Chapter Text
The wind howled like a wounded beast against the high stone walls of the Locksley estate. Outside, the storm battered the kingdom, but the true chaos was unfolding in the corridor of the east wing.
The son of the legend, Lord Robert, paced back and forth. His claws clicked against the polished oak floor, a constant, anxious sound that rivaled the thunder. Unlike his father, the famous Robin Hood, he was no man of the woods; he wore fine silks and carried the weight of the aristocracy on his shoulders. But tonight, all his icy composure had crumbled.
On the other side of the heavy oak door, his wife screamed.
It had been a marriage of convenience, dictated by the crown and blood alliances. Lady Isolde was a northern fox, with pale fur and an alarmingly fragile build. At first, they barely exchanged a word. Yet, in recent months, stolen glances over dinner and timid smiles in the gardens had ignited a spark he never thought he would feel. He was beginning to love her. And now, he felt her slipping through his claws.
A clap of thunder shook the castle's foundations, making the torchlight flicker. And then... silence.
Seconds later, the sharp cry of a newborn broke the tension. Robert let out a trembling sigh, resting his forehead against the wall. But before he could even smile, a second cry, much weaker, joined the first.
The door creaked open. The old midwife stepped out, her hands stained with blood, her apron ruined, and her eyes cast down. The metallic scent of iron and tragedy flooded the hall.
"My lord..." the woman murmured, her voice breaking. "The gods have granted you two sons."
He tried to step forward, tried to ask about her, but the old woman's gaze stopped him dead in his tracks.
"My lady fought with the strength of a lioness, but... her body was too fragile to bring two kits into this world. I am so sorry, my lord. She is gone."
Robert's world stopped. The coldness he had always cultivated to survive in court seized his heart, but this time, it froze over any trace of the warmth Isolde had begun to awaken in him.
He entered the room with mechanical steps. The candlelight illuminated his wife's lifeless face, pale and serene against the soaked sheets. Beside the bed, a young nursemaid named Bess held two small, blanket-wrapped bundles.
Lord Robert approached. His eyes, empty and hardened, fell upon the kits. He took the first, the larger one, who was kicking vigorously. The firstborn. The future heir to the Locksley lineage.
Then he looked at the second bundle. He was smaller, with a redder coat, crying out for the warmth of a mother who was no longer there. To Robert, this tiny fox was not a son; he was the price he had been forced to pay. He was the murderer of his beloved Isolde.
"My lord... what names shall they bear?" Bess asked, trembling under the fox's terrifying expression.
Robert pulled the firstborn tight against his chest and turned his back on the second baby.
"This is Edward, my heir," he said, his voice turning the room to ice. "As for the other... take him away from here, Bess. Feed him, clothe him, do what you must, but keep him out of my sight. I do not want to see him."
"But, my lord... he is your blood..."
"I said take him away!" he roared, echoing a clap of thunder outside. "Only one son was born today."
Terrified, Bess clutched the little red fox to her chest, lowered her eyes, and backed away into the shadows of the room. Outside, the storm raged on, welcoming into the world a prince who, from his very first breath, had already been forgotten.