Loving War : The Eighth Son, page 1
Kathleen Lacie
Loving War
The Eighth Son
First published by Kathleen Lacie Books 2023
Copyright © 2023 by Kathleen Lacie
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
Kathleen Lacie asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
Kathleen Lacie has no responsibility for the persistence or accuracy of URLs for external or third-party Internet Websites referred to in this publication and does not guarantee that any content on such Websites is, or will remain, accurate or appropriate.
Designations used by companies to distinguish their products are often claimed as trademarks. All brand names and product names used in this book and on its cover are trade names, service marks, trademarks and registered trademarks of their respective owners. The publishers and the book are not associated with any product or vendor mentioned in this book. None of the companies referenced within the book have endorsed the book.
This has no historical accuracy
First edition
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-For all the readers who love the bad girl, the girl who causes trouble, the girl you love to hate-
As you dive into the pages of these stories, I hope you find yourself experiencing a plethora of emotions that leave a lasting impact.
Trigger warnings: rape
Contents
Acknowledgement
A Kings Heart
Use Me
Fair and Loyal
Kill Me
Conflicted Answers
Denial
You Did This
Almost
Naive Heart
Buried Deep
Mother
Loves Destruction
A Promise
The Letter
A New Chapter
Stop
Treaty
Separation
Giving In
Healing
Seeds
Who Knows
Fleeting Time
One Love
A Solution
Arrow
To Kill a King
He Needs Her
What is This
He is no Gentleman
The Doctor
It is Time
How
Secrets
Brazen
The End
Mommy
So this is Hell
Peacock
Back to the Beginning
Plan B
What an Event
Miss Me
For You
Wicked Hearts
Fallen
Token
Come Clean
A Nightmares Dream
Aftermath
Closure
Open Scars
He’s Yours
Hopeful Inception
About the Author
Acknowledgement
Play List for Loving War
Tommee Profitt
*In The End
*Sound of War
*Desolation
* Onward and Upward
*Hurts Like Hell
Livingston
*Traitor
Ramin Djawadi
*The Night King
*A Lannister Always Pays
*Dragonstone
*The Last of The Starks
Camylio
*Hurting me, Hurting You
*I’m Sorry
Sawyer Fredricks
*Lovers Still Alone
Birdy
*Wings
Letdown
*Empty
Mila
*Dynasty
Mantovani & His Orchestra
*Unchained Melodies
David Bowie
*Within You
Sam Tinnesz
*Far From Home
Zack Hemsey
*See What I’ve Become
A Kings Heart
An ominous cloud moved in over the Kingdom of Ivoca, bringing winds that whipped and bent the trees. Rain fell from the sky with a vengeance, soaking the ground outside, puddles forming along the walkways and dirt roads.
Fires burned in the homes as the people took to the indoors, escaping the onslaught of brutal weather that moved over the kingdom.
The King paced, his blood racing through his veins as his adrenaline seared. Never in all his life had he ever had so much anger and heartache all at once. The cluster of feelings made it hard for him to think rationally. He did not know which emotion to address first.
He stopped and stood staring out the window; his mood emulated through the wind that tore through the garden. The rain pelted against the windows of the castle.
The voices of his mother, Daniel, and Baron bounced against the study walls as they all spoke, one trying to talk over the other. It was all noise to the King, no words. A sound that only grew louder the more they spoke. He could only focus on the memory that had repeatedly played in his mind since it happened an hour ago.
Tavian placed his hands on the back of his desk chair, gripping the wood for support. The fireplace across the room crackled as the fire danced, keeping the room comfortable. The deep red velvet curtains were still drawn, allowing them to view the storm.
Tavian looked down, his eyes focusing on the marble floor, the patterns swirling in different directions. He inhaled and let the hurt sink in.
A cut so deep into his soul that he physically felt his heart harden, and the longer he stared at Charlotte, the more he could feel the metamorphosis.
Her face - when she looked up at him after being plucked from the wagon - burned in his brain. Her pleading echoed through his heart as his gut twisted with so many emotions, impossible to shift through all of them at once.
“This is too much. She has gone too far this time!” Mary, the King’s mother, shouted.
Finally, words became coherent to him again. He turned to face the room for the first time.
“She must be punished!” Mary shouted.
Octavian scanned the room as all eyes fell on him. Ambrose stood in the back corner, puffing on a cigar, not speaking, just watching. Mary stood across the room, her face stern and breathing ragged. Baron and Daniel stood shoulder to shoulder, waiting for their King to speak. Both men held their hands in fists, their eyes narrowed, and their hearts beating fast from anger.
Octavian never thought Charlotte would commit an act so devious as this; he never thought she would ultimately be the one to destroy him.
“Your Grace, I have to agree with your mother. I feel this is an act of betrayal that cannot go unpunished. The people will hear of it,” Baron spoke.
His tone, however, was softer and more empathetic than Mary’s.
Tavian met the eyes in the room, staring back at him. He glanced back toward the doorway, where Ursula stood, her arms crossed and her hip resting against the door frame. Her eyes met the King’s, and she gave him a sympathetic smile.
Mary spoke up. “My son, I know this is hard. I know.”
“No!” Tavian shouted, interrupting her. “You have no idea what this feels like.”
Tavian glared at her, his jaw clenched as he held back from lashing out. He squeezed his fist as he tried to fathom what he needed to do.
Mary sighed, rubbed her temples, and spoke, lowering her voice, “You are right. I don’t know.”
She turned and looked at the King of Malan. “Perhaps you, Philip, could offer some wisdom.”
Ambrose strolled across the room. “Awe, hell, Mary, I don’t need to give any advice. King McClen knows what must be done.”
Ambrose looked Tavian in the eye when he reached him. “Don’t you, King?”
“Not really,” Tavian admitted.
The pair of kings gazed at one another. Ambrose raised his cigar to his mouth as Tavian nodded and sighed.
“Yes, I know what I must do, but can I do it?” he closed his eyes as if the light hurt them.
A silence fell over the room as the King stood in the center and inhaled, his eyes closed, his body shaking.
“Your Grace,” Ursula’s silky voice broke the barrier as she moved out of the doorway and entered the room.
Everyone in the room turned to look at her as she approached the King, her eyes only on him.
“Perhaps you should speak with the Queen before making any decisions,” she suggested.
She stretched her arms out, her hands reaching for his, “Now that your blood has simmered, you should go and talk to her; that way, whatever decision you make, you can feel confident in.”
Tavian took her hands in his, gazing at her.
“Smart and beautiful,” Ambrose commented.
Tavian and Ursula looked at the King of Malan.
“The Thames blood is blessed,” she smiled at him, annoyed.
She did not need this pompous King getting in her way. Right now, Tavian was vulnerable, and she needed to be the one to pick him back up.
This was a chance for her to show Octavian how wise having her on the throne next to him would be. He had to see the other side of her, the brilliant side. The person he dismissed and refused to acknowledge existed since the night she forced herself on him.
“I will speak with her before I make any decisions. Is she in a cell?” Tavian asked, turning to look at Daniel and Baron.
“No, Your Grace. She was brought to the tower room.”
“No!” Tavian snapped. “I need her to understand how far she has gone this time. Keeping her in the tower room will not have that effect on her. The tower room is more of a sanctuary. She needs to feel like a prisoner. Bring her down to a cell with the others.”
“Right away,” Daniel snapped his fingers as he walked from the room, two guards chasing him.
Tavian smiled down at Ursula. “Thank you. You might be the only one who is thinking rationally right now.”
He looked at Ambrose. “Well, besides you, but I don’t think anything shocks you.”
Ambrose tilted his head, pulling his cigar from his mouth; he blew the smoke out and said, “Well, I would be lying if I did not admit that this here act by the Queen threw me for one hell of a ride.”
Tavian nodded. “Yes, I am sure everyone is at a loss on what to think about it.”
“That does not matter. All that matters is what you think about it,” Ursula said, squeezing his hands.
“She is right,” Mary added, “go speak to her; let us sort this all out.”
Tavian glanced at his mother, then remembered the sight seeker.
“Lemma?” Tavian asked, looking at Ambrose.
Ambrose nodded. “I sent her back home and told her I would have her return in a day or two. Your head needs more clarity for the sighting to be accurate.”
“Alright,” Tavian said.
He looked at Ursula. “Thank you.”
He kissed her hand.
“Is that not what you summoned me for?” she spoke, her voice floating through the room, making Mary look down and smile.
Tavian cleared his throat, “Yes.”
He stepped away from her and walked by his mother and Baron, avoiding their eyes. He couldn’t worry about judgments right now.
As Tavian walked down the castle’s steps, he met Daniel, who was returning from the tower. The break in the weather gave the men a chance to make it to the tower and back and stay dry.
“Crazy weather,” Daniel said, looking up at the threatening sky, which promised more rain.
Tavian nodded. “It’s fitting.”
Daniel sighed. Knowing there was not a word or action that could bring their king comfort right now.
“We have never had all the holding cells full before,” Daniel remarked.
“No,” Tavian replied.
The King looked down, and as he raised his eyes, he asked, “Is she? Well, how is she?”
“I did not see her; I had the guards move her.”
The King looked at him, waiting for him to elaborate.
“I am not ready. I fear my words will not be kind,” Daniel explained, feeling the King’s questioning gaze upon him.
Tavian nodded. “Yes.”
He inhaled and let his breath out slowly; he turned, walking to the tower. His thoughts on his wife and her betrayal, making love with him, professing her undying devotion to him and the whole time she was plotting. He could not wrap his mind around it because every time he tried, his heart would clench up. He took a breath before walking down the corridor that led to the four holding cells, two on each side.
Tavian walked to the cell farthest down, passing by all the others. He turned and saw Charlotte sitting in the corner, her head on her knees, her body trembling.
“Charlotte,” he said, his voice stirring everyone in the surrounding cells to life.
Charlotte lifted her head, revealing her tear-stained face. With hesitation, she rose to her feet, staring up at Octavian.
“Yes, my King,” she whispered.
“What have you done?” he asked, his words curt and his face a mixture of emotion.
“Nothing. I swear to you, I was only trying to help,” she rushed to the front of the cell.
“Help?” he exclaimed, looking at her, baffled at her explanation. “How is it you thought by contacting Henry you would help?”
“My King,” she said, wiping her face, “I was hoping he would agree to peace.”
“Peace?” Octavian repeated, the word bitter off his tongue.
“Yes, peace. A way for you both to get out of this situation alive.”
Tavian gripped the bars, squeezing them for support to keep a leash on his temper.
“A peace treaty. Why would I offer a peace treaty?” he hissed, glaring at her.
Charlotte backed away. She could see in his eyes he disagreed with her motive.
“I am the King!” he shouted at her, his knuckles turning white from his vice grip on the bars. “Me! Not Henry! I am Octavian Alistair McClen, the eighth son! Descendant of Alistair, the first! Me, Charlotte!” his fury unleashed in his voice as it grew louder with each word he shouted at her. He pointed at the cell behind him. “Not Henry! Me!” he screamed as he slammed his fist against his chest. “I do not make peace treaties with a man who is trying to steal my birthright.”
“He believes it is his birthright as well,” she argued. “He does not know any better.”
“You do!” Octavian screamed, and his veins bubbled up against his skin.
“Octavian, please. I need you to think about my position in this,” she cried, wrapping her fingers around the bars.
Desperation replaced her fear.
Tavian stepped back, placing his hands over his face. As he moved them down, he gazed at her and walked up to the cell, his face inches from hers. “I have thought about it, Charlotte. I have put myself in your position and get the same result.”
Charlotte sniffled, “And?”
“What kind of mother are you?” he seethed.
“What?” she asked, backing up, her eyes wide.
“By choosing Henry, you condemn our sons, our beautiful, perfect sons.”
“No,” Charlotte gasped, shaking her head.
Tavian looked down and chuckled to himself, not from amusement but from the absurdity of it all. He sighed, and when he spoke, his voice was calmer, with a hint of sadness.
“I understand if you need to pick your brother over me,” he looked up, “I do, but your children?”
“It wouldn’t be like that.”
“Oh, and what sort of arrangement do you and Henry have?” he barked.
“Nothing. I just mean that- “
“That you would be safe because you are family.” Tavian gritted his teeth, “How stupid are you?”
Charlotte stood silent, watching him transform in front of her to a man she did not recognize.
“You honestly believe they would let Charlie and Danny live?” He shot a wicked grin at her. “Your mother would kill them herself.”
“Stop it, Tavian. You are being ridiculous,” Charlotte snapped.
“Ridiculous!” he repeated, the blue in his eyes piercing through her.
“Oh, my sweet little queen of deceit, you have no idea how ridiculous I can be.”
“What does that mean?” she asked, a new bubble of fear rising inside her.
He shook his head. “I do not understand you anymore, no matter how hard I try. Perhaps all the gossip is true. You are mad.”
Charlotte swallowed and whispered, “Perhaps so.”
Tavian blinked, her response taking him by surprise. He did not know where to go from here with her. The part of his heart that would always be hers was still beating, but the part that was hurt and betrayed by her again and again was gaining ground.
He looked down as a thought flashed through his mind, and he had to ask, though he knew the answer. He had to hear Charlotte say it.
“You gave Meredith to Henry, didn’t you?”
Charlotte bit her bottom lip.
“Damn it, Charlotte,” he whispered.
“It does not matter now. You have won; you have Henry,” she said.
“Have me, yes, but will he keep me?” Henry’s voice echoed out into the dark, moist room.
Tavian turned to look at the man who had caused such an upheaval in his life. As his eyes registered on Henry, he felt a slight tug at his heart. The man looked so much like his wife. If Octavian didn’t have to hate Henry, he would be drawn to him because of how much he looked like Charlotte.
“Ignatius will come for me,” Henry stated.
