Rain hammered against the leaded glass windows of Greenwich Palace as Mary Tudor paced across her private council chamber. Her rich burgundy gown swished angrily with each step, the heavy Tudor pendant around her neck swinging like a pendulum counting down her patience.
"You've effectively neutered the crown," she snapped at Bobby Kestrel, who sat calmly in a chair by the fireplace, watching her with mild amusement. "Every decision—every single decision—must pass through a council you structured. A council populated by moderates who resist my attempts to restore England to the true faith!"
Bobby sipped from a goblet of wine, seemingly unperturbed by the Queen's mounting fury. "The council represents diverse interests within the realm," he replied. "Including Catholic voices sympathetic to your objectives."
Mary spun toward him, eyes flashing. "Three! Three voices among thirteen! And even they hesitate to support my more ambitious reforms." She slammed her palm against the table. "You've arranged this deliberately to frustrate my every move."
"The arrangement prevents extreme measures from either religious faction," Bobby observed, setting down his wine. "Stability serves England's interests far better than rapid oscillation between Protestant and Catholic extremes."
Mary's lips thinned to a tight line. "You mean it serves your interests."
"Our interests align more closely than you acknowledge, Your Majesty." Bobby's expression remained placid despite her evident rage. "Spain's involvement would have triggered Protestant rebellion within months. The current framework offers gradual restoration without civil war."
"Gradual!" Mary spat the word like a curse. "Three months, and I've barely managed to restore the Latin Mass in the royal chapel. At this rate, I'll be dead before England returns fully to Rome!"
Bobby studied her with those unnervingly perceptive eyes that seemed to see straight through her royal persona. "Your frustration is understandable," he acknowledged. "Though I note the council approved your petition regarding Catholic education in Oxford last week."
"After three revisions and watering down every meaningful provision!" Mary resumed her pacing, skirts swirling around her ankles. "You've constructed a prison of procedure around me while maintaining the illusion of royal authority."
"Would you prefer I had allowed Northumberland's scheme to proceed?" Bobby asked mildly. "Lady Jane proved a most malleable queen for his Protestant ambitions."
Mary whirled to face him. "You supported me only to betray me the moment victory was achieved! You delivered the crown with one hand while binding it with the other." Her voice dropped dangerously. "My father would have had you executed for such manipulation."
"Your father executed people for far less," Bobby agreed with a slight smile. "Though I suspect he might have appreciated the elegant balance the current system achieves."
Mary's eyes narrowed. "You never intended to give me true power."
"I intended to ensure English sovereignty without Spanish domination while providing you the crown that is rightfully yours," Bobby corrected. "Both objectives have been accomplished."
"At the cost of my actual authority!" Mary moved closer, towering over him as he remained seated. "You've reduced me to a figurehead in my own realm!"
Bobby looked up at her without rising, apparently unconcerned by her looming presence. "Would you exchange your limited authority for Jane's current position? Or perhaps Elizabeth's?"
The implicit threat hung between them. Bobby had protected both women from the traditional fate of failed claimants—an arrangement Mary had reluctantly accepted during their initial negotiations.
Mary's lips curled. "How cleverly you've positioned your three Tudor women—one on the throne, two on the council, all neatly balanced against each other."
"I merely created conditions allowing all three to contribute according to their capabilities," Bobby replied. "A waste of valuable resources benefits no one."
"And you control all three," Mary accused. "Through bedchamber politics even my father would have found impressive."
Bobby's expression remained unchanged, neither confirming nor denying the implication. "The arrangement functions well regardless of your theories about my personal relationships."
Mary's frustration peaked. She seized the heavy wine decanter from the table and hurled it against the stone fireplace, where it shattered spectacularly. Dark red liquid splashed across the hearth like blood, dripping down the masonry in crimson rivulets.
"I hate you," she hissed, her composure finally shattering. "I hate what you've done to my reign, to my authority. I hate how you've manipulated everything from that battle in East Anglia to this council you've constructed around me. I hate how everyone—Protestant and Catholic alike—defers to your judgment as though you possess divine wisdom!"
Bobby watched her outburst with the same mild interest he might show toward a moderately engaging theatrical performance. "Your feelings are noted, Your Majesty."
His calm acknowledgment only fueled Mary's rage further. "The Spanish ambassador says you're either an angel or demon. I know precisely which you are, Kestrel. No angel would constrain a Catholic queen's efforts to restore England to the true faith."
"Perhaps no angel would," Bobby agreed pleasantly. "Though I imagine no demon would have prevented Northumberland's men from using you for target practice after capturing you at Framlingham."
Mary clenched her fists, remembering how Bobby's warning had allowed her to evade Northumberland's assassins sent to "assess the castle's defenses" during the early days of her rebellion. Another debt she owed him, another thread in the complex web he'd woven around her.
"I should have you arrested," she threatened. "The Tower would make a fitting home for a man of your... ambiguous loyalties."
"You could certainly try," Bobby replied, his tone suggesting mild curiosity rather than concern. Then he sighed dramatically. "I will miss these conversations when I'm gone. They've been quite... stimulating."
Mary paused mid-stride. "Gone?"
Bobby nodded, rising from his chair with fluid grace. "I'm withdrawing from active council participation after today's session. Whitehaven requires my attention."
"You're abandoning the council?" Mary couldn't mask her surprise. "After constructing this entire system?"
"The system functions independently now," Bobby explained, straightening his doublet. "My continued presence has become unnecessary."
Mary studied him skeptically. "You expect me to believe you'll simply retire to your estate and tend your experimental gardens while I systematically dismantle everything you've built?"
"I expect you'll act in England's best interests," Bobby replied. "As will the council."
Mary scoffed. "Without you present to orchestrate their decisions, I'll simply overrule them on matters of importance."
"You could," Bobby acknowledged. "Though I doubt you will."
"And why is that?" Mary demanded.
Bobby moved toward the window, observing the rain-soaked courtyard below. "Because contrary to your frequent assertions regarding my demonic nature, you are neither irrational nor surrounded by irrational people. The council members understand England's needs—security, prosperity, stability—even when their religious convictions differ from yours."
"You overestimate their commitment to my vision for England," Mary countered.
"Perhaps," Bobby conceded. "Or perhaps I correctly estimate your commitment to England itself, beyond theological concerns."
Mary's expression hardened. "Without you present to protect her, I could still have Jane Grey executed for treason. Her trial transcript remains sealed rather than formally dismissed. A simple order would suffice."
Bobby turned from the window, studying her with sudden intensity that made Mary unconsciously step backward. "You could," he agreed, his voice dangerously soft. "Though it would prove extraordinarily unwise."
"Is that a threat, Lord Kestrel?" Mary asked, forcing steel into her voice.
"Merely an observation," Bobby replied. "Jane Grey has proven herself an exceptional councilwoman, particularly regarding educational reforms and financial innovation. Her execution would deprive England of considerable talent while accomplishing nothing beyond satisfying momentary spite."
He stepped closer, continuing before Mary could interrupt. "Additionally, you formally pardoned her for Northumberland's machinations in your coronation proclamation. Reversing that decision would raise uncomfortable questions about royal consistency and mercy."
"A queen may change her mind," Mary insisted, though with less conviction than before.
"Indeed," Bobby agreed. "Though a queen known for capricious reversal of formal proclamations soon discovers her word devalued in diplomatic circles." He paused meaningfully. "I believe you're currently negotiating with the Portuguese regarding trade concessions?"
Mary's jaw tightened at this reminder of ongoing negotiations that depended heavily on royal credibility. "You've considered every angle, haven't you?"
"It's a personal failing," Bobby admitted with mock contrition. "I find myself unable to resist thinking things through."
Mary studied him thoughtfully, her tactical mind shifting to a new approach. "Perhaps I should simply make you Lord Protector. Keep you formally bound to court while ensuring your talents remain exclusively in service to the crown."
Bobby laughed outright at this suggestion. "An interesting proposition. Though I suspect you'd quickly regret it."
"Because you'd use the position to further limit my authority?" Mary challenged.
"Or because I'd execute the role with such exceptional efficiency that your own contributions would seem unnecessary by comparison," Bobby countered smoothly. "Either outcome seems problematic from your perspective."
Mary stared at him for a long moment, weighing options and recognizing the truth in his assessment. Without Bobby actively participating in council deliberations, she would gain flexibility to pursue her own agenda—albeit still constrained by the institutional framework he'd established. With him formally integrated into governance, she'd face either constant frustration or growing irrelevance.
"You've constructed quite the political labyrinth," Mary finally acknowledged. "One where every path leads to outcomes you've predetermined."
"I prefer to think of it as a garden," Bobby replied. "Various elements carefully positioned to create a balanced ecosystem that flourishes with minimal intervention."
Mary moved to the window, watching courtiers hurry across the rain-swept courtyard below. "The council's power remains unprecedented," she mused. "Yet without your direct influence, I may find more flexibility in navigating their objections."
"A reasonable assessment," Bobby agreed.
Mary turned back to face him, her expression thoughtful. "You're an extraordinary man, Lord Kestrel. Angel or devil, I cannot decide. But you've served England well, even while restraining my personal authority."
She moved closer, studying him with newfound curiosity. "Strange as it seems, I believe you've had my interests at heart as well, even while opposing my more ambitious religious plans."
"Stability serves everyone's interests," Bobby said simply. "Including yours, regardless of our theological disagreements. A queen who keeps her head during tumultuous times tends to maintain it in the literal sense as well."
Mary's lips twitched involuntarily at this observation. "I find myself almost sorry to see you withdraw from court, despite everything." She paused, her expression softening slightly. "Perhaps I shall visit Whitehaven someday. I've heard remarkable things about your innovations there."
"Whitehaven welcomes you whenever you wish, Your Majesty," Bobby replied with a formal bow. "Its gardens and workshops remain at your disposal."
Mary moved toward the door, preparing to depart for the council session. "Whatever your true nature, Lord Kestrel, I find myself grateful you chose England as your... project. God alone knows what state we might be in otherwise."
"No doubt exactly as He intended," Bobby replied with practiced piety that didn't quite reach his eyes.
Mary afforded him a skeptical glance before departing, her burgundy skirts sweeping behind her like a royal standard into battle.
--------
The council chamber hummed with low conversation as Bobby took his customary seat near the oak table's center. The thirteen members fell silent as Queen Mary entered, all rising respectfully until she took her place at the head.
"We have considerable business to address," Mary announced without preamble. "Beginning with Norfolk's petition regarding coastal defenses."
The next three hours proceeded with methodical efficiency. Maps were unfurled, documents examined, arguments presented and countered with the practiced rhythm of a system that had been functioning effectively despite its unprecedented nature. Throughout the proceedings, Bobby spoke little, offering guidance only when directly consulted.
Elizabeth Tudor observed this restraint with interest from her position opposite him. Her copper hair gleamed in the chamber's filtered light, her sharp eyes missing nothing. When Bobby caught her glance, she inclined her head slightly, a question in her expression that he answered with an equally subtle nod.
Jane Grey, seated farther down the table, maintained perfect focus on each discussion despite her youth, occasionally offering precise observations that displayed her extraordinary intellect. Only when William Cecil referred to "Lord Kestrel's upcoming departure from regular council service" did her composure momentarily falter, her quill pausing mid-notation as she glanced up with poorly concealed distress.
As the session concluded, Mary rose with uncharacteristic abruptness. "Lord Kestrel has announced his intention to withdraw from active council participation following today's meeting," she stated, surprising those who hadn't yet heard. "The crown acknowledges his exceptional service and grants him leave to attend to his personal interests at Whitehaven."
The formal dismissal completed, council members gathered their papers while casting curious glances toward Bobby. One by one, they approached to offer private farewells.
William Cecil came first, his shrewd eyes studying Bobby with characteristic calculation. "Your withdrawal seems precipitous," he observed quietly. "Though I suspect not unplanned."
"The system requires independence to flourish," Bobby replied. "My continued presence creates unnecessary dependency."
Cecil nodded thoughtfully. "Your educational initiatives at Whitehaven deserve wider implementation. Perhaps you might prepare recommendations for the council's consideration?"
"Documentation will reach you within the fortnight," Bobby assured him.
After Cecil departed, the Earl of Bedford approached with less subtlety. "Returning to Whitehaven permanently, Kestrel? Or might we expect your occasional presence at court functions?"
"I remain available when circumstances warrant," Bobby responded diplomatically, fully aware of the Earl's suspected knowledge regarding his wife's occasional visits to Bobby's London residence.
One by one, the council members offered their farewells with varying degrees of complexity. Archbishop Cranmer expressed hope that Bobby's withdrawal wouldn't diminish religious tolerance within the council's deliberations. Lord Howard (not the dead one) inquired discreetly about continuing certain "mutually beneficial arrangements" between their estates. Each received appropriately tailored responses that provided both reassurance and clarity regarding future expectations.
Elizabeth approached last among the regular members, moving with careful deliberation that didn't escape Bobby's notice. "Your absence will significantly impact council dynamics," she observed, her voice pitched for his ears alone.
"You'll manage admirably," Bobby replied. "As we both know you will."
Elizabeth's cheeks colored slightly as she caught his meaning. "The first is always most difficult," she agreed, the double meaning clear between them.
"Yet ultimately most memorable," Bobby countered, enjoying her momentarily flustered expression.
Elizabeth recovered quickly, years of court training asserting themselves. "Whitehaven intends to receive visitors during your... retirement?"
"Selected visitors are always welcome," Bobby confirmed. "Particularly those with legitimate interest in educational innovation."
Elizabeth glanced toward Mary, who was engaged with Lord Russell across the chamber. "I shall have to identify a suitably compelling educational pretext," she mused. "Perhaps agricultural techniques for royal estates?"
"An excellent justification," Bobby agreed. "Though perhaps allow yourself a week's recovery before attempting the journey."
Elizabeth's blush deepened momentarily before she regained her composure. "Your counsel regarding timing is noted, Lord Kestrel." With a perfectly executed curtsy that revealed nothing of their private understanding, she withdrew.
Only Jane Grey remained, hovering uncertainly nearby as the chamber gradually emptied. When only she and Bobby remained, she approached with visible anxiety despite her attempts to maintain royal dignity.
"You didn't inform me of your departure," she said quietly, hurt evident beneath her composed exterior.
"Circumstances accelerated my timeline," Bobby explained, his expression softening slightly. "Though my withdrawal from council doesn't preclude continued collaboration on projects of mutual interest."
Jane glanced toward the door through which the others had departed. "I could accompany you to Whitehaven," she suggested. "To continue our work on educational reforms."
Bobby studied her hopeful expression with genuine affection. At fifteen, Jane Grey possessed both extraordinary intelligence and remarkable poise that made it easy to forget her youth. Her copper-brown hair was impeccably arranged beneath a modest French hood, her slender form appearing almost fragile within her formal council attire.
"Your presence here remains essential," he told her gently. "The educational initiatives require your advocacy within the council, particularly given Mary's increased flexibility following my departure."
Disappointment flickered across Jane's features before she mastered it. "You'll welcome my visit when council business permits?"
"Whitehaven's doors remain open to you always," Bobby assured her. "Though perhaps allowing several weeks for my establishment there would prove wise."
Jane nodded, visibly composing herself. "I shall focus on the Oxford scholarship proposal in your absence," she decided. "Mary seems increasingly receptive to educational reforms provided they include provisions for Catholic students."
"An excellent priority," Bobby agreed, genuinely impressed by her strategic thinking. "Cecil will support your position if you emphasize the economic benefits of improved mercantile education."
Jane hesitated, clearly reluctant to conclude their conversation despite having nothing further to discuss. Finally, she extended her hand formally. "Until we meet again, Lord Kestrel."
Bobby took her small hand in his, noting the ink stains on her fingers from her extensive note-taking. "Until then, Lady Jane," he replied, bowing over her hand with perfect court etiquette.
He watched her departure with mixed emotions. Jane Grey's intelligence and character had impressed him from their first meeting—a brilliant mind trapped in political circumstances that had historically led to her execution. His interventions had altered that trajectory significantly, yet her attachment to him created complications he hadn't fully anticipated.
The council chamber stood empty now, afternoon light slanting through its windows to illuminate the massive oak table where England's governance had been transformed over recent months. Bobby surveyed it one final time, knowing his withdrawal represented another step toward the inevitable quantum displacement that would eventually remove him from this timeline entirely.
"Quite the performance," came Mary's voice from the doorway. She had returned without his noticing, a rare circumstance that suggested his distraction.
"Governance often requires theatrical elements," Bobby acknowledged, turning to face her.
Mary moved into the chamber, her expression unreadable. "I observed your farewell with my sister," she noted. "Her careful movements suggest recent physical exertion of an unusual nature."
Bobby maintained a neutral expression. "Princess Elizabeth has been practicing archery, I understand. A demanding activity for those unaccustomed to the required posture."
"Indeed," Mary replied dryly. "Though I've observed similar careful movements among certain ladies following your private consultations. A curious coincidence."
"Physical activity takes many forms," Bobby observed blandly. "Each with specific muscular consequences."
Mary's lips twitched despite her attempt to maintain disapproval. "You've bedded all three of us, haven't you? The Catholic Queen, the Protestant princess, and the scholarly former queen."
"Your Majesty's speculations into private matters exceed appropriate boundaries," Bobby replied diplomatically.
Mary laughed outright. "You won't confirm it, of course. Yet I suspect we've each experienced your... particular talents... in ways suited to our individual temperaments." She moved closer, lowering her voice despite the empty chamber. "My sister walks with the careful movements of a woman recently introduced to activities beyond conventional boundaries. Jane looks at you with the undisguised longing of youth experiencing its first infatuation."
"And you, Your Majesty?" Bobby asked, watching her carefully. "What does England's Queen reveal through her movements and expressions?"
Mary's eyes narrowed. "I reveal nothing I don't choose to reveal, Lord Kestrel. Unlike my inexperienced sister and naive cousin."
"A skill developed through necessity," Bobby observed. "And effectively employed."
They regarded each other with mutual understanding born from their complex history—political adversaries who had briefly been intimate, now settling into a wary respect neither had initially anticipated.
"England will never know how much it owes you," Mary finally said. "Nor will I fully comprehend your true motives or nature. But I find myself grateful for your interventions, despite my periodic desire to have you executed."
"High praise indeed from Tudor stock," Bobby replied with a slight smile. "I shall treasure your restraint regarding my execution as testament to your exceptional character."
Mary snorted in a most unqueenly fashion. "Get out of my palace, Kestrel, before I reconsider that restraint. Go tend your gardens and seduce local milkmaids or whatever activities occupy retired lords in Kent."
Bobby bowed deeply, perfect courtier to the end. "I remain Your Majesty's loyal subject. Always."
The subtle emphasis on "always" wasn't lost on Mary, whose shrewd eyes narrowed slightly. "I imagine you do, in your fashion. God help us all."
With a final nod of acknowledgment, Bobby departed the council chamber, leaving Mary Tudor alone with the empty chairs and scattered papers—physical reminders of the governance system that both constrained and protected her ambitions.
-------
Bobby's carriage rolled steadily along the Canterbury road, its well-sprung design minimizing discomfort despite the rutted surface. Edwin Frost rode alongside, maintaining careful surveillance despite the apparent peace following Northumberland's exile to France.
"Captain Phillips confirms Lady Jane's security arrangements remain intact," Frost reported, bringing his horse alongside Bobby's window. "The Queen shows no indication of reconsidering her pardon."
"Mary recognizes Jane's value," Bobby replied. "Both politically and administratively. Her execution would serve no practical purpose beyond momentary satisfaction."
"And Elizabeth?" Frost inquired.
"Continues to balance Tudor ambition with pragmatic patience," Bobby said. "Her time approaches more rapidly than she realizes."
Frost nodded, having witnessed Bobby's manipulations long enough to recognize when historical trajectories were being subtly adjusted. "The Queen appears healthy to casual observers," he noted. "Yet you mentioned accelerating temporal variables during our last briefing."
"Mary's condition develops internally," Bobby explained. "The symptoms remain largely invisible for now, though certain physical indicators suggest advancing pathology."
"That explains your withdrawal," Frost observed. "Strategic distance before inevitable accusations of involvement in her decline."
Bobby's lips quirked into a sardonic smile. "You read too much into it, Edwin. While I could theoretically extend Mary's life with barely a thought, doing so would alter the timeline again." He tapped his chest where the quantum temporal energy churned invisibly. "Each intervention causes massive spikes in the energy within me. Better to let things play out naturally."
"Yet you interfered for Jane Grey," Frost countered, his reanimated eyes unnaturally bright in the afternoon light. "And Elizabeth."
"I promised to watch Elizabeth's coronation," Bobby said simply. "Some promises matter more than others."
They fell silent as the carriage rolled past a village where children stopped their play to wave at the ornate conveyance bearing Bobby's newly created coat of arms—a stylized star constellation no Tudor astronomer would recognize.
"The Venus project proceeds according to schedule," Frost reported, changing subjects smoothly. "Initial atmospheric conversion has begun."
Bobby nodded, satisfaction evident in his relaxed posture. "Eden's terraforming process for Venus progresses exactly as it should in another reality."
Frost didn't press for further explanation. After his resurrection, pieces of Bobby's greater plan existed in his reconstructed mind—fragments of knowledge about a daughter named Eden and something called the Mechanoid Threat. Whatever Venus represented in this grand design clearly pleased his master.
The carriage continued its journey toward Whitehaven, the landscape gradually transforming as they approached Bobby's domain. Dirt and gravel roads gave way to perfectly laid brick surfaces that provided remarkably smooth passage. Fields that had lain fallow for generations now burst with experimental crops arranged in precise geometric patterns.
Most striking were the houses—dozens of identical structures assembled using Bobby's modular construction techniques. Workers moved between them with purpose, installing windows and doors manufactured to exact specifications at his factories. Children played in communal areas where fruit-bearing trees already produced harvests despite being planted mere months ago.
"Your innovations spread faster than anticipated," Frost observed.
"Why wait for Elizabeth to take the throne?" Bobby replied. "Our agreement was for her to become Queen and help drive scientific progress. She'll keep her word, and England will become the center of the scientific world." His lips curved into a slight smile. "I'm merely providing a head start."
As they crested the final hill before Whitehaven proper, the full scope of Bobby's domain came into view. The manor house itself had expanded considerably, new wings extending from the original structure like tentacles reaching across the landscape. Surrounding it, workshops and laboratories hummed with activity, smoke rising from specialized chimneys equipped with filtering systems invisible to the naked eye.
"Harrington reports seventeen new invitations arrived yesterday," Frost mentioned casually as the carriage approached the main gates. "Not all from noblewomen this time."
Bobby sighed, running a hand through his dark hair. "I may have miscalculated by not refusing anyone who took a fancy to me." He gazed thoughtfully at the estate spreading before them. "Perhaps I should take a wife."
Frost raised an eyebrow. "A wife, my lord?"
"Someone needs to take over when I'm gone—legally and legitimately," Bobby mused, then shook his head. "Jane asked once."
He fell silent as the carriage passed beneath Whitehaven's gates, the conversation suspended as workers called greetings and children ran alongside the vehicle. Whatever calculations ran behind Bobby's eyes regarding possible marriage remained private, his expression settling into the pleasant mask he wore for his people.
Home, for now at least. Until the quantum displacement claimed him once more.