By the time Giselle left Willoughby's room, it was well into the night, and most of their human guests had retired for the night. Unfortunately for Giselle, she had forgotten about the not-so-human creatures that lurked around the palace.

Letting out a small yawn, she began to make her way downstairs, where her bed awaited, and the sweet relief of sleep that waited beyond. But it seemed that luck was not in her favour, and her deceit would end up stabbing her in the back.

   Just as she made a turn around the corridor, she came face to face with Icarus, and her heart dropped into her stomach in an instant, just as it did when she first met him.

     "Your Grace," she sputtered, trying to hide the sudden nervousness in her voice. She did not want to seem as if she had just been caught red-handed. "What brings you here?"

He narrowed his eyes. "I should be asking you that, Giselle. Hours ago, I recall you saying that you had a headache and were in dire need of rest."

     "Yes, I did rest, Your Grace. In fact, I only woke up to fetch a drink of water from the kitchen," she lied, the words escaping her lips as smooth as silk. She was getting better at this.

      "Is that so?" Icarus said, glancing towards her lips, still moist from the brandy that she had drunk earlier. Under his scrutinising gaze, Giselle could not help but swallow nervously, her cheeks burning.

Icarus smiled lightly, the corners of his lips turning upwards, but she was far too agitated to notice it.

     "Does your head still hurt, Giselle?" Icarus asked, his hand raised as if to touch her forehead, but stopping short at the last second. His hand then fell back against his side.

She blinked, taken aback by the sudden gesture. "No, not anymore. Taking a nap really chases all your aches away."

     "Well then, will you join me for a walk?" he replied.

For a brief moment, Giselle had forgotten that Icarus was a vampire, and very foolishly, she asked, "Now? At midnight?"

This time, Icarus could not hold back his laughter anymore. "If I could walk in the daylight, I would, Giselle. But I cannot."

     "Oh," she murmured. "Somehow that managed to slip my thoughts. Then...yes, I will come with you, Your Grace."

They made their way through the winding, dark halls, until they found themselves at the western entrance, which led directly to the gardens. Giselle had never been to this part of the palace before, and evident from the trellises overgrown with vines, it was safe to assume that not many others came here either.

The moonlight was dim, shining just bright enough for them to see the cobblestone path, upon which they walked in silence. Neither of them said a single word, and only the sound of their footsteps crunching against the cobblestone could be heard.

Dewdrops sparkling like tiny beads of crystal lay atop the blades of grass, shining in the dim moonlight, and a faint floral scent seemed to linger in the air. Was it jasmine, or was it  gardenia? Giselle could not tell for sure.

     "It is quiet tonight," she remarked.

Icarus hummed as he looked around, before gazing back at her. "It is. And I prefer it this way."

       "I see," she said in reply. "Is this your secret garden of sorts? It seems so.. peaceful."

      "You may call it that," he nodded. "When I was a little boy, my mother used to bring me here, where no one would bother us. It was just me, her, and the chirping birds. Even back then, this place has been my refuge, my sanctuary."

Giselle glanced at him, her eyes wide with curiosity. This was a side to Icarus that she had never seen before.

     "Can I ask you a question, Your Grace?" she suddenly said.

     "Go ahead."

     "Why maintain this clandestine rule?" she questioned, her eyes searching his for answers. "It's not for wealth; your palace already gleams with opulence even without their help, and I believe that you are perfectly capable of keeping it this way for hundreds of years to come. So, why this secrecy? Why bother with the weight of a hidden throne?"

Icarus' steps came to a halt, his dark brows knitted into a frown. "That is something that you do not need to know."

     "But I want to know," she persisted, her voice steady yet laced with curiosity. "Tell me, why?"

He glanced at her, his dark red eyes twinkling dangerously in the darkness. "At times, I too ask myself that. I could be travelling the world, seeing and living in any continent that I wish. I could craft a new identity for myself, and live out multiple lives. I can jump off of a cliff and not die. I imagine that there are countless more interesting things that you can do when you are immortal, and yet, I am still here.

Why? I like to think that I am here out of spite. After all, it is my greatest pleasure to prove others wrong, even when those people have been dead for hundreds of years. And furthermore, the harder it is to obtain something, the more reluctant you will be to let it go.

So, to answer your question, and to satiate your curiosity, dear Giselle, the throne of England is mine, solely mine, and I have no intention of ever letting go of it."

     At the crack of dawn, when the first rays of sunlight had barely scratched the dark blue horizon, the ministers were already up and ready, all seated in their carriages, mugs of tea in hand.

It was already late autumn, and any semblance of warmth was welcome. And indeed, the men were eager to make the journey home before the first snowfall, for if they were too late, the consequences would be deadly.

    Giselle leaned against the doorway, watching as Willoughby boarded his carriage, while Derrick sat beside the coachman, his frame so big that the carriage seemed to lean towards one side.

Ebenezer Barlowe came out much later, the expression on his face a mixture of both anger and fear. She had seen him talking to Icarus earlier, though their voices were hushed, and she could not exactly tell what they were talking about. But she had a gist of what it could be about, and it was no surprise why Barlowe's face was so sour.

Giselle could not hide the grin on her face. Things were going exactly as she had hoped. If Barlowe ended up throwing a fit, or even better, rebel against Icarus, then it would be the end of him. And as Willoughby had promised, she would soon have her way with him.

     But by the time the final carriage left the palace compound, the thoughts about Ebenezer Barlowe had long left her, and her mind wandered towards the conversation that she shared with Icarus the night prior.

    "The throne of England is mine, solely mine, and I have no intention of ever letting go of it."

That, without a doubt, was a rather peculiar thing to say. Intriguing, even more so. Icarus never struck her as a greedy, power-hungry man, so this sentence of him confused her. And he said that he is the sole owner of the throne of England, but is it rightfully his, or had he seized it from another?

    She turned to look at Icarus, who was watching the ministers depart from the balcony of his chamber, his face devoid of expression. Every now and then, he lifted a crystal goblet to his lips, the liquid a dark burgundy colour. At first, she thought that it was red wine, but the viscosity of it suggested otherwise. Giselle shuddered.

It was at that moment she realised that she knew very little about him, despite all the times that they had spent together. Their conversations, though plentiful, were mostly nonsensical and without substance, and they most certainly never touched the subject of Icarus' past. She had thought of asking about it, but she never really had the guts to do so.

Even now, she did not dare to ask him, but if only there was somebody else that she could ask,  someone who did know a lot more about him than she...

     At that moment, she recalled about Theophilus Fletcher's words when they first met, about his thirst for knowledge, and how he desired to record it. Knowing how much of a pedant Theophilus was, she was certain that he had pestered Icarus about his past long before she was born.

    And so, as soon as nightfall came, she made her way to Theophilus' guest suite, hoping that he had already arisen for the day. Or night, to be accurate.

But when he answered her door, his usually neat blond hair in disarray, his white shirt left unbuttoned, she realised that he had not.

        "Ah, Giselle," he greeted her groggily. "What brings you here?"

        "I need to speak with you," she quickly replied. "Can I come in?"

Theo raised a brow, then looked down at his own appearance. "Yes, yes, come in," he said as he quickly buttoned up his shirt. Had he still been a human, at that moment, his cheeks would have been flushed.

      "Perfect," Giselle beamed, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically. "Oh, I've brought dessert for you too, since I did not want to come empty-handed."

As Giselle set the crystal dish containing the blancmange drizzled with raspberry coulis atop the coffee table, which was bedecked with all sorts of books and papers, Theo could not help but narrow his eyes.

Giselle was not the kind of person who would go out of her way to please someone, even when she needed their help. So, for her to do all this, there must be something that she desperately wants.

       "So," he mumbled as he prodded the blancmange with his spoon. "What is it that you wanted to talk about?"

Giselle cleared her throat. "I was hoping that you could relieve some of my curiosities."

      "On what?"

      "You once told me that you wished to live forever so that you could learn everything there is to learn, and that you wish to write your own annals. So, tell me, what do you know about His Grace?"

Theo, who was chewing through the dessert, could not help but raise a quizzical brow. He quickly swallowed it, then opened his mouth to speak. "Aren't you His Grace's personal maid? Couldn't you have asked this to him yourself?"

        "I... I think it is quite nosy to do so, don't you think?" she said, feigning embarrassment.

Theo let out a chuckle. "And asking questions about him behind his back is not?"

         "You don't understand, Mister Fletcher. It is embarrassing to ask it myself, but frankly, I would want to know. If you had ever liked someone, you would know what it is like."

Giselle mustered up that particular response in the heat of the moment, playing the role of a lovesick teenage girl, but as she uttered those words, they felt more genuine on her tongue than she had thought they would be.

       "Oh... Oh!" Theo exclaimed, his look of suspicion now replaced with certainty as he gave Giselle a sly grin. "Very well, then. I do consider you as a friend, Giselle, so I will tell you all that I know."

        "Yes, that would be perfect," Giselle replied, her grin now as wide as his, though for an entirely different reason.

        "Well, to begin, His Grace is an avid lover of animals. He'd had quite a number of pets when he was a human, including a mastiff named Brutus that he really adored. However, he refuses to keep any more animals now. Time passes differently for us, and having a pet grow up in front of your eyes and die in a matter of years, which to us, feels like months, is devastating."

         "I see.. did His Grace-"

         "Also, His Grace's favourite colour is dark blue, if you were wondering. If you ever decide to make a gift for him, make sure that it is dark blue. Or better yet, make his favourite dessert! Do you know what his favourite dessert is?"

         "No, but I-"

         "His Grace loves honey and walnut cake, so if you want to get his attention, I suggest you bake him that. Although, I must warn you that Edith tried to do just that many years ago, and His Grace did not accept it as well as she had hoped."

Giselle smiled thinly, realising that while her ruse of pretending to be infatuated with Icarus had worked to some extent, it also resulted in her receiving information that was of little use to her. Would Willoughby care that Icarus once had a mastiff named Brutus? She highly doubted that.

        "What about his parents? Do you know what their names were?" she asked eagerly. It was not uncommon to want to know the names of the parents of the person that you fancied, and Theo surely would not find it suspicious. Furthermore, with their names, she could easily dig around and discover more by herself.

Unfortunately, her hopes were dashed when Theo said, "Forgive me, but I don't really know. His Grace never told me about it."

        "Really? What about his siblings? Does he have any?"

Again, Theo shook his head. "I do not know. Even if he did, he never tells anyone about it."

        "Well, what about his family name? Surely he's told you that, hasn't he?" Giselle asked, almost exasperatedly.

        "Forgive me, Giselle, but I truly do not know. If you really need to know, then I suggest you ask Lord Brouchard. He is His Grace's closest friend, and they have known each other since infancy," Theo suggested.

Giselle raised a brow. Aldous Brouchard? That was a name that she had not expected. She knew that he was old, but not that old.

       "I see," Giselle said, standing up and brushing down the creases on her skirt. "I will look into it. Thank you, Mister Fletcher."

      "You're welcome. But one thing, is there anything else I can do to assist you with, besides giving you information?" He offered a sheepish smile as he scratched the back of his head. He seemed genuinely worried. "I apologise for being unable to help much."

        "No, it's fine," Giselle sighed. "You've helped enough. And I hope that you like the blancmange."

And with that, Giselle took her leave, her mind thinking of the ways to approach Aldous without seeming too eager.

Even though he was on cordial terms with her, Giselle could tell that he did not exactly consider her a friend, like Theo did.

Despite his gentle eyes and thin smiles, there was a certain coldness to him, and the way he looked at her made her feel as if she were somehow beneath him. It was a feeling that she was not fond of, and the mere thought of asking him for something unnerved her.

Giselle thus decided to halt her plans for the night, and try again another time, but fate had decided otherwise. After leaving Theo's room, Giselle was heading down to her own quarters when she happened to run into Aldous himself, who had just returned to the palace, his boots and breeches still stained with mud and grass.

She smiled as she met him halfway, but he did not return the expression in any way whatsoever.  Instead, his gaze remained cool, indifferent, and impassive. He simply continued walking past her without even acknowledging her presence, and the mere idea of it made her chest heave with anger.

Without much thought, Giselle spun around, her eyes gleaming with determination. "May I speak with you, Lord Brouchard?" she asked politely, forcing herself to appear calm despite the anger inside of her.

Aldous stopped dead in his tracks, turning slightly to glance down at Giselle. "What did you say?"

      "I said, may I speak with you?"  she repeated her request, keeping her tone polite yet demanding, her eyes never faltering from him.

Aldous raised a single brow. "Why?" 

      "Is that a 'yes'?"  she asked hopefully.

      "Not necessarily," he replied, his tone becoming colder. "But you seem distraught enough. What is it that you desperately need to talk about, to the point where you dare to cross my path?"

This time, Giselle decided not to put on her ditzy, lovestruck façade, since it had backfired on her the last time, and she was certain that Aldous would not entertain her either.

       "I wanted to talk about His Grace," she said firmly. It was not a request, but a statement, leaving no room for Aldous to refute her.

Aldous was momentarily quiet, his silver eyes narrowed as he stared at her slight figure. "And why is that? You are his closest confidant as of late, surely you could ask him yourself?"

        "I wish to know about his past," she said truthfully. "There are some things that he said that piqued my interest, and I cannot help but feel curious. And.. and I've been told that you've stayed by his side the longest, so surely you know many things."

His lips curled into a smirk. "Is that so? Well then, what do you wish to know about?"   

          "Who is he, truly?"

Aldous frowned as a soft chuckle escaped his lips. "What kind of question is this, Giselle? You should know this better than anyone else."

         "You know what I mean. Not the person he is now, but the person he was before he was turned into a vampire. Icarus... from three hundred years ago."

It appeared that Aldous' eyebrows had climbed high upon his forehead, but his expression betrayed nothing beyond his blank mask, as he said, "That was very far back in history for you. Curious, are we?"

        "I suppose I am."

       "Very well. If that is what you want, then I will give it to you. England back then was very different from what you see now. There were kings, queens, dukes, earls and knights, things you'd see in storybooks. It might seem like things so far back to you, but it once existed, and His Grace and I were part of it.

I was from the noble House of Brouchard, and my father was a Prime Minister who served the king. His Grace's lineage is far more highborn than that, but even though the blood runs in his veins, he was not allowed to claim it. A bastard was all he was,  and a bastard was what people thought he would forever be."

Giselle was quiet. She had been told about this before by Alain de Beauchamp, and Aldous only confirmed her previous assumptions.

He cleared his throat and continued speaking. "He had a brother, you see. His father's only heir by law, the son of the legal wife. But the people did not love him, that spoilt, bitter blond buffoon. They did, however, love Icarus, despite him being a bastard, and that was the final straw for him."

        "What did he do?" Giselle's voice trembled.

        "What do you think he did?"