The Blinders have no idea what kind of powerfull person they have walking amongst them. Nicholas 'Nicky' is soon to be King of England. But is he able to keep his secret or will the Shelby's find out who he truely is?
(Tommy's P.O.V.) I walk into the bettingshop, passing Polly who was reading a newspaper. I glanced briefly and saw that her eyes moved quickly along the words. Completely captivated by the article. "What's the matter?" I questioned as I stopped in front of her, intrigued that she was so focussed. Polly looked over the edge of the newspaper, before turning it to show me. I looked down and reached for it. Bringing it closer to my face so I could read the headline of the newspaper. Big bold letters, perfectly written to catch ones eye read at the top.
"Should the King wed Lady Catherina?".
I scoffed and rolled my eyes. In the last couple of months the country has gone through gossip and rumors about the love between Nicholas and a French noble woman called Catherina Basile. Newspapers all over the United Kingdom described long articles, shared pictures of the two on dates or walking with each other. There was one photo I had seen where Nicholas had given his arm for Catherina to hold as they walked through the palace gardens of Kensington Palace. And now the papers where speculating about a potential marriage. I began to read the entire article outloud. "In spite of denials from the Home Office, the conviction is strongly held in informed circles that an announcement is contemplated sooner or later of the engagement of his Majesty the King and the young Lady Catherina Basile of France, who is surely to become a British subject shortly. The 'Sunday Pictorial' has therefor decided to conduct - in advance - a thorough test of public opinion on this important issue". Polly doesn't even try to hide her thoughts on the matter "well, surely they have asked you for your opinion on this matter. Because, you know him inside and out - literally". A grin hid behind her tea cup as she lifted it up to her lips, casting her eyes elsewhere. I stare harshly at her for a moment, but do not engage, before returning my attention to the newspaper. "During the past week the 'London Star' asserted that the British cabinet had already discussed the possibility, and that Mr. Georges Benjamin Clemenceau, the French Prime Minister, had already told Mr. David Lloyd George that he could see no personal reason why the marriage should not take place. The 'Daily Telegraph' published a denial, but the story was repeated yesterday. Many people believe that if the King and the Lady are in love than nothing should be able to stand in their way. Others are concerned with the politcal consequences of so strong a link between the two empires. After all, the French her global colonial empire is the second largest behind our own magnificent Empire". I throw the newspaper back onto the table and lean down "Pure political gain it is. Nothing more" I said motioning at the newspaper as I pace back and forth a bit, trying to kid myself into not being jealous. Trying to remind myself of what he did to me. Polly hums in a 'keep telling yourself that you are not jealous' way. But doesn't say anything further. I shake my head and turn around to leave her and the rumor filled newspaper. "Oh, Tommy" Polly called out after me, halting me in my tracks "I hope you are not forgetting that you have a meeting with the BHA and the King at 6PM". I stare ahead of me, no emotion written on my face, as I stare at a photograph that had not been removed. A thing I did with most things that had any link of Nicky's and mine relationship. I wanted no part of Nicky in my house, only the picture of the King was allowed to remain, I had no ties with the King of England. Nicky and the King are two different people. But this one photo had sneakily gone through my inspections. It was a photo of me and Nick in our military uniforms. One taken after war, when we got home. He was still a Prince back then, and I was still a bookmaker. How things change.
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I stare silently at it for a second. Before I answer Polly "how could I forget?". Then I depart the home to make my way to London. "I want that photo gone when I come back" I announced, closing the door behind me.
Meanwhile at Buckingham Palace
(Nick's P.O.V.) I retrieved the daily dispatches from the government and personal agenda in the red leather box. Scoffing as I take a quick look through everything. It included briefings ahead of important meetings, or documents needing my signature. But I stopped and looked at one which caught my attention. Well, you can say it literally had me stop me in my tracks. "Reynolds?" I called for my Kings man as I turned the document in my hand. I heard the footfalls of my trusted associate as he walked in. "Yes, Sir?" Reynolds asked walking inside with his hands behind his back. I showed him the document and he raised an eyebrow. "Why do I have a meeting with Mr Shelby?" I questioned him. My trusted man stepped forward to take a look, his eyes reading it carefully "you have a meeting with him and a journalist from The British Horseracing Authority, who wants to talk with you two about the horse you co-own". I stare at him for a moment, uncertainty crossing my features at why the Home-Office would agree for me to have this meeting. "This meeting was scheduled before your conversion therapy, Sir. You had it arranged after the mare won at Ascot". I stared at Reynolds, but my mind went somewhere else. It became a mess by just hearing that simple name - Thomas Shelby. I feel my hand begin to shake and tremble as I held the document. Memories of inflicted pain come crashing down on me. It felt like I was malfunctioning and I can't process my own thoughts. I got a knot in my stomach and I couldn't take a full breath because of it. It felt as if I was trapped. A constant wall boxing me in, that I had no way out of. Heart beats fast, cold chills, begin to sweat, feet and hands go numb. Taste of metal. Ringing ears. Everything too loud. I felt like I was being watched by every pair of eyes in the nation. Witnessing my weakness. I was panicking and no one knew it because it was an inwardly thing. The panic had completely stopped me. It had became a daily occurance. Every day it's the same. I wish I didn't feel like this. But, it does. I want to reach out. But am slowly sinking, into a pit of darkness. Scrambling for a hand to pull me out the depths. I screamed for help from the inside but no noise came from my throat. "Sir?" I was pulled back from my wild panic. By Reynolds who had laid a comforting hand on my shoulder and a soft worried expression in his eyes. As everything came back to me, I realized that from the outside you could also tell I was panicking. Standing tense as a statue, frightened expression, quick heaving breaths. "Sir?" He said again. I looked at him as the panic began to dissapear. "Are you alright?". I took in a deep, shakey, breath and closed my eyes to regain my calmness. "I'm perfectly fine, Reynolds" I told him trying to hide the stutter in my voice. "Sir, you had-" Reynolds began, "I'm fine!" I yelled at him. Shock came on his face, suprise at me sudden outburst. I sighed realising it. "I'm alright, mate" I carefully stated after a brief moment of silence. Apology sounded in my voice. Reynolds nodded his head in understanding and dropped the subject. "I hope it may comfort you to hear that I will not discuss this with the Home office, Sir" Reynolds announced simply, telling me that my panic attack will remain between him and I. I sigh with relief "Thank you" I smiled greatfully at my friend. He nodded like it was nothing, and walked back to his place in my office in Buckingham.
