Roses.

RC10

Is there such a thing as a soul mate? What if fate had designed you apart?

Can one live without the other half of his soul?

Roses Chapter 10

•••

Harry knew the Prince would bring her to the park, it was the final and unofficial means of announcing his favoured bride.

But Amelia was not his.

He slowly walked his horse, not a hair out of place as he watched with a thumping heart, the approaching carriage covered in the crest of England.

They had planned this. He and Amy.

But….what if she changed her mind? What if she saw sense in choosing the Prince over him? Not that he would fault her for it.

But he wouldn't live after that. He would slit his own throat before his father did it for him. 

•••

Amelia unhurriedly stepped out of the carriage, her fingers curled around Arthur's. She scanned the park discreetly and nearly keeled over in relief when she spotted Harry's dark gold hair.

She had worried that he would jilt her.

Not that Harry would, but she knew how the Duke of York could be, he might have made his son see reason.

Arthur smiled at her, she reproduced the action, feeling a grimace instead of a smile.

What she and Harry designed would lead to their demise. They both knew that.

But for God's sake, she had lived her life without a shred of happiness till she had bumped into an awkward young man at a masquerade.

Imagine her horror—their horror when each learned of the other's identity.

The smile that graced her face at that memory must have been genuine because Arthur reached and kissed her hand. She cringed at the action.

"Walk with me, my Lady?" She smiled.

Barely six steps into the park, a gangly boy crashed into her and she felt the prick of something sharp.

Amelia hissed. Arthur snarled.

"Are you alright?" The Prince asked, checking her over. She rubbed her waist conspicuously as she spied Harry coming over.

"Yes. I just... I just need to breathe."

Harry was upon them, his face empty.

"Are you okay...Amelia?"

The world around them paused; a sharp breath was taken by someone to her right. It was a scandal, a century-old scandal. The Roses didn't acknowledge that the other existed except in times of destruction.

This was going to make the morning paper, she was sure of it. But it didn't stop her from smiling brightly at the man who she loved with her life.

Harry's face was ashen. He recognized the man that had just collided with Amelia, he worked for his father and that was not just an accident.

 If Harry York knew anything about the man who sired him, it was that nothing was an accident. That boy had done something to Amelia, he was
sure of it.

Arthur recovered faster from the temporary shock of seeing two different Roses speak without biting heads their off.

"Back off York, you are not needed here."

"I think otherwise, Your Highness, I think I am urgently needed." He barely gave the royal a second glance when he stepped forward and cupped her cheek, searching her eyes.

"Are you alright? Did he..did he do anything to you?" 

Amelia remembered the slight prick of pain.

"I—"

"Step away from her York"  he ignored him. "Are you certain—" 

"Don't force me to draw my sword. Step away from the Lady."

"That man—"

"York—"

"Shut the fuck up Arthur! Or get out!" The White Rose snapped, his eyes flashing hard.

The heartbeat of the lizards trailing the grass could be heard. At this point, nobody was feigning interest, they were listening openly. If they survived this night, they would never live this down.

The Prince's face exhibited shock for a split second before the kiss of his sword on its sheath was heard.

Harry gradually placed Amelia behind him, out of harm's way.

"Arthur…Your Highness, I do not wish to fight with you, I—"

Amelia coughed. The hacking sound sliced the silence and had him spinning to face her. She coughed again, using her fingers to cover her mouth in a ladylike manner.

Harry could feel his blood curdle. He knew what would be seen when she brought down her hand yet nothing prepared him for actually seeing it.

Blood.

Amelia's blood, on her hands.

His vision swam. He was right. He had hoped this father would, for once, not be the callous bastard he was, but he was right. Harry York had never wished to be more wrong in his life.

That boy. The contact. He had poisoned Amelia, condemning her to the fastest means of death, poison injected directly into her bloodstream. And in less than an hour, the only woman he'd ever love was going to be dead in his arms, killed once more by hate.

"No. No, oh God no. Can you see me? Amelia, my love say something please"

Another collective sharp breath was taken. Not because a woman was dying, no the English society did not care, but because of what he called her.

"I think…" she coughed again, spurting more blood. "I think I am dying, Harry.." Her eyes shone with dissatisfaction. "I knew they would try to kill us...I didn't think it would happen so soon."

She raised one of her bloodied fingers and trailed his cheek lovingly.

"I thought we'd have time..to at least get married."

The gasp of outrage from the back.

"What? What is going on, York? Step away from Miss Lancaster or I shall be forced to run you through for this disrespect."

The Lovers were deaf to his threats.

"Now my love? You want me to—"

She nodded. "I do not have much time left and I would rather leave this world knowing I was yours true and true."

Harry took a deep breath and lowered his hands. Amelia swallowed the oncoming cough and stood straighter, she would be wed in dignity damnit!

The White Rose went on one knee, sliding two wedding bands for his breeches, one he had the jeweller make especially for them. One that was not tainted by the hate of their families.

"Amelia Joan Lancaster, will you marry me?"

"What nonsense is this?!" The Prince raged.

Her eyes watered and sparkled. "Yes. Always Harry, Yes." 

She extended delicate fingers and he slowly slid the band into her fingers.

"I will not be made a caricature of! Draw your sword this instant York or by all laws, I will run you through."

Harry kissed the back of her hand.

And in enormous humiliation and fury, the Prince of Wales plunged his sword into the heart of Harry York.

•••

It's not yet over, do not despair.

Raldineviv.