THE BROKEN THRONE

Chapter 7

July 14th, 1480 – Wessport

The servant wiped away the sweat from Marianne's brow as she bit together her teeth to fight off the pain.

"You need to push, Your Majesty!" said the midwife, standing at the foot of the bed. The queen pushed with all her might, eager for the baby to come out of her womb. Marianne cried out in pain. She had forgotten the pains of pregnancy, it had been decades since given birth to Edmund. Many at court were surprised as the middle aged woman announced her pregnancy. They thought her too old to be able to carry any more children. It was therefore that Rebecca and Magnus Fell became rather dismayed as the announcement of the royal pregnancy was finally revealed.

The country held its breath as they all hoped it would be a son—an heir to the throne.

"Once more, Your Majesty!" the midwife said again. Marianne cried out once more, biting through the tears and pain, wanting to secure the future for her husband's lineage. She pushed with all her might, relief catching in her chest as she heard the cries of a child. The tired woman fell back into the pillows, utterly exhausted from the whole process. She felt that the air entering her lungs was not enough and she momentarily fainted.

"Give her some space!" the midwife cried out as the servants moved away from their queen. "Open a window!" someone shouted.

Philip was pacing back and forth outside of that room, listening to every word he could hear through the doors. A nurse walked through them, holding the child in her arms.

"You have a daughter, Sire," she said. Her face was neutral, awaiting the reaction of the king. Philip took the crying child and looked down on the small form. He had never imagined he could be a father at an advanced age like sixty. His wife had blessed him with that gift. The king smiled down at his daughter, gently kissing her soft forehead, his dark voice surprisingly calming the child. He fell into the habit of rocking her in his arms—a painful memory of Edmund entered his mind.

"And my wife?" he said, worried that he was not yet allowed entry into the chamber. The nurse grew quiet, not quite knowing what to say. "She has momentarily fainted, Your Majesty," she whispered.

"Fainted?!"

"Well, having children at such an age will take its tolls on your wife. But I believe she will be fine," the nurse smiled, walking back to check on the queen. Philip looked around the chamber, staring helplessly at the closed doors. His heart sped up at the thought of losing Marianne in childbirth. Thomas Athar was present, together with some new additions to the court—Lord Anthony Fawkes being one of them.

"Oh cheer up, Sire!" he skidded over, placing a friendly hand on the king's shoulder. "Your wife is a strong northerner, she will be up in a jiffy," Fawkes said in a most cheerful tone. Athar offered some reassuring words as well.

"We have faith in Her Majesty, as should you, Sire." But Philip did not feel reassured then. He held his daughter, waiting for the midwife to come out. Seconds turned to minutes. And when half an hour had passed by, the doors opened.

"The queen asks for you," the old midwife said, smiling at Philip as she did so."

He immediately rushed in through the doors, toward the bed, still holding his crying daughter in his hands.

"Philip!" Marianne said at the sight of her love. His hair was gray now, his trimmed goatee was almost white. There were more wrinkles and faded colors. But the love had not faded. He sat down next to her, taking her hand. Marianne, in her forties, looked faded from the struggles of childbirth. Her lips were pale and her face sweaty as her golden locks clung to around her face.

"We are parents!" Philip exclaimed, holding the child for her to see. Marianne let out a laugh, tears streaming from her eyes.

"Is it a son?" she asked after a while. "Have I given you an heir?" her voice sounded hopeful.

"No, but you have given me a beautiful daughter," Philip smiled. He did not worry if it was a boy or not. He would love the child all the same. Marianne took the baby in her arms, staring at its now calm face.

"What will you name it?" she asked him.

"You will name her. It is your right."

"Marianne stared at the sweet face, drinking in the sight of her little angel. "Victoria," she whispered with love. "She shall be named Victoria."

One of the nurses excused herself, exiting the room to give the king and queen some space—or so she said. Her countenance attracted some suspicion, mostly from Athar himself. As she slithered out of the local room outside of the chamber, he followed her through the halls of the palace until he saw her enter a room at the end of the corridor.

"Magnus?" Athar whispered to himself. The quarters at that end of the palace did indeed house the younger brother of Philip, who had managed to crawl back into the good graces of his brother. Many had protested, but Philip had a weak spot for his younger sibling.

Athar waited a bit before quietly slipping right up against the door, pressing his ear against it.

"…a girl," he heard the muted voice of the nurse speak. There were some sighs of relief that quickly followed.

"Follow this man and he will reward you. He will take you out another way," came the harsh voice of a woman—Rebecca. Athar could not mistake that voice anywhere. He remembered when she had been held in Wessport after some suspected involvement in a theft against the crown. She had never been shown guilty, but Athar had his own suspicions.

A silence followed before someone spoke again. "We were lucky this time. If they have a child again—and it is a son, all our dreams of you taking the throne die with that child," Rebecca sneered.

"And why would not a daughter take the throne as readily?" Magnus retorted.

Athar could hear Rebecca scoff. "Her mother's relatives have lost their holding in society. She would have little backing. If a daughter had a powerful mother, with powerful relatives, it would be another story. If I gave birth to a daughter, she could very well become queen. But as long as Marianne gives birth to girls, we are safe," Rebecca snickered. Athar could not believe what he was hearing—Magnus had aspirations to the throne? And it seemed Rebecca and her family backed him.

March 19th, 1520 - Constantinople

The room was vast and open, rectangular in shape. Halfway through it, three small steps led up to a raised plateau. There a gallery of tall, arched windows opened up to reveal a breathtaking view of the city. In the distance, the vast dome structure rose up to meet the blue sky, the slender pillars around it were like spikes, pointing at the heavens.

Curtains in see-through fabrics danced as the wind gently pushed past the arched windows. The openings were lined with yellow and blue-painted marble. Decorative mosaics graced the lower part of the walls while the upper part saw either fabrics with geometric patterns or a foreign scripture sewn into it. Even the floor saw intricate patterns placed into the stone, where blue and limestone mosaics blended together to form geometrical shapes, complementing the walls. Elegant furniture in dark wood was placed about the room. A sitting area with a low table in copper and colorful cushions surrounding it was on the lower end of the room while the upper part saw a bed, also draped with the ever present see-through fabric. It made the bed appear almost hazy, behind all that cloth. Its lines and shapes were greatly muted as the light blue fabric swayed in the gentle breeze.

In the middle of the room, on a Persian carpet in shades of red and gold, stood Isabella hugging her body, fighting the tears. She had been stripped completely naked. Water had been thrown at her as some harsh-eyed women had scrubbed her clean, not even bothering to respect the privacy of her body. When they saw the healing wounds on her back, they wrinkled their noses.

Once they were done they left her there, cold, shivering and confused. None had bothered to hand her a piece of cloth to cover herself, so Isabella had draped her arms around her bosom, in order to save some of her modesty. Most women left, save the one that had led her to the room, to begin with.

Once the doors shut, she turned to face the confused young woman. The veil was removed, revealing harsh lips and an aquiline nose. The face had seen a few summers already and the deep-set eyes never revealed what the woman thought. It appeared, however, that she took little pity on Isabella's situation.

"I am Melike, head caretaker of this house. While you stay here you will obey my every command. Is that understood?" came the harsh voice. Isabella never answered, refusing to let the woman hear the tremble in her voice.

"His lordship has bestowed you a great honor in taking you here. It is his wish that you be complacent," she continued, slowly pacing the room.

Isabella did not understand the words of the woman; what did she mean by them? She suspected little would be explained if she asked.

"Where are my clothes?" she demanded after a long silence. Zoráida's knife had been hidden in the torn gown; a knife she very much wanted to regain. The woman's face twisted into a frown.

"I never allowed you to ask me questions, girl!" Melike shouted at her. "Know your place or I shall have you whipped!" she said with a twinge of ferocity. Isabella was not surprised by the answer, but she stepped back, nevertheless.

The doors suddenly opened and Melike's eyes widened as someone stepped inside. She gave a graceful bow as Oscar Braun appeared, dressed in strange clothes; a tunic with a long vest over it. He looked less like an Angloan lord and more like one of the wealthier inhabitants of the city.

"That will be all, Melike. Thank you," Braun said stiffly, never taking his eyes off Isabella's naked back as the woman quietly disappeared behind the drapes, and walked out of the room.

Isabella was aware of her vulnerable state as she heard his footsteps nearing. She was not, however, prepared when he draped a thin tunic over her shoulders. Braun turned the young girl to face him, a stiff smile placed on his lips—never quite reaching his eyes.

"Forgive Melike, she can be harsh sometimes, but she is a good servant," Braun offered. Isabella quickly draped the fabric around her, feeling at ease as she was covered.

"Where is my dress?" she asked again, her tone as flat as the expression in her eyes. She was determined to not let any emotion of anger or fear show through.

"It was a torn old rag, I had it thrown away," Braun explained, waving a hand in the air as he walked to the window, taking in the view. Isabella felt her hope dwindle as she thought about Zoráida's knife.

"Why am I here?"

Braun never turned around. He appeared mesmerized by the city below them. A part of him seemed to be reminiscing.

"Have you figured out yet where we are?" He still kept his back to her. Isabella fought hard not to push him over the edge then and there. The fall was high enough to kill him—if he did not land on one of the closer rooftops hugging the tall tower.

"No." She refused to play his game. Isabella was no fool. She was certain Braun was trying to act nice to get her to lower her walls. She would not allow him in.

"Constantinople," was all he said, turning as the word left his lips. "I was the ambassador at the Sultan's court here once, many years ago. Angloa has always kept in good relations with the Ottomans—"

"Why am I here?" Braun halted as Isabella could care less about his past. He seemed unnerved by her rude interruption.

"No reason, my dear. No reason…" he trailed off. Isabella felt the hairs at the back of her neck rise when those eerie words escaped him. She knew he lied, making her believe her fate was worse than she'd imagined.

When Braun saw that she would offer him little conversation he made ready to leave. "This is to be your room now, Miss Swan. I hope you will like it. Melike will tend to your every need if you learn to listen and obey her as well."

He tried to smile, but it came off as unnatural. Something was certain, he wanted to get on her good side.

He moved to the door, moving past the drapes that covered it. Before closing it behind him he turned to her, one last time.

"I have great plans for you, my dear. If you are willing to learn, your future will be a bright one," he explained, his eyes twinkling as the door was shut and locked.

March 15th, Rome

"Release him," said the tall man next to Carlisle. He was past his golden years. But there was a youthful vigor ever present in his bright green eyes. His graying goatee was neatly trimmed and combed in place as he turned to face the guards again.

"Release him." The words sounded more severe now as his voice dropped a few tones. Jacob stared at the Italian guards, fighting the urge to knock them over. The guards did not question the man and did as he bade, releasing the hold they had over Edward.

"Who are you?" one of them asked. Evelio eyed the man suspiciously—he knew he was another Angloan, but he could not tell more. Suddenly, the older gentleman took something out of his doublet, unfolding a parchment, with several seals hanging off from it at the bottom.

"I present my credentials," he said haughtily. He then handed over another document, not as elaborate, hastily written—from the looks of it. Edward and Carlisle remained silent as they saw the scene unfold before them.

The guard took the first document and his eyes bulged as he read it twice. "My lord!" he exclaimed, bowing deeply, giving the parchment back. Evelio had read it as well, he recognized the seal of the Holy See.

"As you can see, I am Angloan—as are the men in those cells. They fall under my jurisdiction here and are to be taken to the embassy at once," he declared in a slightly accented Italian.

"Not when your own Cardinal Thorpe had him sent here—"

"Read the other piece of paper." Harsh eyes bore through Evelio. The guard did as the man bade, reading a statement by Thorpe's own hand, declaring that he was dropping the charges against Edward and Jacob. Cardinal Thorpe himself had slipped away unnoticed the moment his presence was no longer required. The older man did not seem to care much, though.

Below that statement, another one, written by the captain of the guard, confirmed that the masked man and his accomplice were in fact not the sought traitors of Angloa. They had thus been held in that prison unjustly. When the guards realized this they all turned pale.

"I believe the Count of Cadherra and Baron Chaeld would appreciate it if you unlocked their handcuffs now," the man spat, offended at the sight of the restrained men. Carlisle showed signs of dehydration, his lips parched and chapped. He bore dark circles under his eyes and he was bleeding from his wrists.

The man glanced over at Edward, taking in the masked enigma for the first time—a man he had heard much about. Edward did not show the same signs of exhaustion and dehydration as Carlisle. But, then again, they could barely see an inch of him due to the mask and clothes covering his body.

Evelio and his friends turned paler as they realized they had titled nobility locked in their dungeon. Only lowly thieves and some beggars would end up there. They had never housed aristocrats before. The Angloans heard the loud gulps of the Italians as they realized their mistake.

The cuffs were swiftly removed. Edward retied the laces of his mask while Carlisle was given water. Edward felt how his body protested—especially his arms. He'd had them at an unnatural angle for so long that when they fell to his side, the blood rushed to them, numbing both limbs. He never voiced his discomfort.

"Follow me, gentlemen," the older man said, showing the way. Before they were away from the guards, he turned to them once more. "The way you have treated these men is outrageous. Do not be surprised if I call for your removal!" he exclaimed, anger both toward the guards, but it was evident that he housed some for Carlisle and Edward as well.

Evelio and his friends all simply nodded, not daring to utter a word. He looked over at the enigmatic masked man, then realizing that he would never discover what hid behind that mask. But, somehow, Evelio did not mind that much. A shiver coursed through him and he looked away, hoping to never see Edward again.

Edward and Carlisle followed the haughty Angloan and Jacob through the narrow corridors of the dungeon. The poorly lit space enveloped them as they walked in silence. The same hollow drop of water seemed to penetrate through the whole area as they reached the surface. The lit torches placed on the humid walls did little to illuminate the dingy walk. They could hear the rattle of chains as they passed more cells. Edward's jaw tensed as he saw the poor souls, rotting away in their prison—there was little he could do for them.

Once they reached the surface, the air of the frisky night hit both men—fresh air they had not felt in days. Carlisle took a deep breath, opening his mouth and closing his eyes as he delighted in the light of the moon, shining its silver beam over his visage.

"Another day in that cell and I would've gone mad," Carlisle sighed to himself. The man who had helped them out turned to face them, furious.

"Be thankful we came when we did. Were it not for Jacob I wonder what nightmare would have happened to you!" he exclaimed once they were farther away from the prison. "I have dealt with a lot of things since arriving here, but trying to rescue two men from being sent to a prison? After having broken into a Cardinal's house?" The more he spoke the more offended he seemed.

Edward stepped forward, not liking the offense in his voice. "I believe introductions are in order," he began. His voice still low and menacing, as if waiting to prowl on the man if he kept pestering him with his outbursts. Jacob was about to step in and explain the situation, but the older man stopped him.

"Not on my part, I have heard all about you, Lord Cullen," he said. There was a slight hint of awe lacing his voice; awe he did not wish to show at that moment. "Your fame precedes you," was all he allowed himself to say.

"You leave me at a disadvantage," Edward rasped. "You know all about me, it seems, yet I have not had the pleasure of even knowing your name," he trailed off.

"I must concur with Lord Cullen. I am also left at a disadvantage," Carlisle added.

The older gentleman took a sharp look at them, almost like he was a father scolding his children. "My name is Theodor Glovendale, a distant cousin of Thomas Athar, of whom I am sure you have heard," he began. "I am the Angloan ambassador here in Rome. I keep relations between our country and His Holiness the Pope," he explained further, taking great pride in his title. "And you men just put me through a lot of difficulties these past few days—nay! A world of difficulty!" he continued, folding his agitated hands behind his back as they would not stop moving while he talked. Edward found it quite amusing, yet, he remained as silent and stoic as ever.

"We are in your debt then, my lord," Carlisle quickly added. Edward merely nodded in unison. But Theodor did not seem pleased with this.

"You will follow me to my personal residence where I wish to have a talk with you. A very long talk."

"I would be most obliged, my lord, but I am afraid we are bound for the east," Edward's dark tone sounded. Theodor would have none of it.

"My boy, I have just saved you from certain public humiliation, to be sure. Now, would you prefer to return to that dungeon to be unmasked and paraded at dawn—following a most assured unjust trial? Or would you rather come home to my residence where we can sit down in peace and sort this whole mess out?" Although none saw it, a quizzical eyebrow rose behind the mask at the appellation "my boy". Edward neared Theodor, his jaw squared, his gaze growing fiercer by the minute.

"I have no time to waste, my lord. It is of utmost importance that I travel east tonight—"

"And how will you travel east, Lord Cullen? By magic? As far as I know, and from what Jacob has told me, you have little to no money left with you—you are stranded here in Rome," Theodor interrupted. "I would think a smart and brilliant strategist like yourself would realize that by now, unless your judgment is clouded by something… or someone."

Silence followed, Edward's wit seemed to have foregone him, for he saw truth in Theodor's words. However, he could not get fast enough to Isabella.

"Follow me and I will arrange accommodations on my personal vessel—to whatever destination you wish." Theodor could not help a small, roguish grin escape. When it seemed as if Edward was still questioning if he should trust the Angloan ambassador, Theodor reached into his cape, pulling out a familiar sword, with an elegant handle that could only belong to one man.

"If you will not take my word, take that of your friend," Theodor said, handing Edward's sword over to him, it had been taken away as they had been captured.

Jacob stepped forward. "I have known Lord Glovendale since childhood, and he has been a close friend of my family for years. I trust him, Edward," he said, sincerity apparent in his otherwise tired features.

Edward stared at the sword and then into the green eyes of Glovendale. It only took him a moment to decide on what to do. He accepted the sword with a slight nod, his arrogant countenance gone as he relaxed a little. Carlisle seemed to relax as well. Glovendale, although still seemingly severe with them, seemed slightly happier now.

"This way," he said as he started walking toward a horse and carriage, parked at the end of the narrow street. There was nothing more to say. Edward only hoped he would not be detained further.

March 23rd – Constantinople

The covers were yanked from her sleeping form as a now familiar voice hissed in her ear.

"Up!" it said, bringing Isabella out of her sleep, ridden with nightmares and into her terrifying reality.

She got up from the comfortable bed, dressed in nothing but a nightgown. The light yellow fabric flowed freely around her naked feet as she walked away from the bed. Immediately, an armless tunic in shades of blue and pink was placed around her shoulders. A bowl with water with fresh rose petals was placed before her to wash her face, followed by a towel, which she used to dry herself with.

Isabella was soon dressed in elaborate tunics. Vibrant colors in silk and brocade hugged her slender form. Her hair was done up, in a style she was still trying to get used to. The headpiece was still uncomfortable for her to wear, and the loose scarf that could be used as a veil to cover her face always irritated her.

After the servants had dressed her—while Melike watched impatiently—the harsh Ottoman woman would have a small table brought in. A woman would arrive shortly, to would tutor Isabella in the local etiquette and manners, as well as the politics and language. It was an arduous process, and Isabella had no idea why this was done. But it being the fourth day, she started realizing they were training her for something. Whenever she tried to ask the other women, they would remain silent or change the subject.

Melike would never leave her side, always present throughout the day. Isabella had not yet been allowed to leave her room. She would gaze out the open windows, look down on the street. Carriages filled with hay would usually pass every day at midday and then three hours later. Five times a day there would be strange calls coming from the peaks around the domed building—Hagia Sophia, as the locals called it.

But, secretly, even if Melike was harsh, even if her tutors were severe and the clothes restricting, Isabella didn't mind. She was happy to be away from Braun, for he had not visited her since their arrival.

The door shut as her tutor left the room, leaving only Isabella and Melike. Both women had learned to be distant. Isabella did everything Melike asked, and Melike did not pester her as much. The only time she had a moment to herself, she would plot an escape route to the harbor. Without them knowing, Isabella had continued hiding things of value in the room. She would sell it for safe passage on a ship going west.

"Sit!" Melike suddenly said, motioning for the low copper brass table, surrounded by cushions. Isabella did as Melike bade and gracefully sat down, as she had been taught. Melike sat at the other end. An elegant silver pot of boiling water had been brought, the steam escaping the small curved nozzle. A small container in clear glass stood next to it.

"Pour me some tea," Melike said, her ever watchful eyes waiting to see what Isabella did. The young woman carelessly took a spoonful of the ground tea leaves and poured them into a small, elegant cup that she placed in front of Melike.

"No!"

"No?"

"Again."

Isabella poured the ground tea back and started over.

"No!" Melike repeated, seeming to enjoy shouting at Isabella. The latter squared her jaw and bit down hard as not to argue back. She started once more, but once again Melike exclaimed "No!" Isabella put the cup down with an earth shattering bang, staring right into Melike's haughty eyes.

"Tell me what you want me to do and I will do it. But do not play games with me!" she practically yelled, her voice was filled with ire and passion. The fake façade of calm and composure threatened to burst like a volcano as Melike teased her.

Melike leaned forward, a deep frown setting on her face, her lips in a thin line. "Again!" she simply said as her mouth curled into a sinister grin. "Or I shall have you whipped." The last words made Isabella's heart skip a beat. The second day there, Melike had indeed been true to her word. Isabella had argued against her and the woman had whipped her herself, in front of the servants. She had taken her down to the courtyard so all could see her humiliation. The pain had gone away quickly but the tears stayed longer.

She stared at the cup and tea, trying to figure out what it was that Melike wanted. Isabella argued to herself that it wasn't the order in which she had started composing the cup—that did not seem to matter much to Melike. The first time she had poured the tea leaves first, the second she had poured the boiling water. The third time, Isabella had put the leaves into the elegant brass pot. She looked at Melike for a long while and then at the messy table in front of them.

Suddenly it hit her like a lightning bolt. For the last few days, the young woman had been pulled in all directions, her mind filled with new knowledge about her new surroundings. She knew they were training her for something, but not what. However, as her tutor would teach her the history or the language, she would also teach her how to make conversation. It didn't matter what she said; her tutor could be talking about the most boring subject in the universe, but the way she delivered it made it always seem interesting. The same went for the other areas of study; her tutor would always stress on Isabella's mode of presentation—it didn't matter how much she actually learned unless she couldn't learn how to coat it in excessive elegance and finery.

And, now, Isabella understood what Melike wanted. She wanted the same refined and elegant presentation as she poured the cup of tea. She was sure this moment was a sort of test, seeing if Isabella understood what they had actually been teaching her all this time. She had to pour the cup of tea in a way that completely captured Melike's attention.

Isabella had no idea what to do. Her face was calm, but inside her heart started beating faster as panic settled in. How could she pour the tea in a way that would please Melike? It was impossible. If it had been a man who did not know her, Isabella was sure she could use the advantage of her striking eyes and feminine figure to win him over. But perhaps this lesson was to teach the young woman to rely on more than just her looks.

She reached for a new cup. The long and slender fingers gently caressed the porcelain, as if Isabella were touching the wings of a butterfly. She did it with utter care and almost compassion. She still felt stiff—the whole ordeal seemed unnatural. So how could she make it genuine? Isabella realized she was pouring the tea to another woman. She had to make Melike feel at home and comfortable at that moment in her presence—however much she might despise her.

So Isabella imagined it was her mother she was serving.

An image of Renée conjured up in her mind; the woman who had always been by her side, the woman she looked up to and missed dearly. A warm feeling of love spread in her heart as she thought of her mother, and it spread to her gestures.

Melike rose an eyebrow as the woman in front of her grew more relaxed and her motions more fluid. But she was caught off guard as—when the cup of tea was offered to her—the young girl gave her a genuine smile, a gentle tug on her lips; the kind of smile one saved for those closest. The Ottoman woman got a warm feeling in her bosom as she reached out to grab the cup of tea—like it was her own offspring handing it to her.

Isabella watched as Melike sipped the tea. The leaves had been in the pot for too long, and would probably make the brew taste bitter, but Melike didn't seem to mind. She put down the porcelain and stayed silent for a moment.

"Good," was all she offered with the same stern expression. It was almost as if she was reluctant to praise Isabella.

Melike then rose from the seat. "Follow me," she said, heading for the door. Isabella stared at the woman in confusion. But upon realizing that she would be able to leave the room, she swiftly put the teapot down and followed suit.

March 15th – Rome

In a dimly lit room, where the light of the moon penetrated the thick curtains, four men sat. A fireplace saw the flames dance as the smoke escaped up the chimney. The warm flickering light clashed with the silver beams of the moon, waltzing together in a strange dance.

The leather couches lined in burgundy fabric seemed dull, as was the decoration in the room. From the paintings to the furnishings and color scheme Edward, Jacob and Carlisle felt as if they had traveled back in time at least a century. The wood was darkened by its usage and the air was as dull as the colors on the walls and furniture. The wooden beams in the roof looked black as they contrasted against the lighter oak floor. A large carpet in the same burgundy tone was sprawled on the floor, looking thin and flimsy. It looked byzantine and Edward wondered if it might have been made before Constantinople fell, some seventy years ago.

There were no tapestries hanging on the wall, instead, rich velvet drapes had been hung, to keep the cold out.

Theodor had been sitting silently in his fauteuil for a long while, examining Edward and Carlisle closely. While Edward had loosely crossed his legs, setting into a comfortable position, Carlisle could not relax under the stern gaze of the ambassador.

"I wonder if you are mad or just foolish," Theodor said in a stern voice after a while.

"I believe a bit of both…," Carlisle excused, rolling his thumbs to seem occupied. Edward never answered.

Theodor slammed both hands hard on the cushioned armrests and got up, the ire seemingly taking hold of him. He clenched his features as he paced about the room—trying to control his frustrations. For such conduct was not befitting a diplomat.

"Do you have any idea of the mess I've had to go through to get you out of that jail?!" he finally shouted, turning to face both men. Carlisle remained silent as he found himself at loss for words. He looked like a child being scolded by his parents. Edward hadn't moved a muscle.

"Had not Jacob come to me I fear you both would've been lost, of course not before being humiliated by those men. It was the request of the Cardinal that you, Lord Cullen, be unmasked at dawn and paraded through the streets of the city before being taken to trial. Can you imagine the humiliation?"

"I cannot," Edward answered dryly. His nonchalant and arrogant air only seemed to further infuriate Theodor.

"What on earth were you thinking? Where, in your right state of mind, did you ever think you could just waltz into the residence of a Cardinal, and an ordained bishop at that?!" the ambassador continued. He ran his fingers through his hair, still amazed that he'd managed to get them out. Were it not for his contacts in the city he did not know what he would've done.

Finally, after having taken the impending scolding, Edward started talking, ready to explain himself.

"Lord Glovendale, Carlisle and I are thankful for you interception. We understand the severity of our situation. But you must understand why we broke in," he stated, his voice dropping a few tones as it became more severe. There was a look in Edward's eyes that made Theodor lose his nerve. He became uncomfortable all of a sudden, standing so close to that masked man. So he inched away, as casually as he could. Edward's presence grew as his sense of urgency became more severe.

"Black did not have time to mention the specifics, only that Cardinal Thorpe might know the whereabouts of someone important to you," he began, swiftly interrupted by Edward.

"Cardinal Thorpe might be involved in the attempted coup against King Jasper Fell that happened a few weeks ago. If that is the case, he is considered a traitor to the crown, and my actions against him were mild in comparison to what they could've been." Before Glovendale could interrupt him, Edward continued, as calm as before. But there seemed to be a storm brewing under that composed exterior.

"I took part in stopping a treasonous plot before it succeeded, Lord Oscar Braun was the mastermind behind it. He must have taken my involvement personal for he swore he would make me pay. I did not think much of it at the time until I returned to my townhouse to find my fiancée gone, most of the maids raped and then killed mercilessly," he said, not sparing on the gory details. Edward wanted to make sure that Glovendale understood the gravity of the situation.

"I assumed her to be kidnapped, of course. So before thinking twice, I went after her. We took a ship to Málaga. Word reached of what had happened in Wessport and by the time we boarded a Spanish Captain's ship, he already saw us as potential suspects. So we fled before arriving in port. We followed the coastline and then took the river up until arriving at the walls of the city. Once finding the residence of Cardinal Thorpe, I decided to go in myself. Carlisle must not have listened to me and kept to the façade of the house. Jacob did, however, and that is why we sit here tonight. If Cardinal Thorpe was involved in the plot to overthrow His Majesty, I deducted that he would hide Lord Braun and Miss Swan. Alas, they were not there and I myself interrogated the Cardinal once I caught him. He eventually gave me a destination and that is where I now plan to go," Edward finished. "That is all I can give you, Lord Glovendale." He sat still and quiet after that, as he usually did, almost asking Theodor to question him. But what he received was a look of astonishment at the incredible tale he had just heard.

"That…is a lot to take in, Cullen," Theodor said after a long silence. The moonbeams now invaded the room, conquering the dying flames of the fireplace as night seemed to conquer the last remnants of a dying sun. The winds gently rattled the windows, wanting to burst into the room. Jacob and Carlisle thought it best not to say much more. Edward had indeed summarized their little adventure perfectly. They themselves were amazed to hear their last few weeks. Their little trip sounded more and more like a knight's tale as he chased his princess, kidnapped by the fierce dragon or the evil black knight.

"You said you would provide a ship for us. I am still waiting for that promise," Edward continued as Theodor had not made a move to speak. They finally understood where the underlying tension was coming from. Edward was eager to depart immediately.

"What you say is grave indeed. I knew Thorpe to be a weasel. Rome seems to show the worst in us, " Theodor pondered. "I mean, he keeps relations with the Volturi."

"Volturi?" asked Carlisle to Jacob in a half-whisper, not wanting to interrupt Theodor.

"A family here in Rome with criminal tendencies. They are very well organized," Jacob answered.

"A mafia?" All he got was a slight nod.

"People best not get involved with them." They broke off their short conversation to listen to Theodor once more.

"I should've seen it coming. If Cardinal Thorpe is involved in a plot to overthrow the king he must be apprehended," Theodor answered.

"Good, then you and your friends can do that. I am to travel east." Edward rose now, walking toward Theodor in a threatening manner. The other stepped back involuntarily, overwhelmed by the fierce presence of the other. Theodor looked away as he met the striking eyes of the masked man.

"I might need you here, your word and presence as Lord Cullen and Count of Cadherra could serve me good against Thorpe," Theodor began, swiftly regretting those words as he saw the reaction they provoked in Edward.

"You gave your word to me that we would sail east. If your honor means anything to you, Lord Glovendale, you will keep that word."

"I did. But opening an inquiry against someone like Thorpe is not easily done. Even less so when you don't know the details."

"My lord," Jacob said, having remained silent for most of their conversation. "I understand you are reluctant to let Lord Cullen go. But both Carlisle and I are witnesses to the promise you made. And just as you promised Edward, he promised Miss Swan that he'd come back to her." He hesitated a bit before continuing. "Frankly, I feel we should get going. Isabella is my friend and I will not see her harmed."

"Your father would not approve, I would—," Glovendale began.

"He rarely approves of anything I do, my lord. You know that as well as I. The coup was successfully dealt with. We can deal with Cardinal Thorpe upon our return. He might even return to Wessport, where we will have an easier time investigating his involvement in all this." Jacob surprisingly sounded like the voice of reason. He spoke comfortably with Lord Glovendale, as he'd known him for a long time.

"Very well. I shall stay true to what I have said. But as soon as you return, send word to me. This matter must be dealt with quickly. If Cardinal Thorpe was involved we must neutralize him or another uprising against the king might be on our hands," Theodor said thoughtfully. He started pacing next to the fire as the flames were almost nothing but dying embers. The beams of the moon had weakened as the night gave way to day. The approach of dawn was already noticeable as the sky brightened.

"I can have a ship prepared for you. In a short few hours it will take you wherever you wish," Theodor said, then called for a man with whom he spoke with for a short few moments. He then walked over to Jacob.

"I suspect you have few belongings with you. A carriage is being readied for you as we speak. It will take you to the port. I cannot go there with you, only give you access to exit the city." He took a big pouch filled with coins and gently put it in Jacob's hand, while the other strongly protested.

"Take this. If your father found out I did nothing to send you back home, he would have my head. The least I can do is to make sure you have a safe journey." He then turned to look at Edward.

"I understand your reluctance to tell me exactly where it is you are going. Relay the destination to the captain then. But know that he will write to me where it is you have gone. That is not too much to ask, I feel," Theodor said harshly.

Edward walked over to Theodor, extending his hand as a gesture of gratitude. "I am in your debt, my lord." His voice was laced with sincerity as the tension went away.

There was now hope in his eyes that Theodor had not seen before. He took in the appearance of the man, dressed in modest finery, a sword clinging to his hip, next to a sharp dagger. The mask seemed less striking now. It was no longer an obstacle, more like a part of a man he started respecting. Theodor did not wish to admit it to himself, but he did indeed respect men like Edward. There might have been a hint of foolishness as he had broken into Thorpe's home, but the man himself was no fool, that much was evident to him. He now started understanding how the masked count had managed to defeat the English in the war.

As the sky turned even lighter, dawn threatened to spill over the horizon, bringing the rays of the sun. Theodor took the gloved hand, a small smile escaped him. "That knowledge pleases me, for then you finally understand what I have done for you," he teased, a charming grin spreading on his face. The angry frown that had been ever present before was finally gone as the severity of the situation had lessened.

Theodor turned to Jacob. "I will send word to your father that you are well, last I saw you. He will want to know as much." Jacob did not respond at first, but he could feel the curious eyes of Carlisle on his neck while he could almost sense Edward's eyebrow raise.

"We all are in your debt, Glovendale," Jacob nodded, his countenance stiff at the mention of his father. But it quickly dispersed as his genuine gratitude toward the man in front of him shone through. Carlisle went to give the man some words of gratitude as well while a servant went to announce that the carriage was ready for departure.

Glovendale followed them down to the courtyard of his fine mansion, making sure they got safely into the carriage. He had sent some trunks of clothes and more weapons with them—hastily gathered as they had no time to spare. Other provisions had been provided as well.

"Lord Cullen," he said as Edward was the last to enter the carriage. Edward turned to face him. "If you find your fiancée, you will no doubt find Lord Braun," he continued, a sense of urgency now crept into his voice. At the mention of Braun, Edward's mouth turned into a thin line as his eyes seemed to turn a shade darker.

"Do not kill him, if you can." The words were surprising.

"He is a traitor and he took Isab—, Miss Swan. I have many reasons to behead him the moment I find him," Edward said in contained fury. He tried to remain civil as he spoke with Glovendale. But he found that controlling his anger was harder the more days he spent away from Isabella.

"Lord Braun might have more information regarding people like Cardinal Thorpe. I know you wish to end his life, as is your right. But he could give us names we do not yet know. A plot against the king is a serious thing, we must eradicate all who were involved to be sure that it does not resurface." Glovendale spoke with the voice of reason while Edward realized that he was still blinded by anger and slight despair.

"It seems you are right once more, my lord," Edward confessed after a while. For the first time, he opened up, showing the slightly vulnerable state he actually found himself in.

"It takes a great man to realize when he is wrong. For then he learns from it," Glovendale spoke. His words of wisdom reminded Edward of Athar and for the first time, he could see the resemblance. Perhaps not in looks but in character. Although Athar was more resigned and less fierce than Glovendale, both felt as wise and intelligent. "And when he learns from those mistakes he can become even greater. I expect I will hear more from the Count of Cadherra, Edward Cullen in the future," Theodor blinked.

"Your counsel is wise. There should be more men like you, my lord," Edward answered. They both shook hands once more as he entered the carriage. The driver set the horses in motion and in the flick of a whip they were on their way just as the first rays of the sun stretched over the horizon.

Glovendale looked at the carriage as it disappeared behind the gate, a small smile gracing his lips. His manservant, Bellini, came to stand next to him, a questioning look spreading on his face.

"For having caused you a world of troubles you seem very happy with that trio, especially the masked man," he mused. He was amused mainly that his master had gone from running around the whole of Rome—swearing and cursing the name of Cullen for the past two days to actually seeming to respect the man.

"There is something about him that I cannot quite put my finger on, Bellini. But I am sure that it will surface one day," Glovendale responded.

"Something bad?"

"No, quite the opposite," Theodor stated, the golden sunbeams touching his face. The older man sighed to himself and looked over at Bellini. "You know, I should probably go and rest. I am getting too old for these things," he complained, but the smile was ever present. It grew wider as he once more entered his house, slightly jealous that he could not also accompany the young men on their adventure.


A/N: Excuse the slight delay of the chapter. I've been going over the first fic, fixing and correcting faults. Sometimes the plotline is so intricate that it even gets me confused haha-it's a lot to keep an eye on, but I find it a nice challenge. I hope you enjoy this chapter. Please leave a review if you did!

Cheers!