THE BROKEN THRONE
Chapter 25
September 5th, 1510 – Coast of Italy
Dear William,
If you read this, I will be dead.
This letter means that I couldn't tell you everything myself. For that, I am sorry. It was never meant to be that way. There are many things I wish to tell you, many things that will not be enough to fit in one letter.
You wanted answers. Well, here they are.
Your true name—your full name—is William Philip Fell. That is how your mother had you baptized.
I do not know how much Sofia has told you or if you even know who the Fell family is. But know that they are kings and queens. Blue blood runs through your veins. You are the child of Leonore Valois and Philip Fell—his last living son and the heir to the throne of Angloa.
Know now the reason for not telling this earlier. It is a lot to process. Your very existence was dangerous and, I would dare say, it still is.
Telling the whole story of your life cannot be covered in one letter. Your mother was smuggled out of the palace of Wessport the same night your father died by a man only loyal to him—Lord Thomas Athar. His motives for helping her were selfless at first, or so I like to believe. The moment he discovered your mother was pregnant with you, he developed grand plans for you. This is the reason for feigning you were a girl all these years. Your mother always protected you, even when you didn't know it, William.
Your uncle, Magnus, took the throne after your father's death. Sofia will no doubt inform you more about him and the rest of your family. What you need to know is that they wanted you dead. The night we fled the cottage in Sorossa was the night they found us—found you. I was to take you to your ancestral seat in France. But I never made it back. I can only hope Sofia has taken good care of you, has raised you to be the exceptional young man your mother wanted you to be.
Your mother always wanted you to have a calm and quiet life—not burdened or troubled like your father's. She feared the power and the throne that once belonged to him because she saw what it did to those close to him. Your mother, Leonore, suffered grandly for the power and riches of the crown she married into.
She would not want the same thing for you.
But, I shall not tell you what to do. If you desire to return to Angloa and reclaim your birthright, then do so with a clear conscience. If you wish to return to your family in France I know they would receive you with open arms.
Leonore Valois Fell did everything in her power to protect you, William. Do not cast that away.
She loved you.
Claudine
William gripped at the letter and read it several times. His eyes clouded as the sentences merged together into an intangible mess. In the course of a few minutes, his whole world had turned upside down.
They sat off the road, on a few stones and had settled down for some light supper. Sofia watched him read the letter in silence, slicing an apple and awaiting his reaction in anticipation.
"What did she mean by you telling me more of my uncle and family?" he demanded in harsh and brusque words. William looked out from beneath the hood, the sweltering sun making the thick wool of his cloak roast him alive.
"It is a lot to take in, amor—"
"I want answers," he growled, his mood growing foul, his way becoming stiff. Ever since the tragedy of Constantinople—when Sofia had to kill those people who had seen his face and recognized him— William had become strangely distant.
"Your uncle took your father's throne the same day he died. Your half-sisters, Victoria and Rosalie, were cast aside and put under strict supervision by Magnus' wife, Rebecca.
William read the letter again, chewing on his lip. Sofia put a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Do you want to return to Angloa? It is your cousin that sits on the throne now." The sixteen-year-old finally could not take it anymore and pushed back the hood, his face flushed with the heat.
"Maybe," he started. The look in Sofia's eyes, however, told a different story. "It seems, however, that you do not wish for it."
The gypsy chuckled. More silver streaks flowed in her messy mane and she bit her teeth together.
"It is not I who decides, William—not this time."
He looked at the letter and then promptly folded the parchment. "Why do we not return to Spain? This letter changes nothing, you know? I have no ambition for my father's throne. I will do as my mother wished and keep away from it," he said after much thought.
"Do you not want to return East?"
"There is nothing left for me there."
"What happened in Constantinople was a tragedy, William, but—"
The harsh glance he sent her way silenced the gypsy. Sofia nodded after a while, moving to stand. "I suspect we should find a ship, then."
William was about to head off to the road, waiting for her to pack her food.
"Wait," Sofia said, walking up next to him. "Here." She handed him the thing he abhorred the most. The ugly and patchy mask stared back at him. Whenever he wore it, he looked like a scarecrow.
"I said I'd wear the hood, but I'm not putting on that mask again," he spat.
"Two Angloans recognized your face, for some reason. You must look like someone in your family. If you do not want to be involved with the Fells, then let us not take any chances."
"Aye, but we're not going to Angloa, we're going to Spain," he huffed. The empty eyeholes of the mask stared back eerily.
"They recognized you in Constantinople, they might as well do it here or in Spain. We will figure this out, but you need to be patient first, please."
He knew why she begged. Sofia had no wish to plunge her knife into anyone else's heart. She had done so out of instinct, knowing it had to be done. Alas, the deaths were still on her conscience.
"And there is one more thing," she dared while he put on the burlap mask. It fit loosely over his head and he could scarcely see out of it. "We should stop referring to you as William from now," she said in an apologetic manner.
"But… it is all I have left of myself, the name my mother left me with."
"You as well as I know it is better to play it safe. If anyone got wind of a man calling himself William, walking around with a burlap sack on his head, some very paranoid people might get suspicious. Let us not tempt fate."
"And what should I call myself?"
Sofia smiled coyly. "Edward has worked for you so far, why not keep going with that?"
August 6th – 1514, Málaga, Spain
The only reason they had been invited was that Sofia was the last person to turn to. Edward and Sofia had been in Malaga for a while, still getting comfortable and adjusted to their new home.
A local nobleman's wife had fallen ill during the warmest week of the summer. Physicians were nowhere to be found and the priests all said she had been touched by the devil. Only one stubborn gypsy dared approach the woman and treat her illness. Sofia made a living out of many things. Healing was something she excelled at but did not practice often. People would often be hasty to scream witchcraft when she healed the sick and wounded. Superstitious folk would grow suspicious of her and accuse her of using her gypsy magic. Therefore, so as not to be thrown out of every city she visited, Sofia rarely sold her expertise in the healing arts.
But when food and other work were scarce, there was little else to be done.
And this time she had made an exception. No one wanted to hire Edward—a masked enigma walking around sulking all day. And she could not make money elsewhere either.
It was therefore that Sofia had dragged Edward with her to the prestigious Montalvo household. The husband did not even care that the masked man entered and helped Sofia with her boxes of herbs and poultices.
They were led into a sala with dark furnishing and tapestries everywhere. The windows were open to let the cool air filter in.
"Listen here, Edward," Sofia said, turning around to face him. "I will go to Señor Montalvo's wife and you will remain here. Do not touch anything. We need this money," she chastised him.
"I am not a child," he frowned behind the mask.
She looked at him with a severe frown. For the first time, Edward realized how much she had aged in the last few years. There was a stress present in her that she hid well. "We will start with getting you a new mask once the master of this household pays us," she said in a pensive manner. "That burlap monstrosity is giving us both nightmares."
"And it itches," Edward added. His voice had dropped lower ever since entering his teens. But he liked how grave and commanding he could sound whenever he dropped it a few octaves more. Now Edward always spoke in his rich and deep baritone tremor.
"Indeed," the Spanish woman said, blowing a stray lock out of her eyes. "No rummaging around here, understood? Last time you did that someone thought the scarecrow had come to life," she said.
"Don't remind me," he muttered. "Let me know if there is anything you need," Edward said as she closed the door after her. Sofia never answered him, mainly because they both knew she would not need it.
Of course, Edward would not listen to her. Instead, he started trekking through the room until it led him to a long hallway.
Horseshoe arches with windows showed an exotic garden as the rays of the sun lit it up on the right side. The lower part of the wall was lined with fine mosaics. Tapestries tapered down to the floor and various pots with a variety of colorful flowers hugged the right wall.
The left wall—lined in reddish stone and mahogany, held various portraits. They were all paintings of men that Edward had never seen before.
"You! What are you doing here?" someone asked in a harsh tone. An older man approached him and questioned him further in fast Spanish.
"I am sorry señor, my mother is tending to the mistress of the house, relieving her of her ailment," he stated. The man took a step back once he neared the tall mask man. Edward rose an eyebrow behind the mask. He loomed slightly over the man and suppressed a grin as the other took yet another step back.
"Well, erm, you should not be walking about like such."
"I will return. It was just that these paintings caught my eye," he said, turning to point at the portraits. They were all paintings of men, looking proud and polished as they stood to pose with either glinting swords, overflowing capes or positioned on a map.
The man followed his gaze and his own harsh demeanor softened. "Ah, yes. My master likes to collect these—copies of paintings done of the monarchs in Europe. It is a nice gallery, but I cannot imagine for the life of me why he would want such a collection. Here, of course, we have our very own glorious king, Charles V, may he live a long and prosperous life." The man continued talking, getting caught up in his own stories. "I saw him once in person, you know? It was from a very far distance, but I saw him!" the man said as he arched a dark bushy eyebrow.
"Indeed," Edward said. They continued talking and walking along the gallery—Edward's previous intrusion completely forgotten.
Edward eyed the monarch. Most looked like pompous fools to him, until they got to a painting that almost made his jaw fall to the ground.
It was as if looking into a mirror.
Edward's heart sped up as the familiar face stared back at him. Sweat poured from behind the mask as nausea overtook. "W-who is that?" he asked as he pointed, trying to mask his shaking voice.
The man followed his finger and chuckled. "This is the problem with collecting things like these. This was the king of Angloa until at least two decades ago. My master really needs to update his collection."
"The king of Angloa?" Edward had to swallow hard, not believing what he was hearing.
"Indeed, alas not the current one. This would be two kings ago, the one who lived to be so old!"
"Pray tell, what was his name?"
"Well, let us see how my memory fares. I do remember that it was the Italian master Bellini who painted the original. My master did indeed find someone who was able to copy the original well enough. But my master has seen the original—he says he lacked the glint in the eye that the original had—"
"The name," Edward growled through gritted teeth.
The man scratched his head. "Something with an F?" he started. "There are over twenty paintings here, muchacho, I cannot remember all of them."
"Was it Felipe?" he asked.
The man snapped his fingers. "Indeed it was! Felipe, or Philip, as they call him in their homeland. Philip Fell, a fine king, from what I have heard."
Edward's stomach dropped fully now as he stared back at the painting of his father. This explained so many things. But it also revealed something else to him. He was stuck wearing this mask. While he had not been the exact likeness to his father as a teen, Edward suspected he looked much more like him now. Although, his hair was a shade lighter and his eyes were a different color, but they bore the same strong jaw and refined nose.
He quickly left the man and went back to wait for Sofia. Once she was done he dragged her to the painting and showed it to her. It took Sofia a full ten seconds before she realized who the painting represented. "Oh," she had said.
"You do not just look like your father," she had said. "The resemblance is uncanny."
Edward's whole life had just changed in the flow of a few minutes. While he had gotten more answers, he almost wished he hadn't. Ignorance could sometimes be bliss. Edward now wished back to the time before knowing anything of his heritage.
"If this painting can be found in the remote house of some country nobleman, rest assured that more have a copy of it in their possession or have at least seen it," Sofia said.
"I can never remove this mask?" he lamented.
"Well, look at it this way; with the money I just made we can get a more comfortable mask for you," Sofia said. She tried to cheer him up, but Edward could not drag his eyes away from the painting—from the eerie mirrorlike image that was displayed before him.
May 24th, 1520
Isabella recoiled as he offered his hand. She frowned while arching an eyebrow. There was no possible way that she would ever accept a man such as him.
"You may smirk all you like, Lord Alistair, but I will never marry you," she offered in a flat tone.
He had come to visit. But Isabella knew it was more than a visit. After Edward's stunt in the gardens the previous day, Victoria had sent Alistair to guard her as her watchdog.
"Indeed, my dear. The queen did say you had a choice in the matter. But, remember, if you do not marry me, all lands and titles once held by your family are forfeited to the crown," he smirked. "And your Cullen has declared his loyalty to Her Majesty. You have nowhere left to go."
"I would rather Cadherra fall into the hands of the crown than be under your jurisdiction," she hurled back. Lady Savoie cleared her voice as she put down the teacup. The queen had been so kind as to bestow Isabella with some of her own ladies-in-waiting, in preparation for her wedding day.
"Surely, Miss Swan, this is not the way to properly behave. What did they teach you in that barbaric land?" Amanda sneered, her dark eyes trailing over Isabella's relaxed form. She could not stand that the girl behaved so casually around them. Whatever they said, whatever masked insults or threats they hurled her way, her face never moved a muscle.
"Details of my captivity should not be shared in such polite company," Isabella answered, pleased with herself when she saw Amanda pale and the other woman cough slightly.
Alistair cleared his voice. The young woman got up and ignored the half dozen people invading her drawing room. She went to stare out the window, asking herself what Edward might be up to. She was absolutely certain he was up to something but was not sure of what.
As the day progressed, there was another visitor at her door as soon as Alistair and his company had finally left her. Isabella had told the maids not to welcome anyone. But they listened little to her. The door was opened against her wishes, only to reveal Princess Rosalie.
The youngest princess dressed in muted earthy tones, her hair braided into a bun and a thin scarf placed on the crown of her head. The rosary was, as always, hanging around her neck and she would grip it every so often. Her gray eyes trailed across the room until finding the young woman.
"I hope I do not intrude, Miss Swan," she said with a refined tone. Isabella swiftly got up, the blue damask fabric of her gown falling around her feet as she bowed deeply.
"Your Highness," she uttered in disbelief. Why on earth would Rosalie Fell visit her?
"May I enter?"
"Please," she answered, motioning for the princess to make herself comfortable on the low leather sofa. Rosalie dismissed the maids with the flick of a finger, leaving Isabella alone in the room with her.
A tense silence followed. Isabella wondered if Victoria had now sent her sister to keep an eye on her. Rosalie never diverted with her gaze, always keeping her eyes on Isabella.
"I am sorry," she finally said.
The younger woman frowned in puzzlement. "For what?" Rosalie wanted to tell her the whole truth—the secret she had kept for her sister. Maybe if Rosalie had spoken up, Isabella's father would never have been executed. But before she could give herself away, the princess swiftly managed to control her own emotions, correcting herself.
"Your marriage to Alistair cannot have been happy news," she commented.
Isabella arched an eyebrow. "I thought my mother would approve since it seems I traded a masked beast with no real noble blood for a handsome aristocrat like Lord Alistair. But she despises that even more." When Renée had heard the news she had almost fainted, her state too delicate to further speak of the subject. Isabella suspected her mother now actually approved of Edward, after everything they had been through.
"How fares your dear mother?" the princess asked with genuine concern.
"She is worse every day. I think the past few years' struggles have finally caught up with her."
"I am sorry to hear that."
Chocolate eyes squinted as they analyzed every expression on her visage. "Your Highness will forgive me, but I do not believe you have come here just to express your condolences to my mother."
Rosalie chuckled. "You are perceptive, much like Cullen." Isabella arched an eyebrow as Edward was mentioned.
"Her Majesty did not send you, did she," she stated, warmth suddenly spreading within her as she realized Edward was putting his plan into place: Rosalie had to be the one who would get them out of the palace.
"Not exactly. I came because I promised Edward I would watch over you." Before Isabella could ask any questions, Rosalie put up a hand. "Now is not the time. I cannot say much, and I have already given away things best left unsaid. The time will come, Miss Swan. And it will be soon."
Now was the time to slowly start bringing Victoria back from the darkness. Edward just had to have convinced Jasper to acknowledge Victoria.
"I never questioned nor inquired about what he has been doing these past few days. It has gotten me curious, but I trust in him. I will be patient a bit longer," Isabella said.
"This will all come to an end soon, Miss Swan. The hurt you have suffered will end, I will make sure of it. My sister will see reason and, hopefully, set everything straight."
"Hopefully," Isabella murmured. There was little left to say. Rosalie was not much for small talk and the hours drifted by as they patiently waited for Edward.
Rosalie had, as per Edward's request, managed to gather both Isabella and Lord Theodor in her personal chambers in secret.
The evening progressed as the three of them waited for Edward to come. Theodor's eyebrows had shot up to his hairline as the princess of the kingdom had revealed herself behind a hidden panel to his room, urging that he follow her.
"I must insist that you reveal to me why we have been brought here in such secrecy. If Her Majesty were ever to find out—" Theodor began, only to be interrupted by Isabella.
"Once Edward arrives, all will be revealed," she said in such a harsh manner that Theodor was silenced. His wounds had healed somewhat, but he still feared the dungeon's torture chamber. It was not a place he particularly wanted to visit once more. He still remembered the glee Thorpe had given him as he had been dragged away by guards. The cardinal had been responsible for his suffering and his fall from grace in the eyes of the queen. Theodor knew he was more of a prisoner than a guest at this point. Getting away from Wessport was now his main priority. The time for diplomacy was drawing to an end—they had all wanted to ignore it, but it had crept up on them like some strange sickness.
Rosalie was nervous as well. It would indeed look strange if she was found housing such people like Theodor Glovendale and Isabella Swan.
But they waited. Once night was upon them, Edward finally came, his shoulders sloped, and his general frame was that of defeat.
"What news of my cousin, Cullen?" asked Rosalie as he closed the door behind him, slipping into a nearby chair, close to the fire.
"You saw King Jasper?!" Theodor exclaimed, his heartbeat increasing tenfold. Isabella was taken aback as well, but she did not voice her surprise.
"We need to get away from here, Your Highness," he finally said, meeting Rosalie's questioning gaze. "There is nothing we can say or do that will ever make your sister change her mind." Tension arose in the cramped room, the flames licking the interior of the fireplace as if they were the gates of the underworld.
"What did my cousin say?" the princess asked, with more fear and alarm evident in her voice. Theodor and Isabella kept looking back and forth from Edward to Rosalie.
"It is not safe for us to be here, especially not for you."
"I am her sister, she would never—"
He rose in a hefty manner from the chair, not able to fully control his emotions. "Were you aware of all the people she has killed trying to get to her father's throne?" he asked her. "Are you aware of all the things she has done?"
Rosalie's eyes widened. "I told you, they have plagued my mind for a long time—"
"So you don't know about your younger sibling?"
Rosalie stopped short, her brows furrowing in confusion. "I do not think I understand," the princess said slowly.
Edward sighed, moving his head from one side to the other as if trying to relieve his neck of the pain and tension that had invaded it. Isabella was certain that, if she could see his face, there would be an equal amount of pain in it was visible in his body.
"Your brother," he said stiffly after a while. Edward went back to look at her, green eyes narrowing behind a black mask as his jaw set firmly.
But Rosalie only frowned harder, almost as if insulted. "Edmund died before Victoria and I could ever know him," she whispered. "And Magnus and Rebecca saw it fit to remove any trace of him from the records. I do not understand what you imply when bringing up things so far in the past."
"Not that brother."
A moment of confusion followed. It was a moment where the four of them beheld the reaction in each one of them. Edward stood towering over the three, tall and intimidating as ever. The once sleeping Lion of the North seemed to emerge as he patiently awaited his answer. Isabella's mask slipped as her eyes darted to Edward, soon remembering herself and letting them flicker to the window. How on earth could he just have mentioned himself like that? She thought he did not wish for them to know of his existence?
Theodor's jaw dropped; it was like he knew exactly of what Edward was speaking. Something in the depths of his eyes came to life, something none of them had ever seen in the aging man. A kindle of hope, a spark of courage. The sentence Edward had uttered had made Glovendale sit up straighter in his chair, trying to discern more of the conversation. He ignored the pain from his fading wounds—this was something worth listening to.
Rosalie's eyes widened. "You know about him?" she asked in a slightly louder tone.
"Lord Athar told me a thing or two, but not all." Edward's eyes flickered over to Theodor. "He got some information wrong."
"Leonore's child was male?!" Theodor exclaimed, beside himself. He ran a hand through his ruffled hair, taking in the information being thrown at him.
"I thought he said the deceased queen gave birth to a daughter," Isabella added, trying to form part of the conversation. It would be strange for her not to react as strongly as well.
"Athar and I thought so until I spoke with Jasper just now. Leonore never gave birth to a daughter. It was a son all along," he answered, repeating something they both were very much aware of. He shifted his attention from Isabella to Rosalie once more. "But I guess you were already aware of that," he snapped in a low growl.
"I was, and his fate was a horrible one," the princess said with defeat in her voice. "What Rebecca did to him and his mother—"
"Rebecca? It was your sister who sent assassins after him."
Theodor did not know how much more information he could take. He had already learned enough to process for a year. To now find out that the acting queen of Angloa had sent assassins to kill her own blood sent such intense chills through each of their spines that they had to recover in silence.
"Victoria would never do such a horrible thing!" Rosalie exclaimed, standing up. Her hands trembled by her side, but her face remained offended and enraged.
"And can you say with utter certainty that it was your sister did not kill your brother? Even after everything else she has done?" Rosalie was about to protest again when the horrible thought struck her. "I understand you want to think the best of her. I do as well, but this changes things, Your Highness. If she was willing to get rid of a child for power, you could be in danger as we speak."
Rosalie sank down in her chair as a sudden headache washed over her. "She would never…," the princess trailed off.
"But what other things do you speak of?" asked Isabella as she moved to comfort the distressed royal.
Rosalie's hands trembled as she cast them a sideways glance, her eyes flickering despite herself. The princess cleared her voice, her eyes temporarily catching Edward's. It was her duty to inform them of her sister's sins—not his. Theodor Glovendale had been beaten to within an inch of his life. Isabella Swan had suffered for years after her father was executed because of Victoria.
"My sister has tried the best she could to be a good person and a good ruler. But, along the way, she has done things that cannot be undone. Horrible things, some might say." They all saw the inner struggle present in her eyes.
"She's had countless people killed. She's had Lord Saxton framed for figuring out her secret—maybe going as far as killing his wife and child, but I cannot be sure of that. And even Lord S—" But before she could say Charles Swan, Edward swiftly shook his head. Isabella had enough as it was. Having it revealed to her that Victoria had been involved in her father's framing and execution would leave her restless until the queen was either dead or rotting in a dungeon herself.
"What secret?" asked Isabella.
"The war with England was all a play of Victoria's to unseat Jasper from the throne and claim it herself. She had expected the English to win until they didn't. She sold out several of our positions to them—so that they would have an advantage during the battles. This is where I was involved. I found one of those spies, and when I started digging upon my arrival in the capital, it went deeper and further than I ever expected," Edward answered.
The princess looked at her hands in shame as Theodor and Isabella stared at her with mouths agape. "When I found out about it, I kept quiet until my conscience weighed me down. I eventually let it slip by Athar," Rosalie finally lamented, her lips settled into a thin line, not willing to show any weakness.
"And now, for some reason, Jasper thinks she killed our little brother," the princess continued, her sight becoming blurry as she fought against the droplets threatening to escape her eyes.
"Victoria holds no remorse for what she did. She cannot be redeemed for such actions."
"My word," Theodor whispered. "How did he know?"
"Because Victoria has been telling him these things ever since he was imprisoned, which only reinforces his belief that he will not have a just trial tomorrow," Edward said heatedly. "And he seems to be accepting that. The queen is not holding a trial, she is looking for another scapegoat—or at least that is what Jasper told me," Edward said in a rumbling voice.
Rosalie sat straight in her chair. "I have tried to come to terms with what she has done for a long time. I have ignored her sins, been blinded by my love for my sister that I let her do horror after horror."
"She must be mad for power," Theodor murmured to himself, pondering the options now available to them. "We need to get you to Athar, Your Highness."
"To fight my own sister," the princess said in defeat.
Isabella moved to sit closer to Rosalie, placing a comforting hand on her arm. "Your Highness, I will not judge you for having kept such information for such a long time. She is your family and you love her. But Victoria is hurting other people for her own benefit. Her actions have turned selfish and cruel. She is hurting Angloa. We need a leader, someone to look up to. I cannot see a way to save Jasper, at least not now. But I can see a way to save you. If you were to join Lord Athar, I know more would rally to his side." Isabella caught Edward's gaze and he knew that the words were meant for him as well.
But Rosalie shook her head. "I would be betraying my own sister," the princess whispered. "I want to believe she can return."
"I do not think we can get her back," Isabella reasoned sadly. "She does not seem to want to be saved."
"And nothing can be done to save Jasper?" asked Edward.
"Why do you want to save him when you did not even want to return to Wessport at first?" Theodor asked. It was still evident that he held some semblance of disappointment for the masked man. But it was promptly washed away by the thought that Edward was now taking action.
"Because he is a good man… and my friend," Edward answered in a curt manner. "And I will not abandon him now—as I should not have done before."
"The only thing we can do is to hope that Jasper is wrong and that Victoria will not abandon him tomorrow."
"If she truly had our brother killed it changes everything," Rosalie murmured to herself, her expression filled with misery and heartache. "But how could she go that far?"
"And when will we be able to leave this place?" Isabella asked Edward. Theodor muttered something under his breath, pensive himself as well.
"Tomorrow will be the best time to leave, for all will be occupied with my cousin's trial," Rosalie answered distantly. Her voice trembled as she continued speaking. "I can make the arrangements, but it is the only window of opportunity you have."
"I am not giving up on Jasper," Edward stated. "I will not abandon him again. After the trial, we will find a way to save him too."
"There is little I can do to help with that," Rosalie said meeting his eyes. "The only thing I can do now is to allow you one final audience with him before his trial."
May 25th
It was the day of the much-awaited trial. Instead of having a closed hearing, Victoria had decided that it should be in the main square of the upper circle. All people of the higher crest of society would flock there. Even some had managed to venture from the middle circle to witness the judgment of the king. The feelings were mixed. Some could not see the reason for the trial being public—especially the lower classes. But the higher classes knew what kind of stunt Victoria was trying to pull. She wanted to villainize her cousin publicly and finally get their full support.
While the upper main square was being prepared, Rosalie had sought out her sister early that morning—hoping to change her mind before it was too late.
Edward had avoided the queen at any cost, even the sight of her making him tremble in anger. It was only the thought of Isabella that made him control his emotions.
Victoria stared at her reflection in the mirror while Rosalie was being shown inside of her sister's chambers. The queen dressed in purple clothes—the color reserved only for those of royal blood. She bore a crown on her head and had her dark-red hair gathered away from her face.
"Will you be at our cousin's trial, sister?"
"It is a spectacle, Victoria. I will have no part in it," Rosalie said. "And you can still stop all of this. You do not have to put Jasper through any of it."
Victoria turned around in her seat to meet her sister's gaze. "Jasper needs to pay for what he has done."
"Which is what exactly? What has he done that is so horrible?"
Victoria rose from her chair and walked over to her bed, her back turned to Rosalie. "Well, he agreed with his mother to have you brought from the monastery here to make your life miserable. He ignored mine and Athar's pleas. He sided with his mother in many things—"
"That's it?" Rosalie demanded in disbelief.
"Do not forget that he completely looked past Rebecca Fell killing our brother. I will see him put on trial for what he has put us through."
Rosalie's lips squeezed together to prevent her from lashing out at her sister. "Only for what Rebecca and Magnus put us through. They are dead now, you saw to at least one of them being so."
"You do not have the right to judge me, Rosalie. I thought you wanted to help me."
"I wanted to help you realize that the path you are walking down has no return. You are casting everything aside," Rosalie said. "And I fear losing you to this thing you are becoming," she admitted.
"We shall talk once the trial is over, I promise you, sister."
"Just don't do anything that you will regret."
Victoria walked over to her sister. "You have nothing to fear. Jasper will see a just and fair trial."
"Then why is it public?"
"So that the people may see that I am a just and fair queen." Rosalie's heart sunk in her chest. Her sister had spoken with her in a similar manner before. And it had always ended in someone being hurt.
The light did not reach his cell. Jasper dragged the dirty cover closer to his frame. He had gotten a quick shave and wash; his clothes had been changed to newer ones. But nothing could wash away the truth revealed in his eyes. Jasper was certain Victoria meant to steal his freedom.
The once king had questioned himself several times, wondering if he had turned crazy—like Victoria said his mother had been. Perhaps he had imagined everything she had told him.
The rattling of keys startled him as the heavy door was pushed open. In stepped the looming black shadow that he had gotten so used to. Edward Cullen towered in the vast cell, his green eyes searching the darkness until finding him in the corner of his bed, avoiding the rats that scoured the floors.
"Welcome to my final day as a respectable man in this blasted kingdom," Jasper murmured with little tact. "I am glad I shall at least see one friendly face," he began and then stared at the wall. "Well, you know what I mean."
"I am taking Rosalie to Athar, Jasper," Edward said once he was sure that the guard was not spying on them. The sentence brought a relieved smile to Jasper's lips.
"Good, such news will help me face this somber day."
"And I will find a way to get you away from here after your trial," Edward continued.
Jasper's golden eyes stared at him for a long time. Flickers of emotions crossed them, as if there was so much he wanted to have said, but did not find the strength to reveal.
"There are many things I regret, Edward," the tired king finally said. "Many things I could have done better. But one thing I regret the most is not having done better for this kingdom."
"You did as well as any could have done."
Jasper shook his head. "I was too comfortable. I never wanted to put any effort into what I was doing. Perhaps things would be different if I had. Perhaps not. I accept whatever my fate may be, Cullen. I only wish I could have gotten to know you better as a friend."
Edward looked away. "Those are the words of someone who has given up."
"I would once die for this country not to fall into a civil war. Strange how different perspectives change everything. I hope you will see things my way someday," Jasper whispered—the words fleeting away in a hollow echo.
They remained in a comfortable silence for a while. Jasper glanced over at Edward who had no wish to disturb the quiet peace that had settled within the cell.
It was Jasper who broke that piece.
"Could I ask a favor of you, Cullen?" Jasper finally said, his eyes glued to the black mask.
Edward rose an eyebrow and hesitantly bowed his head. "If it is within my power, I shall grant it."
"Oh, it is very much within your power," the once king chuckled in a lighthearted manner. "You see, I have always been very curious about that mask. I am certain I am not the only one."
"Your Majest—"
"Just let me finish, Cullen. I never once asked you to remove it, even if I could have ordered you to many times. And I did so out of respect."
"But you are asking me now," Edward stated.
"Am I allowed to ask?"
A deep sigh sounded. "The face behind this mask will only bring you more sorrow and trouble."
"However disfigured it is, I will not think less of you, Cullen," Jasper reasoned.
The masked man stared at him with a squared jaw, thinking over what Jasper had just asked him to do. But he could not decline such a heart-pleading request. He also wanted a reason to reveal himself to his cousin.
And here it was.
He knew the answer to the question already. He had always known.
Edward reached for the cords of the black leather mask, untying them against his better judgment. Something told him that Jasper had a right to know.
As the laces came undone, the fear subsided. Edward chose to unmask before Jasper because he hoped it would bring them closer together. He deeply hoped his cousin would not turn on him. The masked man was of the firm belief that Jasper Fell, despite what many said, was a good man.
The leather released from his skin and allowed the coldness of the dungeon to creep up against his face. He stared at the silent man before him who did not dare move as he dragged the hood away. Edward sat with his back to the dungeon door, in case a guard neared.
Jasper's eyes widened the moment the faint light caught Edward's face.
The dull flicker of the candles cast shadows across his handsome features and the once king furrowed his eyebrows in fear and confusion. But as the pieces of the puzzle slowly started falling into place, the fear washed away, the confusion was exchanged for amazement and something akin to guilt and sadness.
"Victoria never managed to kill me," Edward whispered after a tense moment. Jasper's eyes dropped to the scar on his neck, a sharp intake of breath revealing that he now had confirmed who Edward truly was. His eyes met Edward's once more, as wide as they could be.
A fleeting moment passed between the two. They were of the same blood, the same lineage. Their fathers had been brothers and an unspoken bond formed, unbeknownst to them. Jasper realized what he had lost; never knowing who Edward really was. The mere realization as to why he had to wear a mask dawned on him and the tragedy of Edward's existence came crashing down with the force of a tidal wave.
"You look just like him," Jasper whispered shakily. "Just like him."
He had been feeling sorry for himself when the man before him had no doubt been through more than he could ever have imagined. The reunion turned bittersweet, the silence stretching within the dungeon as he contemplated the uncanny resemblance. But Edward Cullen did not just look like his father, Jasper then realized. He embodied what had been so good about Philip Fell. The deceased monarch's spirit lived on through both Edward and Rosalie—the legacy was not yet extinguished.
Jasper stared off to the side, his eyes not daring to look upon Edward's uncovered face one more time.
"Take your sister to safety—and yourself as well. Athar will be pleased when you join him."
"I am not joining him," came the terse reply.
Jasper stared at the dirty ground. "I do not doubt you lack the proper motivation for doing so."
"You know why I cannot."
He stroked his chin and settled back against the wall. Jasper Fell's voice was heavy, subdued when he spoke. For the first time, Edward heard a note of fatigue he had never heard before. But it was not a fatigue from lack of sleep—it was the kind of fatigue brought on by the hardships of life. "How many kingdoms have fallen because of greed, lust, and power? But how many have also fallen because people did nothing?"
"If I joined Athar, the fall of Angloa would be imminent. Victoria would put her full force behind her strike."
"A man who does not wish for power is the best one to hold it. I never got to know your father for I was much too young when he died. But I got to know him well through the lords of court that would still remember him." The fleeting whisper pushed against the walls of reality, trying to bring back the past. In the obscure dungeon cell, two royals sat, wallowing in a nostalgic past that might not have been as they all perceived it.
"I have given enough for Angloa," Edward answered back.
"I know, Edward, I know. But you are a Fell, and truly your father's son. Your duty is to Angloa. Duty brought you here and love made you stay. But now fate comes knocking at your door once more. Will you answer it or will you let it pass? Support my cousin, at least. She will need all the help she can get once Victoria directs her full force against her."
He had no answer to that. What could he say to such ominous words?
Edward knew their conversation was coming to an end. He put on the mask—and once more Jasper dared cross eyes with him. When the mask came on, the general was back, the ghost of Philip Fell was hidden again.
"I will not leave you to your fate," Edward growled as the guard closed in on them, ready to let the masked man out of there.
"I have accepted my fate, Cullen. It is due time that you accepted yours," Jasper said as the door once more closed him in.
December 1st, 1516 – Gaera, Northen Angloa
"Don't take it personally, lad, they do not know any better," the man said as he handed his friend yet another cloth to dry himself with. All he received was a stiff growl as the masked man did his best to dry himself off after having been doused with old fish-broth.
"I stink of rotten fish," he muttered.
"Well, ye did not smell much better before either now did ye?" came the cheerful tone from the dark-haired man.
Edward threw the cloth at him with a snicker. "Yeah, yeah. We all cannot smell like flowers and sunshine."
"War is not an excuse, lad, did yer mum not teach ye proper etiquette?" he chuckled. Edward's gaze hardened as the shorter man lowered his own eyes to the ground. "Sorry, I forgot," the other started.
"Never mind, Cullen," Edward said with a sigh.
Jonathan Cullen sat down with a sigh next to Edward. They were common foot soldiers, just having joined the ranks only a couple of months ago. While everyone else in their platoon had kept away from Edward—afraid of the tall, brute of a man, suspecting he might be a leper—Jonathan had helped him without a second thought. The cheerful man had befriended him easily and soon been just as isolated from the rest as Edward. But he was an exceptionally good friend. The other soldiers made fun of his accent while they made fun with Edward's appearance. The leather mask did not show the fuming anger in his eyes, but the stance was enough to make them stop short.
Jonathan fished out a piece of hardened bread from his bag. "Here," he said, splitting it in half. "We best get some rest, lad. We battle tomorrow. I heard General Melkeer is joining in on the sidelines."
"I heard we are to continue the battle at Haven's beach if all goes well," Edward said.
"General Fawkes is holding the line there!" Jonathan had always wished to fight in Fawkes' division.
"Perhaps we will one day if Field Marshal Collins does not kill us first. He has made every wrong move during the last few battles."
"Ye should share yer ideas with him, Edward. Every prediction ye've made have been true so far. Ye should be with them fine lords and tell them how to fight a war," Jonathan said as he chewed the last of the bread.
"They would never listen to a commoner, they are too prideful."
"That's the problem with nobility, they value themselves too high," his friend whispered. Edward held his tongue, for he had to agree with Jonathan in that statement.
A/N: Okay, so I just decided to post this chapter after just having returned from a 15-hour shift at work (I work at a restaurant on weekends). I am completely exhausted and might have missed some grammar errors but I really wanted to post this chapter so I can post the final chapter soon next week. (Because after Christmas I go on vacation for two weeks and won't be able to post then, so I figured you guys might appreciate me posting earlier instead).
I hope you liked this chapter! If you did, please leave a review. A huge thanks to all those who reviewed the last chapter!
Cheers,
Isabelle