Cheating and betrayals

Gilbert was looking out the window towards the large main garden, which in a short time would be the scene of the arrivals of dozens of luxurious carriages, accompanied by all the particular smells that characterised a noble.

The strong and delicate smell of the perfumes used by women, the aromatic and fresh smell of oils, all accompanied by luxurious clothes and precious gifts for that evening's birthday girl.

Gilbert, being his future husband, had made an effort to offer the young woman the most beautiful of gifts.

Before the war he had in fact commissioned a goldsmith to make a symbol of sweetness for the young woman, which she could wear to her during their marriage.

So he came up with the idea of ​​having the master goldsmith make a precious pure gold tiara, decorated with blue sapphires, like the colour of the young girl's eyes.

Now his gift lay in a reddish box kept in a compartment of the wooden chest in his room. But, if he really had to confess, it wasn't so much the idea of ​​the young princess that ran in his mind.

All he wanted at that moment was to meet, and see again the red-haired girl: Abigail, the young duchess of Northern Ireland.

He knew that he would have the opportunity to meet her again that evening, during the party, but he also knew that, that evening she would in any case be closer to baron Whiteblossom, her betrothed.

It was still six o'clock, and the sun was already beginning to set behind the long and transparent River Avon.

It was almost impressive how those three days had passed quickly and having to believe that the plebeians had been preparing for this majestic and extraordinary event for weeks.

Although he had never been inside the city of Warwick, he had sometimes, leaning out of the window, noticed the night activity of the entire city.

It was almost interesting for Gilbert to observe how much the 20 000 people, citizens, plebeians, who inhabited the area took care to make the fourteenth birthday of a young noble girl a real dream.

He was expecting to live a dream that evening, he was expecting a huge ball, he was expecting to see how much luxury and how much delicacy was really hidden within the walls of that castle.

He would have awaited the presence of the noblest families, the formal discussion between aristocrats, the presence of his father and his three older half-brothers. This thought made him feel a certain melancholy, he could not bear the idea of ​​having to reunite with his family, he hated even their annoying presence at that party.

He changed his mind, he thought that all that, that their whole being would only be needed for a little more than one night. At the same time the general found himself fulled by his thoughts as he placed both of his forearms on the cold, marble window sill. His face, normally pale, was red, along with his cheeks, from the oppressive cold. His deep gray eyes silently stared into the void around him, while his dark red hair was slowly blowing in the wind, over his shoulders.

He knew that the estimated time for the arrival of the guests had been set for eight in the evening. He had only two hours of freedom left, before he had to start acting in an absolutely false and constructed way. He thought of all this when a small hand lightly touched one of his shoulders.

As if suddenly awakened from a deep sleep, the general quickly turned his body towards the corridor. He noticed within seconds the small body of the young Princess Isabelle. He looked at how pretty she was. Her red cheeks, her soft pink lips, her big blue eyes, the long wavy golden hair that ran down to her womb. The young woman's lips were drawn to her in a sincere smile, as much as her sweet gaze.

-I was looking for you, Gilbert- commented the princess taking her small hands wrapped in white velvet gloves one inside the other.

The man hastily placed his body in a formal bow.

-My pleasure to meet you again, my princess, especially on such an important day for you ... -

Isabelle hid with one of her small hands a friendly smile that had formed on her lips and she began to speak cautiously again.

-I hope you are not busy, it would make me very happy if we could talk in private, on details that I had not clarified yet ... -. Gilbert actually believed he could have enough time to spend preparing for the big event and meeting his companions, and especially the red-haired girl.

-It would flatter me to spend some private time with you- the man commented, bringing a hand to his heart, showing a lot of sympathy and interest.

-Well- Isabelle said starting to walk quietly down the long corridor, alongside the general followed by two royal guards to protect them. -I thought very hard about what I am about to tell you and it was not easy-.

Gilbert was strangely beginning to be interested in the mysterious subject, to the point of whetting his curiosity. He was silently watching the young girl struggle, trying to find suitable words.

-I would like to tell you about my beloved father- it came out like a whisper from the lips of the young woman.

He did not expect such an argument.

But the man's compassion blossomed in him, like a flower, noting the clarity of the transparent tears that were forming in the girl's eyes. Confused, Gilbert could not help but reach out his hand and take one of the girl's small hands squeezing it.

It was so small and so soft, so much that the man began to touch them, trying to capture all the softness of those thin fingers. Isabelle was struck by that unexpected gesture but she let the man grab her other hand as well. Now they were the two of them, their hands clasped in each other, their bodies a few centimeters apart, their gazes united and accomplices.

-You can always talk to me about whatever you want, my princess- Gilbert seemed genuinely honest, showing a nice smile on his face. Isabelle watched enchanted by the sweet eyes of the man. The girl's soft lips were gently parted.

She liked that feeling, that love, all of a sudden it seemed that her heart had again started to feel different feelings from her hatred. Isabelle blushed, giving her pale cheeks a more accentuated color.

What was that strange feeling, could it be? Could it be what everyone called love?

The princess suddenly regained her mind. Her father had always repeated and reproached her that love was a "foolish" feeling and that it would never lead to anything in her life. And those harsh phrases had remained so impressed in her mind that she believed that she would never fall in love and that love was only a bodily and psychological need.

The girl removed her hands from those of the man and began to speak again.

-Many things do not make sense, as you know, my general- she began -but perhaps it will not yet be completely clear to you why I have such an attitude towards Prince Henry ... -. The general was silent, listening with interest to what she was about to reveal.

-Well, even if this may seem very cold and selfish from me ... -the girl began to rub one of her small hands on her arm -I usually have a cold attitude towards the French ... -. The princess took a few seconds to think over what she was about to say. - Everything had a beginning, even before my birth, when my father, creating an alliance with the royal house of France, took princess Eleanor as his wife ... -.

Gilbert folded his arms in a sign of perplexity - do you mean the queen who was beheaded? -.

-She was not a queen! - the girl scolded him severely, clenching her fists in anger and looking downwards -my mother is a queen, but I don't find this the most important detail of this tragic story-. The man, speechless by the princess's cold rage, decided not to add any other useless detail or silly question to the story.

-After the French decided to break the alliance, taking over the naval trade and also following the death sentence of my late father's first wife, many problems began to arise at court ... -. Gilbert, breaking his silent promise inviolably resumed speaking.

"Problems?" He whispered slowly and clearly.

-Exactly the problems my father feared, this reckless sentence would bring- the princess began to speak when salty tears began to flow down her pale cheeks -the fact that I can't stand France stems from their meddling at court and their revenge poisoning my father-.

The man bit his lower lip in sadness and compassion, looking for a way to break that tragic confession. The princess burst into desperate tears.

-Now I guess you will think I'm a bad person, that I can't control feeling, that I'm cold-. The princess' fists began to tighten more, so much so that she began to stain her white gloves with blood red. At those statements, in a moment of compassion Gilbert hugged her body tightly in a warm embrace. For a few moments it seemed almost as if the world had stopped, as if nothing or no one was in that place any longer appears to them. No noise and no more movement seemed to come out of the princess's body.

Gilbert didn't care what her thought of him was, continuing to hold Isabelle's small, frail figure against his warm, calm body. The lady's crying had stopped, drying her tears inside her large and expressive blue eyes.

The man felt for her a strong protective, almost paternal feeling.

-I don't think any of this, I think you are actually a very sensitive person ... - the general whispered, almost touching the young woman's ear with his lips.

Still with tears in her eyes, Isabelle managed a sincere smile, she was satisfied, she felt safe, loved, protected.

In her real upbringing she would never, ever be allowed to be publicly so physically close and attached to a person of the opposite gender, not before marriage had tied them for life.

-Thank you, Gilbert- the girl returned her feelings by holding the man close to her body. -I'm afraid- she then admitted -I'm afraid I'm falling in love with you, I'm afraid of loving you-.

At those words, Gilbert's body suffered a strong shock and almost an immediate rejection of the girl. He loved her, appreciated her and protected her.

But in his heart he didn't feel a romantic love toward the princess.

Although she had opened up to him, and thanks to it she had shown her loving side, Gilbert's thoughts continued to be directed to the young Abigail Dallas.

The general had only one fear at that moment, he was not afraid of death, but rather that upon discovering those strong feelings for another girl, Isabelle's heart would be crushed.

*West Wing (Warwick Castle) 6:15 pm*

-Can you believe it Francis? - a faint and sweet voice broke the tense silence created in the room -can you believe that tonight for Princess Isabelle's birthday, I will be one of the official cupbearers ... -. The lieutenant paid no attention to what he was told, as he had been too busy writing.

-Did you hear me?- his brother protested insistently.

-I suppose it will be a good opportunity for you to impress the royal family ... - Francis added, turning his gaze to his young brother who was lying on the bed. The boy's wavy golden hair lay sprawled on the mattress.

The young man saw his he blue eyes, noticed how dreamy they were, and once again noticed how he looked different from him as well as to their mother's.

-It is not a new thing, for me, as you well know, the royal family already cares about me, as they care about you, brother- with a quick move Thomas turned around, placing his gaze and sometimes turning a smile to his older brother.

Francis had seen that child's birth, he had raised him, almost like a real parent, and in all that happiness expressed by the boy he could not help but smile at him.

-Surely it does, for centuries it has been the task of the royal family, to protect its people ... -

This statement was not really intended, even though it hid some shadow of truth.

And within him he felt a feeling of affection and protection towards his younger brother.

Francis was thinking of what his uncle had told him the day before and what Gilbert had done even before him.

All of that was alarming, and if that hadn't calmed down, it would have been clear that they were in danger, but he didn't want to pass that negative energy to his brother, who was only a young boy, not at that moment and not in that place.

Since his childhood Thomas had had the task of royal cupbearer, solely and exclusively in the service of the king. He had never known, nor had he ever been able to give a reason for the fact, of how, among hundreds of attendants more adult and mature than him, the king had decided to give the role to Thomas Cross, who at the time was just seven years old.

It always seemed that, for that short year, in which the young boy had personally served the king, the two, not only had similar appearance but they had developed a fairly close relationship of confidence.

-Do you think that one day even Princess Isabelle will begin to notice me? - asked the young boy, biting his lip. Francis smiled and this time he was careful to listen.

-Don't tell me you're starting to get interested in girls ... -. Thomas's face blushed all of a sudden, leaving a feeling of embarrassment reflected in his eyes.

-Kind of ... like, who is not interested in girls? Am I not mistaken? -it came out thoughtfully from Thomas's lips as he looked up at the ceiling.

Francis was about to say something, but a thought immediately stopped him.

No one in his family was aware of his secret, not even his uncle, not his mother.

On the other hand, he would not have been able to confess to anyone of his love for Gilbert, as he knew that the rumours within the walls of the castle were running very fast.

The only one who knew his secret was in fact the worst person to whom it could be revealed.

Edward Hoover, Francis's biological father, had discovered his son's sexual orientation through the first young male lover his son had at the age of fifteen.

Having been a non decisive occasion, his father could have decided to send his son to a monastery, as was the fate of many illegitimate children.

But he didn't, as this revelation at the end put a stone on the already complicated father-son relationship.

He had had no pity for the young man who was only fifteen at the time: he ordered the guards to punish the young man physically, and once in the presence of him, the father himself pointed a gun at his son's head.

He made him swear never to do it again, and promised that if it happened again he would take serious consequences against him.

Thus it was in fact how the young man's military career began, under the order of his father and under the command of his paternal uncle.

But he could not say this, he could not confess it to anyone, he knew everyone would have cruelly judged him.

- Right ... - Francis admitted pulling a forced smile on his face - who doesn't like women?! -