Capsize | h.s

Twenty Six

"Harry."

In the sliver of morning sunlight, Walter stood behind the bars of Harry's cell door.

Celia, in the fetal position on her small bed, rubbed her crusted eyes and sat upright to listen to their conversation, hoping for some kind of peace from the torment in her mind.

"Walter," Harry said. He shuffled across the small room and met him at the barred door. "Elizabeth allowed you to come?"

"I have my ways. God, what have you done, son?"

Celia saw Harry's eyes dart over to her and then move back to Walter. "It will be fine."

Walter glanced over his shoulder and sent Celia a sad smile. "Good morning, Lady Styles." Celia nodded back to him. Walter returned his eyes to Harry. "Elizabeth has heard that you are expecting a child."

"What does she say?" Celia asked, her voice taught.

"She is torn," he replied. "Despite what you may think, Elizabeth has a heart and a guilt conscience. She feels betrayed that you would keep this union from her. And she doesn't want to hurt you, let alone your baby, but she also has a duty to uphold the law."

"Will you help us?" Harry asked. "I know you are close with her, please persuade her to be generous."

"There is an upcoming expedition against the Spanish, as you know," Walter said. "I intend to beg her to release you for it. We can't do it without you, and she knows it. The question is, will she allow her pride to be hurt for the greater good of her country?"

"And Celia?" Harry asked.

"I will do my best."

"We are more grateful than you know, Sir Walter," Celia said.

"Harry is like a son to me. I will do anything to protect my family."

♛

Celia and Harry spent their days in the Tower talking endlessly of their lives, their hopes, their dreams, their happiness.

His voice was silvery, flowing with ease like the ocean's tides, each word enunciated to perfection and laced with optimism. That was the thing about Harry, he was built with confidence in his bones. Celia, on the other hand, was cursed with pessimism.

It had been proven since the moment she found out she bore Harry's child, as she immediately thought to pursue what should have been her last and final option to resolve the problem. And when Harry proposed the idea of marriage instead, Celia shot it down and tossed out a million bad outcomes.

To be fair, she was right.

"What's your favorite memory?" Harry asked, a gleam in his eye.

"I was young when my family came to Greenwich Palace. My father was busy all the time, and, with my mother gone, Izzy and I were left with nursemaids and tutors for most of the time. Sometimes during breaks from our lessons, we would sneak off into the gardens or the great hall to hide," she said with a smile. The memories warmed her cold insides, flooding her body with happiness. "I remember one time when our nursemaid had left us alone in the study to fetch a book from the library, Izzy and I ran off, and headed for the kitchen to sneak a pastry or two. As we ran down the servant hallways, I ran straight into someone and collapsed to the floor. When I looked up, my eyes were met with young Elizabeth. Her head was covered by a beige cloak and her dress was that of a servant, but I knew it was the Queen."

"What?" Harry gaped.

"She smiled and helped me to my feet. Izzy had no clue the woman's true identity, of course, as she was only twelve at the time. I was fifteen and had seen her Majesty up close a handful of times. And despite the shadow that the hood cast on her face, I could make out a pair of dark brown eyes and a ringlet of red hair. As soon as she saw the realization in my eyes, she took off down the passage way. I never knew why she was there, or why she concealed her identity, but the one thing I did know was that the Queen of England had helped me to my feet."

"Wow," Harry said. "You're sure it was her? Not just a servant who favored her?"

"I know what I saw—who I saw. Ever since that day, if I was ever in the presence of her Majesty, I would feel her eyes narrowing in on my face, as if she were trying to read my mind. I've never told anyone, I never mentioned it to her. And though she claims employing me as a maid of honor was as thanks to my father's service, there is a part of me that believes it was because of my silence. Like she knew she could trust me." Celia felt her head and heart grow heavy. "Oh, God," she whispered.

Harry shot up from his reclined position on the ground. "What?" His voice was dipped in concern and littered with worry.

"Elizabeth felt in her heart that she could trust me," she said, her voice brittle and soft. "I destroyed that. Her one relationship that she believed was true, and I crushed it."

"My dear—"

"She only wanted the best for me," Celia interrupted. The words spilled from her mouth in a flurry. "Lord Berkeley was a good, kind man of high standing, and she knew that. She convinced him to marry me for my own good, and I went behind her back."

"You have regrets?" Harry asked, his voice pained.

Celia realized that the words she spoke out of guilt stabbed Harry's heart. "No, of course not," she spluttered. "Harry, I love you. I just feel guilty for assuming the worst in Elizabeth." Harry cast his eyes downward. "If I could do it all over again, I would in a heartbeat. Meeting you and giving you my heart is the greatest thing God has given me the chance to do."

"Even at the expense of your father's life?"

"Our relationship was never that good. He was my father and I loved him, but my mother's condition caused him anger and grief, and I'm afraid Izzy and I only reminded him of that. In the past month, you have shown me more love than he ever did in his lifetime."

"I love you," he said, his eyes boring into hers from across the hallway.

Although they were separated by bars and the Queen, their hearts were entwined forever and that was enough for both of them.

"I love you, too."