Chapter Text
He had faced death so many times before. Even too close from shaking the cold, merciless, skeletal hands of the Reaper. The feeling of death approaching could never have been this so familiar. Almost like greeting an old acquaintance.
But this time…
…he had never felt the need to keep himself alive.
~☆♛☆♕☆♛☆♕☆~
A twig snapped outside as birds flew by. Today is the start of autumn; naturally, the manor is exceptionally cold than usual. The air inside the study room smelled like old books and fresh cigars.
Sighing loudly, Baron Michael Taylor, who arrived an hour ago, stared at the letter again before stating, “The King have requested your service.”
“Yes. I’m aware, sir.”
The Baron’s blue gray eyes looked at him downheartedly. However, the glow from the fireplace is giving his face a harsh front.
“Roger... son... are you sure about this?”
“Yes. My mind’s already made up, father.”
The lord of the manor must’ve felt that he answered with no hesitation. Roger watched as his father’s lips parted, as if to say something more, before they were set into a straight line. Then, after lowering his eyes, the Baron told Roger with a hand gesture towards the door, “Then you may go.”
“Thank you, sir,” with a polite bow, Roger left the room.
After that conversation, Roger headed back to his bedroom. Kicking off his shoes, he bounced to the bed, landing on his back. To lie down on his lush four-poster bed still feels odd. He’s quite used to sleeping on his bed at the base camp: made out of haystack and soft sheets that slightly smelled like urine and bleach.
“Father is being a fool, isn’t he?” he recalled Clare, his younger sister, saying two days ago. Sprawled on the fur carpet inside the library, his sister placed the book that she’s reading on the top of her chest, eyes trailing the ceiling. “He’s letting his big ego get into his head again.”
Sat on the velvet chaise lounge, Roger looks up from his sketch pad, smiling as he told her, “You know it’s rare for me to hear you talk bad about father openly like that.”
“Just pointing the fact, that’s all,” Clare shrugged, putting one foot over the other.
“Are you and father still in bad terms?” Roger asked curiously.
Three years ago, Lady Clare Taylor was supposed to be a candidate as one of the late King Charles’ concubines. However, Clare flat out refused the offer and threatened her parents that she’ll poison herself if they’ll still insist the offer. Roger had thought back then that his sister was being stubborn and difficult. Of course, they would pick her: a young, virgin maiden; breathtakingly beautiful, and extremely brilliant for a sixteen-year-old girl who was already aspiring to be a doctor of medicine. Most importantly, she belongs to one of the richest and most powerful aristocratic families of Lombardy-Pazar.
Both Clare and Roger were raised in such a high-class upbringing, almost the same level as the royal children.
Lady Clare Taylor was the obvious perfect choice. If Roger dare to say it out loud, Clare is a much better choice than the previous Queen even. The previous Queen’s flaws and weakness would be more obvious if they were to make a list and compare her to Lady Clare. Queen Marianna who was already in her late 20s, but still hasn’t produce a male heir. It wasn’t only the King, but lots of noble bachelors —young and old— have been wooing Roger’s younger sister after she turned fourteen.
To have someone in their family to be written in history books as a King’s concubine, it would be a great honor to the already eminent Taylor family.
However, Clare isn’t your typical, obedient noble daughter— she’s the total opposite. She’s stubborn and hardheaded. A bit of a narcissist sometimes. So then Clare scared off their parents by acting like a madwoman. She once attempted to slash her personal favorite maid’s neck while having lunch. Clare had also stripped down and danced naked around the house while her parents had important visitors.
The final straw was when Clare claimed that she saw a premonition of Roger’s death, and his ghost often visited her in her sleep; it was when Roger was away to fight at war. Horrified, their parents had sent her away to Harbrough castle, to be privately checked by a doctor. Also, to be shielded away from the public’s eyes and not to cause any further embarrassing and scandalous rumors. The moment Roger came back from war, he immediately visited his sister. And that was the time when Clare finally confessed to Roger what she was doing.
“They’ll never make me marry that man!” Clare insisted, baring gritted teeth in anger. “And isn’t the King’s mother our father’s first cousin? Haven’t they been warned and educated about inbreeding already? They disgusts me!”
To Clare’s luck, it seems that the odds are in her favor. Three months later the same year, they received a news that King Charles died due to pneumonia. Six months later, Queen Mariana was diagnosed with breast cancer and had a miscarriage. The throne is now being handed over to the Kingdom’s youngest Princess, one of King Charles’ younger sisters. She is now known as Queen Christine. The then Princess just turned 12 that year.
Clare was no longer being considered to be a concubine. She no longer needs to play the role of a madwoman. In a snap of a finger, she’s back on her feet as if she was just being possessed by a bad spirit.
“No. Father and I are in great terms,” Clare said. “Although, I still think he’s still very bitter about many things.”
“Such as…?”
“About the fact that we have a foreign Prince sitting on the throne of the King. The murder of the King’s brother, Prince James. Me not being a concubine to his late Majesty…” slowly, Clare listed. “You, still not being properly knighted nor awarded by the King after defeating Emperor Louis in the battle. Me, being a Royal Physician instead of a Queen… should I go on?”
“I think you’ve said enough, my dear sister.”
Returning to his sketch pad, Roger continues sketching a view from his memory. It was the garden of Reed cathedral, a place where he stayed at after winning the war.
“Are you sure you won’t stop the wedding?” Clare asked after a long silence between them. “Are you really sure that you’ll let go of her that easily?”
Roger froze. Suddenly, the tear stricken face of the woman whom he loves so much, flashing back to him. Lady Dominique Marie de Beyrand, his then fiancée, slipped out her house, just to see Roger after hearing that he’s back. They met clandestinely at the Churchill cathedral. The moment Dominique entered the cathedral, Roger quickly embraced and kissed her. They’ve shared a long, passionate kiss, witnessed by the statues of saints and angels.
This clandestine and urgent meeting was a surprise and a confusion to Roger as he’s already planning to pay a visit to her house anyway. However, the moment when Dominique started tearing up, he knew something was up.
“Roger, I-I’m engaged… to Lord Hemishire…”
She then showed the engagement ring on her left finger and the walls started to close in. In his reckless imagination, Roger would’ve ordered Dominique to forget the engagement, have a secret wedding, and elope. Even so, he wasn’t prepared on what she told him next, “A-and I’m carrying his child.”
Dominique apologized to him over and over. She said that she begged her father to stop the wedding, but Lord de Beyrand was worried that every time Roger goes to war, the chance of his daughter getting married is always hanging by a thread. Dominique is now 22, by their society’s norm, she should’ve been married and have at least a couple of children by now.
“Forget about me…please,” Dominique begged. “I’m not worth your love… or respect. Please, just forget about me. I beseech you.”
“Do you still love me?” feeling as if he’s being continuously stabbed by a spear, Roger asked tearfully. “Because I love you, so very much.”
Cupping his face, Dominique nods while smiling at him, tears rolling down her cheeks. “With all my life.”
Their reunion was brief. And before they depart, Dominique gave him a letter and left him with the deepest kiss they’ve ever shared.
A touch on his arm had pulled Roger back to reality. “You deserve some happiness too, you know,” Clare is sat beside him now. “Aren’t you tired living as father’s puppet?”
Her words made Roger flinched. He threw her a sharp glance, “I am not father’s puppet.”
Clare challenged his gaze, slowly clenching her jaw. The soft touch on Roger’s arm gradually started to become tighter. “Stop lying to yourself, brother.”
“I don’t know what you’re saying.”
“You do understand what I’m saying. Stop lying.”
“I don’t. And I am not lying,” adamantly, Roger told his younger sister.
Lowering her gaze, backing down from the stare down, Clare crossed her arms and stared at the floor instead. Quietly, she gnaws on her lower lip.
“Stop that,” Roger warned her.
Letting out a loud sigh, Clare stood up and takes her book from the floor. Before she left the room, she told him with a sarcastic tone, “Well at least, I will be seeing you more in the castle then.”
Roger just nodded as a respond. After that, Clare left the library without another word.
“Where’s father?” Roger asked, surprised seeing only his mother sitting alone in the dining room that evening.
“He won’t be joining us,” Baroness Winifred Hickman answered. “Your father’s not feeling well.”
Roger lowered his eyes. He knew the real reason why.
More dishes are being placed on the table as he sits down. Wordlessly, he took the serviette and spreads it on his lap. Just as the maid is serving him herbal ale, his mother asked him, “How are you feeling these days? Refreshed? Do you want me to call for a masseur?”
Roger gave his mother a small smile, “I’m fine, mother. Actually better.”
The maid plated him roasted turnips with roasted veal and Roger thanked her. After that, he picked up his utensils and starts eating. Indeed, Roger was born to a rich family, but to have these meals after fighting war for months and months, these dishes always felt like luxury to the young military commander.
“Would you like to request something for tomorrow’s dinner, Roger?” Madame Hickman asked some moments later. “I’ll be going to town to buy some necessities.”
His eyes twinkled. “Hmm… I’ve been craving for some scotch quail eggs and some honey-poached quince pie, please. That’s all.”
Madame Hickman gave the maid a look to remember Roger’s request then they resumed eating.
After having dinner, while the maid is serving him and Madame Hickman some passionflower tea, Roger found himself in the sitting room, staring at the giant portrait of his great-great grandfather, Duke William Wollingsworth-Taylor, a King’s courtier. The late duke was clad in the royal courtier’s uniform: royal blue doublet and gold livery collar. Duke Wollingsworth-Taylor served the then reigning King for 50 years up until his last breath. He’s one of the most well-known members of the Taylor bloodline.
“Till this day, I’m thankful that nobody in our family got his mismatched eyes,” picking up her embroidery, Madame Hickman commented. “Gives me the creeps if I stare too long.”
“Really?” Roger slight frowned. He actually like his great-great grandfather’s left blue and right green eyes. It made the Duke exceptionally unique and memorable. Clare said that it was a rare condition called ‘heterochromia’.
“Should I start packing your clothes for your departure?” Madame Hickman asked, after some minutes of comfortable silence. “I think you should bring your nice shirts. The ones that you haven’t worn. You know, the ones that I gifted to you from your last birthdays.”
Confused, Roger asked her, “Does that mean that you’re fine with my decision to serve the current King?”
“Well you won’t be serving the King technically, right?” the Baroness shrugs. “It’s our Queen that you’ll be serving, my dear son.”
Roger stared at his mother in disbelief, surprised how she’s not making a big deal out of it like his father. He sat down on the floor by her foot, knees on his chest. “Honestly, I wasn’t expecting that at all from you, mother…”
The Baroness’ naturally pink lips turned upward as she pushes the needle to the fabric. “This role would be the least, life-threatening job you’ll ever have. It’s almost as if you’re going to have a vacation in the palace.”
But it wasn’t as easy as his mother imagines it to be. Roger knew that there’s a reason why he was chosen to be the Queen’s head of the Royal Guards.
“At least, I will no longer be having nightmares about you blowing up to bits — or being decapitated whenever you’re at war,” she continued. “And your cousin Balthazar is also a member of the royal guard. There are also some of our relatives working at the palace. And Clare— you’ll be able to see your sister often once you’re there! So you could keep an eye on her too.”
Judging by the sound of her voice, she doesn’t sound worried at all. On the contrary, she sounds happy. Excited even.
Roger couldn’t help but look at her and wonder. The glow from the fireplace illuminating his mother’s beautiful face and delicate facial bone structure. Her expert fingers working on her latest embroidery piece. On her left ring finger wraps around the gold band of her wedding ring with its elegant sapphire. It was an heirloom of her grandmother’s, a Marquees.
She must’ve noticed that Roger has been staring at her for too long, so the mansion’s mistress regarded him with a small smile. “I won’t be able to answer what’s bothering you, if you will not ask me, my dearest.”
“I thought that you were also completely against my decision, that’s all…”
“You know I trust and support your decisions, Roger. Well… most of the time,” Madame Hickman said. “I try to support your and your sister’s decision as much as I could.”
Roger then remembered that it was his mother who helped Clare to take the country’s Royal medical entrance exam for aspiring royal doctors and nurses, the very first one that finally allowed female examiners. Because his Highness, finally signed the rule not to allow gender discrimination in workplaces anymore, starting from the palace itself. It was a bold move for a foreign King.
“Clare speaks fondly about his Majesty, doesn’t she?”
“She does,” Madame Hickman agreed. “I can sense that she truly respects him as well.”
Roger gasped. “Oh, mother! Do you think maybe she’s in love him?”
His mother shakes her flaxen head. “She hasn’t told me anything yet.”
Well there are so many things that she hasn’t told you yet…
“Does he have any concubines now, mother? Especially now that her Majesty is with child?”
“That is what I’m not sure of, dear. Since they got married and crowned, I haven’t heard any rumors about him getting any concubines.”
“Maybe, he loves our Majesty the Queen very much…” Roger guessed.
“Or, maybe, he’s afraid that the people will turn on him if he were to sire a bastard,” Madame Hickman said as she snips the thread. She gave Roger a meaningful look when she adds, “Considering that he’s a bastard himself.”
The King, His Majesty Brian of Lambethbury, was the third son and the youngest child of the neighboring King Harold III of Lambethbury, with his mistress, Lady Ruth Wilhelmina. However, his mother wasn’t just a typical mistress; she didn’t come from a noble family but she was the Head of the Royal Physicians.
King Harold III and his Queen, Mary Isabelle II of Eveienthal had six children altogether, two of whom survived adulthood: Princess Mary Louise (died at the age of seven), Prince John Harold (stillborn), the late King James IV (murdered and beheaded while in a battlefield abroad, age 23), Princess Mary Elizabeth (died at four months old), Princess Marie Margaret (married to King Arthur VI of Gueverre), and Princess Mary Clementine (died at the age of five).
“How far is the Queen, mother? Four months? Five?” Roger asked.
“Five,” she answered. “If she is to have a son, then this country is truly blessed.”
Roger makes sign of the cross before saying, “May God bless the King and Queen.”
“Amen,” Madame Hickman bows and affectionately kisses the crown of Roger’s head. “Add some logs to the fire, will you?”
Roger stood up and did what he was told. A bit distracted, he watches as the logs slowly burn.
“Come here, son. I have something to give you.”
He turned his head and kneels in front of his beloved mother.
Madame Hickman gently smiled at him. Cupping Roger’s face she says, “I’m very proud of you and adore you with all my heart. You continue to make me the luckiest mother in the world. You may be one of the youngest, strongest, and well-known warriors, but to me, you are still my precious child and my only son.”
Madame Hickman gifted him a handmade perfume sachet.
“Oh, mother. Thank you,” closing his eyes, Roger presses his left cheek against her warm palm. Basking in the words of his mother.
“Always remember this, Roger: you’re a Taylor and a Hickman. Your name’s been written in History books and will continue to be celebrated as a living hero.”
~☆♛☆♕☆♛☆♕☆~
Roger’s trip to Lombardy-Pazar’s main castle has been nothing but lavish. The King had sent the royal carriage to pick him up and even sent a young courtier to attend Roger’s needs while travelling, much to Baron Taylor’s surprise. The military commander even stayed in one of the nicest inns in the country for two days, before continuing the journey to the castle.
However, Roger still wasn’t able to face the King when he finally arrived at the palace. The sun has already set. The palace was well guarded. Two soldiers had to accompany him. Roger was greeted by the King’s secretary and personal advisor, Sir Frederick Rustomji-Bulsara, at his office instead.
“I’m so pleased to see you well, Lord Taylor,” clad in a royal black clothing of Lambethbury called hakama, Sir Frederick welcomed him a quick hug while smiling. “I hope the trip has been kind to you.”
“Thank you, Sir,” Roger answered, smiling back as he gets a whiff of Sir Frederick’s floral chypre perfume. “I appreciate His Majesty’s kindness and graciousness.”
Sir Frederick gestured him to sit down and offered him tea. Just as he was taking his first sips, Roger realized that they’re now alone. And he could feel that the Royal personal advisor is now examining him from across the table.
The young military met Sir Frederick’s dark brown gaze as he looks up. The darkness of his hakama matches the young advisor’s shaggy, shoulder-length jet black hair. Roger thinks that Sir Frederick might not be born a native Lambethburian because of his tan skin.
Sir Frederick flashes his slightly large set of extra-pearly white teeth before saying, “Lord Taylor, I must say that it was really a surprise for His Majesty the King that you’ve accepted this offer.”
“How could I even refuse such offer, Sir?” Roger tried to sound coy.
“Well.. your father, Baron Taylor, err… let’s say that he wasn’t thrilled when he first heard about this,” Sir Frederick said. “I’ve even visited your manor once — a very nice house, by the way— but he declined quickly.”
I also heard that father shooed you away like a pestering fly...
“You see, my father thought that I was to marry and retire after coming back to war.”
“Retire? At the age of 25?” Sir Frederick stared at him incredulously.
“I’ve been thrown into war since I was fifteen, Sir,” Roger answered. “I think I deserve a quiet life for a bit.”
It took a couple of seconds for the advisor to answer. “Of course.”
Roger took his cup again and continues to drink his tea. Sir Frederick did the same.
“And what about the marriage? Are you wed, my Lord?” it was the advisor who spoke again.
“No…” the tea suddenly tasted bitter in Roger’s throat. “It was a long, complicated story.”
“Hmmnn… well… this kingdom is full of beautiful, talented, and fearless young noble ladies,” Sir Frederick said. "You might set your eyes on one."
Roger offered him the smallest smile. “So I’ve heard from my sister.”
“Ah! Yes! Her Eminence Lady Clare Taylor,” Sir Frederick uttered his sister’s name with pure respect. “It’s not really that difficult to tell the resemblance. Aren’t you a pair of beauties?”
“Thank you, kind Sir,” Roger accepted the complement, completely used to them.
With the Taylor siblings’ gold platinum hair and unforgettable, alluring, huge sapphire-blue eyes, it has always been easy for them to stand out from the crowd ever since they were young. However, Roger’s beauty has not always been an advantage to him, especially at war.
Finally, the advisor stated, “Tomorrow, you shall meet Her Majesty and some of her ladies-in-waiting. In private.”
And the King…?
“A maid shall wake you up at six. Please do not introduce yourself to anyone yet. Kindly tell them an alias if someone asks for your name,” Sir Frederick told him. “You shall wear the lower rank courtier’s uniform for now.”
Roger thinks that if his father’s present in the same room with them, Baron Taylor must’ve already snarled at the King’s personal advisor and must’ve threatened to cut his tongue for degrading his son like this.
“I understand,” Roger answered, face expressionless.
Sir Frederick stands up and he followed. That adjourns their first meeting. The moment they reached the door and before he was dismissed, the young advisor threw his arms around the young military commander once more. Roger felt that the air changed and suddenly became heavy. He immediately raised his guard.
“I trust you to loyally serve our Queen, Lord Taylor. With all your life,” Sir Frederick whispered carefully against Roger’s ear. “There are watchful eyes and eavesdropping anywhere you go. This palace is full of snakes, my Lord. Beware not to be bitten…”
“I shall serve my Queen Christine next to my God—“
“…Nor be one of them,” there’s a clear hidden message behind the advisor’s words.
“I’d rather be fed to the wolves alive if that happened, Sir,” meeting Sir Frederick’s calculating gaze, by this time, Roger understands that this man would be watching him like a hawk from this point forward.
This man, the King’s right hand man, a foreigner himself, only trusts Roger the slightest. He does not care about Roger’s wealth and title. He doesn’t see Roger as an ally nor a friend.
Roger knew that with just one wrong move, his head might end up rolling down to the ground.