The Tudors: The Swan & The Crow.

A Broken Valentine.

"Are you mad?!" Elizabeth spat towards her father. The anger inside of her chest was unable to be kept in place. As the servants moved around in their new apartment, Elizabeth paced in front of Philip with red cheeks and watery green eyes. How much she disloathed her father for forcing her hand in secrecy. She was sure her virtue had been spoiled. For all Elizabeth knew, her father could have picked any nobleman, which frightened her more than ever.

Not only did her father go behind her back, but he spoke to Cromwell about this issue. The man and the only man she held feelings for. No matter how she raddled her father's decision inside of her head, Elizabeth couldn't understand.

Wasn't it he who raised her to be better than him? Wasn't it he who taught Elizabeth to be not just a woman but a woman who could change the world?

Why change it now? Why run from what he created?

And as she ceased her pacing, Elizabeth flicked her heated gaze onto Philip. His left hand held his wrinkled forehead. Mouth tightened with thought. His bright eyes glued on the parchment stretched out upon the table.

His fears gobbled up any assurance. This sickness frightened him, and if he were to die, what would his only daughter have left? Nothing. No land. No husband. No children. Only words from the angered prince stood between Elizabeth and deprivation. Philip trusted Henry as far as he could throw a pike. Henry is not his father or his brother.

"Father! Explain to me -"

"Hush, child!" Philip suddenly roared, slamming his fist onto the table. His head snapped upward, and his bottom lip trembled with anxiety. The servants did not dare to stop what they were doing. Instead of setting gentle hands on Elizabeth's stricken soul, they leave quickly in silence. Shutting the heavy door behind them.

"Do you not understand what I'm trying to do?" Philip now stood, his hands flat against the table surface. Silver brows narrowed. "I'm trying to give you a future you deserve."

Elizabeth watched her father closely. She believed his words to be true. For his love and desire to see his only child grow old with many children and a chance for their children to be blessed is evident. Yet, Elizabeth saw no reason to marry a man she did not know. As her fingers pressed her stomach, she ached deeply.

She did not want a future like the others. The women who lived to serve men and to be ravished with a blind eye. To be looked over by her husband as age took over her beauty and one day, find herself sitting alone in an estate with no one to soothe her bitterness. Elizabeth wanted freedom. Freedom to choose what she thought was and was suitable for her future.

"Who?" Elizabeth questioned, fluttering her eyes around the locations surrounding Philip. "Who did you agree my hand to?"

Philip sucked in tirelessly, resting his worn body back in the chair. Annie Cook quickly placed a goblet of wine before her master before giving Elizabeth a concerned gaze. Her poor friend, The world she knew, turned upside down. Before Annie could hear Philip's answer, she hurried away to prepare for Elizabeth's tantrums.

"Charles Brandon."

Just the name made Elizabeth gape with disgust. Charles Brandon, the man everyone knew to be sinful without beating an eyelash. Handsome he may be, but Elizabeth saw through the mask. She had only seen his face once or twice; however, it was a blur. He did not interest her.

"Charles Brandon?!" Elizabeth spat, taking one step back. "Out of anyone, you've put Charles Brandon -" Elizabeth paused, fuming from her ears.

She could barely utter anything more. With her head held high and mouth shut to keep her from speaking terrible oaths, Elizabeth stormed into her chambers, slamming the door shut behind her. Philip rested his hand on his forehead, hating the headache taking over his vulnerable brain.