The night was now over, and with it all shadow and melancholy was gone.
The sun, like every English morning peeped out from the peaks of the distant hills and gave to the world its own luminous rays.
It was all over: the dance, the happy laughter, as well as the traces of wine from the bodies of some.
The long-awaited night was over and now the melancholic farewell to their families was up to everyone.
Nobody cried or even had the courage to do it, they had to keep their image.
Abigail Dallas greeted her family. William and Dickon Dustin also took such commitment and greeted their parents and siblings under the careful advice of Preston, the oldest brother.
All this obviously happened under the gaze of Juniper, the young Baron, who despite being part of the royal family, had this task.
He did not know what plans his cousin had, nor what all this would have lead to, but he knew that Isabelle had required all the youngest members of the noble families who had accompanied her tough decisions in those days to stay at the castle.
It was in de facto her plan to keep by her side every young person who had a relevant title like the children of nobles with the largest domains.
But this was not a big matter for Juniper, not as much as the sadness that was miserably enveloping him at that moment.
It was hard to see how others behaved in the presence of their parents, when he was the only one who no longer had anyone to call family.
It was sad to witness all this. It had been seven years since his parents died, he was still a child back then, but that had been such a big blow, he couldn't bear it.
A hand rested lightly on his shoulder.
Juniper already knew who it was and within him he felt supported by his presence.
-Good morning cousin, are you observing? - the voice asked from behind him, causing the young man to turn around.
Henry had joined him, the young baron was waiting for his arrival.
The prince was tall, much taller than he, of an uncommon height for being neither English nor French.
He was in fact, in his twenty-five years, grown to a height of almost two meters.
He had extraordinarily attractive features: he had in fact let his golden blond and shiny hair grow up to the middle of his back and had two persuasive eyes of a mixed colour between grey and blue.
He presented a totally harmonious face and although Juniper knew that the prince had inherited the colour of his hair and eyes from his father, he was more than sure that the harmony of his face Henry had inherited it from his mother.
He also noticed how although the prince was in his mid-twenties, he helped himself along the way with a long and precious cane of dark wood, with a golden knob.
He was still limping after the accident that had occurred on horseback and in the infirmary.
Juniper looked away from his cousin and warmed by the sunlight he nodded slightly with his head.
-It is my job to witness all this although it makes me sad to notice that everyone has someone to say goodbye to- the young baron commented picking up some of his golden curls that had fallen on his forehead due to sweat.
-My parents should have been there too- Juniper complained -and I should have left with them: I should have returned to Scotland, to my homeland-.
The prince soon realised how much sadness his cousin held in his heart, so he moved his hand from his shoulder and slowly placed it on the knob of his walking stick and slowly moved a lock of his blond hair from his face.
-I understand what you feel, cousin Juniper- the man admitted starting to observe the scene himself, with his clear eyes full of emptiness -I understand what it feels like, I felt the same when I saw my mother in the guillotine pavilion-.
Juniper enclosed his tight and pale lips between them, thinking how similar were the feelings that united him to his cousin. He felt a particular affection for him much more than he felt for the other living members of his family.
-Don't you feel jealousy knowing that your father has preferred your sister over you to govern your land? - asked the young baron out of his curiosity -why don't you fight back? Why don't you want to regain your honour?-.
Henry smiled, almost as if convinced by his own actions and sure of himself.
- Fight for what? - wondered the prince - it would still have been too risky for my father to put a son with French blood through his veins on the throne, after such a bloody war-.
-The war ended in 1713 and you were still a child of eight, now you are twenty-five, you are still young, you are strong, fight for what you believe in! Revolutionise the present!- Juniper scolded his cousin.
At those words the prince was almost impressed by the immense courage and revolutionism of his young cousin.
-I'm tired of fighting, Juniper- the man complained, grabbing one of the shoulders of the young and combative baron with his hand -I don't want to hurl a revolution in such a complicated period-.
-We will fight against the crown, Henry!- the Baron protested getting out of his cousin's grip -all this does not matter: people die on the street, the monarchy has never given the people what they wanted! The revolution is near...-.
-Be quiet Juniper!- the prince complained grabbing one of his cousin's forearms with further force, making him turn quickly towards the other young nobles who were still saying goodbye to their families.
The prince's lips came close to one of the young baron's ears - do you see all these people, all these young lords and ladies? - Henry began to whisper holding his cousin by a shoulder -if a revolution really took place most of these young lives would be brutally ended, so that noble and innocent blood would fall under the gates of the city ...-.
As the word blood came to Juniper's ears, the young baron immediately felt an unpleasant sense of vomit.
He knew the acid smell and the sour taste of blood well, seeing it descend from the throats first of his father and then of his mother.
-It...it is enough, I beg you...- Juniper admitted tearing from his blue eyes and covering them with the palm of his hand.
At that point, feeling his cousin's sadness, Henry realised he had exaggerated.
-Please, excuse me for what I just said...- the prince begged saddened -I also hate death as much as you do, and for this purpose I want to avoid further revolutions at all costs-.
Juniper despite being still strongly disturbed by the images that had been created in his head managed to respond.
-This day is September 18, your sister will get married immediately after the celebration of Christmas - commented the young Baron - it already disturbs me that I do not know where she is right now...-.
But no one of the two knew what was about to happen and neither of them imagined what her diabolical plan was.
In fact, Isabelle knew very well what kind of responsibility had been given upon her since the official coronation, but she also knew that only a harsh condition could hinder her power: the possible existence of another male heir of her father.
The hunt for competitors was now on, as she wanted the largest monopoly on the crown.
For this the princess had recalled her mother to herself in accompanying her inside the room where she would have made her most important decisions in the future.
As the princess entered the room, she took the opportunity to close both of her blue and big eyes and breathe deeply that familiar smell.
It was the smell of power and domination, the pride of her ancestors.
On the other hand, it was very rare for a female daughter of a sovereign to ascend the throne, it had happened in thousands of years only five times, and in her case she would have been the sixth and she would have done everything to be able to receive that prestigious title.
When she opened her eyes, she found herself in front of a large room with a majestic and mighty solid wooden desk completely empty of any document except a black ink bottle and a pen to write.
Since the death of her father, every document belonging to the deceased king had been moved to the general archives of the crown.
Among those documents was the declaration of war against France.
On the other hand, that of her father was the sixteenth war that England had fought against France during the entire history, and she hoped to be the one to end the conflict, closing it all with a seventeenth war.
Behind the mighty table, attached to the wall, hung a huge portrait of her father: the man's proud gaze, his power made the young woman happy to be part of that family.
She was well aware that once she would have come to power that painting would also end up in the archives of the royal family, to be replaced by one of the future queen.
-Isn't this room magnificent mother? - asked the young woman, turning her gaze sweetly to the woman behind her -in this room my father took part in the war of the three kingdoms, here he condemned his first wife to death and declared war on France-.
-I imagine you are very happy to enter here for the first time. In this place you will learn to be a wise queen- commented her mother lightly smiling.
Isabelle began to walk calmly around the room wanting to notice everything -I hope to be, or at least to become one- she started talking to the woman, letting a false air of melancholy glimpse in her voice.
At those words the queen did not seem to fully understand what her daughter was saying, but in any case she stood silently and patiently listened to what she had to confess.
-See mother, I'm afraid for my reign- confessed the princess taking her hands one inside the other -it is my half brother who makes me anxious and afraid ...-.
-Do you mean Henry? - the woman behind the girl asked interestedly -did something happen between you two? -.
-No mother, I am not referring to Henry- she scolded the mother smiling faintly -I am referring to Thomas Cross, the young cupbearer, my father's favourite-.
At those words the queen became so pale that she assumed an almost marble and cold look. How could the young daughter know about all this when she promised herself not to tell anyone a word about it?
-What are you talking about daughter dear? - asked the woman, seeming to take an insecure but calm smile.
-Did you really believe that I didn't know my beloved father was having a secret affair with a courtesan? I was only two years old, but I had already grown up quickly to notice all the small attentions my father gave to that young woman- Isabelle admitted slowly starting to scratch with her nails the old painting representing the late king.
-That does not make Thomas Cross, your brother- the queen reproached herself, looking away from her daughter.
-Doesn't it seem like a big enough coincidence? - asked the girl taking a seat behind her new desk and carefully caressing the dark leather cover -Doesn't it seem a big coincidence that like Henry and me, Thomas also has the same eyes and hair of our father?-.
At that statement the woman froze completely, with enormous fear as she observed the evil gaze of her daughter. She had no more words to oppose the arguments of her daughter.
-Tick tock, mother- the princess said hammering with her delicate and thin fingers on the table -time is running out and the hunt has just begun-.
As the last words from the young woman's mouth were said, the woman left immediately the great hall in search of twelve-year-old Thomas Cross. She was trying to save him, she wanted to, she had known his mother since Johanna was seventeen, the queen had taken her and her eldest son Francis as a proteges.
She had always cared about that little boy, as if he were her own son and she cared so much for him that she would do anything to save his young and innocent life.
Johanna Cross now spent time in the vast rose gardens but she walked alone and with no one else beside her.
Most of the servants had not seen Thomas since that morning, some said they had no trace of the boy since the night before but in the end it was too late learning from the princess's advisers that the young Thomas had been called back to Isabelle's private room.
It was then that the heart of the queen broke, she seemed no longer able to do anything, neither to walk nor to move.
She did not know how it was possible, how she could have given more affection to a child who was not her own more than her own daughter.
She had assisted his birth and had seen him grow up, she had seen how much the king cared for that illegitimate child who seemed to have learned the same affection for him too.
And now she could no longer do anything, from the moment that young boy had set foot in the private room there would no longer have been a way out for him.
The young Thomas was thus escorted by two robust royal guards inside the great hall.
At first the young boy was intimidated and frightened, having his own gaze towards the white marble floor.
He was flattered that the Crown Princess herself had requested the presence of a simple boy like him.
He knew that he was none other than the son of a courtesan, an illegitimate son whose paternal entity was unknown, he had no political position or importance.
He even thought that this was to the point a call for misconduct.
He secretly loved the princess, despite the fact that he was a servant of her and was a few years younger.
He felt that there was a certain similarity between them that he could not define.
As the room's massive wooden door opened, young Thomas took the courage to lift his gaze to the beautiful girl.
He saw her small and graceful body leaning against the majestic and open window: her arms were crossed with each other, while in the meantime her wavy and very long golden hair moved slightly shifted from the wind.
Looking at her, a strange sense of affection grew inside him causing the boy to blush on his cheeks.
Only when the door closed with a loud clatter behind them Isabelle began speaking in a strangely sweet voice.
-Is it you, Thomas Cross? - the girl's hands took off each other to rest on the marble window sill -I waited for you for a long time ...-.
Thomas removed some of his blond and wavy hair from his face and proceeded to make the best of his bows.
-I'm sorry you had to wait, my princess, may I put myself at your service? - asked the boy, making the blush from his cheeks quickly disappear.
-You may...- the young woman admitted slowly starting to fiddle with a tuft of her long golden hair -do you see those glasses and that carafe of wine on my desk, please fill one for me and one for you-.
Thomas did what the princess had said and passed her the two half-filled precious and transparent goblets of juicy and dark wine.
-I want you to drink it first, Thomas- admitted the young woman, turning her light-blue eyes towards the latter - after all, isn't it the job of a cupbearer to check the drinks of a royal? - asked Isabelle.
-Excuse me, you're right my lady- the boy took a small sip of the dark wine in his mouth, it was sweet, it was good.
-Well, and now we can start talking...- Isabelle said getting closer to the body of the young cupbearer and starting to dip her fingers into his thick golden blond hair.
Thomas blushed again, not understanding exactly what was going on.
-I love the colour of your hair...- commented the princess approaching her lips to those of the young man -I know that you love me too Thomas, I've always known that...-.
At these words the young cupbearer left the glass of wine on the desk, taken by the moment.
-Wait here for me- she whispered in his ear, quickly going to lock the large solid wooden door.
-Now...- she concluded as she approached the latter's body -we are now alone ...-.
The lips of the two met each other closing quickly in a kiss.
Thomas's body was leaning against the sill that overlooked the open window, he had the princess's body against him.
-I hope you liked the kiss, Thomas Cross-Fitzroy...- Isabelle whispered slowly in the ear of the young cupbearer, who once heard this last word came to his senses.
-Pardon me, what did you say?- the boy repeated looking terrorised in the princess's big light-blue eyes.
Isabelle looked at how scared he was and she was pleased, smiling weakly.
-I said your name: Thomas Cross-Fitzroy...- admitted the girl smiling -I guess you know, what that means ...-.
Her body pushed that of the boy even more against the open window, leaving him hardly any space to breathe.
-Fitzroy is the name given to the illegitimate children of the king- commented the boy with a blank and fearful look -but I don't understand! I don't really understand!-.
-Maybe you want me to explain better?!- Isabelle asked pushing him even further towards the windowsill -you are my brother! My father's illegitimate son! Another potential danger for my ascent to the throne...-.
The princess grabbed the boy's shirt firmly, lifting him towards the void of the window.
She saw how Thomas' golden hair was blown by the wind and how the boy's big blue eyes were filling with tears.
-I beg you, please! My lady don't hurt me, I excuse my self even for being born, I beg you please! Don't kill me...I don't want to die, please...- Thomas begged for his life, not wanting or being ready to lose his life.
But no matter how much he cried and begged, his sister did not seem to present leniency or possible regrets and so after a long smile on his face he gave the boy a last push, letting him fall out of the large and wide open window.
For a short time, perhaps seconds, no noise was heard, everything was calm, it was silent, before being interrupted by a strong blow against the ground and the immediate scream of a second courtesan who had rushed to see what happened.
Time passed, minutes, when a large crowd gathered around the lifeless body of the boy.
Soon his mother also approached the scene: she immediately saw the lifeless body of her son.
Johanna Cross's heart was now broken into a thousand pieces as she saw that her youngest son, her child lay lifeless on the ground, laying in his own blood.
The woman bursted into tears: a cry of a mother who loses her child, she lowered herself to the ground, next to the boy's body and took his head in her delicate hands: his golden hair stained with red and fresh blood.
She placed the head of his son on his lap, she embraced him, she caressed his hair, as she used to do when he was still alive and she cried in unanimity to all acquaintances. The queen had shut herself up in her rooms informed of the news.
Soon it was also Francis's turn to reach the lifeless body of his younger brother and his heart shattered seeing that image, which would always have remained in his mind.
Thomas, his younger brother, the child whom he had raised together with his mother, lay on the ground.
He saw how the boy's head was covered by his own blood, pure, fresh and disgustingly red. Francis saw his brother's pale face, his eyes still open and full of fear, the tears still drying on his cheeks.
He saw his mouth, his lips, being wet in a long streak of fresh red blood.
He was no longer moving, he was not breathing, his young heart had stopped beating: his brother was dead.
Francis covered his mouth with the palm of his hand as cold tears filled with anger and sadness fell from his eyes.
He barely saw the figure of the young princess at the window and immediately felt anger and hatred for that beautiful monster who had taken his younger brother's life: a child's life.
He knew that everything was planned, that everything was her fault but now he was more than sure of one thing: now that the last of her contenders had fallen miserably, the hunt was finally over.