I find no peace, and all my war is done.
I fear and hope. I burn and freeze like ice.
I fly above the wind, yet can I not arise;

T. Wyatt.

17th of May, 1536

Klaus Mikaelson walked into the Queen's chamber. He saw her- raven haired, pale, mature woman focused on the needle and thread. Like the shirt which she embroidered was a matter of her life or death.

Maybe it was.

- Your Majesty.- Klaus cleared his throat as he bowed his head, just to get the Queen's attention.

- Oh... sir Mikaelson.- Anne Boleyn seemed to be irritated with his presence; thin, pale fingers were trembling at the edge of the white shirt. - I assume you came for your sister.

- Indeed. My carriage is already waiting.

Anne nodded her head in Rebekah direction. The blonde female stood up, holdind the corner of her beige, well-fitting dress. " She's prettier than all of the Queen's ladies. " Klaus smiled to himself. He felt pround. But why? It's not like she belonged to him, anyway.

Not in the way he wanted to.

- Your majesty.- Rebekah bowed, setting in motion her golden curls.

Anne didn't said a word, nor any of her ladies; she just nodded her head and left eyes down, on the white shirt.

" She will be dead soon. " Niklaus realized as he and his sister met the King's guards in the hallway. Later that day Anne Boleyn was escorted to the Tower.

... but Niklaus and Rebekah were away from the castle. The carriage was driving through the forest, the hybrid's ears were annoyed by monotonous sound of branches knocking on the wodden walls. The spring was in full bloom; calm, undefiled, with a storm clouds lurking on the edge of the horizon.

- I don't know why can't we stay here! - Rebekah broke the silence; her voice was sluggish and sleepy as afternoon rays of the sun. - Here, in London. We were quite good in faking human life. And it was easier than in Warsaw, I can tell. Just a few months longer...

- I'm bored, love. I haven't plan to turn this short trip to England into adaptation to the society. Besides- Elijah is waiting for us in Rome!

- It has nothing to do with longing. Or Rome.

Rebekah was looking outside the window with a cheek leaning on a hand. " Look at me!" Klaus was hoping that if he'll gaze at her intense enough she'll open her mind to his telepathic message. " Do what God want you to do, but just look at me!".

- No? Then what?- his fingers found a protruding fiber in scarlet doublet and began to pull it nervously.

- You just don't want me to be happy. - she replied, simply. - You just don't want me to have home.

And there was no grief, no loathing in her voice, but he knew- he was sure- that she can release countless layers of thos emotions to tear him apart with ammunition of words and actions.

But not today. Today, when she's lost in idleness and the heat of spring.

19th of May, 1536

The Queen was dead. She was accused of treason and beheaded, the silver sword cut her swan-neck in half. As soon as Rebekah found out about that, she left the house. She flew out, like a fierce starling she is.

And he didn't knew where she may be. Hunting? Yes, maybe she was trying to silence the loss with blood.

Was it really loss or something else?

Niklaus Mikaelson was sitting in his chair, with a bottle of wine in the hand and a gaze fixed on the door. And he thought the house on the countryside of London will make her stay beside him- what a fool he was !?

Why she keeps escaping?

Why can't you see how I feel, Rebekah?

They say that if you love someone, you need to set them free. But what if that person will never return ? What if Rebekah couldn't find a way back to him? Or broke a her wings somewhere?

He wasn't ready to take that risk, to let her go, to watch her live and never feel alive himself. Because without her, he was dead, like the night his father pierced him with his sword.

The door has opened and he saw Rebekah. Rebekah with blood on her lips and hair tousled by the wind, and tears on the two twin lakes of her eyes.

- Oh, you're waiting for me...- she noticed and started to walk to her room.

- You're not going upstairs, not yet!- he commanded- Come to me. Where have you been?

- Hunting.- she answered.

One,

two,

three- pine stairs was creaking under her weight.

- I was hunting, Nik, and I hide the body. What's the difference anyway, we're leaving tommorow...

-They say King Henry killed his wife. - Nik rose from his chair and began to shorten the distance between them.-... because she was cursed. She couldn't give him a son. I don't think that. I bet he just got bored with what he had and started to look for another... starlings he could take care of.

The blonde vampire moved backwards till her back met the cold wall.

- That's why Saymour's daughter arrived at the court. You met her, love?

- You have met her as well, you...you saw her, Nik. - Rehekah tried to move, to pass Klaus by, but his posture overshadowed everything.- Nik, what is wrong with you?! Let me go...

- It's so typical for the Kings. To want what's not theirs. I asked myself " Could he reach for my starling?". I knew it was impossible, you would rip him in two! Unless you'd like that...

Klaus used his finger to raise her chin, to make her look him in the eyes. She was trembling, the heat of his skin was almost painful.

- Did he touched you? - Klaus narrowed his eyes. He was drunk, but the wine wasn't the couse of it.- DID HE, REBEKAH?

- Nik, let go of me! LET ME GO!

- No! Never! Untill you answer me, and the question is simple. - His hands covered her waist, her neck, he was thirsty...

" Why don't you touch me?!" the echo of his deepest desires made his hands shaking, but he kept moving them.

The right one- lower, on the breasts,

the left- go ahead,

break through the layers of her dresses!

There was no distance between their bodies, no distance to breathe.

- Did he touched you, like I am touching you right now ?! Rebekah! REBEKAH!

- He didn't!

- Say that again. Say that to me...

- HE DIDN'T!- she shouted, but the sweetness of her voice only made him push her closer to to wall.- Let me go, Nik, I beg... You're not yourself today...

- You know nothing about who I am!

" You know nothing about what I want. And I want to undress you and dance with you, bathed in the blood and sweat. Take you on the eadges of the lust, to the corners of your darkest desires, and make you scream and beg me to stop, untill my name will be everything your mind and lips can repeat. And I want you rough, in all that ugly ways the hell created. I want to take what is mine and I want you to kick and struggle for your own pleasure. "

- I believe you, sister.

And he let go of her.

Rebekah rested her forehead on the wall as she pierced him with her eyes. She didn't asked why did he done that, what for, and what was actually going on inside his head.

Lies.

King Henry the VIII did touch her, and she was visiting his bed, and she let him caress her neck. He was panting like a dying boar as she felt his cum inside her.

The spring storm swept over London that night. Over the wept of pleasure that never left his head, over her fingers on the way to satisfaction.

Over the swan-neck.