⚠️ CW - violence, gore, death
The sound of cheering filled the courtyard.
Two crowds swarmed on either side of a path from the chapel to the court gate. The peasants stood on one side. The stonemasons, the kitchen maids. The ones who would tell their children for years to come about the day they glimpsed the newly-wedded King and Queen.
The nobles, English and French alike, watched from the other side. They sat on blankets and craned their heads out of carriages. Some held pipes and breathed smoke out into the crowd.
Brownie-Paulo reared his head as stray hands reached up to pet him. One man grasped my foot in the stirrup and tried pulling my boot off.
"Let go," I hissed. I kicked him, harder than I meant to, and watched him stumble into a woman with raggedy clumps of hair hanging from her cap.
She stared up at me with terrified eyes. "Please, we're sorry, sir! Forgive him!"
I looked down at my stark white shirt and ironed coat. Only the castle guards and I were on horseback. Without hesitation, the woman bowed her head, cupping my foot and placing a light kiss on the leather.
I opened my mouth to stop her, but she was already pulling the man away. I fought through the sea of bodies to the edge of the courtyard and dismounted, throwing the reins over a tree branch. A horrible, sick feeling unfurled in my stomach.
My horse snorted and pawed the earth. I stroked his mane and joined the peasants, inching forward till I found a spot where I could see the open path. The wedding procession was about to pass through.
Too many people.
The stench of all the bodies was enough to make me gag.
A man's elbow hit my side and I jumped. Our eyes met, and he scowled before stepping before me, blocking my view. "Pardon," he muttered. The sun beat down on my face. My head began to spin.
Every servant from inside the castle was now outside. They would watch the procession and cheer, give flowers and handmade gifts to the new Queen perhaps, and then it would be over. They would all go back to work.
Revulsion. How easily I had lost myself in this place. Given the chance, I would have joined the feast tonight, eaten and drank myself to oblivion with the nobles. I looked around me. These were the people who deserved a good meal. These were the ones who deserved to eat.
Anger. The same I'd felt while serving the King's guests at the luncheon. Anger and guilt.
I heard the cheers before I saw anything. A pair of guards on horseback led the way. One, two, three carriages followed, each pulled by white horses. Another line of guards held back the crowd as they passed through. In the center of the courtyard, the carriages turned in a wide circle and stopped. Three footmen leapt down to open the doors.
From the first carriage emerged the Duc de Montpensier. Two women were left sitting inside, their dresses pulled down about their shoulders. One bent to kiss him as he stepped out. Cherry-red lip rouge streaked her chin.
The Duke wore a black wig and a blue cloak that swept the ground at his feet. The maids waved handkerchiefs and screamed as he strutted back and forth before the crowd.
"Pathetic, isn't it?"
I stiffened at the voice behind me. Low, unexpected. Familiar.
"Look at them. All of them. Cheering. Bowing." My heart beat faster. I did not want to turn around. To face him.
The second carriage opened. The Queen stepped out, one hand placed delicately in the palm of the footman. Her hair tumbled in loose curls down her back, adorned with feathers and jewels that glinted in the harsh sunlight. The bodice of her cream gown was covered entirely with tiny gems, all sparkling as she turned and waved.
The crowd screamed.
A wisp of black hair caught in the corner of my vision. "Stay away from me, Geoff," I whispered.
"Don't be so vain. I've come to see the lovely festivities." Finally, I turned. He flashed me a wolfish grin, two strands of hair sticking to the corners of his lips. Behind him, Roggar and Coopers stood watching us.
Another cheer from the crowd. The King emerged from his carriage, barely recognizable. His hair was hidden beneath a white peruke, his face powdered and rouged like a woman's. He was dressed in a coat of gold and a stunning cloak of red. His stockings were red as well, along with the heels of his shoes.
My stomach turned.
The King and Queen joined hands and waved in unison to the crowd. After the cheering had died down, the people sank to their knees and bowed their heads.
Half of the peasants remained standing.
I moved to kneel and then, feeling Geoff's eyes on me, held my body rigid. I would not let him see me kneel. Even for the King.
The men standing were met with nervous glances from the men kneeling and grim scowls from the guards. The King and Queen lowered their hands. Silence followed.
"Bow," someone hissed. We remained standing.
At last, the tension came to a head like the tip of a spear. Captain Fitzhugh strode forward and unsheathed his sword with a hiss. I flinched as he drove the hilt into an old man's stomach, knocking him to his knees.
"By God, you will bow!"
He marched to the next man and gripped him by the shoulders, forcing him to the ground. The remaining men stood in unified silence.
Then the first man stood again. He was in his later years, his beard laced with white, his legs wobbling. Fitzhugh turned, aghast, as he regained his footing and resumed his stance of protest. Within heartbeats, the second man joined him.
Fitzhugh marched back.
"Stop!"
My heart twisted at the sound of his voice, the voice I would know anywhere.
"This is a day of celebration." The King's voice faltered at first, then grew stronger as he continued. "Let us not spoil it with pain. I shall leave it to these men to decide who they bow to."
The crowd hummed with soft murmurs. Surprise. Acceptance. Captain Fitzhugh tramped back to his place at the King's side, face nearly white with outrage. "Sire-"
"What of our pain?" A voice from the crowd cut through the Captain's.
Others echoed his. "What of our pain every day?"
"We are hungry! We want to eat!"
Hungry Hungry Hungry
The voices grew louder, angrier. Some of the men kneeling shot up suddenly like weeds. The line of guards reached for their swords.
I looked at Geoff. His face betrayed no emotion. I realized how similar the scene before me was to the Death of England leaflet. A crowd of peasants and guards. All that was missing was me in the center, holding the King's severed head.
Just as I looked away, I heard his voice in my ear. "Have you made your decision?"
His words came back to me from the day prior, echoing in my skull, the pit of my stomach. This is your chance. Cut the pig's throat and feast on his flesh.
I could feel more eyes on us, Roggar and Coopers and some of the other men. I swallowed tightly. "I am loyal to the King."
But I was not entirely sure. I loved Philip, not the Crown. Not the nobles. Not the rich. I was hungry too.
"Good," he whispered. "I was hoping you would save me the honors."
My gaze flashed between red coats. "You'd never leave the courtyard alive. The guards would cut you down within-"
"I don't intend to leave alive."
The blood drained from my face. My body fought back as I swallowed, bile and dread rising in my throat. His dark eyes shone like obsidian. Black and glistening. That was when I knew he meant it.
"Come on, Rat Boy." Mr Coopers jutted a finger between my shoulder blades, making me wince. "You know you wants to kill 'im too."
I closed my eyes. I could remember the taste of his blood, how his hand felt in mine as I licked the crimson line from his wrist. I remembered his heartbeat in my ear. One. Two. Three.
I am the light.
I was the light and I would protect him. I would protect him like I promised Beauregard. But when I opened my eyes, Geoff was smiling at me. Smiling as if he could read my mind.
"Don't worry," he said. "I'll leave plenty of blood for you."
The roars of the crowd grew louder, emboldened by their fellow men. They moved closer about the carriages. "Feed us! Feed us! Feed us!"
One of the white horses reared up as a servant gripped its reins, the great plume atop its head trembling. The Duc de Montpensier jutted a finger in the man's face. "Back! Back, you filth!"
"Father!" Henriette screamed.
A guard rushed forth. The servant's hand reached for the Duke's collar. His last action before the guard drove his sword into the man's chest.
A cry burst from the crowd, fear and horror and wrath stitched together.
The servant collapsed onto the grass, covering the blooming wound in the center of his chest. The other men shouted curses at the guard, fists raised in the air. Lusting for blood. One man tore from the group and charged the circle of guards, armed only with his fists. They cut him down in a spray of red.
It was impossible to hear Fitzhugh's words over the sea of voices, but I could see him directing the King and Queen back to their carriage, shielding them from the crowd of peasants. The two fallen men lay face-down in the grass. Dead.
"You killed them!" someone screamed.
"You didn't have to do that!"
"Murderer!"
Some threw objects, stones, shoes, anything they could get their hands on. Philip gripped Fitzhugh's arm before the Captain could force him into the carriage, seemingly refusing to move. He yelled something to the crowd, but his voice was drowned out with each roar.
Beside me, Geoff scoffed, his lips twisted in a cruel smile. "Fool."
I could not tear my gaze away from the King, whose broken face betrayed the anguish he felt, whose soft voice was carried away like a feather in the breeze, who stood defenseless if the men reached him.
Geoff's scoff turned to a cackle. "A day of celebration indeed. I'm going to enjoy this."
Fury broke through the surface of my skin. "Touch him and I'll kill you."
Geoff looked at me, a spark of sorrow hidden in the coals of his eyes. "I know, Auden."
Then he hit me.
Square in the jaw. Color exploded in my vision and then black, nothing but black. I hit the ground hard. The next moments passed in a blur as I grappled with consciousness. I felt a pair of hands lifting my right boot, a tug as my knife was pulled from its strap.
Choking. An arm wrapped around my throat and wrenched me to my feet, so tight I couldn't breathe. My heels dragged limply in the grass as Geoff pulled me away from the crowd. In the distance, cries of outrage grew to a deafening roar.
My fingers flew to my throat to loosen his grip, but it was pointless. Each breath became a sharp wheeze. I turned my gaze to the sky where I could see flashes of Geoff's black hair swinging in my vision. Where was he taking me? Some dark room to be tortured?
The grass beneath my heels turned to rough stone. Then steps. The castle steps. My head rolled back and grazed Geoff's shoulder. He hauled me up until we were standing before the castle doors. Here I could see the entire courtyard, the mob surrounding the three carriages, and the guards with their swords drawn to the peasants' throats.
Cold steel kissed my skin.
I strained to look at Geoff. He pressed my back to his chest, one arm keeping me upright while the other held the knife to my throat.
One of the women in the Duc de Montpensier's carriage was screaming, holding her dress to her collarbone as a man reached inside. The guards tackled him, but there were too many. The Duke shrank back and cowered behind two guards.
"Your Majesty!" Geoff shouted over the panicked cries of the nobles and the angry crowd of peasants. "Oh, Your Majesty!"
Philip looked up.
Our eyes met.
Geoff used the knife to tilt my head, breaking the skin just below my jaw. I jerked in his grasp, but he held me tight. "Your Majesty, I see you recognize our dear Auden here. Now, I assure you, I will not hesitate to open his throat and let him bleed to death before you, so I suggest you listen to me."
A sob welled in my throat. I could smell the sweat on Geoff, as well as the distinct scent of blood. He must have come from the slaughterhouse. In a blur, images flashed in my dazed mind. Blood. The butcher. The pig's head.
"What do you want?" the King asked. His eyes blazed with fury. And widened in fear as Geoff pressed the blade harder against my skin.
"First things first. Would you kindly order your guards to stop killing my friends?"
Philip stared at me. I shook my head, wincing as the blade grazed my skin.
Captain Fitzhugh strode forward. "Your Majesty, you cannot possibly consider-"
"Lower your swords," the King commanded.
Fitzhugh's mustache trembled. "Your Majesty-"
"Lower your swords," he hissed. The guards complied. Fitzhugh watched them, a shaky breath leaving him. "Alright." Philip addressed Geoff. "Let him go. No one else has to die."
Geoff leaned forward. A strand of his hair brushed my cheek and I shivered. "That is where you are wrong, Your Majesty. You see, many more have to die. That is what a revolution calls for. And this is the beginning of a very beautiful revolution."
Philip held out his hand as if to touch Geoff's shoulder. The crowd separated us, and yet a small part of me could still feel his warmth, through the pain, through the fear. "There is no need for that," he said gently. "We can stop this. We can all sit down and talk and I will listen-"
"No!" Geoff shouted. "It's too late! You've had centuries to talk to us! You have treated us like rats, you have starved us like rats, and now we will feast like rats!"
The crowd roared. A chant grew and spread throughout the courtyard. "We will feast! We will feast!"
"It will start today, in London," Geoff declared. "It will spread to France. To Spain. All over the world, the rats shall rise up and feast!"
"Feast! Feast! Feast!"
"Ladies and gentlemen!" Geoff screamed. The crowd paused, hanging on his every word. "Too long have we allowed ourselves to be beaten, worked, and slaughtered like beasts by those who reap the fruits of our labor and grow fat as we wither away. Today we grow fat! You are witnessing the Death of England!"
The crowd cheered.
Geoff dropped me from his grasp. I hit the stone steps hard as he raised both fists toward the sky.
"Feast! Feast! Feast!"
I found the strength to stand as the courtyard erupted into chaos. I tore down the steps and ran for the carriages. Bodies slammed together. Bodies fell. An old woman was trampled as the crowd scattered in every direction.
Something inside me twisted. On instinct, I ran to help her, crouching down to shield her as more people continued to barrel into us.
"Can you stand?" I asked the old woman as she clung to me, wheezing. She was a peasant, hair long and dirty, some of her teeth missing. She must have been so excited to see the celebration today.
"Thank you," she croaked. A high-pitched wail turned both our heads. A little girl, holding a handful of flowers meant for the Queen, was thrown to the ground as the mob of men advanced. "Oh, dear God."
I reached Captain Fitzhugh at the front of the mob. He stood in place, chin jutted up, eyes cold and vacant.
"Do something!" I shouted at him. "People are dying!"
He did not face me. "His Majesty ordered-"
A gasp escaped him as a four-fingered hand covered his mouth from behind. A flash of steel. Blood poured from Captain Fitzhugh's throat, staining his coat and the grass at his feet. He remained upright for a few heartbeats, eyes locked on mine. He reached one gloved hand out vaguely, then crumpled to the ground.
Roggar smiled at me.
Fitzhugh's blood dripped from his knife.
Forcing myself to move, I ducked and ripped the dying guard's sword from its holster. The Captain made a wet gurgling sound at my feet, then curled into a fetal position as blood continued to stream from the gash in his throat.
More guards had arrived from inside the castle to replace the fallen. They were armed, and trained, but largely outnumbered by the crowd of servants and London peasants. Years of injustice fueled their fury. The chant thundered over the sound of screaming and bodies hitting the earth.
WE WILL FEAST.
WE WILL FEAST.
WE WILL FEAST.
I reached the center of the courtyard in time to see three men take down the Duc de Montpensier. His arm stuck up in the air between them, the fine lace of his sleeve fluttering like the wings of a butterfly. His pudgy fingers clawed in vain at one man's shoulder, gold rings glinting in the sunlight.
The women were dragged from the carriage, the footman tackled as he attempted to flee. Two, three men hunched over each of them in the dirt. Rats picking apart a scrap of bread.
Screams rose in the air like tendrils of smoke - agonized, guttural, barely human. I raised my sword, unsure of who to attack, then froze as one of the peasants lifted his head to look at me.
Blood streaked across his face, mixing with the shine of sweat and grime. It dripped from his chin, hit the stone ground like raindrops. His lips were red, parted, his teeth bared. In his mouth was a glistening lump of human flesh.
My stomach lurched. I bent forward and vomited in the grass, spattering my boots. Strands of saliva hung from my lips as I lifted my head to lock eyes with the man again. Another servant ripped a chunk of flesh from the Duke's cheek, dark and slimy.
The women were not spared. Wounds covered them, some from the peasants' hands, most from their teeth. Fair skin turned into a river of red.
This was the feast.
All around me, screams of terror filled the courtyard. The gates had been sealed, manned by two servants with swords. The unarmed nobles stood no chance. They were ripped from their carriages, beaten and trampled. The lucky ones died before the feast commenced.
Philip.
The remaining guards surrounded the royal carriage, prioritizing their King's life above all else. The small circle held the mob back as the coachman drove the carriage to the castle steps and flew down to help the King and Queen inside.
Henriette screamed for her father, hitting and clawing one of the guards as he lifted her off her feet and carried her inside the castle. The rest of the guards barred the doors behind them.
I started running.
The Duc de Montpensier lay motionless in a puddle of blood, hardly recognizable save for the brilliant blue of his cloak, now stained dark. His face was gone. Strips of wet, raw flesh hung from his cheeks. His eyes were empty, unseeing pits.
I tried to find pity for this thing before me, this thing that remained in the place of the great Jacques Jean-Gilbert, the son of a king. Instead I found only disgust.
A figure lurched in front of me, breathing hard. Sweat glistened atop his bald head like a shining crown. Mr Coopers.
"Hello, Rat Boy." He grinned, his rotten teeth tinged with red.
I'm dreaming. I must be dreaming. Or I had died and this was hell.
Philip.
I had to fight. I had to protect him.
I staggered forward, pushing past the nausea and fear seeping from my pores. I clutched the sword clumsily in both hands, holding it out before me as if it were a torch to ward off the darkness.
Coopers followed, his labored breaths filling the space between us. "Enjoying the feast, Rat Boy?"
I ignored him. The screams of the nobles echoed throughout the courtyard.
"We's going to find that pretty prince of yours." Coopers chuckled. His breath heated the back of my neck as he passed by me. "We's going to have fun with him. And that pretty little French girl."
I looked down at the sword in my hands. I had vowed not to kill again, to conquer the dark thirst that lived within me. It was time to break that vow.
"Oi, Coop." He turned, his eyes meeting mine before I plunged the sword into his belly. He cried out. I buried the blade in his flesh and ripped it out with a wet squelch. Coopers fell to his knees. I drove the sword down into his chest, just above his heart, and he slumped back in the grass. "May the Devil have fun with you."
Leaving him to his last breaths, I tore across the courtyard and charged up the castle steps. Two swords clashed together to stop me from entering.
A moment later, the mob reached us. The guards thrust their swords into the first two men, but five more swarmed to take their place. They pulled the guards down with them, beating them with stones and tearing into them with their bare hands.
I sliced the forearm of one peasant who reached for me, then disappeared inside the castle doors.
The roar of the crowd fell to a muted hum beyond the royal castle's huge, impenetrable walls. Once a lively, bustling place, the castle now felt empty and dark, like a corpse without a beating heart. Its heart had been its people.
"Philip!" I screamed.
Where would they have gone? Were they locked away in the royal chamber to wait out the fight? Some other room upstairs?
My footsteps echoed as I raced down the hall, skidding to a halt before the grand staircase.
A line of blood trickled down the stairs.
God, no.
Cautiously, I crept up the staircase. The royal guards that usually lined the hall now lay dead, some with slit throats and others with heads turned at unnatural angles.
This had been planned.
Perhaps for weeks. Ever since the date of the royal wedding had been announced. Once everyone was out in the courtyard to await the procession, the rebellion had begun. The Death of England.
"Philip!" I yelled down the hall.
Silence. I flung open every door I passed, stopping when I heard a sharp whimper from inside a small closet. I turned back and let the door swing open. A pair of maids crouched in the corner, arms wrapped round one another. One held a baby to her chest.
"Please," she breathed.
I looked at the sword in my grasp. I lowered it as both my hands began to shake.
The maid with the baby stared at me. "You are so young," she said. "What are you doing with that thing?"
A thunder of footsteps sounded in the distance.
"Stay here," I whispered, and closed the closet door behind me. I ran to the top of the staircase and looked down to see several rows of soldiers march down the hall and stream into the courtyard, all armed with gleaming halberds.
The King's garrison.
"Auden."
I turned, and there he stood, his cloak and wig gone. He looked almost normal, save for the spots of blood on his breeches and his bride behind him, her beautiful gown spattered in her father's blood.
"Philip." I ran to him.
One of the guards held up his sword.
"Stop!" The King jumped before him. "He is my friend."
My breath caught. I wanted to embrace him. Even the slightest touch would bring me comfort. Instead, all I could do was stand and choke out a sob. "This is all my fault."
"Auden-"
"If you didn't care about me then Geoff never would have used me to get your attention and the guards would have cut him down and-"
"Auden." Philip touched my cheek and I closed my eyes, relishing the warmth of his palm in case it was the last time. "Auden, I love you. None of that matters. All I care about is if you are safe."
"Your Majesty." The guard spoke gruffly. "You could send the boy to bring a horse for you and slip out another way. We can ride out of London until it is safe to return."
I started to voice my assent but Philip cut me off. "No! This is my home! I have spent my entire life here. I am not running away."
"Philip." I took a deep breath and looked into his eyes. "If you stay, I stay."
He waited a long moment to speak. "I will not be a coward. I will not be a King who flees from his own people and abandons his home." He looked slowly from Henriette, to the guards, to me. "I am staying."
Resolve fed new strength to my aching muscles. "We need more weapons," I said. I need a knife. "Come on. I know where to go."