Moonlight spilled through the tall windows of Greenwich Palace's library, casting long shadows across the ancient tomes and manuscripts that lined its walls. The March air carried the first hints of spring—a subtle warmth that promised renewal after winter's harsh grip.
Though the hour grew late, Jane Grey found herself drawn to her nightly ritual, seeking knowledge among the leather-bound volumes before retiring to her chambers.
Two weeks had passed since Mary Tudor's coronation. The ceremony had proceeded with remarkable smoothness considering the unprecedented circumstances surrounding her ascension. Cheers had echoed through London's streets as the crown was placed upon Mary's head, the public display of unity belying the complex negotiations that had preceded it.
As agreed in the diplomatic settlement, Spanish forces had withdrawn completely from English soil, their departure observed by representatives from the newly re-established Privy Council—the administrative body that now shared governance responsibilities with the crowned monarch.
Jane moved silently between the towering shelves, her fingers trailing lightly across leather-bound spines as she searched for a particular volume on Aristotelian ethics. Despite her abdication, her new role as council member granted her continued access to Greenwich's extensive resources—a peculiar twist of fate she still found difficult to fully comprehend.
Rather than imprisonment in the Tower as she had initially expected following Mary's victory, Jane now shared responsibility for England's administrative governance alongside Elizabeth Tudor and other council members selected for their practical expertise rather than merely noble lineage. Together, they provided effective counterbalance to Mary's occasional zealous tendencies regarding religious matters—preserving the religious tolerance policies Jane had implemented during her brief reign despite Mary's personal Catholic devotion.
As she rounded a particularly large shelf of astronomical texts, Jane stopped abruptly. A figure sat at one of the reading tables, illuminated by a single candle that cast dramatic shadows across familiar features.
Robert Kestrel.
His midnight-blue doublet absorbed the candlelight, creating the peculiar impression that shadows clung to him with unusual persistence. His attention remained focused on a parchment spread before him, his hand moving across its surface with precise, flowing motions. The script forming beneath his quill looked nothing like any language Jane had ever encountered—strange, angular symbols interspersed with curved glyphs that seemed to shimmer slightly in the candlelight.
Jane hesitated, momentarily uncertain whether to interrupt his evident concentration. She had developed a habit of selecting her evening reading and retreating to her private chambers, now that she no longer bore the weight of the crown. The library had become her sanctuary, but she typically enjoyed its offerings in the solitude of her rooms. Bobby's unexpected presence created a peculiar flutter beneath her ribs despite her best attempts at scholarly composure.
"You're up rather late, Lady Jane," Bobby observed without looking up from his parchment, the casual acknowledgment suggesting he'd been aware of her presence despite his apparent absorption in the strange text.
The moment he registered her approach, Bobby's hand moved with swift precision, folding the parchment and sliding it into an inner pocket of his doublet before she could examine the unusual script more closely. The deliberate concealment piqued her curiosity, though she maintained her composed expression.
Jane approached the table, her simple blue nightgown and robe suddenly feeling inadequately informal despite the late hour and private setting. "As are you, Lord Kestrel. I hadn't realized you remained at Greenwich this evening."
Bobby finally looked up, the candlelight creating unusual patterns across his features as he studied her with that peculiar intensity that always made Jane feel simultaneously exposed and recognized in ways no one else had ever achieved.
"Certain matters required my attention," he explained vaguely, offering no elaboration regarding the strange document he'd just concealed. "Though perhaps similar scholarly curiosity explains your own evening wanderings?"
Jane nodded, suddenly self-conscious about her disheveled appearance despite her attempts at dignity. Her dark copper hair hung loose around her shoulders rather than confined in its usual formal arrangement, and her feet remained bare beneath her nightgown's hem. She found herself absently tucking a strand behind her ear as she moved closer to the table.
"I was seeking Aristotle's Nicomachean Ethics," she admitted. "I prefer to read in the privacy of my chambers before sleep claims me. Philosophy often provides comfort when rest remains reluctant."
Bobby smiled—a genuine expression briefly displacing his typical sardonic mask. "Third shelf from the eastern window, approximately eye-level for someone of your height," he suggested with casual precision that suggested comprehensive familiarity with the library's organization despite his relatively recent arrival in England.
Jane returned the smile, grateful for both his guidance and the absence of commentary regarding her informal appearance. "Thank you. Though now that I've found you here instead, perhaps conversation might prove equally effective distraction from restless thoughts."
Bobby gestured toward the chair opposite him, his hand briefly touching the pocket where he'd secured the mysterious parchment. "Conversation with Jane Grey always represents welcome opportunity regardless of hour or circumstance," he replied, the simple statement causing unexpected warmth to spread across Jane's cheeks despite her disciplined attempts at composed dignity.
As she settled into the offered chair, Jane noticed Bobby studying her with unusual intentness—as though attempting to memorize specific details regarding her appearance. The scrutiny might have proved uncomfortable from anyone else, yet from him it created only the peculiar sensation of being truly seen rather than merely observed.
"May I inquire about what you were writing?" Jane asked, her scholarly curiosity overcoming her normal restraint. "The script appeared quite unlike anything I've encountered in my studies thus far."
Bobby's expression shifted subtly, a flicker of something unreadable passing across his features before settling back into his customary controlled demeanor. "Just some personal notations," he replied casually, the deliberate vagueness contrasting sharply with his typically precise explanations during their philosophical discussions. "An old cipher I developed for private correspondence—nothing of particular scholarly interest."
The explanation seemed plausible enough, yet Jane sensed the deflection behind his words. The strange symbols had appeared far too complex for mere cipher, carrying an almost otherworldly quality that distinguished them from any conventional encoding system she'd studied. Still, she recognized the boundaries his response had established and chose not to press further despite her lingering curiosity.
"I owe you an apology," Bobby stated abruptly, the direct address catching Jane momentarily unprepared despite her scholarly readiness for complex philosophical discourse.
"An apology?" she echoed, genuine confusion coloring her tone. "For what possible transgression?"
Bobby's expression shifted toward something resembling genuine regret—an emotion she rarely observed crossing his typically guarded features. "For placing you in your current position. The council role, while preferable to alternatives that might have manifested without intervention, still represents continuation of political involvement I know conflicts with your genuine scholarly preferences."
Jane blinked in surprise at this unexpected contrition. Of all possible topics for their evening conversation, Bobby's apparent guilt regarding her current circumstances had never crossed her mind as potential subject.
"No apology is required," she assured him with quiet certainty, leaning forward slightly to emphasize her sincerity. "You asked directly what role I wished to serve during transition. The current arrangement reflects my expressed preference for contributing meaningfully toward governance without crown's direct burden."
When Bobby's expression suggested persistent doubt, Jane continued with unusual directness. "It's certainly preferable to imprisonment in Tower, which I fully expected would be my fate had the moment Mary stormed London with her forces come to pass." She attempted light humor despite the scenario's grim reality. "If anything, I should be thanking you for saving me rather than accepting your apology. You have nothing to apologize for."
Bobby studied her with that peculiar intensity that always suggested he perceived far more than merely her physical presence or spoken words. "Your current circumstances still involve political navigation rather than purely scholarly pursuit," he observed carefully. "The role involves constraints upon personal liberty despite improvements over previous arrangements."
Jane surprised herself with genuine laugh—a sound rarely heard during her brief reign when royal dignity had constrained such expressions of genuine amusement.
"My current role is not nearly as suffocating as before," she explained with unexpected warmth. "When the crown sat upon my head, every word required calculation, every gesture demanded consideration of potential misinterpretation. Now I contribute through practical expertise without symbolic burden constantly weighing upon each interaction." She smiled with genuine contentment that reflected her authentic assessment rather than merely diplomatic reassurance. "It's quite relaxing, actually."
Bobby's expression softened slightly at her evident sincerity. "And your scholarly pursuits?"
"Continue alongside practical governance contributions," Jane assured him, gesturing toward the surrounding library with genuine appreciation. "Council responsibilities occupy significantly less time than royal obligations, creating ample opportunity for intellectual exploration." Her expression grew thoughtful as she considered broader implications. "Furthermore, knowing my actions help shape England for the better makes political involvement worthwhile despite my natural scholarly inclinations."
She glanced at the pocket where Bobby had hidden his strange parchment. "Though I must admit, certain mysteries continue to intrigue me beyond the conventional scholarly texts."
Bobby caught her meaning immediately, his hand unconsciously moving to touch the concealed document. "Some mysteries are better left unexplored," he suggested with unusual gravity that contradicted his typical enthusiasm for intellectual discovery.
"Even for those with demonstrated aptitude for complex philosophical concepts?" Jane countered, her expression suggesting playful challenge despite her respectful tone.
Bobby's lips quirked into a slight smile despite his evident reluctance. "Especially for those with such aptitude," he countered. "Sharp minds cut deepest into territories better left intact."
The cryptic response only heightened Jane's curiosity, though she recognized the boundary he'd established. Whatever the strange script represented, Bobby considered it beyond appropriate sharing even with someone whose intellectual capabilities he clearly respected.
"Will you be in London for the upcoming council session?" she asked instead, shifting toward safer conversational territory despite her lingering curiosity regarding the mysterious document.
Bobby nodded, though something in his expression suggested preoccupation with matters extending beyond routine governance responsibilities. "For the session itself, certainly. Though certain matters may require my attention elsewhere afterward."
"You're being unusually vague," Jane observed with perceptive directness that occasionally surprised even herself given her typically cautious diplomatic phrasing. "Typically you offer precise explanations rather than nebulous generalities."
Bobby's eyebrow raised slightly at her direct challenge, though his expression suggested appreciation rather than offense at her observation. "Perhaps certain topics benefit from deliberate vagueness," he countered, his tone containing unusual edge rarely evident in their typically measured philosophical exchanges.
Jane studied him carefully, noting tension visible beneath his typically composed exterior. Something weighed upon him tonight—considerations extending beyond their immediate conversation toward matters he clearly preferred keeping private despite their established intellectual rapport.
An unexpected question formed in her mind, pushing past scholarly caution toward direct personal territory she typically avoided despite her occasional dreams regarding different relationship with the extraordinary man seated opposite her.
"Will you be in England much longer?" she asked with uncharacteristic boldness, the directness surprising even herself despite her disciplined composure.
Bobby's expression shifted toward something unreadable despite the candlelight illuminating his features. He remained silent for long moment that stretched Jane's nerves toward uncomfortable tension despite her scholarly patience.
"I will always be part of your life," he finally answered, his tone containing unusual gentleness rarely evident in their typically intellectual exchanges. "As you have become part of mine, regardless of where I might be."
Bobby touched his chest lightly, the gesture conveying something deeper than his words alone. The candlelight caught the movement, casting flickering shadows across his features as his hand rested momentarily over his heart.
Jane felt heat rising to her cheeks, the blush spreading despite her attempts to maintain scholarly composure. "And you will always have a place in mine," she replied softly, the admission carrying weight beyond its simple phrasing.
Bobby studied her with that peculiar intensity that always made her feel simultaneously exposed and truly seen. "Such innocent certainty," he observed, a hint of his usual sardonic tone returning though softened by something resembling genuine affection. "The world would benefit from more such unfettered honesty."
Jane tilted her head slightly, her copper hair falling across one shoulder as she processed his earlier statement with sudden clarity. "You said 'regardless of where I might be'," she repeated, fixing him with a perceptive gaze that belied her fifteen years. "Are you going somewhere?"
The question hung between them, simple in its phrasing yet carrying layers of potential meaning that both recognized despite the conversation's outward casualness.
Bobby's lips curved into a slight smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "We're all always going somewhere, Jane Grey," he observed with characteristic philosophical deflection. Then, after a moment's hesitation: "But yes. Eventually. Somewhere you cannot follow."
The confirmation created unexpected ache beneath Jane's breastbone despite its vague nature. She studied him carefully, noting tension in his shoulders that contradicted his outwardly relaxed demeanor. For all his accumulated wealth, power, and extraordinary capabilities that had transformed England's governance within months of his arrival, Bobby Kestrel carried constraints she couldn't fully comprehend yet somehow instinctively recognized.
"Why can't I follow?" she asked directly, scholarly precision temporarily overwhelming courtly subtlety.
Bobby's expression shifted toward something she rarely witnessed—a momentary vulnerability quickly masked behind practiced nonchalance. "Some journeys permit no companions, regardless of desire or capability," he replied, the cryptic response somehow conveying genuine regret despite its deliberate ambiguity.
His eyes briefly flickered toward the pocket containing the strange parchment, the unconscious gesture suggesting connection between the mysterious script and his eventual departure that he couldn't—or wouldn't—explain directly.
Without fully considering the implications, Jane extended her hand across the table, palm upward in unmistakable invitation. "If I extend my hand," she asked with quiet intensity, "would you take it regardless of whatever impossibilities surround you?"
The directness of both gesture and question momentarily silenced Bobby, surprise briefly displacing his usual sardonic mask. His gaze shifted from her outstretched hand to her face, assessing with that peculiar intensity that always suggested he perceived far more than merely physical appearance.
After what felt like eternity condensed into heartbeats, Bobby gently placed his hand in hers. His palm felt unexpectedly warm against her fingers, the contact sending pleasant sensation spreading up her arm despite its innocuous nature.
"Robert," she whispered, testing his given name with unusual intimacy before repeating more clearly: "Robert."
The sound hung between them, transforming their typically formal interaction into something more personal that transcended courtly protocols or philosophical discussions. Jane felt unexpected boldness infusing her words despite her lifelong training in proper decorum.
"I am no longer queen," she stated simply, her voice steady despite her quickening pulse. "And my betrothal to Guilford has been formally annulled following Northumberland's disgrace. I wish to join my hand with yours."
Her words deliberately echoed his own statement months earlier when she had been England's crowned sovereign. "Like you said when I wore the crown—'perhaps when circumstances have shifted beyond current limitations, our hands might join in ways currently impossible.'"
Bobby's expression shifted from surprise toward something approaching genuine amusement mingled with unexpected tenderness. "What exactly do you see in me, Jane Grey?" he asked, his thumb tracing small circles against her palm that sent pleasant shivers along her spine despite the gesture's innocuous appearance.
Jane met his gaze steadily, her scholarly precision finding unexpected application in matters of the heart. "I see Robert Kestrel," she answered simply. "The man who opened my eyes to possibilities beyond predetermined paths. Who saw my mind rather than merely my lineage or political utility." Her voice softened slightly despite her maintained composure. "Who set me free from constraints I hadn't even recognized imprisoned me."
Something flickered across Bobby's features—recognition mingled with appreciation that transcended his typical sardonic detachment. Jane continued with unusual boldness: "Perhaps someday I might help set you free as well, from whatever constraints bind you despite your extraordinary capabilities."
The observation landed with unexpected precision, causing momentary widening of Bobby's eyes that suggested she had somehow identified fundamental truth despite her limited understanding regarding his actual circumstances. His hand tightened briefly around hers, the subtle reaction revealing more than his carefully controlled expressions typically permitted.
"I would like to say yes," Bobby replied after considerable pause, genuine regret coloring his tone despite the diplomatic phrasing. "But..."
His hesitation spoke volumes—considerations beyond merely practical constraints or conventional status distinctions. Jane watched complex emotions flicker across features typically guarded against revealing genuine vulnerability.
"You're concerned about others," she suggested with perceptive insight that surprised even herself. "Elizabeth. Perhaps Queen Mary as well, despite her public animosity towards your influence."
Bobby's expression confirmed her assessment despite his maintained composure. "Among others," he acknowledged with unusual directness. "Relationships prove considerably more complex than scholarly texts typically suggest."
Jane nodded, surprising herself with small smile despite the potentially painful acknowledgment. "I know about Lady Howard," she admitted with frankness that temporarily displaced proper decorum. "And the Countess of Bedford. And others whose names occasionally surface in court gossip despite attempts at discretion."
When Bobby appeared momentarily taken aback by her direct acknowledgment, Jane continued with unusual boldness defying her typically reserved demeanor.
"I know I'm being selfish," she admitted, her fingers still entwined with his despite this potentially uncomfortable revelation. "Wanting exclusive claim when you've clearly established multiple connections. But perhaps I'm entitled to selfishness at least once after lifetime spent fulfilling others' expectations rather than pursuing personal desires."
She looked down at their joined hands, gathering courage before meeting his gaze once more with unexpected determination. "I'm fifteen years old, considered ready for marriage and motherhood according to current customs. Yet everyone treats my feelings as childish fancy rather than genuine emotion merely because of my age."
Her chin lifted slightly in gesture that echoed her brief royal bearing despite her current diminished status. "I know exactly what I want, Robert Kestrel. The question remains whether you possess similar certainty despite your considerably greater age and experience."
Bobby studied her with renewed intensity, something approaching genuine admiration briefly displacing his usual calculated assessment. "Your direct question deserves equally direct answer," he acknowledged, his thumb continuing its gentle circles against her palm despite the conversation's increasing complexity.
"Without restraint," he continued with unusual candor, "I would have done things during your reign that would have utterly appalled the court and possibly compromised your authority despite my best intentions."
The implication registered immediately despite his relatively diplomatic phrasing. Jane felt heat flooding her cheeks at the sexual undertones, yet she maintained his gaze despite her evident embarrassment.
"That's rather vulgar," she whispered, though her fingers remained firmly entwined with his despite the potentially scandalous acknowledgment.
Bobby's lips quirked into hint of smile at her contradictory response. "Reality often appears vulgar compared to philosophical ideals," he observed with characteristic sardonic assessment. "Though vulgarity occasionally contains genuine truths philosophy neglects through excessive abstraction."
Jane took deep breath, calming her fluttering pulse despite the conversation's unprecedented territory. "There were times," she admitted with unexpected frankness, "when I wished to abandon all restraint myself. During our philosophical discussions at Whitehaven, when royal responsibilities seemed temporarily distant..."
She trailed off, momentarily overwhelmed by the admission's boldness despite her scholarly composure. "It would have been entirely wrong according to every standard of proper behavior," she eventually continued, her voice barely above whisper. "Yet it would have felt entirely right despite conventional impropriety."
Bobby studied her with that peculiar intensity that always suggested he perceived far more than merely surface presentation. "The eternal conflict between social expectation and personal desire," he observed, though the philosophical framing carried unexpected warmth rather than merely analytical detachment.
His free hand unconsciously moved to touch the pocket containing the mysterious parchment, the gesture suggesting connection between whatever secrets it contained and the boundaries he maintained despite evident affection.
"I should return to my chambers soon," Jane acknowledged reluctantly, practicality temporarily overriding her desire to extend this unprecedented interaction indefinitely. "Morning council approaches regardless of evening philosophical diversions."
Bobby nodded, though his fingers remained entwined with hers despite this practical observation. "The eternal conflict between desire and responsibility," he observed with characteristic philosophical framing, though warmth underlying the statement suggested personal understanding rather than merely abstract assessment.
"Would you care to accompany me back to my chambers?" she asked with surprising boldness despite her typically reserved demeanor. "You could help me select which volume to read before sleep claims me."
The question contained layers of potential meaning despite its outwardly innocent phrasing. Bobby studied her with that perceptive gaze that always suggested he recognized far more than merely surface presentation.
"That would be my pleasure," he replied with similar careful phrasing that nevertheless created immediate acceleration of Jane's pulse.
As Bobby extinguished the candle with casual gesture, Jane rose from her chair with surprising steadiness considering her internal turmoil. Their hands remained joined as they moved between towering bookshelves, Bobby pausing briefly to retrieve the volume of Aristotle she'd originally sought.
The palace corridors stood empty at this late hour save for occasional guard maintaining discreet position at strategic junctions. Bobby nodded acknowledgment toward these sentries with casual familiarity suggesting comprehensive awareness regarding security arrangements despite his technically civilian status within Greenwich's complex hierarchy.
Jane's chambers occupied eastern wing of the palace—reasonable accommodations reflecting her council position rather than the royal apartments she'd briefly inhabited during her nine-day reign. The distance from library provided several minutes' walk through moonlit corridors, their footsteps echoing softly against ancient stone as they proceeded in companionable silence that somehow conveyed more than extensive conversation might have achieved.
When they reached her chamber door, Jane hesitated momentarily, suddenly uncertain despite her earlier boldness now that potential turning point had actually materialized. Bobby studied her with that peculiar intensity that always suggested he perceived far more than merely surface presentation.
"I can simply bid you goodnight," he offered quietly, creating space for her preference rather than presuming specific outcome despite the charged atmosphere between them.
Jane appreciated this characteristic respect for her agency—consistently treating her choices as genuinely significant rather than merely indulging childish whims or manipulating predictable reactions. The consideration paradoxically strengthened her resolve rather than encouraging retreat toward safer conventional interaction.s
"Or you could come inside," she suggested with surprising steadiness despite her racing pulse and the statement's unprecedented boldness from someone typically characterized by scholarly reserve. "I'd appreciate your insights regarding which passages most warrant attention before yo... sleep claims me."
Before Bobby could answer, the chamber door swung open from inside. Margaret stood in the doorway, her expression betraying only momentary surprise at finding Jane accompanied by Viscount Kestrel at this late hour.
"My lady," she greeted Jane with a respectful curtsy, then acknowledged Bobby with equal formality. "Lord Kestrel. I was beginning to worry when you didn't return from the library."
Jane's gaze shifted between Margaret and Bobby, a subtle change coming over her features as understanding dawned. Her chin lifted slightly, a gesture Bobby had come to recognize as her preparing to make a direct statement despite her typically cautious nature.
"How convenient that you happened to be awake and waiting," she observed, her tone carrying an edge rarely present in her typically measured speech. "One might almost suspect arrangement rather than coincidence."
Bobby's eyebrows rose slightly at the unexpected accusation, though amusement flickered in his eyes rather than offense.
"Do you not see me as a woman, Robert?" Jane asked directly, using his given name with deliberate intimacy despite Margaret's presence. "Or do you merely pretend not to notice while ensuring convenient interruptions whenever possibility arises?"
Margaret's expression remained carefully neutral despite the increasingly personal nature of the exchange occurring in her presence. Bobby considered Jane's direct question with surprising seriousness given its borderline impropriety.
"I see Jane Grey," he replied after a moment's consideration, "who is and will be a wonderful person in her own right." His gaze held hers steadily, neither patronizing nor dismissive despite her youth. "A remarkable mind housed in a body not yet fully mature, still growing toward its eventual form."
The statement, while technically accurate, carried unmistakably vulgar implications in the current context. Margaret coughed discreetly, her eyes briefly dropping to the floor as though suddenly finding the carpet pattern extraordinarily interesting.
"Margaret remains your attendant, not Queen Jane's," Bobby continued with casual precision that acknowledged her changed status while emphasizing the continuous personal protection. "Her presence reflects her duties rather than deliberate obstruction."
Jane's expression softened slightly at this direct acknowledgment, though determination remained visible in the set of her jaw. "If you continue delaying," she stated with unexpected boldness, "I fear I might not be able to stop myself."
Bobby's lips curved into a smile that combined genuine amusement with unexpected warmth. "I would welcome such initiative," he replied, his tone carrying suggestion entirely inappropriate for conversation with fifteen-year-old former queen regardless of her evident maturity.
Before he could complete whatever additional observation might have followed, Jane rose onto her tiptoes and pressed her lips directly against his. The kiss—clearly her first based on its awkward execution—lasted only a moment, yet contained unmistakable intent despite its technical imperfection.
Margaret coughed again, more forcefully this time, her expression suggesting she suddenly felt extraordinarily out of place despite her professional composure. "Perhaps I should attend to... something else?" she suggested with diplomatic vagueness that barely disguised her discomfort.
"No," Jane stated firmly as she stepped back from Bobby, her cheeks flushed despite her maintained dignity. She moved past Margaret into her chamber, pausing at the threshold to look back over her shoulder. "That was something for you to contemplate, Robert," she added with unexpected confidence despite her evident inexperience. "Good night."
The door closed behind her with quiet finality, leaving Bobby and Margaret alone in the corridor. Moonlight streamed through nearby windows, casting long shadows across ancient stone as they stood in silence for several heartbeats.
"I could simply take it," Bobby observed with casual tone belying the statement's extraordinary implications. His gaze remained fixed on Jane's closed door as he spoke, seemingly addressing himself rather than Margaret. "Walk through that door and allow impulse to override caution despite potential consequences."
"Lady Jane remains fifteen years old," Margaret reminded him quietly, her voice carrying subtle emphasis despite her outwardly respectful tone. "Too young, regardless of her evident maturity or position."
Bobby nodded, acceptance rather than merely acknowledgment. "Quite right," he agreed, temporary vulnerability shifting back toward his more typical sardonic assessment. "Though you and others cannot always be present to maintain protective watch."
A soft giggle emanated from behind the closed door—Jane clearly listening to their conversation despite the supposed privacy of corridor discussion. Margaret's lips pressed into thin line despite her maintained professional demeanor.
"I will attempt protecting Lady Jane's innocence from all who might desire claiming it," she stated with quiet determination that included Bobby within her protective mandate despite his technical authority over her position. "Including those whose intentions might contain genuine affection alongside less noble impulses."
Bobby inclined his head, acknowledging defeat with surprising grace given his typically uncompromising approach to obstacles. "Well played, Margaret," he conceded with genuine respect rather than merely formal courtesy. "Lady Jane's welfare benefits from your vigilance, regardless who might find such protection occasionally frustrating."
He turned away from Jane's door, his expression shifting back toward the carefully controlled mask he typically presented in public settings. "Good night, Jane Grey," he called, loud enough to be heard through the heavy oak door. "Sleep well and dream of possibilities beyond current limitations."
Another stifled giggle confirmed Jane's continued eavesdropping despite the conversation's supposed conclusion. Bobby's lips twitched with suppressed smile as he moved away from her chambers, Margaret falling into step beside him with professional precision that nevertheless contained subtle vigilance regarding his movements.
Another stifled giggle confirmed Jane's continued eavesdropping despite the conversation's supposed conclusion. Bobby's lips twitched with suppressed smile as he moved away from her chambers, Margaret falling into step beside him with professional precision that nevertheless contained subtle vigilance regarding his movements.
They walked in silence through Greenwich Palace's moonlit corridors. The March air carried a hint of spring, whispering through narrow windows that overlooked the Thames. Servants had long retired, leaving the halls eerily quiet except for their echoing footsteps against worn stone.
"That was quite bold of her," Margaret finally remarked as they reached suitable distance from Jane's chambers.
Bobby ran his fingers through his dark hair, lips curving into a half-smile. "Lady Jane continues developing in unexpected ways. Only months ago, she would have died of embarrassment at such impropriety."
Margaret's lips pressed into a thin line. "She is in love with you. If not, she believes it herself."
"Love." Bobby tested the word like a foreign concept. "Such an inadequate term for something so devastatingly complex."
They passed two guards who immediately straightened their postures upon seeing Bobby approach. He acknowledged them with casual nod that nonetheless commanded instant respect. The men's eyes followed him with mixed awe and wariness as he continued toward the eastern wing.
"I forgot to tell Jane that I'll be leaving the council soon," Bobby said abruptly as they descended a narrow staircase.
Margaret stumbled slightly, catching herself against the rough stone wall. "Leaving? But you've only just established the new governance framework."
"And it will function perfectly well without my continued presence." Bobby's voice echoed in the stairwell. "The council structure is sound. Cecil provides administrative expertise. Elizabeth offers political instinct. Jane contributes scholarly perspective. Mary receives appropriate recognition while institutional limitations prevent religious persecution."
He paused on the landing, moonlight streaming through a high window casting dramatic shadows across his features. "It's better for England's people to dictate their own future from this point forward. Whatever outcomes emerge will be their responsibility, not mine."
"And where will you go?" Margaret asked.
"Whitehaven," Bobby replied, continuing down the stairs. "I'd rather tend my gardens and watch the children play, regardless of their birth."
His voice softened almost imperceptibly at the mention of children. Margaret caught the subtle change, her eyes studying him with renewed attention.
"And what of us?" she asked quietly as they reached the bottom of the staircase. "What becomes of those you... restored... when you're gone?"
Bobby's steps faltered momentarily—an almost imperceptible hesitation that would have been invisible to anyone less attentive than Margaret. She didn't mean his departure from the council.
"Each of you has a directive to follow," he explained, leading her toward a small chamber he'd claimed as private study. "In your case, protecting Jane until your final breath—unless you have other wishes."
Margaret considered this as they entered the sparsely furnished room. Unlike the opulent spaces favored by nobles seeking to display their status, Bobby's study contained only a desk, several chairs, and walls lined with maps and documents. He lit a single candle with practiced motion, the flame casting long shadows across the utilitarian space.
"I wish to see her happiness," Margaret finally answered. "Above all else. These months in her service have shown me the wonderful person she truly is, beyond her title or bloodline."
Bobby nodded, settling behind the desk. "Then continue protecting her happiness rather than merely her physical safety. The distinction matters considerably."
He retrieved the strange parchment from his pocket, spreading it carefully across the desk. The symbols appeared to shift in the candlelight—complex mathematical formulas unlike any human language, arranged in patterns that seemed to contain movement despite their static nature.
"Many will not take your departure well," Margaret observed, remaining near the doorway. "Perhaps even violently."
Her statement referred not to his council resignation but his eventual permanent disappearance—the women who would find themselves abandoned without explanation when quantum displacement finally claimed him.
Bobby smirked, amusement flickering across his features. "I've faced worse than disappointed Tudor noblewomen."
His fingers traced the alien script with practiced familiarity. "Everyone is unique in their own way, but of all the women I've enjoyed, entertained, connected with... Elizabeth and Jane stand out."
The candle flame wavered, sending shadows dancing across his face as his expression softened unexpectedly. "Perhaps Jane most of all, due to her innocence yet remarkably mature outlook. There's something about her that reminds me of—" He stopped abruptly, fingers stilling over the parchment.
Margaret recognized the unspoken name. Galea. The woman whose memory shaped much of what Bobby did, consciously or not. She'd caught glimpses of this knowledge during her resurrection, fragments of information embedded in her reconstructed consciousness.
"She has her scholarly intensity," Margaret offered carefully. "Her genuine curiosity about knowledge for its own sake, not merely as tool for advancement."
Bobby's gaze snapped up, momentary surprise crossing his features before his expression settled back into careful neutrality. He didn't acknowledge her reference but continued tracing the parchment's strange symbols.
"I only have a couple of years left before displacement inevitably occurs," he murmured, seemingly speaking to himself. "I've done what I can in this timeline from the moment Elizabeth forced me into action."
The mathematical language flowing across the parchment contained messages only someone with extraordinary mental capabilities could comprehend—perhaps intended for the "young mistress" Margaret had glimpsed in fragmented memories during her resurrection. Eden.
"In all honesty, it's been fun," Bobby continued, his voice taking on an unusual edge. "Unlike countless other displacements where I essentially did nothing until the next shift, I've built quite a presence here, with countless connections." He folded the parchment with precise movements. "Connections I'll have to say goodbye to."
Margaret noted how the candlelight caught the subtle lines around his eyes—the only visible signs of weariness in his otherwise flawless features. Weariness not from physical exhaustion but the emotional toll of forming connections he knew were temporary.
"Will you tell Jane?" she asked. "About your inevitable departure?"
"Eventually," Bobby replied, securing the parchment in his doublet. "Though the explanation will necessarily remain incomplete."
Margaret hesitated before asking her next question. "And will you... become intimate with her before you go?"
Bobby's gaze sharpened, fixing Margaret with sudden intensity. "What makes you think I haven't already?"
"I've never left her unattended in your presence," Margaret replied evenly, unflinching despite his penetrating stare. "And contrary to court rumors suggesting you possess supernatural abilities, I doubt even you could seduce and bed a virgin royal in the thirty seconds it takes me to fetch her evening tea."
The statement surprised a genuine laugh from Bobby—a rare sound that briefly transformed his features into something almost youthful despite his usual worldly detachment.
"Fair assessment," he conceded, standing from the desk. "Though it's not merely your vigilance that has prevented such occurrence."
Margaret tilted her head questioningly.
"Jane deserves better than becoming merely another conquest before my inevitable departure," Bobby explained, his tone unexpectedly gentle. "Her first experience should be with someone who remains present for subsequent chapters, not merely prologue."
He moved toward the window, gazing out at the moonlit Thames below. "Though I must admit, the temptation proves increasingly difficult to resist as she grows more... assertive in her interests."
Margaret studied him carefully, noting the subtle tension in his shoulders. "Particularly when she shares certain qualities with someone you've lost."
Bobby didn't respond directly, but his hand moved unconsciously toward his chest, where Margaret knew he kept a medallion hidden beneath his doublet—a connection to the woman and child from his distant past.
"The royal women of this era prove remarkably resilient despite their apparent vulnerability," he observed, changing the subject with practiced smoothness. "Mary offering herself as transaction with surprising directness. Elizabeth developing increasingly vivid dreams regarding activities she's never experienced. And now Jane initiating physical contact despite her scholarly reserve."
He turned back toward Margaret. "All three Tudor women, each approaching connection through entirely different methodology, yet each demonstrating extraordinary capability within their particular framework."
"And all three developing attachment to you," Margaret noted. "Though through quite different paths."
Bobby's expression darkened momentarily. "Attachments I'll inevitably sever through my departure. Mary will likely feel relief given her primary interest remains pragmatic alliance rather than genuine connection. Elizabeth will experience momentary anger followed by calculated adaptation toward alternative resources. Jane..." He hesitated, genuine regret briefly crossing his features. "Jane will suffer most given her genuine emotional investment."
"Which explains your reluctance to deepen physical intimacy despite her increasingly explicit invitations," Margaret concluded.
This observation earned a sardonic smile. "The infamous Robert Kestrel demonstrating restraint. A development that would shock half of London's noble households given my supposed conquests throughout their ranks."
"Not all your reputation is exaggerated," Margaret observed dryly.
Bobby shrugged, unapologetic. "Physical connection provides meaningful dimension to human experience. I've enjoyed numerous such connections throughout my time here—all consensual, all mutually beneficial—yet maintained certain boundaries regarding particular individuals whose circumstances warrant special consideration."
His gaze returned to the window, though Margaret suspected he saw something beyond the moonlit Thames. "Jane's eventual introduction to physical intimacy should involve someone capable of genuine emotional reciprocity beyond temporary arrangement," he continued softly. "My departure remains inevitable regardless of emotional attachments formed in this timeline."
"Yet you continue encouraging her scholarly development and political participation despite knowing you'll eventually abandon these efforts," Margaret noted.
Bobby's expression hardened slightly. "Those contributions remain valuable regardless of my continued presence. Her intellectual capabilities serve England's governance effectively through council participation. Her religious tolerance policies provide essential counterbalance to Mary's Catholic absolutism. Her educational initiatives create framework for expanded scholarly access exceeding traditional limitations."
He turned from the window, his typical sardonic mask returning. "My departure will disrupt certain personal connections without negating broader institutional contributions already implemented."
The candle guttered briefly, sending shadows dancing across the sparse chamber. Margaret recognized the rationalization beneath Bobby's explanation—his attempt to justify actions that would inevitably hurt those who had formed genuine attachment to him despite knowing better.
"I should return to my chambers," Bobby stated, moving toward the door. "Morning council approaches regardless of evening philosophical diversions." He repeated Jane's earlier words with subtle mockery.
As Margaret moved to open the door, Bobby paused, his expression growing distant once more. "I will surely miss her..."
Margaret couldn't determine whether he referred to Jane specifically or someone else entirely—perhaps the lost Galea whose memory seemed to influence his interactions with the young former queen.
They parted ways in the main corridor, Margaret returning toward Jane's chambers while Bobby continued toward his own apartments in the guest wing. As he walked, his hand occasionally drifted to the pocket containing the strange parchment, fingers tapping lightly against the hidden document as though confirming its continued presence.
Left alone in the corridor, he allowed his carefully maintained expression to slip momentarily—revealing genuine conflict beneath his typically controlled exterior. His attraction to Jane had developed far beyond merely affection despite his best attempts at maintaining appropriate connection. The combination of her remarkable intellect, her surprising boldness, and certain qualities reminiscent of Galea created dangerous emotional territory.
"Fuck," he whispered to the empty corridor, the crude expression carrying multiple layers of frustration extending beyond mere sexual tension. His hand moved unconsciously to the medallion hidden beneath his doublet, fingers tracing its familiar contours with practiced motion that provided minimal comfort during increasingly frequent moments of unexpected emotional vulnerability.