The Heart of the Revolution

3. An Opposition

"And what exactly is it that you three are planning to do?" Cambridgeshire asked, glancing up at his brother and placing his ink-stained journal back down upon his bedside table.

Cambridge, who had been sat opposite his brother for only a few minutes, shuffled around uncomfortably on his wicker stool, answering, "We haven't gotten far into planning yet... We know that we need the Monarchy gone and that we need support, but that's all..."

"Alright," Cambridgeshire sighed. "I'll help you... I think the rest of England needs to hear sense, but it won't be easy to persuade them..."

"Thank you, brother..." Cambridge sighed, standing up and bending over Cambridgeshire's bed, pulling him into a tight hug.

***

"Is he in?"

"He's in," Cambridge smiled at Northamptonshire, whose face relaxed considerably at the news.

"And... Where will we plan this?"

"Um... My office is rather small, as is York's... The library isn't private enough... Where do you usually live, m'lady?"

"The servants' quarters," Northamptonshire sighed, "It's worse than your office or the library in every way possible. One day, I'll run away from there, I swear to you..."

"You could always..." Cambridge began, but shortly trailed off, blushing more than he'd perhaps like. "Let's buy somewhere."

"Ah... Ok-" Northants nodded, giving him an inquisitive look which he didn't acknowledge. "Speaking of which, I have work..."

"Work?"

"You know, not everyone is as privileged as yourself," Northamptonshire chucked sarcastically, "Now, if you excuse me, Ill be back after I've made His Royal Crotchetyness's dinner." With that, she flounced out of the room with a goofy courtesy and a mildly mocking salute.

Watching her, Cambridge smiled to himself, admiring her permanent sense of humour and fierce, sharp mind. As much as he wouldn't admit it aloud, he was extraordinarily lucky to have had the opportunity to assist her, and to be around her as much as he had been over the past few days. Sighing, he gazed into the roaring fireplace, losing himself in thought...

"CAMBRIDGE!" York yelled, throwing open his office door with an almighty clatter. "NORTHAMPTONSHIRE IS IN TROUBLE AGAIN-"

"What?!" Cambridge stuttered, "She only left a bit ago!"

"An hour, mate-"

"Already? And what do you mean she's in trouble?"

"Apparently, she started a row with the Big Boss."

"I'm not surprised," he sighed, standing up and turning to York. "Where is she..?"

"The dungeon," York shuddered, "He's A bit angry, let's say..."

Groaning, Cambridge exited the office, heading down the ever-widening corridors towards the dreaded dungeons, almost breaking into a run the closer he got. Finally, with some effort, him and York pushed open the wrought iron door to the dungeon and were immediately greeted by the odour of damp and rust, plus the metallic stench of fresh blood.

"Gentlemen," The Monarchy hissed icily.

"Your Majesty," Cambridge grimaced, "What appears to be the issue?"

"The traitor has once again been demonstrating her lack of emotional control. I'm afraid I've lost what little faith in her I still held onto."

"Oh, do you mind me asking what happened, Sir?"

"The peasant threw tea over myself and London and began blaspheming and cursing my treatment of both itself, its fellow lower-classmen and my son, most absurdly," The Monarchy spat, eyes sparkling with detest, "For obvious reasons, I am reluctant to allow it access to my quarters, therefore it is to be dismissed from its post."

"Understandable."

"The best of luck to you mentoring it, Cambridge," he laughed coldly, grabbing Northamptonshire by the neck and throwing her into Cambridge's arms. Now get it out of my sight.

Stunned, Cambridge stared silently at the Monarchy, who waved him away indignantly. Recognising that a whole load of nothing was about to happen, York gently tugged him away by the sleeve, guiding him (still carrying Northants) back to the library, which by now was silent and deserted.

"Is she ok?" York asked, gazing over at the other two.

"Beaten unconscious," Cambridge spat, a raging fire burning behind his usually placid eyes.

"Wow-"

"He'll pay for that!" he yelled, hugging Northants closer, "I don't care what she did, she doesn't deserve that!"

"I'm guessing there's more to the story than Monarchy told us..." York nodded, gazing worriedly at the county's bright red wounds.

"We need to do something. Now."