Kirkcrest Castle.
1750 Words
Apart from the galloping of horses and the occasional sharp call of the horsemen, the night lay in utter silence. Within the gently swaying royal carriage, husband and wife sat across from one another, each cloaked in quiet contemplation.
Now and then, their eyes met by chance—fleeting glances quickly withdrawn, as though the act of looking too long might break the fragile stillness between them.
It was the night of their wedding.
***
Following the solemn vows and the coronation ceremony held in the Grand Cathedral, a lavish banquet had graced the dining hall of Stormont Palace.
Far grander than the night of her welcome feast, the hall teemed with guests—both noble and common-born. Platters overflowed, goblets spilled with wine, and laughter echoed through the vaulted halls. The celebration spared no excess.
After the feast, came the dancing.The ballroom, adorned in candlelight and finery, brimmed with revelers. The newlyweds opened the floor with the first dance—graceful, if slightly uncertain—before yielding it to the crowd.
As music swelled and silk skirts whirled, the King took his bride by the arm and led her about, introducing her to the esteemed members of his court.
There was the Privy Council: the two Bolton cousins—Francis and Edward—and the Everett brothers—James and John.
Francis Bolton, aged and austere, served as a cardinal in the Holy Catholic Church. His cousin Edward, no less venerable, was a barrister of notable reputation.
James Everett, younger by many years, was a Protestant preacher with keen eyes and a steady voice, while his brother John, also young, was a physician of rising acclaim.
Lillian also encountered Lady Claire Howard once again, the only woman among the Lords—a dear friend of the king's late grandmother.
And as warm as ever, they exchanged a few pleasant words before the Queen was introduced to the Duchess of Pearwall, Lady Stella Ford, a woman of similar years to Lady Howard, with a sharp wit and a regal bearing.
A few members of the House of Lords followed, and several from the Commons, each offering a bow or curtsy, a congratulation, or some gentle remark on her beauty and composure.
Then, before she had time to fully gather her thoughts, the King had taken her hand and led her swiftly through the halls and into the waiting royal carriage. And so began their quiet departure.
***
Lillian sat poised but still, hands folded in her lap, eyes occasionally wandering to the man who was now her husband. She longed to ask where they were headed, curiosity tugging at her like a child at a hem.
She had not been raised to ask questions.
“Only listen and act,” they had always told her.
And so, she remained silent, the moonlight flickering through the small carriage window, her thoughts adrift.
At last, the carriage came to a gentle halt. Philip turned to her, a warm, knowing smile curving his lips. “We are here." He announced softly.
At once, the carriage doors swung open. A stool was set, and the footman extended a hand to assist them. Husband and wife descended together. Lillian’s eyes widened the moment her feet touched the ground.
Before her stood a castle—grand and stately, rising like a monument from the earth itself. Though not as vast as the Stormont Palace, it bore its own majesty.
High towers loomed above, and stone columns framed the façade with imposing elegance.
In the distance, moonlight shimmered upon a river, its waters winding gently beneath a narrow stone bridge that linked the castle grounds to the outer lands.
The fortress stood alone upon its isle—serene, formidable, and shrouded in a quiet kind of wonder.
Lillian turned to Philip, her expression still lit with awe. He stood behind her, smiling with a glint of mischief in his eyes.
“Welcome to Kirkcrest Castle." He said. “How do you find it?”
“It’s... it’s beautiful.” She replied breathlessly, a light laugh escaping her lips. “I’m quite at a loss for words. It’s—immense.”
He chuckled. “Fear not. You shall have ample time to explore. This shall be your new home.”
The words struck her like a chill in the wind.
The smile faded from her face. Her lips parted, but no reply came. She took a slow step back, eyes narrowing as they studied him with a growing wariness. Confusion tightened her brow.
Philip’s smile faltered, though it remained—forced and uncertain. He blinked rapidly, as if seeking the right words to ease what had just passed between them. And yet, none came.
"My new home?" Lillian repeated, her voice laced with quiet surprise.
The King nodded with a mild smile.
“Why, certainly. You are to reside here, are you not? Then it shall be our new home.” Lillian said, her lips curled once more into a gentle smile, reassured.
“I shall return to Stormont Palace once you are well settled." The King added casually.
Her smile faltered again. “And tonight?” She asked, her voice softening. “Will you not remain here? My governess has oft said that a marriage must be consummated for it to be valid. Are you staying, Your Majesty?”
The question hung heavily in the air.
He stood motionless for a moment, as though weighing the matter not of duty, but of convenience. Then, with a sudden burst of energy—
“I shall!” he declared.
Her face lit up at once, the smile returning brighter than before. She stepped toward him, gently taking his hand into her own and giving it a slight tug.
With their hands entwined, the royal couple began their walk toward the grand entrance of Kirkcrest Castle.
At the castle doors, two long rows of servants stood in stately formation, lining either side of the massive doors. They bowed in unison as the newlyweds approached, leaving a wide aisle for them to walk through.
As Lillian passed between them, she returned their warm smiles with gracious delight. And when the halls echoed with the chant, “Long live the King! Long live the Queen!” her joy deepened.
She paused often, reaching out to clasp the hands of those closest, offering kind greetings and brief exchanges, her every gesture steeped in royal grace.
Once the pleasantries had been shared, she turned to Philip once more. “And where is my chamber, Your Majesty?”
Without hesitation, he glanced toward the line of servants. “You four." He called, gesturing to a cluster of maids. “Escort Her Majesty to her chamber.”
The four young women stepped forward, curtsied, and prepared to lead the Queen deeper into her new home.
Lillian did not hesitate, nor did she tarry. The moment the maids were summoned, she followed them without a word.
And as soon as the Queen vanished down the corridor, the King turned sharply and took to the stairs, climbing swiftly until he reached the solitude of his chamber.
It was in the dead of night that they met again.
Philip found himself standing before her door. For some time, he had pondered her earlier words. She was right. The consummation of their union was not merely tradition; it was a necessity.
With unrest rising within the realm and whispers of dissent even among his court, an heir was more than a matter of legacy—it was a shield. A seal upon his claim to the throne.
He had delayed long enough.
Even after exchanging his ceremonial garb for his nightdress, he remained in his chamber, allowing time to pass. He imagined she would require ample time to prepare for bed, and when he presumed the hour ripe, he finally left his room for hers.
When he finally turned the door knob and entered, he found her seated on the grand bed, her back turned toward him.
Her hair, long and gleaming, spilled down her back and across the silken sheets like threads of gold. He paused in the doorway, surprised.
He had not imagined it to be so long—so well cared for. It glistened in the dim candlelight, clearly combed, oiled, and perfumed with intention.
She did not turn at the sound of the door closing behind him. He hesitated. Her stillness unsettled him. Was it reluctance? Reserve? Or merely the manner of a woman awaiting her husband's lead?
He took one cautious step forward.
“I thought you would not come,” she said softly.
Her voice trembled—and there was no mistaking the sound of sorrow within it. It was the voice of someone who had been weeping, long and quietly.
He did not answer. Words felt ill-fitted for the weight between them. Instead, he approached slowly and seated himself beside her.
When she lifted her head, their eyes met. He saw it immediately—red, swollen lids and the telltale glisten of tears that had long since dried. She had been crying. That much was certain.
Why, he did not know. But the sight stirred something in him that he did not yet understand.
"I'm here now." He said gently. "Pray, tell me—why are you crying?"
She gave a short, breathy laugh and lowered her gaze once more. "Just being foolish, Your Majesty." she murmured.
Silence followed—a heavy, deafening stillness that seemed to wrap itself around them. Philip remained beside her, uncertain, caught between empathy and hesitation.
But the moment did not linger for long.
Suddenly, Lillian looked up. With surprising resolve, she cupped his face in her soft hands and pressed her lips to his.
The kiss came swiftly, without warning, causing him to gasp. She took the opportunity—his parted lips an invitation—to deepen the kiss, her tongue boldly seeking his.
Surprise flickered in his eyes for only a moment before it melted into surrender. He kissed her back—tentatively at first, then with increasing fervour.
When their lips parted, both were breathless, their chests rising and falling in unison. They stared at one another for a moment, eyes alight with something neither could name.
Then the kiss resumed—slower, more deliberate—and their hands moved instinctively, tugging at silk and linen, until nothing separated them.
Unclad, the couple fell onto the bed. Phillip's large frame hovering over Lillian's petite one.
- Writer
