THE WEIGHT OF A CROWN

Chapter 3

June 10th, 1520 - Wessport

Victoria stared at the gardens, the twitter of a distant birdsong floated through the lazy afternoon air. The waft of the garden flowers was not pleasant to her but seemingly grew too invasive, bringing about a headache.

The queen of Angloa looked to the empty distance, her shoulders slumped as the man before her kept reading the continuous reports. The wine swished around in her cup as she took another sip.

They were preparing for war—a war that she hoped would never come to be. She had come to power, yet it had not brought more joy to her than before. She continuously drank the wine. A large sip this time.

After having killed her cousin, after she was back in her chambers, she had broken down, realizing her mistake. In a brash moment, she had done the unthinkable. And the cost was indeed grave, it had sent her sister away. Rosalie had left her side, and with good reason. The last person close to her was gone, away and probably gathering an army of her own. Or perhaps she had been duped into abandoning her. Victoria's lips quivered as she pressed them against the cup.

She had little to say about Edward Cullen. The man who had betrayed her. He had run away, taking Isabella Swan. Victoria frowned. She never thought it would be like this—that he would ever come to love the woman in such a way. It stung a little. And contempt started rising in her chest as she thought about Swan.

Despite having broken his word, the whisperings about him were still positive. The news her informants brought her was not good. The people of Wessport drank to his health, saying he would help Athar and Rosalie take back the Angloa they had never known. The older citizens of Wessport would go on a nostalgic spree, reminiscing about the past, about the days of Philip Fell. Victoria was losing grasp of the citizens rather quickly. Her scare tactics had turned against her.

She finally put up a hand. The time for brute force was over, she thought. Lord Savoie stopped reading the various reports. "Your Majesty?" he hesitated.

"That is all good and well, my lord. But I want you to get a small group of men loyal to us. I want you to gather the Assembly and bring those men."

"Are we recruiting forces from the south, Your Majesty? I remember we spoke about it a few days ago but determined it would be too risky getting that close to Raven's Grove."

"No," she shook her head. "We are not. Make sure the Assembly is gathered before the day is over," was all she left him with before getting up. Savoie leaned back in the garden chair and massaged his temples. They never knew what the queen was thinking. He wondered what her plan would be this time.

June 15th, 1520 – Raven's Grove

The same day Rosalie Fell, Thomas Athar and Theodor Glovendale set out on their long campaign trail to gather support, was also the same day that Anthony Fawkes and Edward Cullen started training the men at camp.

The masked man, now once more turned into a general, was set to bring about order and stability to the military camp. The men were more than eager to follow him. The first day he put them through a set of exercises to see what they were capable of. There was a lack of horses and, thus, only the best riders made it into the cavalry. Barely fifty men managed to join the unit. Edward had Carlisle train them further in more detail, seeing as Carlisle was quite a skilled rider himself. Edward knew he put the unit in good hands.

They had little to no guns and only those already familiar with the weapon would join the artillery platoon, headed by Emmett Saxton.

To their benefit, the scouting unit was already formed. Saxton's men, the dwellers of Raven's Grove, knew the forest like the back of their hand. And they divided into smaller groups and were sent out to different posts to keep a good lookout in the north.

Some more of the foot-soldiers joined some bandits in the south. Each of the groups had a horse. Every week, each group would send a messenger with reports of the frontier. It would prepare the leaders of the army in case any unusual activity occurred outside of the forest. Some villages north of Raven's Grove, in Sorossa, had even agreed to help them, informing them of what they heard in their villages.

Lastly came the largest unit of the camp, the infantry. Edward and Fawkes took charge of the vast unit. It made up eighty percent of their whole force. Most of the men did not even know how to brandish a sword and, so, the training began. Every morning, with the rise of the sun, Edward would start with the first group, consisting of little less than two hundred men. He would walk them through formations, fighting styles and signals they should look out for. When the first group was done, Fawkes took them and started teaching them hand-to-hand fighting while Edward went through the same routine with the second group. They would spend most of the day in such a manner.

There was no time for Edward and Isabella to be alone. Since becoming the confidant to the princess, she had gotten her own tent. But Isabella had insisted Alice join her, not as a servant, but as her friend. While Rosalie was gone, she would venture to the makeshift hospital and help Sofia with whatever she could. It was soon that Isabella helped the other women get more structured so that there would be no fighting when people should eat or when they could wash. She set up a strict schedule that everyone followed. Sofia took a fast liking to her and it was soon that her mother, Lady Renée, started recovering her strength.

Renée, who had been so sick and bedridden—barely lucid for the past few weeks—was still quite confused as to where she was. But, slowly, her health returned to her with the help of Sofia.

The camp worked meticulously like a machine and the days passed by in a fleeting moment. They were so consumed by their tasks that they never realized they had not a moment for themselves.

It was late evening when Edward found her mending a soldier's torn shirt by a leaning tree, parted slightly from the rest of the camp. Isabella found this solitude to be a breath of fresh air from the constant and never-ending pace of daily life.

He walked up to her, admiring her where she sat. Her face had gotten even more sun-kissed since their arrival. Her chestnut hair took on a lighter sheen and he had never seen her so beautiful as then. The worries of her kidnapping seemed washed away and she looked at peace for the first time in a long time. Edward did not wish to disturb her, but he had wanted a moment alone with her for such a long while that he finally made his presence known. In the purple color of twilight, he cleared his throat, making her jump at the sudden sound. Isabella looked up and smiled when she was met with the familiar black mask.

She put the shirt away and went over to him. "If it is not General Cullen," she teased. She walked up to him with the familiarity of a lover, placing her arms over his shoulders and clasping them behind his neck. He placed his hands on her waist and let a small smile show. She did not tease him more, nor disrupt their moment by speaking. There was only them and the gentle summer evening. The sun had set a few minutes earlier and its light had already left a trail of stars. She looked up briefly at the heavens and was reminded of the night sky of Constantinople.

"Will your not soldiers miss you?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I missed you more," he answered bluntly. His husky voice sent shivers through her, causing her to look up at him. A smile spread on her lips as a blush accompanied it. Without a word she let him lead her wherever he pleased.

Edward led them into the woods, keen on not being seen at that moment. In the depths of the darkness, their privacy would be guarded by the thick foliage of the tree crowns. He removed his gloves so that he might feel the silk of her hair glide between his fingers. Isabella's heart sped up as he touched her in a light manner; as if she were made of glass. She had missed this human contact from him. The moment his ungloved hand slid past her cheek a spark of electricity sprung between them. His hands kept trailing along her back, past the knot of the stained white apron as his lips lowered to her awaiting face, her own eager from the pending kiss.

It had been too long since he last tasted her sweet lips with his own. Soft and warm, tasting of forest fruits and sunlight. Edward's hand was lost in her tresses as the kiss intensified. Isabella answered him as eagerly as he kissed her back. There was more passion in their kiss than they had ever noted before. She pressed hard against him, delighting when a soft and husky moan escaped him. The world was theirs at that moment, the woods their haven. He gently pushed her against the trunk of a leaning tree, stabilizing them both. Isabella's knees had grown weak as his kisses grew more and more intense. She was surprised when a moan of her own escaped her. She broke apart from him, her breathing labored and deep. He pressed his forehead against her and brushed her cheek.

They stood like that for a while, content in each other's arms. She listened to his deep breathing, lulled into a sense of security. The sweet scent of her hair mixed with the fragrance of a calm summer evening.

"You know," he said after a long while in the same dark and husky voice. It was nearly dark, but they could so clearly see each other. The stars shone brightly in the sky, even brighter in the absence of the moon. It was only a thin crescent strip of light on the dark sky, penetrating through the leaves. "I never really asked you to marry me." She could hear the hint of a smile in his voice and Isabella looked up to meet his eyes.

"Are you asking me now?" she wondered.

It was the perfect setting. The evening pressed into full-on night. They pondered Edward's statement. Their engagement had never really been her choice. Edward had accepted it by request of King Jasper, but he had done it more out of impulse than out of want to marry her. However, things had changed now. Both could long for nothing more. They had shown their true selves to the other, learned to overcome obstacles and be truthful. It seemed a certainty that they were to be married. But between having been kidnapped and returning to a chaotic court, there had never been a time for that. In fact, there had scarcely been time for both to be together. For the last few months, they had been apart. While it had strengthened their relationship, both still found the other to be a stranger. The jump from having utterly feared Edward to now deeply caring for him had been a large and hasty one. They knew, however, that they could never be parted again. They had to be with the other. It came as natural as breathing or drinking.

"Will you marry me?" he asked after a while. The question was strange, for Isabella came from a world where she wouldn't usually have the say. Had her father been alive, he would have struck a deal with some nobleman's son for her hand. Of course, Charles Swan would have made sure that Isabella's intended would have been an agreeable match. But she would never have been able to express her own want. And now he stood here before her, her Edward, asking her if she wanted to marry him. He did not demand, he did not take it for granted—he asked. The level of respect he was showing her blew Isabella away to such lengths that she did not realize she had not yet answered him. His eyes squinted, a gesture he would do whenever he was irritated or, in this case, worried. "Isabella?"

"You know I will," she breathed, her voice shaking. He scooped her into his arms and held her, never wanting to let go of that tender moment. They did not know when or how they would wed, but they had made a vow that they would fulfill.

A voice called out in the night, someone nearing their hideout. Edward and Isabella broke their hug and she scooped up the shirt she had been mending as she left the woods. Alice called out louder for her, afraid something might have happened to her as the sun started setting. The brunette turned around one more time, giving a teasing smile to the man in the black mask. Edward leaned against the tree and watched as she stepped out of the forest, her dress swaying around her feet as she went to meet Alice.

June 20th, 1520 – Raven's Grove

Their network of scouts proved rather effective. Not a week had passed since it had been put into place and already the first scout arrived riding into camp. The alarmed state in his countenance served to alert the rest of them. Rosalie, Athar, and Glovendale were still trying to get the southern noblemen to join their cause and were still out in the open.

The horse hung its head low, looking as if it had not been allowed rest for days. The man did not look better himself. His cloak was muddy, and the shirt drenched in sweat. He had taken off the jerkin, the outer jacket—too warm for such a day. His black hair was wet with his perspiration and when he got off his horse, his knees buckled.

Edward got to him, swiftly followed by Jacob. Many more gathered around in curiosity, wondering what news he might bring. All they had to do was to send each other a knowing look. The news the man brought could only be bad.

"Jacob, give him some water," Edward instructed as he told the man to sit down and catch his breath. The man did not argue against his order and fell in a heap on the patted-down grass. Jacob pressed his water pouch into the awaiting hands of the scout.

He drank the fresh liquid in big gulps until he had emptied the whole pouch. He wiped his mouth with a trembling hand and gave it back to Jacob. "There is movement in the south, sir." He paused, leaning forward, almost wheezing. "I have ridden day and night—no rest," he explained. "Forgive my appearance."

Edward remained silent, letting the man catch his breath. Jacob, however, was more impatient for the scout to keep talking. The other men urged him to continue until the masked man sent them a silencing glare.

"We saw a small group of soldiers, heading toward Raven's Grove from Sorise." Edward nodded slowly as he clenched his jaw. Sorise was a larger southern town west from them. Rosalie, Theodor, and Athar must have gone there to speak with the neighboring noblemen. Most living near Sorise had large personal armies and it would be natural for Lord Athar to want to seek them out first. The fact that only a small group of men had traveled toward Raven's Grove did give way for concern. It might be messengers sent by some foolish lord, saying he had the princess and her advisors hostage. Or the news might even be direr than that. No one knew just how faithful the lords were to Victoria—if it was her that they served, or if it was the crown she bore.

"When was this?" Edward asked

"I rode here as fast as we got news from them. Some villagers from Hayes reported their movement—a mere day's ride south from the tree line. That was two days ago."

"We should go there immediately," Jacob added.

"We should," Edward agreed with a grim countenance. To think that a few days ago he and Isabella had renewed their engagement vows, only for him to have to go away again. He turned to the soldier. "I am sorry, but you will have to come back with us. Go to Carlisle Chaeld and have him get you a fresh and saddled horse. Tell him to get himself, me and Jacob horses as well." The scout gave a quick nod, not protesting as his limbs ached while he stood up. He ran to the makeshift stables—an enclosed pasture where the horses could roam freely.

Edward turned to Jacob. "Prepare clothes and provision for a few days, meet me by the pasture as soon as you can."

"Where are you going?" Jacob asked in confusion. The other men started dispersing, for there was nothing more to be gotten from the conversation. The rumors, however, would soon start circulating through the camp.

"I need to speak with Fawkes," Edward shouted as he jogged away from his friend. Jacob sighed and let no time be spilled, quickly heading in the direction of his quarters. They had to act quickly. If Rosalie and her advisors had been captured, there might still be time to deal with the lord who had done it.

But there was someone Edward needed to see before speaking with Fawkes. He went past the military encampment—to where the civilians stayed. He found Isabella's tent. Alice had taken care that all should know who resided with them, having sown the crest of the Swan house into the fabric. The maroon fabric billowed in a long sigh as he stepped into the tent, hoping to find her there.

The hexagonal tent was taller in roof and more structured than those surrounding it. A wide trunk lay in one area. It was mostly empty—as Isabella had not been able to bring with her any clothes from Wessport. A wider cot stood at one end on the carpeted ground. A smaller one was right across from it.

Alice was making the beds, startled when Edward stepped in without announcing himself. "My lord," she exclaimed. "You startled me." Her eyes drifted to the floor.

The last time he had seen her—before her reappearance—Alice had pleaded for Isabella not to let her go as her maid after the fiasco that was the imprisonment of Athar. He understood now that Thorpe had set up the trap and only used Alice as a pawn. Her involvement had not been her fault. He saw how happy Isabella was in her presence and he figured it had been wrong for them to just shove her out of their lives. But perhaps it was for the better, he wondered what would have happened to Alice if she had been with Isabella the day Braun had kidnapped her. Edward had the nagging suspicion that the young maid would not have been taken prisoner as well.

"Forgive me, Alice, that was not my intention," he said. "I came in search of Isabella."

A pensive look invaded Alice's features as she started going over the places where Isabella might be.

"I think she went to the infirmary this morning to care for her mother. I would start looking there," Alice smiled. Edward gave her one of his rare smiles back. It startled the young woman as she had never seen it before.

"Thank you," he offered.

"Not at all, my lord."

"No need for the formality, Alice. You are no longer Isabella's maid," he said. It was in that moment that Alice noticed the change. Edward Cullen was kinder and gentler in his way. He did not appear as the brutish and enigmatic man she had grown so used to. Although his presence had scared her, it was not due to his appearance or general air—just his sudden presence. Alice wondered what had happened to him that had changed him so. Whatever it was, she much preferred it to the gloomy and sulking man from before.

"Very well, General Cullen," she offered with a shy smile. "You are still a general. I shall not disrespect that by ignoring your title." She curtsied and considered their conversation finished once he left her. Alice turned back to making the bed, already looking forward to the next time she would meet Isabella—there were indeed a lot of things they had to speak of now.

Edward rushed to the infirmary, but she was not there either. Sofia stepped away from a patient and went to him. "Can't keep track of your woman?" she asked with a hand on her hip.

Edward almost rolled his eyes. "My woman?" he mimicked. Sofia nonchalantly waved her hand in the air, dismissing the statement. A few of the women working in the tent stretched their necks to get a glimpse of the masked man. His presence always induced curiosity in the bystanders who had never before seen him—only heard of him.

"Why else would you come?" she added sourly. His mouth pressed into a thin line, not bothering to answer her sarcasm. "Well, she came here. She sat a full hour with her mother." Sofia looked around them, making sure that none could hear what she was about to say. She stepped in closer, her black eyes searching his. "Edward, I think Lady Renée was poisoned," she whispered.

His eyes widened considerably. The nurses and nuns in the tent continued to tend to their patients, never having heard what had been spoken. Edward looked past Sofia, Lady Renée was sitting up, resting in her cot, her hair braided like the other women's. She was mending a piece of cloth—most likely someone's jerkin or shirt. She looked much better, the color had returned to her face and the smile had returned to her lips. But the air of fatigue was still there.

"Are you certain?" he asked slowly. He already had an inkling as to whom it might be, but Edward didn't want to make any hasty presumptions.

"I would stake my life on it. It has been done slowly and over time. Whoever poisoned her knew exactly what they were doing. Lady Renée will recover, but the poison has wreaked havoc on her system. It will take patience and time."

"Does Isabella know this?" he asked. Sofia shook her head. "Does Lady Renée?"

"I think she suspects it was not a normal ailment. But she has not asked me any questions." Sofia noticed his change in demeanor. "You know who it is, don't you," she stated.

"I have a suspect, that is all. If it is who I think it is, that person has done a foul thing to force Isabella and me to come to Wessport."

"The poison would have killed her eventually," Sofia sighed. "Renée Swan is a strong woman who has suffered through a lot."

"As is her daughter, but she does not need to know of this now, at least not until I return. I need to speak with Lord Athar and Her Royal Highness of this."

Sofia nodded, understanding what he meant. She wiped her hands on her apron and pushed a stray lock out of her face. "Your Isabella went in the direction of the river, past the kitchens, last I saw her—you might want to try there."

He started heading for the river. Before going down to the stream, he figured it might be a good idea to look for her inside the kitchen tent.

He pushed past the modest trappings of the tent. It was a small area with a center where a large pot simmered away over a fire. A rotund priest sat close to the concoction, stirring it occasionally. He was a friar, dressed in a habit with only a cord as a belt around his large belly. He was wider than he was tall with brown hair, cut close to his scalp.

Edward neared him. "Friar," he started, not wanting to startle the older man. He looked up and met Edward's eyes. He did not jump in surprise nor shy away as so many others would do. Instead, his brown eyes creased at the edges when he smiled. His big, brown eyes reminded of a gentle deer and when Edward neared, a faint waft of honey traveled through the air, cutting through the meaty and hearty smell of the broth. His pudgy fingers were clasped in front of his protruding stomach, patiently waiting for Edward to continue. "I am searching for Isabella Swan and was told she had come here," Edward began. The short fellow nodded as if understanding. "I have not seen her, I am afraid. She might have passed here, but it must have been when I was away." Edward nodded in silent thanks. Whenever the friar spoke, a calm settled. His voice was soothing, sounding like a kind uncle or father. Any second now, Edward was certain the man would offer him some piece of freshly baked bread and tell him tales of old.

But it never came. The friar continued speaking, not quite finished with him. "I do not believe we have met yet, General Cullen," he started.

"We have not," Edward answered. He had little time to make pleasantries with a man of the cloth.

"Maybe you might stop by sometime, taste the mead we make here from my bees' honey? It is excellent and quite alleviating for the soul, I assure you," he said enigmatically as if he knew something Edward did not.

Edward stared the funny man down with a raised eyebrow. "I had no knowledge that mead was so widely accepted by the church," Edward answered brusquely.

"Well," the friar was patient. "The church and I might disagree on some smaller matters."

"Perhaps one day, friar. But I must go on," he answered back softer this time.

The other only bowed with a faint smirk on his features as Edward left. He walked down to the stream, hoping he would catch Isabella there.

She was helping the women wash, together with a man. He was telling something of a funny nature, for as soon as he had finished, they all laughed. Isabella caught Edward coming and left the wet clothes to go meet him. But, as she walked up to him, she had forgotten her apron by the stream. The man ran after her, eager to hand it to her.

She had just reached Edward, away from the prying eyes of the other women when Edward's and the man's eyes met. Both froze instantly in place—mayhap that the stranger did so a bit more than Edward. Alas, he was no stranger indeed.

It was none other than Alan Moore.

June 10th, 1520 – Wessport

The Assembly chamber was ablaze with worried whispers. What would the power-hungry queen do now? The lords who had stayed behind had regretted their decision. Victoria walked in after having kept them waiting for more than an hour. She wanted them nervous and questioning, it was the only power she had left—fear.

And fear was what now governed her as well.

She had received a letter by a secret messenger not too long ago. The words on the page stared back at her with such malice that it had brought her to her knees. Victoria knew she had brought sorrow and demise to herself. But she still did not understand how her sister could have left her. Surely, Rosalie must have been brainwashed by Lord Athar, General Fawkes, and Edward Cullen—there was no other explanation.

She stared at them for a long time, getting the feel within the room. Lord Alistair stood smugly by her side. Thorpe, who had scarcely shown his face ever since returning from Rome, was there out of sheer will from her part. Alas, he was still reluctant. She knew what kind of a man he was—he switched sides with the flick of a coin. Victoria would take care of him when the time came, but right now she needed him.

Lord Savoie, Launël, and Quinn looked calmer than the rest for they knew they were safe. They made up the queen's inner circle. Last time she had gathered so many of her lords, it had been to announce the trial of her cousin, and they all knew how that ended.

The rest were as nervous as hens—awaiting another slaughter. Ever since Edward Cullen had fled court with her sister, a few other noblemen had left Wessport as well. The ones intercepted by the queen's scouts had been delivered to her dungeons. She had personally overseen their torture and taken care that their dismembered bodies were hung along the middle wall of Wessport. Victoria needed the citizens to understand that, as long as they obeyed her, she would care for them. But if they bit the hand that fed them, her rage would come smacking down on them like a tempest.

"A war is coming, my lords," her powerful voice boomed throughout the chamber. She rested her hands on the armrests and straightened in her chair. Her silk gown pooled around her feet as the jewel necklace around her neck caught the invading sunrays and blinded those who looked upon her. "A war is coming not only from Lord Athar, but I believe that the English have, once more, taken interest in our island," she sighed.

"The English?" one of the lords asked.

"They are seeing this internal strife and mean to use it to invade our shores once more," she lied. She thought back to the letter, back to the threatening words. Victoria had promised to deliver Angloa to them, in exchange for a place on the throne. They were, however, getting impatient, and would soon invade if she did not quickly cement her claim to the crown. "Thus, we do not need a war with Lord Athar right now. We need to stand united against the foreign invasion." She would not give the English an easy fight if they went back on their word. If they settled for another invasion she knew she would never be able to hold the throne—they would cast her aside.

"Your sister and Cullen have joined Lord Athar's forces. She stands against you, my queen," one lord dared say. He received a stern gaze, promptly silencing him.

"My sister has been taken away by men who brainwashed her. She does not know what she is doing—all I want is for her to be returned to me safely." Victoria spoke tenderly of her sister almost as if she were her child. "We must try a diplomatic solution to this before it is too late," Victoria continued.

"You wish to reason with those traitors?" Alistair spat as he turned around to face her.

"Yes, Lord Alistair, that is precisely what I wish to do. Are there any objections?" she demanded. There wasn't really anything the lords could say against her. Although many did not wish to see an internal conflict between the two sisters, they wished less for another war with England. None spoke out, which made a smug smile appear on Victoria's features. The messenger for her sister was, of course, already prepared. The Assembly had only been a formality for the lords. It started dawning on some of them that what Edward had said was true—the General Assembly had turned into nothing. It was no longer of any use, the lords had all but lost their power as Jasper had made them turn in their armies to the crown—and now Victoria controlled a vast extension of those armies.

A/N: Thank you once more for the awesome reviews! Here is another chapter. I hope you enjoyed it!

Cheers!