#sidehousehold

[timesimmer]

The sun shone brightly upon the kingdom of Valois, illuminating the grand cathedral where a momentous occasion was about to unfold. Inside, Lady Margaret Brabant, soon to be queen, was surrounded by her ladies-in-waiting as they helped her into her wedding gown. A masterpiece of gold and silver threads, the gown shimmered in the soft light, reflecting the excitement in Margaret's heart. She had dreamed of this day since she was a child, a vision of love and royalty. Now, as she stood on the precipice of her destiny, reality surpassed even her wildest dreams.

At the altar, King Geoffroi awaited his bride. His heart pounded with anticipation as he heard the church doors creak open. A hush fell over the congregation as Margaret emerged, a vision of grace and beauty. Her gown flowed behind her, a train of shimmering fabric. Geoffroi's gaze met hers, and for a moment, the world seemed to stand still. He was struck by her ethereal beauty, a sight that took his breath away.

The ceremony proceeded, a solemn yet joyous occasion. The officiant's words echoed through the cathedral, sealing the union between the young king and queen. As they exchanged vows, their voices trembled with emotion. When the final words were spoken, and the officiant declared them husband and wife, Geoffroi leaned in and kissed Margaret. A spark ignited between them, a promise of a love that would endure for eternity.

As they turned to face the congregation, they were no longer just a young couple in love. They were King Geoffroi I and Queen Margaret, the rulers of Valois. The crowd erupted in cheers, celebrating the union of two hearts and the dawn of a new era for the kingdom.

[lilabella12]

1317 - Day 1

Evan is up before dawn the next day - he has a promise to fulfill. He makes some gruel, it's the only thing he can afford right now and leaves it out for the children when they wake. Then he saddles up and takes a ride to his brother's homestead.

When he finally gets there, he can't believe his eyes. Everything his brother worked for for the last decade is gone.

Alll that's left is a pile of smoldering ashes and some of the walls of their home. He can't let the children see this. The fire even consumed some of the nearby woods and the straw roofs... the only thing left untouched are the unfertile soils of the farm.

It takes him a while but he finds Emma.

Her clothes are burned up, but she feels cold and stiff to his touch. he does the only thing he can for her now - he brings her home.

Of course Daniel and Eve are devastated when they get the news.

Daniel: "I should have gone back, I knew it. I'm so sorry, mother..."

Evan: "You did the best you could, Daniel. You saved your siblings, I told you last night."

Eve can't even speak, her tears shake her whole body.

Daniel: "But I could have done something!"

Evan: "And perish in the blaze as well? You would not even recognize the house, Daniel."

Daniel: "But it's our home! Where will we live now?"

Evan: "WIth me. You will stay here, with me. And Eve and Ian, Flora and Ida."

Daniel: "You will take care of the five of us all on your own?"

Evan: "Yes, Daniel. I will."

After this day the house will get a little cramped, but he will manage. He promised his brother to help whenever he can, so he does.

It has been a while since Jayden died, and after a few weeks, Tara is feeling too weak to stand as well. Leah, who has turned 13 a few days ago, takes care of her mother until she passes.

Now all alone in the house and responsible for her two brothers, she vows to get them through this. Whatever it may take.

| previous | next |

poll under the cut ⬇️

So, just as I wrote before, here's a bit of background information for the last few posts. I've had baaaaaad luck with the dice for these past 2 years.

NONE of the Sims who aged up to adults made it, either with a bad age up roll (red) or bad famine roll (pink). Evan is now the only one who can even take care of anyone if we exclude Leah, who is off in another part of the country and probably doesn't even remember her family that well.

So, I wanted to make the story a bit more interesting, not ONLY starvation due to famine so... my mind made up that thing in the last post and the beginning of this one. I hope it wasn't too much to take in, I did enjoy making this story happen.... I would love to know how you all think about it.

Famine is not over yet, but most of what I wanted to tell is done. For now we will combine sidehousehold 2 & the main household. Now the big question is, do you think Evan needs some help with these 5 kids (and a horse) or should we make him do this all alone until Daniel and Eve (the oldest of the bunch) age up?

I'm not opposed to remarrying him, I kinda think he deserves it, but I'm not sure how to integrate it into the story (yet). Also he might have some baby tries left over. So this is where you come in.

Feel free to leave a message as to why you chose how you chose or to tell me how you feel about the story, I love engaging with other simblrs!

After this post is up, I will take a short break just to see the results so I can incorporate them, then we'll be back to regular posts.

[timesimmer]

The cobblestone streets of Mistpeak, once bustling with life, now seemed hushed and somber. Genevieve and Nehemiah moved through the crowds, their hearts heavy with the weight of their mission. Nehemiah, with his reputation as a skilled warrior and diplomat, managed to gain the trust of a few guards, convincing them of their urgent need to speak with King Duncan.

As they entered the grand hall, a hush fell over the room. King Duncan, a man of formidable presence, sat upon his throne, his gaze fixed upon the intruders. Recognition flickered in his eyes as he saw Genevieve.

"Genevieve," he murmured, his voice filled with surprise.

"Your Majesty," she replied, her voice trembling slightly. "We must speak, in private."

Duncan nodded, dismissing the guards. As they were left alone, Genevieve explained their desperate situation, revealing Philip's true intentions. Duncan, however, remained skeptical. The treaty between Aethelmark and Caledonia was a delicate matter, and the betrothal of Ceanna to his son, Ewan, was a crucial part of that alliance.

Genevieve, sensing his doubt, explained that Philip was a master of deception. He would stop at nothing to achieve his goals of taking over Caledonia, even if it meant sacrificing Ceanna. She offered her support, her wealth, and the loyalty of many in Aethelmark, promising to help Duncan remove Philip from the throne and to make her son Philip king.

As she spoke, Duncan's eyes narrowed, his gaze shifting to Nehemiah. A realization dawned upon him, a flicker of recognition in his eyes. The resemblance between Nehemiah and young Ceanna was undeniable. Genevieve nodded, confirming his suspicions. She reassured him that Ceanna was still of royal blood due to Genevieve's long ancestry.

At that moment, the doors swung open, and Ceanna entered the room. Her eyes widened in surprise as she saw her mother. They embraced, tears of joy streaming down their faces. Ceanna's gaze then turned to Nehemiah, and a look of wonder passed over her face. It was the first time she had seen him since she was a child, and yet, a strange familiarity drew her to him.

Duncan, watching the tender reunion, smiled. Ceanna had brought joy to his court, and he had grown fond of her. He agreed to join forces with Genevieve, pledging his support to their cause. As he began to write letters to his allies, a new alliance was forged, a dangerous game of thrones was set in motion, and the fate of two kingdoms hung in the balance.

[timesimmer]

The forest, once a place of solace and beauty, now echoed with the tension of their desperate escape. The leaves, a vibrant tapestry of autumn hues, rustled ominously as the wind picked up, mirroring the turmoil in their hearts.

Genevieve, her once regal demeanor now marked by fear, clung to Nehemiah's arm. "Nehemiah," she whispered, her voice barely audible, "I fear for our safety. Philip will stop at nothing to reclaim me."

Nehemiah, his heart heavy with worry, gently cupped her face. "Fear not, my love," he reassured her, his voice steady. "I will protect you. Always."

A flicker of hope ignited in Genevieve's eyes as she smiled weakly. She pulled away, her gaze fixed on the path ahead. Nehemiah, lost in the comforting warmth of her touch, didn't notice the approaching footsteps until a voice shattered the tranquility of the forest.

"Nehemiah!"

He whirled around, his heart pounding. Sir Tristian, a once-trusted friend, stood before him, accompanied by another guard. A grim smile played on Tristian's lips. "Come with me, Nehemiah," he offered, his voice laced with a sinister undertone. "No one will get hurt."

Nehemiah's blood ran cold. "You think I would surrender so easily?" he challenged.

Tristian chuckled. "No, that's why I came prepared."

As if on cue, the other guard stepped forward, a sword pressed against Genevieve's throat. A wave of terror washed over Nehemiah as he realized the gravity of the situation.

"Let her go!" he roared, his voice filled with rage.

"Don't worry, our King wants her alive," Tristian replied nonchalantly. "But you, Nehemiah...well, that's a different story."

A fierce battle ensued, the clash of swords echoing through the trees. Nehemiah fought with a desperation born of love and fear, his every move fueled by the desire to protect Genevieve. With a swift, decisive strike, he disarmed Tristian, leaving him wounded on the forest floor.

Turning his attention to the guard holding Genevieve captive, Nehemiah lunged forward, rescuing his beloved from the brink of danger. With a swift, merciless blow, he ended the guard's life.

Panting heavily, Nehemiah turned to Genevieve, his eyes filled with relief and love. "We must hurry," he urged, his voice barely a whisper. "Philip will send more men."

Together, they fled into the depths of the forest, their hearts pounding in unison, their future uncertain, but their love unwavering.

[timesimmer]

The night was dark and cold, a stark contrast to the warm, inviting glow emanating from the House of Blossoms. Thomas Blackburne stood outside the infamous establishment, a mixture of dread and determination etched on his face.

He had returned to the brothel, haunted by the weight of his past indiscretions. Madam Blossom, the cunning proprietor, emerged from the shadows, her eyes glinting with a knowing smile.

"Well, well, well," she purred, her voice laced with malice. "It seems our young knight has returned."

Thomas, his face flushed with anger, tossed a bag of coins at her feet. "That should cover my brother's debt," he growled. "And don't you dare contact him about this."

Madam Blossom's smile faded, replaced by a look of surprise. "And what about your debt?" she asked, her tone turning menacing.

Thomas hesitated, his mind racing. "It depends on Una," he replied, his voice barely a whisper. "If she wants to leave with me, I'll take care of her and the child."

Madam Blossom's smirked. "Children" she said, as she stared into Thomas's look of disbelief.

"What?" Thomas whispered

Madam Blossom nodded. "Yes, children. Twins."

He entered the tavern, his heart heavy with dread and anticipation. He found Una in a brightly lit room, her expression a mix of shame and resignation.

"Thomas," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to take you home," he replied, his voice firm. "And to take care of our children."

Una's eyes widened in disbelief. "But your reputation, your future..." she stammered.

Thomas pushed passed the lump in his throat as she said the word future. He had imagined a different future for himself and had half hoped that Antonia would be a part of it, but that was long passed now. It had to take care of his responsibility.

Thomas took her hand, his touch gentle but resolute. "I don't care about any of that," he said. "All I care about is you and our children."

Una, moved by his sincerity, agreed to leave with him. As they walked out of the brothel, hand in hand, Thomas felt a sense of hope and purpose. He tossed another bag of coins, this time heavy paying off Una's debts along with his own in front of Madam Blossom. He knew that the road ahead would be difficult, but he was determined to build a new life for himself and his family.

[timesimmer]

Elizabeth, her heart heavy with the weight of a year's grief, prepared for bed. The familiar sounds of the blacksmith shop, usually a comforting hum, now carried an eerie silence. Her father, a beacon of strength and guidance, had been gone for a year, and the shop, once a bustling hive of activity, had fallen into a quiet decline.

As she drifted off to sleep, a sudden clang of metal jarred her awake. Intrigued and a bit frightened, Elizabeth ventured downstairs to investigate. The workshop, bathed in the soft glow of the hearth, was a sight she hadn't witnessed in months. To her astonishment, Kingsley Atwood, one of her father's most promising apprentices, stood before the forge, his hands busy shaping a new sword.

Kingsley turned, a small smile playing on his lips. Elizabeth, her emotions raw and exposed, couldn't hold back the tears that welled up in her eyes. She had been trying to maintain a facade of strength for her family, but in Kingsley's presence, her carefully constructed walls crumbled.

Kingsley approached her gently, his touch warm and comforting. As he held her, Elizabeth felt a strange sensation, a tingling that spread through her body. It was a feeling she couldn't quite explain, but it was undeniably powerful. In that moment, she realized she no longer wanted to hide from her emotions, from the pain and longing that had consumed her.

Their eyes met, and a silent understanding passed between them. Elizabeth leaned into his embrace, her heart pounding. As their lips met, a spark ignited within her, a warmth that banished the chill of despair that had enveloped her life. They moved from the workshop to the spare room above, their bodies entwined in a passionate embrace.

Elizabeth knew she was doing something she shouldn't, something that went against societal norms. But in that moment, she didn't care. All she wanted was to feel something, anything other than the emptiness that had consumed her. As Kingsley pulled back, his eyes filled with a mixture of desire and tenderness, she nodded, her silent consent a testament to the intensity of their connection.

Ornelle Smith, her heart pounding with worry, awoke to find her daughter's bed empty. A wave of dread washed over her as she searched the house, her voice echoing through the silent rooms. The blacksmith shop, usually teeming with activity, was eerily quiet. Just as she was about to give up, a faint creak from the spare room above caught her attention.

Intuition, fueled by a mother's instinct, propelled her up the narrow staircase. The door to the spare room stood ajar, and with a trembling hand, she pushed it open. The sight that greeted her was a shock, a betrayal that pierced her heart. There, in the bed, lay her daughter, Elizabeth, entwined with Kingsley Atwood, her husband's former apprentice.

Their attempts at explanation were met with a cold, unforgiving silence. Ornelle's mind raced, her heart heavy with the weight of her daughter's actions. She looked at Kingsley, her eyes filled with a mixture of anger and disappointment. "How could you take advantage of her?" she demanded, her voice trembling.

Elizabeth tried to defend herself, but her words were lost in the storm of Ornelle's emotions. "Leave the room," Ornelle ordered, her voice firm.

Kingsley, his face pale, pleaded for forgiveness. "I didn't mean to hurt her," he said, his voice filled with regret. "What can I do to make things right?"

Ornelle's answer was swift and decisive. "Marry her," she said, her voice cold. "That's the only way to protect her reputation."

Kingsley hesitated, his heart heavy with doubt. He liked Elizabeth, but he wasn't sure if he was ready for marriage. Ornelle, sensing his hesitation, threatened to report him to the authorities. Faced with the prospect of imprisonment, Kingsley reluctantly agreed to the arranged marriage.

[timesimmer]

TW: Starvation, Near Death

Nadya stepped outside, her heart pounding in her chest. She called out for Ameera and James, her voice filled with a mixture of hope and fear. The children were nowhere to be seen. Panic surged through her as she searched the yard, her eyes scanning the ground.

Then she saw them. Ameera and James were lying motionless on the grass, their bodies pale and gaunt. A wave of horror washed over Nadya as she ran towards them, her screams echoing through the quiet neighborhood.

Her other children came running, their faces contorted with fear. Nadya scooped up Ameera and James, her hands trembling. "Stefan!" she cried, her voice hoarse. "Help me!"

Her brother, Stefan, rushed to her aid. Together, they carried the children inside, their hearts heavy with despair. The hunger had been too much for the young bodies to handle.

Stefan examined the children, his face grim. "There's nothing I can do," he said, his voice filled with sorrow. "It's too late."

Nadya shook her head, refusing to accept defeat. "No," she insisted, her voice a desperate whisper. "There has to be something."

Stefan left the room, giving Nadya some privacy. As soon as he was gone, Nadya reached into her pocket and pulled out a small vial. She had finished the potion she had been working on, and she had carried it with her, just in case. She hadn't been able to test it on anyone, but now she had no choice. She wouldn't lose her children.

Nadya gave the vial to Ameera, her heart pounding in her chest. Then she moved over to James's bed and administered the potion. She watched as their breathing steadied, a flicker of hope returning to her heart.

She wouldn't know if the potion had worked for a while, but Nadya continued to sit by her children's beds, her eyes fixed on their faces. She would do whatever it took to protect them, no matter the cost.

[timesimmer]

1300 Decade End Summary - Royal Family Edition

Here is an update of where the royal and noble families are at the end of 1309.

House Stagfield

King Philip I - 23 years old

Queen Genevieve - 20 years old

Princess Ceanna - 1-year-old

Princess Letha - 3 months old

Prince Evrard - 21 years old

Princess Fiora - 21 years old

Lady Wilmaette - 1-year-old

House Gilbert

Dowager Countess Synnove - 44 years old

Earl Nolan - 20 years old

Countess Cecilia - 20 years old

Lady Rose - 1 year old

Lady Antonia - 8 years old

House Davenport

Baron Trystrem - 35 years old

Baroness Catelyn - 25 years old

Lord George - 3 years old

House Clarillot

King Henri I - 55 years old

Prince Henri II - 24 years old

Princess Emma - 27 years old

Prince Geoffroi - 5 years old

Princess Isabella - 2 years old

Princess Blanche - 2 years old

Princess Anais - 15 years old

House Almanzor

King Mateo - 42 years old

Queen Ines - 42 years old

Prince Adrian - 28 years old

Princess Elise - 20 years old

Lovers & Illegitimate Children

Edrea Wright - Mistress of King Philip

Sir Nehemiah Pearce - Lover of Queen Genevieve

Allyson Bright - the illegitimate child of Prince Evrard

Stephen Bright - the second illegitimate child of Prince Evrard

Deaths

King Agan II Stagfield - (1254 - 1305)

Queen Letha Stagfield - (1254 - 1305)

Princess Mary Stagfield - (1305 - 1305)

Baron George Mulland - (1238 - 1302)

Lady Joan Davenport - (1303 - 1305)

Earl Cyrus Gilbert - (1265 - 1306)

Lord Tystrem Davenport II - (1308 - 1308)

Queen Marie Clarillot - (1274 - 1304)

[timesimmer]

House Stagfield

King Agan was shocked that the negotiations between himself and King Henri I were taking this long. He had hoped that their long-standing alliance and his marriage to King Henri's youngest sister would help things go his way. But every letter with new terms that he sent came back rejected. It wasn't till King Agan and Queen Letha made a journey to Lyonfleur to speak to the King in person that the negotiations were finalized.

Princess Emma of Aethelmark married Prince Henri II of House Clarillot. While she had known her cousin as a child, it had been years since they had seen each other, and now they were to be married. Not only that, but she would one day be the Queen of Lyonfleur, something that she had been told since childhood but never really believed would come true. But as they placed the rings upon each other's fingers, she could feel her destiny slipping into place.

Marriage

Crown Prince Henri II of House Clarillot married Princess Emma of House Stagfield

[timesimmer]

TW: Illness and Near Death of Toddler

Alaric stepped into the house, a sense of dread settling over him. He had been out searching for supplies, leaving Gregory to care for Philippa. The girl had been unwell for days, and the herbs he'd given her hadn't seemed to help. He felt useless without Nadya's knowledge, as he thought back to when she had vanished into the night, taking James and Ameera with her.

As he entered the house, he saw Philippa lying motionless on the floor. Her face was pale, her breathing shallow. Panic surged through him. He knelt beside her, his heart pounding. He had never been skilled in healing magic, and he didn't know what to do.

Gregory, sensing his father's distress, rushed into the room. "Father, what's wrong?" he asked, his voice filled with concern.

Alaric pointed to Philippa, his voice barely a whisper. "She's not breathing," he said.

Gregory knelt beside his sister, his eyes filled with determination. He closed his eyes and focused, drawing on a power he didn't fully understand. "Death," he commanded, his voice firm, "let go of her."

A surge of energy pulsed through Philippa's frail body. Her heart began to beat stronger, and her eyelids fluttered. She opened her eyes, her gaze fixed on Gregory.

"Gregory," she whispered, her voice weak. She looked over toward Alaric. "Father."

Alaric's relief was overwhelming. He pulled Philippa into his arms, tears of joy streaming down his face.

Later that day, when Philippa was feeling stronger, she approached Gregory. "Thank you," she said, her voice filled with gratitude. "You saved my life."

Gregory smiled. "We're family," he replied. "We'll always be there for each other."

As they embraced, Alaric watched them, a sense of hope returning to his heart. Perhaps, despite the darkness that had fallen upon their family, there was still light to be found.

[timesimmer]

The morning after the wedding, sunlight streamed through the windows of the royal suite, illuminating the scattered letters on Queen Genevieve's desk. A wave of exhilaration washed over her as she read each message, each bearing the seal of a different noble house. The tide was turning. Years of simmering discontent with King Philip's tyrannical rule, exacerbated by his lavish rewards to the Ashdown family, had finally reached a boiling point. Now, with her daughter married to the heir of Caledonia, the weight of their support lent a newfound strength to her cause.

Genevieve met with King Duncan and Sir Nehemiah in a private chamber. "The support is growing, Duncan," she announced, her voice brimming with confidence. "Many are ready to rise."

Duncan nodded, his expression grave. "I am pleased to hear it, Genevieve. But…"

"But what?" she pressed, concern lacing her voice.

"As King," he began, his voice heavy with responsibility, "I must prioritize the well-being of my own people. I cannot risk dragging them into a war that is not their own."

Nehemiah's temper flared. "But you promised! You swore you would support us!"

Duncan sighed, his gaze fixed on the floor. "I will continue to provide aid, of course. Funds, weapons… whatever you require. But men… I cannot afford to deplete my forces. With Philip enraged over the marriage, I must be prepared to defend my own borders."

Genevieve, her initial disappointment fading, met Nehemiah's gaze. "He is right, Nehemiah," she said, her voice calm and resolute. "This is a conflict within Aethelmark. It must be resolved by Aethelmark."

"If I can secure the support of another kingdom," Genevieve continued, "a powerful kingdom, it will send a clear message to Philip. It will show him that the tide has turned, that he stands alone. He will have no choice but to yield."

Duncan's eyes widened. "An alliance with another kingdom… that could be… significant."

Genevieve smiled, a steely glint in her eyes. "Indeed. It is time to start planning."

As Nehemiah and Genevieve discussed their next move, a sense of purpose returned to them. The road ahead would be fraught with danger, but they were no longer alone. The seeds of rebellion had been sown, and with careful cultivation, they would soon bloom into a full-fledged revolution.

[timesimmer]

TW: Graphic Descriptions of Childbirth, Newborn Death

The heavy oak door of the birthing chamber creaked open, revealing a face etched with worry. King Philip, his usually imperious demeanor replaced with a palpable anxiety, paced restlessly. "How is she?" he demanded, his voice a low growl.

The midwife, her face pale and drawn, shook her head. "It is… difficult, Your Majesty. Lady Edrea is… older. The child is… large."

Philip's brow furrowed. "Older?" he scoffed. "She is still young."

The midwife exchanged a weary glance with the attending physician. "For a woman of childbearing years, perhaps. But at forty-one, Your Majesty…"

The hours that followed were a blur of pain and fear. Edrea, her face contorted in agony, clung to the sheets, her cries echoing through the chamber. Sweat beaded on her brow, her body trembling with each excruciating contraction. The midwife and physician worked tirelessly, their faces grim.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, a cry, weak and mewling, filled the room. Relief washed over the onlookers, but it was short-lived. The baby, a boy, was born pale and lifeless. The physician worked frantically to revive him, but to no avail.

A wave of despair washed over Edrea. She had endured the agonizing pain of childbirth, only to lose her child. Tears streamed down her face, silent sobs wracking her body. Philip, watching her grief, felt a pang of sympathy, a rare emotion for him. He had never known the depths of such sorrow.

[timesimmer]

The air in the small council room was thick with tension. Prince Evrard, summoned by his brother, sat uneasily, his gaze darting around the room. King Philip, his face stern and unreadable, sat at the head of the table, his son, Prince Philip, seated beside him, looking remarkably grown up.

Evrard hesitated. "Perhaps Prince Philip is a little young for these matters," he suggested, attempting to ease the tension.

Philip waved his hand dismissively. "He must learn, Evrard. He is the future of Aethelmark."

The doors swung open, admitting the other members of the council. Evrard's gaze fell upon Earl Hugh Ashdown, who returned his stare with a sly smirk.

"Reports," Philip commanded, his voice sharp.

The head of the King's Guard stepped forward. "Genevieve remains in Caledonia, Your Majesty. The marriage between Princess Ceanna and Crown Prince Ewan has proceeded against your request to end the betrothal. However, discontent among the nobility is growing. The recent land grants to the Earl of Ashdown have fueled resentment."

Philip's eyes narrowed. "Discontent, you say? Let them remember who holds the true power in this kingdom."

"Sir Tristian," he ordered, "keep a close watch on these families. If any show signs of aiding Genevieve's rebellion, arrest them immediately."

Earl Hugh Ashdown nodded approvingly. "A wise decision, Your Majesty." His son, Baron Hugh, echoed his father's sentiments.

Evrard could no longer remain silent. "If you wish to gain their loyalty, brother, perhaps showering favors upon one family is not the wisest course of action."

Philip glared at him, his eyes flashing with anger. "As King, I am free to do as I please."

He turned to Earl Hugh Ashdown. "Have the arrangements been made?"

Evrard's head snapped up. Arrangements? What arrangements?

Earl Hugh Ashdown smiled. "Yes, Your Majesty. The marriage contracts have been finalized. Princess Letha will wed my grandson, Lord Hugh Ashdown III. Prince Philip will marry my granddaughter, Lady Elizabeth Ashdown. And Earl Arthur Fitzroy will wed Lady Annora Gilbert."

Evrard felt a wave of nausea wash over him. He had not been consulted, not even informed. "What... what is the meaning of this?" he stammered, his voice rising. "You are marrying two of your own children to the Ashdowns!"

"The Ashdowns are a powerful family, Evrard," Philip said calmly, "a valuable asset to the crown."

"A valuable asset!" Evrard exploded. "You are giving the crown to the Ashdowns! This is why the nobles are revolting! They see you as a puppet of this… this…"

"Enough!" Philip roared, his voice booming through the room. "You will address me with respect, Evrard. And you will learn to accept my decisions. One more word of dissent, and I will have you confined to the tower!"

Evrard stared at his brother, his face pale and drawn. He had never imagined things would come to this. He had always supported Philip, but this… this was betrayal. He knew, with a certainty that chilled him to the bone, that this would be the beginning of the end for their brotherhood.

[timesimmer]

The wedding of Princess Ceanna Stagfield and Prince Ewan of House Dalriada was a grand affair, a celebration of love and unity between the kingdoms of Aethelmark and Caledonia. The ceremony took place in the magnificent cathedral of Mistpeak, the heart of the Caledonian kingdom.

Guests from far and wide had gathered to witness the union of the two young royals. Among them were Ceanna's mother, Queen Genevieve of Aethelmark, and her companion, Sir Nehemiah Pearce, their presence a testament to the delicate peace that had been forged between these two families. Also in attendance were Prince Ewan's parents, King Duncan and Queen Moira, and his three younger sisters, Princess Fiona, Princess Alisa, and Princess Mary.

The cathedral was adorned with vibrant flowers and lush greenery, casting a spell of enchantment over the proceedings. As the ceremony commenced, the air was filled with the melodious chants of the choir, their voices echoing through the hallowed halls.

Ceanna, resplendent in a gown of shimmering silk and lace, walked down the aisle, her heart pounding with a mixture of excitement and apprehension. Her eyes met those of Prince Ewan, and a smile lit up his face. He looked every bit the dashing prince, his eyes twinkling with admiration.

The ceremony was a beautiful blend of tradition and heartfelt vows. As the priest pronounced them husband and wife, a wave of joy washed over the congregation. Confetti rained down from the balconies, and the air was filled with the sound of jubilant cheers.

After the ceremony, a lavish feast was held in the grand hall of the castle. Guests dined on sumptuous dishes, danced to lively music, and toasted the happy couple. Ceanna and Ewan moved gracefully among their guests, their faces radiating happiness.

As the night drew to a close, the newlyweds retired to their chambers, their hearts overflowing with love and anticipation for the future.

[timesimmer]

The rain began to fall softly as Stephen hurried along the cobblestone path, his boots splashing in the puddles. He couldn't stop thinking about Eloise. Her laughter, the way her eyes sparkled when she spoke, the warmth of her hand in his. He'd never felt this way before, a strange flutter in his chest, a longing to see her again. He didn't understand it, but he knew he couldn't let it go.

As he neared the orphanage, a shiver ran down his spine. He felt watched, a prickle of unease crawling up his neck. He scanned the shadows, but saw nothing. He quickly pushed open the heavy oak door, the familiar scent of damp wool and stale bread filling his nostrils.

As the door swung shut behind him, a figure emerged from the shadows across the street. Prince Evrard, his face obscured by the falling rain, watched the door for a long moment, his eyes narrowed. He knew that boy. He knew that look in his eyes, the same look he saw in the mirror sometimes. A look of longing, of yearning for something more.

Evrard turned and melted back into the night, the rain washing away any trace of his presence. He had a son, a son he didn't get to see grow up, a son who was growing up in this miserable place. And now, that son had a spark in his eyes, a spark that Evrard recognized as dangerous if anyone got in his way.

He had to find a way to bring that boy into his life, to guide him, to shape him. He had to make sure that spark didn't burn out, that it ignited a fire within him, a fire that would one day make him a worthy heir.

The air in the opulent bedroom was thick with tension. Prince Evrard, his face pale and drawn, strode across the room, his boots echoing against the polished marble floor. Fiora, startled by his abrupt entrance, rose from her dressing table, her hand instinctively reaching for the silken robe draped over the chair.

"Evrard, what is it?" she asked, her voice laced with concern. "You look troubled."

He didn't answer, his gaze fixed on a distant point in the room. Fiora took a hesitant step closer, sensing the storm brewing within him. "You found one," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

He turned, his eyes burning with a mixture of anger and desperation. "Yes. A boy and I believe there is another at the same place with him."

Fiora recoiled, a chill running down her spine. She knew what he meant, the bastard children, the ones born of fleeting encounters.

"The King," she began, her voice trembling, "he told you to drop this matter."

"He keeps his bastard by his side," Evrard roared, "pampered, coddled, treated like a prince! And I, I can't even acknowledge my own flesh and blood!"

"Evrard, please," Fiora pleaded, her voice rising in alarm. "You can't compare the two. The King was gracious with this position he gave us of watching over the Gilbert wards. The Gilbert children are orphans. They need our protection."

"Orphans!" he scoffed, his voice echoing through the chamber. "And what about my son? Is he not an orphan too? Orphaned of his father's love, of his rightful place in the world!"

"One son," Fiora retorted, her anger finally erupting. "One son out of how many, Evrard? Are you going to legitimize them all? Will you bring them all here, into this castle, to parade them before the court?"

"At least then my legacy will live on!" He roared. He watched as she backed away, tears in her eyes and her hand on her stomach. He knew instantly that she was thinking of their children. Their two girl and one boy who died before they had full lives.

Evrard's anger subsided, replaced by a chilling sense of despair. He had spoken without thinking, his words echoing the bitterness that had festered within him for years.

"I... I didn't mean it, Fiora," he mumbled, his voice thick with regret.

But the damage was done. Fiora, her eyes brimming with unshed tears, stepped back, her hand raised as if to ward him off. "Those children," she said, her voice trembling, "they grew up in filth and decay. They may carry your blood, but they will never be royals. They will never understand this life, this world. And you... you need to remember who you are, Prince of Aethelmark. You cannot allow yourself to be consumed by this obsession."

Evrard stood alone in the center of the room, the echoes of her words ringing in his ears. He had crossed a line, a line he knew he could never cross back. The loss of their children had left a gaping hole in their lives, a wound that refused to heal. But he couldn't let it go. His son and others were out there. Children with his blood and he would do anything to bring them in to his legacy.

[timesimmer]

The setting sun cast long, skeletal shadows across the cobblestone street as Eloise trudged back to the Hicrest cottage. Another day, another string of rejections. Finding work was proving harder than she'd anticipated, and the weight of responsibility pressed down on her shoulders. Her stepmother, Antonia, had been dropping hints about a potential remarriage, a prospect that filled Eloise with dread. Antonia's son, Wyat, would undoubtedly be her priority, and Eloise knew her siblings could easily be cast aside.

Disheartened, she ducked into the local tavern, a last-ditch effort to find any sort of employment. "Do you have any work for a young woman?" she asked the gruff-looking barkeep, her voice barely a whisper.

"Nothing for you, girl," he grumbled, his eyes lingering on her with a predatory gleam that made her skin crawl.

Eloise's shoulders slumped as she found an empty seat. She felt a wave of despair wash over her. How would she feed her siblings? How would she keep them safe?

A voice startled her. "Don't let that cur get you down."

Eloise looked up to see a young man standing beside her table. He had kind eyes and a warm smile that seemed to chase away the gloom.

"He's known for his wandering hands with the pretty girls," the young man explained, taking a seat across from her. "Best to stay away."

"Thank you," Eloise said, surprised by the unexpected kindness. "I... I don't know your name."

"Stephen," he replied, his smile widening.

"Eloise," she returned, feeling a blush creep up her neck.

"You look familiar," she mused, "Have we met before?"

Stephen shook his head. "Probably just seen me around. I live at the orphanage on the outskirts of town. They provide for us, but it's not much, so I beg when I need to and I'll be turned out soon, so I'll need the coin."

"Turned out?" Eloise frowned.

He shrugged. "That's the way it is. But I'll be fine."

Eloise didn't believe him. It sounded terrible.

She glanced at the deepening shadows outside. "I should get home."

Stephen rose to his feet. "Let me walk you."

Eloise hesitated, then nodded. She wasn't sure why, but she found herself wanting to spend a little more time with him.

Eloise and Stephen arrived at her small cottage and before Stephen could say goodbye, Eloise invited him inside.

"Elric! Angus!" Eloise called, her voice firm. "Come greet our guest."

The two younger boys burst into the room, a whirlwind of questions. "Who are you?" "What's your name?" "Do you have any pets?" "How old are you?" Stephen, initially startled, soon found himself charmed by their enthusiasm.

Oliver, however, remained skeptical. He watched Stephen with narrowed eyes, a silent judgment in his gaze. Eloise, noticing his apprehension, shook her head slightly, trying to reassure him.

They sat down at the rough-hewn table. "I'm Stephen," he said, "I'm fourteen, turning fifteen soon and no I don't have a pet."

"I'm Oliver," the older boy replied grudgingly, "I just turned fourteen."

"Eloise is going to be sixteen soon, so she thinks she is old enough for a husband to make money for all of us." Oliver continued, his tone laced with a bitterness that surprised Eloise. "Antonia keeps talking about finding a new husband. She says she'll get rid of us all then. Find a new home, a new life."

Stephen's face flushed. "That's… absurd. You can't just… discard your family like that."

Eloise tried to smile. "It's alright, Stephen. I can handle it."

But Stephen shook his head vehemently. "I know what it's like to be unwanted. To be a burden. That's why I never let anyone take me in. I'd just be thrown out when I was no longer useful."

Eloise felt a pang of sympathy for him. "Do you… do you ever want a family of your own?" she asked gently.

Stephen looked away, a wistful expression in his eyes. "Of course. But… I don't want to work for some guild, be a cog in a machine. I want to be free living among the trees."

"Free?" Oliver scoffed. "Free to starve? The woods are full of thieves."

Stephen smiled, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Exactly. That's the life for me. No rules, no masters, just the open road."

Eloise felt a strange thrill course through her. She should have been scared, horrified by the idea of a life of thievery. But instead, she found herself strangely drawn to his words, to the image of freedom he painted.

Before she could explore this unexpected feeling further, a voice cut through the air. "What in blazes is going on here?"

Antonia stood in the doorway, her face a mask of disapproval. "Who is this boy? And what is he doing in my house?"

Stephen rose to his feet, anger flashing in his eyes. "I was just—"

Eloise gently placed a hand on his arm, silencing him. "He was just walking me home," she said calmly, though her heart pounded against her ribs.

Stephen nodded and let his fingers graze against hers. "I'll see you again," he whispered to her before going out the door.

Antonia scoffed. "A fine specimen you've chosen, Eloise. A street urchin. If you think I'll tolerate such riffraff in my home—"

"This was my mother and father's home first!" Eloise retorted, her voice rising.

Antonia's eyes narrowed. "They're dead, Eloise. Dead and gone. And this house is mine now."

"But—"

"But nothing! I will find a husband, and you and your siblings will be gone. You'd best start thinking about how you'll support yourselves, because I certainly won't."

Antonia turned and stormed out of the room, leaving Eloise staring after her, tears welling up in her eyes. She felt a suffocating sense of despair. Antonia's words echoed in her mind, a chilling reminder of the precariousness of their situation.