Chapter Text
9 November 1812, Hastings House, London
His son was back.
That bitch was wrong. The letters worked.
"You have returned…to take your rightful place," he managed to say, his breath shallow, each word drawn through labouring lungs.
"Your physician informs me you will not be for long," his son said, standing over him. Imperious. Inscrutable. "Are you aware it is Lord Mayor's Day? A most fitting day, I should think."
He was not even aware of what month it was. But he knew why his son mentioned it.
The banquet celebration. Peers of the realm and Members of Parliament—Whigs, bah—had surrounded his son, each eager to bask in the brilliance of his heir. And how could they not? His son was born a Basset and an Oyoko. Bloodlines of extraordinary distinction. Of dukes. Of kings. A perfect union. A perfect scion.
He had informed his son's audience of this fact.
Pride swelled in his aching chest as it had on that day.
It was also the day his son left London; disappeared from England altogether.
No matter. His son had returned. He had heeded the call of his blood.
The great Hastings name shall continue.
Most fitting, indeed.
"Listen to me very closely," his son said, stepping towards his bed, "for I have only returned to do but one thing." His son bent over him, whispering words of a vow. His first and only.
"I will bring a stain upon our blood…"
What? What could he mean by this?
"So indelible, the Hastings line will die with me," his son said, reflecting the eyes of his dead mother.
Corruption of Blood, he realised. The very notion struck him like a thunderclap. His veins turned to ice, their frozen shards carving him from within.
You would not dare! He choked. He could not speak the words over the pain.
"Are my words clear enough for you, Father?"
His son would dare commit an act so heinous it would undo everything he had built—everything he was?
He no longer felt the warmth in his chamber. All he could see and feel was his son's eyes.
Cold.
Hateful.
"Speak, you fucking monster."
Darkness coiled around his vision, black blood blotting the edges.
"Speak!"
The world faded.