Empty Promises, Dark Retributions
I thought things would get easier over time. Catherine has not gone a day where she hasn't reminded me how much she's grown to despise me and no, it is not through her words. Thank God, I don't have to listen to her insufferable advice. Her presence alone is what does the trick.
When it comes to putting up a farce, my wife is an excellent actress. The best that ever lived. But when it comes to deceiving the iciest of heart, she fails miserably.
You can't win against God; that's the first lesson my mother taught my lord father when she showed him how far she'd go to protect her family, even from her own.
I will never forget how relieved she was when she saw me. I was her Godsend. Our ruthless ancestress had been conjured by the Woodville whores to cause harm to her enemies, God had saved me.
One simple word and she would have gone to hell, back to the realm from whence that water succubus ancestress of ours came from. But as it happens, I happened to take more after warring, level-headed Lancastrians than the drunken, vicious lechers Yorks male she admired so much.
Not a day goes by that I do not envision her standing before me, pleading for my brother's life. That would have been a sight to see. Alas! It's not meant to be. The permeation of Harry's petty threats will have to suffice to give me a good night sleep.
Arthur wasn't the only one basking in his brother's misery. Lord Lisle, who had been forced to presence his father and his companion's joint executions, was given the privilege of handing over the great seal of Lancaster to its new owner.
"You must be joking. What kind of sick, cruel jest is this? Has my brother not had his fun, turning me into this?"
"Quiet down, Your Grace. Our Majesty is a merciful lord."
"So merciful is he that he condemned his sister into perdition." Harry retorted. His finger pointed in the Viscount's direction. "There's been no viler, sycophantic, conniving piece of villainy than you. I should have done away with your entire lot."
"But you didn't and I have you to thank for my rise." John Dudley said. A sadistic smile danced on his lips. "Imagine that, the lowly son of a fiend. Tudors, too proud for your own good but too good for wily opportunists like me."
"Careful Dudley. The longer you keep a lion in a cage, the more fierce he becomes." Harry threatened.
Dudley's sadistic smile continued plastered on his face. Let the king's brother threaten him all he wanted. Dudley finally had the upper hand against one of Henry VII's line. No revenge in this world felt sweeter.
There was a recurring joke among the nobility. Kings who do whatever the hell they want ask more favors from their noble subjects while those that have virtual no power and dependent on how well they are liked by their subjects -all their subjects- act more conceited.
Kings who are masters and commanders of their realm are beholden to no one except for God. They do not need to ask their subjects permission for anything, unless they want to appear cooperative for the masses. The Tudor Dynasty were not only masters and commanders of their realm, they were also the lords of their own destiny. They refused to abide by the rules of man and God; regardless of what their rivals accused them of, nobody could deny their self-reliance and resilience.
Whatever obstacle come their way, they will overcome it. The blood of the dragon flows through their veins; they were the golden lions, the longed for princes that had been foretold since the times of Camelot. Like his namesake, Arthur II had everything perfectly planned.
His father uprooted the white rose and cut out the other weeds before they strangled him in his sleep. He was going to do the same.
Arthur was brought from his musings by his daughter. She was wearing a simpler gown in contrast to her older sister, but it was the same color, purple.
"Mary, your governess tells me you continue to excel in your music lessons."
"Yes, father. But I have come here to ask something out of you. You said that I could if I continued to make you proud and I do not need to be a scholar or quick-witted like Harold to know that I have for a long time."
Arthur smiled. "You are far too bold for your own good, daughter. Tell me then, what is it that you want?"
Mary took a step forward. She wasn't afraid of her request or what her father would say. She had mentally prepared herself for the displeasure it would bring him -and possibly her.
"My mother has been away for nearly a year. I wish to see her for the simple reason that I miss her."
Straight to the chase. Arthur wondered where she got that from. Catherine was direct but not THIS direct. He could be when he wanted, but he preferred tact, even when he was intimidating people. Perhaps it's her Welsh and Spanish ancestors. If she wasn't born a girl, he'd be proud to take her under his wing and turn her into a formidable warrior to defend her older brother when he became king.
Alas! One of God's cruelest jokes.
"Your mother is away for her own protection."
"It's been over a year since the outbreak of a plague and another May riot." Mary said. "People in the countryside shout her name whenever they see me and Matilda. 'Where is your mother?' They ask. 'Where is our Queen of Hearts, blessed Catherine?'"
Catherine. Catherine. Catherine. It's always Catherine. If his daughter could go one day without uttering her mother's name, he'd put himself through the humiliation that Henry II went through for Becket's murder.
The two are tethered to one another. It's infuriating. Time to take on the role of concerned, wounded husband.
He sighed. "I don't need to explain to you the details of what your mother did to me and this kingdom. She hurt me, Mary and I can't just forgive her out of want. Time heals all wounds and in this case, it is my wounds that need healing. If I welcome your mother back to court, I will leave myself open for attack. Half the court already suspects something's amiss; I don't want to give credence to their rumors and ammunitions to my enemies."
"But they are not just your enemies, they are ours too. I care about my family too, father. I want what's best for all of us." Mary said.
At first glance, she seemed insignificant. Semi cascading dark red hair, thin, petite figure. But the closer you look, you saw defiance in her eyes. Those dark grey pools of violent water revealed a rough interior. I pity the poor man who's hooked by them. He'd be completely won over or hell-bent on breaking free of their union. And I would not blame him.
"You can rescind her punishment. She needs to be back with her family. If we aren't seen as a family, than what good is it fighting our enemies when we are clearly fighting among ourselves?"
"You were born in the cold of winter, Mary. You have not been in the heat of political battle like your parents have. All you know is there is good and wrong, people we hate and people we love but when you get older, you'll see that things are far less simple than they appear to be."
"No. I do not believe that. You still love her." This took him aback. "It's not her betrayal that hurts you, it's the thought that she fell out of love with you."
"Of course I love her, she is my wife but she is also my queen and as my queen she has a big responsibility to me and my subjects. It's not just us she puts in danger with her affair, it is the entire realm. You and your siblings have been shielded from the outside world; you don't know how terrible it gets."
"Who better than to help you fight those terrors than the woman whose childhood was spent in battle camps, being educated by two of the belligerent monarchs in Christendom? I know you do not want to see her anytime soon but for the sake of your kingdom that you say you owe your allegiance to, bring her back so the sun can shine on the Tudor dynasty once again."
"You have a good way with words. If you were older, you'd sit next to me during privy council meetings." His mask fell. His face flashed a smile. A short-lived smile that was quickly replaced by seriousness. "Do you really want your mother back, Mary?"
"Yes." She said without thinking.
"I will think about it, daughter. Until then, let's not talk any more about this subject." Arthur commanded and like a good daughter, Mary obeyed.
Both could smell a lie a mile away; but whereas the king was deceptive, Mary was not. Blunt but also secretive, she lacked the political experience that his father had acquired at an early age and that came naturally to her older sister.
Arthur almost regretted lying to his daughter. Almost. His wish to see his ambitions fulfilled outweighed his personal feelings.