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King Peter Jefferson had been a fair and good ruler.

Jane was better. 

She had become at Queen age seventeen, when their father had died and their mother had been too grief stricken to rule.

Their mother died only a few days later.

Thomas had always admired his eldest sister.

Now she was gone. And he was destined to be King.

She was only twenty five at the time of her death. Thomas was only twenty two as he now ascended to the throne.

Mary, the second eldest child at twenty four, had abdicated the throne for the love of a peasant girl.  She still lived in the palace with her new wife, content and with no interest of serving the kingdom as Queen.

"Thomas, wake up. It's coronation day." 

"Noooooo," Thomas groaned, lifting the blanket over his head, "I don't want to. Taking the thrown would mean accepting that she's really gone."

Mary sat on the edge of his bed, pulling the blanket back, "I know, Tom, but you have to. I can't. Not now."

Thomas peeked over at her, slowly sitting himself up. "I'm the prince who has a knack for theatre, I'm not meant to rule."

"Thomas, babe, you're the only one that can. I gave up the throne when I chose Amity." Mary said softly, but bluntly.

Thomas ran a hand through his hair, the ginger curls tumbling everywhere. 

"Mary, I'm scared. What if I'm not as good as Jane, no one could ever be as good as her," he couldn't help the tears that rolled down his cheeks.

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His waistcoat fit snugly. It dawned on him that he had gained weight. 

The fabric of his royal robes shimmered in the light. He smoothed out the deep purple silk. The gold buttons gleamed brightly. His traditional French royal wear was neatly pressed and it hugged his curves. 

He always felt embarrassed about his curves, the very things that displayed his womanliness. His family had always kept it under wraps that he was born a woman. He had always felt male, and thus his parents treated him as such. He had gotten lucky to have supportive parents.

He realized how hard it was getting to hide his forming body. He longed for the day that his breasts would stop growing. He could temporarily hide his chest with his bandages, but he knew that soon it would be hard to hide it from his upcoming husband.

Before her death, Jane had arranged a marriage for him and the Prince of Wales, John Adams. 

Prince Adams didn't know the origins of Thomas' birth and soon it would be hard to hide.

They're wedding was soon, only a week away. They wanted the talk of his coronation to die down only a bit until he is married. 

His stomach twisted with nerves and he pushed down the nausea bubbling up. 

"Tom?" A shy voice asked, "it's almost time."

Thomas turned around to face his favourite sister, Elizabeth- Bet, as he called her.

"Bet," he said, voice soft with relief, "thank the gods you are here. I'm scared."

"You can do this, Tom." Bet said comfortingly, giving Thomas a hug.

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His breath rattled in his chest as he swept his gaze over the crowd.

Many people were there and he could feel his heart pounding. 

He caught the eyes of Bet in the crowd and he felt some relief wash over him. 

He then caught the eyes of a certain Prince of Wales, John Adams.

Thomas was momentarily taken aback by the handsomeness of the man. He was short, but dashing. 

His breath stopped short as Prince Adams gave him a short wave, and he felt the blood rush to his face, illuminating his cheeks with a rosy colour. 

Prince Adams mouthed 'Hi,' to him and he smiled back, all soft and blushy.

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The ceremony felt like it had lasted forever and yet, it was finally over. 

He was seated on Jane's thro- no, it's his throne- as the festivities unfurled around him. 

He looked up from his hands when Prince Adams approached him, greeting him kindly. "My King," he said, a smirk playing on his lips. 

"Prince Adams," Thomas said stiffly.

"Congratulations on your coronation," Prince Adams told him, bowing lowly.

"No- no need to bow," Thomas stammered, heat rising to his cheeks.

"But your majesty," Prince Adams said jokingly, "I must treat you with utmost respect, my King." 

Thomas blushed awkwardly, "we are to be wed next week, there's no need to address me as such." 

"Ah yes, our wedding," the Prince said thoughtfully, "I'm rather excited."

"You- you are?" Thomas looked over at him in disbelief, unable to comprehend someone wanting to marry him.

Prince Adams fought the urge to roll his eyes, it was clear that the King hadn't been invested too much in romance nor royal dealings before now. 

Thomas noticed the way that the Prince's gaze hardened and he shriveled underneath. "I know what you are thinking. I know that I am not suited for the role of King. What do you think I tried to tell everyone? I am a performer! I am no King, I do not deserve this throne. It should be Mary sitting here, as Queen. Or even better, it should be Jane! My dearest sister did nit deserve this untimely end." He shouted in a hushed whisper. 

Prince Adams stared at him in shock, that was much more information than he had expected to receive from the King. 

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Prince John Adams was set to stay in Thomas' Castle. He wandered briefly around the halls, before coming across the throne room. 

He stopped when he noticed Thomas sitting on the throne, still dressed in his coronation outfit.

"My King?" The Prince asked, stepping softly into the room.

Thomas' head jolted upwards. His eyes darted over to the Prince, "o- oh I'm sorry, I didn't realize you were there."

"How long have you been sitting here?" Prince Adams asked, taking a seat next to the throne, on the steps. 

"Uhm,,how long has it been since the ceremony started?" He asked sheepishly.

Prince Adams stared at the King in utter disbelief, taking a long moment to respond.

Thomas felt the shame lay heavy over him. He was embarrassed. 

Prince Adams softened his look to the King and gently pulled him up from the throne. 

Thomas reluctantly let himself be dragged upwards by the Prince. 

"Where is your room?" the Prince asked calmly, choosing to be the rock in the King's visible storm of torment.

"Some- somewhere over there," Thomas waved his hand vaguely down the hall in front of them.

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The next week passed as a blur to Thomas, admittedly, he spent most of it in bed. 

He didn't want to tell anyone but had fallen. He had fallen so very hard for Prince Adams. 

He was rather looking forward to the wedding.

The Wedding...

Thomas found it hard to believe that his wedding was the next day.  

He just hoped that the Prince Adams felt the same way. 

Chapter Text

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30 May in the year 1765 of our lord and saviour.

My dearest Abby,

I am afraid that I am not ready for this wedding.

This is a boy. He is barely the age of Twenty-two (22) and I am six (6) months away to my thirtieth (30) year.

The truth of the matter is, I have no affection for the boy.

However, his kingdom,

Abby, his kingdom contains so much power and I am in line for it.

I am ashamed to admit that I am not in this marriage for love, but for the power.

I ashamed to admit just how power hungry I tend to be.

I cannot help but want more and more.

I wish to be home with you, my dearest friend.

You bring me down to Earth; you are my moral side.

Do come visit sometime.

Sincerest regards,

Your John Adams.

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John pushed his chair away from the desk at which he was sat.

He stared out the castle window solemnly, heaving a sigh.

“You’ve chosen to use and wrong my brother, then.” A chilly voice accused, causing John to spin around in a panic.

The ghost of Queen Jane hovered off the floor. She looked as regal as the day she had died. Her royal gown drifted like wind around her. Her essence seemed faded, all except the knife wound protruding form her chest. The faded blood was still stark against her skin.

”Your royal majesty,” John said with feigned respect. “I’ve no heart to hear your baseless accusations.”

Jane fought the urge to roll her eyes and instead drifted closer to John. “I am not a fool. You said so in your letter to your, what is she? A mistress, now that you are going to be wed to my brother.”

“You will not address Abigail as such!” John snapped, rage boiling within himself. “She is a respectable woman!”

Jane scoffed, “respectable? You are an engaged man and yet you still engaged man, to be wed in the next day and she is engaging with you romantically!” Her skirts flared as an invisible wind ruffled up her ghostly appearance. She was positively enraged at the Prince’s audacity.

John stumbled backwards, alarmed by the Queen’s fury. “Majesty-“

Jane let out a banshee-esque scream, thrusting her arms forward. The force of her ghostly powers knocked John to the ground. “Let this serve as a warning,” her voice echoed loudly, bouncing off the walls. “Harm my brother and I shall ruin you.”

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John wandered the castle halls, still extremely shaken. In a fruitless attempt to calm himself, he searched for the kitchen. He needed something to calm his nerves, as well as his shaking.

He was taken aback by the Crown Prince boiling water above a small fire. He noted that the Crown Prince had a hold of his stomach and groaning.

“Your highness?” John asked, puzzled. He had not expected to find the boy in the kitchen at this late hour. “What in heaven’s name are you doing in here? At this hour? Before the wedding? Should you not be resting?” He inquired, slowly approaching the Crown prince.

“Well, yes,” Thomas admitted sheepishly, groaning once again, “but I’ve come into a bit of a predicament.”

John quirked an eyebrow, doing a onceover of the boy. “You’re bloated.”

“No shit,” the Crown Prince snipped, then sighed. “My apologies for lashing out at you. You are my superior, after all.”

John gasped indignantly. Yes, he knew he was older, but he did not appreciate that insufferable boy pointing it out. “Listen here, you intolerable ingrate-“ his voice froze in his throat. He choked, unable to get his words out. He glanced around frantically, spotting Jane’s angered ghost in the corner.

He noticed as the Crown Prince rushed to his side and guided him to a chair. In his disoriented state, he noticed the boy turn to the Queen’s ghost and say something imperceptible.

His voice echoed out in a scream as he gasped for breath. He numbly felt the Crown Prince wipe the tears from his face, with a tenderness that can only be matched to a woman’s.

“I’m sorry that you don’t want to be wed to me, and I am sincerely sorry foy you to have to marry someone you hate. However, I promise to make it as bearable as possible. You can,,you can even hold another lover if you please, so long as you are happy.” The boy- no, Thomas- murmured softly before his vision faded to darkness.

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John paced around his room, fiddling with his perfectly tailored wedding suit. He took in a deep breath, Thomas’ words from last night kept ringing in his head. They could fake their love if he wanted. The thought of it sent John’s mind reeling.

Here he was, about to be married to someone he considered a boy, and this boy was giving him the option to take other lovers without protest. He could feel the guilt rise in his chest. He felt no attraction to the boy and was therefore unable to understand where this wave of guilt had risen from.

“I assume you’re nervous on this big day?” Jane asked, hovering behind John.

“I assume that everyone is nervous when they get married,” John replied, standing in front of the mirror to fix up parts of his appearance.

“I heard what my brother said to you last night.”

“And what have you to say about that?”

“My brother, as much as I hate to admit it, my brother is capable of making his own decisions.”

“Why is it that you hate to admit it?”

“He’s my little brother, I simply want to protect him. He was only fourteen (14) when mother and father died, I took over as the parent. I do not wish harm to come upon him.”

John fell silent. “He was fourteen (14)? But- but he was just a boy-!”

“And I was only seventeen (17), now do you understand why I am so protective of him?”

“I do,” John said softly, turning to face Jane’s ghost. “I may not love or feel any attraction when it comes to your brother, however, I will do my best to protect him from harm.”

Jane’s shoulders visibly sagged with relief. “You’d truly do that?” She asked incredulously.

John nodded, fixing up the last bit of his appearance. He fixed the crown atop his head and sucked in a deep breath.

“I think I’m ready.”

“Then let us be on our way. You have a wedding ceremony to star in.”

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John fidgeted at the alter as he gazed over the crowd. More than a hundred people were in attendance. Ha had counted to three hundred and thirty-nine (239) guests before his head began to spin. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply to calm his nerves. His eyes cracked open when he heard the crowd gasp.

It was Thomas, standing at the very beginning of the aisle. He looked extravagant. His wedding suit was a brilliant white, to which his ginger hair stood out against. John recognized the crown atop his head as Jane’s and felt his heart warm a little.

Thomas was being walked down the aisle by his second eldest sister, Mary. John admired them both. They looked regal. He did not know much about Mary, only that she had abdicated the throne in order to live a peaceful life with her wife, Elissa.

As the two reached the altar, Mary whispered something to Thomas before taking his side as a bridesmaid. His other sisters, Elizabeth, and Anna stood behind Mary and Thomas. Elizabeth’s dress was modest, mostly styled after the Greek clothing style. Anna’s dress was certainly fit to a ten-year-old, cutesy, and very modest.

John attempted to smile at Thomas as the officiator took his place behind the altar.

The ceremony was a blur within John’s head. It felt like an out of body experience. The entire night felt surreal.

He watched as Thomas danced with Mary and Elizabeth, giggling. He noted Thomas’ smile that lit up the entire ballroom.

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“That was a lovely ceremony,” Jane said as John extended on his bed.

“Hrgnf-“John groaned, sticking his face into his pillow.

Jane snorted. “You do know that you have to consummate your marriage, right?”

“WHAT-“John shouted, shooting upwards to face Jane.

Jane laughed and smirked, reveling in John’s panic. “It’s only a matter of tradition. Consummate your marriage, It’s the only act of love you two need to share.”

John felt the rage rise in his chest. “That’s not your choice to make-!” He snapped back at her.

“It’s not yours either. Do this for the kingdom. You need an heir!”

“How the fuck would two men provide an heir?”

Jane instantly fell quiet, realizing her mistake.

“Jane,” John growled, “what exactly are you hiding?”

Jane shook her head, refusing to answer and disappeared into the wall.

John stormed off in the direction of Thomas’ chambers, in need of some answers. It was clear that secrets were being kept within the Jefferson family. He married into this family, and therefore those secrets should be revealed to him.

For now, the most important secret he needed to know was the one about his husband. How would they provide an heir? They were both men, they are not capable of procreating. Perhaps Jane meant some form of surrogate. If she did, then why would she react the way she did?

Before John could realized, he walked face first into Thomas’ closed door. He stumbled back and gave himself a quick shake off. Well, he thought, that just about adds up.

He turned the knob and pushed open the door. His breath caught in his throat as he saw a nude woman, standing in the middle of Thomas’ room. “The reason you were so accepting of me holding another lover is because you were holding one yourself?” John said loudly, his voice cracking like a whip throughout the large room.

The woman whirled around, face betraying the horror John assumed she felt.

He stumbled back a second time after registering the woman’s face.

“Thomas?!”

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Chapter Text

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Thomas hummed to himself, pouring over his royal documents. His brain was in a bored haze. He’d been covering the documents for several hours now, and mentally thinking up war strategies. He was so wrapped up in his paperwork, he hardly noticed John enter their shared room.

“Hello, my love,” John greeted softly, pressing a kiss to Thomas’ temple, watching his husband’s face brighten. “Have you forgotten the date, my dear boy?”

Thomas looked puzzled, wracking his brain to think of any possible royal dates he could have missed, the anxiety bubbling up in his chest.

“Your birthday, you silly boy,” John laughed, brushing Thomas’ cheek as to reassure his husband’s swirling mind of fears, “you’re 23 today.”

Thomas gaped at John, “this is a joke, correct? I could not have possibly forgotten my own birthday.”

John pulled the boy away from the desk, pulling him close, “the day is still young, my boy, come, we shall celebrate.”

Thomas stood still for a moment, taking in John’s scent. He hadn’t seen his husband all day and relished being wrapped up in his strong arms.

Thomas knew what the Court of Versailles whispered about his husband, mocking his body, his shape, his weight, etc. He tried not to let the insults plague his mind, but he loved his husband dearly and it hurt him for these insults to be thrown around.

“Baby?” John asked softly, bringing Thomas back to reality, “what’s on your mind?”

“Nothing,” Thomas murmured, inching closer to John and leaning in for a kiss, “simply thinking about how much I love my husband.”

John laughed, giving Thomas a smooth and affectionate kiss. When he pulled away, he took Thomas by the hand. “Come now, I have a surprise.”

The two stepped out of the room together and toured the castle all the way down to the gardens.

Near the fountain, Thomas’ favourite spot, a picnic had been set up.

Thomas gasped softly, looking over at John who beamed proudly.

“I made the food myself,” John mentioned as Thomas laid kisses on his face.

“Oh! Thank you, my love! This is so kind and thoughtful! What have I done to deserve you?” Thomas fawned over his husband, voice filled with love and awe.

“You were yourself, my handsome boy, and your kindness brought me to be a better man,” John said sitting down with Thomas, pulling the boy close to his side.

Thomas melted against his husband, lazily popping a strawberry into his mouth.

The two remained in the garden for hours, Thomas eventually falling asleep against John. John didn’t dare move, he knew that his dear husband needed rest. After all, he’d spent the last few weeks working himself to the bone trying to end a war with England.

When Thomas woke up, he felt the bile rise in his throat and he rushed over to a bush to empty the contents of his stomach.

John followed, worry building up in his stomach as he held Thomas’ hair back. “Thomas,” he prompted gently, “are you alright? Need I call for a physician?”

Thomas stumbled back slightly, body shaking with the natural response of nausea and vomiting. After rinsing his mouth some water they’d brought along, he turned to John.

“I’m pregnant,” Thomas stated.

John turned to face him quickly, shock flooding his expression- quickly replaced by joy.

“A baby?” He asked, excitement bubbling in his chest. “We’re going to be dads? I’m going to be a dad?”

Thomas laughed as John lifted him and spun him around, “careful! I still get nauseous easily!” He made an “oomph” sound as John set him down gently.

His husband held him in his arms, crying with joy.

“I love you,” John whispered, “and I promise to love our baby with everything I have.”

“I love you, too,” Thomas whispered back.

He had his family. And he was happy.

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Chapter Text

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Jane had known that she was disliked, it came with being a queen without a king. However, she was adored by most of the kingdom. She had brought for freedom to them than any other ruler had and she was damn proud of it.

It wasn’t often that she would shelter her siblings from the truth of certain things, and yet, she chose to shelter her siblings from the cruel reality that was their parents.

Peter Jefferson was not a good man. The only Jefferson child old enough to even possibly remember the cruelties of Peter Jefferson, before he had kept those behaviours to private chambers, was Mary. Mary had unintentionally repressed the memories of the man’s cruelness, to both his family and his kingdom. Jane was grateful for that.

Jane Jefferson Sr, Jane’s namesake, was better than their father, but not by much. She had been guilty by default. By letting her husband do the things he had done. Jane shuddered with disgust, the memories flooding in.

“Papa, where are we goin’?” Young Jane, maybe seven years (7) old, asked, looking up at her father.

Her father, her hero, strode through the dark hallway proudly, holding her little hand and her little four (4) year old sister Taffeta in his arms.

“Somewhere special, a special place that you and Taffeta will enjoy.” Her father had promised, a smile on his face that could only be considered as sinister, upon looking back.

Young Jane continued following her father, looking forward to whatever surprise was in store for her. She hummed and skipped along, nearly bumping into a rough iron door.

Her father set Taffeta down and she held her little sister’s hand and the two children watched as their father yanked the door open, revealing a dank room.

He pushed the girls inside.

That night he had taken them and their innocence. He’d left them their together for several days, eventually wrenching Jane from the room and exchanging her with Mary.

Jane had kicked and screamed, demanding that her little sisters be released, that Mary not be submitted to the torture she and Taffeta had suffered.

Her father hadn’t listened.

In fact, it took days for her to be able to see her sisters again.

When Taffeta and Mary were released from the room, Jane had hugged them close and cried. Little Taffeta was bruised and so obviously used. Mary hadn’t suffered as much, but was still in rough shape.

Jane had vowed that day that nothing would ever harm her siblings again.

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Jane straightened her spine, floating in her desolate room. She laughed weakly, feeling a sob bubble in her chest. She had failed to protect them, the one thing she had dedicated her life to and she had failed.

She screamed, a banshee esque noise rattling the whole castle.

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Ten (10) year old Taffeta- no, Thomas- stood firmly in front of Peter and Jane Sr.

“I’m a boy.” He insisted, arms crossed, “Papa, Mama, why won’t you believe me? I wouldn’t lie to you. You raised us on honesty.”

Fourteen (14) year old Jane Jr stood behind Thomas, glaring fiercely at their parents, almost daring them to say one thing wrong.

“Taffeta,” Peter began, disappointment lacing his tone like venom, “this is simply you lashing out. This is why we have our special activities, for me to cure you.” He stepped forward, taking Thomas’ face in his hands, gripping tightly.

Jane jumped forward, “don’t touch him!” she shrieked, shoving her father back, “you said you would stop! You promised! You liar!” She lunged at him, her father easily side stepping.

“Control that temper, or you’ll never be a submissive Queen.” Peter scolded, only igniting the burning fires of hot rage in Jane’s stomach.

“I will kill you, if you ever, ever, ever lay a hand on him or any of the other children again.” Jane threatened, dead serious.

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Jane stared down at her spectral hands and noticed how terribly they were shaking. Where were these memories coming from? Why resurface now? She had gone unaffected for years. Were they meant to make her feel regret? She felt no regret for her actions, and she never would.

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Jane was seventeen (17), the oldest of all the surviving Jefferson children. She crept through the castle halls, reaching her parent’s bedroom.

She had covered her face in a plague doctor mask, and dressed as one of the men on her father’s payroll. She pushed the door open as silently as possible and took a deep breath, readying herself.

She stepped delicately over to the large bed, procuring a knife from her pockets and plunging it deep into her father’s chest.

The man spluttered as blood rose to his lips and soaked the sheets with the crimson colour. He thrashed and shook, awaking her mother.

Jane Sr. Gasped in horror and shrieked at the sight in front of her. An apparent treason, or so it seemed. No one had ever guessed that it was Jane Jr.

“I told you,” she whispered, close to her father’s ear so that only he could hear her, “I’d kill you if you kept up your torture. You had it coming.”

When satisfied that her father was well and truly dead, she fled.

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Jane was crying, or, at least as much as a ghost could.

Her and her mother were the only ones to know how Peter Jefferson truly died. They had told the kingdom it was an unexpected heart attack.

Jane Sr. Had taken her own life not long after that, and the truth of the death was once again hidden by Jane Jr. It was at that point that she had taken over as Queen and was determined to never make any of the mistakes her evil father had made.

She would never be like him.

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It was ironic, really, to die in the same way she had murdered her father.

She never did find out who committed the act against her, but she could remember the night.

It was dark and stormy, and some sort of party surrounded the castle grounds. Jane had retired early that night, not in the mood for any festivities. She felt unusually sluggish and exhausted.

She had readied herself quickly for bed, not wanting to remain awake any longer.

She yawned and stretched, taking her candles stick and walking over to her bed.

Leaving the candlestick on the bed side table, she tucked herself under the covers.

With a single huff, she blew out the candle and settled right into sleep.

She had awoken sluggishly when a sharp pain pierced her chest.

She had looked up with hazy, only to make out a dark figure by her bedside and the glint of a knife jutting out of her chest.

Blood pooled around her and past her lips.

She didn’t scream, thrash, or struggle. She simply laid there and accepted her fate.

She found it a funny sort of ironic karma, to die in the same way that she had ended the abuse in her life.

It was funny.

Really. Truly. Funny.

She passed with that last thought.

It was Mary who found her that morning. The blood curling scream of horror that left her throat had broken Jane’s heart.

Jane had always tried to protect, but in the end she had only broken her siblings’ hearts.

She would never forgive herself for letting Mary find her body that day.

She would never forgive herself for failing to protect the siblings she had sworn to never let any harm come by.

She had failed and now Thomas was on the roof.

Wait.

Thomas?

Was on the roof?

Oh no.

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