THE WEIGHT OF A CROWN

Chapter 25

October 25th, 1520 – New London

Edward had never run so fast in his life. His heart hurt his chest from the pressure as he sensed the bile rise in his mouth. He had no time to stop by his quarters. He managed to find the courtyard and ordered their fastest horse to be brought to him immediately.

Waiting for that horse—watching the footman rush to the stables—was like watching time slow down infinitely. He trembled, trying to ignore the words which the messenger had spoken. Edward had no time to think; only to act.

He ignored the running footsteps behind him, ignored the weight to them as he heard Carlisle and Jacob near.

"We just took New London…if you leave, we might lose our grip on the city. You cannot be in Adelton. Not now!" Carlisle had run up to him and argued. Alas, Edward did not listen.

He turned around with a frantic expression on his face. "I have to go, Carlisle," he said desperately. "You know I have to."

The animal was brought to him and neither Carlisle nor Jacob had the heart to say otherwise. They stared at him as he waited for their approval—because somewhere deep inside he needed them to accept what he was doing.

Carlisle bit back a sigh, knowing well the difficulty he would face alone in New London. "I will hold the city for you, then. Go to her, Edward," he mumbled giving his friend an embrace and the old Angloan handshake. Both took the other's forearm in the customary handshake, not dallying too long.

"Ride like the wind, my friend. Be with her," Jacob murmured in hushed whispers. "Because that is where you should be right now." He embraced the prince as well and both looked as Edward mounted the agitated horse, eager to rush out of the gates.

With a final word of goodbye, Edward urged the agitated animal into a frenzied gallop, not looking back for one second.

October 28th – Adelton Hall

Isabella had not left the room in days. She kept glancing behind her with worry. Sofia would be in the room with her, even Mrs. Hammond or her mother. Athar and Glovendale would pace outside, growing ever more worried.

On the second day of Rosalie having taken to her bed, Isabella sent the messenger, despite the princess' protests. Edward needed to be in New London and not think of her. But Rosalie was taking for the worse, and she needed all the support she could get.

Mrs. Hammond had stepped outside, weary from the last few days. The princess' health had been in a steady decline. Come to think of it, the old woman realized the royal had never really recovered quite from her poisoning as Isabella had.

She shook her head as she dragged the mantle closer around her petite form, guarding herself against the chilly autumn air. Winter was now starting to whisper in their ears, announcing its inevitable arrival.

Horse hooves colliding with soft ground drummed in the distance and a sentinel announced a lone rider, urging the poor animal to ride faster and faster. Mrs. Hammond supposed it was the messenger sent to New London by the countess.

Alas, she was direly mistaken. None other than the prince of Angloa himself burst into the courtyard on the frenzied animal. He had taken two nights to rest; one right before Raven's Grove and one within the middle of the forest. There was no other horse to change to and he needed it to last him the entire ride to Adelton.

He pulled harshly on the reins to force the stallion to stop and it reared in protest as he jumped off. He looked completely disheveled. His cape and royal blue doublet were muddied. Splatters of mud soiled his handsome features and he had lost his hat along the harsh and long ride. He darted to Mrs. Hammond with no time to spare.

"My sister!" he demanded. She grew mute, not sure what to stammer to him. Had the prince really just ridden through the harsh Angloan inland after the message Lady Isabella had sent? She could scarcely believe it! The housekeeper of Adelton Hall resigned herself to point when her voice grew mute from the surprise.

William Fell aka Edward Cullen, rushed into the building, ignoring the curious onlookers. He could not be too late, the people in the courtyard did not dress in mourning black so Rosalie must have made it out from her sickness alright. His legs felt heavy as he rushed up the stone steps and to her room.

The prince pushed the door open to her drawing room, adjacent to her bedroom. There he found Lord Athar and Glovendale.

Athar stood up immediately.

"Where is she," the prince demanded.

"Your Highness," Athar started, he had never seen the prince so alarmed before. He almost lost his footing. What he had seen before, however, had been that look. There had been a similar look in one man such as William before. When Philip had heard of his wife's state and rushed to her side at Adelton Hall decades ago, he had displayed a similar expression; complete fear and anxiety. "I-in there," he pointed breathlessly.

Edward stepped past him and Glovendale and entered the room with little ceremony.

Isabella turned around, startled while Sofia sat silently by the bed, her lips in a thin line as she put the cold compress against the fragile form resting in the bed.

"Edward," Isabella whispered as she saw him. And at the sight of the man she loved, she rushed up to him to embrace him long and hard. The young woman could not care less if New London had been taken or not. She only knew that she needed him there, by her side, for she was lost at what to do.

He held her, all the while looking over her shoulder at the sleeping form that was his sister. The woman in that bed was a mere fragment of what he had known. It was as if she had completely deteriorated ever since he had left.

Sofia looked at Isabella. "Niña, give us a moment," the gypsy begged in a low whisper. Isabella took Edward's face in her hands and kissed him. What Sofia was about to tell him, she had already heard.

Isabella stepped out, met by Athar and Glovendale, firmly shutting the door behind her.

The sound of the closing door felt like a heavy drum thudding in his ears. Sofia was stiff where she sat, the faint autumn light filtering in grayish and dead; lacking in luster.

"She is dying," Sofia whispered in the cold of morning. She kept her face from his, her dark tresses shielding the enigmatic eyes and visage from insight. He heard the tremor to her voice as he walked over to both women. Sofia did not flinch as he pushed the hair away from her face.

She looked distraught, afraid even. His lips were dry, chapped and his throat closed up as he went to touch the frail hand of his sister.

It was cold to the touch. She had started losing warmth in the extremities of her body. And, as Sofia had said, that only meant one thing. Her body was shutting down.

"Why?" his voice cracked as a pained expression passed over his features. Edward dropped down on his knees next to Rosalie as his lips quivered.

"When she and Isabella were poisoned…the poison your sister Victoria used was meant to kill slowly, over a long time—to make it look like a sickness had taken her as not to raise attention. But as we determined, the substance sprinkled over the pages was in greater amount: someone had done a careless job."

"But if it is the same poison, why is Rosalie this way now? If it is the same poison, why is Isabella not in the same state?" he demanded. Anger took hold, anger that blossomed up to the surface with such power that Sofia jumped where she sat at the ire taking hold within him.

"I spoke to Rosalie shortly after…she has most likely ingested it. And ingesting such a poison is fatal."

He turned to her with furrowed eyebrows, refusing to understand. "But she started getting better before. She was past the point of danger!" he growled. A tear managed to escape as he held the faint hand in his own; as if urging it to get warmer.

Sofia shook her head and allowed her own eyebrows to furrow. "I think Rosalie knew from the moment she was administered the supposed antidote given by Victoria."

"Yes!" Edward exclaimed. "An antidote! How on earth could she still be this way when she took—"

"Because the antidote was for someone who had breathed in the poison." The black eyes held him for a long while, her mouth not willing to move as all they heard was the flapping of flags outside and the rattled breaths of the princess. "There is no antidote for this poison if it is ingested."

The words struck heavily. They sucked the air right out of Edward's lungs. "The potion she was administered was a temporary measure. I explained this to her when she started getting worse. She said she needed to remain well until New London was taken—" Sofia could not hide the small hint of shame as she watched his face twist in pain. "I made her concoctions to drink on a daily basis. They would slow down the spreading but would never stop the inevitable. There is no way to remove it from her system. And it is too far gone now. We increased her intake of my medicine which was hard on her overall health."

The tears had started flowing freely from his eyes now and Edward had no idea what he was supposed to do.

"Why did you not tell me?" His eyes were glazed over, a look of utter betrayal now present in them.

"Because I wanted to avoid this moment for as long as possible," she whispered back. "Because I do not want to see you hurt…like this."

"But I am hurt!" He broke out into a sob and turned away from her. Seeing him thus broke Sofia's heart. "I was finally reunited with someone from my family and now God has decided to take her from me without even being able to say goodbye." The sobs grew stronger and there was nothing he could do to stop them.

"I can give her a potion to wake her up, for you to say farewell," she murmured. "I have the flask here." In her hand she held it tightly, not having parted from it for a second. Her heart was torn asunder from watching him so frail, so hurt at the prospect of losing his sister. "Isabella never knew until a few days ago," Sofia added for she did not wish to separate the young couple.

"She was the one who sent for me…" he whispered placing his face in his hand as a look of defeat washed over his body. He understood everything now: why Rosalie had been so insistent that William Fell step forth. He did not fault her for lying to him; but did she truly understand the position she had just placed him in?

"I need to speak with her," he spoke, his voice muffled by his hands.

Without a word, the gypsy prepared to administer the potion. It would be enough to awaken the princess, to make her lucid, give them time until she passed.

Sofia left him at one point as the sound of an empty castle greeted him. The smell of a closed-in room irritated his nostrils just enough to make him shift uncomfortably in his seat. Edward's eyes shifted from the window to his sister. He took in the dulled tapestry, the worn boards lining the floor. The impeccable furniture polished to perfection. He took in the dark colors; the dark world his sister had decided to inhabit.

And he took her in as well. What was left of her.

Rosalie came too around noon, her eyes fluttering open, staring at the dark ceiling of her rooms. The disoriented princess looked around until she was met with the flustered face of her brother. She could clearly see it, faint trails of dried tears, the reddened eyes wiped clean. He did not wish to show any weakness before her. Alas, she wished for him to bear himself, to let it all out. And Rosalie grew ashamed under his emerald gaze, under the heavy eyes looking at her, asking her with no words: why?

"Tis' ironic," her voice croaked, the chords in her throat stiff from lack of use, her throat parched, dry. He went over to her, the click of his shoes colliding with the wooden floor, strangely comforting to her. His bare hand rested under her neck as he guided her head up and pressed a cold cup of water to her lips.

"What is?" he asked. He did not sound as overwrought as he looked, as tired as he appeared. His voice was soft and gentle, calming—inviting even.

"That it should be here." She could not say the dooming word. "The place where I was born." She took another sip before resting against the pillows once more, fully exhausted.

Another moment of silence passed between them and Rosalie felt the guilt rise further and further. She finally turned to her brother, who was leaning forward, the dark copper locks tumbling into his eyes in a boyish way.

"Sofia told me everything," he finally mumbled, breaking the brittle silence.

"I am sorry," came the soft reply. She knew—had known for a long time what she had forced her brother to do. For him being in his current position had been against his will, yet he had come upon her request, thinking he could return back to obscurity after. "I am sorry for doing this to you," she croaked, and her voice hitched in her throat.

"Why didn't you tell me?" He rose his gaze to meet hers and Rosalie's eyebrows furrowed further. "Why didn't you reveal what you were going through?" His velvet voice gave way to the familiar growl so prominent in Edward Cullen.

"I did not wish for you to see me so…I did not wish for you to suffer with me."

"We were barely reunited as brother and sister." He looked down as he grimaced in pain, almost wishing to hide from her. "This isn't fair!" He almost sounded like a small boy complaining.

Rosalie shook her head. "It certainly isn't, Edward…William. But would you have stepped forth as William if I'd ever told you?" she questioned.

He looked at her for a long moment and both knew the answer to her question. "No."

"Will you remain as William when I am gone?"

Gone. Such a strange word for her to hear—for him to hear. He had thought about it ever since rushing from New London. When Rosalie was gone there would be a vacuum and, of course, he was expected to take her place. Alas, if he took her place as ruler, as king, would he ever be able to be with Isabella again? Could he return to being Edward Cullen?

"I do not know what William Fell holds for me. Not a future I wish."

"I know you do not wish the crown because of Isabella, because of the responsibility." Her head tilted to the side, staring at the ajar window, smiling at the chill pushing from the outside. She was cold but remained quiet about it.

"Lord Athar and Glovendale would stand by your side," she mumbled. Her eyes drifted over to him and all she saw was her lost little brother.

"I do not want to lose you, Rosalie," he whispered. "The crown matters not, what matters is that I had you: family, true family."

She extended her hands as he came to her side, claiming her frozen limbs in his warm embrace. "You had a family before you met me," she comforted. "You have a mother in Sofia, you have a wife in Isabella, you have your brothers in Carlisle and Jacob and…in some strange way, you have a father in Athar: for he wants the best for you. You may be angry with him because he held you and Leonore back in Angloa. But he wanted to protect you because he loved and admired our father very much. And I know he will do the same with you, William." Her voice was growing fainter as she spoke.

"The choice is yours. But I know that you will make Angloa something I could never make, something Victoria could never make. You were not born a king, you have been transformed into one, and before my very eyes. I have never had children to call my own, never any family except a father I could be proud of, William. But I am proud of you like a mother is proud of her son, like a sister is proud of her brother." Her voice broke out into a sob as she held him in her arms. "Had I never ended up like this I would never have put you in this position. I would have taken the crown and ruled as queen. But I cannot anymore."

He rested his head against her chest and held her as his lips trembled. He knew the choice that had to be made. Freedom and love or duty and loyalty to Angloa.

She brought his face up to look at between her hands. "Will you tell Victoria that I do not blame her?" Rosalie sobbed as her breath grew slower and slower, her hands colder and colder on his face. He trembled in anger at the mention of that monster. "Will you?" she begged. He nodded, not trusting in his own voice. She let a faint smile touch her lips.

"Will you tell Henry I loved him?" she whispered. "Tell him to forgive me?"

His heart broke at those words and he could only nod. "I will find whoever poisoned you now, and I will kill them—"

"No vendettas, no revenge, Edward," she sighed. "I already know who did it."

He froze.

"I have already spoken with that individual and they are not to be harmed. That is my final wish," she mumbled. "Will you promise me?" Her golden eyes held his for a long time as he finally nodded.

"Will you lay by my side? I am cold," she slurred. Moving less and less as her heartbeat slowed down. He went to her side and she rested in the warm embrace of her brother as her breaths grew fainter and fainter.

He held her and listened to her heartbeat, the source of her life growing slower and slower. "I…love you…brother," she mumbled against his chest. He let the tears flow freely down his cheeks as he hugged her tighter, resting his face in her golden tresses as her final breath left her.

He held the lifeless body of his sister, of his only accepting relative and had no idea what to do with himself. The sobs grew stronger and stronger until there was a knock on the door. He did not bother answering it. There was still some life left to her body and if he imagined it, she only looked to be sleeping, her eyes closed, her face peaceful.

Isabella stepped into the room, closing the door behind her, her face in shock at the scene before her.

Edward did not know what to do but cried into the corpse of Rosalie. Isabella's hand went to the wall for support as she herself fought hard against showing too much emotion. She trembled walking up to brother and sister and placed a soft hand on him. She kneeled by his side and the painful look on his face broke her heart in two.

Her hand came to brush the hair away from his face, to dry the tears streaming down his eyes. "Look at how peaceful she looks," she managed to say. And they both glanced at the still face of Rosalie. Her pale features were soft, calm. Isabella brushed away a few of her own tears at the strange sight. "We have both seen so much death recently. But has it ever been this peaceful, Edward?" she asked him.

"No," he answered in a thick voice. He held her tightly for a while longer until Isabella spoke once more.

"I am here," her soft voice whispered. "I will always be here." The words of reassurance weighed more than she could ever imagine. The support they offered him, like a crutch to a cripple, was like a lifeline for him. He set his sister's head down on the pillow and stepped out of the bed, stumbling when his wife caught him. He held her hard and burrowed his soaked face in the nook of her neck, feeling her soft skin brush against his, reveling in the warmth of her body, in the sound of her beating heart.

"I am here." She held him tightly and stroked his hair as he hugged her back and bared his emotions before her without fear of being judged for such a display of weakness. Isabella would never think him weak.

Someone else walked into the room. The scent of spices and wood invaded his nostrils as Sofia neared him. Her hands came to brush his hair out of his face as he straightened up. Both women that he loved so dearly comforted him in their own way. He did not blame Sofia for not telling him; there was no strength left in him.

They sat there the three of them with the corpse. He looked at the ajar window which Rosalie had longingly stared out just a few moments prior. Had she seen something there which he hadn't?

Maybe.

He dried his tears. "Bring Athar and Glovendale," he mumbled as he sat on a chair next to the bed. He was at a loss, not knowing how to proceed.

"Are you sure?" Isabella asked. "Do you need more time? They will give you all the time you need—"

"I need to know what to do next," he answered. "I need to speak with Athar—I…I need guidance." He was lost, he did not know what to do. He knew what he wanted, but he did not know if he should do it.

She nodded. Sofia stepped over to the body and produced a thin linen sheet which she draped over Rosalie's body.

Both women stepped out and were soon followed by Athar and Glovendale. They took a few moments to process the scene before them. The prince sat; the very picture of defeat on his chair as he looked at the draped form of his dead sister. Athar walked over to Rosalie wordlessly, taking her cold hand in his own and kissing it. Glovendale opened the window fully, as to let her spirit find its way to heaven.

The three men sat stunned for a long time.

"She needs a proper funeral," Glovendale whispered after a while. "The whole kingdom needs to know of this. I shall send a messenger and make the preparations." He got up, almost wanting to get away from there.

"We need to let the lords in New London know," Athar answered.

"Edward Cullen must come," Edward said.

Athar stopped in his tracks. "We need someone we trust in New London, Your Highness," Athar paused. "…Your Royal Highness," he corrected.

Edward's jaw gritted at the sudden change in title. "Your Highness," he demanded. His eyes went up to meet the old man's, a harsh anger lining them. "Just Your Highness."

Athar kneeled by him and looked long and hard to find the appropriate words. "We heard you took New London. Saxton rode in just after you, he is standing outside as well. We will get those we deem fitting for the…for the funeral. We will inform the kingdom of Rosalie's death." Athar stopped and glanced at the body. His face revealed he was not yet ready to speak of such things. The white, pale mask and watering eyes told a different story. But Athar needed to take charge, mourning would have to wait.

"It is still early and horrible to even mention. But you have a choice to make. If you wish to continue this conflict, you cannot do so as a mere prince anymore. We need a leader to fight for or Victoria will rally the more weak-minded lords, or they will simply stand back and watch us claw at each other's throats only to be overturned by the English. We all need an answer from you. And you already know what it has to be."

Edward watched as he stood up, the old and frail man walking to the door to let Saxton enter. Saxton looked even worse than Edward. He heard his sobs, his heartwrenching wails, and pains as he held her body, as he cried into her throat. Just like Edward had done with Isabella. Alas, Saxton's love was dead.

Edward stared as the other man broke down even more before him. "It should never have been her!" Saxton whispered against the cold body.

He wondered if telling him would make the whole ordeal worse for him. But he decided that if the roles had been reversed, he would have wanted to hear his love's final words for him as well.

"She had a message for you," he managed to say in a thick voice. Saxton's red face looked up, the very picture of tragedy as he grabbed her stiff form. Edward hesitated as the bitter winds managed to blow into the room. "She loved you. With her final breaths she said as much, Saxton."

Emmett's face twisted further in pain as he nodded. "I love her as well," he managed to say, and something seemed to snap in him. His eyes darkened. "And Victoria will pay for this—I will make her suffer a thousand days until she begs me for—"

"That is not what Rosalie wanted, for either of us. No revenge, no anger, Emmett," Edward whispered.

"Do not tell me you do not wish to see that whore burn, suffer, die!" Saxton growled.

The prince rose to his feet and sent an icy glare across the room. "I just lost the only blood-related family I ever cared for. You have no idea what I would wish to do to the guilty. But I will not soil her last wishes. And if you loved her, if you cared for her, neither will you," he growled wish such intensity that it made Saxton flinch and furrow his brow. Why was that stance, that growl, so familiar to him? Alas, his clouded mind could not figure it out.

The day passed, and Edward remained seated on that chair, looking at the body with Saxton holding her hand. Glovendale and Athar had written letters to be distributed across the land, informing of Rosalie's passing. From New London, upon Edward's insistence, Carlisle would return as Cullen. Lord Irias and Raleigh would come while Fawkes remained back—for they trusted in him to keep the peace of the grand city. Cardinal Thorpe was clearly instructed to remain behind as he was by no means welcome.

Toward the afternoon, a few footmen came with a stretcher. They were to move Rosalie's body to the lower rooms of the castle where it was colder, so that her body would keep longer. Saxton went with them, not willing to be separated from his love.

Edward remained seated in that room, not wishing to meet the rest of the world yet. He had less time than he would've liked to decide and he was at a loss.

Isabella entered at one point again, alone this time. She locked the door so that they might not be disturbed.

"When the hour is upon you, when you stand face to face with the consequences of my decisions, you will hate me. And I will not blame you," Isabella mumbled out into the silence. Her chocolate eyes met his forest greens as tears kept falling. She would not pretend before Edward.

"My sister's words." It was not a question, rather a statement. He kept her gaze for a while longer, the afternoon light spilling like droplets of gold inside the room. Day faded away beautifully. "Do you…hate her?"

Despite her pain, her affliction at the loss of a dear friend, of a companion—of her sister in law. Isabella smiled as she dried her eyes. "No," she shook her head. He lowered his eyes at her kindness, at the grandeur of her heart. Isabella looked out the ajar window, watching the purple twilight settle and mingle with the final golden rays, jumping off the last few leaves still attached to the thick crowns of the trees outside. Her brown orbs were lit up by the soft light, her still form bathed in twilight. The bright velvet dress in lavender soaked up the light in the room as well. Her whole form shone strangely before him.

"She did what she had to…" Isabella trailed off. "And now you have a choice to make."

He shook his head. "Tell me right now and William Fell goes away forever," he said stiffly. "I go back as I was and try to win this thing with Athar and Fawkes as Edward Cullen—"

She watched him silently with furrowed eyebrows. "Tell me, honestly. If William Fell leaves, how many lords will remain by our side and not try to take power for themselves? Tell me honestly how Victoria will not twist this whole event in her favor and muddy William's name in some way or another." Her teeth gritted. "If you—William—disappear, I would not be surprised if your sister did not place the blame of Rosalie's death on you."

"But there is a chance that it could all work out. And…we could be together."

"Could we?"

He rose to stand, pacing about the room. Isabella stood up and walked to him. "I want to be with you, I never wish to be parted. I want to call you my husband, have you kiss me, hold me, caress me as you wish. But…" she trailed off, trying to find the right words. "I know the decision you are faced with." Her lower lip trembled slightly. "And whatever you decide to do, I will support you fully."

With those words, she had to leave, for she could not face him a second longer. Isabella wanted nothing more than have him by her side. But she would not be selfish, and she would not allow him to be selfish either. Angloa needed William Fell more than she needed Edward Cullen.

October 29th—Maera, North of Coldwick

Victoria stared at the ocean for a long while. She did not care that she had lost Wessport, that Savoie had died. She did not care that she was losing in general.

News of her sister had reached her, and the broken queen had fallen to her knees as she had uttered a scream into the cold air. The fortress they had claimed by the eastern coast close to Coldwick would serve as her base of operations until she found her footing; until she determined her next plan of action.

But she could not think straight now. Every emotion was heightened by a hundred and Victoria could not breathe properly, sleep properly, even eat properly.

Alistair had been the only one allowed to speak with her. The others were kept at bay, by her request. Because she did not wish to show them her weak state of mind.

Even though she knew Rosalie had perished by her poison, there was only one person she blamed for this: Isabella Swan. Now more than ever, she would see that girl dead with every ounce of her body, see her ripped apart time and again until she was a heaping mess of flesh and bones. The bloodthirsty side of the queen had started acting out more and more.

Alistair had come to her chambers, seeing the older woman in nothing but her shift. Her mind had started failing her, and they could not show the other lords.

"Your Majesty," he begged as he went up to her to pick her from the floor where she sat. Her hair was disheveled, and streaks of dried tears lined her cheeks. He guided her to the bed. "Pull yourself together," he continued. Victoria shook her head and looked at the sea, at the rolling waves in the distance.

"Alistair," she turned to him, the two crazed eyes softening slightly. "I-I need to go to Adelton," she shook. "I need to be there for the funeral," she pleaded.

"You cannot!" Alistair feared to say the next few words. "Your brother will be there!"

Her eyes darkened. "That man is not my brother, he is an impostor. Leonore's child died!" she growled. Alistair already knew the details, already knew what the queen had done. And he did not express any emotion as to what he truly thought about her actions all those years ago.

"If we ride there, we only cause more conflict—"

"We ride there for my sister's funeral under a flag of truce," Victoria snapped, almost desperate. "I-I need to see her." She broke, her face twisting in pain, her arms hugging her thinning body. "I need to say goodbye."

Alistair furrowed his brow. He would not be able to change her mind. Alas, what truly worried him was the weak state of mind in which the queen found herself. Maybe seeing her sister gone and the impostor who had taken her place would allow Victoria to focus on the war once more.

"We send them a letter and make preparations," he murmured into her ear, the words causing a smile to spread on her face. Victoria was clearly not thinking right, but she needed her sister, she needed to see Rosalie.

October 30th – Adelton Hall

"How long has he been in there?" Athar was not used to hearing the rough voice escape past his lips. Many of them held their breaths, waiting in anticipation at the man to step out.

Glovendale had gotten more wrinkles the past few weeks than he had ever had working as an ambassador for years in Rome. "Too long," the ambassador mumbled back.

The rest of the castle had caught him stalking the gardens at a resolute pace, preferring solitude before companionship. He was like his father in so many ways, yet not at all. Athar saw the clear distinction for every passing day. This man, William Fell, was not Philip—and he never would be. For William did not strive to be as his father had been.

Past the blockaded door he sat poised on the bed, eyes glued to the rising sun, feeling the chill bite at him through the opened window. So many thoughts jumped through his mind that they meddled into a great big mess. Edward's eyes were wide awake, yet his mind felt asleep.

An image of his sister conjured up in his mind, of her small form, of her smiles and determinedness. Isabella was not far behind, followed by Sofia. And, lastly, what he remembered of his mother.

All the women who had influenced him now bared themselves before him and Edward tore his gaze away from the striking rays—from the breathtaking view from the enormous building poised at the edge of the world. His world.

He only had a choice to be made, a choice he did not wish to make. Time, pressure, and lack of sleep did not give him another option. With great reluctance, and short of breath, he got up and turned to face the door he had wished to ignore the whole night.

Aye, a whole day and two nights he had sat, staring at the void darkness, himself slipping on the edge of his own sanity. He knew what he had to do, yet his whole body screamed against such a decision.

But, Edward Cullen, William Fell, the blurry line between the two slowly separating—himself defining who he truly was—moved to the wooden structure, so dark, so foreboding. He knew what awaited once he turned that handle.

And, still, his hand turned it and he stepped out to meet the world as he was meant to do.

Athar glanced at the man long and hard, at the reddened eyes, at the shadow of his stubble. The slumped shoulders gave way to his true feelings. Edward leaned against the opened door for a while, letting the silence speak for him, his glazed orbs enjoying the tranquility he'd had thus far in his life. With one final breath, he spoke the words he'd wished to ignore for so long.

Green orbs slowly rose to meet gray ones and Athar held his breath awaiting the dooming words. For he was certain William Fell would decline his rightful place on the throne—ignore returning to New London.

His lips felt numb when he spoke, almost as if it hadn't truly been him saying the following words. "We bury her first," he whispered. "When they are all arrived."

"Do we await your sister?" Glovendale asked, disgusted he even had to formulate such a question. When they had gotten the message from Victoria just a few hours prior and slipped it beneath the door for William to read, he hoped the prince would have thrown it into the fire.

His eyes darkened, but he did not let his full hatred of Victoria seep through. "Let her come if she wishes, but we do not hold up Rosalie's funeral for her."

"Your Highness—" Glovendale began, already against the idea.

"I want her to see her," Edward cut him off. "I want her to see her sister's lifeless body." He controlled himself and pulled back. "The English are breathing down our necks, my lords. Despite what Victoria is, we need to make sure she does not join them—do you understand? Showing this mercy might make her…see reason. And seeing what has become of her sister might make her put down her weapons." He was disgusted at even having to allow such a thing. But he could not think selfishly and pridefully at the moment. Edward knew it was farfetched, but he could at least gain something on allowing Victoria to see Rosalie a final time. Not only would it rattle her, seeing Rosalie dead might make Victoria distance herself from war. Forbidding her to see her would only be worse.

"And after?" Athar dared to ask.

Edward gripped the folded leather gloves in his hands, feeling the chill of Rosalie's chambers enter the drawing room. It was almost as if nature sighed into his back. He sensed the bile rise in his throat at his following words and grimaced as he spoke them. "We head for New London," he murmured with a dead look to his eyes.

A/N: Thank you so much for the reviews on the previous chapter! I hope you enjoyed this one as well :D

Cheers!