8 May 1554

His feet moved rapidly as he walked through the prison even though he knew it wouldn't take long to arrive at his destination. Each step he took echoed down the wide brick halls, alerting any upcoming prisoners or guards that he was on his way. He was aware of the fixedly stares of the tower's guards on him but he kept his own focused aim straight ahead, not giving them any sort of form of acknowledgement. He also spotted a couple prisoners wandering the halls near him but they quickly jumped out of the way when they noticed how much infuriation and effort he put into each stride. He also didn't pay any attention to them.

His face was already set into his infamous and seemingly natural scowl when he turned a corner and it only grew when he saw a short guard on the far right, shielding a door. Elizabeth's door.[1]

At the sound of Arthur hastily approaching, the guard sighed heavily and turned slightly to face him. "Back again, Sir England?"

"Don't play dumb," he snapped, coming to a swift halt. "I've been coming here nearly every day and that's all your hollow brain can think of to say?"

The guard—Arthur didn't care to remember his name—looked at him with a rather bored expression which only fueled his anger even more. "You know I'm just doing the job that Henry[2] gave me, right?"

"Bedingfield doesn't know what he's doing; he hasn't even caught a glimpse of the state Lady Elizabeth is in! Any person with sympathy in their soul would know that placing an ill and innocent woman in this daunting prison is completely wrong and unfair!"

The guard said nothing but only stepped to the side, allowing Arthur entry to the large, wooden door. "Well, lucky for you, Lady Elizabeth hasn't left her room all day—even refused some of her servants—so you don't have to travel far to search for her. I'm sure she's been waiting for you."[3]

He glared deathly at him and huffed under his breath. When his heated stare shifted to the metal doorknob and his hand reached out to grab a hold of it, the memory of Elizabeth being taken to this bloody prison hit his brain like a sharp axe to the head.

It rained heavily that day and because of this, they were to take her through Traitor's Gate,[4] the same entry where all prisoners were to pass under. The thought that this would send Elizabeth's nerves flying didn't cross his mind and it was too late to tame them now.

She walked stiffly with two male escorts by her sides, one of them being Arthur on her left who held a black umbrella over Elizabeth's head. Half a dozen of her servants trailed behind her, including Kat who kept on trying to wiggle her way through the maids and guards in order to get to Elizabeth but was pushed back each time she tried. Arthur's gaze kept on switching to the path ahead and to Elizabeth beside him. He could practically feel the constant fear coursing through her veins and the pale look she wore worried him immensely. She honestly appeared more like she was deathly sick than she did terribly afraid.

Lowering his head to her level and moving closer to her so as to speak with her without any surrounding ears catching what he said, he told her in a low and calm voice, "Look, I know you're scared and you have every reason to be, but I need you to relax a little—as much as you can anyway." Without moving her head, her wide and fear-stricken eyes slowly shifted toward him. "Everything is going to be fine; I just need you to be as calm as you can."

Her only response was a slight but noticeable nod of the head. He noted how she tightly clutched the dark blue fabric of her dress in her white hands, her bony knuckles nearly bulging out of her skin. He offered a small tilt of his lips in reassurance and he was relieved to see her reply in the same way.

But that relief was short lived.

When the group came within sight of the wide black gates, Elizabeth froze entirely and the escort on her right bumped into her shoulder. Her servants stumbled into each other and the guards ahead stopped to turn and look at the petrified girl.[5] Arthur was quick to stop and keep the small umbrella above her; he followed her gaze which was locked onto the rowboat a few meters ahead of them with the wide gates not too far from where the wooden boat was docked.

"Lady Elizabeth," one of the guards uttered, his gruff voice loud so he could be heard over the noisy pattering of the rain. "Come now. We must go—"

"No." Her answer was quiet and only Arthur properly caught the word.

The guard raised an eyebrow. "What was that?"

"No." Her voice was clearer this time and her head shook violently, long red waves bouncing against her sides. "I can't go through those gates. I must go another way."

The escort and the guard exchanged looks and then peered back at Elizabeth. "I'm sorry, but we simply cannot. It has to be this way."

She looked at them in disbelief and her breathing pattern became uneven in fear. She continued to shake her head as if she were trying to convince herself that this wasn't real, that it was all just a terrible, terrible dream. "No, I can't." She peered up at Arthur and he saw her lower lip begin to quiver. "I—I can't. My dear mother came through here and she's—" She left her sentence unfinished as she whipped back to her servants, searching for Kat. "Kat, tell them I can't pass through here. Please, I beg of you."

Kat, being the precious friend she was, immediately went to her aid and turned toward the guards. "Can't she go through the Court Gate?[6] Can't you see the Lady is distraught?"

The guards merely shook their heads but didn't advance toward Elizabeth or motion for them to move forward; Arthur could see the pity their eyes. He exhaled and then leaned toward her. "Elizabeth—"

"No!" She unexpectedly ripped the handle of the umbrella out of his hand and threw it to the side in both terror and frustration. He stared stupidly at his own vacant limb and looked back at her, honestly not believing that she just did that. Rain had begun to soak into her hair and clothes, running down her face in angry lines.

"I can't and I won't go through there! My own mother was dragged through that hellhole and she didn't come back out alive. You're asking me to enter into my own tomb!"

Kat gasped at Elizabeth's sudden rage while Arthur glared at her determinedly. "It's not your tomb," he responded. "I can tell you that for a fact."

He pushed back the hood of the long black cloak he wore and undid the gold button that held it together. He then removed it from himself and then went to drape it across Elizabeth's shoulders. If I can't protect her from her sister, then I must at least conceal her from the rain.

But she pushed that away too. "No! You can't make me go through that thing for I am not a traitor! The scent of misery and decay is too much here."

She stomped over to a large boulder by the overflowing rain and river water and sat herself down, becoming as immovable and sturdy as that very rock. "I'm not a traitor," she repeated.

The guards and escort did nothing to provoke her to start moving again; they were probably waiting for her tantrum to settle down. One of the young maids began to weep for Elizabeth's sake. Kat hurried over to her lady and threw herself at Elizabeth's feet, her own anxiety beginning to rise.

"Elizabeth, I'm so sorry, my darling, but can't you see? It's the only way. You can close your eyes and pretend it's all not there; I'll hold you if you want. You know that I am here to protect you. Believe me when I say I won't let any harm come your way." She gazed at her pleadingly, raindrops curving around her soft features. "Please, Elizabeth."

She didn't budge.

Arthur pursed his lips and then marched over to where she sat. He lowered his head as he did before and watched her hard expression constantly adjust from dread to fury. Rain dripped from his blond strands as he spoke genuinely to her even though she didn't shift to look back at him.

"You're right; your mother stayed here in her final days and was killed by your father's orders. So I don't blame you in the least that you don't wish to go through the gates or even stay here in general. But Kat is also right; she's here to protect you. I'm here to protect you. Have you fully registered that yet? That I should at your sister's side and obey her every command but instead I'm here with you because I know you wouldn't be able to handle this on your own? My role as a country is to follow my leader's orders, no matter how much I disagree with them and, trust me, I disagree with her plenty. But to be honest I'd much rather be by your side than by Mary's or by Henry's or even by Edward's. I promise you that you'll survive this. I'll make sure of that. As long as I'm here, not even a brush of destruction will come your way." He lightly placed his hand on her arm. "Now let's move along before the guards realize I'm saying all this."

Kat's beseeching stare moved from Arthur's tight and mixed expression to Elizabeth's horrified one. As he spoke, all the anger left the Lady's appearance and it was now just fear lingering there. It took a very long moment for her to finally get up and slowly make her way over to the rowboat and to reluctantly let herself become a prisoner of the Tower of London.

Though her eyes were closed and Kat's arms were wrapped around her being as they passed through, she had her chin held high and controlled her breathing with deep and heavy sighs.

"Ah, one more thing, Sir England," the guard spoke up, bringing Arthur back to the present. He had already opened the door and pushed it forward a little but paused and turned to give him a sour look.

"What?"

"The other day, one of the guards' son was spotted in Elizabeth's cell and presenting her flowers.[7] We can't have that sort of exchange going on; she is still a prisoner after all." He peeked up at him. "It'll only be a matter of time before Queen Mary prevents you from seeing her while in custody."

"Oh, piss off," he hissed and then slammed the door in his face.

Arthur found Elizabeth seated on the floor while looking out one of the windows. The fireplace on his right was active, small orange flames crackling excitedly as if a new dry log was just placed at their feet. Her hard, metal bed on the left was unmade and the night-table that accompany it was pushed slightly away from it (most likely out of Elizabeth's spite).

He removed the broad black hat he wore from his head and stared at Elizabeth's back, a little nervous at how unusually quiet she was today. "E-Elizabeth?"

"Yes, Arthur?" She didn't look back at him but continued to watch the puffy white clouds glide through the blue sky.

"Are you alright?"

A short paused ensued. "I'm fine," she answered. Her voice was low and had a breathy tone to it as if she didn't care for proper speech at the moment.

He swallowed and glanced at the fireplace. "Well, why don't you go outside? It's a nice day out; I'm sure it's more pleasant than staying in the dark with an unnecessary fire going."

"The fire reminds me of Hatfield, of the parlor that Edward was so fond of." He watched her stuck a strand of frizzy red hair behind one ear. "I'd prefer to stay inside today, thank you."

"Very well," he murmured, slowly strolling over to her side by the wide windows. His steps were less noisy than they had been in the hall and the only sound that could be heard in the cell was the popping of the fire. He then lowered himself to the dirty floor next to her and rested his back against the brick wall, sighing audibly as he did so. His eyes dawdled at the closed door on the opposite wall before inching toward Elizabeth again.

She looked much worse than she did two months ago when she was first dragged into the cold and ghastly prison. Her skin was much paler, like that of a ghost, and she lost some weight, making her sharp cheekbones and collarbone stand out even more. Her lips were chapped, the bags under her eyes were deep and had a light shade of purple to them from lack of sleep, and on some days the whites of her eyes were slightly red as if she'd been sobbing recently. Her hair, from the lack of help of her personal maids, was set loose and it reminded Arthur of a lion's mane;[8] it was so long that it circled her waist and tickled her bare feet. Today she wore a loose black gown that hung onto her small frame poorly; she couldn't wear her colorful and puffy dresses back home and was stuck with dull colored robes that were much too big on her.

She was the embodiment of sorrow and dread.

"Have you eaten anything today?" he asked her—his voice sounded neutral, but he was honestly worried about her physical health.

Her chin planted itself on her hands which were folded on the thick windowsill. "I had a slice of bread and some water this morning that they offered me, but nothing since."

"Didn't they—"

"They gave me what they were supposed to. I just didn't eat it all."

"Why not?"

He noticed her dark eyes drop a little so that she was watching the green grass move with the wind. "I fear they will poison me," she whispered.

His body shifted so that he faced her fully though his temple and shoulder still rested against the wall. "They won't poison you, Elizabeth. The people here, they respect you despite what your sister says.[9] No one would do such a thing."

"But Mary despises me. All the guards here work for her, they are under her command. If she told them to kill me, they would without hesitation."

"If your sister really wanted to kill you, she would've done it already." He frowned. "She's burning innocents, Protestants, at the stake. She knows you are one so if she really wanted you gone, then there would've been no hesitation in making that decision."[10]

She replied with silence, still peering out into the rare sunny day like how a vampire would from its black casket. His eyebrows scrunched together in concern. He didn't like it whenever she was silent—she loved to talk about everything and anything, so whenever she refused to speak with him, it felt as though she were an entirely different person. Thus, he changed the subject.

He set his hat on the ground beside him, attempting to ask in a casual voice, "So I hear you're receiving flowers from a young man and apparently the guards didn't appreciate that."

Elizabeth slipped in a small smile and the sight cheered him up a bit. "Dear Theodore. How I miss him so. Those plucked dandelions made my day." She turned her head toward him with the same smile still on her face. "Why do you bring that up? Are you perhaps jealous, Sir England?"

He glared at her and Elizabeth burst into a fit of laughter. His blood rushed to his cheeks and he was tempted to put his hat back on to hide his face from her. But he didn't know where this sudden flash of warmth came from—was it from her coy suggestion or the way her smile broadened and her hair fell in her eyes as she laughed amusingly? Her giggles took him back in time, to when she was a mere child at Hatfield House, happy and without a care in the world.

His eyes glanced back at the cell door and he strained to make this blasted blush go away. "Why must you say things like that?" he grumbled as Elizabeth's laughter slowly died down.

She giggled once more before answering, "Because it is very amusing to watch your reactions. You're so sensitive, Arthur."

He scoffed. I am not sensitive, he thought bitterly. What a weak and childish word.

She reached out and patted his head like he was stubborn cat isolating himself from any sort of contact. "No need to pout, you tosser. Theodore is four-years-old; such a cute little lad though."

He scratched behind his ear. "I…see." I didn't know the flower-giver was a four-year-old. Why did that stupid guard make it sound like it was an older man?

But more importantly, why was he taking so much offense in the first place? He didn't have time to answer his own question because Elizabeth went on (which he was glad for): "You and Theodore are the only ones who make me happy around here. Everyone else is either threatening or avoiding me." She smiled back at him. "I suppose things could be a lot worse if you didn't come to see me every day."

Though the rouge on his cheeks faded, he could still feel its heated presence linger behind. "The pleasure is mine," he mumbled back as that old, familiar spark triggered itself within his chest.

He meant to investigate this strange feeling for quite some time, but hadn't thought about it until now. What's happening to me? his mind questioned helplessly. His and Elizabeth's eyes accidently locked onto one another's once his inquiry was thought. This seemingly innocent action stopped Arthur's heart for a moment; any thought that didn't feature Elizabeth in any way was abandoned in his mind. He watched her observe him—her chestnut colored irises flicked wildly about him as if she were trying to memorize his facial features for a painted portrait. The ghost of her smile was still there, upon those full round lips that he found himself staring at. Her head moved just slightly to the right in thoughtfulness and a curl of her hair fell into her eyes, landing against her prominent nose. He tightened his hand into a fist to resist the powerful urge to tuck the lock behind her ear.

Am I in love? he speculated astonishingly as he noticed Elizabeth slightly leaning toward him.

Panicking, he spun his head back to the cell door and lowered his eyes to his constricted fist, forcing himself to relax it as much as he could (which wasn't much). He began picking off some dead skin that loped around one of his fingernails, a bad habit of his whenever he got too nervous. He sensed Elizabeth stop abruptly beside him but didn't move back.

"Anyhow, you'll be free of this prison soon enough," he spoke lowly but surely. He knew he was ruining everything, crushing whatever moment they had shared and pretending as though nothing happened in the first place, but he was much too fearful of what could've happened. "You won't be locked up in this dusty, ol' cell much longer; I have strong feelings about that."

Elizabeth paused and then sat back against the corner of the windowsill, her elbow resting upon it and her hand getting tangled in her twisted mane (but not before pushing that bouncy curl back behind her ear). She glanced outside. "Strong feelings, hm?" she muttered.

He furrowed his brows in guilt. He believed he had wounded Elizabeth by rejecting her approach, yet he couldn't return the gesture. I can't be in love. That would cause nothing but trouble for the future. It is impossible! I cannot love a mortal, much less my princess, my soon-to-be queen…

But why was his chest on fire and why was his hand cautiously wrapping around Elizabeth's just now?

He unknowingly took the skeletal hand that laid in her lap. He made sure that their fingers didn't touch for fear that they would interlace one another; he clamped his palm on the back of her hand and curved his fingers around her wrist. It was meant to be a sign of protection and strength and he decided it was better than nothing.

Elizabeth peered down at the touch as Arthur confessed, "I truly believe you'll be the next ruler of the country—and a great one at that. Possibly become one of the best I've seen in a long time." He smirked slightly. "And that's saying something from someone in my position."

She grinned back. "Thank you." She then placed her other hand on top of his, in the same manner as he had. "I won't let you down; I'll make you proud."

The fire inside his ribcage grew and he could feel it lick at his throat and warm up his body and mind. "I know you won't let me down—you never did," he whispered, finding it difficult to speak through the rising fire in his lungs.

Her smirk widened into a smile. "I'm glad to hear that. If I were to be queen or to remain a mere Lady, it is my job either way to ensure your happiness. It's the least I can do for you."

His cheekbones reddened once more when she squeezed his hand.


[1] Elizabeth was placed into the Tower of London (a prison known for its bloody history) at age 21 when her sister, Mary, believed she was a part of the Wyatt rebellion to overthrow the government and to replace Mary as queen. Despite her claims of innocence, she was locked in the tower for two months.

[2] Sir Henry Bedingfield was Lieutenant of the Tower of London during the last few weeks Elizabeth stayed there. Though she never saw him, she feared him greatly—she became kind of paranoid (but for good reason) that everyone was out to murder her.

[3] Elizabeth, though still a prisoner, was allowed some special privileges like walking around the prison's garden and staying in a fairly large room, complete with a fireplace and three windows.

[4] The gate is kind of similar to what you see in horror movies: the black water-gates were only accessible by a rowboat over a small river that went inside the prison grounds. Heads were sometimes displayed on pikes around the gate to show what happens to traitors of England. All prisoners had to enter through this way—and Elizabeth did not like it at all.

[5] The reason why Elizabeth was so afraid of entering the tower was because her mother, Anne Boleyn, and one of her stepmothers, Catherine Howard, was prisoned and executed there. These deaths stayed in her mind the whole time she was there and it was easily one of the most terrifying times of her life.

[6] Another gate entrance to the prison that was less intimidating that was located by the Byward Tower.

[7] This actually happened. A 4-year-old boy would speak with Elizabeth frequently and give her flowers from the garden; Elizabeth liked this boy greatly and he helped her stay calm during her stay in the Tower. But the guards moved her to a more secure cell in the Bell Tower when they began to notice this exchange, keeping a closer eye on her.

[8] England's national animal is the lion so this is my failed attempt to be poetic and compare Elizabeth to a lion.

[9] Unlike Mary, the people loved Elizabeth and respected her as the princess she was entitled to be. Of course, some Catholics hated her because of her Protestant practices; this was one of the many reasons why Mary loathed Elizabeth so much.

[10] Queen Mary I of England was best known as Bloody Mary because of all the Protestants she executed under her rule (over 300 in all). Even though Elizabeth was one, she couldn't kill her for a number of reasons including lack of evidence of her support in the Wyatt rebellion, King Phillip II of Spain's (Mary's husband) claim to keep her alive, and it might've been that she was her own sister, her own flesh and blood.