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The Tower rose before them, its ancient stones steeped in centuries of history and legend.

The weathered walls, grey with age, stood as silent witnesses to stories long past and mysteries half-remembered.

It was not just a fortress—it was a monument to England’s rich and complex heritage, and today, it welcomed the Duke and Duchess of Brooksdale, and their young companion, into its shadowed depths.

Philip walked beside Blanche and Leopold, content to let their guide take the lead. The man, grey-haired and theatrically inclined, swept his arm toward the looming structure before them.

"This particular tower, you see," the guide continued with a gleam in his eye, "has witnessed centuries of whispers. From the tumult of Henry VIII's court to the sorrowful fate of the Princes in the Tower—these very stones have absorbed every tale."

Blanche's eyes sparkled with intellectual curiosity, and she could not help but interject, "Pray tell us more about the Princes in the Tower, if you please."

The guide grinned, appreciating Blanche's eagerness.

"Ah, the Princes! A tale of royal intrigue and tragedy. The two young sons of King Edward IV, sent here for protection, or so it was said. They vanished without a trace. Some claim murder. Others whisper of escape and secret lives. Their fate remains one of the Tower’s darkest mysteries. "

Leopold, with a twinkle in his eye, added, "Do you think their ghosts still wander these halls, seeking justice for their untimely fate?"

The guide gave a dramatic pause. "Many believe so, young sir. Visitors have reported footsteps echoing through empty chambers, soft voices in the dead of night. If you listen carefully..." He leaned in conspiratorially. "You might hear them too."

Leopold tried to listen, but his excitement got the better of him and he could not resist talking once more. "I have never seen a ghost before. I hope I do while we are here. Are there any stories of princesses?"

As the guide talked to her brother, Blanche turned to Philip, a gleam of excitement in her eyes. "Philip, this is simply… extraordinary. The layers of stories within these walls are like a treasure trove waiting to be discovered. I've never seen anything like it in all my life!"

Philip found himself smiling—genuinely—at her delight. "It is a privilege to see it with you. The Tower is grand, yes, but it is made grander still in your company."

"…the princess, known for her beauty and grace," the guide continued, capturing all of their attention, "was said to have been imprisoned within these very walls, a victim of political intrigue and power struggles. Her only crime? A love that defied the expectations of the royal court."

Blanche's eyes widened with empathy; her heart drawn into the tragic narrative. "What happened to her?" she inquired, her voice barely a whisper.

The guide paused for effect before continuing, "Legend has it that she spent her days in captivity, gazing out from a small window in the tower, longing for her lost love. Some say her ghost still wanders these halls, forever searching for the one she could never have."

"So, there are a lot of ghosts here!" Leopold exclaimed. "I sure hope to see at least one."

As they all ventured deeper into the heart of the Tower of London, the towering walls gave way to an enclosure that housed an eclectic array of wonders from Britain's vast imperial reach. The caged creatures, brought from faraway lands, awaited our curious gazes.

Leopold's eyes widened with awe as he approached the cages, his excitement palpable. "Look, Blanche! Are those real lions? And is that a parrot? Can we go closer?"

The infectious enthusiasm of youth bubbled forth, and Philip found himself drawn into an animated exchange with Leopold.

His endless stream of eager questions about distant lands and the intriguing creatures housed within the cages revealed a hunger for knowledge that mirrored Blanche's own scholarly spirit.

"Your Grace!" Leopold exclaimed as they continued their walk through the hallowed halls, "Did you know there are tales of dragons in the faraway lands? Majestic creatures with scales that glisten like jewels and breath that can turn villages to ash! Can you imagine such wonders?"

Philip, thoroughly amused by Leopold's infectious excitement, chuckled.

"Indeed, Wicksford, my lad, the world is filled with tales of mythical creatures.

Dragons, in particular, have been a source of fascination for centuries.

Some say they guard treasures hidden deep in mountain caves.

Of course, those who seek them do not always return. "

Leopold’s eyes gleamed with wonder. "Do you think we might go on such an adventure one day?"

"Adventures," Blanche said with a soft laugh, joining them, "require a great deal of reading first. Perhaps the pair of you ought to begin with the travels of Herodotus or Marco Polo."

Philip nodded sagely. "Your sister is right. Before we brave any dragons, we must consult the proper texts. And maps. And carry sufficient provisions."

"And perhaps a sword!" Leopold added with glee.

Philip feigned seriousness. "At the very least."

Leopold's eyes gleamed with curiosity. "Tell me, Your Grace, have you encountered any mythical creatures in your travels?"

Philip played along with a twinkle in his eye.

"Ah, well, there was that one time in a distant land where they spoke of a creature with the body of a lion and the wings of an eagle.

The locals called it a griffin. Quite a formidable creature, I must say.

I did not see one myself, but for that I am glad.

I do not think I would have come out of that exchange alive. "

Leopold's imagination soared, and he fired off more questions about griffins, enchanted forests, and other fantastical elements. Philip, embracing the role of storyteller, answered each inquiry with a mix of factual information and embellished tales

Surprisingly, it felt like a bond was blooming between them. That was not something Philip had expected from today, but Leopold was an interesting character, just like his sister, and he was grateful for the chance to get to know both of them.

As they approached the waiting carriage at the end of the day, Leopold, still brimming with enthusiasm, turned to Philip. "Your Grace, thank you for sharing such wondrous tales with me. It was an outing both entertaining and educational! I hope we shall have many more such days together."

Philip smiled warmly, recognising the joy of a young mind hungry for knowledge and adventure. "So do I, Leopold. So do I."

With the carriage door closing, the trio left, their hearts lightened by the shared experience of laughter, learning, and the limitless possibilities that lay ahead for a curious young mind.

Inside the gently swaying carriage en route to Blanche's family's townhouse, the cobbled streets of London passed unseen beneath them, and the soft flicker of gaslight danced across the velvet-lined walls.

The quiet clatter of hooves echoed through the narrow lanes, but within the confines of the carriage, a gentle warmth lingered—a cocoon of laughter, comfort, and something Philip could not quite name.

Leopold spoke animatedly, arms gesturing, eyes wide with wonder as he recounted the tales from their day—the lions and parrots of the Royal Menagerie, the tragic ghost stories of the Tower, the whispered legends of long-dead royalty.

His voice was bright and youthful, spilling into every corner of the carriage like sunlight.

Blanche sat opposite Philip, nestled close to her brother, her face turned toward him with such gentle attention that it caught Philip unawares.

She was smiling—truly smiling—not the polite, strained expression she had worn during those early, awkward days, but something unguarded.

Her cheeks were tinged with colour, and the laughter in her eyes lit something in his chest he hadn’t felt in years.

She looked so at ease, her shoulders relaxed beneath the soft folds of her gown, one gloved hand resting lightly on her lap, the other touching her brother’s arm as he spoke.

There was an elegance to her that had nothing to do with her title and everything to do with her presence—her curiosity, her sincerity, her quiet resilience.

Philip found himself watching her, not just with appreciation, but with a growing sense of awe. And no small amount of confusion.

This was not what he had expected.

When he had offered marriage, it had been done with a clenched jaw and a sense of grim necessity. An honourable solution to a scandal that had already begun to brew. He hadn’t imagined affection. Certainly not warmth. The idea of happiness—of companionship—had not even occurred to him.

And yet, here it was, quietly unfolding before him like a pressed flower kept between the pages of an old book.

Blanche laughed then, the sound soft and musical, and Philip felt it reverberate through him. She turned slightly, catching his gaze, and for the briefest moment, they simply looked at one another, no pretence, no performance. Just two people trying to make sense of what their lives had become.

Her smile deepened, and though it was tinged with a trace of shyness, it held no discomfort. Only… possibility.

Something inside him shifted.

Not dramatically. Not like a bolt of lightning. But something essential. A loosening of the guard he’d held so tightly. A part of him, long buried beneath duty and pride and past disappointments, stirred to life once more.

He was beginning to care.

Not merely in the way one might grow fond of a well-mannered companion, but something deeper, more unsettling. Something tender and tremulous and altogether dangerous.

Because caring meant vulnerability. And vulnerability meant risk.

He looked away first, back to the passing shadows beyond the window, but his thoughts did not follow.

They remained with her—with the softness of her voice when she spoke to her brother, the spark in her eyes when she spoke of history, the way she had reached for his arm earlier and then withdrawn, as though unsure whether she was allowed.

Did she feel it too, this shifting current between them?

Did she wonder, as he now did, whether their marriage—born not of romance but of necessity—might be transformed into something else?

He wasn’t ready to say the word aloud. Not yet. Perhaps not even to himself. But the idea had taken root, however cautiously, however unwillingly.

He would speak to Cedric again. His friend would no doubt have something maddeningly wise and irritatingly perceptive to say. He always did.

But even before that conversation took place, Philip already knew what he would hear.

That the past, however painful, need not dictate the future.

Those walls were built to be broken down and he was allowed, after all this time, to want more.

And for the first time since the scandal, since the hurried vows and the quiet, awkward mornings, Philip found himself wondering…

What if Blanche wanted more, too?