I refrained from wincing at his sickly sugarcoated tone.
"Yes, Papa?"
"Have you been informed why you´re here?"
"Yes, Papa."
"Excellent." He said, with a brittle smile deforming his lips, the worn-out skin wrinkling around it. "You will be attending the Usurper Sister´s masquerade ball tonight, the whole Mikaelson clan will be there. I have made sure your costume draws attention, it is up to you to catch the eye of the King."
"Yes, Papa," I repeated again with a hoarse voice, shrinking back slightly, like a cornered animal.
He grabbed hold of my chin aggressively, grasping it between his thumb and index finger. Hovering above me, a flame no seven seas could put out twinkled in his eyes, as he sizzled like a snake: "You better not disappoint me, Lyanna. I would have the king, his army, all forty thousand men and their horses fuck you too, if it means I achieve my goal. Be thankful that it is only the King. Do we have an understatement?"
A cold tear dripped down my chin, onto the rough surface of his rigid hand. Satisfaction had brightened his features at my fright, the smile broader than before. I swallowed my fear repeatedly, until I managed to speak. "Yes, Papa. Of course, Papa."
"Good," he purred, shoving my chin away.
I had been dressed up beyond recognition, taking a second look like a castaway that sees land after months spent on the sea, until I found a piece myself in this mesmerizing beauty.
Feathers of black and feathers of crimson red clung tightly around my chest and waist, before pooling to my feet. The handmaiden´s tightened the lacings around my breasts ´til they might spill out; adorning me with rubies and gold. The plumb lips wore the color of blood as well, sparkling with petite jewels. The area surrounding my silvery orbs was hidden behind a mask resembling the flames in a hearth. Black from the coal they rubbed on my eyelids, had the two pale moons stand out perfectly. The black waves were braided skillfully atop of my head, held there together by a thin golden circlet.
And I realized; they had turned me into a Phoenix.
I marveled at the sight of this foreigner a little while longer, before I decided to throw the black velvet cloak over my shoulders and exit the room. Aedan was already waiting outside my door, with his fists stuffed into the pockets of his leather pants. He was clad in black, with an enormous red cross stitched to his chest. A sword in its sheath was attached to his hip. His face was clean and shaven and the black mop of unruly ringlets recently trimmed.
"The archangel Michael," I perceived, grinning, "Every man dressed as Lucifer tonight must fear his life."
"I am only following the lord´s instructions." He winked at me, positioning my arm in the crook of his elbow. "You look magnificent this evening, little sister."
"My thanks, I am glad the sight of me pleases you at least once in a while."
He bumped his hip into mine friskily, and I laughed, gripping his forearm to not lose my balance. Beaming down at me, he guided me into the frosted grey carriage.
The King´s palace was grand in the pale moonlight, the lights shone as bright as the stars on the sky above. People swarmed the yard, the hall, the gardens, and the corridors. Servants with plates of delicious food passed by, the folk of the court with their identity hidden behind masks and costumes sipped on the expensive vine, a slow, but sultry song rang through the castle, reaching even the yard where I stood, observing. It surely was a great affair.
I rarely got to enjoy such feasts in France, for King Francis dread an assassination from the English or the Spanish. He was a very cruel man, all kings ought to be. Because you can´t win a throne with love, it craves hate to rule a country. Rumor has it; King Niklaus Mikaelson gathered more hate and spread more fear than any King before him. All of England calls him the Usurper behind his back, but dares not to say it to his face. And I am to become his mistress, I thought bitterly.
"Stay put, Sis." Aedan whispered into my ear, "I will be right back." Before I could form a question, he vanished in the crowd of people with his back to me.
I sighed, a steam of smoke coming from my nose blurring my vision. The giant stallions seemed as uneasy as I in this mass of strangers. My hand reached out, stroking over ones silky dark coat.
Feeling sudden pressure over my stomach, I stiffly glanced down finding an arm encircling my waist. Before I could even gather enough air to scream for help, a hand covered my mouth, muting me. Panic rose within me, pumping adrenaline through my veins, and I began struggling against my captor, effortlessly.
I felt the heat of his breath tingling against my neck.
"Relax, darling," a male voice hushed.
A/N: And, who do you think is it? Take a wild guess! I think you know it. I sincerely hope you enjoyed the first chapter. If you did, or didn´t, leave a Review and let me know. If you have questions, write them into your Review and I will answer them in the second chapter.
Cheers, Med.