#prince!tom | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

vendettaparker · 2 years

Text

Bound to You: Chapter Fourteen—Listen Before I Go

“If you need me Wanna see me Better hurry 'Cause I'm leaving soon” —Billie Eilish

Summary: With Ida’s life on the line, (Y/N) is finally forced to come face to face with the demon in her court. The resulting battle is calamitous.

Word Count: 10.5k

Warnings: ANGST, SMUT, major character death, mention/hint of sexual assault, hostage situation, typos, depictions of grief

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

You had the letter crumbled in your hands now as Tom spoke, trying to explain what his plan was and how this had happened, but all you could hear was the blood rushing through your ears. All of his words turned to lies, all of his explanations turned to mere stories in your mind. You couldn’t be bothered to even listen to him; it wasn’t like he had listened to you.

All you could feel was anger. Complete and utter outrage. You could feel your own face heat up as if it was being held beneath the sun.

“(Y/N), please don’t cry,” Tom tried to soothe you, but Dahlia was already asleep in his arms.

Seeing the tears silently fall down your hot cheeks was killing him.

“I can—will fix this, m’love,” Tom said gently.

“How did he even get her?” You asked sharply, “She was with Dahlia all day.”

Tom’s frown deepened, “My mother said she saw her last when she went to the nursery to see Dahlia. She said she left the room and never came back.”

“Take Dahlia to your mother,” you told Tom, “you and I need to talk about this and I have a feeling that this won’t be an easy conversation.”

Tom looked down at the sleeping baby in his arms. He was hesitant to leave you here, worried that he’d come back and you’d already be gone. But he also knew that Dahlia was just a baby. She was too innocent to be privy to the conversation you and Tom likely would soon have. The venom you would spit was too harsh for her delicate ears.

“Okay,” Tom nodded, “but please, don’t leave this room. Wait for me, (Y/N).” You didn’t even look up at him. Tears blurred your vision as your hands played with the ruined parchment in them. It was all you could do to keep them from shaking.

Tom came back within minutes. He raced back to your room the minute his mother had Dahlia in her arms. He found you rummaging through his trunk of clothes, pulling out trousers and a white linen shirt one he would usually sleep in. No way would you be able to face Hawthorne in this god-forsaken corset.

“I have to go after her,” you stated, once you heard the door shut behind him, “I brought her here, now I have to save her.”

“No, (Y/N),” Tom protested, “you don’t have to do this alone.”

“I do,” you insisted, “he said to come alone. He’ll kill her, Tom,” you looked over at your husband with fresh tears glistening in your eyes, “you know that he will.”

“Tell me where to find him, I’ll send Ivy and her guards there—”

“No,” you shook your head, “you know I can’t do that. I can’t risk that—”

“But you’ll risk your life for this?!” Tom snapped, “Our entire future? You’d hand that over to him?”

“I have to do this,” you said quietly, “it’s not just about us, Tom. Ida deserves a future too.”

“You’re not listening to me!” Tom yelled.

“And you’re not listening to me!” You yelled back, “You haven’t been for a very long time, Thomas! That’s why we’re in this mess!”

Tom squared his jaw and ran his hand over his face. He turned away from you and shook his head. He knew you were right. His failure to listen to what you had planned for your future is what brought Hawthorne to England. He was an easy target. He should have to pay this price, not you.

“Tell me what to do,” he said quietly.

“What?”

“Tell me what I have to do to make you stay,” Tom turned back to you, tears running down his cheeks, “because I’d do anything, (Y/N).”

“Tom,” you set the clothes on the floor and walked over to him, “there’s nothing you can do,” you placed your hands on his cheeks and felt the wetness of his tears on your palms and between your fingers, “and that’s okay.”

This is exactly what he wanted to avoid. You sacrificing yourself over his mistakes. You paying the price for his incompetence. If anything happened to you, he'd never be the same. He knew that when he first fell in love with you. He could remember vividly thinking, if I fall for her, I’ll never be the same. Nothing will be as it was. And he was back then he was okay with that because he knew things would be better. Now, he could not hold the same optimism or sentiment for the path his story was taking.

“(Y/N),” Tom wrapped his hands around your wrists, “you can’t take the money from the treasury. At least, not now. It would take days to get those funds. We may never even get them. Ida is just a chambermaid, the lords will likely not be willing the spare the expense. How are you going to do this alone?” You looked up at Tom and the look in your eyes said it all. “No,” Tom’s face fell deeper into sorrow and fear, “you can’t go, (Y/N).”

“I have to,” you whispered, “when you go to the council and tell them he’s taken me rather than just some maid, they’ll be much more willing to give you the money. We just have to hope time is a luxury Hawthorne will grant us.”

“What if he doesn’t,” Tom snapped, “what if he takes you from me?”

“Then you prepare for that,” you ran your thumb over his cheek to catch the new rush of tears that were coming, “and you tell Dahlia that I love her. You tell her every day—”

“No,” Tom pulled his head away, “I won’t. You’ll tell her yourself because you aren’t going.”

“Tom, I have to. This is my duty, my responsibility—”

“Since when have you ever cared about those things?” Tom cried, “You never once cared about those in the past. Stop caring about them now and get back into that damn bed with me!”

“You know I can’t just let this go,” you said quietly, trying to keep your own voice calm for the sake of your husband, crying in your arms, “if this were you, and it was Harrison or one of your brothers who had been taken, you wouldn’t hesitate—”

“You’re right,” Tom agreed, “I wouldn’t. But you would stop me. You would keep me safe and try to keep our future alive. That’s all I’m trying to do, (Y/N). That’s all I want.”

You looked at Tom sympathetically, “That’s all I want to,” you sniffled, “but I can’t build this future on Ida’s death. I can’t possibly think of our future when her life is on the line.”

Tom nodded but the tears in his eyes didn’t cease.

He let go of your wrists and quickly wrapped his arms around you. He rested his head atop of yours and didn’t speak as you both swayed.

“Just give me some time,” he whispered, “let me try to fix this. I can’t lose you. I just—I need time to think and plan—”

His plea was so raw and torn. There was nothing else he could say or do other than beg for you to stay by his side. He felt hopeless and broken. Part of him wished he never showed you the letter, but deep down he knew it would have been worse to keep it from you and attempt to solve it himself. If Ida had died without you knowing she was even gone, you would’ve never forgiven him.

You needed to trust him. This was the final test of your love and trust in him.

“Tom…” you pulled away, “we don’t have the time now. Our time is up.”

You turned to walk away, back to the task at hand: getting his clothes, changing, and then saving Ida.

Tom wrapped his arms around you from behind. He moved your hair from your neck, exposing it to himself. He pressed kisses to your soft skin, a selfish attempt to break your resolve.

“Please, m’love,” Tom sniffled in between kisses, “we have a future. I need that future.”

He began to nip and suck at your skin as he spoke, “There’s a summer palace in Italy we can run off to. For a few months, it can be just us and Dahlia. We can have more children. We can have dozens. I want more children, (Y/N). I want it all with you. I want to give you the world.”

His hands found the ties of your corset and began to undo them, “I want to grow old with you.”

“Tom,” you turned around and placed yours over his, stopping him, “we can’t.”

“Please,” Tom’s eyes were red and his cheeks were wet with tears, “please tell me you love me.”

“I do love you,” you assured him, “more than I’ve ever loved anyone.” You pressed a kiss to his lips, savoring the taste of him, relishing in the fit of his lips against yours, before pulling away. “But I won’t choose you over saving someone who also means so much to me. She’s in danger because of me, Tom. I brought her here—”

“No, she’s in danger because of me. I did this, let me fix it.”

You held Tom’s face in your hands, “you have to let me go.”

“Please don’t make me,” Tom cried, a new batch of tears falling from his eyes at your words, “please, please…”

You quieted him with your lips on his once more. You kissed him hard as tears gathered in your own eyes. You hated seeing him cry and you hated even more that you were the reason for his tears. Tom didn’t hesitate to kiss you back fiercely. He tangled his hand in your hair and used his other to finish loosening the corset he’d set to work on earlier.

His mouth was hot against your skin as he moved from your lips to your jaw, and then down your neck. And the moment your corset was loose and undone, he moved to the tops of your breasts.

“Tom,” you sighed, running your fingers through his hair as he pushed your dress down your body.

He couldn’t stop. He was a man on a mission and his mission was to remind you of the love and passion the two of you share—the reason he could never let you go.

He removed his lips from your skin only to remove his own jacket and shirt. Once those were gone and his chest was bare, much like your own, he pressed himself to you again, to feel you close to him. He could feel all the blood rushing south. Just the thought of feeling you again after so long was making his head spin.

He undid his belt and let it fall to the floor along with his sword and with that he shoved his pants down as well, freeing himself.

He pushed you down onto the bed and fell atop of you, kissing his way down your body until he was placed between your legs.

“I’ve missed this,” he sighed, breathless from merely the look of your weeping heat, “I’ve missed having you like this.”

“I’ve missed it too,” you breathed out as Tom began licking your pulsing bud, tasting your sweet juices. He moaned into you as your closed your legs around his head. It’d been so long and you were so sensitive.

Before he could really even get into it, you flipped yourself over into a position where you were straddling his chest. Tom chuckled at your change of dominance.

“I want you like this,” you said gently, pressing a kiss to his lips.

“Whatever you want,” Tom hummed, rutting into you with his length against your leg, “as long as you stay.”

You worked your way down his body, licking and kissing each divet in his sculpted torso. You did love him, more than anything, and you want him to feel that love. You wanted him to feel worshipped.

You slithered down until your knees hit the floor and you were between his legs, length in your hand. You pumped him with one hand, tearing soft grunts from his lips. He bit his thin lips in an attempt to keep the noises in as to not disturb the baby sleeping soundly on the other side of the bed.

Tom’s eyes were shut and his face was scrunched in a beautiful scowl and his eyebrows furrowed with pleasure. You bent down and enveloped his head into your hot mouth, making him hiss.

“(Y/N),” he moaned, abs clenching as you sucked him in. He ran his hands through your hand, holding you to him. You released him and rose to the bed, straddling his thighs, keeping his cock in your hand.

“I love you,” you peered down at him through hooded eyes as you sunk onto him, drawing his length in your wetness. Tom grunted and placed his hands on your hips, giving him a squeeze.

“I love you more,” he sighed, sitting up to capture your lips as he began thrusting into you from below.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Tom slept peacefully with you in his arms. He always slept better with you around. These past few months had been filled with sleepless nights and dreamless slumbers, so to have to wrapped in his arms after having you in a way he hadn’t in so long, sleep came naturally.

But you didn’t sleep.

Instead, you savored these moments in his arms as though they would be your last. You pressed kisses to his hand, one for each knuckle, before moving to his face. You counted his freckles like you so frequently used to do. You missed that—the counting of the stars upon his face. How could you have taken such scattered beauty for granted?

You pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek, just below his eye. His eyes fluttered behind the lids, but he remained asleep, just as you needed him.

The sad thing was that you did want to stay with him. You could feel your heart clench looking at how small he was. Hearing his pleas for you to stay nearly broke your resolve. And now, laying on the bed, vulnerable and at peace, he looked like a child that you were abandoning.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, “Forgive me, my love.”

You got out of bed and replaced where you were with a pillow for Tom to hold. You were dressed in his clothes; a white shirt and trousers. Something simple and easy to move in.

You had a plan of your own. Reckless as only you knew to be.

Looking back at Tom, you knew what you were doing would hurt him. There was great potential for loss here. But the risk was one you had to take—a sacrifice you were willing to make for Ida. Furthermore, it wasn’t solely for Ida—it was for yourself as well. You had a demon you needed to face. It was time to stop hiding away.

Looking at Tom made your heartache, knowing that this battle with the demon in your court may not end well, knowing that you might leave him, the one thing he begged you not to do. Tears sprouted in your eyes as you sighed out a shaky breath. You walked over to him one last time and pressed a hand to his chest, feeling the warmth and the gentle thumps of his beating heart. You pulled your hand away and wiped your tears. Now was not the time for them, now was time for you to be strong.

You went to your desk and pulled a piece of parchment out and began writing.

Tom,

I’m sorry I left. I hope you know how much it pained me to do so. I pray that we will see each other again when this is all over. I pray that the future you envision for us comes to pass. I pray for that as I write this, and I shall pray for it as I make my way to Hawthorne.

If we never see each other again, just know that I have only one regret in this life, and that is not loving you sooner. I feel as though I wasted precious moments I could have spent loving you, hating you. In our next life, I promise not to make the same mistake.

With that same thought in mind, you must tell Dahlia every day how much I loved her. Make sure she can feel my love.

Hawthorne will be at Arthur’s grave. It’s his last cruel jest towards me. Meet us there with the gold if you should get it.

With all my love,

(Y/N)

You left the room quickly, in fear that staying any longer would keep you from the task at hand.

“Your grace,” A guard stationed outside of your door stopped you immediately. He noticed the clothes you wore and the sword in your belt and a worried look formed in his eyes, “you can’t leave this room unaccompanied, I have direct orders from the king—”

“That’s ridiculous” you cut him off, “I shall traverse in my own home on my own terms.”

“I must insist,” he grabbed your arm.

“Unhand me,” you pulled away harshly, “before I take that hand from you as well as your titles. Who do you take orders from?”

“The king, your grace.”

“No,” you shook your head, “you take them from me, your queen. Now, you will stay stationed at this door and you will let me go in peace. Is that clear?”

The guard hesitated, but your unwavering stare and self-assuredness convinced him to concede, “exceedingly, your grace.”

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

“Your grace,” the guard at the door of Nikki’s chambers shrouded worry as he took in your appearance. The outfit accompanied by a sword at your side, “you shouldn’t be out here by yourself. Where is his grace, King Thomas?”

Not again, you thought. Though, you had to commend your guards for being so painstakingly cautious and aware of what they were doing, even if it made your tasks harder.

“Asleep in our chambers,” you said curtly, “I‘ve just come to see my daughter.”

“Alone? You should have accompaniment. Where’s your chambermaid?”

“I don’t need accompaniment,” you said simply, brushing past him and opening the door for yourself.

Nikki was sitting by the fire with Dahlia in her arms, peacefully sleeping. She herself looked worn from the day’s stresses as her eyes drooped.

“Nikki,” you whispered to her.

She turned and furrowed her brows before registering who had spoken her name, she smiled as your face came into focus in her vision.

“(Y/N)?” she whispered back, “what are you doing here? And dressed like that…?” she trailed off as she studied your attire.

“I just wanted to see you,” you said quietly, “and her.”

Nikki handed you Dahlia as you took a seat on the cushy chair beside her, “She’s precious,” she smiled softly at you, “you’ve got a perfect angel there. If only I had been so lucky.”

“Lucky?” you chuckled, “You had four strong-headed boys, if only I should be so lucky. I love my daughter more than life itself, but Tom is right, we should try for more. There is security in numbers.”

“Boys are trouble,’ Nikki sighed, “though, I’m sure you’d have no trouble at all,” she smiled warmly at you, “you always handled my boys with such…passion.”

You smiled back, “You mean aggression?”

“Whatever you did, it got the job done,” Nikki chuckled, “especially now, in such times of sorrow and suffering. My boys look to you for comfort, but also they look after you. You did something to all of them—it’s something you seem to do to all the people you meet; you make them care. You ignite passion and fire—the same you have on your own, you share it, and spread it. You’ll be the best queen there ever was, (Y/N),” Nikki reached for your hand, “I know it.”

“Nikki,” you said softly, eyes sparkling at her words, “I’m nothing special—”

“You are to me, and to my boys, and to your girl there, though she might not know it yet,” Nikki smiled down at the baby in your arms, “and that just covers my world, so imagine how special you are to all the people in yours.”

ou let out a sigh as you rocked Dahlia in your lap, “You’ll always be there for her though, won’t you? To watch over her and make sure she grows up to be a good ruler.”

“Of course,” Nikki said slowly, “but you’ll be there for her too. There’s nothing that can replace the love of a mother.”

“You could,” you looked up at Nikki, “your love was better than my mother’s ever was. I wish you were my mother.”

Nikki cooed and stood up. She hugged your head to her chest and stroked your hair, “I am your mother,” she smiled, “and I love you very much.”

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

You left Nikki’s chambers close to tears, knowing that there was a chance you’d be leaving your daughter behind. Nikki was right, nothing would be able to replace you in her eyes, and perhaps it was selfish of you to deny her a chance at your love.

But Ida needed you and Hawthorne needed to be dealt with. You were done hiding in your chambers like you had for the majority of his stay in England. You were ready to face him and whatever evil was behind that man. And if tonight would be your last, then you’d be sure to drag him to hell with you.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Ida was just waking up, a bruise over her cheek and an ache in her jaw to truly set the tone of the trouble she had found herself in. Hawthorne was pacing around, reciting the prayers of the lord he could remember to himself.

Ida was bound and tied to a tree. Her immediate struggle clued Hawthorne in on her consciousness, prompting him to come towards her.

“Do not be frightened, little one,” he said quietly, “this is not your fight,” he shined his lantern in her face and held up a piece of bread, bringing it close to her lips.

Ida spat at him, “you snake! You filthy, dirty, snake! They’ll have your head for this!”

“Hm,” Hawthorne hummed, “you are much like (Y/N). It’s as though her own personality has rubbed off on you. You two must be close. That is good, that means my assessment is correct. So fear not, wench. Help will be arriving soon.”

“No,” Ida shook her head, “They won’t come for me. No matter what it is you asked of them, I am not worth the risk. You'll be dead by daybreak, as you should be,” Ida sneered.

“For someone so close to (Y/N), you seem to know nothing of her loyalty,” Hawthorne scoffed, forcefully showing the bread into Ida’s mouth, muffling her insults and screams, “Yes,” he said as he rose again and looked out towards the castle, where you’d be coming from, “even for a poor wench like you, she is loyal. A terrible flaw; her Achilles heel.”

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

It was sick of him to hold Ida captive at the graves of those you’ve lost. Past the large oak tree on the hill, through the field, and on the other side, where you laid to rest your loved ones. It was sadistic. That’s how you knew he’d be there. He wanted to remind you what he was capable of as he held Ida captive over Arthur’s grave.

At the top of the hill, you could see him down there. He even had the nerve to wave at you. A friendly wave, beckoning you towards him.

“Here she comes,” he smiled sinisterly, “our little queen.”

Ida wept when she saw you making your way towards the two of them. She wanted to scream at you to run back the other way, to leave her. To forget about her altogether and live your life.

Hawthorne had untied her from the tree the moment he saw the light of your candle. He wrapped cloth over her lips to silence her cries before kneeling her in front of him, sword to her neck.

“Your grace,” he proclaimed when you had made it within earshot, but it was mocking. It was a joke to him, the fact that you held such a title, “I see you’ve found us. My note made it to you alright I presume?”

“I don’t have your gold, Hawthorne,” you stated, “I’ve only brought myself.”

“That’s a shame then,” Hawthorne pressed the sword closer to Ida’s neck, causing her muffled cries to a crescendo. You could see the tears streaming down her cheeks glistening in the light of the lantern.

“Stop,” you held your hand up, “please, I’ve come with a better offer.”

“Speak then, before I grow tired of this distraction.”

“For a man who claims to be a king, you clearly know very little about finances in the court,” you spat, “I would never be able to receive enough money from the treasury to satisfy you.”

“Then why are you here?”

“I wouldn’t be able to get the funds to spare her life,” you looked down at Ida, “but she can go back to Tom and get the funds to spare mine. It’s a simple trade.”

“How do I know this isn't a trick?” Hawthorne accuses, yanking Ida’s hair, pulling her head back to expose her neck more to the blade. She yelped beneath the cloth over her lips, silencing her, “You’re a venomous snake, I hear.”

“If you don’t get the money, I die,” you explain, “you can finally rid yourself of me. Just let her go because you know deep down that this vendetta is ours, and only ours. And this is the only reasonable way you’ll get what you want.”

“You’re a real bargainer, aren’t you?” Hawthorne clicked his tongue, “I could almost say I’m proud of you. Now get on your knees.”

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

“Help me! Help me, please!” Ida’s lungs were burning when she finally made it inside the castle. The edges of her dress were muddy and ruined and her face was red. Her eyes were puffy and her throat her as she screamed for help.

Guards rushed to her side, one holding her up and she nearly collapsed in his arms, “M’lady,” he looked down at her, “what’s wrong.”

“He has her,” Ida cried, “Hawthorne has her grace, (Y/N).”

The three guards looked at each other, all silently knowing the direness of the situation.

“Come,” the one that held Ida’s arms said, “we must tell the king.”

The four of them raced off to Tom’s chambers.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

“None of you stopped her?!” Tom yelled at his guards. He was livid when he heard that you had gotten away, slipping past all of them so effortlessly. Though it wasn’t just anger, it was fear. He could feel it in his gut. He had a lump of dread lodged there—if he were any weaker of a man it would have incapacitated him.

“She’s our queen, your grace,” the guard stationed outside yoru chambers tried to defend himself, “I follow her orders as well—”

“No,” Tom snapped, “you follow my orders. Mine alone! She’s gone now because of you!”

“Your grace,” Ida spoke up, “please, this isn’t solving anything. We must gather the council and get the money from the treasury. Hawthorne won’t wait past dawn.”

Tom took a deep breath and motioned to the door, “Go then, all of you. Gather the lords and my brothers and have them meet me in the great hall.”

They all left quickly, leaving Tom in his chambers by himself.

For a moment, he didn’t have to hold it in anymore. The second the door closed behind Ida, he could feel the dam behind his eyes break. He fell backward onto the bed with a sob, muffling it in his hands. He held his hands over his face as he cried, pushing the palms of his hands into his eyes, grounding himself with the pressure.

He hiccuped a few more cries and he wiped his eyes. His breathing was uneven as he rose from the bed and began getting dressed. And on his way to the trunk of his clothes is where is found your note, sitting neatly on your desk.

He picked it up, his wet hands smudging the ink of your name as he read it. As he read, more tears fell onto the parchment, staining it with his sorrow.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

“Why are you doing this?” you asked before Hawthorne could put the cloth over your lips.

“You know why,” he said simply, “I have to get out of this country—”

“No,” you shook your head, “why do any of it? Why did you kill my father? He was a good man, he was good to you. I thought you cared for us.”

Hawthorne placed the cloth over your lips and tied it tightly, causing you to whimper. He almost looked regretful to see what this had all simmered down to, but then he smiled, and the demon was back.

“You know nothing, little princess,” he dragged your body towards his and held you close, “I would think you of all people would understand that if you want something, then you should just take it.”

You squirmed in his grasp as he sat and moved you to sit in his lap. Panic filled your eyes at his advances.

“Shhh, don’t worry,” he snickered, “I’d never sully you like that. You’re just protecting me,” he explained, “in case your charming husband has the wise idea to shoot any arrows this way.”

Hawthorne held your hair in his hands and began to play with it, “Remember how I used to braid your hair?” he asked as he began to plait it, “I was quite good at it, I think. Your mother always laughed though, whenever she saw my creations.”

You shook your head, “Hold still, little princess,” Hawthorne chided, “or how else shall we pass the time?”

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

All Tom could think about was your body in a casket. Six feet under. Covered in dirt. Your eyes milky with death. Your hands cold and grey. Your lips frozen against his. He didn’t even notice that all the lords had arrived and were seated, all looking at him, wondering why he would call a meeting at such an ungodly hour.

The calls of ‘your grace’ fell on deaf ears it would seem. So finally, Harrison placed his hand on his friend's shoulder, and addressed him as such, “Mate,” he squeezed Tom’s shoulder, “are you alright?”

Tom looked up at his friend, his blue eyes familiar and comforting. His own eyes were red and tears were kissing the edges, threatening to fall over.

“No,” Tom shook his head, blinking, letting the tears go, “Hawthorne took (Y/N),” he breathed out, “and I have to get her back.”

Harry and Sam looked at each other, both of their faces had dropped the same. The room's murmurs ceased as the air grew thick.

“What do you need from us?” Harrison asked.

“Money from the treasury,” Tom said, “enough to appease Hawthorne.”

The silence in the room was deafening. Tom’s heart constricted when nobody immediately jumped with their declarations of love for you, nobody immediately agreed that you were worth more than any sum of gold Hawthorne could want.

“Ida,” Harry turned to the girl, still shaken up and bruised in the chair beside Tom, “where is Hawthorne?”

“Just past the field at the end of the hill,” Ida said, “he’s alone.”

“Then I say we go after him,” Harry stated, “we don’t give into the demands of a madman. What would father say? If we let a man like that out into the world? He’s one cowardly man against a kingdom.”

“He has (Y/N),” Tom reasoned, “I’m not risking him hurting her,” he shook his head, “I won’t—I can’t lose her—”

“Harry’s right,” Sam nodded, “(Y/N) would understand why we can’t just give him his money and send him on his merry way. She—”

“She traded her life for mine!” Ida cried, “I don’t care if he’s just one man, he’s taking everything. He acts like he’s a god. I-I can’t let her sacrifice be for nothing,” she rose from her seat and began to walk towards the door, “if you need me for any more information on Hawthorne and how he has her, I’ll be with Dahlia, but I can’t sit here and listen to you talk about (Y/N), so ready to sacrifice her. She would have given her life for any one of you, and she did for me.”

Ida slammed the door shut and Harry shook his head, he rose from his seat as well, prepared to get up to calm her down—

“Sit,” Tom ordered, “you can fetch her later, I still need your council here.”

Harry reluctantly returned to his seat, “So what then? We give Hawthorne all of our gold and let him roam free? That’s not right.”

“Let’s do both,” Harrison suggested, “let’s get him the money, get (Y/N) safe from him, and then dispose of him. It’ll be hard to see the setup he has, but that’s our best bet on getting her out alive as well as ridding the world of him.”

The lords around the table all nodded and mumbled in agreement, but Tom was unconvinced. If somehow, this was to go wrong, and you were put at risk, he’d never forgive himself. He knew he’d never move past it. He could hardly stomach the thought of a life without you.

These past few months, without your touch, he felt empty and alone, but at least you were still alive. At least he knew you were safe, you were warm to the touch still. Even if you only gave him the cold shoulder, even if your words were only venom dripping from your viperous lips, he still pick that over truly losing you.

And then you told him you loved him. He held you in his arms again. He had you to hold again, and everything felt right, if only for a moment. And when he slept, he dreamt of you and Dahlia, out in the sun, singing melodies with smiles on your faces. He dreamt of you happy. He woke up happy. That was until he realized the reason for his slumber being invaded, and the moment his tired eyes met Ida’s frantic ones, his heart sunk, and it hadn’t risen since.

“Ivy,” Harrison looked at the guard, waiting patiently by the door for her next orders, “how many men can you spare tonight?”

“As many as you ask of me,” she said certainly.

“We’ll need men to surround where Hawthorne is, but they must stay far away enough to be undetectable. If he tries to run, we must make sure he doesn’t make it far,” Harrison got up and walked to a bookshelf in the corner of the room, one that held maps for any stretch of land in Europe. He came back and unrolled the map onto the table, “The trees over here will shield any guards,” he said, running his finger across the tree-line of the forest, “that’s about a quarter mile from the graves. You can circle your men throughout, so long as they’re under cover of these trees.”

“What about here?” Ivy asked, pointing towards the hill and the large oak tree, the one that came right before the field.

“I’ll be there,” Tom said, “with the money.”

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

“I never wanted to hurt Lola,” Hawthorne hummed as he braided your hair, “she was just…in the crossfire. Tough, I suppose she wanted to be involved, so in a way, she did it to herself.”

Your response was muffled against the cloth pressed to your lips.

“Oh, right,” Hawthorne lowered the fabric.

“Lola was just a pawn,” you spat, “and even with her loyalty to you, you betrayed her.”

“Loyalty?” Hawthorne scoffed, “She sold me out the minute things went and got tough. You though, you hold loyalty well. Why is that, little princess?”

“Because I, in return, am loyal,” you said, “I love my family and my people—”

“But still, you left your sister here to fend for herself in a dangerous court. She died alone, (Y/N). that doesn't seem very loyal of you—”

“I loved her!” you snapped, “Don’t you dare question my loyalty or love for her—”

“And your dear mother, I hear you’ve locked her up,” Hawthorne clicked his tongue, “to rot away in her chambers—”

“Stop it—”

“Now I will admit, your father, that was my own doing,” Hawthorne chuckled, “that was a crack in my loyalty. But at least I don’t preach myself to be so high and pious. I never claimed to be a good person, my little princess. And when I drove my sword through your father's back—”

You flung your head back hard, connecting with a resounding crack against Hawthorne's nose. You tried you squirm away, but Hawthorne recovered quickly, grabbing you by the hair and pulling you to him.

“Fucking whore,” he spat, slapping the side of your head, hitting you right on the ear, and knocking you to your side. He kicked you in the face, chest, and stomach repeatedly. Everything started to burn, but at some point, right before he stopped, it all went numb before the endless aches came.

You could taste the metallic sting of blood in your mouth and you could feel the aftermath of Hawthorne’s aggression in the way your head pounded.

Hawthorne grabbed you by the hair and lifted you to face him. He crouched to meet your eyes and he smiled at his work, “You have your father’s eyes.”

“Fuck you,” you spat blood onto his face.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

“Mother,” Tom gently shook his mother awake.

He felt like a little boy again, waking his mother up in the middle of the night because his head hurt, or because he had a nightmare. Although, this time, he was in a nightmare, and it was ever-present in his mind.

When he was little, Dom would scold him for always running to their room every time he heard a bump in the night, but even his father couldn’t be too hard on the boy. The two of them always ended up in the kitchen at some ungodly hour of the night, eating sweets while Dom told Tom stories about when he was a boy.

His father was gone now, and even if he wasn’t, eating sweets in the kitchen while he listened to him rambling, while a welcomed distraction, would not soothe Tom’s mind this time. Though, he would give anything to have just one more moment like that.

“Darling,” Nikki immediately saw the tears in her son's eyes, it was the first thing she noticed, “what’s wrong? Come here,” she opened her arms for him to crawl into. And though he didn’t fit anymore, the bulky man that he now was, he curled into her arms, as though he’d still sit comfortably.

“(Y/N) left,” Tom sniffled against her shoulder, “and H-Hawthorne took her. And I can’t—I can’t think straight—” Tom began to heave sobs against Nikki’s nightgown.

“Shh, shh, my darling,” Nikki cooed, though she too was now feeling the stinging prick of tears in her eyes and the hard clench of her heart. So that’s why you said all those lovely things tonight, she thought. You weren’t just assuring that Nikki would be there for Dahlia, you were asking her to be, “breathe.”

Tom tried to take deep breaths but he could hardly get through one without it being cut off by his own choked sob.

“She’ll be okay,” Nikki tried to assure him.

“No,” Tom cried, “I—she won’t. I can feel it.”

Nikki knew immediately what Tom meant. It was that dread he felt in his gut that had now consumed his whole body. The same she had felt the night before Dom died. It was all-consuming and inhabilitating, knowing that something bad was going to happen and feeling powerless to stop it.

“Tom,” Nikki pulled away from the man crying in her arms, “you don’t know what will happen. You're not powerless in this.”

“I feel like no matter what I do, he won’t spare her.”

“Have you called your lords? Your brothers?”

“Yes,” Tom nodded, “they’re preparing now.”

“Okay, good,” Nikki placed her hand on her son’s cheek and wiped his tears with her thumb, “so what I’m hearing is, you did everything you could. No matter what happens from here, it’s not on you, my love.”

“It is, though,” Tom cried, “she—she’s only with him because he took Ida, and he’s only here because I invited him into our home. He—he killed Arthur—”

“I know,” Nikki hugged Tom’s head to her chest, “and he will pay for his sins. But his sins are not yours. Now, my darling, you must dry your eyes and put on your brave face. (Y/N) needs you. And if anything should happen to her, Dahlia will need you.”

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Harrison ended up going with Tom, to help carry the sacks of gold down to the other end of the field where he was to meet Hawthorne. The walk there was mostly in silence, save for the crunch of their footsteps over leave and dry grass.

“We need a rain soon,” Harrison noted, looking down at the brownish-colored grass beneath his boots. It was strange to have such dry weather in England, it almost felt wrong, but then again, there seemed to be a lot of things wrong in the English court as of late.

Tom only hummed and trekked on. He kept his pace swiftly in front of Harrison. He was a man on a mission, and Harrison could hardly blame him for seeming so cold and focused. He would be the same way if the role in this was his to play.

“I’m going to ask Ivy to marry me,” Harrison said suddenly.

Tom stopped for a moment to look back at his friend, “You are?”

“Mhm,” Harrison nodded, “with your blessing as our king of course. Ivy made vows that can’t be broken, but, I was hoping with your blessing, we could look past those?”

“A knight's code is very strict, Harrison,” Tom clicked his tongue as he continued on, “but, for you, I’d make an exception,” he smiled.

“Thank you,” Harrison beamed, “I know things have been rough for her and me, but after the last few weeks in Norway, I’ve realized that I don’t want to be without her. I only hope she feels the same.”

“If she doesn’t, then that’s on her,” Tom assured his friend, “but as for my end, you have my blessing and she will be pardoned of her vows to chastity.”

“Keep your sword on you,” Tom said as they made it to the oak tree at the top of the hill. He squinted down to the edge of the field where he saw the light from the lantern and two bodies, one knelt before the other, “I see them.”

“He here comes,” Hawthorne smiled widely when he saw the sacks Tom and Harrison carried, “our generous King.”

He grabbed you by the hair and pulled you to your feet, holding you tightly in from of him.

“Just take the money and go,” you pleaded as he held his blade to your throat.

“I will,” he assured you, but we’re going to have some fun first.”

Tom’s stomach did flips when he saw you. His first emotion was relief; you were alive. That was all he could ever ask for. But then he noticed the blood on your brow, and how a trail of red spilled from your lips. He could see your eye dazed and puffy.

“What did you do to her?” He asked quietly as he approached the two of you.

“Only what she deserved,” Hawthorne smiled, holding your face with his other hand, “doesn’t she look better this way? So calm and submissive? I’m shocked this isn’t how you prefer her.”

“Let her go,” Tom spat, throwing his sacks of golden on the ground, “you have your money and your freedom. Now—”

“Not so hasty, my friend,” Hawthorne chided before nodding down to the bags, “open them.”

“What?”

Hawthorne pressed his knife harder against your neck, causing you to gasp, “show me the gold.”

Tom pressed his lips into a thin line and looked over at Harrison, who had his hand held to his sword. He gave him a small nod, signaling him to stand down. He bent down and began opening the bag, expecting to see the shimmering yellow of gold, but when he didn’t see it, he began to panic. Opening the back wider, he only saw the grey dullness of pebbles.

Hawthorne looked over your shoulders, watching Tom’s face drop as he opened the bag wider. He clicked his tongue disapprovingly, “You can’t trick me, little boy,” he said.

He moved the blade from your throat and held it behind your back instead, about to run it through.

“Tom!” you cried, feeling the tip of the knife against your back.

“No!” Tom yelled, jumping towards you, only for Hawthorne to press it further, drawing blood. He backed up and held his hands up, “Please, just—that wasn’t me. M-My brothers did that. They didn’t know—”

“Then her death is on them,” Hawthorne said simply, running the knife through your back until Tom could see the glint of metal peeking through your stomach.

Your scream was cut off by Hawthorne’s hand around your throat. But the pain burned. It felt like he did it so slowly, as though he was taking his time. Perhaps he was remembering all those years ago when he did the same thing to your father.

He pulled the knife from you, letting the blood drip out from the gaping hole. You turned your head slightly, just to get a look at his face as he did this to you. And in his eyes, you saw nothing. Where so long ago you saw someone you trusted, you now only saw darkness.

The minute he let go of your body for you to fall limp to the ground, you held onto the wound. You felt a gush of blood seep through your fingers.

“No!” Tom yelled the second he saw that sinister smile on Hawthorne’s face, but he wasn’t quick enough. By the time he got to you, Hawthorne had thrown your body to the ground.

Harrison was right on Tom’s heels, sword out and clutched in his hand. The minute Hawthorne saw it he started running the other way. Harrison threw the sword at him with all of his strength and anger and the blade found its home lodge through Hawthorne’s chest.

Harrison ran to his body, flipping it over with his boots. He was dead. Dead at last, after taking far too many with him.

He looked back, “He’s dead,” he called to Tom.

Tom had your body gripped in his arms. He was on the ground with your head laying loosely on his shoulder. Your blood was seeping through his shirt and staining his hands. He squeezed his eyes shut, more tears falling from them each time, in a sorry attempt to wake up from this nightmare, but it was real.

“Tom,” Harrison ran to the two of you. He knelt by your side and took your hand in his. He placed his hand on Tom’s shoulder as you offered him a sad smile, “I’m sorry,” he said, looking down at you.

“Go get help,” Tom whispered through gritted teeth and frantic eyes.

“But Tom—” Harrison tried, knowing that leaving would be futile. If anything, he would just gather an audience for your death. He wanted to say goodbye as well.

“Go!” Tom snapped, “Or are you too fucking stupid?!” You were in his arms and you were getting colder by the minute.

“Tom,” you whispered, scolding him even as you lay bleeding out in his arms, “please, don’t—”

“No,” Harrison said softly, “I’ll go, you’re going to be okay,” he smiled sadly at you, stroking your hair, “Ivy and her men are just beyond those woods, it’ll be quicker than running to the castle.”

Tom nodded as Harrison pressed a final kiss to your forehead, “I’ll see you soon,” he said, but you could hear the crack in his voice.

“Okay,” you nodded before he ran off.

He let out a sob at your voice, so tired and worn. You were probably exhausted. He took your hand in his.

“Tom, it’s okay,” you squeeze the warm hand in yours as hard as you could, but it wasn’t hard enough for Tom.

“It’s n-not okay,” he cried, “Harry and Sam—they were supposed to put gold in there—” he was cut off by his own cries.

“Don’t blame them,” you said softly, “please. Don’t let hate take refuge in your heart.”

Tom sniffled and held your hand to his face. He wanted you to wipe his tears like you always did, but your hand was so cold and so limp. You could hardly move your fingers. You slowly moved your fingers against his cheek, catching the few tears that you could.

You looked at him through the tears in your own eyes, “At least I get to see you one last time,” you offered him a small smile.

“Don’t say that,” Tom held you closer, “one more time isn’t enough for me.”

You got quieter as Tom held you, and though it had only been a minute, maybe two, he began to panic.

“(Y/N)?,” he cried, “(Y/N)?!”

“I’m here,” you said. You sounded so sleepy. You had lost so much blood by now.

“Please don’t leave me,” Tom pressed a kiss to your hand, uncaring that they were stained in blood. He winced when he saw the scar on your palm. Your hand was facing upwards in his, and the two twin scars you both had were one it the same. They were your physical proof of each other’s love; the willingness to sacrifice for each other.

“You,” your breathing was heavy and raspy, “take care of Dahlia,” you said, “I’ll take care of Arthur.”

The sun was rising, making the sky a cold dawn blue. It fell over your face, highlighting the light in your eyes that was dying out.

“No,” Tom shook his head, “this wasn’t supposed to happen,” he cried, “you were—we were supposed to gr-grow old together. I—I can’t live without you. Just hold on a little longer, please,” Tom’s tears streamed down his cheeks, dripping off of his chin and onto you.

“I love you,” you sniffled, looking up at Tom.

“Don’t,” Tom shook his head, “you can tell me that when we’re in bed and you’re okay. Don’t say goodbye to me.”

“Tom,” your hand went limp in his, “I’m sorry.”

“Stop it,” Tom cried harder as your eyes closed, “(Y/N)? Stop it, come on—(Y/N)!”

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Tom had never felt like this before.

Not when Dahlia died, or when he thought Lizzie carried his bastard, or when you had hated him—every time you did so—, or not even when his dad died. Tom had never felt this emotion if it was only one. That was something he couldn’t pinpoint, nor did he give himself time to ponder.

It was sadness, overwhelmingly so, and anger. It was emptiness and brokenness and nothingness. He held your dead body to him until Harrison came back with Ivy and her men, all of them. And they all got to see the king at his worst.

Ivy, a woman who was usually so strong, so unmoved by the forces around her, fell to her knees at the sight. Harrison fell with her, hugging her from behind as she removed her helmet and cried.

And when your body was carried back to the castle, everyone saw.

The castle was bustling at the time, with lords and ladies getting ready for a start to their day, cooks getting the breakfast prepared, and maids running fresh linens to the rooms. Everyone stopped when they saw the entire king's guard returning with the king. They all gasped and fell to their knees when they saw the two bodies; one belonging to the queen.

Harry and Sam knew, just by the look Tom threw their way, that he blamed them, despite what you had said. His eyes were red and puffy, and he could hardly look at them. When he did spare them a glace, it s quick and it held all the malice he could muster.

Tom didn’t talk to anyone, he just went to the nursery and looked down at Dahlia, who was sleeping peacefully. She had no idea the pain that he was going through. She had no idea what she had just lost. He envied that of her.

Nights were the hardest. Tom hardly slept, if he did at all. Every time he closed his eyes, every time he dreamed, for months, all he could see was your body, dead in his arms, all he could hear were your screams. All he could think about, day and night, was how he never said goodbye. He cursed himself for being too stubborn to tell you he loved you too.

“Tom,” his mother sat on his bed. It had been a week since you died, “come on, my darling,” she was dressed in all black, and she too had held the pain of your death in her heart, “it’s time.”

“I’m not ready,” Tom looked out the window at the oak tree in the distance.

“You’ll never be ready, my love,” Nikki said sadly. She patted the spot on the bed next to her, “come on,” she said, “just for a moment.”

Tom sighed and sat next to her. He rested his head on her shoulder as he ran her fingers through his hair.

“Her side of the bed is cold,” he sniffled.

“I know,” Nikki said.

“And I keep reaching over, thinking she’ll either be there or it will at least be warm again.”

“I know,” Nikki nodded as tears fell down her cheeks, “trust me, I know.”

They sat in silence until there was another knock at the door. “Come in,” Nikki called, wiping the tears from her eyes.

Ida walked in with Dahlia on her hip, “Your grace,” she came over to Tom, “Dahlia has something to tell you,” she had a small smile on her lips.

“You do?” Tom wiped his tears and reached for the baby, who held her arms out for him. He smiled as his daughter babbled in his arms. She was the only one he could muster a brave face for.

“Come on, Dahlia,” Ida encouraged her, “can you say it again?”

Dahlia looked curiously at Tom as he looked at her with hopeful, kind eyes, though they were red-rimmed and tired. She loved having all the attention on her. She giggled as Nikki cooed at her, pinching her chubby cheeks.

“Mama,” she finally babbled out, causing more tears to spring to Tom’s eyes.

“Oh, darling,” he said, hugging her to him, “good job, my sweet girl.”

“Her first words,” Nikki smiled, patting her head gently.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

The funeral was like no other held at the castle. Tom kept it small, only the people you knew and loved attended. Though all the people in England sent their condolences to the castle in the form of letters and gifts. The actual ceremony was just Tom, his mother, his brothers, Harrison, Ivy, Ida, and Dahlia.

Instead of keeping you in the family tomb, he had you laid to rest next the Arthur and James, so you could take care of him, just like you said you would. He liked to think that that’s what you would have wanted. However, he put all of your personal possessions in the tomb, next to Dahlia’s grave. Your little Russian doll leaned against her casket daintily, always watching over her.

“Tom,” Harry came up to his brother that evening at dinner. They hadn’t spoken since that night, “I’m sorry.”

Tom shook his head before looking up from his plate, “Go away, Harry.”

“Please, I didn’t know—”

“You should have listened to me!” Tom snapped, “She’s dead because of you.”

Harry recoiled at Tom’s harsh tone, “I was just trying to do the right thing…” he said quietly.

“Well, you didn’t,” Tom said, “you got her killed,” he glanced at Sam who was standing behind Harry, “you both did.”

“Tom, please—” Sam pleaded with his other brother, but Tom just got up and stormed off to his chambers, ignoring the downcast glances from everyone at the table.

Tom stayed in his chambers for the rest of the evening. It was the only place he could stomach because it was the only place he could be alone. If he was lucky, he could close his eyes and still smell your perfume, maybe he’d even trick himself into thinking you were actually there.

But the room was devoid of your personal charm now, it even seemed dimmer than the last time he was in it just that morning before he had so many of your things moved out. The only thing he had left now to hold onto was the memories. The ones of you and him in this bed, making love. The ones of you and him giggling on the balcony in the early hours of the morning, taking in the cool summer breeze. The ones of you waking him up with your gentle caress of his face. That’s all this room offered him now.

“Tom,” Ida didn’t even bother knocking, she knew it was futile that he’d even respond.

“Get out.”

“No,” Ida shook her head, “not until you listen to me.”

“Nothing you say can make this any better,” Tom said dejectedly, “(Y/N) is gone.” it was the first time Tom had said it out loud and it sounded bitter on his lips. The words tasted like ash on his tongue.

“She kept a diary,” Ida said, ignoring Tom’s moping, “she kept it under one of these floorboards.”

“Why?”

“It had personal things in it, things about her family, private thoughts, things she wouldn’t want to get out into the wrong hands,” Ida moved across the floor, stepping on all of the boards, and listening for a specific creak, “but you’re not the wrong hands.”

Once she heard it, she got to her knees and began lifting the board, digging her nails under it, and pulling the plank of wood up. Inside was filled with dust and dirt and one lonely book. Ida picked it up and dusted it off, blowing on it and patting it clean before handing it to Tom.

“How do you know about this?” Tom asked as he took the book in his hands.

“She told me about it,” Ida said simply, “sometimes she’d read some entries to me when she was teaching me how to read and write. You won’t like all of them,” Ida warned him, “the first one is from when she first arrived from France, but anything after the wedding, I think you deserve to hear.”

“Thank you,” Tom looked at Ida with tears in his eyes, “truly.”

“Of course, your grace,” Ida nodded, “you deserve to know how she truly felt about you, through it all.”

Ida left quickly after that and Tom opened the diary to the entry from the day you and Tom were wed.

Although we were supposed to consummate our marriage last night, Tom did not force me to. I appreciate that from him. He told me at the alter that he would be whatever it is I need him to be, and last night, he was just that: a confidant.

If only he were always such a gentleman instead of a brutish, frog-face—

Tom skipped to the entry from the night you first made love.

Last night, Tom and I made love. I let him have me in a way I’ve never let anyone have me before. It was magical, extraordinary, and inconceivable. I’d never be able to describe it in words, just how lovely the experience was. And afterwards, he said he loved me. I didn’t say it back, I refused to, and perhaps that was a mistake. Because as I am writing this and thinking it over, I think I may harbor feelings for Tom that I’ve never once harbored for anyone before. I do not find him nearly as frog-looking as I did before. Dare I say, he’s the most charming man I’ve ever met. Perhaps I do love him.

Then there was the entry from the night of his birthday party.

My heart is shattered irrevocably. My punishment must finally be upon me for abandoning Dahlia in England, for today, my happiness was ripped from my grasp.

Although the day began lovely, waking up in Tom’s arms, it ended horrifically. Lizzie Farley has claimed to carry Tom’s bastard, and in turn, Tom will have a child with her. I have yet to give him an heir. Is this what my life is to become? Second to her? I’m so sick with heartache, I can hardly breathe.

And the day you found out you were pregnant with Dahlia.

After missing my bleeding days and waking up feeling grotesque, I have come to the conclusion that I am with child. Tom and I have been trying for months now to conceive an heir, and although I am thrilled with the possibility that I may give Tom a baby, I am worried that something may go wrong. I‘ll tell him soon when I feel more sure of my conclusion.

And then, just a few pages down, there was something special Tom found.

Tom,

If you’re reading this means you’ve found my diary. It also means that you’ve been snooping, which you must remind me to scold you for.

Of course, nevertheless, I hope you are reading this in good health and with a smile on your face. I assumed at some point in time you’d either find this or I’d cough it up and hand it over, just because so much of it is about you.

I love you. I hope you know that by now. I mean, as I am writing this, I am carrying your child, so I’m sure you are aware of my affections. Even so, it doesn't hurt to express it more. Sometimes I feel like I don’t tell you enough. So, I love you with all of my heart. And I love the life we have created.

Even though this isn’t the life I wanted and you’re not the man I thought I’d fall in love with, there is such beauty and privilege in being yours. I love being bound to you.

Love you forever,

(Y/N)

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

A/N: and thats a wrap! finally, this series is complete! there will be an epilogue posted soon, i am already over 1k words in on it, so look out for that!

want to join my taglist?

✧tags & moots✧ PERM

@ptergwen @princessofguineapigs @peterbenjiparker @cherrytholland @itsapeterthing @justapurrcat @kelieah @celestialholland @hollandcrush @scarletspideyy @blissfulparker @spidernerdsblog @spideyspeaches @andilovetowrite @sinisterspidey @annathesillyfriend @lovelybarnes @white-wolf1940 @arvinsescape @super-not-naturall @allthisfortommy @selfcarecap @misshale21 @morganwilliams-blog-blog @loveaffaire @angelmavmurdock @pogueslandia @tomshufflepuff @hallecarey1 @a-daydreamers-day @holland-styles @cloudyfeel @peni5parker @slut-for-steve-rogers @kitkatt18-blog @kitkat2015-blog @bookfrog242 @slutforfics @wildxwidow @prancerrparkerr @petesrparker @arlo-sanders @sxuxgarplxum @peter-parkers-gf @namoreno @andrewgarfields-girlfriend @byersboys @xoxokiaraaxoxo @hollandsvogue-blog @marvelobsessed10031917 @z3ndaya @sunflowerfive @yunho-leeknow @xxxstormyninixxx @marvelhasmyheart235 @lowkey-holland @blahblahblah-boo @nocturnalms @happyt0exist @kpostedsum @noemiix1 @mischieftom @sophi54 @allazay101 @spideybrina @rqmanoff @rory-cakes @parkerdarling @samaraaaaa-blog @freds-slut @misslady246 @tonystarksfavoritedaughter @adayasgeorgia @mn-jun @spider-man-stiles-gubler @wildholland @demirunner @marvelobsessedteen @lolooo22 @moniffazictress11 @sleepybesson @sweetpeterparker @bradtomlovesya @teenwishes08 @hogwartsmarvelmommy @dracoswhore007 @elishi03 @beth-gallagher22 @hunnybunimdun @badbatch-simp24 @raajali3 @vibezayn91 @heyyitsreign @iamsherloki-wholocked @itscaminow @blankspaceblankday @denkisclown @spideysloverera @minejungwoo @dirtytissuebox @whoeveniskendall @princessnnylzays @katie-navarro @hollandscherry @demirunner @lucypevensie111-blog @dottirose @tiaamberxx @wh0re4zaynmalik @luvwanda @kinlie-l @cevans-winchester @502spidey @wondergal2001 @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @inlovewithremusjohnlupin @belovedholland @randomstufflol29 @t-lostinworlds @kaitieskidmore1 @milkiane @pandaxnienke @onceuponameli @ju1cyang3l @maximoffbarnesprotectionsquad @indouloureux @d22malfoys @chaoticevilbakugo @princessnnylzays @cmrxac @edgycatx @seolaseoul @evermoresilk @uwiuwi @meghanmhill1 @esposamultifandom @princessatoru @evanstanwhore @alohastitch0626 @f-ergj @lovesanimals0000 @eichenhouseproperty @1-800-imagines @aslutformarauders @thelaststraw3 @s-we-e-t-t-ea @queeniequinn @totheblood @liltimmyst @jayheartswritting @ptrsprincess @1-800-mocha @zendayassimp @varshhyy @miyukiistuff @lnmp89 @chxosunbound @eviemarvel @Dasha-Aaliyah @kazbekkarluvbot @bath1lda @gypsytraveler86-blog @madsttx @bitch616 @alicjaalaki @tessas4 @crvshnburnn

✧tags & moots✧ TOM HOLLAND

@harryhollandsgirlfriend @hollandlover19 | @worldoftom @hollandsrecs @theonly1outof-a-billion @thevelvetseries @moonchild-s-blog @lmaotshollandd @tomhollandlol @outshineallthestars @masonslovie @summer-paris-lights

BTY: @frogsbelike1 @bobo-bush @allthisfortommy @t-hollanderr @tomsirishgirlx @marishaslove @enjoymyloves @hidejeon @username2002 @honestly-who-even-is-this @myshaahmad77 @webslinger-holland @yeetzel

203 notes · View notes

vendettaparker · 2 years

Text

Bound to You: Chapter Twelve— Little Dove

“Did you get enough love, my little dove Why do you cry? And I'm sorry I left, but it was for the best Though it never felt right [...]

The hospital asked should the body be cast Before I say goodbye, my star in the sky Such a funny thought to wrap you up in cloth Do you find it all right, my dragonfly?” — Sufjan Stevens

Summary: Tom quickly realizes how deeply his betrayal stung. However, in his attempts to make it better, he only adds more fuel to a raging fire, leaving a tiny trail of blood in it’s wake.

Word Count: 15.3k (omg kill me)

Warnings: angst, swearing, typos, mentions of miscarriage, physical violence against a women/domestic abuse, labor/childbirth, mentions of sex, character death, assassination

mini A/N: i literally cried writing some of these parts bc they were so sad. so i am 1000% serious when i say to read with caution. this chapter is not for the faint of heart. if you want to read it, but aren’t sure if you can handle it, pls take breaks or dm me and i can give you the run down of what happens to make it easier to digest or to help you decide if this is something you can handle. in the end, this is the best i can do to help you, but your media consumption is completely on you. so read responsibly!

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

“Now hush little baby,” Dahlia cooed to her little doll as she tucked it tightly into her bed, “mommy’s right here.” She pressed a quick kiss to its head and smiled brightly at it.

You rolled your eyes as you watched her, busy tying your doll to your wooden horse to see how fast you could push it down the hall—possibly down the stairs if you could get that far without Lola catching you or Dahlia snitching.

“What’re you doing?” Dahlia came over to ask once her baby was “asleep”.

“My baby is going to be a horseback rider,” You said simply.

Dahlia side-eyed you, “She can’t, she’s a baby.”

“Mhm,” you protested,” she can be whatever she wants.”

“No, that’s not how the game is played,” Dahlia said, “you’re supposed to take care of the baby, not get it injured.”

“It’s just a toy.”

Dahlia crossed her arms, “It’s pretend.”

“Oh,” You shrugged, “well then we can just pretend that my baby is a horseback rider.”

Dahlia shook her head, an amused smile danced on her lips, “You’d be a terrible mother,” she giggled.

You smiled, “Probably.”

“That’s okay, though,” She added, “I’ll help you be a good mother.”

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Tom could hear your scream all the way in his office. He wasn’t far from your chambers anyhow, but the horrible, terrified, bloodcurdling scream you let out was piercing—he wouldn’t be surprised if Harrison heard it all the way in Norway.

He dropped the book he was reading—a boring excerpt he hoped would lull him to sleep, of course, it didn’t do much, and he hardly slept without you by his side as it was—and bolted down the halls, ignoring the concerned looks from servants and guards in the hallways.

His first thought was treachery. The new guard he had assigned you was a fine young lad, but he was still young and had a lot to learn. Tom should have known better than assigning him the most important job in the whole castle. Giving you a new guard was more for his benefit rather than yours, he knew Ivy was the best and would never harm you, but he couldn’t have you conspiring. He couldn’t have Ivy filling your head with any more falsities, not until he’d eased your mind and you’d learn to love him again, not until he was sure your faith in him was restored.

But now, all that reasoning seemed ridiculous as he ran through the halls with his sword by his side, bouncing on his hip, bruising it with its weight. How could he be so daft? A young lad rather than a seasoned bull? He should’ve thought that through better.

Ivy caught up with him somewhere on the run, and together they ran to your room. She spared him a single glance, noticing the fear and determination in his eyes. She almost felt sorry for him, but nevertheless, she pushed the thought away and kept the pace.

The chamber doors were opened and the new guard Tom had assigned to you, a young bloke named Miller, was at your side, trying to discern what had happened.

He saw no one else in the room. No signs of forced entry and nothing else of that would concern him more than the fear in your eyes. You were looking down between your legs with shaky breaths as your trembling hand held the covers away.

You were a blubbering mess. All tears and cries, snot and saliva dripped down your face as you stared at the red on the sheets. Your bottom lip was jutted out and quivering as you sniffled.

Ivy rushed past Tom, stuck at the door in shock.

“Get back,” She instructed the young guard, “find the physician, then Ida, that’s her chambermaid. Go on now.”

The guard nodded and quickly left the room, pushing past Tom.

You looked at Ivy tearfully, “I-I didn’t—” you shook your head, “my baby,” you cried, “wh-what’s h-happening?”

“I don’t know,” Ivy frowned, sitting on the bed. You immediately buried your head into her neck, releasing your cries there.

Tom moved into the room, coming towards both of you hesitantly, “Darling?” He croaked, tears brimming in his own eyes.

His worst fears had materialized in front of him. You, sitting in a pile of blood. However, now, somehow it was worse. Now, it wasn't just you.

“Does it hurt?” Ivy asked, pushing your hair away from your face.

You shook your head and opened your mouth to say something but she shushed you before you could, “Don’t speak,” she instructed.

Tom moved to sit on the bed, at the end by your feet. You didn’t pay him any mind, but Ivy’s cold gaze never left him. She was watching, her icy stare daring him to do or say something to worsen this.

He placed his hand on your leg and she held your head to her chest tighter. “It’ll be okay,” she said softly.

Ida came rushing in, Arthur on her heels close behind.

“Your grace?” She asked, rushing to your side as well.

She took Ivy’s place, inspecting your state while Ivy went to Arthur.

“Come on,” she placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder, leading him out of the room, “this isn’t for your concern.”

“But what’s going on?” He asked, rubbing his eyes, both from the sleep he was woken from and the tears he could feel brimming.

“Get some sleep, Arthur,” Ivy said, “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Arthur took one last look at you, burying your cries into Ida’s shoulder, Tom at your feet, rubbing a soothing hand on your leg, trying his best to keep his own tears at bay for your sake. He gave one last look to the boy, offering him a small nod, instructing him to go, and who was Arthur to defy a king? So he did.

It felt like hours waiting for Miller to come back with the physician. Though it was only minutes—perhaps twenty or so—it felt like an eternity. Hours of torment feeling Tom’s burning stare at you while you were at your weakest. Hours of torment feeling the blood drying and becoming tacky between your legs, unsure if another gush of it would come out, unsure if your baby was okay, unsure if they were even alive.

But finally, he came.

He pressed a cold hand to your stomach and hummed, his face set into a hard frown.

“Do you have any discomfort?”

“No,” You shook your head, “just—just the bleeding.”

He didn’t say much else as he pressed into your gut. Ida climbed into the bed beside you and held your hand.

“Is the baby okay?” Tom asked, speaking up from the doctor’s side.

“I’m feeling for movement,” He said, “if I give the little guy a shove here or there, maybe we’ll get lucky and he’ll shove me back…”

You all waited on bated breath as he kept pushing around, tapping and pressing wherever. Finally, after you were ready to give up and the tears had come back, accepting the finality of it all, you felt a flutter.

“There,” the physician said, pressing into the spot again, only to be met with a press against his hand back, “the baby’s okay.”

You released the breath you’d be holding as tears streamed down your cheeks, “Are you sure?” You asked, pressing a hand to your own bump, “she’s okay?”

“Yes, your grace,” he gave you a small smile, “I’m sure this was just a little scare, but we can never be too careful. Bed rest for the rest of your condition I think will be best.”

“Yes,” You agreed, rubbing soft circles over your belly, sniffling, “but the bleeding? Why was—”

“There are many reasons,” the physician said, “I can’t say for sure what it was this time, but the baby still seems strong. Most likely, you will deliver soon.”

“That’s great,” Tom cut in with a smile, “isn’t it, darling?” His eyes were glistening, “It means our little one will be here soon—”

“Please get out,” You frowned, wiping your eyes from their remaining tears.

The physician nodded, “Get some rest, your graces.” He said, bowing his head before leaving.

Tom sighed and sat on the bed again after he left, “You shouldn’t have been so short with him, he was only trying to help—”

“I was talking to you.”

Tom pursed his lips and nodded. He turned to Ida who was removing the sheets from the bed, working around where you were laying, “Ida, could you give us the room please?”

She looked up at you, waiting for your order. Tom rolled his eyes at the small act of defiance—she never truly listened to him.

You nodded for her to go, “Go fetch some fresh linen.” You instructed. She nodded and off she went.

“(Y/N),” Tom placed his hand on your leg, “I know you’re still cross with—”

“Cross doesn’t even begin to cover it,” You said.

“—But we are still husband and wife. I am still doing the best I can to keep you safe and take care of you—both of you. I love you, even if you’re going to be upset with me. I know you’ll forgive me and that it’ll take time but for that to happen you can’t keep shutting me out. You need to work with me here. You’re right, we’re partners in this and—”

“I won’t forgive you.” You shook your head, “Never in my life, will I ever forgive you for what you did. I hate you for what you did.”

“You don’t mean that,” Tom said quietly. He’d suffered through your venom before, but never before have you ever aimed for his heart like this.

“Yes, I fucking do.” You spat, “you and Hawthorne are one in the fucking same. You both usurped me, but at least he didn’t try to claim that it was in the name of love.”

“It was!” Tom snapped, jumping up from the bed and pointing an angry finger in your face, “I did it to protect you and secure a future for us here, in England! This is our home, (Y/N)! Stop living the fucking fantasy of Scotland! Your father is dead, Dahlia is dead, James is dead, Scotland isn’t ours; you don’t get to go back! This is our life!”

A single tear fell from your cheek, and though he was heaving with anger, all Tom wanted to do was wipe it away. But he couldn’t, not when you were looking at him like that. Not when he’d once again let his anger get the best of him.

“Get out,” You cried, shoving him away from yourself the best you could from your bed, “get out!”

Tom stumbled over his boots, tripping over himself. He decided not to fight it, finding his footing and leaving the room. If he stayed, he knew he’d only make it worse and God forbid he should provoke you enough to make you harm yourself or the baby more by physically trying to fight him.

He found Ivy, waiting by the door with Miller, a knowing look on her face as he stumbled out of the room. He had no time nor patience for her snide remarks.

“You,” He pointed to her, “go in there and do whatever it takes to make her content. Take Arthur to her tomorrow, have my mother come with tea, have Lady Maude visit, get her a puppy for all I care, just keep her in good spirits.”

“Yes, your grace,” Ivy nodded, about to walk into the room, but Tom grabbed her arm, halting her a moment.

“If anything happens to her or that baby in the next two weeks, I will hold you personally responsible, you hear?”

“Yes, your grace.”

Tom nodded and let her go. He looked at Miller and nodded him off, “To the wall with you for watch now, go on.”

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

This was the worst dinner Tom had ever had to sit through. Not only was his mother glaring at him the entire time, disdain and disappointment in her eyes, but so was Harry. Although, his eyes held something darker—hatred perhaps.

And then there was Lola and your mother, gossiping like little hens about how lovely and calm everything will be once the two countries are united.

“Tom, dear,” Lola smiled at him. He planted a small smile on his face in return, trying to make it seem like his mind wasn’t drifting back to you every chance it got, “Guinevere and I had this wonderful idea this afternoon over tea.”

Tom nodded for her to continue.

“If you and (Y/N) have a girl, we should arrange for her and my son to be wed!” Lola clapped her hands together, “Not only will we be unioned in treaties, but also in marriage. It’s a lovely thought, isn’t it?”

Tom’s smile fell and he bit his cheek harshly, holding his tongue the best he could, “I’m not sure,” he looked down at his plate, “our baby isn’t even born yet, it seems too soon to dictate their life like this.”

“Oh, it’s just planning, dear,” Your mother cooed, “nothing’s formal. But it’s a great opportunity. And the sooner you figure this out the less you’ll have to worry about it in the future. I mean, oh Lord, the stress of getting Dahlia and (Y/N) married off. Dahlia was easy, you liked her, didn’t you Nikki?”

Nikki pursed her lips, “She was a lovely girl; they both are.”

“Yes, but of course, (Y/N) is nobody’s first choice. That was a harder task. And if you two should have a daughter that’s anything like her—well, you should just be thinking about it soon, I’d say.”

“I don’t think this is a conversation we should have without (Y/N),” Tom said, attempting to end the topic of discussion.

“Perhaps not,” Lola agreed, “but it’s not as if (Y/N) is the most agreeable person. She’d never listen to these plans, Tom. But you’re such a good listener, and you are king, so in the end, it’s truly only your opinion that matters.”

Tom nodded along, “Yes, I suppose so—”

Nikki stood from her seat abruptly, knocking her chalice of wine over as she did so.

“Mother?” Tom asked, looking up to her.

“I’ve lost my appetite,” She huffed, frowning at Tom, before walking off.

“So have I,” Harry stood as well, taking his wine with him, along with a pitcher to refill.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Nikki visited you frequently. She was there every morning to wake you, though most times she’d just let you sleep in, and her and Ida’s conversing would be the cause of your stirring. She’d come with teas and cookies and lots of books to read. She was a glowing light in these dark times for you.

As was Arthur, who’d been getting increasingly better at chess.

“When will Hawthorne be arriving?” You asked as Nikki poured you a cup of tea.

“They’re all out there waiting for him right now,” She sighed, “selfish bastards.”

Your eyes widened at her choice of words, “Nikki?”

“Thomas and the whole lot of them,” She huffed, “all out there waiting to let traitors into our court. While you’re in here, confined to this room. It’s maddening, the way this is playing out.”

Nikki’s ramblings, though not intended to, stung. She always did ramble when something truly got to her, and her calm nature dissipated the minute something truly wrong was afoot. And now, her ramblings served as a constant reminder of how wrong this all was.

Your lip quivered as you rubbed a hand on your large, protruding stomach, “Yes, it’s… not fair,” you frowned.

Nikki looked up and saw the distress on your face, “Oh, but worry not my love,” she put her hand atop of yours, “it’ll all work itself out I’m sure. And this baby,” she gave your hand a squeeze, “well, they're gonna make it all okay. I promise.”

You gave her a small smile, before looking out the window at the Spring sun, desperately trying to fight through the clouds. Nikki’s smile fell the moment your gaze was torn from her. How could she ever tell you about the conversation had at dinner just the night prior?

“I hear the horses,” You said, “it sounds like a lot.”

Nikki rubbed your arm soothingly, “Nothing we can’t handle.” She smiled softly.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

There were four carriages bounded for the castle from what Tom could tell. Harry and Paddy stood on either side of him while Lola and your mother stood just slightly behind. Ivy stood off to the side, a permanent scowl on her face, hidden by her helmet.

When the first carriage stopped in front of them, Lola clasped her hands with excitement. Tom could hear her behind him, whispering to your mother about how long it had been since she’d seen her family.

Hawthorne was not the man Tom expected him to be. He didn’t ooze authority or drip intimation. He came out of the carriage in his fanciful clothes, but to Tom, he looked like a man playing dress-up. But still, he curbed his tongue and offered him a smile.

“Lord Hawthorne,” Tom greeted him kindly, “it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“King soon, no doubt,” Hawthorne laughed, taking Tom’s hand in his thin, pale, lanky one.

Now that he was closer, Tom could study his features a bit more. His eyes were sunken in it seemed, and his cheeks were hallowed. He was a small man—if Tom truly wanted to he could probably break his ribs with a good punch or two, placed just right. It picked Tom’s brain to think that this was the man that caused so much grievance for your family.

He was shorter than Tom, though he’d be a bit taller if he stood at his full height, but he crouched a bit or cowered more like. His hair was dark and parted down the middle and his voice had a shaky lilt to it.

“Yes, no doubt,” Tom agreed, “I hope your journey was not too terrible?”

“No not at all, your grace,” Hawthorne shook his head, “the weather was a bit of a pain but nobody controls that as you know,” he chuckled.

“Yes, well, I hope your stay in England should prove fruitful to both our reigns,” Tom nodded curtly, stepping aside, standing alongside Hawthorne as they faced towards his wife, who was smiling brightly, giving him a small wave, “it took a bit of difficulty getting these arrangements together, so I hope you can understand my hesitancy during some negotiations. My wife will need far more convincing than I, I presume.”

“Ah, (Y/N),” Hawthorne pressed his lips into a tight smile, “I understand completely. No one knows her temperament quite like I, your grace.”

“Really?”

“Oh, yes,” Hawthorne nodded, “we used to be quite close. Her father and I were good friends.”

Tom frowned at the statement. Folly, he thought, no one would do such a thing to a friend. Liar was his next assumption. Though he knew these negotiations must go through, he refused to be persuaded otherwise. Hawthorne was a liar and a snake. He should never forget that.

The next carriage was a tougher pill for Tom to swallow—a much more bitter poison. Harry’s the one who caught it first. When he first saw Farley getting out of the carriage, as it shook and rocked with his movement, his immediate reaction was putrid disgust. Somehow, he’d gotten ghastlier than the last time he had seen him, hooting and hollering, swearing on the Holland name. On your name as well. Harry wouldn’t stand for that.

“Woah,” Harry and two guards walked over, Tom stopping his conversation with Hawthorne to divert his attention to his younger brother’s woes, “what the fuck is this twat doing here?” Harry pointed to Farley.

“You will address Scotland’s head advisor with respect, little boy.” Farley scoffed.

“I’d treat shit on my boot with more respect, you fucking slug—”

“Harry!” Tom scolded his brother, standing between the two. One look and the guards were standing down, “I discussed this already with Hawthrone. Farley and Lizzie will be welcomed back with open arms for the time being.”

Harry’s mouth opened, closed again, and then opened once more to let out a bitter, dry chuckle, “You discussed it with Hawthorne, did you, mate?” He asked, before motioning back to the castle, “and what of (Y/N)? Did you discuss it with her?”

Tom scoffed and shook his head, but Harry pressed on, “No, of course, you didn’t.” He chuckled humorlessly, “And what of the child? You said yourself that the child would never set foot on the royal grounds—”

“There is no child,” Lizzie interrupted, her vice tiny and raw. A contrast from the powerful, shrillness Harry was accustomed to, “I lied.”

Harry shook his head when he saw her. She was dressed in lovely pink silk. Her shoes were shined and her jewels were heavy around her neck. Her entire outfit was more elaborate and ornate than what she wore when she was a lady in court. But her face was another matter entirely.

Her bottom lip was busted and scabbed over and her eyes both held bruises directly under them, purple in the center, yellow on the edges. There were two small, yet deep cuts on her cheek, both would surely scar. She already had small scabbed-over cuts littered across her neck. Her stance was wobbly and her breath hitched when Tom’s gaze met hers. She looked scared. Completely unlike the girl he once knew.

Tom’s frown, already etched onto his face, deepened at the sight of her.

She had a child in her arms, pulling at her golden locks, tangling them in its fingers.

“I am deeply sorry, your grace,” She said softly to Tom, “my lies and treachery were most foul—”

“As you can see, your grace,” Farley placed his large hand on his daughter's shoulder and she tensed up, “we’ve already punished her for her disobedience. Of course, I understand if you’d like to question her further or institute your own form of discipline.”

“I see,” Tom nodded, “well I don’t see why any further actions should be required. Let us simply put the matter behind us.”

“Thank you, your grace,” Lizzie looked down at her shoes, curtsying with a hiss due to the ache in her bones, before running off to give Lola her son.

“Go on,” Tom motioned Farley off towards the castle, “I’d like a word with my brother. We will be swiftly behind. Welcome back, Lord Farley.”

Farley smiled widely, his multiple chins popping out and his yellow teeth glowing, “Thank you, your grace.”

The fat man waddled off to catch up with Hawthorne and his daughter while Tom and Harry strolled leisurely behind.

“You’ve gone mad,” Harry shook his head, watching as Hawthorne kissed his wife in greeting and held her in his arms, “surely, this won’t go right. You saw what that did to her as well as I.”

“I did,” Tom nodded, looking at Lizzie, staring blankly at the castle, more specifically to the windows that looked into your chambers, “they harmed her far more than we would have.”

“You must send them off.”

“It’s too late for that,” Tom shook his head, “I’ve already welcomed them here. I’ve already let them into our home. I can not start a conflict now, not with (Y/N) in the condition she is, not with a new baby coming, and more certainly not when they are here, in the same castle as my most precious treasures.”

Harry clenched his jaw, “This is wrong and you know it. Something bad is bound to happen.”

“Stop it,” Tom scolded, “nothing’s going to happen. We’ll abdicate Scotland to Hawthorne and that will be that. We’ll still have England—our home.”

“Home is not merely a place, Tom,” Harry said, “it’s the one thing you and (Y/N) both don’t seem to understand. Land, places—that’s all meaningless. It’s the people you love, that’s your home, that’s your legacy. What is this all for, if not for (Y/N)?”

“This is for (Y/N)—” Tom tried.

“No, it isn’t,” Harry argued, “because in the end, she doesn't want this and she won’t love you for it.”

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

“You lied,” Farley looked at the humiliation on his daughter's face, “you lying, adulterous harlot!” He bellowed, striking her harshly across the mouth.

He had come home to the outskirts of England, to the chateau where his family was permitted to live. His journey had taken months, so by now the child should be well developed and his daughter should have been showing completely. But when he arrived, her baggy clothes did little to hide the fact that there was nothing underneath them.

“I did not lie!” She cried, holding her face in her hand, “I swear I was with child, I swear I am!”

“I have already given my loyalty to the new king of Scotland and in return all he asked for is this baby that you claimed to be with, and now…now you’ve gone and screwed your entire family over!” Farley pushed her to the ground before quickly grabbing her by the hair and yanking her back up again.

“W-What—what are you doing?” She cried as he marched her to the carriage outside, “W-Where are we going?”

“You will explain this to the king yourself.”

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

In a way, Hawthorne’s non-threatening appearance was a bit of a blessing to himself. Because deep down, the truth of his character was darkness and a constant need for more. More power, more gold, more riches, more loyalty—he was a man not easily satiated.

Of course, he loved his wife and son more than most other things in the world, but they only served as shitty reasoning for why he needed more. He rationalized that he needed more so that he may provide for them. But really, he needed more because he was empty inside, and no matter how much he had, the emptiness was never quite filled.

That’s why Hawthorne was so despicable, because he looked like a kind, small man. But the reality was much crueler.

“You swear that you were with King Thomas’ child?” Hawthorne questioned, pouring himself a glass of wine.

“I-I do, your grace,” Lizzie nodded, her own wine being poured.

“Hm,” Hawthorne pondered it a moment as he sipped his wine, motioning for Lizzie to do the same.

She came into this meeting frightened, completely shaking in her seat. But Hawthorne has eased her nerves with his facade of kindness—and cruel ruse.

She took a sip of the lavish, sweet wine.

“What do you think happened then?” Hawthorne asked, “Babies do not just disappear, and certainly not from their mother’s wombs.”

“Well I—” Lizzie frowned, “I’m sure the baby is still there, it's just taking time to grow.”

“Did you lose the baby?” Hawthorne asked, “Was there lots of blood one morning when you woke up?”

“No, your grace,” Lizzie pressed a hand to her stomach, “I didn’t lose my baby.”

“Then there must not have been one to begin with.”

“I—”

“From what your father tells me,” Hawthorne began, “you were scorned when King Thomas did not return your affections. Is that true?”

“I was hurt, yes,” Lizzie nodded, “because we were going to have a baby and he was leaving it all to me.”

“There was no baby,” Hawthorne shook his head, “let‘s start by getting that into your dumb little head, yes?”

Lizzie’s small smile fell, “Your grace—”

“You lied.” Hawthorne stated simply, “Do you want to hear my theory?”

Lizzie shook her head, “Well, listen anyway,” Hawthorne instructed sharply, “I think you knew that Thomas was done with you. He had a queen now, so why would he need the dumb whore that he used to fill his needs with? I think that you fooled yourself and him and all those around you because you couldn’t handle the rejection. I think that there never was a baby, but by the time we all figured that out, you were hoping Thomas would have already picked you. Am I missing anything?”

Lizzie began to protest, “Your grace, it’s not like that. I—”

“I have the facts, dear Lizzie,” Hawthorne motioned for his guards to come over and restrain her, “and the fact is, you lied. I don’t care for liars in my court. Take her to the dungeon.”

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

The past few months had not been kind to Lizzie—not that she had done much to deserve any such kindness—but her father assured her that now that her punishment with Hawthorne was complete and they were set to travel back to England, things would be looking up for her.

“Chin up, dear,” Farley said to his daughter after they were seated at the dinner table. A long table with a feast Tom had had the cooks prepare to welcome the Scottish visitors and welcome back the returning Lord and his family. Though one would expect these words to be spoken with softness, Farley said them lowly, almost as an order, “we are finally in England once more dear. This is what you wanted, is it not?”

Lizzie looked around at the faces of her old friends across the room. Girls who whispered about her, but turned away the minute their gazes met her. She was a disgrace. She then looked back up to her father, “I don’t think this is what I had in mind.” She said quietly, “I wanted my old life back, father. This is not my life.”

Farley rolled his eyes as he cut into his meat, “I thought you wanted Thomas back? Well there he is now,” he motioned with his knife to the king at the head of the table, looking off into the distance with a frown on his face, “so close you can almost touch him.”

“He won’t want me now,” Lizzie said, “not now that—”

“Hush up about that,” Farley grumbled, “we'll never find a proper husband for you if you keep going on about that horrid—”

“I’ve been disgraced, father—”

“You have disgraced us all. You’ve got your punishment. Now be glad you’re even allowed to sit here with us as equals.”

She may have wanted Tom. Of course, she did, or else she would not have gone through all this trouble that she had. But sitting here now, sore and broken, she didn’t think Tom was worth so much trouble anymore.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

“They’ve had a feast without me,” You pursed your lips into a line, when Ida entered your chambers with a tray of food, piled high with all of the goodies the kitchen had to offer that day.

“I’m sorry, your grace,” Ida set the tray on the table and came to help you sit up, “it was a dull affair I assure you. Nobody was fond of the guests.”

“Hm,” You hummed when Ida placed the tray in front of you, “no need to lie to spare my feelings, Ida. I’m sure Tom is out there talking all about this union with Scotland and the traitors who usurped my throne, I’m sure he’s making it sound lovely to the people. I’m sure they rejoiced at the welcoming of Hawthorne.” You said bitterly, stabbing your small game hen with your knife.

“That’s not quite my reference, your grace,” Ida took the knife from your hands and helped you cut the bird, “it’s the Farley’s they’re loathing.”

“Farley’s?” You looked up from your plate, “What of them?”

“You haven’t heard?”

“I don’t hear much cooped up in here.”

“They ran to Scotland after being asked to leave the English court,” Ida explained, “and Hawthorne gladly took them in.”

“I’m sure he did once he heard of Lizzie’s condition,” Your heart sank as you spoke, remembering the child that was now in your court. The child that Tom had once denounced, but now welcomed back with open arms. Was this a replacement for the insolence of his wife? No, you mustn’t think like that. Those intrusive thoughts will have you crawling back to him, feeling sorry for yourself.

“That’s another thing, your grace,” Ida continued as you ate, “Lizzie has no condition. It was a ruse.”

“A ruse?”

“Yes,” Ida nodded, “a falsity in hopes of winning his grace’s affections.”

“And he’s welcomed her back?”

Ida pressed her lips tightly together before frowning. She hesitated a moment, placing a hand on your arm, “Quite willingly,” she said dejectedly.

“I see,” You set your utensils down and pushed the tray away slightly, “I’m done. Thank you, Ida.”

“(Y/N),” Ida said softly, “you’ve hardly had any. The baby will be here soon, you need your strength.”

You rubbed your large stomach and sighed, “I’ve lost my appetite.”

Ida frowned, “I know things have been hard lately. I know you’re tired and angry and stressed, all rightfully so, but please, just take it one step at a time.” Ida begged, taking your hand in hers, “Just a few more bites?”

Ida had been with you through all of it. During this entirety of the past year, she has held your hand and wiped your tears. She cradled your head and brushed your hair and listened as you ranted and raved about all the injustices you’ve been met with. And it wasn’t without any reward of course. Because in return she got you as her friend. She also got to listen to your stories and your praises. She got opportunities she never thought imaginable. And she got security within your loyalty.

You nodded finally, giving in because you knew it was for the best.

“Your grace,” Ivy opened your chamber doors, “you have a visitor, shall I let them in?”

“Who is it?” You asked.

Typically if it were Nikki or Arthur, Ivy wouldn’t hesitate to open the door for them. If it were Tom though, there’d be a long, loud quarrel outside, one where he’d finally cave and leave you be. You’d always wait on bated breath as you heard Ivy refuse him entrance into his own chambers. He was annoyed; you could tell by his tone, but he knew he had to give you something. So he gave you Ivy.

Ivy cleared her throat, “It’s Lizzie, your grace.”

You scoffed, “What could she possibly want? To gloat, perhaps? I have no interest in hearing what she has to say.”

“No, your grace,” Ivy shook her head, “I think you should hear her out. Just for a moment at least.”

“Fine,” you conceded “let her in.”

The minute you laid eyes on her, the anger and hatred you could feel clenching your heart began to soften its grip, though only minutely. She looked fragile now. So unsure and unconfident in herself. When she glanced at Ivy and Ivy started her back down again, it was a stark contrast between the two characteristics. Lizzie used to be the girl that did the staring down, but now she cowered.

And when she looked at you, she felt a similar sense of pity. Though you had the life she had once dreamed of having, you looked more trapped than she. You looked tired too, but more than that you look… shattered. It was something in your eyes, she thought. The fiery glint that used to captivate Tom—and completely piss her—off was no longer there.

Ivy nudged Lizzie’s shoulder before she made it very far into the room, a small reminder. Lizzie gasped quietly and quickly scrambled into a bow, “Your grace,” she said, “thank you for agreeing to see me.”

“Well,” You shrugged, “I don’t have much else to do.”

“They’ve clipped your wings too,” Lizzie said without much thought, forgetting herself for a moment. The irony of it was just too good. Two women who used to vie after the same man—and sure she may have had to truly vie for Tom while he was always somewhat in the palm of your hand—now ruined, at least somewhat on his accord. It was nearly laughable.

The other girls in the room didn’t think so. Ivy and Ida both waited on bated breath for your response. Ivy was already ready to escort her out on your command.

Instead, you laughed. It was a small, light chuckle, but any laughter from you had been unheard of these past two weeks or so, so anything was a step up from the brooding depths of despair you’d enclosed yourself in. “Yes,” you smiled, “I suppose they did.”

“I apologize,” Lizzie shook her head when Ivy shot her an unamused look, “that was unkind of me. I’m in no position to make such thoughtless comments.”

“No,” you shook your head, “you’re not. But still, it’s true enough. Come sit,” you motioned to the chair next to your bed, “tell me what it is you came here to say because I know you didn’t just come to point out the truth.”

Lizzie sat while Ivy and Ida stood side by side, watching the two of you.

“You two may go,” You said to them, “Ivy, you’ll wait just outside the door, yes?”

“Of course, your grace.” Ivy nodded, holding the door for Ida before walking out herself.

“So,” You continued to poke at your meal as you spoke, “why did you come to see me?”

Lizzie picked at her nails and studied them closely, avoiding your curious eyes as she answered you, “I’m not even fully sure if I’m being honest,” she sighed, “I just didn’t have anyone else to go talk to. I have a lot of wrongs to right. I figured I’d start here.”

You nodded, “An apology is quite insignificant compared to want you’ve done in this court.”

“I know,” Lizzie agreed, “but it’s all I can give you. It’s…” Lizzie’s voice cracked, “it’s the best I can do to make things right.”

“What happened to you?” You asked, “When they found out you lied.”

Lizzie’s frown deepened and her face twisted into discomfort at the question. But you just patiently waited for a response.

“They locked me up…kept me in the dungeons of the castle. There was a man who would come in, almost daily on Hawthorne’s orders. He’d chain me up and…” Lizzie began to try to explain it, but it was a painful memory, weeks of pain, maybe months, “I’ve learned my lesson.” She said instead, “I was wrong to lie. It was cruel and horrible of me.”

“Why are you here now?” You asked, “Not just in my chambers, but in England as a whole? Did your father still win favor with Hawthorne?”

“He did, your grace. We are both here as guests along with Hawthorne.”

“And now what?” You asked, “You return to my court and pretend as though nothing happened? Do you think you can go back to being a proper lady after all of this?

“No,” Lizzie shook her head and swallowed thickly, “my friends won’t even look at me, let alone speak to me. Though, I know they whisper about me. I’m sure of it.”

“It doesn’t feel so good, does it?”

“No, your grace,” Lizzie sniffled, guilt bubbled in her gut as she remembered the harsh way she and her friends used to speak about you. She’d felt a lot of guilt surrounding the way her situation with you played out. This small meeting with you, getting to truly see how much her actions had impacted you, only made the guilt seem justified.

“Nothing will ever be the same,” She said softly. You sat in silence for a moment before she spoke again, “But my father does plan to marry me off while we are here.”

You let out a dry chuckle, “Surely, that’s a jest.” You shook your head, “What lord in this court would marry you? This is assuming the entire castle now knows your truth.”

Lizzie laughed as well, “I know, it’s presumptuous of him to think I could be married off so quickly.” She agreed, “But I don’t think money is the main factor for him anymore. Finances seem to be quite well since he is Hawthorne’s right-hand man. I suspect he just wants somebody to take me off his hands, and perhaps if he is lucky, it’ll be at least a somewhat beneficial financial match.”

“I see,” You nodded, “but what do you want?”

“Pardon?”

“For your future, I mean.”

“I don’t think I have much say in that anymore.”

You took a deep breath and rubbed a soothing hand over your baby bump, “Can I tell you something? A secret of sorts, I suppose?”

“Of course,” Lizzie agreed, “it’s not like I have anyone to tell now anyhow.”

“It should have been you,” You said, “all of it. The baby, the marriage, the crown. You wanted it, you should have had it. I certainly don’t want it anymore. I know it’s a terrible thing to say,” you sighed, “and I love my baby, I truly do. I just—I can’t help but wish somewhere along the way I had done something different. You know?”

Lizzie nodded, unsure of what to say.

“They think that I’m down for the count now. They think that since I’m so busy creating this life, here confined to my bed, I have forgotten how they have betrayed me.” You glared at the chamber doors, “but I swear, the minute my child is born and I am well again, I’ll get them back. Even just Tom. I’ll get him back for this.”

“I thought you loved him?” Lizzie said quietly.

“I thought so too, but love doesn’t make you hurt people the way he hurt me.” You looked at Lizzie again, “And you—if you truly wish to go, then you can. The things that keep me here are not the same that keep you. There is a ship leaving tomorrow morning, headed for the new world, I’d get on that one if I were you.”

“I don’t know—”

“You will never be free here,” You said bluntly, “you know just as well as I. Ivy can get you out of here by dawn. I have jewels and gold you can have to finance you on your journey. The choice is yours,” You assured her, “but if you’re any better than the Lizzie I once knew, then you’d take this out I am giving you. Another will not come.”

Lizzie left your chambers with a bag of gold and pearl necklaces tucked into her skirts along with a letter, written from you directly to the captain of the ship, granting her safe passage. Ivy escorted her back to her room to gather her belongings, only a few things that she could carry on her back.

She was gone by dawn.

Farley caused an uproar in the castle attempting to look for her, but his devotion to her was truly shown when he gave up the search after only a day.

“Foolish girl will get herself killed,” he grumbled at dinner that night when everyone looked at him with pity and sympathy, “and it’d serve her right. That harlot of a girl.”

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

It was two days later, during tea with Nikki when the slight discomfort in your back and abdomen began to morph into sharp jolts of pain.

“(Y/N)?” Nikki paused telling her story and looked up from her book at you when you abruptly set your teacup down, causing a bit of it to spill out the sides, “Are you alright, dear?”

You placed your hand on your protruding belly and breathed out a shaky, slow breath, “Mhm,” you nodded finally, “yes, just a—” you let out a yelp and gripped your stomach harder, “Ah!” You hissed, breathing through your clenched teeth.

“Oh, dear,” Nikki got up and rushed to your side, “I think it’s time we get the midwives in here.”

“What?” You looked up at her, “No, no, it’s way too soon. I just need to lie down and rest some more—” You were cut off by another strong, sharp pain in your abdomen.

“Okay, okay,” Nikki gently pushed you back into a laying down position, “I’m going to get Ida and the midwives, okay?”

“No,” you shook your head adamantly, “it’s t-too soon—”

“Just in case,” Nikki assured you, “right? We just want to be sure you’re okay, right?”

You nodded, tears faintly glistening in your eyes, “Okay,” you agreed.

Three midwives came in and within the next half hour, you were standing bent over the end of the bed, sharp pains coming and going every so often. Ida had fresh, cold water and a rag as she sat on the bed and kept running the cool water over your face to soothe you. One midwife rubbed your back soothingly and talked you through your breathing while the other got towels on the bed and medical supplies set up.

“A-Are you sure it’s time?” You asked as they led you back to the bed to lie down.

“Yes, your grace,” One of them said soothingly, “the pain is giving you breaks, so it’s time to start pushing.”

You began to cry as the pain coursed through your pelvis and gut, “But I’m not ready,” you cried, gripping Ida’s hand.

“Yes, you are,” Ida assured you, “you can do this.”

Tom could hear every cry and scream that left your lips as he and Harry waited outside your door for any news. Nikki came out with her hands clasped together to give the boys another update.

Tom immediately suspected the worst when he saw the look on his mother’s face.

“She’s losing a lot of blood and the baby is still a long way in coming,” Nikki said, “the best you boys can do is go get some rest.”

“What about you, mother?” Harry asked, “Don’t you need some rest too?”

“No,” Nikki shook her head, “I’m going to stay with (Y/N). I need to get back in there.”

Nikki went back into the room and Tom stood from his seat on the floor, “I’m going in there too,” he declared, determination set in his eyes, “she needs me.”

“No, mate,” Harry shook his head, “you’re the last person she’ll want in there—” He was cut off by another blood-curdling scream from you.

Tom shook his head and went into the room anyway.

You were perched up on the bed with your legs spread apart and Ida behind you, keeping you cool by running a rag over your sweaty forehead. The towels beneath you were red with blood and the midwives were breathing in sync with you to keep you on track.

“Thomas,” Nikki’s tone was scolding when she saw her son at the door, “you can't be in here.”

“I—I need to be with her,” Tom pushed past his mother to get to your side, “Darling?” Tom placed his hand on your shoulder.

You shrugged him off, tears streaming down your cheeks, and another wave of pain coursing through your body, “N-No,” you cried, “get out. Get him out!”

“It’s time to push again, your grace.” One of the midwives said.

“No,” You shook your head, “I won’t, not till he leaves.”

Nikki grabbed her son by the shoulders and pulled him away from your bedside, “You need to leave, Thomas. I’m sorry, but you can’t be in here.”

“No,” Tom shook his head, “she needs me. My baby is being born, a-and she’s in pain and she’s just s-scared that’s all,” tears began to pool in his eyes, “she needs me, mother. Please, I—just let me help her. I-I just want to hold her.”

“Come on, your grace, you’ve got to push,” The midwife said, “you don’t have a choice.”

You screamed and gripped Ida’s hand as you pushed as hard as you could.

“You have to go,” Nikki urged her son, “I’m sorry, but—” she looked back at you, “you can’t hold her now, Thomas.”

Nikki finally got Tom out of the room and barred the door with a chair in front of the handle.

Tom stared at the door as tears fell from his eyes into his cheeks. He sniffled and wiped them, but kept his spot right in front of the door.

“Tom?” Harry placed a hand on his brother’s shoulder, “are you okay?”

Tom shook his head and wiped the oncoming tears with the back of his hand, “She hates me,” he said defeatedly, “you were right. She’ll never forgive me.”

Harry squeezed his brother’s shoulder. A small comfort, more than he’d shown Tom in weeks, “Maybe one day—”

“No,” Tom shook his head, “no, she won’t forgive me. You said so yourself.”

“I know what I said,” Harry nodded, “and I still stand by part of that. But, even though you hurt her so much, when you were good, you two were really good.” Harry said honestly, “maybe one day you could be good again.”

“She won’t even let me hold her…s-she’d rather die than let me hold her. She’d rather die than let me love her…” Tom cried, remembering how you turned away from his touch, even in the throes of unbelievable pain. Even when your life and your child’s life were on the line.

“Tom,” Harry tried his best to soothe his older brother, “she’s scared and in so much pain. T-This just—this isn’t something you can help her with.”

Tom nodded, “I have to do whatever it takes to make this better,” he said, determination set in his eyes.

“What do you—”

“I messed up,” Tom admitted, “there’s no more denying it or dancing around that. I’ve hurt her so harshly,” Tom shook his head, “I just have to hope that it is not beyond repair. Whatever it takes from here on out, I’ll do it. Because I can’t live like this, Harry. I love her, and I can’t keep doing this.”

Harry nodded understandingly, “What about these dealings? You still expect (Y/N) to give up her claim to the Scottish throne?”

“No,” Tom sighed, “but Hawthorne is already here, there’s nothing I can do about that now. Perhaps there are some compromises that can still be made.”

Harry nodded and patted his brother’s back, “We’ll see.”

Nikki came back out again after another hour or so. Tom was on the floor with his head in his hands and Harry had retired back to his chambers. He was about to fall asleep with tears drying on his rosy cheeks and drool falling from his lips.

“Tom?” Nikki spoke softly to her son, placing a hand on his head and running her fingers through his hair, “Honey?”

“Mother?” Tom looked up at her with tired, droopy eyes.

“You have a little girl,” Nikki smiled down at him, “why don’t you go in and meet her?”

Tom nodded and stood up before beginning to follow Nikki back into your chambers. But he stopped at the door before he could go in, “What about (Y/N)?” He asked, “S-She won’t want me in there.”

“She’s asleep,” Nikki assured him, “it takes a lot of energy to have a baby.”

Tom nodded and went into the room. The midwives were cleaning around the room while Ida fawned over the baby in her arms, cooing at it and swaying gently. You were sleeping peacefully in the bed. So soundly, you almost looked dead.

Nikki could see the gears in Tom’s head turning, “Don’t worry,” she placed a hand on her son’s shoulder, “she was up earlier, holding the baby and laughing. She’s okay, just exhausted.”

Tom nodded and wiped a tear from his eye.

“Ida, dear,” Nikki whispered to her, motioning for her to bring the baby over.

Ida brought the baby, wrapped and swaddled in white linen, over to Tom and placed her in his arms. The baby cooed and fussed a little before settling down and looking up at him with big brown eyes. She spit a little, sticking her tongue out at him. Tom smiled, holding her close to his chest. He brought a hand up and gave her a finger to hold. She instinctively grabbed it.

“(Y/N) named her Dahlia,” Nikki said, “isn’t that lovely?”

“Yes,” Tom sniffled, “it’s—she’s beautiful.”

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

All you could think of was your little girl. She took up every ounce of space in your head. From the minute you woke up to her little cries to the minute you fell asleep listening to her soft little coos. All you could think of was her and how perfect she was.

It was hard to have any hate in your soul when you had that little angel in your arms nearly every second of the day.

And then Tom would come in. And the little bubble of bliss you surrounded yourself in popped.

In the weeks that followed, Tom had completely shifted his attention from dealings with Hawthorne and Scotland to spending time with his daughter and trying to keep you happy and healthy.

He’d come in the minute he woke up, a slight skip in his step because he knew he got to spend some time with Dahlia. She was the light of his life.

The peace was mostly kept by him coming in and taking his time with her while you rested. You were so exhausted, getting up every three hours or so with her, that you hardly cared who took over while you slept. But Tom always tried to make sure it was him.

“She’s lovely, isn’t she?” Tom said quietly, after taking a selfish moment to watch from the doorway as you fed your daughter.

The small smile of contentment fell from your face when you heard him. “Yes, she is. She’s perfect,” you ran your thumb over her cheeks as she suckled.

“How are you feeling?” Tom asked, stepping fully into the room. The tension was thick, but he was willing to wade in the thick of it for you. He knew it would take a lot of time and care for the two of you to get back to where you once were.

“Fine,” Your reply was short and courteous.

“Have you been in the nursery yet?” Tom walked around the room, trying to busy himself to avoid simply awkwardly standing, waiting for your responses.

“No.”

Tom nodded, setting the empty teacup he was studying intently down, before moving to a book, the next subject of his divided and facaded interest. “I made a few changes in there,” he said as he flipped through the pages, “nothing too grand. I just know that there were some more things you wanted to be done before the baby came, so I made sure it got done for you.”

Dahlia unlatched from your nipple and began to fuss, spitting the little milk she still had in her mouth out onto her chin.

“Oh, you silly girl,” you cooed, ignoring Tom’s comments. You wiped her mouth with your handkerchief and pressed a kiss to her puffy cheeks, “you’re making such a mess,” you cooed.

Tom smiled as he watched you. You held her close to your breasts and rocked her gently after patting her back until a quiet little belch came out.

“I’m surprised Ivy let you in here,” You said quietly, looking out the window after you felt Dahlia relax and fall asleep in your arms.

Tom chuckled softly, “I am too,” he said, “but she’s been going easy on me this week.”

You simply nodded and continued with your silence.

It was maddening for Tom. Part of him didn’t even care if you lashed out anymore—he could take it, but he needed something from you.

He swore weeks ago that he’d do anything to win back your affections, and if that meant taking a lashing, then he would take it lying down. He’d take it right now. Because in the end, nothing else hurt more than your apathy towards him. Even when you were little and you would taunt him and rile him up, that was better than this. At least you acknowledged his presence in your life. Because this—nothing was worse than this. This silence would kill him softly.

“(Y/N),” Tom sighed, “please, just—say something?” he finally caved, “Talk to me. I know you're mad, I know. But I just want to make it better. I swear, I’d do anything—I’d take any retribution you give, but please, my darling. I-I love you and I can’t go on like this—“

“What do you want me to say?” You asked quietly, “That I forgive you? That I love you too? You want my lies?”

Tom bit his tongue and hung his head. He wiped his eyes, knowing tears would soon come with the way this conversation was going. It always ended like this somehow.

“No,” He choked out, shaking his head, “I just want you. Anything from you.”

You scoffed, scooting to the edge of the bed and getting up to place your sleeping girl comfortably in her bassinet next to your bed.

“(Y/N), please—“

“Shh,” you hushed him gently with your finger pressed to your lip. You rocked the cradle tenderly, as you spoke softly, almost a whisper. Partially to keep Dahlia asleep and partially because the words were so hard to find, so hard to say.

“I have nothing left to give you, Tom.” You sighed, “I gave you my body, my soul, and my heart and you have proven quite clearly that you can’t be trusted with such precious things. Why would I give you any more of me? I don’t even want you to have her,” You stroked Dahlia’s cheek, “but by fate's cruel design, you are her father, and it doesn’t seem fair to deny her your love, if you should have any in your blackened heart.”

“How could you say that?” Tom asked incredulously, “You know the makings of my heart, (Y/N)—you own it. Don’t you dare insinuate that I do not have love for her or for you—”

“For me?” You whipped your head up to him, “How could you say that?” You threw the words back at him harshly, “Do you not see with your eyes as I do, Tom? Are you so blinded by your own idiocy?”

“Do not insult me when I come to make peace with you—”

“You struck me,” You said sharply, “and even when you had once said you would never strike a lady. You used to hate me once. You used to look at me with disgust and cruelty. And then somehow you fell in love, or so you claim. And so did I, though it was never a claim because I am not a liar and I could never fake that type of love. And then you—you go and hurt me? You have your whore and you have your secrets and then finally you just do the worst you can do—you be the worst you can be—and you-you struck me.” Your voice began to crack as you continued, “You play my head and my heart like your own personal instruments—I can hardly keep up. I feel—I feel dizzy with anger just thinking about all of the things you’ve done—all of the mistakes—all of the lies—”

“I never lied,” Tom tried, “I love you with my entire being. (Y/N), my love, I’m so sorry—”

Tom was cut off by your raised hand as Dahlia began to stir, the voices over her bed becoming too loud for her sound sleep.

“You should go,” You wiped your eyes, “she needs rest, as do I.”

Tom let out a sigh and nodded, making his way to the door. He turned back to you before he could leave, “Once these meetings are over and Hawthorne is gone, I want us to start again, (Y/N). I’ll never stop loving you or fighting to win back your affections. You’re my wife and that means the world to me. That can not be undone. You can not hand my heart back, it’s yours.”

“I won’t give up my claim, Tom,” You stated.

Tom shook his head, “(Y/N), you must be reasonable—”

“I know you think Scotland is not important—that’s it’s just land—but it’s more than that. That was my home. All the memories I have there with my father, with Dahlia, with James, I can’t just give that up. And even more than that, I can’t just give Hawthorne what he wants. He killed my father, Tom. It was treason in the highest degree. It was murder. I will not stand back and let him take my home after he has already taken everything from me. And I thought you of all people would understand that. But instead, you—you let him into our home? You bring him close and welcome him as though we are friends? That’s not fair. So, no, I will not abdicate my claim.”

Dahlia began to cry as the tensions rose in the room. Tom was about to respond, but your attention was pulled from him to focus on her. So he simply nodded and left.

He walked down the hall with your words in his mind. That's not fair. And in the end, he realized, you were right. It wasn’t fair. He had screwed up and he had to fix it. It was time for Hawthorne to go home. Dealings be damned.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Hawthorne was a sickeningly patient person. One may wonder how patience could be taken as a fault, and Hawthorne would be a prime example. He was a smart man and he knew rushing the process of matters only meant that most likely plans would not be fully thought through. At least with any extra time given, he could plot and scheme longer than intended, hence why he didn't mind Tom's lack of effort when it came to negotiations after Dahlia was born.

His wife did mind, as England was a muddy, grimy place in the Spring. She was ready to pack everything up and head back home to Scotland where her roots were planted strong.

“I’ve been here for months now,” She complained to her husband as they lounged in their chambers, “I want to go home. I miss our castle. William missed home too,” she looked over to their sleeping son, completely drained from the day's activities, passed out on the bed, “he can’t find his way around here at all.”

“He’s hardly one,” Hawthorne reminded her, “he can’t find his way around our castle either. You must have patience, dear.”

“I fear I have far too much,” Lola sighed, taking her brush from the vanity and running it through her red locks.

“They’ve just had a baby,” Hawthorne said, “of course, Thomas would want his time away from politics, it’s only reasonable. You certainly must understand that.”

“I do, I do,” Lola assured him, “I’m just tired. Lord knows this weather is no help at all.”

“Hm,” Hawthorne hummed, refocusing most of his attention back onto his book.

A knock on the door pulled the two from their own thoughts. Their guard opened it and poked his head in. “Excuse me, your graces,” he said, “but the King would like an audience if you don’t mind.”

“Of course,” Hawthorne set his book down and stood from his chair, “let him in.”

Tom thanked the guard as he entered and the door closed behind him. Hawthorne and Lola stood before him and bowed in his presence.

“Ah, there’s no need for that,” Tom smiled, “thank you both so much for your patience. I apologize for my intrusion.”

Hawthorne shook his head, “Nonsense, it is your castle after all.”

“Yes, well, I figured since I’ve kept you waiting so long for an audience with me, I’d come to you right away with what I’ve decided.”

“Decided?” Lola asked.

“(Y/N) will not be giving up her claim to the Scottish throne,” Tom informed them, “in fact, as unfortunate as it is, I do not think it’s wise for the two of you to stay here any longer.”

“Thomas,” Lola shook her head, “you can’t mean this. You have worked so hard on these dealings. You must think this through more. We’ve come all this way—”

“Darling,” Hawthorne held his hand up to silence her, “you must address him properly,” he scolded her, “he is still King. That is far more than I can say for myself.” He turned to Tom and nodded, “I understand your hesitancy with these negotiations, but we’ve hardly discussed the possibilities for the future and truly mapped out how this transition of power would proceed. I do think you must think this through more. You’re young, and this is a huge decision, it can’t be made so swiftly.”

“I assure you we haven’t made it too swiftly,” Tom said, “(Y/N) has thought about it for a while now and I agree with her. I must do what’s best for my family. I’ve just had a daughter and I must also think of my wife. Scotland is her land—only mine by marriage—and then it will be my daughter’s. I shouldn't be the one to give it away. Besides, the church already recognizes this claim. In the eyes of the Lord, this is right and just.”

“Well, perhaps we could discuss this with (Y/N)? You’ve already given your claim away. The documents are signed on your part. We should discuss this with (Y/N).” Lola suggested, tugging her husband’s arm, noticing his newfound silence.

“I think not,” Tom shook his head, “she’s just had a baby and is quite done with these dealings as is. I doubt any discussions with her would prove fruitful.”

Lola looked at her husband, her eyebrows furrowed and a frown plastered on her face. But he merely shrugged her off and looked to Tom, “This matter can be resolved swiftly, your grace,” He said, “I don’t mean to be rude or to offend in any way, but are we sure that (Y/N) is in the right mental state to rule land as vast and populated as Scotland?”

“My wife is more than capable of ruling,” Tom defended, crossing his arms, “besides, it is her birthright. It is in her blood. That quality is not one that is merely taught—it is a gift. She did not have to steal, lie, or cheat her way to the throne.” He spoke with venom at Hawthorne’s insinuations.

“As I said,” Hawthorne offered a small smile, “I mean no offense. I just know of her temperamental nature. Women can be temperamental creatures. As her husband, you must know this—”

“I know of my wife’s passion and love for her duty and subjects,” Tom snapped, “that is what I know.”

“Of course, your grace,” Hawthorne nodded, “I would just hate for something… harsh and drastic to happen because you failed to report your wife’s unruly temperament and inability to rule to the court.”

“Is that a threat?” Tom asked, running his hand over the sword strapped to his side,“Are you threatening me in my own home?”

“No,” Hawthorne shook his head and avoided eye contact, “I-I just was—voicing my concern.”

“Well my wife’s temperament is none of your concern.”

“Of course, your grace,” Hawthorne nodded, “if you'd just give us a few days to gather our belongings and we’ll be out of your hair.”

“Of course,” Tom agreed, eyeing Hawthorne suspiciously before leaving the room.

The second he stepped out of the room he released a breath of relief. He immediately began to walk to your chambers to tell you the news.

“Send word to Norway,” He instructed Ivy as she walked alongside him, “Hawthorne is heading back to Scotland, I want Harrison and Sam sent there soon to oversee that power is taken from him immediately. Tell them to return home first, to see my daughter and (Y/N) before they are sent off.”

“Yes, your grace,” Ivy smiled, nodding before walking off.

“That doe-eyed, idiotic bastard!” Hawthorne threw the book in his hands at the wall, knocking over a painting mounted there, “He’s a fucking child, trying to play king. What a jest—How dare he—“

“Darling—” Lola reached for her fuming husband, touching his cheek in an attempt to soothe him. He swatted her away, slapping her wrists harshly.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” he spat. The raucousness caused their son to stir and whine in the bed, “and fucking shut him up!” Hawthorne yelled, pointing at the crying toddler.

Lola rushed to her son's side and held him close to her chest as he cried.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

You first gave into the hand on your cheek, stroking it gently. You hummed softly in your slumber as you felt the warmth of it on your face. It reminded you of when you were little and you had a fever, so Dahlia would be up all hours of the night soothing you by holding you in her arms and stroking your hot cheeks.

It also reminded you of Tom, and how he’d admire you in the morning when he woke before you. He’d watch you as you continued to sleep, but his excitement to love on you would always get the better of him and soon he’d be stroking your cheeks and touching your soft lips with his thumb. Then, just as you were stirring awake, he’d be showering you with a barrage of kisses. You’d always wake with giggles and tired pleads of ‘stop’ and ‘it tickles’. But you loved it. Soon you were kissing him back. And there would go your first hour of the day, wasted in the sheets.

The memory made you frown and turn away from the hand on your face. You blinked your eyes open and groaned when you saw Tom’s hopeful face in front of you. A small smile painted on his lips, that wavered when you rolled away from him.

“Wait,” Tom placed his hand on your shoulder, “darling, I’m so sorry to wake you—��

“How did you even get in here?” You complained, “Where’s Ivy?”

“She’s sending a letter for me,” Tom squeezed your shoulder in an attempt to soothe you, but you merely shrugged him off.

“What do you want?” You sighed, sitting up and rubbing the sleep from your eyes. You looked over at the bassinet by your bed and noticed Dahlia sleeping peacefully, blissfully ignorant of the pest that disturbed your slumber, “Dahlia’s still sleeping, you can come back later but—”

“No,” Tom shook his head, “I want to talk to you,” he offered you a small smile, taking your hand in his.

“I—” You pulled your hand away, noticing the way Tom's face fell in the candlelight, “I’m tired.” You tried.

“Please, just listen then,” Tom pleaded. You hesitated for a moment, but eventually conceded and laid back down, getting comfortably nestled into the covers while Tom sat above them.

He took your hand back into his as he spoke and began rubbing small circles over it with his thumb, “I’ve sent Hawthorne home.” He informed you, a big grin making its way onto his face.

“What?” You asked, sitting up slightly, “Tom…have you? Are you sure? What did you say?”

“Of course I’m sure,” Tom smiled, “you were right, darling. I was ignorant and stupid and I let other people think for me. But never again,” Tom placed his hand on your cheek, “you and her,” he nodded over to the baby sleeping soundly in her bed, “are the only two that matter to me. You are the only two that should advise me so much, especially when it comes to something that will alter our futures in such a drastic way. I told him he needed to leave court and that you would not be signing your claim away.”

You turned your cheek away, “Tom,” you frowned, “I’m not sure it’s as simple as sending him away from court. We’d still have to take the power back—”

“I’ve already got it planned out, my love,” Tom assured you, “but I won’t make any final decisions without you. Come to the next council meeting. Harrison and Sam will be back from Norway soon and the minute they return, we will start planning. I know now that it’s not just land and I’m sorry I made it seem like it was.” Tom pressed a kiss to your forehead, “I know it’ll take more time for us to be okay again, and I’ll wait for you, but I’m trying to do what’s right and take the steps I need to take. Is—is this okay?” Tom asked hesitantly.

Deep down you knew what he meant. You could see it in his eyes and the way they shone with uncertainty. Did I do okay? Am I forgiven? Do you still love me? Unanswered questions that plagued his mind the minute he began talking to you. He could hardly read the look on your face. All he could hope was that he fixed his mistakes and did right by you.

You nodded and wiggled your hand into Tom’s, “It’s more than okay, Tom,” you whispered, taking your other hand and placing it on his cheek, “thank you.”

Tom sniffled and smiled, pressing a kiss to the palm of your hand that was on his cheek, before getting up, “I’ll, uh—” he cleared his throat, “I’ll be back in the morning to see Dahlia.”

“Wait,” You grasped his hand again, “w-why don’t you just stay?” You offered.

“Are you sure?”

You nodded and opened the covers up for Tom to crawl into, “I just want to talk some more. Is that okay?” You asked.

“More than,” Tom smiled, crawling into the bed beside you.

You laid next to each other without touching. Every so often your fingers would brush over each other and you’d feel that spark you hadn't felt in weeks, maybe months, it’d been so long since you shared your bed with Tom.

“Was he angry?” You asked, looking over at Tom.

“Not quite,” Tom said, “he tried to convince me otherwise, but I would not be persuaded. He was docile afterward. He said they’d need a few days to gather their things.”

“We must hold them to that,” You said, “I don’t trust them.”

“Neither do I,” Tom sighed, “but if we’re lucky, the worst of it has passed.”

“I’ve never been quite so lucky.”

“I have been,” Tom said quietly, “I got you as a wife,” he took your hand in his, “I count that as pretty lucky.”

You smiled and squeezed his hand in yours, “Oh hush,” you chuckled, intertwining your fingers.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

“You know the plan then,” Hawthorne said to Farley as they conversed over a glass of wine, “you know what you must do and all of the consequences if you shall fail?”

“I do, your grace,” Farley nodded, and took a sip of his wine, “but I fear that this is too drastic. We have lost—should we not simply accept that and take our leave back to Scotland?”

“And do what?!” Hawthorne yelled, slamming his fist on the table, starling the man sitting across from him, “I refuse to go back to Scotland with anything less than what I am owed. I came for a crown and I intend to leave with one. If we go back now, who knows how long it will take before Scotland is filled with Englishmen, coming to take over the land in the name of their spineless king. As for him, God, the fool himself. He sends us home as if there is no ill will. As if we can still keep our lands and wealth. But I know the truth. I know the shackles he plans to put on us.”

“Thomas is a fool,” Farley agreed, “he listens to his wife rather than to reason. But to assassinate—”

“Do you want to see your son again?” Hawthorne asked, shutting the fat man up, “Because if so I suggest you shut the fuck up right now and get to work. That young boy is in Scotland waiting for your return. He’s all you have left now, Farley. You know as well as I that any promises this weak-willed king makes are not truly promised at all.”

“When do you want this done?” Farley looked down into his wine glass, staring intently at the red liquid.

“Tomorrow would be best,” Hawthorne said, “They expect us to be gone within the next few days. My guards tell me (Y/N) spends most of her time alone in her chambers, food and drink being brought to her by her chambermaid. That’s where the interception must happen. She’ll have tasters on her sustenance before then, whilst it’s still in the kitchen.”

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

The next part of the story, you’d never get right in knowing the truth of—not that you ever wanted to—but the only comfort you could find was in understanding what had happened and why.

In the end, the pieces you gathered you had to string together the best you could for cohesion, and even so, you still couldn’t understand how the world could be so unfair. To make matters worse, the only person who could truly tell why he did what he did was gone. And the only person who could soothe this hurt was also gone.

“Did you see his grace leave her grace’s chamber this morning?” One of the maids grabbed Ida’s arm as she whispered, “I heard he stayed the night with her.”

“That’s just gossip,” Ida rolled her eyes as she got your tray set up with lemon tarts and tea. She was setting the teacups down when the maid shook her arm again, causing her to spill a bit, “and even so, that’s hardly a tale, they are married after all.”

“I know,” the maid sighed, “but they despise each other, don’t they? He never sleeps in her chambers—”

“They have a baby,” Ida scoffed, “surely he has laid with her before.”

“Oh, well, you can get the truth of it, can’t you?” She asked excitedly, “You’re her most trusted chambermaid.”

“I won’t sully myself to tales,” Ida shook her head, taking the tray into her hands and placing it on a cart to push to your room. She began walking away from the maid, who simply shrugged and found another servant to spread her story to.

The cart also had trays for other stops she had to make, one being Harry’s room since he had requested breakfast in his chambers.

“Morning, your grace,” Ida greeted him when he opened the door for her. She placed his plate on the table in his room and uncovered it to reveal the ham, eggs, sausage, and beans he frequently had.

“Morning, Ida,” Harry smiled warmly at her, but received none back, “why the sour look?”

“Oh, just some silly gossip I heard this morning. The maids here are horrendous with the wild tales they’ll spin to keep themselves entertained.”

“What was the tale? Was it about me?” Harry raised his eyebrows, “Because if so, my dear Ida, I’m afraid it’s true. I’m a bit of a rambunctious scamp, some say.” He joked, taking a sip of his tea.

“Very funny,” Ida cracked a smile, “but no. It bothered me so because it was about (Y/N). I assume it’d bother you as well.”

“Rightfully so,” Harry’s smile fell, “what’re people saying?”

“It’s just gossip,” Ida shrugged off, “besides, I have to go, (Y/N)’s breakfast in on that tray,” she motioned to the cart she left in the hallway.

She was halfway out the door with Harry on her heels, “Wait, well, now you’ve got me curious—”

“Oh, just some rumors about Tom in (Y/N)’s chambers last night. I doubt they hold any truth given how she feels about him, but even so, they are married and what happens in their chambers isn’t of anyone’s concern.” Ida brushed it off, though it left a foul taste in her mouth to think that you had welcomed Tom back so swiftly when you had just been cursing him out the day prior.

Harry was about to say something but stopped in his tracks when he saw someone sniffing around the cart that held your food, “Hey! What the hell are you doing?”

Your grace.” Ida chided his hostile behavior, before turning her attention to Lord Farley, “These are for the queen, m’lord.” She said kindly, “but I’m sure the kitchen has some, and if not I can have an order sent in for you?”

“Oh, no, no,” Farley chuckled, “that’s quite alright, I should be watching my figure anyhow.” He ran his hands over the large, pudgy belly that shook when he patted it.

“Okay, well, have a lovely day,” Ida gave him a kind smile before walking off.

She continued her walk, passing by Tom, who was on his way to Harry’s room to tell him of the new plans regarding Scotland.

“Morning Ida,” Tom nodded to her, “is that for (Y/N)?” he pointed to the lemon tarts.

“Yes, your grace,” Ida nodded, “she’s moving Dahlia to the nursery today, so I thought it’d be a nice treat.”

“That was very kind of you,” Tom smiled.

“Yes, well, I do try,” Ida mentioned to the pastries, “would you like one?”

“Oh, no thank you,” Tom shook his head, “is Harry awake, do you know?”

“He is, I just dropped off his breakfast,” Ida informed him. Tom nodded and thanked her before walking off.

“Good morning Har—” Tom walked in with a huge smile on his face, but it was quickly wiped off when he felt a warm glob of beans coat his left cheek, “What the fuck?!”

“Did you fuck (Y/N)?” Harry asked, face red and fuming.

“What?” Tom scoffed, wiping the beans off of his face with the back of his hand, “What are you on about?”

“Ida said that the maids are whispering about you staying the night with her,” Harry explained, “did you fuck her? After all that you put her through?”

“Not that it’s any of your business,” Tom said, “but no, I didn’t make love to my wife. We just talked.”

“Why would she want to talk to you?”

“I thought you'd be happy?” Tom dodged his hurtful question, “I know you liked her and all, but you said so yourself, her and I are good together.”

Harry shook his head, “You were sad,” he said, “I was just trying to make you feel better. And I don’t just like her, I love her, not that you care—”

“She’s my wife, Harry,” Tom argued, “what do you want me to say to that? That you can have her? Well, you can’t. Not ever. Not even if I stopped loving her. Our marriage is binding, and I do love her so very much—”

“I fucking know that!” Harry snapped, “It’s all you ever talk about.”

Tom shook his head and let out a humorless chuckle, “Grow up,” he scoffed, “you need to court someone soon because this can’t keep happening.”

Harry just rubbed his eyes and sat on the bed, “What did you come in here for?” he asked, changing the subject.

Tom sighed and took a napkin from the tray that held Harry’s breakfast and began to wipe his face off from the remnants of beans, “I’ve sent Hawthorne and his people back to Scotland, I came to inform you and I want you to go there as well.”

“When?” Harry asked.

“In time,” Tom said, “I’m still working it out with (Y/N). But I fear there will be a power struggle and I need my most trusted advisors to make sure power is taken from Hawthorne. That’s you, Sam, Barrett, and Harrison, perhaps Ivy as well. I know I’ll need trusted guards there.”

“Wait,” Harry looked up to Tom, “that doesn’t make sense, I just saw Farley in the hallway. Will he be sent back as well?”

“Yes, of course,” Tom nodded, “Lord knows I don’t want him here,” He cracked a smile.

“Do you think Hawthorne told him of their journey back to Scotland?” Harry wondered.

“Most likely,” Tom said, “I’ve given them a few days to get their things together, but I expect them to be gone fairly soon.”

Harry grew quiet for a moment, deep in thought as he held his chin in his hand, “That’s strange,” he finally said quietly.

“What?” Tom asked.

“Farley didn’t seem to mind at all when I saw him earlier,” Harry recalled, “he seemed… calm even. Not like someone that just got news of a failed political negotiation.”

“Perhaps he’s ready to head home,” Tom suggested.

“I don’t know,” Harry shook his head, “you remember how he acted when he was asked to leave court the first time. Why would now be any different? Because he has Hawthorne looking out for him? If (Y/N) never abdicated her claim, then Hawthorne’s power is no greater than Farley’s, making him weak security if any.”

Tom thought about it for a moment before shaking his head and burying the thought aside, “I’m sure it’s nothing,” He said, “for all we know, he might not know yet. He’ll know in time, and then perhaps we’ll have a problem as we did before, but until then, can I count on you to be a trusted advisor in Scotland and push my political agenda there?”

“Of course,” Harry nodded.

“Good,” Tom patted his brother on the back, “we'll talk more about this later. When Sam and Harrison return we’ll have a council meeting to make sure this all goes smoothly.”

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

“Good morning, your grace,” Ida greeted you as she brought your tray in, “and good morning to you,” she cooed at Dahlia, who was bundled up cozily in Arthur’s arms.

Arthur was sitting on your bed next to you as you watched him hold the baby, making sure he was supporting her neck properly.

“Good morning,” You smiled at her, “thank you for breakfast.”

“Of course,” Ida nodded, before turning her attention to Arthur, “and would you like anything Arthur? I could go get you something from the kitchen and bring it back up.” she offered.

“No, thank you,” Arthur shook his head. He had a deep frown on his face and he spoke glumly in response to Ida’s offer.

“What’s wrong, kid?” Ida asked.

“He’s upset because I won’t let him go riding today,” You ruffled his hair, tangling your fingers in the mop of curls.

“Oh,” Ida nodded, “well that’s a very wise choice. It’s going to rain today, something terrible. We wouldn't want you getting sick or falling from your horse.”

“Surely Nikki isn’t letting Paddy out in this weather,” You said, tilting Arthur’s head up so he’d look at you.

“No,” he said sadly, “Paddy has a lesson today.”

“Why don’t you sit in on that?”

“‘M not allowed,” Arthur mumbled.

“Why?” You questioned.

“The teacher says he only teaches noble-born children. I tried to sit in on the lesson last week and he kicked me out of the room,” Arthur complained, “it was completely embarrassing.”

“That’s not right,” You frowned. You wrapped your arm around Arthur and kissed the top of his head, “you’re better than any noble-born kid out there, okay? I’ll have someone deal with that teacher. For now, you can just spend the day with me. How does that sound?”

“A little boring,” Arthur cracked a small smile, “but okay.”

“Boring?” You gasped, holding a hand to your chest in faux offense, “I’ll have you know that today is a very special day actually.”

“Really?” Arthur asked.

“Yes, really,” You nodded, “today we are going to get Dahlia set up in her nursery. And then we are going to sign documents and go for tea with the ladies, it will be quite fun I think.”

“Tea with the ladies?” Arthur scrunched his face up.

“Yes,” You pinched his cheeks, “and we’ll gossip too, that’s the best part.”

“Well, if I must,” Arthur sighed, but you could see a smile slowly making its way onto his face.

“Good, now hush and have some lemon tarts,” You offered, taking Dahlia from his arms and motioning for Ida to place the tray in Arthur’s lap.

Arthur began eating while you and Ida talked.

“Do you need anything else, your grace?” Ida asked.

“No,” You said, “but if you could begin preparations for tea at noon that would be lovely.”

“Of course,” Ida nodded, “I’ll get right on that.”

Ida was just about to leave when you both heard it. A sound that you’d never be able to get out of your mind.

Arthur began coughing on the bed, gasping for breath as he scratched at his throat. At first, you assumed he’d swallowed something the wrong way, or perhaps even worse, he was choking.

You quickly handed the baby to Ida and rushed to Arthur’s side, “Are you choking?” You asked though it seemed redundant, seeing as he couldn’t speak.

Arthur shook his head rapidly before the coughing became more violent and the began to claw at his neck rather than scratch.

“Get the physician!” You yelled to Ida, and you tried to hold Arthur’s hands away from his throat and tilt his head up so you could see what was wrong. Ida just stood there in shock as Dahlia began to cry in her arms, “Are you stupid?” You screamed, “Now!”

Ida placed Dahlia into her bassinet and quickly left the room.

“Breathe, Arthur,” You tried to instruct, taking slow and deep breaths for him to follow, but it was pointless. The struggle was only increasing as his airway closed until finally, you began to hear a gurgling in his throat. You laid his head into your lap and stroked his hair as he struggled, but soon bile and blood began to come up with each heaving cough, yet no breath could be had.

“No,” you cried, tears falling from your eyes immediately onto the boy's cheeks, “no, come on,” you tried to soothe him the best you could, but the more red you saw the more your gut clenched and the sense of dread you felt within you increased tenfold.

“Help!” You cried, screaming out to the hall, hoping somebody could hear, “Somebody help! Please!”

Ida was taking so long, and you knew that you didn’t have time anymore. Arthur had been without breath for so long and the light in his eyes was dying. His strength was leaving and you could feel him fading.

You took his hand in yours and he immediately squeezed it, before sputtering out another splatter of blood.

Dahlia was screaming now, shrieking from the chaos of the moment. You weren’t much better. Because soon, the struggle from the boy in your arms stopped, and all that was left was his limp, lifeless body, frozen in time.

The grip of the hand in yours went lax and no matter how tightly you squeezed or tried to hold on, it was no use.

Blood and bile coated his chin and ran down the front of him. It ran down his nose and out of the corner of his eyes. His poor terrified eyes.

“No,” you shook him gently, “no, A-Arthur.”

You let out the most painful wail—if God heard it, he wept as well.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

A/N: i don’t think anything i say rn will make this better, so i’m just gonna shut up :/

(banner from @lauras-collection)

want to join my taglist?

✧tags & moots✧ PERM

@ptergwen @princessofguineapigs @peterbenjiparker @cherrytholland @itsapeterthing @justapurrcat @kelieah @iovebug @celestialholland @hollandcrush @scarletspideyy @blissfulparker @spidernerdsblog @spideyspeaches @andilovetowrite @sinisterspidey @annathesillyfriend @lovelybarnes @white-wolf1940 @wierdteenagenerd @arvinsescape @super-not-naturall @allthisfortommy @selfcarecap @misshale21 @morganwilliams-blog-blog @loveaffaire @tomfknholland @pogueslandia @tomshufflepuff @aayaissaa @hallecarey1 @a-daydreamers-day @holland-styles @cloudyfeel @peni5parker @slut-for-steve-rogers @kitkatt18-blog @kitkat2015-blog @bookfrog242 @slutforfics @wildxwidow @kayasholland @prancerrparkerr @petesrparker @arlo-sanders @sxuxgarplxum @peter-parkers-gf @namoreno @andrewgarfields-girlfriend @peter-parkers-cullen-nerd @xoxokiaraaxoxo @hollandsvogue-blog @marvelobsessed10031917 @z3ndaya-blog @sunflowerfive @yunho-leeknow @xxxstormyninixxx @marvelhasmyheart235 @lowkey-holland @blahblahblah-boo @nocturnalms @happyt0exist @kpostedsum @noemiix1 @spideymix @mischieftom @sophi54 @allazay101 @spideybrina @rqmanoff @rory-cakes @parkerdarling @samaraaaaa-blog @freds-slut @gingerbreadgodofhyperdeath @blue-4-55-readinglist @brown-eyed-doe @misslady246 @tonystarksfavoritedaughter @adayasgeorgia @mn-jun @spider-man-stiles-gubler @wildholland @demirunner @quackquackbi @marvelobsessedteen @lolooo22 @moniffazictress11 @sleepybesson @evermoresstuff @sweetpeterparker @bradtomlovesya @teenwishes08 @hogwartsmarvelmommy @dracoswhore007 @elishi03 @beth-gallagher22 @hunnybunimdun @badbatch-simp24 @raajali3 @vibezayn91 @heyyitsreign @iamsherloki-wholocked @itscaminow @blankspaceblankday @denkisclown @spideysloverera @minejungwoo @dirtytissuebox @whoeveniskendall @princessnnylzays @katie-navarro @hollandscherry @demirunner @lucypevensie111-blog @dottirose @tiaamberxx @wh0re4zaynmalik @luvwanda @kinlie-l @cevans-winchester @502spidey @wondergal2001 @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @inlovewithremusjohnlupin @belovedholland @randomstufflol29 @t-lostinworlds @kaitieskidmore1 @milkiane @alisslahey @pandaxnienke @onceuponameli @ju1cyang3l @maximoffbarnesprotectionsquad

✧tags & moots✧ TOM HOLLAND

BTY: @frogsbelike1 @bobo-bush @allthisfortommy @t-hollanderr @tomsirishgirlx @marishaslove @enjoymyloves @hidejeon @username2002 @honestly-who-even-is-this @myshaahmad77 @webslinger-holland

305 notes · View notes