Disclaimer: I own nothing, but my OCs. All rights go to Showtime, the creator of The Tudors.

A/N: Hello everyone! Sorry for the long wait. Here's a new chapter. Happy Easter! Welcome to my new favs/followers: ImaBiteChu, LeahDarling, Queen Amy, and TheTinyVampire.

Ch. 17

A valiant corps, where force and beauty met;

Happy, alas, too happy, but for foes!

Lived, and ran the race, that Nature set:

Of manhood's shape, where she the mould did lose.

But to the heavens that simple soul is fled,

Which left with such as covet Christ to know

Witness of faith that never shall be dead,

Sent for our health, but not received so.

Thus, for our guilt, this jewel have we lost;

The earth his bones, the heavens possess his ghost.

~Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey, Of the Feath Of Sir T.W. The Elder

Newington Green 5th June 1537

Grace had been knocked into a stupor at the sight of Percy's child. She was the perfect image of her father. Nothing of her unknown mother appeared on the surface. And though she had been filled with anger, she could not blame the child for her father's lack of timing. She studied the child, Isabel backing into her nursemaid at the seemingly cold eyes of her father's wife.

"Isabel?" Grace voiced. Percy nodded at his wife, though he was cautious of her sharp tone. He beckoned towards Isabel, her nurse pushing her forward towards the couple.

"This is my wife, the Lady Grace Neville," Percy spoke, introducing Isabel to her stepmother.

"How old are you, Isabel?" Grace questioned, the poor girl now shaking as she was questioned.

"I'll be eight soon, my lady." Isabel curtsied before Grace when she replied, Grace raising an eyebrow at her behavior. She was not without guidance. She could be raised to be a proper lady.

"My niece Christina is about your age. We will have to see that you join her in her studies. Did you have a tutor before you were brought here?" Grace asked, her features softening slightly. Isabel nodded at her words, a small smile appearing on her face. "Leave us," Grace ordered, the maid taking her charge away for the Percys to converse.

"Who is her mother?" Grace uttered once her and Percy were alone.

"Her mother is dead, Grace. I received word while you were away. She dies of the plague in London. I was only just informed of her existence. You cannot blame me for wanting her to have a home now that her mother is gone," Percy answered.

"But who was she to you?" Grace retorted. A hint of envy escaped from her lips and Percy clasped his hand over hers in comfort.

"A fleeing fancy. A way to forget my failing marriage," Percy relayed. "The daughter of one of my father's trusted advisors."

"And her father?"

Percy had a grim look as he spoke. "Dead as well. Her whole family has passed. She was left with an income to support her from my father and her own father. She was sent away, but not forgotten. I had no knowledge of this arrangement."

"And I am to be her mother now?" Grace fidgeted with the sleeves of her dress. She toiled over the idea in her mind. She was already a mother to Rosalind. She could also spare some of her affections for her husband's child and the child forming in her womb. "Am I to raise her with Rosalind and our unborn child?"

"I only ask that you show her kindness and teach her what duties she will have as a lady."

"Then I will do so. I will not deny her a mother,' Grace responded. She would be a caring mother to Isabel. She would treat her as if she had been conceived in her womb.

Percy gathered his wife's hands in his own, pressing kisses to each of her palms. "Thank you, my love," Percy spoke. He knew it was difficult to comprehend but he had every faith in Grace that she would be a good mother to Isabel. It would take her time to get used to his daughter, but he knew she would embrace it. She would embrace her role as a mother, and he would have no need to worry.

Hampton Court 10 June 1537

Plague had broken out in London, Henry and his court bouncing between the palaces along the Thames. By this time Reginald was at Liège, installed in comfort by his host the Cardinal of Liège, Erard de la Marck at what was known as the old palace. Henry was busy planning the coronation of Jane as Queen, but it would be stalled until the birth of their child. Mary was his focus now, her marriage a topic of discussion.

"Your majesty. His excellency, Ambassador Eustace Chapuys." Henry stood in his chambers; Jane seated in front of them as they had dined together that morning. He was attending to her every whim, every need, and it seemed his entire focus truly was on his. Jane gloated at the fact that Grace was no longer at court, encouraged by Henry's loving hands as his hands rubbed over her pregnant stomach.

Chapuys entered the room, bowing at the two monarchs. "Excellency," Henry addressed.

"Your majesties. The Emperor sends you, his love. And he has charged me with the grave responsibility of negotiating with your majesty a suitable marriage for your daughter, the Lady Mary." Jane looked pleased at the prospect, taking delight in the idea that Mary would be married and have a family of her own. The king was hesitant, gesturing at Chapuys to continue.

"Who does the king propose?" the king asked, straight to the point. His voice held a sharp edge to it. He did not want to be parted from Mary, though he would not reveal that to anyone. He had mastered the façade of forming an alliance through marriage, but it was not his true intention as Cromwell thought.

"His highness Don Luis, the heir to the throne of Portugal and the brother of the emperor's wife, Isabella." Of course, Katherine's nephew would be suggested, his daughter never able to forget her Spanish heritage. She would be offered many suitors if her father refused, the emperor not forgetting the value of his cousin's position. Mary could be her father's heir if the king did not have a son. Even if she was overlooked by a son, she still had connections to the English throne. She was a powerful pawn in the game of European politics.

"What type of man is he, this Don Luis?" Henry questioned further.

"He is in every way a paragon. A man of great integrity and virtue. A man who has fought military campaigns and won. A man with a profound knowledge of the world," Chapuys explained. He was confidant Luis would be considered as a match for the princess, but his confidence faltered at Henry's response.

The king chuckled to himself, making Chapuys nervous. Jane simply smiled at her husband's antics. "My daughter has no knowledge of the world. She is an ingénue, an innocent. And she is a very spiritual person." And Mary was a very religious woman, her loyalty to God above all others. It was the reason why Henry had not forced her to renounce Catholicism. It was her way of honoring her mother, who remained steadfast in her daughter's claim to the English throne until the very end. He admired and hated her stubbornness just as he had her mother's. He loved his daughter, but she was not familiar with the ways of men.

"How will this Don Luis treat her?"

"Like a nun." That was answer enough for Henry. Don Luis would not do. He was not a suitable husband for his pearl.

"In which case, alas, it may be difficult for them to produce children," Henry stated in a definite tone. The conversation was finished. "Excellency." Chapuys had the decency to understand when the king was dismissing him as he bowed and left at the wave of the king's hand.

"Will you arrange a meeting?" Jane asked hopefully, Henry shaking his head.

"Don Luis is not suitable for my daughter, not as you and I are suited for each other. Her marriage to Don Luis would only cause me problems."

"And the French will not?" Jane pressed. She held bated breath, realizing her error. She should have held her tongue, waiting as Henry laid his hands on her vulnerable shoulders.

"Of course, they will. Mary is a very valuable bride. Everyone will be putting forward their best suitors. I will not give her up lightly. There are many things to consider in her future husband." Jane was relived Henry was not angered at her, knowing he had scolded Anne a countless number of times when she had proposed Elizabeth marry the Duke of Angouleme.

"She is your eldest daughter. She should be married as you wish. It would be a blessing for her to have children," Jane said excitedly.

"It would be, but perhaps we will wait on that for now." Jane could only agree, trying to plead Mary's case as gently as possible before Henry thought she was crossing the line. She could imagine raising her children alongside Mary's. She could see Henry happily surrounded by his family. Soon her child would be born, God willing a son. And then she could speck to Henry as much as she liked about finding a husband for Mary.

Newington Green 15th June 1537

Sir Robert Constable and Robert Aske had been conveyed to Lincolnshire where they were to be received by the Duke of Suffolk who would then transport them to the Duke of Norfolk in Hull. The men were being taken to Yorkshire for their executions, Suffolk melancholic at the prospect of the death of these men who only fought for their true religion. Somehow, Darcy had been spared a beheading. It seemed the king's mercy was running thin, but he would spare an old man. Darcy was being escorted in a private litter back to York, his heath having deteriorated during his stay in the tower.

Suffolk watched his prisoners closely. That was the only term he could classify the men as at that point. He shuddered as the condition each man was in, both showing evident signs of torture and exhaustion. Aske noticed his discomfort, Suffolk riding alongside the men in their caged litter along with several guards.

"Do not fret, my lord. My pain is minor in comparison to that of the pain our Lord Savior endured for our sins." Aske could only spare a tight smile, his injuries making him grimace every time they hit a bump in the road.

"And yet both you and our Lord Jesus Christ did not deserve such agony," Suffolk relayed. The duke may have followed the king's orders in putting down the rebellion, but that did not mean he did not sympathize with the leaders of the rebellion. He too despised Cromwell and the plans he had for the realm.

"If I have displeased his majesty, my injuries are justifiable. His majesty is the hand of God, and my fate has been decided by him and him alone."

"Your fate has been decided my none other than that monster, Cromwell. The king merely glanced at your death warrant and signed it." Suffolk was telling the truth. The king had barely looked Cromwell's way when the warrant was signed, his attention elsewhere. He had decided the main leader had to pay for his crimes. That was when he stated Darcy would live, much to the disagreement of Cromwell. It was cruel how one man he would let live while the other would suffer to die.

"Even so, I have accepted my pending death with an open heart." Aske would not fear death. He would only embrace it.

"Lord Darcy has been spared. I thought you should like to know." Aske merely nodded his head, barely being able to move with his chains around him. Suffolk spurred his horse forward, ending the conversation. He didn't know what else to say, feeling somewhat responsible for Aske's impending death.

"I am going to ride ahead. Make sure the prisoners are treated fairly in my absence," Suffolk muttered to his secretary who had accompanied him on the journey. The servant nodded, watching as his master headed to some unknown location. He had no idea Newington Green was so close, the man not knowing the northern landscape quite as well as Suffolk. Suffolk had spotted Wressle in the distance, urging his horse forward towards the true keeper of the king's heart.

Grace had spotted Charles Brandon through her bedroom window, gazing at the courtyard below as Percy slept. She often watched the world outside while her husband lay sleeping, thinking about what would become of her and her children after his death, Isabel included.

Grace met him within minutes, Suffolk dismounting from his steed and coming face to face with the Duchess or Gloucester. "Walk with me," she stated, Grace leading towards the castle gardens. Her hands were clasped behind her back, peering over her shoulder to make sure Suffolk was following. He couldn't deny her appeal in that instance, the way her eyes held him captive. He noticed the small bump her stomach possessed, raising his eyebrows at the sight. Percy would leave behind another child, two within the span of a year. Life was cruel.

"Your arrival is a surprise, Charles," Grace stated, Suffolk noticing the informality of her tone. She had no need for titles in her own home, nor did Suffolk.

Suffolk was quick to answer, revealing all to Grace. "Grace…" He faltered for a moment, trying to find the words, "He released Darcy, for your sake I believe. He still had to punish someone, make an example. And to make things worse, he tasked me with escorting Aske and Constable to their executions. As if I haven't seen enough."

Grace let out a frustrated sigh. She had left court to escape the king and now he had found his way back to her. "It is the work of Cromwell. Nothing more." The release of Darcy had nothing to do with her. Perhaps it was because Darcy had once served his father. It was a sympathetic gesture.

"Nay, my lady. This is the king's decision," Suffolk spoke grimly. His friend had changed much since the rebellion, his heart hardened at the idea that his throne could be taken from him. His father had been threatened by such danger several times during his reign, usurpers around endless corners it seemed.

"What would you have me do Suffolk? My husband is dying. I have no idea how long he has. You wish me to return to court? You want me to control the lion of England?" Grace questioned before she giggled. Suffolk sent her a perplexed look, confused at her actions.

"My uncle once told me the king was a lion. It makes sense enough. The golden lion of England, the second son of the Tudor line who rose to be king. If the lion knows his own strength, we are all doomed he told me. Wolsey controlled the king, knew when he should convince the king to use his power and influence. And when the king knew his true strength, he cast aside Wolsey who had been loyal to him all those years. He may have manipulated the king in his teenage years, but he never extended beyond the realm of his control. Cromwell exploits the king. He crosses boundaries of his own limits to use the king's power," Grace stated.

"I do not disagree with you, but I don't understand your meaning," Suffolk replied.

"The rebellion spurred the king into a frenzy. He is paranoid, much like his father was. I am not influencing him. Jane certainly isn't. It is Cromwell and Cromwell alone who now holds England in his hands. And yet, the king denies it. He will not admit to himself that Cromwell is using him like a puppet for his own devices. The reformation, no matter how much the king thinks it is of his own doing, Cromwell is ruining it. I can do nothing for you. I refuse to."

"Grace…" Suffolk started. He tried to reason with her. Grace held her hand up to Suffolk, cutting him off. She was finished speaking to him.

"You leave me and my family alone, Charles." Tears started to spring from her eyes and Suffolk finally noticed how exhausted she looked. She had put herself together for his sake, but she started to crumble at his interrogation. Charles felt guilty, trying to force her to intervene once more when she needed to focus on her family.

"I apologize for my visit. I'll leave you in peace," Charles muttered under his breath, Grace barely hearing him as she had turned her back to him. It was a hapless request on his end. He knew Grace would refuse him, but he held hope that deep down she would discourage the king's ill treatment of these men. He spared one last look at Grace and his guilt clung tightly to his heart. She had collapsed in the garden, her knees pulled up to her chest in desperation as she let her frustration out. Charles couldn't possibly leave her like that but when he went to aid her, her fierce glare turned on him like a viper ready to strike.

"Stay away from me!" Grace exclaimed, disappearing inside her home. She wanted nothing else to do with Suffolk. She wanted nothing else to do with the king. She wanted to be free, but fate had other plans for her.

Hampton Court 20th June 1537

Since the king's change of heart regarding the marriage of Elizabeth Seymour, the relationship between herself and Arthur Neville had been publicized. The couple's affection for one another was evident and what pleased the youngest Neville brother the most was the satisfaction he received from the deep frowns on the Seymour brothers' faces.

Warwick was content with his son's happiness, but the Seymours' ire at their sister's engagement to Gregory Cromwell being cancelled was an issue. And now she was engaged to a Neville. It was an insult, though they dare not say anything to the king. Warwick was cautious with the Seymours, having come to an agreement over the dowry. He didn't bargain for anything, accepting the Seymours proposal without batting an eyelash. But other than that interaction, they refused to converse with Warwick. They were handing their sister over with no fuss. It was almost as if they didn't care.

"You can feel their disgust from across the room," Exeter commented to his cousin as he came to stand beside Warwick. Albeit he was partially slouching against the pillar next to him, a smug look on his face as he watched the scene. It was almost as if he was enjoying himself, piquing Warwick's interest. "I'm not the only one who loathes the Seymours." He gave Warwick a pointed look.

"You dislike them? Out of all people, why on earth do you have a problem with them?" Warwick asked sarcastically. He knew why. The whole court knew his reasoning.

"Cromwell has something to gain from my disposal therefore the Seymours do as well. They are one in the same." Execter was always observant, being cousin to the king. He had the most favor, but he had the farthest to fall. If any threat was detected against the king and was linked to him, he and his family would lose their lives. The paranoia that surrounded the king was growing as of late, Cromwell the culprit of it all. Although, the king's father's reign also affected his actions as well.

"You would think the marriage of your son to the Seymour girl would bind your families together in alliance. And yet, you are in more danger than ever." Warwick's fists tightened at Exeter's words, his eyes glaring back at the Marquess. "I've hit a nerve it seems." Exeter smirked. "I'm not your enemy. I'm your ally as you are mine."

"If you keep speaking so freely about your qualms against the reformation, you may not be my ally for long." It was a warning. Warwick would not admit Exeter's guilt, but he would not save him if he was renounced as a traitor.

"My tenants are suffering. They have lost their homes, lost their income…Cromwell has ruined their lives."

"You openly speak against the new faith. You are going to get yourself killed. Have you considered the consequences you will encounter? Look at the Poles! They have renounced their brother. If I had not intervened, they would still be corresponding with the cardinal as well." Warwick tried to reason with Exeter, or so it seemed. He watched Exeter with calculated eyes, waiting to see if he would reveal the truth.

Exeter about choked on his wine, the liquid sputtering out of his mouth at Warwick's accusation. "How would you know that I exchange letters with Pole?"

"I didn't. You just confirmed my suspicions…dear cousin." Warwick had set a trap and Exeter had been clueless. His eyes widened at the older man, knowing he had been caught. Though the letters were harmless, it still would be considered treason if discovered. "I'm not interested in revealing your secret letters to Cromwell or the king. I only want the truth. I want to protect my family."

Warwick's attention turned back to Arthur and his blushing bride as they danced together in the middle of the room. He would protect his family at any costs. Exeter's confession was an investment of sorts. The man would heed his advice, Exeter nodding to Warwick before he disappeared into the crowd of courtiers.

Warwick's eye eventually landed on the king who stared blankly at the couple. He was in deep thought, his emotions undecipherable. He had no idea why the king had granted his son's request, but he was certain it was something to do with his daughter. She had married another, received his permission as he promised. Perhaps he could not see the Seymour girl marry another when she loved Arthur Neville. He saw a mirror of himself in Arthur and he envied him.

Henry's gaze finally turned to Warwick and his eyes glazed over. A wall appeared where there had not been one before. The king leaned back in his chair, maintaining a cold composure. His blank expression disappeared immediately. He knew Warwick could read him. He was just like More. He hated and enjoyed that equally about both men.

Warwick nodded, simply acknowledging the king but not outing his behavior. The king did the same in turn, now turning his attention to his pregnant wife. They had an agreement of sorts, unspoken, but present, nevertheless. It was one of mutual respect and yet, the king knew Warwick would speak against him if he pursued his daughter once more.

Newington Green 29th June 1537

Grace's world was shattered, her entire being feeling as if it had no purpose anymore. She was silent, eerily so. Her eyes had crusted at the corners from lack of sleep, but they were still red from her sobbing. Her lips had chapped throughout the evening as she constantly bit her lips. Her throat felt like sandpaper, her breath raspy as she watched. That's all she could do now, watch while her husband laid there. Hal looked like he was sleeping peacefully and yet there was a dangerous beauty to his demise. He was her Henry, her golden knight. And now he was dead, taken from the earth too early by his illness.

"Grace…" Grace barely moved when she heard her name, closing her eyes as if preparing herself. The tears started again. Just her name could send her into a bawling fit now.

"What?" Grace grit through clenched teeth, her voice betraying her when it cracked.

"They must wash the body, Grace. They need to prepare it for the funeral," the other person spoke.

"Henry. His name is Henry. They need to prepare his body for the funeral you mean," Grace retorted. She refused to move, her hands grasping at the sheets of their marital bed. Hal was as still as ever, and it made her let out an anguished cry. It scared the other person, made them feel a deep chill which reached their soul. So much pain in one so young.

More emerged from the shadows of the room, resting his hands on his niece's shoulders in comfort. Grace finally caved, turning to her uncle, and burying himself in his arms. She clutched his coat between his fingers, gasping for breath as her sobs stuck in her throat. "He can't be gone. He can't be," Grace cried. More could only hold his niece tight, pressing a kiss to the top of her head in consolation.

"No, Grace. He has been reunited with our Lord and savior. He is with your mother now. They will care for each other until it is our time," More replied. The words would do little to console her, but he could do nothing else. Grace continued to bawl. She couldn't form any words whatsoever. Her mouth was glued silent by her grief. Only muffled sounds emerged.

More cast his eyes sideways, making eye contact with his brother-in-law. Warwick stood defeated in the doorway, his heart breaking at the sight of his only daughter. He couldn't do anything else that More wasn't already doing. He had tried to comfort Grace earlier and she fell into a sudden rage, banning everyone from their chambers and slamming the door behind them as she descended into grief.

"He has abandoned me. He has left me at his mercy," Grace rattled on, More scrutinizing her as he held her at arm's length.

"Whose mercy?" Warwick questioned, letting his presence. Grace was horrified, her eyes wide and terrified at the prospect.

"Who do you think? The king. I will be at his mercy now that my Percy has left me," Grace stuttered. More shook his head at her frantic behavior. "He's going to come after me, come after Rosalind. He'll find out."

"No, he won't. We've made sure of that," Warwick tried to assure her. It was no use. She pushed herself away from her uncle's embrace and pointed an accusing finger at them.

"He always finds a way. You both know that. He will never leave me be!" Grace exclaimed. Anything within her reach she threw at her male relatives, both dodging her surprisingly accurate aim.

"You need to calm down Grace. You will make yourself sick. You must control yourself in your condition," her father spoke, holding his hands up in a cautious manner. He feared for her unborn child, thinking of what happened to Anne in her despair when she caught the king with Jane. Grace refused to back down. Her attention now turned to him as she beat her fists into his chest.

"This is your fault. You should have never brought me to court. You should have known better than to bring me with you!" Grace screamed. Warwick held her against his chest, refusing to let go. She could no longer hit him which frustrated her further. She continued to struggle, eventually tiring himself out and collapsing in her father's arms. With his last ounce of youthly strength, Warwick lifted his daughter into his arms and carried her from her chambers.

Grace couldn't be in the room any longer. It was suffocating her. Warwick made his way to another room, gently placing Grace onto a bed as she finally started to drift into sleep. "Rosalind," she murmured, "…and Isabel." Warwick nodded, understanding she wanted her children. They were immediately brought to her by their nurse, Isabel having been crying from the news. Rosalind was blissfully unaware of the situation, barely four months old she could not comprehend that her father was dead. And Percy was her true father. Warwick would never doubt that. But her biological father was the king.

Isabel was ushered to her stepmother's bedside, climbing into bed with her as Grace reached for her. The young girl cuddled against her instantly, seeking solace in Grace's arms. She had already begun to see Grace as her new mother. Rosalind joined them, Grace holding her youngest to her breasts. She needed her girls now more than ever, just as they needed her.

"Papa is in heaven with the angels now, mama," Isabel whispered, Grace too tired to start crying again. She agreed, shaking her head. "He will watch over us. He will protect us," Isabel continued. Grace only pulled her closer, Isabel a sweet reminder of her Percy. She looked exactly like him, a living image of her father. Grace only nodded again, sleep finally taking her. The three were asleep in minutes, Warwick and More their protectors as they slept.

"Under no circumstances can we allow the king to see her. She is much too fragile, and his presence will only cause her harm." The two had a mutual agreement. They would do everything in their power to keep the king away for the next couple months. The looming threat of Grace breaking was much more important than the king's wrath.

Hampton Court 30th June 1537

His rival was dead. Henry Percy had died of consumption and Grace was free from the bonds of marriage. It seemed too easy for the king, as if she was obtainable within an inch of his fingers. And yet he still held a burden on his shoulders he could not shake off. Henry Percy may be gone, but he felt no satisfaction from his untimely demise. In fact, he felt partially responsible, as if he had somehow caused the illness to appear in the Earl of Northumberland.

Henry needed to see her, needed to comfort her. He sought the exit to his study, startling his guards who were caught off guard. "Prepare the horses. I need to go to York." A servant took off immediately, rushing to follow his master's orders. Unbeknownst to him, Arthur Neville had been waiting for him. The youngest Neville gave the king such a haunting gaze with his green eyes, the same shade as his sister's. He swallowed hard, nodding towards the empty study.

"Is there a reason for your visit, Lord Neville?" the king questioned, antsy with his behavior. He was eager to leave court, eager to get to Grace.

"I won't allow you to go to her…majesty." Arthur was determined in his words, though he was intelligent enough to be respectful. He stared back at the king with a defiant look, much like one his siter would give the king when they argue. It made the king laugh, Arthur sending him a curious look.

"Your sister makes the same face when her stubbornness overwhelms her reason. I forget how similar you two are. How you both have the same eyes, the same temper, the same instinct to foil my plans or change my position…." Arthur was not fazed; he simply stood his ground.

"You go to her, and you will never have a chance to mend your relationship. You will break her. I beg you…" The king saw a spark of vulnerability in Arthur's eyes as he urged him to leave his sister alone.

"She needs me," Henry responded, a hint of anger in his voice. He thought he was doing the right thing, but the Nevilles thought differently.

"She needs to heal. She lost her husband. She needs to focus on her children. You will only hurt her," Arthur reasoned.

"I would never hurt her," the king retorted.

"Haven't you?" Arthur's insult struck him deep, the king scowling at his counterpart.

"You've spoken out of turn," Henry growled, his hands clenching.

"I've spoken the truth. You appear while she's in mourning and you will ruin her. She is falling apart. Don't give her cause for her mind to deteriorate further," Arthur pleaded. Henry's brow furrowed, confused at the statement. He made Grace sound as if she was broken glass.

"What do you mean by her mind? What is wrong with her?" Henry questioned. Grace would not harm herself because of Percy's death. Had she tried to hurt herself? Had she succumbed to hallucinations because her mind could not take it? Did she deny that Percy was dead? His father had experienced the same heartache when his own mother died. He had never been the same.

"She blamed you for everything." Henry closed his eyes, a rush of unknown pain circulating in his veins. "I don't think I need to go into details," Arthur added.

"No, you don't need to elaborate. Go be with your sister." Arthur knew when he wasn't wanted, knowing the king wished to be alone now. The way he looked agitated, and the tightening of his jaw was enough indication. The king could never hold his emotions in when it concerned Grace, and Arthur didn't want to be at the brunt of his rage. But he did get the last word.

"You were her first love. Perhaps she may come back to you, but that is her decision, not yours."

A/N: Comments?