❝ Tell me losing everything is what saved you,
Tell me you finally tasted freedom.
Can you even imagine yourself in paradise?
Even the daughter of gods must know loneliness, must sometimes want nothing more than to be trapped in a hell of forevers...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Westminster Palace, England
Sir Richard Pole busted into the chambers he shared with his wife, causing her to sleepily sit up.
"What is it?" She asked, a concerned look on her face.
"The boy has crossed the River Tweed at Coldstream. King James rides with him, and his army," Richard explained, causing Maggie's eyes to widen in alarm.
"No!" She gasped, feeling deeply worried.
"Wake Prince Arthur and Princess Margaret. We'll take them to the royal apartments in the Tower for their safety," Richard insisted, turning on his heel before he rushed out of the room with Maggie following after him.
─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────
Mechelen, Antwerp, Burgundy
Hour after hour passed as the physicians worked to help Kathryn through her labor. Phillip forced himself to stay in the chamber instead of either rushing to his wife's side or fleeing to his own apartment.
Finally, Charlotte stepped out of the chambers, her eyes rimmed with tears as she struggled to smile.
"Kathryn has given birth to a boy," she announced, looking as though the birth of the long-waited Prince was the worst thing that could have happened.
"What of Kathryn? How is she?" Phillip demanded, his hands clutched tightly around the goblet that he had refilled so many times in the past five hours.
Maximilian's heart hammered against his chest as he realized the harsh new reality that was happening. The joy of knowing that he had a healthy grandson was overpowered by dread as fresh tears dripped down Charlotte's pearly cheeks.
"She has lost a lot of blood. The physicians are trying to save her but they fear that it might already be too late," Charlotte answered, her voice choked.
Phillip felt his world crumble around him. This could not be happening. He could not lose Kathryn after this. With a son, they would be unbeatable. William would have a male heir, his brother's grandson. It would be proof that their cause was blessed.
─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────
Hampshire, England
On their way to Beaulieu Abbey, the royal pilgrimage was stopped as a monk rode towards them.
"My Lady, the King's Mother," he spoke once he was close enough. "I've come to hasten you to Beaulieu."
"We are going there on pilgrimage," Margaret informed him calmly, wondering why he had ridden out to meet them.
"You must come quickly," the monk insisted, causing Margaret to realize something was wrong. "Cornwall has risen up and they are marching this way bound for London, armed with pikes and staffs."
"Cornwall?" Margaret gasped, a shocked look on her face.
"They are angry at the new tax. Scotland has invaded, and now Englishmen are taxed to pay for soldiers to defend us. They say the York Pretender leads the Scottish into England," he explained.
"Oh, he cannot. No, he cannot," Margaret argued lowly as she shook her head.
"Please, come quickly," the man pleaded, a sincere look on his face.
Margaret nodded and both Harry and Matilda exchanged a look before riding alongside their grandmother on horseback.
─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────
Mechelen, Antwerp, Burgundy
As soon as he saw the physician's desolate expression, Phillip knew that there was no hope for his wife.
"She's asking for you," the man informed him gently, knowing that there were no words he could say that would cushion the bow for the young man.
He did not say a word before he made a beeline for Kathryn's bedchamber, sprinting past the sobbing ladies-in-waiting. When he arrived, Charlotte was clutching her granddaughter's hand in hers, whispering a prayer.
"Kathryn," Phillip breathed, shocked at how frail and weak she looked.
"Phillip, how is our son?" Kathryn inquired, wanting to know all about the baby she would never see grow up. She knew that she was to die, but at least her blood would be well spent on a son who would hopefully one day be the King of England. "What does he look like?"
Her husband blinked. The news of his son had come along with the news that Kathryn was barely clinging to life and no one had given any thought to the boy who would likely be his great-uncle's heir. To Phillip's horror, he realized that no one had even bothered to send an order for the bells to be rung.
"I have not seen him," he admitted, slightly embarrassed.
"Why not? What's wrong with him?" Kathryn demanded, hysteria in her voice, thinking that her baby was either deformed or was too weak to live.
Her grandmother stood up and let Phillip take her place at Kathryn's side, clasping her hand and kissing it.
"Kathryn, please, you have to get better so we can see our boy together. I can never stop thanking you enough for what you've done for me," he told her, pressing her hand to his face so she wouldn't see the tears in his eyes.
To his shock, his wife scoffed. "Would you be saying so if I had given birth to a daughter?" She hissed. "Would you be so sad to see me go if I had given birth to a princess instead of a prince? Or would you be pleased that I was dead so you were free to marry again? This time, to one of your whores. You married once for duty, now you could marry for love."
"My love..." Phillip trailed off, horrified by her angry words.
"I was a fool to believe that you loved me. I fell in love with an idea and you did too. We both failed to live up to them," Kathryn continued, her dark eyes filled with tears.
"No, please, I love you, I do. How can I make you see that?" Phillip pleaded with her, tears falling down his cheeks.
"Love your future daughters as much as you will love our son," Kathryn implored him, cupping his cheek in her hands. "Don't...don't let him be blinded by dreams of England like we have been. Let Christian live the life he wants to, instead of being chained to a throne my family lost."
"Please don't go, Kathryn. Whatever you may think, I love you more than anyone I have ever loved or will love," Phillip sobbed.
"I hope he has your eyes," Kathryn breathes. "Tell him... Tell him I loved him, Phillip?"
"You will tell him yourself," he insists, voice thick with tears. "You will, Kathryn, and we have to name him, don't you remember? Please, love, please-"
"Name him Christian..."
Her pulse is slowing against his cheek, and he can hear Dr. Lomys hard at work, but that all seems far away because Kathryn, his Kathryn, is fading away even as he begs her to stay.
"Name him Christian after the Christ child," she whispers. "For me."
"I love you," she whispers, fainter than before, and his hand is splayed over her throat, he can feel the slow beat of her pulse as it drifts ever slower, like a mournful song under his fingertips.
"Stay with me," he begs. "Please don't leave me. Don't leave us."
But her hand falls from his face, and her pulse stops beating under his hand.
Kathryn of York, Princess of England and Archduchess of Austria was dead, leaving her only child motherless, her family devastated and her husband broken-hearted.
