The row of houses on Bond Street were familiar, and the sights of governess walking with their charges along the street and the park that lied outside of the houses were familiar, yet foreign to Bird. So, she turned her gaze away from them and focused on the lap of her new gown. The gown that Talon, the crown prince, had given her. He'd mentioned only that he wouldn't want those outside of his house to mock his ability to provide for his kept woman. She mentally scoffed. Kept woman?
How she cursed her fate and the day she met his brother. Bird didn't know where her anger stemmed from, and where it should be focused. She felt helpless to this world that jerked her here and there without permission.
Her hands curled in the fine material of her dress as her eyes stared numbly at her still bare feet. She wasn't worthy to be given shoes. How long would she continue this miserable life? How long would she be used in such a fashion? For the Williams, she was chattel to be bled, for Fitzwilliam, she'd been a tool for revenge against the very man who now used her as a means to an end.
Glancing back to the window, she reached out and moved the small curtain aside. What met her sight was a group of young women, their eyes bright with good humor. As she watched, they appeared to be sharing an inside joke. She felt a longing so strongly for her own friend that she physically reacted by jerking the curtain back in place.
She hadn't dared to contact Stacia, due to her wish to not worry her friend. Yet, she felt the need now to talk and share her heart with someone, anyone willing to listen and not someone whose only wish was to use her.
She was growing tired, and bitter. She was pulled from her wandering thoughts when the carriage came to a stop. The door was opened by a footman and she hesitated for a moment, wondering silently what would happen if she alighted from the carriage, merely to run and disappear amongst the thick crowds that London was famous for. Alas, she still had nowhere else to go, or be accepted. With that in mind, she stepped from the carriage and found herself staring in horrified silence at a house she knew all too well.
Turning her eyes to her left, she found herself staring at the familiar brick front of the third prince's townhouse. Her heart thumped hard in her chest as she stared at it for a long moment, daring the door to open, daring the very reality around her to change. Shift just a step to the left to allow her freedom and happiness. Nothing. Nothing happened. The door remained closed and the street quiet. In the silence of her reality, Bird felt her heart do something queer, something so foreign.
"Miss?"
She turned her eyes away from the house and turned her blank gaze to the footman. "Ah, I'm sorry." She removed her hands from his and turned her attention to the house. "Is this where I'll be staying?"
"Yes, miss," the young footman said with pride, it appeared. "His lordship said it will now belong to you."
Not saying anything to this, she simply smiled and followed the other servants into the house, where she was greeted by the butler, housekeeper and other servants who looked at her with curiosity, and some, very slight disapproval. But, she gave it no credence and focused primarily on learning their names and their roles in the house.
She was escorted by the dour-faced Bradley, a man, who unlike Mr. Pinwin, didn't appear to engage in the occasional humor. If anything, the man appeared too serious. Still, she would not hold it against him. She entered the chamber.
"Dinner will be served at 7, miss. Will his lordship be joining you?" he asked in a heavy voice, a strain of inquiry in it.
"I am not sure," Bird said as her eyes moved over the room's simple décor. "I assume he will send someone to give news on whether he will choose to dine here." She turned and gave him a small smile. Giving her a short bow, he left the room, the door shutting quietly behind him.
Standing in the center of the room, Bird felt more alone than she'd felt ever before. Her life had changed so much over the last year, she couldn't grasp onto any one emotion.
Her heart ached. That was the only thing she could give voice to. As she glanced around, she felt the trembling begin in her hands and quickly grabbed it with her other hand in hopes to still it. She couldn't break here. She'd already gone through so much. It wouldn't do for her to pick this time to fall apart.
Determinedly, she turned away from the fireplace and walked over to the trunks and began going through the items she'd brought from Cawell. This time, she had more than just a book and a few gowns.
~~
Fitzwilliam arrived home to the news that his brother had returned from his manor with his damphir, and he'd taken her as his consort. It took him all of a second before he was leaving his house for Buckingham Palace to confront his brother.
Bird had done it. She'd gotten his brother to take her in his heart. Feeling triumphant in the news, he wished to see the look on Gwen's face. Would she stay with a man who loved another, he wondered.
Passing the footmen, he ran up the stairs briskly, making his way towards the main chamber, stopping when the door opened and two people exited. His eyes slightly widened before he forced his expression into one of easy amusement.
"Brother, I am surprised to see you here so early," he said with a beat of nuance to his voice.
"Oh, and why is that, Fitz?" Talon asked, feigning ignorance. He was very aware of what Fitzwilliam was trying to imply, but as always, he played ignorant. "It's only proper to come and greet Father and..." As always, he paused, his lips working for a moment. Forcing them to curve, he said, "Mother, on my return."
"He is probably speaking of the long journey," Gwen cut in, her eyes meeting Fitz's, her hand reaching out and laying on Talon's shoulder, a blatant gesture. "He probably worries that you would be too tired to come and greet them."
Fitz's eyes moved to the hand, and he frowned. "Ah, yes, that is what I meant." He turned his darkened eyes to Talon, "I assumed you'd spend time at the new townhouse you bought. Speaking of which, I've heard the oddest rumor. Of course, I gave it no credence, but for the sake of my curiosity, is it true you've taken a mistress?"
"Fitz?!"
The air became tense, as the third prince and the first prince stared each other down. Talon didn't speak, while Gwen looked at Fitzwilliam in mute shock at his audacity.
Scoffing, Talon straightened, his smile not brightening. "It seems, brother, you've been paying too much attention to the gossip rags." He stepped forward, forcing Gwen's hand to drop from his arm. "It would better serve you to focus on the thing you want most. After all, you seem to struggle much in your effort to obtain it."
With that, he gave Fitz a glacial smile, before walking past him. Gwen and Fitz watched him go. While one was stewing in stinging comment, the other was glaring.
"Can you truly be happy?" Fitz asked, turning to face Gwen, whose violet colored eyes were narrowed. His expression was pained. "No matter how he plays the charming prince, he is only using you."
Her back stiffened and her chin lifted, "So, he will be king, what of you?"
"Is that all you care about, the throne?"
"It is what my father cares about." Her rebuttal was sharp. She clenched her hands at her side, "You had only to demand my hand, fight for my hand. Yet, you did not. You did not, and now the one who will make me queen is Talon."
Fitzwilliam did not speak. In fact, he could not speak. She glared at him, her eyes sparkled with a bone-deep anger and resentment. "The crown, that's all...that is all that matters in this world, in my world. As I stand to be sold to the highest bidder, you show your feelings now, but what of that night... Where were you then?"
Seeming to realize they still stood in the hallway where many walls had ears, Gwen regained her composure and straightened, her expression cooling. "Third prince, I will make this clear so that you will not mistake me again. There is no longer a drop of what I used to feel residing in my heart. Please remember to greet me in the manner befitting the fiancé of the future king if we are to come upon one another in the near future." Giving a curtsy, she quickly walked past him.
Standing like stone, he closed his eyes as her scent brushed his nose as she walked past him. He reached out, but did not touch her, his fingers brushing through the silk of her gown. Once she was gone, he continued standing there before making his way to the queen's chambers.
"You are still chasing after that woman's skirts.
It wasn't a question Queen Agatha asked; it was a statement. Her golden-red eyes stared at Fitzwilliam with a knowing look. Queen Agatha was a handsome woman, who still held the figure of a woman in her prime. Her riding and active lifestyle kept her in such shape. Her pale skin was warm from the sun and she kept her deep brown hair swept back elegantly. Her beringed finger tapped against the side of her tea cup.
"Your brother wouldn't have wasted his time on such a pointless endeavor." She turned her attention to the cup in her hand, lifting it to her lips. Taking a small sip, she frowned, placing the cup down. "Do you truly intend on taking the throne, or will you continue these small schemes to bring about Talon's downfall?"
Fitzwilliam stiffened. Her soft voice held an edge he'd been trained to be weary of. "Mother, I..." He stopped when her eyes turned to him, their cold depths freezing his tongue.
She sighed and lifted a hand and summoned one of the servants over, a young man, who lifted his arm and placed it over the tea cup. She reached over to a delicate knife. "I believed that you would do your duty and bring honor to our house by beating your step brother in the requesting of the princess' hand in marriage." She lifted the knife and pressed it into the skin of the young man's wrist, the blood welled, and she placed the knife down. The young man's hand stayed over the cup.
"You've disappointed me," she said, her eyes on him and not the servant who was bleeding into the cup. "I've spent these years with the expectation that you or your brother would be ascending to the throne. Did I not make it easy for you?" The male stepped back, his eyes rolling, but grimly, he continued holding his hand over the cup.
"I wish to know, Fitzwilliam, how long will I be forced to wait before your minor game is over, and you are ready to truly begin fighting for your father's place?"
She turned her eyes to the pale bleeder, and waved a hand, "Enough."
Giving a shaky head bow, the male fell back, only to be caught by another male servant when the loss of blood caused him to faint.
She lifted the delicate teacup to her lips, her eyes focused on Fitzwilliam. "I will be waiting for you when you wish to move forward. For now, you are free to go."
With ease, she dismissed him. His mother hadn't changed. Her cold and emotionless behavior was the cross he'd not bore until the death of his older brother, the second prince.
"Do you have news for me?"
Osis observed the moving crowd below, her violet eyes not revealing any emotion. Her outer appearance was calm. Now clothed in clothing that befitted her station, her beauty shined, though Effendi would have preferred to give her the garb native to their country. Still, the dark bronze coloring and tilted hat befit her.
He bowed his head, "We have managed to learn she was bought by the now deceased Lord Wellings."
At that news, her expression became complicated, her eyes darkening. "Did they treat her well?"
Not wanting to give bad news, Effendi didn't answer. He simply lowered his head, avoiding her probing gaze. The rocking of the carriage was the only sound.
"So...she was not?" Osis turned her eyes to the window, her lips pursed, and she pressed her palm to her stomach. "I've ached from this cold. The rain and wind here chill me to the bone. At those moments, I was fanciful enough to believe it was my punishment." Her lips started to tremble. "A-at those moments, I thought our gods had abandoned me to this land and had taken her from me as a punishment."
Closing her eyes, she leaned her head against the wall of the carriage. Effendi pretended not to see the tears or the priestess in such a weak moment.
Tears slipped from her eyes, and she felt the old wounds of her heart open once more. "If I cannot find her, my Kahlia...I would rather die in this cold land, so as to not leave her alone." She opened her eyes and turned to Effendi, "Abdalla, I will not return without her... Take me to these Wellings people."
Giving a short nod, Effendi lifted the top of his can and banged it against the carriage ceiling, shouting a new address to the man.
Osis turned her eyes back to the window,searching the crowd for a mere glimpse of her daughter
TBC