The Heart of the Revolution

5. A Traitor

***

Silence fell in the Monarchy's court as London ended the intricately detailed speech that has summoned the nobles into a grand meeting at a moment's notice. Grimacing, she took her seat beside His Royal Highness, leaving the nobles to mull over the complex matter at hand as she herself gazed back upon her information with a sort of grim respect for the enemy.

"She's clearly more stubborn than we thought," Buckinghamshire sighed, resting her head against Oxford's shoulder.

"Indeed," Oxford nodded, kissing her forehead and glaring across the room at the uncomfortable-looking city on the opposite side of the court. "And do you admit to your alleged involvement, Cambridge?"

"I haven't attempted anything against His Majesty," Cambridge scoffed, glaring right back. "What I do admit to however, is my belief that this country would fare better as a constitutional monarchy, rather than an absolute one."

"A betrayal is a betrayal, Cambridge. Remember who brought you here."

"I don't owe you anything, Oxford. Think what you must, but I want what's best for this great nation just as much as yourself or our glorious King do."

"Spoken in a hiss, like the venomous snake you are," the onlooking butler giggled, rather looking forward to the dispute that was about to commence.

"Quiet, Cornwall," the Monarchy himself snapped, earning a goofy chuckle from Cornwall, who stuck his head back down and continued polishing the pinewood floor. "Firstly, I ask that Cambridge and York be dismissed from my courts. I cannot risk any alleged involvement with that treasonous viper."

"DON'T TALK ABOUT NORTHAMPTONSHIRE LIKE THAT!" Cambridge snapped at the Monarchy, plunging the entire congregation into a shellshocked silence, "She has done nothing but what she believes to be right, and you of all people ought to respect that. After everything you have done both to her and to her people, I finally see what a backstabbing, egotistical warthog you truly are. Goodbye foul dictator, for you are no king of mine!" With that, Cambridge, followed closely by a rather surprised yet proud York, marched out of the courtroom, slamming the door behind the pair of them and breaking the stunned silence with the echo of screeching metal.

"I see how it is," London chuckled coldly, steely eyes fixed firmly on the rattling iron door.

"Love is a strange thing," remarked Oxford, shaking his head, "We can but hope he comes to his senses..."

"The poor, poor soul," the Monarchy nodded, "She has obviously bewitched him..."

"F-Father..." stuttered a young boy, no older than thirteen, emerging from behind London and slicking his mop of snow-white hair away from his eyes, his neon-blue eyes glittering with somewhat fearful resolve.

"What do you want, England?"

"What if... What if they have a point? Maybe if the people got their say in how we run this country, things would be bette-"

"Shut up England, you foolish mealworm."

"You know what, Father?" England snapped, stepping forward, his icy blue eyes meeting his fathers fiery red ones, "You're a terrible parent and an equally terrible ruler. I have witnessed all of the countless atrocities you have committed against your own counties and cities and I'm sick of pretending I love you, because you sure as anything never loved me one bit."

"ENGLAND, HOW DARE YOU BETRAY YOUR OWN FATHER! I PUT FOOD ON YOUR PLATE, A ROOF OVER YOUR HEAD, CLOTHES ON YOUR BACK AND HONOUR TO YOUR NAME!"

"WELL I DON'T WANT YOUR FOOD, I DON'T WANT YOUR PROTECTION, I DON'T WANT YOUR CLOTHES AND I SURE AS HELL DON'T WANT YOUR EMPTY TITLES AND HOLLOW PRETENCE OF AFFECTION! I BID YOU A FINAL GOODBYE, THIEF OF MY HAPPINESS!" Following the revolutionaries before him, England squared his shoulders, shot one final hellish glare at his father and dismissed himself, tearing the Monarchy's flag down from its former pride of place in the lapel of his jacket as he went.