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Chapter Text

June 24, 1486

France

Everything had been so much more peaceful when his father was alive. Or at least that’s how King Edward remembered it. According to his half-brother, Thomas Grey, England was very much in turmoil in those days as well. His Uncle George had sought to steal the crown from his father, and the Cousin War was still ongoing. However, Edward felt that at least back then, they had still had his father with them. His younger Uncle Richard stood by his father's side as his fiercest ally.

In the three years that followed his father’s death, Dowager Queen Elizabeth Woodville had fled to France with her children, Uncle Richard had declared himself King of England, and he had insisted that his nieces and nephews were illegitimate. It was Henry Tudor who had become Edward’s unlikely ally in getting his crown back from his traitorous uncle.

After spending three years in France, it was finally time to return to England to reclaim what was his. Edward, who was not even sixteen yet, was eager to fight for his birthright.

“Out of the question. You have no battle experience, and you will only get yourself killed,” the Earl of Richmond said irritably, as if the mere idea of Edward riding into battle alongside him was completely stupid.

“Just because you are married to my sister does not give you the right to be rude to your king,” Edward snapped, appalled at Henry’s insolence.

When Henry arrived at the French palace and sworn an oath of loyalty to King Edward V, he and Elizabeth of York had fallen in love with each other. After Henry had sworn an oath in front of witnesses to renounce his claim to the English throne, Edward had given him permission to marry Princess Elizabeth of York pledging to make Tudor a duke once they returned to their home.

“With all due respect, Your Majesty, right now, Richard is King of England," Henry lectured. "That won’t change if we don’t have experienced men winning this war. Besides, I promised Elizabeth I would protect her brothers from harm."

“Not to mention your family especially your mother would prefer you stayed alive,” King Charles VIII of France pointed out, his expression uncharacteristically serious.

Because they were the same age, and they had both gained their thrones at a young age, Charles and Edward had become fast friends which was remarkable considering that their countries had been fighting for a century before England was distracted by their civil war.

Edward nodded at Charles’ words, his heart clenching at the thought of the members of his family that he had lost in the past six years. Most recently, his half-brother Richard Grey and the last two of his maternal uncles were executed by the so-called King Richard III.

“Now that we have established that Your Majesty will be staying in France until your uncle is defeated, let’s move on,” Henry did not want to waste any more time on something he viewed as trivial. “I know from my mother that both my stepfather and the Earl of Northumberland have agreed to switch sides ad they will rally their troops against the usurper.”

“I am surprised that the Lady Derby has agreed to this considering her high ambitions for you." There was a trace of suspicion in Edward's voice. "Does she think you will steal the crown from me once you have defeated my uncle?”  After all, once he disposed of Richard of Gloucester, what was stopping Henry from declaring himself king?"

“If I wanted you dead, I would let you ride in front of the army with a crown on your head as you are sure to get yourself killed,” Henry pointed out bluntly. “This war has gone on long enough. It is time the Houses of York and Lancaster stood together instead of fighting each other.”

“As long as you don’t try to start the Hundred Year war all over again after defeating the usurper, I completely agree with that sentiment,” Charles jested with a smile, causing the two Englishmen to fix him with a rather annoyed look.

“It baffles me how your brother and King Charles are such good friends,” Henry remarked as he watched Charles and Edward practicing archery from the window of his and Elizabeth’s bedchamber. “One is paranoid, determined, and serious while the other is easygoing, affable, and childish.”

“I think it’s nice that it won’t be just Cecily who binds our two countries together,” Elizabeth said sweetly, thinking how wonderful it was that despite the fact that her Uncle Richard had declared her, and her siblings illegitimate, King Charles had still insisted on marrying Cecily, even threatening to abdicate if his council refused to allow them to be wed. 

“We can only pray that our peace treaty is not broken by future generations,” voiced Richmond as he sat down next to his knitting wife.

It wasn’t just the future generations of French Kings he was worried about. King Edward was due to marry Anne of Brittany once he had reclaimed his throne and the girl turned fourteen. Once he had sons with her, he would continue the Yorkist rule over England---something Lady Margaret Beaufort would be unhappy about as would the rest of the Lancastrian loyalists.

What if Henry’s sons with Elizabeth decided to follow their Lancastrian forefathers and try to unseat the House of York, causing yet another Cousin War? He meant it when he said he wanted to unite the cadet branches of the House of Plantagenet, but his descendants might not be so willing to be peaceful.

“Henry, is everything all right?” Elizabeth inquired putting her knitting down, laying a hand on his arm.

“Everything’s fine. I’m just thinking about the upcoming battle,” Henry told her, his eyes traveling down to her belly, and he put his hand on top of it. “I wish that I didn’t have to miss the birth of our first child.”

As if the child knew that he or she was being talked about, it kicked its leg against its mother’s belly, allowing Henry to feel a thump against his hand.

“Soon the three of us will be together in England,” Elizabeth assured him, kissing his cheek before she lightly touched her swollen belly. “Us and little Jasper or Margaret Tudor.”

The corner of Henry’s lips twitched upwards at the thought of honoring his beloved mother or the uncle who raised him. He would win the war and give Elizabeth’s brother back his crown. Then he, his wife and his children could live in peace.

Henry was perfectly fine being the Duke of Richmond and the King’s most trusted advisor. Not to mention, he would go down in history as the man who won the crown and had given it to its rightful heir instead of keeping it for himself. He would be known as a kingmaker.

Unlike the unfortunate Earl of Warwick, Richard Neville the previous Kingmaker, he would not waver in his support, accepting that his place was beside the throne instead of on it.

 August 9, 1486

By now, the ships carrying Henry’s army would have landed in Wales, provided that the seas were as calm as the river looked from behind the window of the French palace. If the waters of the English channel were bad and the ships were lost at sea, Edward would not know until it was too late. Anything could happen to his army and the King of England was helpless to do anything about it. He was a weak king who let other men do his dirty work.

“Ned, are you scared?” Dickon asked as he stood next to his older brother.

“Kings don’t get scared,” Edward replied, trying to sound confident. He was no longer a little boy anymore. He was almost sixteen years old and on the cusp of his manhood. His days of childhood innocence had ended the day his father died.

“We might be kings, Ned. However, we are human all the same,” opined Charles, as he stood on Edward’s other side. His expression oddly thoughtful.

“Mother doesn’t trust the Duke of Richmond,” Richard said suddenly. “She thinks he will betray us. But I think he loves our sister too much to do that.”

“It’s not just Elizabeth, Dickon, Henry’s been in the middle of our civil war before either of us were even born. While sometimes I can’t help but wonder if he’ll someday decide I’m not a worthy king, I do know that he truly believes that this war of England needs to end,” Edward explained.

“I won’t let that happen. If anyone tries to say you’re not worthy, I’ll fight them,” Richard declared, a determined look on his face.

Edward beamed at his younger brother. Although he knew they had other allies, there were times when he felt like it was just him and Richard against the world.

“I just wish that we would be back in England in time for your birthday, Dickon,” Edward remarked, wrapping his arm around his brother’s shoulder.

“Oh, I don’t mind. It means we can have one last celebration in France,” Richard pointed out. “That way we won’t be so sad to say goodbye to everyone.”

“I can promise you both that we shall have a grand feast to send you off the night before you return to England,” Charles assured them. “A fitting reminder of how our two countries are now allies to the end.”

Edward smiled at his friend, realizing that he would miss the optimistic, and jovial king when he was left for England.

August 30, 1486

England

It had taken a while for the news to reach France that the Duke of Gloucester was dead, his allies were imprisoned, and it was time for the children of Elizabeth Woodville to return to England.

According to Edward’s half-brother, Thomas Grey, it was thought to be symbolic that Richard had worn his stolen crown to battle and when he was killed, it was taken from his head, ready to be returned to its rightful owner---once it had been properly cleaned of course.

Cecily and the heavily pregnant Elizabeth were to stay behind in France---although once her baby was old enough to travel, the soon-to-be Duchess of Richmond would return to England to be with her husband and family members.

When Edward arrived on the English shores, there was a crowd of people standing on the beach waiting for him.

Henry stood in front of the nobles who had fought against the usurper, holding St. Edward’s crown in his hands. He waited until Edward was standing just a few feet in front of him before he kneeled and held out the crown.

“Your Majesty, I believe this belongs to you,” he proclaimed, giving the teenager a rather warm smile.

“Thank you, Your Grace, you are a true knight of the realm,” Edward stated gravely, trying to suppress the gleeful side of him.

The Marquess of Dorset took the crown from Henry and placed it on Edward’s head. “Behold the true King of England has returned to us!” Thomas Grey announced. “All hail King Edward the Fifth.”

The cheers from the crowds were deafening and Edward was suddenly glad to be home.

September 19, 1486

France

Her husband and her brother could not be more different. From the letters she had received from her mother, sisters, and dear Dickon, Edward, despite not being of age, had thrown in himself into the state affairs determined to be a man instead of the boy king he was when he first took the throne.

Charles on the hand preferred dancing and drinking rather than actually being king. While most called him Charles the Affable, Cecily could not help but think that Charles the Fool would a more appropriate moniker for him. Not that she would dare say so aloud.

Besides, it really didn’t matter what she thought of him as she was his queen, and someday she would give him an heir. Just recently she had learned that she was with child and prayed that she was carrying a son.

“Your husband fought a war while you were pregnant while mine will probably be off drinking and jousting,” Cecily jeered to Elizabeth while they were alone.

 “Cecily,” Elizabeth hissed, staring at her sister in horror. “That’s your husband you are talking about. He loves you. The least you could do is show him some respect.”

“I’ll respect him when he earns it,” Cecily said snidely. When her sister let out a pained gasp and clutched her stomach, Cecily’s expression turned from derision to worry. “Lizzie, are you well? Should I fetch the midwife?”

"My water just broke,” Elizabeth said, a smile on her face. “It seems that my baby is coming early.”

 At once the Queen of France summoned a midwife and her sisters’ ladies to help with the birth of her niece or nephew.

Almost twenty-four hours passed before Elizabeth’s labor was over, and a baby was placed into her arms.

“You have given birth to a boy, sweet sister,” Cecily told her, pleased that she got to be there for oldest sister when she gave birth, knowing she would not be able to do the same for any subsequent nephews and nieces nor would they be around for her when she had her own children. “A healthy boy.”

“His name will be Jasper after Henry’s uncle,” Elizabeth decided, kissing the top of her son’s head.

“The Duke of Richmond will be pleased,” Cecily remarked, grimacing as she realized that the newborn’s grandmother would be just as happy----for an entirely different reason.

While Edward and Richard remained heirless, Lady Margaret could always try to convince Henry that God wanted the Tudors to rule instead of the House of York. Right now, the new Jasper Tudor would no doubt be his kingly uncle’s favorite nephew. However, someday he could prove to be Edward’s deadly enemy.

Cecily shuddered and put a protective arm around her sister and her new nephew, half-wishing she could protect them both from whatever treason they might find themselves to be caught in the middle of.

September 27, 1486

  England

Despite taking his duties as co-regent very seriously, and being dedicated to helping England become stabilized again, the Duke of Richmond had not wasted any time after receiving Elizabeth's letter from France to ask permission to sail to Calais so he could be with his wife and newborn son.

Edward had granted it readily enough, believing that he and Thomas could handle the first privy council session.

First were King Richard’s supporters. Despite knowing Edward was alive and Henry Tudor was fighting for him, Suffolk and Norfolk had stood by him, fighting against the true king’s army.

“Your Majesty, if I may, the Duke of Norfolk and his son are loyal to the crown, and I know from my conversations with the duke that he truly thought that a boy king would bring England to ruins. I believe that he was simply misguided, and his son will prove himself to be a loyal subject,” Henry Percy spoke up, ignoring the glares being sent his way.

“Do you believe the same can be said of the de la Poles?” Edward inquired, wondering if his cousins had a similar opinion.

“I am afraid that I have not spoken to them but considering Suffolk’s steadfast loyalty to the House of York, I would not be surprised if he agreed with Norfolk.”

“Their motives are unimportant. They conspired against the true king," John de Vere reminded, looking outraged that these two dukes might escape punishment. "They should receive the same punishment as the rest of the usurper’s followers,”

“Not to mention, the Duke of Suffolk’s sons have as much Plantagenet blood in their veins as Your Majesty and His Highness the Duke of York, if we allow them to live…” the Earl of Derby trailed off when he saw the king’s glare.

Edward grimaced. “I am not going to kill my cousins for no other reason aside from the fact that they are my cousins. That being said, the Duke of Suffolk and his oldest two sons have chosen to side against me, and they do deserve to die a traitor’s death. As for the other two boys, they shall remain unmolested under the guidance of my aunt however they will not be able to obtain their father’s title of Suffolk or their brother’s title of Earl of Lincoln.”

William and Richard de la Pole were not even ten yet, and a part of Edward felt sorry for them. He vowed that when they were older, he would grant William a title of at an earl, but for now it was best if he let them lay low until he could marry them to daughters of courtiers he could trust.

His Uncle George’s son and daughter were wards of his brother Thomas. The Earl of Warwick would marry Edward’s half-niece Dorothy Grey while the Earl’s sister Margaret would marry Sir Richard Pole. As for the young Duke of Buckingham whose father had rebelled against King Richard only to die for it, Edward decided that he should marry his younger sister Catharine of York.

With his sister Anne marrying the future King of Scots, and his youngest sister Bridget becoming a nun, that would leave only the Duke of York without a spouse, and Edward would be sure to look hard for a suitable bride of his little brother.

“Well, that settles the matter of the de la Poles. What of the Howards?” Thomas Stanley asked, sounding almost casual as though he wasn’t asking if Edward was planning to increase the number of men fated to die as traitors to the realm.

“They shall retain the Earldom of Surrey, and if they continue to be loyal to me, I shall consider returning the dukedom of Norfolk to them,” Edward decreed. After all, John Howard might have fought against the crown, but he had sent a warning to Elizabeth Woodville days after the former Duke of Buckingham had taken the two princes from the tower and sent them to France for safety that she and her daughters would be arrested if they did not flee as well.

“So be it. With the death of the Duke of Gloucester's supporters, we can put behind the reign of the usurper once and for all,” Thomas Grey proclaimed. “We shall burn away the past and the reign of King Edward the Fifth can start anew.” 

“Ahem to that.”

“Speaking of my reign,” Edward began, his lips twitching upwards before sobering. “I wish to discuss the line of secession as my wedding day not for another six years. I think it would be prudent to draw up a document now in case I die before my time.” He could tell that his words unnerved his councilors. Regardless, he pressed on, knowing that this was too important to put off. “If I die without any heirs my brother Richard is to succeed me and after his children, it shall go down to my sister Elizabeth and any of her children. Then to my sister Catherine and any children she should have. Past them the crown shall be passed down to my cousins starting with the Earl of Warwick and his sister.”

Edward was so focused on what he was saying that he missed a crafty look on the Earl of Northumberland’s face.

Meanwhile, the Countess of Derby was watching the Dowager Queen as she played with her youngest children in the gardens with narrowed eyes. There were so many stories about Elizabeth Woodville, about how she was a witch who had cursed her enemies and bewitched the king,

Margaret doubted that as the silly chit seemed about as threatening as a kitten. She had simply gotten lucky that the late King Edward was a fool for a pretty face, choosing to marry her and raise her family high, something that turned his brother and friend against him.

The late King Edward and his queen were weak. Margaret had no doubt that their sons were weak as well. Henry might have decided to play nice, but eventually the Woodville’s brat would cave under the pressure, and he and his brother would be easily unseated by their cousin.

From all reports despite being born a month early, the newest Jasper Tudor was hale and healthy. God willing, he would grow into a fine man and hopefully he would listen to his grandmother and do what his father was unwilling to do, take back the crown of England for the Lancastrians.

Elizabeth Woodville must have felt someone was watching her because she turned around and looked up until her eyes met Margaret’s icy ones.

Both women stared at each other, unwilling to tear their eyes from each other, the same determined expression on their faces. Neither would back down.

The Duke of York tugged at his mother’s sleeve, wanting her to return to their game. Elizabeth turned away from the woman in the window, putting a protective arm around her son’s shoulders. She walked away with him, throwing a meaningful look at Margaret as she did so.

“Oh, I know you won’t give up, dear,” Margaret whispered, half-wishing that her rival could hear her words from so far away. “The thing is I won’t rest until the House of Tudor replaces the House of York and takes their rightful place on the throne of England.”

 October 11, 1486

When the Duke and Duchess of Richmond returned from France with the Earl of Pembroke, they settled down in the Palace of Sheen which King Edward had given them as a belated wedding gift.

After the execution of their father and older two brothers, William and Richard de la Pole were sent to live with the Duke and Duchess of Richmond once they had returned to France. They were not the only wards of Henry Tudor. He had also taken in Charles Brandon, son of William Brandon who had died saving Henry’s life.

“His mother will be Jasper’s nursemaid, so it only makes sense that he lives here as well,” Henry said when his wife questioned Charles Brandon’s presence in the nursery. “Besides, he can be Jasper’s companion when he grows older just like William and Richard."

Elizabeth smiled sadly at the mention of her poor cousins. While she certainly understood why the Duke of Suffolk had to die, she couldn’t help but think that considering the fact that John and Edmund were barely adults, they had barely participated in the battle of Bosworth Field against her husband.

A page came in, interrupting her thoughts, “Your Grace, the Countess of Derby is at the gates."

Henry sighed. They had barely been in England for a day and already his mother had arrived no doubt to inspect her grandson.

“We should go greet her, or we shall never hear the end of it,” he muttered, extending his arm for his wife to take, signaling for Mistress Brandon to carry Jasper behind them as they walked out of the nursery and down to the great hall.

They didn’t have to wait long for Lady Margaret Beaufort to arrive and when she did, she embraced her son lovingly.

“Oh, my darling son, I have missed you so,” she gushed not even bother to greet Elizabeth with anything more than a nod of her head. “I’m glad you have returned home. Where is my beamish grandson? I have been waiting so long to finally meet him.” Her eyes lit up when Henry beckoned Mistress Brandon forward and she quickly snatched him from his nursemaid’s arms. “Oh, he is a darling boy. He already looks quite clever and handsome."

Had she not possessed an ounce of decorum, Elizabeth might have snorted. Jasper was not even a month-old. Yet, Lady Margaret was talking about him as though he was already walking and talking, ready for the schoolroom.

“I hope my brother will love him half-as much as you do,” Elizabeth said, her voice sickly-sweet with an innocent smile plastered on her face.

Although he had his christening ceremony in France, Elizabeth had still made Edward one of Jasper’s godfathers with King Charles being the other godfather. Cecily and Lady Margaret were both Jasper’s godmothers.

“Oh, I’m sure he will. After all, unless he and his brother have sons, little Jasper here is the next in line to the throne,” Margaret informed her, her smile wide and her eyes gleaming as if Edward had declared that Jasper was to be the next Prince of Wales, instead of him simply being third in line behind his uncle and mother.

There was a part of Henry that did wonder what it would be like if his wife’s brothers died, and she was declared queen regent. As he was also in line to the throne, they could both be rulers in their own right much like Queen Isabella and King Ferdinand.

Despite his exasperation at his mother’s ambitions, he couldn’t help but think King Henry the Seventh and Queen Elizabeth the First would be a rather nice symbol that much like the now united country of Spain, England was ruled by the House of Plantagenet united once again.

However, he would not be so foolish as to make such wishes especially in front of people who could run to the King and thusly destroying the trust the young lad had in him. Quite honestly, his years in France had made him rather fond of Edward and it would hurt if the boy grew weary of him.

“I’m sure that Anne of Brittney and whoever the Duke of York marries will keep the Plantagenet line going strong,” he said firmly. “God will bless the king with many healthy heirs, I’m sure.”

Margaret scoffed as she handed her grandson back to his nursemaid, waving her hand to dismiss the servants who waited until their master nodded to leave the three people alone. “Anne of Brittney will not be of age for another six years and considering the fact that her mother has yet to birth a healthy boy who knows what sort of children she’ll bear if she even can,” she hissed. “Trust me, my son, it is God’s will that you be king of England, I’ve known it since you were a child.”

Elizabeth opened her mouth, furious that Margaret would say something like that about her future sister-in-law, the future queen of England no less. But she closed it when Henry lightly touched her arm, stilling her anger.

“You know, Mother, I’ve always found it interesting how often God’s will matched your own,” Henry remarked, his tone chilly.

He loved his mother more than anyone in this world, but he would not commit treason just because she believed he should be king.

Besides, if it truly were God’s will that he be a monarch, he would wait until King Edward and Prince Richard died of natural causes with no heirs. He would let things take their course and see where the land lay. If he was to be the ruler of England, then he would be. If not then, being the power behind the throne was good enough for him.

November 2, 1486

“Is it just me or has every courtier brought their daughters for my birthday?”  King Edward asked, slightly perplexed as it was usually the sons that came in hopes that they would integrate themselves with the king’s inner circle, becoming his friends and companions.

Unfortunately, Edward was not as outgoing as his father and those who were his favorites were either part of his family or were trusted friends of his family. Perhaps nobles and gentlemen had hoped that their daughters would succeed where their sons had not. Although he couldn’t quite understand why anyone would think daughters would be…oh.

Oh!

“Interesting choice of words. They certainly are hoping that you will pick what they brought to please you on your birthday,” Thomas laughed, causing their mother to glare at him.

Edward’s cheeks were already heating up, and he became completely flushed at the double meaning behind his half-brother’s words.

“I think they are just hoping that you will be like your father, and take a mistress,” Elizabeth Woodville whispered, patting her son’s arm. “After all, you won’t be married for another six years.”

Thomas shook his head, knowing the true reason. “Not quite, Mother, if rumors are to be believed there are many nobles who are actually hoping that Ned will be exactly like his father and spurn the French Princess for an English bride."

“And when exactly did you learn of this?” questioned the young king, guessing that these rumors started shortly after Act of Succession was made. "And why did you not inform me of it."

After all, despite Henry’s loyalty, as long as Edward remained sonless, baby Jasper was technically a threat and therefore it was plausible that his courtiers would be under the impression that a Prince of Wales was needed sooner rather than later.

“I didn't want to bother you with foolish gossip,” Thomas defended himself, waving his hand dismissively. “Besides, I doubted it would even work.”

“You should have told me,” Edward said annoyed, his gaze darting around the room. He suddenly felt like there were too many people in the room. Was it just him or was it becoming suffocating in here? “I’m going to get some air.”

Not caring that everyone was looking at him when he suddenly stood up and walked out of the banquet hall and into an antechamber. Let them celebrate without him for the time being, he needed some time by himself.

With a fur cloak wrapped tightly around him, he went outside, not caring about the cold or the snow. His grooms did not speak as they trailed behind him, and if it weren’t for their boots crunching the snow, Edward might have fooled himself into thinking that he was completely alone.

They must have been keeping their distance for they did not notice a group of children that were just around the corner, nor did they see the snowball that was flying towards their king. In their defense, he did not see it either until the snowball hit his face.

“Oh, look what you did, Ali! You just attacked the king!” someone shouted.

“Yes, and I’m sure my brother is going to throw her in the tower for hitting him with a snowball,” Dickon muttered sarcastically as he, Annie and Cathy ran over to the teenaged king who was had lost his balance, falling backwards onto the ground.

As he dusted the snow off his doublet, Edward’s grooms ran over to help him up, looking as though they weren’t sure whether to be horrified or amused at what had just occurred.

Glancing over the group of children, Edward realized that aside from his brother, younger sisters, and cousins, there were also a few offspring of nobles. He noted that there seemed to be no adults around, supervising the children which was quite odd.

The oldest of the group---aside from Dickon---was a thirteen-year-old girl. From the guilty look on her face, the king could guess that she had been the one to throw the snowball.

“Dickon, before I ask you to introduce me to your friends, I would love to know why you all are out here by yourself,” Edward ordered, speaking in a stern voice which he had heard his mother use so many times whenever they were bold.

“It’s my fault, cousin,” the Earl of Warwick spoke up before Dickon could. “I found a secret passageway leading out of the castle through a side door. When I told Dickon about it, he wanted to use it to escape our governess who thought we would be visiting the Percy children."

Edward decided that he was going to have a very long talk with the women who were supposed to be in charge of these children. Before that, he would find out where this passageway was and make sure that it was sealed off so no one with less altruistic motives used it to break into the castle.

“Ned, will you come play with us?" Cathy implored him, grabbing his hand, and giving him the saddest eyes, he had ever seen. The seven-year-old manipulative little imp even had her lip quivering. "The teams are uneven, but now that you are here, you can play on our team. Please play with us!”

“Cathy, Ned’s not going to play with us. He’s a king. Kings don’t waste their time with childish games, right?” Dickon turned towards his brother with hope in his eyes. The monarch had a gut feeling that the Duke of York hoped that his brother would prove him wrong and agree to their younger sister’s plea.

Edward stared at all three of his siblings, realizing for the first time that he was not much older than them and yet he had been so busy trying to act like a good king that he had never realized that they might miss playing with him.

Four years ago, he had been playing all sorts of games with his siblings, carefree and happy like the child he was instead of having to be a man with responsibilities. Already people thought he would be fancying women like he would fancy a fine wine. In six years, he would be married, and he would have even more duties and responsibilities.

He had to grow up and take his responsibilities seriously, but today, he didn’t want to.

Today, he wanted to be a boy again. He wanted to be far away from politics and the intrigues of the court. Today, he wanted to here, playing in the snow.

After all, it was his birthday, so why shouldn’t he get a break?

“All right. However, I don’t want anyone to go easy on me,” Edward declared, scooping up a handful of snow and throwing at his brother.

Dickon never looked happier as he, Annie, Warwick, and the Percy girl began to gather their own snowballs to counterattack while Edward, Cathy, Cousin Margaret, and Hal Percy the younger did the same.

Tomorrow, Edward would be the sixteen-year-old king, eager to prove himself and fearful that he would make a mistake.

Today, he was as carefree as he had been when his father was alive.

Chapter Text

December 5, 1488

“France is eager to annex Brittany,” the Duke of Richmond stated, frowning in concentration. “Hence, why Duke Louis of Orleans is pressuring his cousin, King Charles to arrange a marriage between him and Anne of Brittany now that he is a widower. King Charles has an heir which means that Brittany’s independence is not threatened as much with the Duke of Orleans being second-in-line to the throne. Which is why the Duchess of Brittany’s councilors have shown no resistance to such an idea. Furthermore, this proposal has the support of the French council who will most certainly try to coerce the young king to take Anne of Brittany by force if we do not agree to their terms.”

King Edward nodded, frowning slightly. Despite being an ocean away, he and Charles had continued to be friends, and their bound deepened when Queen Cecily gave birth the dauphin who was Edward’s nephew, godson, and namesake.

However sometimes politics came before friendship and family. He had no doubt that if King Charles refused to go along with his cousin and councilors, he would be accused of being weak and subservient to England. As easygoing as he was, Charles would not let anyone question his authority, any more than they already had.

And if Edward were to be honest with himself, he might not be so upset if his upcoming nuptials with Anne of Brittany were cancelled.

“Perhaps we should let the Duke of Orleans have the duchess and look for a princess who is closer to His Majesty’s age,” Cardinal John Morton suggested. Morton was a gaunt man with snow-white hair and beard. He was the Archbishop of Canterbury and the Lord Chancellor of the Privy council.

The Marquess of Dorset did not agree. “If we do that, it will look as though we are just letting France walk all over us."

“Not if we ask for payment for allowing the betrothal to be annulled,” Richmond contradicted shrewdly. “In fact, he can ask for the same amount, we would have gotten as Anne of Brittany’s dowry.” 

Edward grinned at his brother-in-law, thinking that was not a half bad plan. “Perhaps we should ask for a bit more than that. That way if they refuse, we can lower the price. Like you said, they are eager to annex Brittany so let’s see just how desperate they are to claim it.”

Of course, they could not be too greedy, France might want to end the matter peacefully but if England were too pushy, they would decide that it wasn’t worth it before sending their troops to Brittany and take Anne to France by force. The only reason they hadn’t was because they felt it would cost them less money and men to negotiate than it would to invade Brittany especially if England chose to send troops to stop them.

“A good idea, Your Majesty,” the Earl of Surrey complimented as though he had come up with it himself instead of simply expanding on Richmond’s idea. 

Although he was the King’s brother-in-law, there were many nobles who resented Henry Tudor’s rise to power. Some were suspicious of him and feared that one day, he would make a move for the throne. However, most were simply jealous that despite coming from two lines of bastards, Henry Tudor had married a princess, became a duke and was the king’s most trusted advisor.

Of course, in the Earl of Surrey’s case, he merely hoped that if he continued to suck up to the king, he would reclaim his dukedom.

“What of Spain? Do you think that they might wish to make their daughter a queen instead of a duchess?” Oxford inquired, looking pensive.

Edward frowned, thinking it would quite unseemly if he went after his brother’s fiancée. Luckily, she was even younger than Anne of Brittany was and therefore unable to be birth any heirs for another decade. “The Princess Catalina is only three years old. I believe as His Eminence pointed out that it would be best to look for a bride who is of marriage age.”


Oxford looked like he wanted to say something but was unsure of whether it would be welcomed. Thankfully, the Marquess of Dorset came to his rescue.

“Your Majesty, I believe Oxford was pointing out that if we allow the betrothal to be annulled, King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella of Spain might want you to marry their daughter instead of the Duke of York,” Thomas explained.

Edward could feel heat coloring his cheeks, feeling rather embarrassed at his mistake. He might be the king but at eighteen-years-old, he was still a teenager compared to the experienced men that made up his privy council.

Perhaps he was being a bit paranoid. However, there were times when he couldn’t help but wonder if his councilors saw him as an inexperienced child.

“Well, I suppose we can deal with that if such a subject is broached by Spain for we will not suggest it,” Edward declared, keeping his voice steady. “I think perhaps that is enough talk about potential brides for today.”

Out of the corner of his eyes, he could see his older brother hiding a smirk behind his goblet as he took a drink.

“Your Majesty, if it pleases you, I shall compose a list of Europe’s eligible ladies who would be suitable as your wife,” Richmond suggested, inclining his head as he adjusted the sleeves of his doublet.

In France Edward and Henry had come up with a code that would allow them to communicate without giving anything away to those who were in close proximity to them.

Henry’s particular gesture meant that Edward was not to argue with him now but instead dismiss the other men and discreetly pull him aside.

“Yes, that would please me greatly. I think it is time for our council to come to an end, Dorset, Richmond, if you could stay behind so we may discuss my sister’s birthday,” King Edward suggested, wincing inwardly as he realized what a lame excuse that was especially considering his sister’s birthday was more than a month away.

However, no one dared point it out as the men single filed out of the chambers, leaving the three of them alone.

“Our sister’s birthday,” Thomas repeated incredulously.

“She was the only one I could think of,” Edward defended himself, glaring at his half-brother.

“Your Majesty, speaking of being discreet,” Henry began, giving Edward a look that could only be described as unimpressed. “I would suggest that you do not propose to the lady you think no one is aware you are in love with until the betrothal between you and Anne of Brittany is officially broken off.”

“I have no idea what you are talking about,” Edward lied, his cheeks red, this time for a completely different reason.

“Do you think the entire court is blind to the way you seem drawn to Lady Eleanor Percy?” Henry asked, his tone bland as his eyebrow shot upwards.

“We are just friends as she is with my siblings and my cousins,” Edward protested.

“And yet they don’t seem half as upset when she leaves court or happy when she returns to court,” Thomas pointed out with a sly wink. He then directed his next words to Henry. “To be fair though, Your Grace, it is only obvious to people who know my brother well. At worst, the court assumes that the King will make Eleanor his mistress.”

Edward grimaced upon hearing that, but he said nothing, knowing a reaction from him would only confirm their suspicions.

“Regardless of what is being said, the last thing we want is for France to know that you have an ulterior motive to allow their suit for annulment. That is why for the next few months, you must treat Lady Eleanor as though she was just another lady. In fact, I would suggest that she returns to her home with the rest of her family for the time being,” Henry stated.

“Is that really necessary?” Edward asked. “She’s done nothing wrong, and our relationship has been nothing but chaste.”

“I understand that, and this is nothing but a precaution to ensure that the French don’t drag negotiations out in hopes that you will cave and agree to it without any sort of compensation,” Henry told him.

“Forgive me for saying so, brother, but one of your father’s worst traits was his impulsivity,” Thomas pointed out. “All Richmond is asking is for you to wait a few months before planning your wedding.”


“But if, as you say, it’s obvious to everyone that I want to marry Eleanor,” Edward began, fighting back a smile. “wouldn’t that mean it would be obvious to the French Ambassador and therefore the entire French council?”


“Not if you send her from court and have no more contact with her until the negotiations are over,” Henry informed him. He quickly added when it looked like Edward was about to object: “All I ask is for three months at the most.”

“Fine but I will be the one who tells her,” Edward commanded firmly. “I will talk to her discreetly.”

“Very well.” The king decided to ignore the doubtful expressions on his brother and his brother-in-law’s faces.

Almost thirty minutes later, Edward’s mind was racing as he pictured Eleanor wearing the queen’s crown, a vision of delicate beauty. The thought of her being his wife excited him and yet it also filled him with anxiety.

Ever since that fateful night when he chanced upon his younger siblings engaging in a snowball fight with their cousins and the oldest of the Percy children, they had become rather close.

The young king wasn’t sure when his feeling for Ali (as she preferred to be called) stopped being platonic. All he knew was that her mere presence was enough to make him feel carefree and warm. 

“How did Father and you know that you were in love?” he asked perhaps the only person who would understand what he was going through.

“Your father was the type of man who fell in love easily,” Elizabeth Woodville replied. “Why he loved me in particular? Well, I’m not sure. Some people claimed witchcraft. Maybe that was it.”

“Mother don’t joke about that,” Edward scolded her, scandalized that she could speak so casually about accusations of witchcraft that had no doubt harmed her reputation more than once.

“He loved me. Even when he had mistresses, he loved me,” Elizabeth murmured, a faraway look in her eyes. “As for me: your father was like a handsome chivalrous knight from the old tales and so it was impossible not to fall in love with him. Perhaps I idealized him too much, but I loved him, and he loved me. We knew it from the moment our eyes met.”

“That quickly?” Edward asked in surprise. His feelings for Eleanor had changed from friendship to something more rather abruptly but it had taken more than a year for them to change and another year for him to have noticed or rather for it to be pointed out by his younger brother.

“Sometimes you just know, other times it is obvious to everyone except you,” the dowager queen teased, ruffling her son’s hair. She then placed a finger beneath his chin and lifted his head up. “What troubles you, my sweet boy?”

“Nothing. I just don’t want to make a mistake,” Edward admitted. “After all, I am a just a boy who has never been in love before, how I can be sure that I'm doing the right thing?”

“I think you give yourself far too little credit,” Elizabeth said softly. “Besides love conquers all, don't you know that?”  

“And yet we are expected so often to ignore our hearts for the sake of duty,” Edward countered.

“That is true, and I shall not ever say that duty is not important. I would not have had your older brothers had I not done my duty,” Elizabeth agreed, a sad smile on her face as she thought of her son Richard Grey who was executed along with her brothers, Anthony, and Richard Woodville by the so-called King Richard III.

Her brother Richard was the last of the male Woodvilles making their earldom extinct. It now belonged to the crown and Edward would make sure to give it to one of Thomas’ younger sons, therefore making the next Earl of Rivers a descendant of his mother’s family.

“It’s strange how your parents eloped and yet expected their children to marry for duty,” Edward chuckled.

“Something my father once pointed out,” Elizabeth agreed. “But in all fairness, Ned, it was less about duty and more about allies as the Woodvilles were treated with suspicion as we changed sides so abruptly. The fact that your father and I married soon after my family allied with the Yorks did not help matters. However, it’s different for you. The war is over, Ned and you have no duty that needs to be fulfilled. You are free to follow your heart.”

Her father was ill, her mother and siblings were to return to their estates, but she was to remain behind under the watchful eyes of her uncle. Her father had given no reason for her to stay but it was obvious why. 

First her father had wanted her to marry the Earl of Surrey’s (Duke of Norfolk then) grandson but when he found out that Henry Tudor was sponsoring the exiled boy king, he had thought she’d be better off marrying the young Duke of Buckingham. 

When it was decided that the Duke of Buckingham would marry Princess Catherine of York instead, Henry Percy had taken it in stride. He decided to look higher for his oldest daughter, pressing her and her brother to befriend the Duke of York, hoping that the young boy would turn out like his father and become besotted to the point where he would marry her.

However, Eleanor doubted that even her ambitious father would have guessed that instead of gaining the Duke of York’s attraction---ironically, she might be the only woman the fifteen-year-old prince did not flirt with--- it was the king who seemed to want to spend every moment in her presence.

At first Edward seemed to treat her as he would any lady but as the months passed, he seemed to talk to her more casually, even allowing her to call him Edward, something she noted that no one outside of his family was allowed to do. Then she started to notice that his eyes seemed to always be on her.

He did not flirt with her or send her gifts like most men did with the women they were courting. But if he wanted to dance with a lady not related to him, she was the only one he asked. The first time he ever jousted, it was her favor he asked for---he played it off as not wanting to upset his sisters by having to decide between them but anyone with eyes could see the way he seemed to light up when she tied her favor around his lance, wishing him luck.

There were rumors that Edward was like his father and would spurn his intended bride for her instead and Eleanor desperately hoped that was the case. Not because she wanted to be queen---well she’d be a liar if she didn’t admit that certainly was a perk---but because she wanted to be his wife.

“Do you know what I thought when I first saw you?”

They stood together on the balcony, looking out at the starry sky, ignoring the music and the chatter of the courtiers which was muffled only slightly by the glass doors that led to the banquet hall.

“I just assaulted the King,” Edward guessed, a ghost of a smile on his face that only got bigger when it caused her to laugh.

“Oh, will I ever live that down?” Eleanor jested, dramatically shaking her head before sobering slightly. “That’s when we first met. I first saw you months earlier when you were officially crowned. I thought you looked far too serious, and it made me wish I could make you laugh just so I could see a smile.”

“You do make me smile,” the golden-red haired king remarked, smiling fondly.

“Thank you, Your Majesty but I---”


“Ali, please, you promised,” Edward reminded her, mock-reproachful.

“Oh, alright, Ned, but I don’t think that I can accept credit, at least not all of it, for making you smile,” Eleanor said, glancing towards the doors where his half-brother was dancing with his wife. She frowned, as it occurred to her that in just a little more than two years, Anne of Brittney would be in England as Edward’s wife and queen, and she doubted that the French Princess would want any rival for the King’s affections. “Perhaps we should go back inside,” Eleanor said abruptly.

“Is everything all right?” Edward asked her, unnerved by her sudden change in mood.

“It’s nothing, Ned,” Eleanor assured him, smiling again as she laid her hand on his arm, letting him lead her inside.

Regardless of her father’s ambitions, she would not get in the way of Edward’s duty no matter how much she wanted to. She had promised herself that she would accept whatever he chose to do and yet that did not stop the despair she felt when the Duke of Richmond sent her a message that by the order of His Majesty, she was to leave court and return to her family estates.

Nor did it stop her from feeling a surge of bitterness when an hour later, her uncle told her that the Dowager Queen had summoned her. She had no doubt that Edward had begged his mother to apologize to her for him, instead of having the courage to say he was sorry to be banishing her for no other reason than he was trying to please a woman---no a girl he had never met.

Eleanor crossed herself upon thinking such spiteful thoughts. Edward was doing what he must to still the rumors still circulating around court, and she certainly should not be condemning his decision as it showed the strength of his character that he would strive to be kind to an eleven-year-old girl who had no say in her choice of husband either and would be leaving the comfort of home for a land of strangers.

She was surprised that when she arrived at Elizabeth Woodville’s chambers, she immediately dismissed Eleanor’s ladies, telling them that she would send one of her other ladies to escort her back to the Percy apartments.

It became much clearer when Elizabeth led her to her to a secret antechamber where Edward was waiting for her. The Dowager Queen gave her arm a light squeeze and an encouraging smile before heading back to the chamber she had come out of, leaving the door open, no doubt listening to every word.

“I’m sorry for the deception but this was the only way I could talk to you privately without anyone suspecting anything,” the king explained.

“Oh? And what did you need to talk about, Your Majesty?” Eleanor asked, unable to keep the bitterness out of her voice. She wasn’t his mistress so there was absolutely no need to treat her as though she was a dirty secret. “The Duke of Richmond has already expressed your wish for me to leave court. My servants are packing my things as we speak, and I shall be ready to leave by tomorrow morning the latest.”

Edward scowled darkly, angered that Henry had sent a letter to Eleanor’s household before he had the chance to explain that this was not as bad as she clearly believed it was.

“Please forgive me, Ali, I wanted to speak to you first. I---uh---please understand that I’m only asking you to leave for the sake of appearance. The last thing I would ever want is for us to be apart,” Edward rambled, feeling like he could kick himself for sounding so stupid.

Eleanor softened, touched by his genuineness. She reminded herself that she knew this day would come eventually and she promised herself that she would not be selfish. And yet she had not thought it would come so quickly. A part of her wished that she could put aside her pride and beg him to let her stay by his side, even if she had to be his mistress, that would be better than pretending that they felt nothing for each other.

“I understand, Ned. Will you ever allow me to return, or do you think it will be better for your queen if I stay away?” Eleanor inquired, averting her eyes.

Edward’s brow furrowed in confusion briefly before realizing what she meant. He dropped to his knees, taking her hands in his. 

“France wishes to annul the betrothal between me and Anne of Brittney. In a few months, I shall be a free man and there is only one woman I want as my wife and queen: you,” Edward declared, kissing her hands.

Eleanor’s jaw dropped unsure what to say to that. So, she kneeled down next to him and rested her forehead on his.

“Would it be considered too bold to ask for a kiss from a king?” she wondered.

“I must admit, I do not care,” Edward laughed as he closed the gap between them. 

 April 16, 1489

Elizabeth of York preferred to stay in the country with the boys instead of going to court, although she still came for some events. So, to keep abreast of what was happening she relied on letters from her mother, brothers, and husband.

She was not surprised to hear that the betrothal contract between her brother and the Duchess Anne was dissolved. It had been on the horizon for over a year ever since her brother started showing marked favor to Lady Eleanor. 

According to Henry the negotiations had gone quicker than he expected and although it was not as much money as he would have liked, it was still a very good deal. They had even gotten the Pope’s blessing just as an added precaution to make sure that the breaking of the engagement was both legal in terms of God’s law as well as the laws of man.

As soon as he got the confirmation that he was no longer betrothed, Edward would send a messenger to Alnwick castle where the Percys would no doubt be waiting for him to summon them to court.

Henry had asked that Elizabeth return to court so she could be among the courtiers that greeted Edward as he brought his new fiancée to meet them. He had not mentioned their son or their wards, but the princess turned duchess knew better than to suggest to bring them.

While to her bringing at least Jasper to court was just to introduce him to his soon-to-be aunt and let him see his uncle and father who were so caught up in state affairs that they hardly interacted with him.

But some courtiers, especially the proud Percys, might take the sight of her son as a reminder that while Edward was heirless, Jasper was next in line for the throne, a rival to any children Lady Eleanor might have.

Considering that she had just learned that she would have Henry and her second child in November, it would be for the best if she erred on the side of caution.

 April 29, 1489

The Duke of York was almost sixteen and the women he flirted with were not yet mature nor did they know much of the carnal pleasures he was seeking. No, Dickon had wanted his first time to be with a lady with experience.

Lady Margaret Bourchier was seven years older than him and despite having the prim and proper appearance in public, in private she was not so stiff. It had been something of a challenge to get her out of her shell.

 She had not been married for very long, but she certainly had enough experience to teach Dickon a few things.

“I must admit, Your Highness, that you are a fast learner,” Margaret moaned breathlessly as she collapsed into his arms.

“I do hope your husband does not mind sharing you because I am eager to continue practicing,” Richard purred, nipping her ear. “Sir Thomas does not know just what kind of woman he has.”


“Oh he knows what type of woman I thought I was so he will be quite shocked and humiliated if he ever finds out about this,” Margaret murmured. “So, I beg of you to try not to brag about pleasuring me.”


Dickon grinned at her, his chest puffing up in pride. “Did I really pleasure you that much, my lady?”

“If you hadn’t told me, I would never have believed this was your first time,” Margaret complimented him, licking her lips.

Taking that as a hint that it was time for round two, Dickon pulled her on top of him, passionately kissing her.

Unfortunately, their tryst was interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Your Highness, the King wishes for you to meet him in his private audience chambers,” the groom called, having heard enough sounds to realize that opening the door would not be welcomed.

Dickon groaned, annoyed that his brother had to interrupt him now. He spent weeks chasing after Margaret who despite having already lost her maidenhead was still not the type to be some lord’s mistress. However, in time, he won her over.

“Your brother calls, and you must answer,” Margaret told him, escaping his hands, and already starting to put her clothes back on. Unwilling to let her go just yet, Dickon untied her laces every time she tied them. Although she did not slap his hand away, the twenty-three-year-old gave him a glare. “We both have places to be, Your Highness, so don’t be childish.”


“Childish? Am I not a man? Have I not proved to be a man?” Dickon demanded, taking umbrage to her words as well as her tone.

To his surprise Margaret blushed at his words, her eyes trailing downwards before she quickly averted them, clearly embarrassed by her own lust.

“I would say so, yes but we must not get lost in our desires every time,” the dark-haired lady pointed out. “We have duties that we must attend to. We can do this again some other time.”

“I shall hold you to that,” Richard declared, watching her as she got dressed slowly before inclining his head, giving her permission to leave.

He lay there for a few minutes basking in the glow of his first time. Then he called for his grooms to come dress him. He had left his brother waiting for long enough.

When Richard walked into his brother’s audience chamber, Thomas took one look at him and clapped him on the back.

“Look at that, my little brother is all grown up,” he laughed. “Good for you.”


“How did you---?” Dickon spluttered, surprised that his brother seemed to instantly know what he had done just by looking at him.

“No one grins like that unless they’ve been with a lady,” Thomas informed him.

“What? You---what? Dickon!” Edward exclaimed, looking scandalized and horrified at the same time.

“Are you upset that I not only was the first one to be married but also the first one to bed a woman?” Richard teased him.

“First of all, your marriage to Anne de Mowbray does not count considering it was never consummated. Secondly, who---actually never mind, I don’t want to know,” Edward decided, turning away from his grinning brothers. 

It was true that Richard’s “marriage” to the young Countess of Norfolk was not a true one due to them both being younger than six-years-old and was merely just a ploy for the late King Edward to get his hands on the heiress’ estates---something that paid off when little Anne died at age eight---but sometimes Dickon found it amusing that he was married before his older brother.

“I’m sorry, Ned, I’m just feeling a little giddy right now. I’m sure it will wear off soon and I can be serious if you need me to,” Dickon assured him.

“Can you really?” Edward asked, a slight smirk on his face. In show of great maturity, Dickon stuck his tongue out at his brother. “Yes, that clearly allays my doubts. Moving on. I am planning to meet the Percys before they reach London and I wanted you two to come with me.” 

“To think, the next time you visit us in Alnwick Castle, you will be the Queen of England,” Maud Percy breathed, as she brushed her daughter’s hair. 

Eleanor shivered at her mother’s words. It didn’t feel real quite yet.

“I knew you would make a fine wife for a duke, but I was wrong to think so lowly of you,” her father spoke in jest, but she could detect the pride in his voice. He had been so very proud of her since she returned home and shared what Edward had said to her. “Just remember that all I’m hoping for is a dukedom.”

“Would you like to ask him the next time I see him, or may I wait until after we get married?” Eleanor quipped dryly, quirking her eyebrow.

“Forgive me, I am but an old man who thinks his descendants deserve a dukedom,” Northumberland told her, having enough sense of humor not to be offend by his daughter’s brazen words. “Just be glad that is all I’m seeking. Goodness knows there are far more ambitious men than I.”

“You mean like our son. I love that boy, but he keeps saying that Catherine Spencer is not worthy of a future brother-in-law of the king,” Maud remarked, frowning in disapproval.

 “He’s twelve. I’m sure he’ll grow out of his arrogance eventually,” the older Percy said, not sounding too convinced.

Just then little Alan came running in.

“The king is here!” he shouted in delight. “The king is here!”

“How are you?”


“When I daydreamed about this moment, that was not the first thing you said to me,” Eleanor jested as he kissed her hello. “And I imagined you kissing me in a meadow.” 

“I promise that I shall meet one of your expectations later, my love,” Edward laughed, kissing her lips again and again until his kisses were slowly becoming more passionate. They both were gasping for breath when they parted. “Forgive my lack of control but now that I’m kissing you, I find it hard to stop.”

“Ned, I’m beginning to think you are a hopeless romantic,” Eleanor giggled.

“Well, you seem to bring out that side of me,” Edward told her, resting his forehead on hers. “I hope that you liked my letters. I know I’m not a poet but I thought you might have enjoyed them.”


After a heated discussion, the Duke of Richmond agreed that he was perhaps being overly cautious--- the fact that Henry Tudor had admitted to being wrong was in itself a surprise and a victory--- and that as long as Edward was discreet, there was no harm in exchanging letters with Eleanor.

“I did. Thank you for writing to me.”


“Not even married yet and already you two are sickeningly sweet,” Dickon drawled from a few feet away, causing Edward and Eleanor to jump apart as though they had forgotten about their two chaperons.

“Don’t ruin the moment,” Thomas scolded his younger brother, giving him a stern look.

“Now he knows how it feels,” Dickon grumbled under his breath.

“Perhaps we are being a bit selfish. I know my younger siblings are eager to meet you. Well Hall already knows you, but William, Alan, Josceline, and Elizabeth were quite disappointed when I stole you away as soon as you arrived,” Eleanor remarked, although it had been more that her parents had ushered their younger children away, allowing the two young lovers to have a private moment.

“Well, we don’t have to return to court just yet,” Edward remarked. “I’ll send a letter to Richmond and tell him that I will be staying the night here and returning to court in the morning.”

“Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to get in the way of whatever business you need to attend to,” Eleanor remarked. Of course, she doubted he would be here if he had something urgent bit of statecraft to attend to. Edward was certainly not a procrastinator and if he were expected to do something, it would be done.

“Nothing but if something does come up, I am certain that Richmond can handle it,” Edward pointed out.


“I doubt he’d admit it if he couldn’t,” Dickon quipped as the foursome strolled out of the living room and into the parlor. Neither Eleanor or Edward seemed to hear him, and he let out a heavy sigh. “They are going to be like this from now on, won’t they?”


“Don’t worry Dickon, I’m sure you will be just as bad as well once you are married,” Thomas remarked, throwing his arm around his younger brother’s shoulders.

Dickon snorted. “Well luckily, I have at least ten years before that happens."

April 30, 1489

It was a scandal when Jacquetta had married a mere knight, Richard Woodville. A scandal that was still whispered about when their daughter became queen. And that mark against her family was nothing compared to the fact that they were once Lancastrians supporters, the Yorkist's sworn enemies. Despite that, they were now favored by the Yorkist king who was so besotted with Elizabeth that he snubbed a French match just so he could marry her in secret.

Now their son followed in his footsteps by choosing an English woman from a family with Lancastrian sympathies as his bride.

But it was easier for them. Edward had not been as impulsive as his father, the Percys had chosen to fight against the usurper long before Edward had begun taking an interest in Eleanor and their family’s noble lineage went back at least a hundred years and therefore they could not be accused of being social upstarts.

Although the Dowager Queen could not help but feel a bit of bitterness as she watched the court greet the Percys with far more graciousness and cheer than they had when she first arrived, she refused to let her acrimony mar her son’s future happiness for two reasons.

Firstly, having the nobles accept Eleanor as the new queen meant it was unlikely that the crafty Lady Margaret Beaufort could convince one of them to conspire with her against Edward (and Elizabeth still could not discount that Henry Tudor might be biding his time before making a grab for the throne). The fact that dear Lizzie was due to give birth to her second child by the end of the year did not help ease her suspicious mind--- although she was loath to think of her precious grandson who was not yet three as an enemy.

The second thing was she refused to treat Eleanor as badly as Dowager Duchess Cecily of York had treated her. The old woman had thought Elizabeth was not good enough for her son and had made it quite clear that she scorned Edward’s actions. And while she did not outwardly support George or Richard’s treason, the Dowager Queen often suspected that her mother-in-law did not disagree with their accusations against the Woodvilles and Elizabeth. 

No, instead of treating Eleanor coldly, Elizabeth would make sure to treat the younger woman with kindness and respect. She would take her under her wing, helping her navigate the treacherous waters of the royal court. She would be more than a mother-in-law, she would a guide and a mentor, passing down all the wisdom she had learned to her true successor.

Elizabeth was taken out of her thoughts as Edward and Eleanor walked up to her. Her son had decided to forgo making an announcement at one of the banquets, feeling that by simply introducing Eleanor to Elizabeth formally, it would confirm what he was sure his courtiers already suspected.

“Mother, I would like you to meet my fiancée, Lady Eleanor Percy,” Edward proclaimed as the reddish-brown haired lady made a shallow curtsy.

“Your Majesty, Lady Eleanor, I am pleased to hear this news and I give my warmest congratulations,” Elizabeth said sweetly, moving forward to kiss Eleanor’s cheeks. “I am glad to be welcoming you to the family.”


This caused the courtiers to clap enthusiastically, perhaps a little too enthusiastically. But that mattered little.

After all, if Edward and Eleanor’s marriage turned out to be fruitful, enough sons to make sure that the Tudors, any Tudors, could start up another Cousin War again than her family's greatest gamble would continue to pay off.

Chapter Text

March 15, 1490

King Edward watched as the Scottish Ambassador, standing in for King James, exchanged vows with his sister. In January of next year, just a few months after she turned fifteen, Anne would be off to Scotland.

He just hoped that his brother-in-law would be a kind and loving husband despite the rumors of his mistresses and bastards. The idea of losing his sister to a womanizer king of a cold country upset him. However, despite any misgivings he had, he knew that it was important that Scotland and England move past their years of fighting and become friends instead of enemies.

His sister marring a foreign king had gotten them peace with France so perhaps the same would work with Scotland as well. 

“Is it just me or does Lady Margaret look sour,” Eleanor whispered into Edward’s ear. “Of course, she always looks like that but for some reason, she seems even more petulant than usual.”

The king struggled not to laugh at his wife’s words. He glanced over at the Countess who did indeed look put out that she had to watch as another York princess married a king, giving the Yorks another powerful ally. 

Perhaps she hoped her little granddaughter would marry the King of Scots, feeling that as the daughter of the “true” king, months old Margaret could do better than the son of an earl.

Despite viewing the Duke of Richmond as an upstart, the Earl of Surrey had suggested that baby Margaret marry his oldest son even though Thomas Howard was almost twenty-years-older than the girl.

Ever practical, the Duke of Richmond had suggested that Muriel Howard marry his heir Jasper while Margaret married Eleanor’s brother instead. According to Eleanor, her father and brother where both eager to agree, thinking that this arrangement was predecessor to Henry Percy becoming the Duke of Northumberland.

But to Lady Margaret, her grandchildren deserved better than nobility. They deserved royalty. After all, if Edward and Richard died heirless, it would be her grandson who became king.

She might not say anything even in private, but everyone knew what she truly thought. To her, her son was king in all, but name and the sisters of the false king should not be marrying monarchs as they did not deserve to call themselves queens.

The fact that Eleanor had not fallen pregnant after almost a year of marriage only made her more certain that her son and grandchildren were destined to be much more than simple courtiers.

“Ned?” Eleanor’s voice brought him out of his thoughts. Her hand gently squeezing his arm. His expression was dark all of a sudden and she could almost hear his mind whirling. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Edward said softly, shaking his head to clear it. “Let’s just focus on Anne. After all today is her day.”

He doesn’t want her to worry or feel pressured (although he was certain that she knew of the whispers circling court that one of them might be infertile) to give him an heir. After all these things took time and they were both young.

They would have children eventually: Handsome princes and beautiful princesses. Lady Margaret could sneer and plot all she’d like, her grandson would be the Duke of Richmond but never the King of England.

Once the ceremony was over, Edward led the court back to the banquet hall for the feast he prepared for his dear sister. He didn’t look at Lady Margaret once, choosing instead to be happy about the present instead of worrying about the future.

Richard stared at the woman in front of him, shocked by her words. When he had met her eyes during the feast, he had thought the meaningful look she gave him meant she wanted a secret romantic rendezvous. He had no idea of the news she would share with him once they were alone.

“Are you sure?”

“I am positive, Your Highness. I missed my courses three times and I’ve been throwing up every single morning. A few days ago, I was examined by a midwife, and she confirmed it. I shall give birth in less than six months,” Lady Margaret Bryan replied. “Thomas wants me to stay in the country for the rest of the pregnancy so I shall be leaving court once we get permission from the king.”

“So am I to be a father,” Richard murmured, unsure whether to be delighted or terrified by the prospect.

“I am afraid I cannot be certain about that. The child could be Thomas and I think that it would be best if it is his,” Margaret told him, averting her eyes, knowing that Richard would find her words unpleasant. “I have enjoyed these past few months, Your Highness but it’s time I started acting like a wife and mother instead of a silly girl allowing herself to be seduced by a charming prince.”

“Are you saying you want to end our…relationship?” Richard asked, an eyebrow raised.

“If it pleases you, my lord.”

“It does not please me,” Richard pointed out, although he kept his tone gentle. Margaret was not the type of woman who would speak freely to anyone of higher rank unless asked. For her to speak so openly showed how much trust and faith she had in him. “But if this is what you want, I shall not hold you against your will. But what of the child, will you keep them from me?”

“We can’t be sure it is even yours. I just think it will be best for all involved that we pretend that there is no chance my baby could have any other father than my husband,” Margaret explained, giving him a sympathetic look. “You are young, Your Highness and I’m sure you will have many children. Eventually you will have forgotten all about me and my baby.”

“Perhaps you are right,” Richard admitted with a sigh. Then he took her hand and kissed the back of it. “But should you ever want for anything, just ask and I will provide it for you.”

“You are too kind, Your Grace,” Margaret said as she curtsied. “We should return to the feast before we are missed.”

Richard nodded and his former mistress left the chamber to go back into the Great Hall. He did not follow her and instead returned to his apartment, wanting to alone to mull over the situation.

The young Duke of York was not alone for long. After nearly a half an hour of sitting and brooding, his manservant announced the Marquess of Dorset.

“There you are, brother, I’ve been looking all over for you. What are…” Thomas trailed off when he saw the haunted look on his brother’s face. “You look like you need a stiff drink.” 

“Margaret’s pregnant,” Richard explained as Thomas handed him a goblet full of wine. He drowned it before his brother had a chance to sit down in the adjacent chair.

“Is it yours?” Thomas asked, knowing full well that Richard’s mistress was married, something his younger brother hadn’t even confided in with Edward.

“We don’t know but she thinks it would be best if we acted like the baby was her husband’s,” Richard told him.

“I suppose that is understandable. What man would want to take care of a baby his wife conceived with another man?” Thomas remarked. It was more likely it wasn’t Margaret but her husband’s idea to pretend that the baby wasn’t the son of the Duke of York to spare him the humiliation of not only being cuckold but also having to deal with the gossip that his wife preferred a man ten years his junior.

“That’s not the point, Thomas, I might become a father,” Richard snapped. “What if the child is mine? What if I walk away and I regret it for the rest of my life?”

“Dickon, when I learned I was to be a father, I was excited almost immediately. You, on the other hand, look as if someone just told you, you had the plague,” Thomas pointed out. “If you want to acknowledge that child neither of the Bryans have any right to keep the baby away from you. But if you do it, there will be no turning back and you will be honor-bound to take some responsibility of your son or daughter.”

“I’m not ready,” Richard admitted. “But when do you know you’re ready?”


“Usually when your wife tells she is with child,” Thomas replied simply, causing Richard to throw him an annoyed look. “What do you mean by ready exactly?” 

“I don’t know. But then again, I suppose that’s my point. I don’t know,” Richard groaned in frustration, throwing his hands in the air. “It was supposed to be just pleasure, I didn’t think she would get pregnant.”

Thomas stared at him in disbelief. “Yes, because when you bed a lady just for pleasure, they never become with child,” he deadpanned dryly.

“Oh, just go away,” Richard snapped, crossing his arms over his chest, and doing a wonderful impression of petulant child.

“Never. I’m your older brother and I refuse to leave you to sulk by yourself,” Thomas told him, grabbing Richard’s empty goblet to refill it. Out of the corner of his eyes, he could see a ghost of a smile on Richard’s face.

 March 22, 1490

France

The French court was filled with poets, musicians, artists, and composers. It was also filled to the brim with gossiping, scheming, judging courtiers. The topic of the day was Queen Cecily's losing her second child.

“The queen miscarried her baby.”

“They say the Duke of Orléans has impregnated his bride and if she has a boy, he will demand that King Charles make him his heir.”


“Does he forget about the Dauphin?”


“Everyone knows it will be a miracle if that weakling survives to his fifth birthday let alone to become king.”

Louise of Savoy was a girl of fourteen, sharp as a whip and ambitious. She had befriended the Queen when she arrived at court which was no easy task as Cecily of York was not a trusting woman.

Once she had heard enough, off she went to the Queen’s apartments. Cecily was sitting up and sewing. Had it not been for her red eyes or the fact that she had dressed herself in black, someone might have mistaken her for not caring for the son who slipped out of the womb too early.

“What are they saying?” Cecily demanded, the minute Louise greeted her. After her miscarriage, she decided to keep to herself in her apartments, only allowing a handful of her ladies to stay with her.

“Apparently my husband’s cousin’s wife is with child and if he has a son, he will champion him as King Charles’ heir,” Louise informed her, not at all flustered by her mistress’ rather impolite tone.

“Anne of Brittany is only thirteen. Who do they think she is: Margaret Beaufort?” Cecily snapped, thinking rather viciously that it would serve those people right if Anne did get pregnant at thirteen and like the Countess of Derby could never get pregnant again but unlike the countess, she had a daughter. Cecily made a cross sign; she would never wish something so vile to happen to the young Duchess of Orléans who was merely a victim of ambitious men.

Unlike the counts Louise had been eavesdropping on, she didn’t ask why Louis of Orléans thought his son would be Charles’ heir instead of her son. She didn’t need to, everyone feared that the little Dauphin was too sickly to live but then again, they thought Prince Edward would was too small when he was born and yet he continued to survive. Perhaps there was hope for him.

“It is just a rumor, my lady, I’m sure Louis like my own husband will wait until his wife turns fifteen before bedding her,” Louise assured her.

The queen let out a heavy sigh as she frowned, causing the worry lines to appear more pronounced on her face. “If the worst happens, I would rather your husband became king than the Duke of Orléans who stole my brother’s bride forcing him to settle for a common bride.”

“I don’t think he minds much. From what I hear your brother loves his wife,” Louise pointed out, bemused at the Queen’s anger as she of all people would have good cause to know that her brother had not minded dissolving the marriage betrothal between him and Anne of Brittany.

Cecily harrumphed. “Love has no place in political marriages. It always ends badly,” she said coldly.

“The king certainly loves you,” Louise blurted out before she could stop herself.

To her surprise, Cecily did not scold her for speaking out of turn, instead she smiled fondly. “He does. He is a fool, but he is a sweet fool,” she said, more to herself than to her lady-in-waiting. “I just hope I won’t let him or France down.”

“You won’t. One way or another, your children will sit on the throne of France,” Louise told her soothingly.

March 31, 1490  

England

Oh, sweet Bessie, was I ever a carefree girl or was I always tainted by cynicism and grave thoughts? I am beginning to wonder if those days where you, Mary and I would play together was just some sort of lovely dream.

My husband is kind to me, loves me despite those horrible whispers that mock my poor Ned. I fear for him and that is why the miscarriage of my second baby hit me so hard. I am afraid that my son will die and have no brothers or sons to sit on the throne of France.

But then again, it might not even matter. For Uncle Richard cared not for his nephews when he conspired to take the throne from them. Charles’ cousins are ambitious men, and they have young wives who will no doubt give them many sons.

I have asked Charles if he can invite our Mother and you to France for a few days. I hope you will come, Bessie, for I need you to remind me of what I should be thankful for as I am losing myself to my own treacherous thoughts.

Cécile the Queen.

“Oh, she sounds so forlorn,” Elizabeth murmured sympathetically. “Maybe I should go visit her for a month or two.”


“Or a month,” Henry corrected her, giving his wife an annoyed look. “Don’t coddle her. She is a grown woman who has a husband and three-year-old son to comfort her in person and there is nothing wrong with sending a letter to express your condolences especially when she isn't asking you to drop everything and sail to France just so she can be cheered up.”


“Your compassion for my sister is touching,” Elizabeth huffed, half-teasing, half-serious. 

“Forgive me that I prefer to focus on what is happening in England. It has been four years since I defeated your uncle and while there has only been one revolt, there is still a layer of uncertainty as long as your brothers remain heirless,” Henry pointed out, sounding frustrated.

“Henry, you have done much to help my brother, but I fail to see how his wife becoming pregnant is any of your concern let alone how you expect to do anything about it,” Elizabeth stated, finding herself becoming a little annoyed at how her husband seemed to feel that being Edward’s right-hand man took precedence over everything. Even now as they sat together, Henry was pouring over letters from the king.

“It is my concern because I have spent the majority of my life dealing with the civil war and endless years of uncertainly as our family fought each other for dominance,” Henry snapped. “I could have taken the crown from the Duke of Gloucester and kept it for myself but instead I chose to end the Cousin war and I would rather it not start up again.”

“You act as if the entire world is on your shoulders and one day, I fear all that stress will be your undoing,” Elizabeth murmured, stroking his arm. “Come with me to France. Let’s spend a lazy month together.”


“I am needed here in England, my love, but I’ll tell you what: once you return from France, we shall spend a lazy month at Ewelme Manor instead,” Henry suggested, giving her a rare smile that seemed to light up his usually grave expression. “I give you my word that I will not work for that entire month.”


“Well I know you are an honorable man whose promises have yet to be broken,” Elizabeth said lovingly.

“Of course, if the King commands me to come to his side, I won’t be able to ignore his summons,” Henry stated.

The Duchess of Richmond sighed, knowing she couldn't expect anything less from her loyal, hardworking insufferable husband.

 May 2, 1490

Queen Eleanor wondered if it was too early to get her hopes up. After all it was entirely possible that missing her period, this month was just a fluke. Perhaps she simply felt ill and that’s why certain smells only made her nausea worse and that’s why she had thrown up every morning for the past fortnight.

But the idea that she might be pregnant was too exciting to wait another month. She wanted to know now. However, despite her impatience, Eleanor knew that the last thing she needed was for rumors of her pregnancy to be spread around court only for it to turn out that she wasn’t with child at all, dashing her subjects' hope that the royal couple would finally have their Prince of Wales. Even a healthy princess would be enough to silence those who feared that for the succession.

Making an excuse that she was feeling too tired (which wasn’t much of an excuse), Eleanor dismissed her ladies, keeping only those she trusted the most by her side. She had her mother summon the royal physician under the guise of making sure her illness was nothing to be concerned about.

John Argentine had been Edward’s doctor since he was a child and upon the King’s return to England, he had been promoted to royal physician. He was a kindly old man whose age had not slowed down his mind.

He understood why the Queen would make a connection between her missed period, low energy, a strong craving for certain dishes and unusually weak stomach would cause her to come to such a conclusion.

After a thorough examination, the doctor agreed that there was a high chance that Eleanor was indeed pregnant.

“Unfortunately, Your Majesty, there is no way to be certain,” Dr. Argentine explained, perhaps worried that she might blame him if it turned out that she had never been pregnant in the first place. “Perhaps in a few weeks, I should examine you again just to be sure.”

“But if your examination is correct, when should we expect the child to be born?” Maud Percy asked, unable to hold back her excitement at the notion that she was to be a grandmother for the first time of a prince or a princess no less.

“Sometime in December, my lady,” the doctor replied.

Eleanor dismissed him with a kind thank you and plea to keep this a secret from all. After he left, she could not stop the delighted giggles falling from her lips as she collapsed onto her bed.

“I cannot wait to see Edward’s face when I tell him the good news,” Eleanor declared, feeling giddy. “He will be so happy to be a father.”

“If you would like, I shall send him a message that you must speak to him at once,” Elizabeth Stafford suggested, certain that the King would drop everything to rush to his wife’s side.

“Would that be wise? There is a chance we are celebrating to early,” her sister, Anne, pointed out gently.

“No, I am with child. I just know I am,” Eleanor said firmly with a resolute edge to her voice, making it clear that she could not be convinced otherwise. She nodded at Elizabeth Stafford to send a message to Edward.

But before Mistress Stafford could even take a step out the door, the herald announced the King’s arrival.

“Ali, are you well? Dr. Argentine told me that you had sworn him to secrecy. What is it? What’s wrong?” Edward asked, sounding terrified as if he feared his wife was deathly ill.

When he learnt that his wife had sent for the royal physician, he had summoned the man to his chambers in order to learn what the doctor had found out. But no amount of prodding on his part or empty threats could convince Argentine to break his promise to the queen.

Edward was growing more and more paranoid that something terrible must be wrong with his wife. He barely noticed the smiles on her ladies’ faces as they cleared the room, allowing the couple to have their privacy.

“Oh Ned, come here. Sit down,” Eleanor implored him, taking his hand in hers and pulling him to her bed, fighting back a smile. “I’m all right, my love, I swear. I am just going to be feeling ill for a few months, but I promise you it will be for a very good cause.”

The monarch stared at her; his brow furrowed in confusion. Then his face lit up and his concerned frown turned into a grin that threatened to split his face in half.

“Are you…?”  Edward asked, half-afraid to say the word, least he be proven wrong.

“I’m with child, your silly man,” Eleanor giggled. “You are to be a father.”


“Oh Ali, this is wonderful. We will have a son. A handsome prince named for my brother,” Edward proclaimed.

“Or a daughter,” Eleanor reminded him. She frowned when she saw Edward’s smile slip just for a second. “Would it displease you if we were to have a princess?”

“No, no, forgive me. I was just thinking it would be better that if we had a son first,” Edward explained, inwardly kicking himself for such a childish statement. Only God could decide what gender their child would be. He rested his forehead on hers. “If it is a princess, I shall be just as happy, for she will be born from our love.”


Eleanor giggled at his poetic words, causing her husband to beam at her.

 June 29, 1490

Richmond Castle smelled like sickness and death. Of the five children that lived in the Tudor household, only Charles Brandon and baby Margaret remained healthy. They had to be moved to another manor in fear that they would be infected by the disease plaguing the three other boys.


William de la Pole, his brother Richard and Jasper were sick with measles. William had died last night and Richard early this morning. Now only three-year-old Jasper was left, and Henry prayed that he would not have to send a letter to his wife to tell her that all three boys were died.

Elizabeth loved William and Richard like they were her sons and would be devastated to learn of their deaths. She would be even worse if their sweet boy died so early in his childhood. 

“God will not take him. He is born to be a king,” Lady Margaret whispered. It didn’t seem to occur to her that if the two older boys could not fight off their illness what hope did a toddler have?

Henry wondered if she was trying to comfort him or herself. But he ignored her, pretending he had not heard her treasonous words. Instead, he paced around the room, needing to do something while he waited for a report from the physician.

Almost an hour later, Dr. Miller came in, looking less grave than he had when he made his last report. In fact, he was beaming, giving Henry hope that his boy had beaten the odds.

“Your Grace, it is miracle! The Earl of Pembroke’s fever has broken,” the doctor announced. “He is going to get better.”

“Oh, this is God’s doing! He has shown---”

The Duke of Richmond did not stick around to hear the end of his mother statement. Instead, he flew past the doctor, practically sprinting to his son’s room.

Jasper was going to live. His son would not take from him.

Henry was not a man who normally succumbed to his emotions but upon reaching his little boy’s bedside and wrapped his arms around that tiny precious pale body, he burst into tears.

“Papa,” Jasper rasped, having been startled awake by his father. “Why are you crying?”

“Because I’m happy that you are going to get better,” Henry explained, wiping away his tears. “You’re going to be okay, my son. I promise you that everything will be all right now.”

“Don’t cry, Papa, tears are only for sadness,” Jasper told him, sticking out his chubby hand to dry his father’s wet cheeks.

Henry couldn’t help but chuckle as he tussled Jasper’s golden-red hair affectionately.

His mother was wrong. Jasper would never be king. But he would live, and he would become an advisor and a companion to the future Prince of Wales.

But then again, his future was unimportant for now. All that Henry cared about was he would not lose his son. With that thought, he hugged Jasper tighter. 

 July 14, 1490

Once the Dowager Queen and the Duchess of Richmond had returned to England, the duchess had gone back to her estates to take care of her recovering son and mourn the loss of her wards. The Queen Dowager, on the other hand came back to court immediately to dote on her pregnant daughter-in-law.

Although Edward had yet to make an official announcement, both he and Eleanor had informed their family members. The Percys had been overly jubilant, pleased that they would soon call the Prince of Wales their kin.

“How are you feeling dear?” Elizabeth Woodville asked her daughter-in-law, beaming at the sight of the swollen belly of the queen. The way Elizabeth was glowing, anyone would think she was the one carrying the royal baby. “Tired? Are you eating enough? Have you been resting?”

“How blessed am I that I have two mothers asking me the same exact questions about my health?” Eleanor jested with only a touch of sarcasm.

Maud and Elizabeth chuckled good-naturedly, not at all offended by her thinly veiled complaint.

“Forgive me, daughter, but this is my first grandson, how can I not fuss over you both?” Maud questioned rhetorically, stroking her daughter’s hair, and kissing her cheek.

“And as for me. I gave birth to Edward in sanctuary because the Lancastrians had usurped the throne from my husband,” Elizabeth recalled, a sad look on her face as she remembered those awful days at Westminster abbey full of uncertainty and fear instead of the joy and celebration that should have followed her son’s birth. “Your son will be born during a time of peace and tranquility.”


Eleanor struggled to keep a smile on her face. A son. A Prince of Wales. A boy. She was not naïve: she knew how important a male heir was. However, she was sick of people insisting that the child she carried was a son. Not only were they setting themselves up for disappointment if come Christmastide, she had a daughter, but it was also unfair to act as though it had to be a prince at least the first time around.

After all, in a time of peace and tranquility, a healthy princess was just as good as a healthy son. As Edward had said, they were young and would have many children. None of whom would ever have to experience ambitious men trying to usurp their position. At least she hoped that would be the case.

Chapter Text

November 4, 1490

November was cold and dreary, but the frigid weather bothered the men and women of the English court little as they focused instead on the upcoming royal birth. The day when the Queen would give birth was getting closer and the King was making preparations were being made for the little Prince of Wales or a Princess. Although everyone was wishing for a Crown Prince, many agreed with Queen Eleanor that a healthy girl would just as good.

“After all, you and Her Majesty are young, barely even twenty,” Henry remarked, while his tone was gruff there was an ounce of fond amusement. “If it is girl this time, it will be a boy next time. Not to mention, you do have three older sisters. Try to have some patience.”

“You know that is very easy for you to say,” King Edward muttered with faux annoyance before sobering. “I’m not saying I would be upset if I were to have a daughter, I just want to prove to be capable of siring healthy heirs.”

“There are not a lot of things I respect your father for but at least he knew that the opinions of the sheep matter little to a lion,” Henry told him sternly.

“Is that your roundabout way of telling me to stop worrying about what others think and just focus on my wife and unborn child?” Edward asked, a ghost of a smile on his lips. Once he found Henry’s bluntness annoying and disrespectful but now it was refreshing and sometimes even humorous. In an odd way, it was rather touching that his brother-in-law felt he could always be honest with Edward. Besides, he knew the Duke of Richmond would never dream of talking to him like that in public.

“Well, I might have phrased it a little less diplomatically in my head but yes that is what I mean,” Henry replied. “Furthermore, you could have a thousand sons and still be a weak man. You should be judged by your actions or your strength of character not on what you can and cannot accomplish.” 

Edward decided not to point out that it was very easy for Henry to say as not only did he have a son, but he had also won a war and instead of taking the crown for himself, he handed it back to the rightful owner. How could anyone compete with such noble actions?

When the Duke of York strode into the queen’s apartments, Eleanor didn’t think twice about dismissing her ladies. She knew that the proper etiquette demanded that she have at least one remain as chaperone so she wouldn’t be alone with a man who was not her husband or one of her male relatives, but she felt that because she viewed Dickon and Thomas as she did her brothers, and as long as Ned didn’t object, they should be free to speak to her privately.

However now that the Queen was big with child---just a week from when she would have to go into confinement, she realized that at least one of her ladies should stay with them just in case she needed anything, so she requested Thomas Grey’s wife, Cecily Bonville to stay with them.

“You know I never quite believed the notion that woman glowed when they were with child and yet here you are, looking as though you have with the sun inside of you,” Richard complimented as he took a seat adjacent to her.

“The way everyone is acting, I might as well be. You should hear them, Dickon, insisting I shall birth a Christmastide child as though I was the Virgin Mary carrying the Christ child,” Eleanor said with a frown. “It upsets me because I just know these will be the same people who will disappointed in me if I have a princess instead. God forbid I birth a stillborn.” The Queen made the cross sign, hoping that she had not just spoken that horrible possibility into existence.

“Ali, I know Edward can get in his own head about what’s expected of him, but I promise you that he will not be disappointed if you have a daughter instead of a son,” Richard assured her gently, guessing that Eleanor cared less what anyone at court thought about her having a daughter. It was Edward’s reaction she was worried about. “You know how Ned can get. He acts as if something goes wrong, the whole world might collapse. But even if he would prefer a boy, he loves you and your unborn child too much to be upset over a thing like that. He’ll be a good father.”

“Well considering what a good brother and husband he is, I have no doubt about that, I assure you,” Eleanor jested, smiling now that her spirts had been lifted by the image of her husband’s face when he would see their baby for the first time. Whatever child she had, Edward would love them with his whole heart.

Richard smiled as he nodded his head in agreement. Edward was always a good brother. He could still remember that fateful night, the Duke of Buckingham’s men had come to the tower, terrifying the two preteen boys as the men took the Tower of London by force. They had no idea why the Duke of Buckingham’s men were attacking, and Richard feared for their safety.

June 15, 1483

"We are going to die here!” the Duke of York cried, curling up in a fetal position and then covering himself with his blanket as he tried to shut out the sounds of swords clashing. “They’re going to kill us, aren’t they?”

His older brother climbed into his bed, pulling the quivering boy into a warm hug that reminded Richard of their father’s embrace.

“Hush, Dickon, it’s going to be okay. Uncle Richard won’t let anything happen to us,” Edward whispered firmly.

“Then why won’t he let us leave? Why won’t he let Mama and our sisters visit us?” Richard demanded, burying his face in his brother’s lap. He was not yet ten but even he had picked up on their uncle’s strange actions. “I’m so scared, Ned, that we will never leave the Tower of London alive.”

“Dickon, do you trust me?” Edward asked.

“Yes,” Richard replied without any hesitation, looking up at his brother, his eyes shining with unshed tears.

“Then trust me when I say we will get through this. As long as I draw breath, I won’t let anyone hurt you, Dickon,” Edward swore. “I make this promise to you as both your king and your brother.”  

The Duke of York opened his mouth to respond when they heard a door open. Richard squeezed his eyes shut, afraid that it was someone coming to kill them both. Edward stiffened as he glanced around the room, looking for the intruder.

“Ned, Dickon, come here quickly,” a voice behind a velvet curtain hissed urgently.

“It’s Tom,” Edward whispered to Richard in case he could not recognize their oldest half-brother’s voice. Of all the people they could trust, the boys knew for certain, they could trust their brothers.

The fighting was still going on outside, but the two boys still crept across the creaky floorboards, fearing that someone would hear the noise their feet made and come and investigate.

When they reached Thomas, the Marquess of Dorset, they immediately hugged him, glad to finally see a friendly face. Thomas led them into a secret passageway, being sure that curtain was still covering the hidden door.

“Come. There’s not much time and we have to get you two on a boat to France,” Thomas told them as he led them down the dimly lit corridor.

“Wait, what about Mama and our sisters? Are they coming too?” Dickon asked hopefully.

“They will meet us in France but for right now, I am more concerned about getting you both away from England,” Thomas explained. “It’s not safe for you here.”

“But I am England’s King. I shouldn’t leave my country,” Edward pointed out, his brow furrowed in confusion.

“It’s Uncle Richard, isn’t it? He wants to be King instead of Ned,” Richard guessed.

Thomas didn’t answer but the dark scowl on his face spoke volumes. “It doesn’t matter. He’s not the true King of England and someday you will return to reclaim what is rightfully yours,” he promised.

Edward said nothing and when the three of them stepped out into the moonlight, Richard could see apprehension on his brother’s face as he feared what the future what in store for them.

 November 22, 1490

The road to Buckinghamshire was thankfully clear of snow and ice but judging from the dark clouds in the sky that might change within the next few hours, a thought that made Prince Richard spur his horse to go faster, not wanting to have to spend the night at the Bryan manor.

Of course, he was certain that if he had to stay, the knight and his wife would play the part of gracious hosts. But it would be terribly awkward if he stayed especially when he had no doubt that they were anticipating his arrival with a bit of dread.

Richard had not planned on going to visit the Bryans. In fact, he was willing to respect Margaret’s wish that he left her, her husband, and their new baby in peace, allowing the child to remain ignorant that they were possibly the bastard of the Duke of York, allowing Thomas and Margaret Bryan’s reputation not be marred by the lady’s affair with the young prince.

But yesterday, Richard had written to Sir Thomas Bryan on a whim, letting him know that he would be making a short visit. He had not included why unwilling to humiliate the man by reminding him further that his wife had an affair with the Duke of York. Despite not hinting the reason, Richard was certain that the Bryans were aware of the true nature of his visit: he wanted to see the baby.

Richard could not say why he had suddenly decided to seek out the child who was born a few months ago. He had barely given his former lover much thought let alone the babe she carried. 

Perhaps it had been Edward’s decision to make him godfather of the unborn prince or princess that made him yearn to lay eyes on his own child. Maybe it was the knowledge that he would not experience fatherhood for at least eleven years if not more.

Whatever it was, Richard just wanted to see the child who may or may not be his for no other reason than to put his curious mind at ease. He had no intention of acknowledging the child, but he just wanted to see it. Surely no one, not even Sir Thomas Bryan could fault him for wanting that much.

It thankfully had not started snowing when Richard and his grooms arrived at the manor. Despite the bitter cold, Sir Thomas stood outside to greet them. He waited patiently for the men to dismount their horses before bowing deeply, doffing his cap in out of respect for the seventeen-year-old prince.

Richard couldn’t help but wonder if Sir Thomas was merely hiding his true feelings of disgust and dislike towards his wife’s former lover. If so, the man was a consummate actor as he greeted Richard as if he were an honored guest without so much of a flicker of embarrassment or bitterness.

“Your Highness, I am humbled by your visit,” Sir Bryan greeted him as he led the men inside, ordering a servant to bring the horses to the stable. “I beg your pardon, but my wife is indisposed and unable to greet you.”

Had it been any other woman besides the prideful Margaret Bryan, Richard might have thought she was only pretending to be ill to avoid meeting with him. However, he was aware that Margaret was not a woman who took the rules of etiquette lightly and she would not have shirked her duty as hostess merely to avoid being in the same room as her former lover.

“I am sorry to hear that. I hope she will feel better,” Richard remarked politely. He chewed his lip thoughtfully as he tried to choose his next words carefully, wanting to bring up this topic delicately without upsetting the older man. “I hear that congratulations are in order for you both.”

Thomas Bryan’s smile slipped, and he stiffened slightly but he continued to keep his tone pleasant as he spoke. “Yes, my wife and I have been blessed with a son. We have named him Francis,” he announced.

“Francis,” Richard repeated. An odd choice for an English babe but a good name, nonetheless. “If it is not too much trouble, might I see him?”

Sir Bryan complied with no hesitation or reluctance as he leads Richard to the nursery. The Duke of York ordered his grooms to remain outside the chamber as they entered the room.

Moments later, Richard studied the infant in the crib, trying to determine if the boy shared any features with him.

Francis Bryan had a mop of fair hair on his head and Richard could swear that his nose looked exactly like the late King Edward’s nose. This boy was his son, the Duke of York could not doubt it.

What man would want to take care of a baby his wife conceived with another man?

With his brother’s words echoing in his mind, Richard turned around towards Thomas Bryan.

“Sir Thomas, Francis is a fine-looking boy, I hope you will be a good father to him,” Richard said with a slight warning in his tone. He would not be pleased if he ever found out that his son was being mistreated by his stepfather.

A flash of outrage crossed Thomas Bryan’s face, objecting to the implication that he wouldn’t be a good father.

“He is my son, and I shall love him as I would any other son of mine,” Thomas Bryan stated firmly. He must have thought he was being rude because he bowed and spoke his next words deferentially: “I will do my best to provide him with everything he needs to be a gentleman worthy of the English court.”


“Good. Here, I brought a gift that I hope will help,” Richard told him, taking out a money purse which he had stuffed to the brim with enough coins that was equal to at least two years of the knight’s pension.

“Thank you, Your Highness, you are too kind,” Sir Bryan complimented him gratefully as he took the money purse eagerly.

Richard looked back at Francis, he tentatively took a few steps towards the cradle and bent down, reaching out to lay his hand on the baby’s head. But as if he sensed that a stranger was about to touch him, Francis let out a piercing wail, causing Richard to take a step back in shock and despair that he had done something to upset the babe.

Francis’ wet nurse came scurrying in, plucking the child out of his crib, and hurrying into another chamber, curtsying, and apologizing to Richard before she left.

“I believe he was just hungry, Your Highness, if you wish to hold him, I do not think he will be long if you wish to stay and get to know him,” Sir Thomas said gently.

“No, I think I should be going now,” Richard decided. “Please give my well wishes to Lady Margaret.”

With that, the Duke of York walked briskly out of the nursery. It was best if he didn’t get to attached to the boy anyway. Perhaps when the boy was older, they could form some sort of bound but for now, he would leave things the way they were.

After bidding goodbye to Sir Thomas and getting horses for him and his entourage, Richard rode off away from the Bryan manor. 

The sky was still dark with clouds but there was no sign of snow thankfully. Still, Richard spurred his horse to go faster. He didn’t want to look back. He had made his decision and besides, Francis had a father to care for him.

He didn’t need Richard. It would just be simpler for all involved if he never found out that he was the son of the Duke of York.

Not that any of these perfectly logical thoughts were helping the sick sensation of guilt that was churning in Richard’s stomach.

Everyone thought he was so much like his father, but would the late King Edward have been able to leave his bastard behind even if he had a good reason to do so?

 November 29, 1490

The Earl of Northumberland was a fool and a child. After his father’s death, he was the head of the Percy clan and despite not even being fourteen, he tried to act as though his status as the Queen’s brother gave him the right to command men who were older and wiser than him.

The tone of his letter was barely polite and almost demanding. He insisted that as their families would soon be bound in matrimony, the Duke of Richmond should request that the King turn his earldom into a dukedom. 

Henry rolled his eyes as he penned a short and polite reply, stating however pleased he was that one day his daughter would marry into the Percy family (something that was quickly becoming a lie), he was sorry to say that he had no control over the King’s decisions to grant titles.

If the boy had any sense, he would accept that and simply wait for Edward to decide whether or not he should make the title of Northumberland a duchy. There were rumors that if the Queen had a son, the Percy family would receive many honors as rewards for their relative’s achievement.

In Henry’s opinion, that was rather silly to reward a family just because their daughter proved to be fertile. Not to mention, favoring one family above the rest had not worked out too well the last time so perhaps it would best not to do so again.

However, at the end of the day---as he constantly reminded Henry Percy--- it was Edward’s decision. Thankfully, the monarch had a good head on his shoulders, and he would never let his emotions get the better of him.

The Duke of Richmond smiled as he thought of the young King who was due to be a father soon. It seemed like just yesterday, Henry and his Uncle Jasper had arrived at a French castle to ask for an audience with the boy king.

When Henry had learned that King Edward, his siblings, and their mother had fled to France, he had thought it would be the perfect chance to gain an alliance against the usurper, King Richard.

However, he had not made up his mind about what would happen after Richard was defeated. Would he then turn on his allies to make sure that the Lancastrians would regain their stolen crown?

Then he entered the audience chamber and he had laid eyes on King Edward for the first time.

The boy was only thirteen, he was a child, barely on the cusp of manhood, not even out of the schoolroom. His father’s crown would have been too big for his head. He was so tiny compared to his uncle and Henry. How could this boy be expected to take on the heavy chains of commands?

King Edward’s face was chubby and babyish, but his eyes were sharp and clear. He spoke with gravity, and he held his head high. A child he might have been, but it was clear that he knew what was expected of him and he would not do any less.

He wanted to be a good king and all he needed was guidance. He needed a mentor, a teacher---

A father figure.

When Henry kneeled in front of the boy king, he decided that he would be that guide. He would protect and mentor the boy as his uncle had done for him.

Although Henry would never admit it, as the years went by, he began to see Edward as a son. A son who no longer needed his guidance and yet still had the humility to ask for it, making the Duke of Richmond feel proud and certain he had made the right decision that fateful day in France.

  December 30, 1490

Maud Percy held her daughter’s hand tightly. “Push, Ali,” she whispered. “You are doing so well.” Her daughter had gone into labor in the late hours of the morning and now it was almost midnight so she was certain that her grandson would be born soon.

“If you say push one more time, I just might just slap you,” Queen Eleanor muttered through gritted teeth. She squeezed her mother’s hand as she experienced another contraction.

“You are almost done,” Maud assured her daughter, stroking her matted hair. “And it will be worth it.”

Finally, the contractions stopped, and Eleanor could fall back onto the bed, closing her eyes as she heard the familiar slap and cry. She waited patiently for the midwife to cut the umbilical cord and clean the baby up.

“Your Majesty has given birth to a healthy princess,” the midwife decreed.

Eleanor propped herself up and extended her arms, wordlessly commanding the woman to place her daughter in her arms. She didn’t bother looking at her ladies’ faces, keeping her eyes on the only person who mattered.

If everyone expected her to be disappointed that she had a princess instead of a prince than that was their folly.

“Someone go make the announcement and then give the order that the bells are to be rung,” Eleanor demanded as she studied the newborn babe wrapped up in a blanket.

“Your Majesty, I don’t think the King---” Anne Stafford began.

“My husband will want all of England to celebrate the birth of a new princess: our daughter,” Eleanor cut her off curtly, her head snapping upwards to glare at her lady-in-waiting for daring to contradict her.

A few minutes passed before Edward entered his wife’s bedchambers, dismissing her ladies so he could have a moment alone with her and their daughter.

“She is beautiful,” Edward murmured. “May I hold her?”

Eleanor gave him a funny look. “Well, she is your daughter, my lord, I would think that alone would give you permission to hold her.”

“Forgive me but she is so tiny, I’m afraid I might drop her,” Edward admitted, chuckling as he sat down next to her. His wife smiled at him before maneuvering their daughter so she could comfortably fit in her father’s arms.

“Don’t forget to support her head,” Eleanor commanded him softly, recalling her mother’s words when she had first held one of her younger siblings.

“I am. Don’t worry, I’ve got her,” Edward agreed, smiling down at their daughter before looking back at his wife. “Ali, I wanted to apologize. I know that I said I would prefer a boy, but I shouldn't have put such pressure on you. Henry is right. We’re both young and it was silly of me to assume that we needed a son right away.”

“We live in a time of peace, my love, and I think that our girl is perfect start to what I know will be a golden era,” Eleanor gushed, kissing Edward’s cheek. “But first, she needs a name.” 

“Now that will be easy. Princess Eleanor, of course,” Edward decided at once. “What other name is more suitable than her mother’s?”

Eleanor beamed at him, touched by his words.

As if she knew she was being talked about, the newly born and named princess opened her eyes and gurgled which her parents took as her saying hello to them.

The bells started ringing less than an hour later and the courtiers celebrated the new princess quite loudly, but it didn’t seem to disturb the sleeping Queen and Princess. Edward smiled as he wrapped his free arm around his wife.

She was right as always. This was a good beginning to what would hopefully be a good future.

Chapter Text

June 28, 1491

“Congratulations Your Grace, the duchess has given birth to healthy baby boy,” the midwife announced much to Henry’s joy. While he was certain some might view his pleasure as him gloating that he had two sons while Elizabeth’s brothers had none, he was earnestly just happy to have another son who would carry on the Tudor name.

“Mistress Brandon, would you fetch Jasper and Margaret?” he requested. “I am sure that they will be eager to meet their new brother.”

“Right away, Your Grace,” the woman replied, curtsying before hurrying off to fetch the Earl of Pembroke and his sister.

“This will certainly upset the Dowager Queen,” Lady Margaret remarked snidely, her lips curled up in a smirk. “Her precious boy has yet to father a son while you have two sons. This is God’s doing, Henry. He wants---”

“Mother, enough!” Henry exclaimed, fed up with his mother’s insistence that he was destined to be king. “I have made my decision; it’s high time that you accept that I will never be king.”

“You may have made your decision, Henry, but God has a plan for the Tudors to restore the house of Lancaster to their rightful places on the throne of England whether you like it or not,” Margaret snapped, an affronted look on her face as she stalked off. Perhaps she had gone to the chapel in order to pray for God to make Henry see it her way.

The Duke of Richmond sighed but he didn’t bother going after his mother, choosing instead to go into the birth chambers to greet his wife and their newborn son. If his mother wanted to cling to her fantasies than that was her business.

Right now, he had more important business to attend to.

The Duke of Richmond prided himself as being a stoic man whose expression was always guarded. However, his wife had always been able to see right through him, as if she could hear his thoughts loud and clear.

“I take it your mother is pleased that we have a second son,” Elizabeth guessed, her lips pressed together thinly, clearly fed up with her mother-in-law’s attitude as much as her husband was. Perhaps even more so as it was her brother that Lady Margaret was trying to undermine.

“I suspect that she is as pleased as your mother is not,” Henry muttered, as he walked over to the bed, sitting down at he examined the babe in his wife’s arms.

“How can you say a thing like that? My mother would be pleased to have another grandson,” Elizabeth told him firmly, her eyes wide at the implication that Elizabeth Woodville would not love her newest grandbaby.

The Duchess of Richmond wasn’t stupid, while her younger brothers remained sonless, her sons would be too high up in the line of succession for comfort of those who suspected that her husband would one day fight for the crown.

She also knew that her mother was among those people who did not trust Henry but surely, she would not extend that mistrust towards two innocent boys who were her own flesh and blood.

“Beth, you know your mother does not trust me. After all she’s been through, after the countless betrayals by ambitious men your father trusted, I don’t blame her,” Henry said softy, trying to convey that he was not criticizing the Dowager Queen even there was a tiny part of him that felt after all he had done for Edward, he deserved the trust his mother-in-law denied him.

“Alright, she doesn’t trust you or your mother for that matter but her own grandchildren? Do you really think she capable of hating them?” Elizabeth asked. As if he could feel his mother’s distress, the newborn boy in her arms started wailing, waving his tiny fists as if he were attempting to attack whoever was upsetting her. “Shhhh, sweetheart, it’s all right. Don’t cry.”

Henry could not help but smile as his son was soothed by his mother’s sweet voice and her tender kiss to his forehead. “It seems that he is a mother’s boy just like his uncles,” he jested, hoping this would lighten the grim mood he had inadvertently caused.

“And his father,” Elizabeth teased before beaming at her husband. “He is already quite the little warrior too. I think there is only one name for him: Henry.”

“Another Henry Tudor,” Henry said approvingly, reaching out to caress the baby’s face. “My son.”

A few moments of silence passed as the two parents just lay there with the newly named Henry Tudor in-between them. “Henry, do you think the Cousin War will happen again?” Elizabeth asked softly.

“I don’t know but I promise you, Beth, I will do everything in my power to avoid another civil war,” Henry assured her. “Jasper, Margaret, and Henry will grow up with their cousins to the point where they will be more like siblings. And maybe their bounds will be strong enough to avoid any factions from stirring up trouble.”

Elizabeth nodded thinking that was a good plan. After all, that was what they had hoped to do with the former Duke of Suffolk’s young sons before they passed away. Not to mention having her children be raised with the royal children meant they would be far away from Lady Margaret’s influence.

However, Elizabeth couldn’t help but think of her two uncles who had loved their brother so much (and in Uncle Richard’s case he had never stopped), only to turn against him in hopes of taking the throne for themselves.

But surely her sons were not capable of doing something like that. Surely, they would love their uncles and cousins and they would like act as loyal advisors like their father before them.

Baby Henry gurgled, his hand catching a clump of his mother’s hair and he tugged on its which Elizabeth took as assurance that he would be loyal and would never betray his mother’s family.

 July 1, 1491

Edward was thrilled when he received a letter from the Duke of Richmond, reporting that he had another nephew.

“They’ve called him Henry, Mother, and they have decided to go with Tom and his wife as the boy’s godparents. Although I understand that I was Jasper’s godfather, I must confess to being a little disappointed that I was not chosen this time as well. I suppose that is their revenge for not being godparents of sweet Ellie,” Edward jested. Princess Eleanor was only a few months old, but she was the apple of her father’s eyes. Edward suddenly frowned when he saw the grim expression on his mother’s face. “Is something amiss, Mother?”

Elizabeth Woodville quickly plastered a smile on her face, but Edward could see it didn’t reach her eyes. “Nothing, my sweet boy. I’m just thinking sad thoughts,” she explained.

While that might be true, the king had a feeling that there was something else bothering her. “Mother, I understand that you don’t trust the Tudors, but you aren’t suspicious of children, Lizzie’s children, your grandchildren, are you?"

“Edward, I love all my grandchildren, but you must understand that Lady Margaret Beaufort has always believed that her son was destined to be king. Even when he was just a boy, Henry Tudor spent countless years fighting for Lancastrians,” Elizabeth pointed out, trying to get him to understand that sort of mentality just didn’t go away. She was certain that the man her son counted on had some sort of plot planned to undermine Edward and push himself and his sons forward as better candidates for the throne of England.

And even if he were loyal to Edward, the Duke of Gloucester had proved that one could be loyal to their king but not their king’s heirs. She feared that if Edward died only a short while after fathering a son or if worse came to worse and Princess Eleanor was his only heir than Henry Tudor would usurp St. Edward’s crown before Edward’s body was even cold.

That thought alone was enough to send shivers through her body.

“As you said, he has been fighting us since he was a boy. When he defeated Uncle Richard at the Battle of Bosworth Field, he could have kept the crown. After all, he could have easily said he had won the throne through conquest and considering his army was made up of mostly Lancastrian allies, no one would have stopped him,” Edward remarked, before letting out a heavy sigh. Even years later, he couldn’t help but feel that he should have been at Henry’s side fighting for his crown. “Mother, even if you cannot bring yourself to trust him or your own grandsons for that matter, at least trust my judgment.”

“Edward, you know I have complete faith in you,” Elizabeth murmured, reaching up to stroke his cheek only for Edward to grab her hand, not roughly but firm enough to prevent her from touching him.

“I’m not a child anymore, my Lady Mother, I am a grown man who can make his own decisions,” Edward said softly with an edge of sternness in his voice. He loved his mother more than anyone in this world, but he was no longer a boy who ran into her arms, seeking protection and comfort in her warm embrace.

“No, you are not a child,” Elizabeth agreed, slipping her hand from his grasp. “but you are my son, and I will never not fear for your wellbeing even though you have grown up into a wise man and king like your father before you.” She curtsied to him as if to prove her point. “If it pleases you, I wish to take my leave so I may write to Lizzie and congratulate her.”

Edward nodded and his mother left his chambers, a strained smile on her face as she walked through the corridors, nodding automatically to the courtiers who bowed and curtsied to her; her mind thinking of when she and her daughters had arrived in France all those years ago.

He had needed her arms around him, he had needed her assurance that everything would fine and that he would be a king like his father. Now it seemed that he needed nothing from her, preferring to seek out his wife and his brothers for comfort and guidance.

He was no longer a boy who would run into his mother’s arms and although she was proud of the man he had become, it made Elizabeth’s heart ache.

June 30, 1483

The French King or rather his sister and regent had arranged for the reunion to take place in Calais as it was the only English territory left in France. His retinue greeted the former English Queen and her four daughters as they departed the merchant ship that had smuggled them from England to their safe haven in France.

Elizabeth tried to keep a pleasant smile on her face as they traveled by carriage to the royal castle in Calais, trying to keep the atmosphere light even if her true feelings were much darker.

Inside her emotions were a mess of grief, fear, and outrage. Her husband, her Edward was dead. Her other Richard had been executed along with his uncle, her oldest brother. The murderous Duke of Gloucester--- who had once claimed to love the late King Edward and that unlike their older brother he would always be loyal to him--- had dared to make his nephews and nieces bastards just so he could claim the throne for himself. Only God knew what he had planned for little Edward and Richard had they not been smuggled to France. She was afraid for her youngest daughter Bridget who had been left behind in England in the care of the nuns of Dartford Priory. Elizabeth had not wanted to leave her behind, but they had to flee quickly and besides as a future bride of Christ, Bridget would be of no consequence to that ambitious knave, God willing. But while her other children and she were technically safe from enemy hands, that did not mean their future was any less uncertain.

They arrived at the castle by mid-afternoon and were greeted by the French court and there standing beside the French King was Elizabeth’s three boys, looking as relived to see her and their sisters as they were to see them.

While his older brothers greeted the newcomers formally, the Duke of York could not control his emotions and he took off running, throwing himself at his mother who was only too happy to wrap her arms around him, hugging him close as she succumbed to tears.

King Edward (no matter what Richard said: he was the true King of England) was clearly trying to fight following his brother’s example but once he saw his mother’s tears, he could not help himself and he too ran into his mother’s embrace.

“It’s all right, my dear ones. You are safe now. Your mama’s here and I will never let you go again,” Elizabeth promised her sons.

Edward pulled away first, looking embarrassed and almost angry at himself for becoming so emotional. Despite this he did not let go of his mother’s hand. Richard on the other hand, still clung to his mother as she rose from the ground. Elizabeth smiled warmly, first at Thomas and then at the little French King who she curtsied to, making sure not to knock Richard to the ground as she did so.

“I cannot thank you Your Majesty enough for your kindness and generosity for giving me and my children asylum,” Elizabeth said earnestly.

“It is our pleasure, Your Majesty. I can only hope that this will be the start of a new friendship between England and France,” King Charles declared, smiling widely, his tone and expression were one of boyish glee. His grin only grew when his eyes fell on Cecily.

After some official greetings and introductions, Elizabeth and her daughters were led into the castle so they could get settled in their apartments (they would only be spending the night before moving on to Paris).

Once the Dowager Queen had changed out of her traveling clothes, she decided to visit her children separately, starting with Edward.

Luckily, she didn’t have to go far as her new steward announced that the King of England wished to call on her.

Edward waited until they were completely alone before running into his mother’s arms.

“Is it true?” he demanded abruptly, unshed tears shinning in his eyes. “Am I really a bastard?”

“Of course, that’s not true. Where on Earth did you hear such nonsense?” Elizabeth asked, although she already had an idea of why Edward would come to that conclusion.

Richard had been spreading lies throughout England that his brother had been married before he married Elizabeth, making their marriage null and void and their children were illegitimate. Something that quite conveniently made him his brother’s heir and therefore the true King of England.

“Charles told me that some courtiers were gossiping about it. He said that if Father really was married to another lady, then your marriage to Father wasn’t a true one and that’s why Uncle Richard was allowed to declare himself king,” Edward explained, too upset to refer to Charles by his proper title.

“I promise you that your father was never married to anyone before me and that our marriage was real. You are the true King of England and nothing anyone can say while ever change that,” Elizabeth declared passionately. “And one day, you will return to England and prove everyone who doubts you that you will be a great monarch just like your father.”

“But what if I don’t? What if I fail?” Edward asked, tears leaking out of his eyes. “What if England never accepts me as king?”

Elizabeth chewed her lip thoughtfully, not sure if the concept of divine right would make him feel better.

“They will want you for you are your father’s son and once we have disposed of your traitorous uncle, your subjects will cheer your homecoming. I promise you this,” Elizabeth assured him, stroking his face.

Edward didn’t look completely convinced but he seemed soothed somewhat by his mother comforting words and her warm embrace.

He might be king, but he still needed his mother and there was a part of Elizabeth that couldn’t help but be happy for that.

 August 17, 1491

“Not even a year old and our daughter seems to be the most wanted woman in all of Europe,” Edward declared, kissing the chubby hand of the infant in his wife’s arms. The baby giggled as her mother began bouncing her up and down.

“Well, she is a precious cherub, and I am not surprised that she already has many potential suitors lining up at her door for she is such a breathtaking beauty,” Eleanor gushed, overdramatically waving her hand while keeping a tight hold on her daughter as she did so.

Edward chuckled at his wife’s silliness, stroking the little bit of golden-red hair on his daughter’s head which was continuing to grow longer as she grew older.

“I have been discussing possible suitors with the council and the Duke of Richmond believes that King John of Denmark’s son is the perfect candidate for a bridegroom,” Edward explained.

“And what do you believe?” Eleanor asked, feeling slightly irked by the fact that once again Richmond had made a decision and her husband just decided to agree with it as though he was the king and Edward was just his advisor.

It wasn’t that Eleanor distrusted Henry Tudor. In fact, aside from Thomas and of course Elizabeth, she was probably the only member of Edward’s close circle who believed that Henry had Edward’s best interests at heart.

However, while she didn’t think that Henry had as much power over Edward as her brother frequently claimed he did, she still thought that perhaps Edward was too reliant on Henry’s opinion.

“I believe our daughter would make a fine Queen,” Edward replied, still beaming at her as if there was no reason why she should be upset that he was already arranging the marriage of their daughter who wasn’t even out of the cradle yet.

“Don’t you think it’s a bit too early to be discussing Eleanor’s marriage. She’s only a babe,” Eleanor pointed out, moving her daughter closer to her as if she were afraid Edward would pluck the princess from Eleanor’s arms, taking her away so the queen would never be able to see her again.

“It’s only negotiations for a betrothal agreement, my love, it isn’t as though I’m sending Eleanor away tomorrow. She won’t go to Denmark until she fourteen, I promise,” Edward assured her.

“I know that but the idea of losing her when we just got her is not one, I want to have to think of. I suppose I’m acting a bit silly,” Eleanor said with a heavy sigh. Although she still couldn’t bear the thought of parting with her baby girl, she knew that even if she weren’t a royal princess, Eleanor would still be married off for either diplomatic or financial gain for her family even if she was sent to live far away from all those she knew and loved. However, it would be at least fourteen years before she had to deal with that so perhaps, she should be more like Edward and not fret about it.

“Ali, I think we might have switched places,” Edward said in mock surprise. “I’ve become the lighthearted one who is focusing on the positives the future will hold while you have become the brooding one.”

“I am not brooding,” Eleanor lied, looking away so her husband couldn’t see her expression.

“Yes, you are, and I think that means I must take it upon myself to make my beautiful queen smile,” Edward declared, scooping his daughter up in his arms. “Come my little peach, we must cheer up your mother. Perhaps we should dance for her.”

“Oh, I know she’s too young to dance,” Eleanor laughed. Edward just held their daughter in his arms as he began to prance around the chamber, acting as though he was dancing without a partner, causing Eleanor to burst into a fit of giggles. “Oh, my goodness. What would your brothers think if they could see you now?” she wondered as she struggled to breathe.

“Knowing them, they’d probably never let me live it down,” Edward told her, stopping so he could kiss her. “But as long as I’ve made you smile. I don’t care.”

“Well, you certainly succeeded in that respect, Ned,” Eleanor replied, putting a hand to mouth in hopes of stifling her giggling fit. The little princess cooed from her father’s arms either wanting to be recognized at helping her father cheer up her mother or perhaps expressing disappointment in her father having stopped dancing with her. “I think Elle wants you to continue.”

“Well, who am I to ignore a request from a lovely princess,” Edward remarked, resuming his antics even twirling a few times to Eleanor’s delight.

“Hopefully soon, she will be joined by a sibling,” Eleanor remarked, almost without thinking.

“Was that an announcement or a thinly veiled rebuke that I have been spending too many nights away from you?” Edward asked, having a feeling that wasn’t an announcement.

“Neither. I am just giving you an added incentive to come to my bedchambers even when you feel you won’t be good company. And I hardly noticed the four nights you spent away from me,” Eleanor teased him good-naturedly before hasting to assure him when she saw his guilty expression. “I’m just joking, Ned. All I meant was I hope that she will have another sibling soon because as much as I love her, I want to have a son to name after his father like Eleanor is named for me.” 

“And the fact that he would be the Prince of Wales is only a bonus,” Edward jested, not quite buying his wife simply wanting a son who would take after his father as much as their daughter took after Eleanor. While Eleanor tried her best not to be pressured by the fact that Edward needed a male heir, that didn’t mean she was unaware of that until she did have one, everyone would be on edge.

“I suppose it would be,” Eleanor agreed, shooting Edward a smile. “But that is not something I shall plan on troubling myself with.” She then got up and extended her arms. “May I cut in?”

Edward obliged and smiled as his wife began to dance with their daughter in her arms. A perfect picture of loveliness in his humble opinion.

 October 22, 1492

It was growing colder in England and many courtiers were making good use of their rations of firewood. As for the Duke of York, he had found himself another way to warm his bed during the cold days of autumn.

Anne Hastings, the Countess of Shrewsbury was only two-years-older than Richard but like Margaret Bryan, she was fully experienced, making the Prince quite pleased to have her as his bedmate.

It wasn’t that Richard actively sought out older and married women. But the young maidens of court were too unexperienced to keep his interest for anything more than a one-night stand.

“My husband is not happy about this. He is thinking of sending me from court,” Anne told him as Richard kissed her neck hungrily, groping her breasts.

“Well, we can’t have that,” Richard moaned as Anne rubbed against him, inflaming his desire for her. “Do you think a purse of a hundred shillings would convince him to change his plans?”

“I don’t know. But I think if you were to give him the deed to your manor in Shrewsbury, he would be grateful enough to allow you to have me whenever you wanted,” Anne replied, pushing him down and straddling him, looking like a vixen ready to pounce on her prey.

“Madam, if I didn’t know any better, I would say you are using me,” Richard remarked.

“Do I not please you, my lord?” Lady Hastings inquired as she positioned herself right above Richard’s groin, rubbing against it and letting out a lusty moan as Richard thrust himself into her.

“I would say so,” he groaned as he grabbed the edges of the bed to balance himself as he continued to impale her. There came a furious knocking on the door. “NOT NOW!” Richard bellowed, wanting to throttle whoever was daring to interrupt him when he close to reaching his climax.

“I’m sorry, Your Highness but your mother refuses to leave until she has spoken to you,” the groom outside explained, having the good decency to sound embarrassed. He of course didn’t dare tell the Dowager Queen what her son was doing that could not be disturbed.

Just like that the spell was broken and Richard pushed the countess off of him, jumped off the bed and began to get dressed much to the bewilderment of the lady he had only seconds ago been making love to.

“Your Highness, what are you doing? Surely, she can wait until we are finished,” the Countess of Shrewsbury protested, aghast that she was being spurned for the mother of her lover.

“If my mother needs to speak to me right away than it must be urgent,” Richard told her firmly. After all, it was unusual for his mother to seek him out instead of just sending him a note beforehand. And there was something unseemly about making his mother wait in his living room while he finished pleasuring his mistress just three doors down from where she was.

“My lord, are you really going to leave me for your mother?” Anne Hastings protested, sounding dismayed and shocked that he would do such a thing.

Richard stopped buttoning his doublet, stiffing as he turned to glare at her, taking umbrage to her tone. “At least my mother is not a whore who would give herself to any man who would give her gifts in exchange for fucking her,” he snarled, finishing dressing, and walking out of his bedchambers, shooting one last biting remark over his shoulder: “Tell your husband he may do as he likes for, I want nothing more to do with you.”  With that, he slammed the door leaving his mistress naked and utterly humiliated in his bed.

The Duke of York made sure he looked presentable before he walked into the chamber where his mother was waiting.

“Forgive me, Mother, if I have been keeping you long,” he apologized. “I was taking a nap.”

“Dickon, I am old not stupid,” Elizabeth admonished him with a ghost of a smile on her face, but she quickly sobered after Richard had laid a kiss on her cheek. “I have heard some news from Elizabeth: she thinks she might be with child again.”

“Oh, and isn’t that good news, Mother? Another grandchild for you to spoil,” Richard reminded her.

“If only it were that simple, Dickon. I love all my grandchildren, I do but I keep having this dream that I fear is foretelling the future,” Elizabeth explained, grasping his hand in hers, biting her lip as she tried to keep her emotions in check.

“What dream, Mother?” Richard asked, his eyes wide. He and his siblings knew of his mother and maternal grandmother sometimes prophetic dreams. While Edward and Thomas dismissed it as superstition, he had always believed that they could see the future even if it didn’t happen the way they saw it or perhaps it didn’t happen because they saw it and prevented it.

“I saw two great armies facing each other, one with the Tudor banner and the other with the York banner. The leader of the Yorkist army looked exactly like your father while the leader of the Tudor army had Elizabeth’s red hair,” Elizabeth explained. “The leader of the army of York swore he would reclaim what his cousin had stolen and would make him pay for his crimes of murdering his own uncle. Then Elizabeth’s son shouted that he would make sure that his cousin would share his father’s fate and he called for his men to fight for the true King of England.”

“How does the dream end, Mother?” Richard inquired, feeling sick to his stomach knowing that one day, his nephews would harm their uncle and cousins. God could Elizabeth really have given birth to a murderous usurper who would do anything he could to take the throne for himself including killing his own flesh and blood.

“When the battle starts, I wake up,” Elizabeth answered, tears shining in her eyes. “I am afraid that I won’t be here to protect Edward from Henry Tudor or from this future from happening so I need you to promise me that you will do everything you can to protect Edward and his sons from any threat that might come their way.”

“Mother, I give you my word that I shall do everything in my power to protect my brother’s legacy even against those he believes are his friends,” Richard assured her firmly before hugging her. A few moments of silence passed before he spoke again, a slight tremor to his voice. “Mother, what do you mean you won’t be here to protect Edward? Where else would you be?” he whispered, knowing full well what the answer would be but desperately hoping it wasn’t true.

Elizabeth reached out to cup his face, stroking his cheeks lovingly. “Oh, my sweet darling boy, I’m afraid I won’t be here for much longer. By next July, I’ll have died,” she told him softly.

“No, Mother, you can’t die. I won’t let you,” Richard said, pulling away from her and turning around so she could not see his devastated expression.

“If only it was that easy. I’m afraid that my time on Earth is almost up,” Elizabeth said gently. “But yours is just beginning. I know you will have a long life, protecting those who endanger your father and brother’s legacy.”

Richard didn’t know what to say to that. On one hand, the idea that his mother would die in less than a year was terrible and knowing he had to prevent what she had foreseen without her help was a daunting task he wasn’t sure he was up for.

However, it touched him that she had so much faith in him, and his conflicted feelings soon became determination.

“I swear to you, Mother, whatever it takes, I shall fight until my dying breath to protect my father’s dynasty,” Richard assured her. “I won’t let you down.”

Elizabeth took his hands in hers and kissed his knuckles. “I know you won’t.”

Meanwhile, blissfully unaware of what was going on in his brother’s apartments, Edward was in his audience chamber, having summoned Henry to come see him, trying to keep a smile off his face.

“His Grace the Duke of Richmond,” his herald announced before leaving the two men alone together.

“Henry, I hear that there are congratulations in order,” Edward remarked, causing the older man to chuckle.

“And here I was, just about to say the same to you,” Henry said, allowing a smile on his face. “Elizabeth was thrilled when you learned of your news. I guess neither of our wives could keep it a secret when they started to suspect the other might be pregnant too.”

In fact, according to Elizabeth, Eleanor had wanted to tell Edward on his birthday that she was pregnant, but she felt it wouldn’t be fair to keep her news longer than Elizabeth would keep it from her husband.

“Not to mention, they will be giving birth around the same time as well,” Edward pointed out. He couldn’t help but wonder if it were destiny that his second child would be born about a month give or take a week or two before his cousin. Perhaps it would mean that they would be the best of friends. Charles had once insisted that it was destiny that had driven Edward to France where he would meet someone who understood what he was going through (most of it anyway). Perhaps the same could be said of his son---or daughter.

“Either way, I promise if it is a boy, I shall name him Edward this time,” Henry assured him.

“Even if I name my son Richard?” Edward inquired sheepishly, just a little bit sheepishly. He had been adamant that he would name his son not only after his younger brother but also after his older half-brother who had been executed.

“Of course, I will. You can name your son whatever you want,” Henry replied after a moment of hesitation, keeping his expression perfectly bland but Edward could swear he saw just a little disappointment in his eyes. “After all, all that would matter is he’s as healthy as his sister. Now come, let’s drink to our good fortune.”

Edward grinned at him, feeling as pleased as he could be. He could already picture the future where another York King sat on throne, his right-hand man and closest companion would be a Tudor just like their fathers before them.

Chapter Text

March 11, 1492

With the queen entering early confinement and rumors of the symptoms of the plague had appeared in some villages outside of London, Richard and Thomas had taken it upon themselves to keep their brother’s spirits high, least he spent his days worrying over the health of his wife and unborn child.

They had arranged for a fencing contest to take place, convincing Edward to sign up and show off his dueling abilities. Edward had reluctantly agreed. However, it seemed that his brothers plan had worked as he smiled when he knocked his brother down, disarming him quickly and being declared the winner of their duel.

“Better luck next time little brother,” Edward teased as he helped Richard up. When they were younger Dickon had not been the best of losers, always becoming sulky afterwards. Now Richard just smirked as he dusted off his clothes.

“As my king, I felt it was my duty to go easy on you,” Richard whispered in his ear as Edward bowed for the clapping spectators.

“You better be jesting, Dickon, or I shall name my son Henry instead of Richard,” Edward threatened playfully, clapping his brother on the back.

Richard frowned at the mention of Henry, looking over at the Duke of Richmond who was deep in conversation with his uncle. He remembered his mother’s words to him about her foreboding dream. He had not mentioned it to either Edward or Thomas, knowing they would pass off the dream as nothing more than their mother’s fanciful imagination getting the best of her.

But Richard was certain that his mother was not wrong. Her family came from a long line of seers through the late Jacquetta of Luxembourg. She had seen the future where Henry Tudor or one of his sons would betray Edward, seeking to usurp the House of York once and for all.

It bothered Richard how Edward was so certain of Henry’s loyalty when he was cautious with all other ambitious men. With Lady Margaret openly wishing that her son would take his place on the English throne, how could the Duke of Richmond be trusted when it was well known that he listened to his mother’s advice about everything?

“Dickon, is something wrong?” Edward asked, his brow furrowed in confusion as he wondered what had soured his brother’s mood.

At once Richard was pulled away from his brooding and he managed to smile again, clapping Edward on the shoulder.

“Oh, tis nothing to be concerned about, dear brother, I was just thinking if you fail to call your son after me well then I shall not use your name for my firstborn son,” Richard told him, laughing in hopes this would make Edward believe him. From the look on his older brother’s face, he did not but he would not bring up the subject in public and if Richard were lucky, he might forget about it entirely.

“The next duel is between King Edward of England and the Marquess of Dorset,” the heard announced.

“Ah, so now I got to beat both of my brothers!” Edward proclaimed, prompting many cheers from the courtiers.

As he walked over to join the rest of the spectators, the Duke of York couldn’t help but think for a man who was usually so reserved, Edward was really enjoying the praise and attention lavished on him by his court. It pleased Richard to see his brother acting so carefree.

“You forget, Your Majesty, that I am older and more experienced than you,” Thomas remarked with a smirk, getting into position. “In fact, as I recall I am the one who taught both you and Richard how to wield a sword.”

“And now it is time for the student to surpass the master,” Edward quipped as he readied his sword.

Soon the dueling contest was over, with King Edward gracefully losing to his older brother. Although the Duke of Richmond never did like the idea of Edward participating in duels and tournaments, fearing that it would lead to the king’s early death, leaving the crown to rest on either an infant’s head or on the irresponsible Duke of York’s head. However, the duels had ended with Edward being no worse for wear; in fact, he seemed to be feeling much better than he had in days. Henry could tell by a glance that the fencing contest had done wonders for the King’s uneasy mind.

“Your Grace, might I have a moment to speak with you?” the pompous voice of the Earl of Northumberland broke into Henry’s thoughts.

“I am afraid, I have no moments to spare, my lord,” Henry replied, not wanting his good mood to be spoiled by an insistent teenager demanding he convince the king to give him a dukedom.

“Well then, I regret to inform you that I am rethinking the marriage to your daughter. I have begun to look for another wife,” Henry Percy announced, causing the older duke to stop walking.

Considering the boy was underaged and therefore not legally able to break a betrothal, Henry was certain this was nothing more than a bluff.

However, that did not stop Henry from becoming incensed by the boy’s gall. Not only was he arrogant enough to think the idea of a broken betrothal might scare the Duke of Richmond into somehow convincing King Edward into making his brother-in-law a duke, but he also dared to do it in front of many courtiers who were now staring at Henry curiously, waiting to see his reaction.

Had Henry ever been willing to suggest to King Edward that he should make Hal Percy a duke, he would not do so now after Percy tried to twist his arm and publicly at that. The boy might think he had power because he was the Queen’s brother, clearing not realizing that respect needed to be earned.

Spotting Thomas Howard and his son among the courtiers gave Henry an idea that would make it clear to everyone that he was not a man who could be bullied, and it would also serve to show the Earl of Northumberland that he was not a great a catch as he viewed himself. 

“Surrey, is your son still looking for a wife?” Henry called to the earl, ignoring Percy completely.

“Yes, my lord, he is,” Surrey replied, his eyes flickering between Northumberland and Richmond worriedly.

“Well then, Lord Percy, I am sorry that you no longer think my daughter would be a suitable bride,” Henry drawled, keeping his face neutral as he turned around despite wanting to smirk at the humiliated scowl on the young earl’s face. “I wish you luck in searching for a bride and I hope that one day, we will be able to find another way to bind the house of Tudor and Percy together.”

Henry Percy’s face was a picture of anger and humiliation, but he barely was able to speak a word. Instead, he turned on his heel and stormed away, perhaps knowing that whatever he said would only make things worse.

“Your Grace, I would be honored to accept your daughter as my bride,” the younger Thomas Howard spoke up, unperturbed by the earl’s behavior.

The Duke of Richmond nodded politely before continuing his way through the corridors. He couldn’t help but smirk at the irony of the foolish earl’s actions. Not only had he ruined a dynasty marriage for himself, but because King Edward was planning on returning the dukedom of Norfolk to the Howards next Christmastide, he had inadvertently allowed his spurned bride-to-be to gain a better marriage. 

It seemed that his sweet Margaret would be a duchess after all. And there was nothing the Earl of Northumberland could do but pout about it. The boy was a pompous arrogant fool and it served him right at far as Henry was concerned.

Unaware of her brother’s follies, the queen of England sat up in her bed, listening intently as Edward regaled her with how he did in the fencing contest.

“Oh, you should have seen me, Ali, I was cutting down every foe I faced,” he boasted, waving his arm as if he were holding a sword, even making slashing movements. He was still grinning when he said the next part, still taking his loss in stride. “But then Thomas came and defeated me, ruining my winning streak. I suppose God was punishing me for being so cocky.”

“No, my love, not punishing you; He was only reminding you to show humility,” Eleanor told him sweetly. “Did you put up a good fight?”

“I did: we were evenly matched with him nearly falling at least twice,” Edward agreed, pleased that it had not been a quick match. His older brother had beaten him, but it had taken him quite a long time to do so.

“As long as you enjoyed yourself, Ned, I think that’s…” Eleanor suddenly slammed her hand over her mouth, turning to her mother, gesturing to her to bring the chamber pot over so she could throw up in it. Edward quickly held her hair back as he stared at her in concern.

“Are you sure that you don’t want me to fetch Dr. Argentine, sweetheart? Just so he can make sure your sickness isn’t getting any worse,” Edward suggested, stroking her forehead when she laid back onto the bed.

“No, it’s not necessary. I think my stomach is just weaker this time around,” Eleanor assured him, taking his hands in hers. “I am fine, Ned, I promise. This baby is just a little fussier than our Eleanor was, that’s all.”

“Good because as much as I am eager to have a son, I would not want to lose you in the process,” Edward told her softly, kissing her lips.

“Never, my darling. I shall be with you always,” his wife replied, hoping that was a promise she would be able to keep.

March 22, 1492  

France

“He’s too young,” Cecily protested, trying to keep her temper cool. Charles for all his foolishness would not stand for his wife yelling at him when it concerned their son. “What if he falls? What if the horse goes too fast?”

“Cécile, it is only a pony, and the stable master has assured me that it has been trained by the best,” Charles assured her, his tone condescending as if she were hysterical.

“Mama, I want to ride the pony,” Edward spoke up, his eyes pleading. He looked so thin Cecily wondered if he was being fed at all. “I can do it, Mama. Papa said I’m strong enough to do it.”

That got Cecily’s attention and she glanced over at her husband, wondering if there were some new rumors, she wasn’t aware of. With Louise having retired to the country to give birth to her first child, Cecily had not bothered to ask any of her other ladies to keep her abreast of the gossip at court.

“All right, sweetheart, just as long as you promise to be careful,” Cecily told him, giving Edward a hug and a kiss before watching him be helped onto his new pony.

“The Duchess of Orléans is pregnant,” Charles explained, keeping his voice low so Edward wouldn’t overhear him. His expression was unusually grave. “If she gives birth to a son, I just know people will compare him to Edward and I don’t want my son to viewed as weak.”

Although he continued to survive, the Dauphin of France seemed to constantly get sick, and his health was an ever-prevalent worry to his parents. As he was the only child, let alone their only son, the idea of losing him was a terrifying one.

“He’s only five, Charles, I am certain that he only needs to grow up some more and his health will improve,” Cecily said firmly, although she didn't feel as confident as her tone suggested.

“Look Mama, look at me, I’m a knight!” Edward shouted with glee as the pony trotted around the enclosure.

“My darling boy, you make a handsome knight,” Cecily laughed.

“I’ll make a sportsman out of you yet,” Charles declared, clapping enthusiastically.

Just when Cecily began to believe that perhaps she had been worrying needlessly after all, Edward began to cough violently and grasped at his chest. The stable hand quickly stopped the pony and helped the dauphin off the pony before taking it back to the stables.

The French king and his consort quickly rushed over to their son, trying to figure out what went wrong.

“Mama, Papa, I can’t breathe,” Edward wheezed, his face all sweaty and pale. “And my chest hurts.”

Charles immediately picked him up and started walked towards the castle, shouting at one of his groomsmen to get the royal physician. Cecily followed close behind, her heart beating wildly.

England

Eleanor could barely keep food down, her feet felt sore, she had been sneezing nonstop for hours and she was in early confinement. And yet her brother still felt he could barge into her chambers and start complaining about the Duke of Richmond and the Earl of Surrey.

“Our father fought on Richmond’s side and instead of showing his gratitude, Richmond has decided to tie his children to the family of traitors,” Henry Percy ranted.

“You were the one that said you were going to look for another bride,” Eleanor pointed out, not sure what her brother had been expecting when he chose to try and blackmail Richmond into getting him a dukedom. “His Grace would have been happy to give you his daughter’s hand in marriage had you not said that.”

Instead of acknowledging his folly, her brother just scowled. “I wouldn’t have had to that if you had just told your husband to give me what I deserved,” Henry said heatedly.

“What you deserve is a smack for being so stupid,” Eleanor sneered, angered by her brother’s attempt to blame her for his own actions.

“How dare you speak to me like that! I am the head of the Percy household, you are---” the Earl of Northumberland began.

“I am a queen,” Eleanor interjected coldly. “I outrank you, brother, and even if I could command my husband, I wouldn’t do it. Now I suggest you get out now unless you would like to be banished from court.”

“You can’t do that,” Henry spluttered, his eyes wide in shock.

“I can and I will,” Eleanor replied, her glare was icy enough to make any man shiver.

Sensing his sister would not back down, the Earl bowed stiffly and left her chambers.

May 1, 1492

The celebrations for Mayday had been in preparation for months but the minute the Queen went into labor, everything was cancelled. Not that the courtiers minded much as they were hopeful that soon there would be a bigger reason to celebrate.

King Edward paced around his wife’s apartments, feeling both anxious and excited. While he was eager to meet the newest prince or princess, he was worried about Eleanor. The royal physician confirmed that her health was improving but the fact that she had fallen ill while pregnant was unnerving. It wasn’t the plague, but it still made her pregnancy risky.

Hours passed with no news and Edward continued to pace, ignoring his brothers and Henry when they begged him to sit down. Finally, his mother appeared at the doorway, smiling brightly.

“The queen has given birth to a healthy boy,” she announced, beaming at the room’s occupants.

“I’ll order the bells rung at once,” Thomas declared, not wanting to waste a second. He barely even waited for Edward to nod his consent.

“And Eleanor, how is she?” Edward demanded.

“She fell asleep soon after the labor was over. But I think that beside being tired there is nothing else wrong with her,” Elizabeth assured her son.

“Perhaps I should fetch Dr. Argentine just in case something is wrong,” Henry suggested.

Elizabeth frowned, her eyes narrowed. “Do you not trust my judgment, my lord?”

“With all due respect, Your Majesty, you are not physician and therefore I think it would be best to get an opinion from a medical professional,” Henry said logically.

“He has a point, Mother, and besides, we can never be too careful,” Edward stated, nodding at Henry to fetch the doctor before following another lady to the antechamber that held his son.

Edward reached into the crib to pick the infant up, only to be startled when he started crying.

“Oh, I am so sorry, little one, I didn’t mean to upset you. Hush now, I’m your Papa. I love you very much and I only wanted you to know that,” Edward rambled, much to his brother’s amusement.

“I don’t think he understood any of that,” Richard told him, a smirk on his face. To his surprise the baby stopped crying as Edward continued to talk to him or perhaps it was just the soothing sound of Edward’s voice that calmed him down.

“Come over here, Dickon, doesn’t he look just like me?” Edward asked in an excited whisper, his dancing with affection.

“Does that mean that his name will be Edward then?” Richard teased, knowing full well that his brother would never break his promise.

“Absolutely not. I have already told Richmond that if Eleanor were to have a son the announcements were to read Prince Richard of Wales,” Edward assured him, kissing the top of his son’s head. “I will just have to think of another nickname for him as I wouldn’t want to mix you two up.”


“He really is a handsome lad,” Richard remarked as he peered at the infant in his brother’s arms, studying his features. “I wonder if my son will look like him.”

“Which son would that be? The one you don’t have or the one you do have?” Edward asked, with a raised eyebrow.

Richard glanced up in surprise. It had been two years since he had last laid eyes on Lady Margaret Bryan’s son. He had never told Thomas or Edward that he suspected that the boy was his. In fact, besides the last visit to the Bryan’s manor, he had stayed away like he was requested to do so.

“Francis is Thomas Bryan’s son, not mine,” he said firmly. He could tell that his older brother was disappointed by his answer, so he changed the subject. “Have you picked out the godparents already?”

“Well King Charles and Cecily are obviously the royal godparents and I thought Henry and Elizabeth could be the other two considering you and Thomas are already the godfathers of Ellie,” Edward replied. He looked down at his son again, missing his brother scowl at the notion that Henry Tudor would be the new Prince of Wales’ godfather.

“Your Majesty, the Queen is awake,” Lady Anne Stafford called, keeping her voice low so she did not disturb the slumbering infant in the King’s arms.

“I hope you can forgive me for leaving you, Dickon, but I am certain that Ali is eager to meet her son and I am eager for him to meet her,” Edward said jovially.

“I shall not delay you, dear brother. Instead, I think I shall start celebrating with a glass of wine,” Richard laughed, smiling widely.

Edward smiled back before following Lady Stafford to his wife’s bedchambers to present his wife with their Prince of Wales.

The Duke of York could not help but smile when pictured the Queen’s reaction to seeing her son. His smile soon turned into a smirk when he thought of how the Tudors must be feeling now that their dreams of putting one of their own on the throne of England had just flickered and died. 

The clock chimed midnight and Mayday had officially passed but it seemed that there would be enough celebration to make up for missing it twice over. The bells continued to ring and outside the palace, food and beverages were being distributed to the people of London. Inside, the entire court seemed to be in the Great Hall, toasting the birth of the Prince of Wales.

“To England’s future!” the Duke of Richmond proclaimed, lifting up his goblet, looking as proud as he would have if it were his own son being born.

How dare he pretend to be happy when in reality, he wishes it were his son who is the Prince of Wales. The Duke of York fumed. How could his brother think making this ambitious man Prince Richard’s godfather? 

“You can cut out the act, my lord, my brother is not here,” Richard sneered, loud enough to be heard over the other courtiers.

Silence fell over the Great Hall as everyone stared at Richard in astonishment.

“What do you mean by that?” Henry asked, perplexed by the Duke of York’s attitude.

“Everyone knows that you, your uncle and your mother were hoping that my brother would never have a son so you could take his place on the throne,” Richard spat. “Now that my nephew is born, none of your brats will take his place.”

Henry pressed his lips together, trying not to get angry at the insult thrown at his children. “I can assure you that I am very happy that King Edward has a son and I hope that he will have many more to further secure his dynasty,” the Duke of Richmond said smoothly, having no intention of fighting with the younger man.

Instead of being pleased by his brother-in-law’s words, it only proceeded to make Richard angrier at what he felt was a blatant lie.

“You think you have everyone fooled, don’t you? Well, you haven’t fooled me,” he snarled, getting up and stumbling as he walked towards the Duke of Richmond. “I will never let you or your damned spawn take the throne from my brother.”

“Would you like me to pass on that message to Elizabeth?” Henry asked coldly, his face expressionless but his eyes were blazing with anger.

The mention of his oldest sister was enough to penetrate the hazy mind of Richard. He suddenly realized that everyone was looking at him as if he had gone mad.

Feeling ashamed of acting like a drunken fool and knowing if his words were reported back to Thomas or Edward, he would receive a scolding, he decided to depart from the banquet hall.

As much as he hated to admit it, the Duke of Richmond made a good point, his sons were also the sons of Elizabeth and therefore they were Richard’s nephews.

Although he still believed in his mother’s warning, the idea of little Jasper or Henry learning what their Uncle thought of them broke his heart. Perhaps he could change the future and befriend the two boys, protecting them from becoming pawns of their paternal grandmother.

He would protect Edward’s legacy always but surely that didn’t mean he would have to view his own flesh and blood as his enemy.

Henry Tudor might be the enemy---despite what Edward thought---but his sons were innocent, and Richard needed to remember that.

 June 8, 1492

Elizabeth could hear men shouting as she walked down the corridor. When she rounded the corner, she saw an older Richard clashing swords with another man. He managed to knock him down and he then spun around to face a second man whose back was towards Elizabeth.

To the Dowager Queen’s surprise, Richard did not raise his sword instead he dropped it.

“Please, I don't want to fight you. I’m your flesh and blood. I am---”

Elizabeth could not hear the rest of what her son said but she did hear what the man said after he rushed forward, stabbing Richard in chest.

“I know,” her son’s murderer spat. “And I don’t care.” 

“What have you done! What have you done!” someone screamed but Elizabeth couldn’t see who it was as she was too busy staring at her son as he struggled to take his last breath? His lips moved but no sound came out.

Elizabeth Woodville woke up with a start, feeling like she was sweating and shivering at the same time. She struggled to get up off the bed but found she was too weak to do so. 

Something was wrong. She had to write to Richard to warn him of her dream, but it seemed that she could barely lift herself up.

“Lucy,” she called to her lady. But there was no answer. Now Elizabeth could hear voices outside, and she realized what was wrong.

“The plague. It’s the plague.”

“Not yet. My children. I need to say goodbye to my children. I must warn them of what will happen if they are not careful,” Elizabeth cried to the air.

“I’m sorry, my sweet girl,” her mother’s voice whispered in her ear. “Your time on Earth is up. It’s time to rest now. You’ve done all you can. Come home to me, my Elizabeth. Your father and siblings are waiting for you.”

Tears fell from Elizabeth’s face. She had known that she would not get to see her grandchildren grow up. That she would soon leave her darling children behind, she had thought she had made peace with it. But now that she knew it was her time, she could not help but weep.

Soon her eyes fluttered shut and the Dowager Queen Elizabeth, the last of the Woodvilles, was no more.

Chapter Text

April 12, 1496

Scotland

Prince Richard had never believed in the concept of love at first sight. He knew that there was lust at first sight as he had lusted after many pretty ladies. And the young duke was aware that there were some rare incidents where love had happened at first sight such as his parents and although Edward denied it, Richard had long suspected that his older brother had fallen for Eleanor the moment her snowball had hit him.

But he had never expected to fall in love at first sight or in love at all for that matter. Lady Margaret Bryan had been a challenge and considering she was his first time his heart had a special spot for her. However, he had never loved her; not like Edward loved Eleanor or even like Thomas loved his wife. As for his other mistresses: they had been fun, but he had never had a deep connection with any of them and therefore his dalliances only lasted a few months at most.

That all changed when he met Lady Catherine Gordon. From the moment he laid eyes on her, he knew she was different than all the other ladies who had caught his fancy. From the moment they were introduced, Richard had known she was destined for him, not as a plaything but as his other half.

They had met when Richard had gone to Scotland as his brother’s proxy for the christening of his royal nephew: Prince James of Scots. The ceremony had ended and now Richard had joined the Scottish court at the feast thrown in the celebration of the new crown Prince.

He had been searching for a dance partner when their eyes met, and Richard was certain that he had never seen a more lovely creature as Lady Catherine in his life. He quickly made his way over to her, bowing as he approached her.

“My lady, forgive me for staring but I was struck dumb when I saw your breathtaking beauty,” he gushed, laying a kiss on her hand.

“That line might work in England, Your Highness, but I am afraid that us Scottish ladies are not so easily flattered,” Catherine told him, although her cheeks were turning a charming shade of pink.

 “It is not flattery when it’s true,” Richard countered. “May I ask your name, my lady, so I may compose a thousand poems about you.”  

“Lady Catherine Gordon,” Lady Catherine replied sweetly. “I need not ask who you are as your reputation proceeds you, my lord Duke of York.”

“I hope that what you have heard has not affected your judgement of me,” Richard said, half-joking. “Or if it has, I hope it is in a good way.”

“A very good way, Your Highness,” Catherine assured him coyly, fluttering her eyelashes at him.

“Please call me Richard for I long to hear my name on your enticing lips,” Richard implored her, his eyes roaming her shapely figure. He licked his suddenly dry lips.

“Then you may call me Catherine,” the lady replied.

“Would you do me the honor of dancing with me, Catherine?” Richard asked, grinning widely, extending his hand for her to take.

“It would be my pleasure,” Catherine answered, placing her hand in Richard’s hand, allowing him to lead her to the dance floor.

In just an evening, Richard decided that he had found the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. 

May 31, 1496  

France

When the Count of Angoulême died, his children had become wards of the throne and it had been decided they would be brought up in the royal nursery alongside the one-year-old Princess of France. When he was old enough François would be a companion of Dauphin Edward but for now, he and his sister would be companions to Princess Anne who was only a month younger than the young count.

As the oldest of the three youngsters, Marguerite seemed to designate herself in charge of helping François and Anne learn how to talk and walk. Under the watchful eyes of the children’s governess not to mention Cecily and Louise, she held their hands as they both took tentative steps forward.

“She is so protective of them. Apparently, she had once shouted at her half-sister for running as she feared François might try to chase after her and hurt himself,” Louise remarked, smiling fondly at her daughter. When Cecily said nothing, Louise turned to look at the queen, noting she seemed perturbed by something. “Your Majesty, is there something amiss?”

“You’ll think I’m mad,” Cecily said, keeping her voice low so no one could overhear her.

“Tell me anyway,” the dowager countess prompted.

“The first time I ever held Anne in my arms I had a vision of her wearing the Queen’s crown with the man beside her wearing the crown of France, a man whose eyes looked very much like the eyes of your son,” Cecily explained, studying François as she spoke.

“My son will be king,” Louise repeated, her eyes wide and a smile threatening to split her face.

Cecily’s head whipped around, and she glared at the other woman. “My son will be king,” she hissed.

“Of course,” Louise agreed, averting her eyes, wondering why Cecily had even brought the matter up if she was going to get so angry about it. Of course, the idea of her son, her only son, dying in order for François to be King of France probably had something to do with it.

“That being said, I am a realist and I know that my sweet son is not the healthiest and my childbearing days are running out fast. If my vision is correct that means the Duke of Orléans will not be able to have a son either. However, he might have a daughter which means we will need to make sure he doesn’t get to marry his daughter to your son,” Cecily said firmly. “I think I will make a suggestion to Charles that Anne would make a fine bride for the Count of Angoulême.”

“Nothing would please me more,” Louise said softly.

Cecily stared at her for a moment, her expression grim. “You are my friend; Louise and I trust you. You better not betray my trust,” she threatened.

“What exactly do you expect me to do? If your vision is correct, all I have to do is wait,” Louise pointed out bluntly.

“Wait for the death of my son,” Cecily muttered, her lip curled up in disgust.

“It was your vision not mine,” Louise reminded her before adding a bleated “Majesty” just in case she was speaking too boldly.

“Well, you don’t have to be so excited about it,” Cecily snapped, looking back towards the children.

She watched Marguerite let go of François and Anne’s hands letting them walk for themselves. Anne nearly fell, only for François to catch her and help her stand.

It was enough to make the hardest of hearts melt and Louise was certain that if they did marry, their future marriage would be a happy one. And perhaps they would bring the golden age of France.

July 3, 1496

England

Edward felt like he hadn’t seen hair nor hide of his brother since the Duke of York returned from Scotland. Usually, Richard would partake in every activity of the court but for the past few months, he seemed to be spending more time in his apartments rather than mingle with the courtiers.

When he did grace the court with his presence, he seemed preoccupied with something but refused to share what it was with his brothers, assuring them it was nothing.


Edward was at a loss at what could be bothering his brother so much. Ali and Thomas on the other hand seemed to know almost instantly what was going on.

“Edward, I knew you were oblivious but honestly how could you possibly be missing the obvious signs? He’s acting just like you did when you were mooning over Eleanor,” Thomas teased him.

“I didn’t moon,” Edward protested, scowling at his older brother.

“What Tom is saying, Ned, is that Richard is in love,” Eleanor explained, putting her hand on Edward’s arm, and squeezing it.

“Dickon? In love?” Edward repeated skeptically. Although Richard was now a man of twenty, he still acted immature at times, always making light of every situation. God knew how much of a headache he caused Henry when Edward finally relented and gave him a seat on his privy council. Richard never got serious for anything let alone a woman.

“When I visited him a week ago, he was writing a letter to someone and judging from the crumpled pieces of parchment surrounding his feet, it wasn’t his first draft,” Thomas recounted. “And yesterday, a messenger came up to him with a letter from a Lady Catherine Gordon and you should have seen how his face lit up when he heard that.”

“According to the gossip my ladies picked up, Richard cut ties with his mistress, and he got absolutely furious when she asked him how he could leave her for some Scottish savage,” Eleanor added, smiling widely. “There is no doubt about it, your brother is head over heels.”  

It was clear that both Thomas and Eleanor were pleased that Richard had fallen in love with a lady. Edward took a dimmer view of the events.

If Richard truly loved this lady, there was no doubt in Edward’s mind that he would ask permission to marry her. Edward would have granted permission readily, pleased that his younger brother was behaving responsibly and unwilling to stand in the way of his happiness. Unfortunately, there was a big problem: Katherine of Aragon, Richard’s fiancée.

Richard and Katherine would be married by proxy once the girl turned twelve. The marriage betrothal had already been signed. And what was worse, it was more than a promise between a man and a woman, it was a promise between two countries. They couldn’t just snub the King and Queen of Spain because Richard had fallen in love.

Edward dreaded having to tell his brother all this and he almost wanted to deny Richard entry when his groom announced that the Duke of York wanted an audience.

But as a king, he had a duty and God willing Richard would understand that whatever feelings he had for Lady Gordon, he had to put his duty over his heart.

With this thought in mind, Edward could barely master a smile when Richard came strolling into his audience chamber, grinning broadly. After pleasantries were exchanged, the Duke of York decided to get right to the point.

“I never believed in love at first sight, Ned. I tried to convince myself that she was a passing fancy,” Richard began. “But everyday I’m not with her, it’s like there is a piece of me missing. It’s like you and Eleanor.” If he noticed Edward wincing, he did not comment on it. “I know you’ll just love her. I only hope she’ll make me as happy as Eleanor makes you. I hope that you will give us your blessing.”

It wasn’t until he saw Richard’s expectant look, did Edward release that Dickon had assumed that Edward would immediately grant him his request. The Duke of York either didn’t think there would be any consequences to him marry Catherine Gordon or he didn’t care.

Either way, Edward couldn’t help but feel angered at Richard for being so…arrogant and insensitive. He had decided Catherine Gordon would be his wife and he expected everyone to just be happy about it.

“Of course, you have my blessing. Who cares if you make me look a liar and a cad to the King and Queen of Spain? Your happiness is of course more important than good relations with other kingdoms. In fact, I don’t care if they threaten to invade us for breaking a seven-year marriage agreement. And if my son won’t be able to marry the granddaughter of the Holy Roman Emperor because his uncle can’t think with anything above his neck than I shall make peace with that. After all, the world revolves around you!” Edward sneered, every word out of his mouth dripping with sarcasm as he gritted his teeth in frustration.

It took Richard a few minutes to regain the use of his tongue, shocked and hurt by his brother’s outburst. “Ned, I thought---”

“You thought because I am your brother that I would just grant you your request to marry Lady Gordon because I am supposed to allow you to act like an irresponsible child who doesn’t know the meaning of duty!” Edward exclaimed, stamping down the guilt he felt at look of despair on his little brother’s face. They were not children anymore and it was high time Richard stopped acting like one.

“Oh? Did you do your duty when you were engaged to Anne of Brittany?” Richard demanded, growing angry himself. Of all people, he had been certain that Edward would understand.

“If France had not intervened, I would have married her despite my feelings for Eleanor,” Edward replied, turning around so Richard could not see the pained look on his face, imagining how miserable he would have been without Eleanor. “Duty must come before the matters of the heart. Henry said----”


In hindsight mentioning Henry might have been a mistake.

“I DON’T CARE WHAT HENRY BLOODY TUDOR SAID!” Richard shouted, glaring at his brother. “I know you think that every word out of his mouth is the gospel truth, but I had hoped you wouldn’t listen to him over your flesh and blood.”

“He told me that sending you to Scotland was a mistake and yet I listened to you,” Edward snapped, unwilling to let his brother guilt him. “If I had known how much trouble it would have caused me, I wouldn’t have bothered.”

“So that’s it then. You will force me to marry a child and be unhappy for the rest of my life,” Richard said angrily. “I guess we have nothing left to talk about.”

“If you can’t understand why, it is important that you marry the Spanish Princess than no we have nothing more to talk about,” Edward agreed.

Richard stormed out and slammed the door behind him, leaving Edward to sink down in his chair, remembering the conversation he had with Henry just days before.

“Duty comes before the matters of the heart,” Edward said firmly as he paced around the room. “That’s what I’ll tell him.”

“Try not to coddle him too much,” Henry muttered. “He isn’t a child, Your Majesty.”

“But he’s my brother and I want him to be happy,” Edward explained, his shoulders sagging.

“You and I love our wives very much, but we would have done our duty if we had to,” Henry pointed out. He then let out a heavy sigh. “Perhaps God knew this and that is why He rewarded us so greatly.” 

“I’m sure that Richard understands the importance of duty. He’s probably already knowing that I won’t be able to say yes and has written list of arguments for why marrying Lady Gordon is the best option for all of us,” Edward predicted.

“Because the Duke of York is known for being logical and thinking things through,” the Duke of Richmond deadpanned.

“Do you have anything useful to add?” Edward asked, slightly irritated.

“Well, I might have a suggestion that may or may not work. The King of France’s son is roughly the same age as Katherine of Aragon so perhaps you might suggest to your friend that it would be prudent to make such a match especially when the Holy Roman Emperor has already married his son and daughter to Infante John and Infanta Joanna,” Henry told him. “I would suggest inviting your sister and her husband to England for a state visit and if the Duke of York will not be deterred from his course of action, we can introduce another suitor for the Spanish Princess.”

“Henry, if I didn’t know any better, I would think you were going soft,” Edward remarked.

“Not at all. I suspect that your brother might take matters in his own hands and elope causing an international incident,” Henry explained.

“Dickon would never do that to me,” Edward assured him.

“Richie,” Henry hissed, trying to keep his voice low so their governesses didn’t hear them. “Richie, I swear I will get you for this.”

“You insisted!” the Prince of Wales shot back.

“That was before I lost!” Henry exclaimed.

“Don’t be such a sore loser, Harry. We had a deal that whoever lost would have to sneak down to the kitchens and steal enough pastries for the both of us,” Richard reminded him. “A true knight doesn’t break his promise.”

Henry scowled. “Why can’t you do it? Nobody would ever think of punishing you,” he pointed out. The worse Richard would receive was a light scolding while Henry would probably be sent to his rooms without supper.

“Because I don’t know where the kitchen is, they’d be more likely to notice that I’ve disappeared and I won,” Richard told him, glaring right back at his friend.

“I hate to burst both of your bubbles, but we can hear every word you’re saying!” Margaret shouted, fed up with the antics of the two boys who seemed to think they were being subtle by whispering loudly when the other room’s occupants were only a few feet away. Beside her, Eleanor, Charles, and Jasper seemed to be trying to contain their laughter.

“What do you think, Joan, should we send someone to the kitchen to fetch some pastries to save little Harry from breaking his word?” Mistress Brandon asked the royal children’s governess, fighting a smile in an attempt to look somber.

“Hmm, well it will be a while before supper so I suppose we could allow them a treat just this once,” Lady Joan Bourchier agreed. “But let it be known that if either of you try sneaking off without any adult supervision, you will be severely punished.”

The two boys nodded in understanding, having the good grace to look shamefaced.

Before Mistress Brandon could put away her knitting and go to the kitchens to fetch pastries for the children, the Duke of Richmond strolled into the nursery, looking quite displeased.

“Margaret was that you I heard shouting?” he asked reprovingly. “I would think that my oldest daughter knows by now that ladies never raise their voices.”

“Sorry Papa,” Margret said apologetically. Although it was on the tip of her tongue to insist it was all Henry and Richard’s fault that she had lost her temper, she knew her father well enough to know he would not be impressed by her shifting the blame to two boys younger than her.

The older Henry patted her head in acknowledgment, kissing her cheek and ruffling Jasper’s hair before he turned his attention to his younger son and the Prince of Wales, noting their guilty expressions.

“Harry, have you been roping Rich into mischief again?” Richmond asked, an inquiring eyebrow raised.

“In all fairness, Father, Harry doesn’t need to twist Richie’s arms when treats are involved,” Jasper jested, trying to save Harry from a scolding. After all, like his younger brother pointed out, no one ever scolded the Prince of Wales.

The Duke of Richmond surveyed the two boys, thinking that it really didn’t matter who was twisting whose arm as they had been as thick as thieves since they had learned to talk.

Jasper might be the next Duke of Richmond, but Henry was well on his way to being the King’s closest companion.

“As much as I am eager to learn more about this incident, I came because I have some news, I wanted you all to hear first,” Richmond explained.

In truth, he had come here in hopes to avoid the Duke of York who had not taken his brother’s decision well and as usual instead of realizing that he overstepped he blamed Henry for it. And while Henry Tudor was not a cowardly man who liked to hide behind children, he had no intention of fighting with the younger duke, therefore he decided to be where Richard would least likely go when he was angry.

However, that did not mean, he wasn’t going to enjoy some time with his children, nieces, and nephews. Especially when the news he was going to tell them would most certainly excite them.

“The King and Queen of France will be coming to England for a state visit,” he explained.

“When?” Ellie asked, her eyes lighting up at the thought of meeting one of her father’s beloved older sisters.

“We haven’t set a date yet but perhaps Christmastide,” Henry answered her.

“Won’t that be exciting? We will get to meet a King and a Queen,” Ellie gushed, causing Margaret to give her a rather perplexed look. “Mama and Papa don’t count, we’ve already met them.” 

“Um, where did Henry, Richard and Charles go?” Jasper asked, although he already had sneaky suspicion, he knew the answer.

His father, his governess and Lady Bourchier looked startled upon realizing that he was right that the three boys had managed to sneak out while everyone was distracted.

“I am going to kill them,” Margaret hissed.

The Duke of Richmond sighed, wondering how on Earth he and Edward had managed to sire such impulsive and foolhardy sons.

December 14, 1496

“Even with young Master Brandon’s help, the three boys still managed to get themselves lost. Luckily, they managed to find themselves outside the Queen’s apartments. Ali and I got a nasty fright when we learned that they were there without any sort of escort. But once we realized they were unharmed I turned to my darling queen and said there is no doubt that he is your son, Ali. The only way I could be more certain is if he threw a snowball at my face,” Edward finished, causing Charles to burst out laughing.

“My goodness, barely four-years-old and he is already full of mischief. I suppose he is much like his namesake,” Charles jested, clapping his friend on the back, taking advantage of them being in private to behave more casually with his friend. As far as he was concerned right now, they were two ordinary friends instead of two kings.

Edward tried not to flinch at the mention of his brother. After their fight, Richard had disappeared for three months and when he came back, he did the best he could to avoid interacting with Edward.

It hurt very much for his brother to treat him so coldly and there was a part of Edward that wanted to tell Richard of Henry’s suggestion, but he didn’t want to get his hopes up only to let him down when it didn’t work out.

“Speaking of Richard, there is something I wanted to discuss with you,” Edward began, clearing his throat.

“You mean to tell me that your sister was right, and you didn’t just invite us to catch up. You had ulterior motives,” Charles said with a mock-gasp, even putting a hand over his heart for effect.

Before Edward could respond, the herald announced that the Duke of York was requesting an audience.

“Charles, Ned, I hope I’m not intruding,” Richard said, slightly guilty. “I just didn’t want to miss out on this reunion.”

Edward practically beamed at his younger brother, pleased that he decided to put aside his anger and celebrate the three of them together again. It was like they were back in France where Richard had declared he would fight anyone who dared speak against his brother.

That memory flickered in the King’s mind as he threw an arm around Richard’s shoulders. “Of course, you’re not intruding, Dickon, I’m just glad you came.”

He then signaled for the groom to bring Richard a goblet of wine, letting go of his brother so he could clink their glasses together a gesture Charles copied.

“So, tell me, Dickon, what tales do you have to share? I am eager to know what mischief you have been up to,” Charles prompted.

Neither of the two kings noticed that Richard took a rather big gulp of his wine or that he had taken a step away from Edward.

“Well actually, I got married,” Richard told him, averting his eyes.

Charles looked delighted and was about to congratulate Richard when Edward dropped his goblet on the ground with a loud clank and the wine spilled all over his shoes.

“Oh---well---I---uh---- ---you know what, I’m the King of France: I’m just going to leave,” Charles decided, hurrying out the door, not even caring how his exit lacked any decorum.

Chapter Text

December 14, 1496

“Tell me that this is some sort of ill-conceived jest,” King Edward pleaded, almost desperately. He didn’t even seem to care that the wine he had dropped had splashed onto his expensive shoes, soaking through them or that the King of France had all but run from the room as if there were demons chasing after him. All he cared about was the fact that his brother had gone against his wishes and had eloped with the Scottish lady. “Tell me that you have not betrayed me so blatantly.”

“Don’t be so dramatic, Ned, I haven’t betrayed you. All I have done is marry the love of my life just like you did,” Richard told him, his temper spiking at being accused of betrayal. While it was true that he had gone against his brother’s wishes, he was and would always be Edward’s most loyal supporter despite what Richmond might have him believe. In fact, Richard was certain that if it were not for Henry Tudor’s influence, Edward would have given him his blessing to marry Lady Catherine Gordon and they wouldn’t have had to elope in the first place.

“You have caused an international incident, that’s what you’ve done!” Edward shouted, furious that Richard still couldn’t grasp just how badly he had messed up. But then he wouldn’t be the one who would have to explain to the Spanish Ambassador that he would have to find another bridegroom for his master’s daughter.

King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella would be furious, and Edward couldn’t blame them as he would be equally as angry if his daughter were spurned for another bride let alone one of lesser status.

“Ned, you are overreacting. Spain will get over it,” Richard said, waving his hand dismissively which only served to fuel his brother’s anger.

How dare Richard be so uncaring over a serious situation? Well, if scolding didn’t give Richard an impression of how deeply he had erred than there was only one other punishment he could give that might get through to his brother’s thick skill.

“Leave,” Edward commanded, his voice no louder than a whisper but it was dripping with ice-cold fury. “Get your things and leave court by this afternoon.”

Richard stared at his brother in horror and hurt. “Brother, please listen---” he implored him, reaching out to touch his shoulder only for Edward to shrug him off.

“I have no intention of listening to someone who refuses to listen to me,” Edward declared angrily, turning his back on Richard, not even wanting to look at him, furious at both his impulsiveness and the fact that he did not seem contrite over his actions.

“You are a hypocrite,” Richard snapped, his hands now at his side, curled up into fists “You married Eleanor because you loved her and when I did the same thing you have the nerve to banish me for it.”

“Not only are the two situations completely different, you do realize that you have committed treason by marrying without my permission,” Edward pointed out.

“I asked you for your permission and you refused to give it,” Richard reminded him. “All because Richmond wants me to marry a child. Sometimes I wonder if he is king instead of you.”

Edward spun around, his eyes flashing dangerously, visibly shaking with rage. “I am the King of England! And I say that you and your wife are to be banished from court until you start acting like a man instead of a petulant child!” the king roared. “Now get out before I call the guards to throw you out of the castle this minute!”

Although the Duke of York was certain his brother was bluffing, he decided not to test him, instead storming out of his chambers, slamming the door behind him.

Gossip was as quick as an arrow and within the hour, the entire court knew that the Duke of York had not only married Lady Catherine Gordon consequently he was banished from court.

Henry Tudor should have known Richard would blame him, as he always did, but he didn’t realize the Duke of York would be so bold to storm up to him and start yelling at him so publicly.

“You did this! You poisoned my brother’s mind against me!” Richard raged. “He would never have banished me if he didn’t want to please you.”

“Your Grace, if it were up to me, your marriage to that Scottish lady would be annulled and you would be kept under house arrest until it came time to marry the Princess Katherine,” Henry informed him in a clipped tone, trying very hard to keep his temper cool.

Of course, it was entirely possible that after their daughter being snubbed, the Spanish monarchs would have broken the betrothal themselves in that scenario. However, the fact still remained that Edward’s punishment for Richard was tame to the one Henry would have given him for being such a spoiled brat who thought he could do whatever he liked with no consequences.

“You might have Edward wrapped around your finger but one day, he will realize just what an untrustworthy knave you are, and I will rejoice in your downfall,” Richard snarled, grabbing the Duke of Richmond by the collar, and throwing him bodily against the wall.

“Leave my father alone!” Harry roared, kicking Richard’s legs.

Richard grabbed him by arm roughly. “Touch me again and I will give you a thrashing you’ll never forget,” he growled, only for Henry to use his free hand to start pounding on chest.

“Harry, stop that!” Elizabeth exclaimed, grabbing his son, and pulling him away from her brother. “Dickon, stop please. Henry had nothing to do with your banishment.”

“Indeed. You have only yourself to blame,” Henry spat as he shoved the younger man away from his family. Perhaps he should not have said that as all it did was fuel the man’s hatred, but Henry was not in the mood to play nice to such a foolish boy especially when he had dared put his hands on Harry.

Before Richard could retort, the Marquess of Dorset intervened.

“Dickon, please, His Majesty is already upset, you don’t need to make things worse for yourself by causing a scene,” he said in gentle but stern voice. One that was often used on his troublemaking children.

Richard glanced around the corridor, noticing that all of the courtiers were avoiding his eyes. For once the Duke of York seemed to realize that he was acting like an immature brat for his inclined his head respectfully and slunk away.

Thomas Grey also inclined his head at the Duke and Duchess of Richmond before hurrying after his brother.

“Why was Uncle Richard being so mean?” Margaret asked as she stood next to her mother, tears in her eyes as she had been certain her uncle was about to give Harry the thrashing, he had threatened had Elizabeth not pulled Harry away from him.

“Because he is a fool,” Henry muttered darkly.

“Henry,” Elizabeth hissed, glancing at the courtiers who seemed to be avoiding her gaze, but she was certain they were listening to ever word they said. “Let’s go back to our apartments.”

They could explain to their children what was going on once they were in private.

“Stop acting like a child! You had to know that with or without Richmond, Edward would not be pleased that you went behind his back and disobeyed his direct orders,” Thomas pointed out once he and Richard were alone. “You cannot possibly be so blind that you wouldn’t realize that doing this would make Edward angry.”


He didn’t care that Richard outranked him, he was the oldest of their mother’s sons and he considered himself responsible for his younger brothers, acting like a father figure whenever his brother misbehaved.

“Alright, I admit that maybe I knew Edward would not be happy, but I didn’t think he’d get so upset over nothing. It’s not like Spain declare war on us just because of my actions,” Richard protested.

“No but they may refuse to help us when in a time where we will need their help or perhaps, they might even convince Burgundy to cut off trade with us,” Thomas predicated.

“And can we not live without them?” Richard asked.

Thomas heroically fought an urge to punch his brother. He settled for an eye roll instead. “Dickon, England needs allies for trade and for help against enemy armies. We cannot afford to piss our allies off by doing reckless things!” Thomas explained, wondering how the hell Richard had grown up with a royal education, not to mention being a member of the King’s privy council without understanding the fact that the politics were like a chess game where any wrong move even if it was only one could mean the game was lost.

Richard let out a heavy sigh. “Perhaps I acted a bit rashly but I thought Edward would at least try to understand my point of view and find a way to break the betrothal so I could be happy.”

“Do you not hear how selfish you are being right now? Thinking that because you want something everyone is supposed to help you get your own way no matter how many people you offend?” Thomas inquired rhetorically. He supposed it was easy for Richard to not care about that as he wouldn’t be the one who had to face the King and Queen of Spain’s wrath.

“I’m sorry, Tom, maybe I am being selfish. But I refuse to believe that Edward couldn’t have come up with a solution that would have given me what I wanted without having to resort to marrying Catherine behind his back,” Richard said, now looking far more contrite than he had moments ago.

“He did. That’s why he invited King Charles and Cecily to come to England. He had hoped they would convince the Spanish monarchs that a marriage between Prince Edward and the Infanta Katherine would be better for both of their nations,” Thomas informed him, having been told by Edward of what Richmond had suggested. However, he felt it prudent not to mention the idea came from Henry Tudor as he knew that Richard hated the man almost to ridiculous lengths.

“He did? Why didn’t he tell me?”

“Because he was afraid, he’d be getting your hopes up for nothing,” Thomas said, wishing that he had at least told his brother what Edward was planning than maybe this whole situation would have been avoided.

“So, I would have waited six months just to told I couldn’t marry Catherine,” Richard remarked, guessing his brother’s thoughts. “No, I would have married her anyway and while I understand that I have done Edward wrong, I don’t regret marrying her especially not now when she’s pregnant.”

“She’s pregnant? How far along is she?” Thomas inquired, fearing the answer.

“Four months,” Richard admitted.

Thomas closed his eyes, trying very hard not slap his brother. Either Richard slept with Catherine Gordon and married her when they discovered she was pregnant, or he had married her six months ago and only had told them now because she would be too pregnant for anyone to cover their marriage up or claim it was unconsummated.

Honestly how he had managed to keep it a secret for so long was a little impressive.

Eleanor had between talking to Cecily when the King of France was admitted to her rooms and told them what the Duke of York had done. She had stayed for a few minutes to make sure that Charles and Cecily would properly entertain by someone in the family before making all haste to her husband’s rooms.

He must have been expecting her for the groom did not even hesitate before opening the door to his study. He was not alone, however, Thomas was there too.

“Tom, your wife is currently showing the King and Queen of France our royal garden, would you please join them,” Eleanor requested, knowing full well he knew that she was simply trying to get him to leave so she could talk to Edward alone. However, Thomas acquiesced, perhaps knowing that if anyone could soothe Edward’s anger at the Duke of York it would be his wife.

The Marquess of Dorset bowed twice before leaving, shutting the door behind him.

“Apparently Richard has gotten better at keeping secrets. According to what he told Thomas he has been married for months now,” Edward informed her. While he had been feeling guilty about Richard avoiding him, Richard had actually been hiding a huge secret from him. “His wife is currently pregnant and is here in England with him which means the Earl of Huntly and perhaps even the Scottish King and Queen had to have known what was going on.”

 “Perhaps the Earl of Huntly knew but was pressed to keep it a secret from his monarchs,” Eleanor suggested. She wished Richard had told her the minute he had eloped with the Scottish lady, that way she could have helped him soften the blow when they told Edward.

“And find himself courting King James displeasure by marrying one of his subjects to an English royal duke. No King James must have known and given his permission,” Edward pointed out, angry that he was lied to by not only his brother and his sister but also by a fellow monarch. “Perhaps King James was hoping that Spain would be so angry at us that they could help them invade us or put a pretender on the throne.”

Now Eleanor sighed, recognizing her husband’s paranoia was getting the better of him again.

“Alright, Ned, that’s enough, come with me,” she commanded taking his hand in hers and leading him out of his apartments. “We’re going to see our children. Hopefully, they can take your mind off of all this unpleasantness.”

“I’m not a child. I don’t need to be distracted,” Edward grumbled but he still followed her to the nursery.

Richard, his Richard, immediately ran into his mother’s arms just as Elle ran into her father’s arms.

Edward went from fuming over his brother’s betrayal to cooing over how beautiful his daughter looked in her new dress.

“Thank you, Papa, it was a birthday gift from Aunt Cecily. I wanted to wear it so she could see how much I love it,” Ellie explained.

“Look Mama, look what I taught Ed,” Richard called, taking his mother’s hand in his and pulling her over to the almost two-years-old Duke of Bedford. “Who is this, Ed? Who is this?”

“Tween Mama,” the toddler lisped.

Richie frowned. “No, no, no, Ed, the word is queen. Mama is Queen Mama,” he corrected.

“I think that’s close enough,” Eleanor assured her son with a giggle, kissing the top of her eldest son’s head before drawing both of her sons into a hug. “I have some exciting news, my darlings. Your Uncle Richard is married, and his wife is going to have your cousin sometime in May.”

“So, we’re going to get a new cousin!” Ellie exclaimed excitedly, beaming up at her father who did his best to smile back.

“Do you think Uncle Richard will let me the godfather?” Richie asked hopefully. After all Eleanor had been the godmother of Harry’s little sister Mary so why wouldn’t he be chosen to be the godfather of his namesake’s baby.

“Won’t it be wonderful to have another addition to the royal nursery?” Eleanor asked, smiling knowingly at Edward.

Her husband gave her a disapproving frown before turning towards his children who were watching him expectantly. “Of course, it will be,” he agreed. “I am afraid I must speak to your mother alone, but I promise that we will be back in a moment.”

“Are you going to talk about us?” Richie asked suspiciously.

“No, sweetheart, it’s just boring adult matters,” Eleanor assured him, not even lying.

Edward led her to a small antechamber, giving his wife a stern glare once he was certain Ellie and Richie were not eavesdropping. “I do not like being manipulated,” he admonished her.

“I wasn’t trying to---” Eleanor began.

“Yes, you were. You were getting our children all excited about the baby cousin because you knew I would have to forgive Richard if I wanted to let our children see his son or daughter,” Edward interjected. “Well, it won’t work. Richard made his bed and now he must lie in it.”

“I am not saying that Richard didn’t do the wrong thing,” Eleanor assured her husband. “Or that he doesn’t deserve a punishment. But he is your brother, Ned, Lady Catherine Gordon is your sister, and their child is your nephew or niece. Eventually you must stop focusing on the bad and remember the good: there will be a new addition to our loving family: Dickon’s baby. You remember Dickon, don’t you? That cute little boy who brought us together in more ways than one. Can you really begrudge him being married to the woman he loves or the fact that soon he will have the fruit of their love?”

Edward sighed as he ran his fingers through his hair. Damn her. How did she always make such a good point?

“I suppose I can’t begrudge him that, but he will remain banished for at least until his baby is born. Once his wife is churched, I shall invite Dickon to introduce them both to the court, giving my blessing for their marriage,” Edward decided.

Eleanor grinned at him, rushing to embrace him, kissing his lips. “I know you are mad at Richard right now and he is mad at you. But eventually you both will realize that no argument is worth the end of the strong brotherhood you two have,” she told him passionately.

Edward smiled at her. “Why are you always right?” he wondered.

Eleanor just shrugged her shoulders as she leaned in for another kiss. “Well now that we have agreed that you will send a letter to your brother congratulating him on his marriage and upcoming fatherhood, why don’t we return to our children,” she declared, ripping herself from his arms and disappearing into the nursery before he could protest.

Edward could not help but think it was funny that Richard thought it was Henry who could manipulate him because if anyone were able to crawl into his thoughts and get him to do what she wanted it was his wife.

“Cecily does that to me. She thinks she’s subtle about it, but I know enough about my own mind to know I wouldn’t have thought about it if she hadn’t planted it in my mind,” Charles remarked. To be fair to Cecily, it was less that she was manipulating her husband and more that he didn’t think much of politics, liking to leave matters of the state in his advisors’ capable hands. “And don’t you worry about Scotland, Ned, the Auld Alliance is still in place, and I will use it if I have to prevent them from helping Spain if they choose to attack you. However, Spain has enough wars to fight for them to decide to start a new one with you so I wouldn’t worry about it.”

Edward could not help but feel a rush of affection for Charles. When they were children, Charles had always been there to cheer him up and empathize with him when Dickon could not---not that stopped him from trying.

It was so strange that their countries had been enemies for hundreds of years and yet somehow the two boys had ignored all that volatile history to forge a friendship that God willing they would live through their sons.

“You are a good friend, Charles,” he said with a smile, clinking their goblets of wine together.

“No, I’m a good brother,” Charles reminded him. “And so is Dickon. He’s just impulsive, he’s always been impulsive. But he loves you very much and I don’t think he wanted to betray you.”

“I know,” Edward admitted, taking a sip from his wine. “That’s not the only thing that bothers me. Dickon keeps getting angry about Henry Tudor, acting like he is untrustworthy and is only using me. Now I’m not saying that the thought hasn’t crossed my mind but when a man chooses to go to war against a usurper for a throne that he did have some right to and then instead of keeping the crown for himself, he gave it back to me, ending the Cousin War in the process is a man I can trust.”

Perhaps it was their mother’s influence, God knew how much Richard adored their mother and how she was suspicious not only of Henry but also his children, her own grandchildren.

“You know the first few months we were in France together; I was certain that Dickon hated me, he always seemed to have a problem whenever you and I started talking. Then Henry Tudor came along, and I saw him acting the same way when you would run off to ask for his opinion or when you told Dickon that the conversation was between you and him,” Charles recalled.

“Wait, what are you saying?” Edward asked, his brow furrowed in confusion.

Charles shook his head in exasperation. “I’m saying that the Dickon is angry that the Duke of Richmond seems to be the one you trust the must and will confide in when it should be him,” Charles explained. “He’s jealous, Ned.”

“Well, what does he expect? He never takes anything seriously let alone have the skill to navigate dangerous political waters. So why wouldn’t I be confiding in Henry who has the experience, the skill and not to mention the diligence to advise me well and be trusted with important matters,” Edward pointed out gruffly. When Charles gave him a pointed look, he sighed. “What can I do about it? We aren’t boys, anymore, Charles. We are grown men. I can’t baby him or tell him over and over again how he is my favorite brother.”

“No but if you don’t do something that jealousy might go out of control,” Charles said, surprisingly somber for someone who was called Charles the Affable.

Edward wasn’t sure what he could say to that.

Richard was a grown man and Edward wasn’t about to step on eggshells, trying to hold his brother’s ego together.

On the other hand, it wouldn’t hurt for him to be a little more open with Richard, instead of assuming that he wouldn’t care about the statecraft of England. Aside from the incident with Lady Catherine, his brother had done well as his proxy in the Scottish court.

Maybe he should talk to Richard tonight before he left in the morning.

Unbeknownst to the king, Richard had decided not to wait until tomorrow. As it was still light outside, he had gotten into a carriage and made his way to his London manor, ordering his servants in Greenwich to send his things to his palace in York.

When he arrived, he was greeted by the most wonderful sight in the world.

“Husband,” Catherine breathed as she practically melted in his embrace. She didn’t even ask what happened with Edward. Of course, Queen Anne of Scots had already warned both of them that Edward would probably banish Richard if not because he was angry because he would think he at least had to give them some punishment.

“How are you, my darling? By God, you are glowing with radiance,” Richard gushed, putting his hands on her growing abdomen. “Has my little solider been giving you any trouble?”

“Oh, he has been kicking me constantly. In fact, he woke me up an hour before you arrived,” Catherine told him.

“I guess he knew his father was coming home,” Richard laughed. His eyes lit up when he felt a thump against his hand. “I felt that one. My son knows his father!”

Catherine smiled only for her brow to furrow in confusion when Richard’s smile slipped. She stroked his arm. “Dickon, what is it? Is something wrong?”

“Nothing, my love, nothing at all,” Richard replied, trying to keep a smile on his face.

There was a part of him which wanted to tell her about his bastard son. Maybe he could convince her and the Bryans as well to let little Francis come meet his half-brother.

But then he shook his head. Francis would be seven years old soon and he believed his father was Sir Thomas Bryan so there was no need to upset him by revealing the truth.

Not to mention, he was starting a new life with Catherine and their baby so there was no need to complicate things by telling her about his son. He had already caused enough drama, there was no need to cause more.

Chapter Text

May 6, 1497

When his son was born just after Mayday, Duke Richard of York decided there was only one name that was fitting of his boy, Robert after the folktale hero Robin Hood.

“Isn’t he the most handsome boy, you have ever seen?” Richard asked as he presented the days old baby to his cousin.

“He is a handsome child, my lord,” the Earl of Warwick agreed, trying not to roll his eyes. He had been excited the first time Robert of York was presented to him, it was becoming annoying by the fifteenth time.

“And look at his face. Wouldn’t you agree that he has intelligent eyes? He’ll probably be a scholar when he grows older,” Richard gushed. “And when he grabbed my hand, he had such a firm grip. He will be a warrior, I guarantee that.”  

“He just might be,” Warwick said, trying not to laugh at the antics of his cousin. Richard’s predictions of his son’s future talents were still rather amusing. “But perhaps you should wait until he starts talking and walking before making assumptions on what he will be.”  

“Your Highness, the Duchess of York would like to ask if she could please have her son back,” one of Catherine’s maids announced, looking as though she was trying not to giggle.

“I suppose those were her words exactly,” Richard laughed as he followed the maid into his wife’s chamber being sure to walk slowly so he didn’t jostle Robert too much.

“Oh, there he is, my handsome love,” Catherine gushed, opening her arms so Richard could put Robert in them. “And my husband,” she finished with a smirk, only barely glancing at her husband before turning away so she did not laugh at his offend look which melted away quickly as his gaze returned to their son. 

“I’d say how dare you, but I am quite smitten with him myself,” Richard admitted, laughing merrily as he kissed his wife and son. “Our perfect boy. He shall defend his kingly cousin from all who dare threaten his crown.”  

“Like your nephew?” Catherine guessed, unable to stop the sigh that escaped her lips.

Richard’s banishment from court had allowed the couple to get closer and to learn more about each other, telling each other things they had revealed to no one else. One of the things Richard told Catherine about was his mother’s dream about how one of the Duke of Richmond’s sons starting another war.

“I don’t want to think badly of him, Cat but I am fearful that he shall prove to be a terrible enemy,” Richard admitted sorrowfully. Jasper was well-behaved and Henry was almost like a brother to Richie but who knew how they would act when they were men, and their heads were filled with lies from their grandmother and father about how it should be them on the throne of England not the house of York. 

“I cannot say for certain whether your mother’s prophecy will come true, but I guarantee it is more likely to come true if you keep obsessing over it and treating your nephews and brother-in-law as your enemy will not do you any favors.”  

“And what do you suggest that I stand idly by while Tudor prepares to move against my brother?” Richard asked, his tone growing heated.

"Fighting with Tudor so openly is not winning you any friends so I suggest you lie in wait and if he dares do anything, you can be ready to strike like a snake,” Catherine replied, placing her hand on his cheek. “Let Richmond believe he has you fooled and when he comes out of the shadows of the throne with a dagger aimed for your brother’s back than you can stop him.” 

“I suppose you have a point,” Richard agreed.

“I hope you are wrong about Richmond,” Catherine admitted as her eyes became as hard as flint. “but if you are right, I shall not let him ruin your brother’s legacy or our legacy.”

Richard smiled lovingly at her pleased by her fierce loyalty, the fact that she was on his side, and they could raise their son to be ready for the Tudor threat.

Spring was perhaps one of the most wonderful times of the year. The sun was shining, the weather was pleasant, and the flowers were blooming.

The events of last winter were far from Edward’s mind. Thankfully, the King and Queen of Spain were most gracious, accepting England’s apologizes and a sum of fifty thousand ducats, a fourth of what would have been Katherine of Aragon’s dowry in exchange for forgiving the Duke of York’s actions.

King Charles and Queen Cecily had returned to France a fortnight after Christmastide with renewed promises of treaties that would keep their countries’ bound strong.

Eleanor had discovered she was pregnant in March which there would be a new Plantagenet baby before the end of this year. Something Edward was quite excited about for he doted on his children.

And to make it even better, despite their estrangement, Richard had requested that he be Robert of York’s godfather alongside Warrick and their brother, Thomas.

King Edward was in a good mood today as he strolled through the corridors, a bounce in his step as he passed the bowing and curtsying lords and ladies. He was practically radiating with joy.

“Christ’s blood, who are you and what have you done with my somber and serious brother?” Thomas demanded, pretending to be fearful as Edward strolled in a large smile on his face.

“Very amusing, Tom,” Edward said, rolling his eyes. “You can poke fun all you want but you cannot spoil my good mood.”  

“I can try,” Thomas countered, grinning at his little brother.

“Now how are we going with planning the court’s progress?” Edward inquired.

Usually, court went on progress during the summer months but as Eleanor would be too pregnant by then, they had decided to go on a limited progress to York, realizing it would be the perfect opportunity for the entire court to be introduced to the new Earl of Nottingham.

“Quite well, Ned, I think we shall be ready to leave Greenwich Palace in three days,” Thomas assured him. “It will be good to see Richard again and finally meet his wife and son.”

“I suppose so,” Edward agreed in a cool voice. Although he had forgiven Richard for his actions, there was a part of him which still was rather upset that his brother still didn’t seem to understand why his actions were wrong.

“Cherish this time you have with your brother, Ned, you never know when the last time you will see him,” Thomas told him as if he could read Edward’s thoughts and wanted to remind him of their other brother also named Richard who had the misfortune of being left in England while his three brothers had fled to France.

Edward sighed. He knew Thomas was right. For the sake of his close relationship with his brother, he would have to put the past behind them and let this go.

Perhaps fatherhood would allow Richard to grow up a little, making him into more of a man than an irresponsible boy.

At age five, Ritchie was old enough to go on progress along with Ellie and their parents. Unfortunately, little Ed was deemed too young, and he would have to stay behind.

“Don’t worry, Ed, I’ll tell you all about it when we get back,” Ritchie promised, patting his brother’s head.

Ed’s lip quivered but he didn’t cry, he only pouted sulkily. “No fair!” he cried. “I wanna see unkie’s cousin,” he protested.

“No, Ed, our cousin is Uncle Richard’s son,” Ritchie corrected him.

The toddler gave him a rather annoyed look for ignoring his point. “I wanna see him!” he declared. “No fair leaving me out!”

“Nobody wants to leave you behind,” Ritchie tried to explain, frowning as he saw his sister looking as though she was trying not to laugh. “But there will be lots of riding and you don’t like riding for a long time. It makes you cranky.”

“I am not cranky!” Ed shouted, causing Ellie to burst out into laughter.

“Not helping, Ellie,” Richie snapped.

It took Ellie a few minutes to compose herself, especially when her brothers had identical glares on their faces. When she did so she went over to Ed and took his hand in hers.

“Mama and Papa are planning to visit Eltham once we come back from York and I bet they will be very happy to know how patient you were to wait for them instead of insisting on coming with us,” Ellie pointed out. “They’d probably bring you a special treat to make up for leaving you here.”

“They will? Like what?” Ed asked, intrigued by the prospect of getting something to make for being left out of the progress.

 “It will be a surprise,” Ellie told him. “That’s the best part.”

“A nice surprise?”

“A very nice surprise,” Ellie assured her brother who looked mollified by her words.

Although Ellie wasn’t sure if her parents were planning to get Ed anything, she knew all she had to do was send her mother a letter and something would be arranged for Ed.

Of course, knowing Ed, by the time their parents came to Eltham, he would be more than pleased to accept their presence as his gift along with the return of his siblings. She was certain he was only angry now because he felt that his only companions were leaving him behind.

May 31, 1497

The Duke of Richmond had been left back in London while the court traveled to York, officially to handle whatever bit of statecraft might need attending. Unofficially it was known that the King had wanted to make sure there was no fighting between the Duke of Richmond and the Duke of York.

If either of the men felt annoyed by the implication that they were being kept separated in the same way one might keep two stallions separated in case, they fought for dominance neither showed it.

“Your Majesty, it brings me great pleasure to introduce to you my wife, Lady Catherine Gordon and our son, Robert of York,” Richard announced as his wife curtsied and the nursemaid holding the little Earl of Nottingham bended her knees as going any lower might cause poor Robert to fall out of her arms.

Edward allowed a small smile to cross his face as he chastely kissed Catherine’s hand before beckoning the nursemaid to present the child to him.

“A handsome boy, brother, a chip off the old block, I daresay,” Edward declared before turning towards his wife and children, introducing them to Lady Catherine.

“I welcome you to England and our family, sister,” Eleanor told the Scottish woman, smiling at her warmly.

“Thank you, Your Majesty, I am pleased to be here with such a gracious king and queen,” Catherine said formally.

Once the court had settled into the castle and the children of the court were playing under their governesses and tutors’ watchful eyes, Richard had arranged for a play to be performed in celebration for his brother’s visit.

The play was a beautiful tale of two star-crossed lovers, set in the time of King Arthur. After it was finished Edward went to talk to his brother while Eleanor stayed seated and beckoned the hostess over wanting to get to know her.

“Richard originally wanted to do joust, but I felt that might be too much excitement for you in your condition, Your Majesty,” Catherine explained her tone become a touch embarrassed as she realized the Queen might take it as an insult.

“It was quite kind of you to be so thoughtful and please because we are sisters now, I insisted you call me Ali just like Dickon would,” Eleanor entreated her, practically beaming at the younger woman.

She had even insisted the Duke of Richmond and the Duke of Buckingham call her Ali, but they preferred to call her by her formal title even though they were married to the King’s sisters.

For her part, Catherine seemed to be quite at ease calling Eleanor Ali and the two women soon found themselves deep in conversation about their husbands.

“I’m telling you I saw her mouth my name and they both began laughing,” Richard said, glancing over at his wife and sister-in-law. “They are conspiring against us, Ned, I can feel it.”

“Oh, now whose paranoid?” Edward teased, a smirk on his face.

“Perhaps they’re not conspiring but they are certainly swapping embarrassing stories about us,” Richard amended, a grin tugging at his lips. “I don’t know what’s worse.”

Edward laughed and clapped his brother on the back. “I must admit I have missed you, Dickon.” 

“I have missed you as well,” Richard admitted before adding earnestly: “And I’m sorry that I upset you.”

Although he would never regret marrying Catherine and would have done so even if he had a chance to turn back time, he did wish that his actions hadn’t caused him to disobey and upset Edward.

“It wasn’t you eloping that upset me, it was the fact that you seemed not to care about the consequences,” Edward told him with a sigh.

“I know and I am sorry. I just thought you would protect me from the consequences of my actions…and yes, I know how childish that is,” Richard quickly finished when Edward opened his mouth to admonish him.

“And what will happen when I’m not around to protect you from the consequences of your impulsiveness?” Edward demanded.

“You’re right. I know you’re right,” Richard told him. “I swear to you, Ned, I’ll work on it. I’ll try to think before I leap next time.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

“It’s not a promise. It is a solemn oath, that I Richard, Duke of York, brother to King Edward the Fifth, swear not to ever act impulsive or fool-hardy ever again,” Richard declared passionately even crossing his heart as he spoke.

Although Edward still had some doubts, he could not help but smile at how serious his brother sounded about this.

Perhaps there was hope for him after all.

“All right, Dickon, I believe you,” he professed.

Richard grinned at him and threw his arm around his shoulders. “Good, now let’s return to our wives before they reveal anything, we’d rather they did not,” he remarked as he practically dragged Edward to their wives.

July 16, 1497

Peace, it seemed, could only last for so long. There would always be someone stirring up trouble.

Rebels had risen up in Cornwall, protesting the new taxes and by the look of things this would not be a small rebellion either.

“Fifteen thousand men,” Henry reported. “They have already marched on Devon and Wells. However according to my scouts, they are planning to move back west to Guildford before making their way to London. I have already ordered our army to make their way to Surrey so we might attack them there, but I think it would be wise to move the royal family to the Tower of London for safekeeping.”

The men of the council all looked grim as Henry finished speaking even Thomas and Richard didn’t dare try to ease the tension with a joke.

“Lord Dorset, I wish for you to go to Eltham and guard my children as they are moved to the Tower forthwith,” Edward ordered. “Lord Buckingham, I shall entrust the safety of my wife and unborn child with you.”

“I shall not fail you, sire,” Edward Stafford assured his brother-in-law, looking slightly put out that he would not be able to fight but instead would have to hide with the women and children.

“Nor will I,” Thomas said firmly without a trace of disappointment. He had already served in the army and had no more taste for war. Besides, he would rather protect his niece and nephews.

“Thank you. Lord Richmond, how soon can we leave to join our troops?” Edward asked calmly.

“You are not re…” Henry began, only to trail off as he looked up and blinked, staring at Edward as if he only just saw him for the first time.

“I am not a boy any longer, my lord, and you are not going to talk me out of going this time,” Edward told him, finding himself a little angry at Henry’s reaction to him wanting to fight alongside his troops.

Although Edward had understood Henry’s reluctance to let him near the battlefield when he was only fifteen, he was now a man nearing thirty. It was high time he participated in battle. Besides England deserved a king who would fight for his subjects, not a coward who would hide in the castle walls.

“Of course not, Your Majesty, but I do think that while your son is still a minor it wouldn’t hurt to have some cation,” Henry pointed out reasonably.

Edward grimaced as that was a fair point. He sometimes thought if he had been Elizabeth’s age when their father died, Uncle Richard would either have not turned against him or at the very least he would have not gotten any support if he had done so.

And Ritchie wasn’t even half the age Edward had been when his father had died. If it were dangerous to have a twelve-year-old on the throne, it would be worse for a five-year-old.

However, that did not mean that Edward was going to let that stop him from defending his country from traitorous rebels.

“Your concern is touching, Henry, but I refuse to be left behind again. I want to be able to fight for my country,” Edward told him fiercely.

“If that is your wish than I shall keep silent,” Henry said inclining his head deferentially, but his tone made it clear that while he had accepted Edward’s wishes in front of his councilors, he would try to change Edward’s mind when they were in private.

“It is,” Edward replied. “Now if that will be all, I think we best start getting ready.”

The was a rustling of papers and of wood scraping the floor as chairs were moved as the councilors got up and left the King alone with Henry. Richard looked as though he would rather stay but he did not object when Thomas leads him out, whispering in his ears.

“I am not saying that you should go with the troops as some encouraging words from you will certainly motivate them,” Henry began the minute the door closed. “However, I made a promise to your sister years ago to keep you safe and I can’t do that if you charge headfirst into battle.”

“I am not a child who needs your protecting!” Edward exclaimed, stomping down the feeling of affection that he felt for this man who proved time after time just how loyal he was.

He also was not blind to realize that Henry viewed him as a surrogate son and if he were to be honest a part of his determination to lead his army was not only to emulate but also impress the man who had become a father figure when he needed one.

“I know that, and I admit that for a moment there I was back in France trying to discourage a teenager from putting himself in harm’s way, but the point is England needs you alive,” Henry said with a heavy sigh.

“If you were king, what would you do?” Edward inquired with a raised eyebrow.

“Exactly what you’re going to do," Henry admitted reluctantly.

August 25, 1497

King Edward had divided his forces (twenty-five thousand) into three, surrounding the Cornish forces on all sides. The rebels believed they would attack next Monday and would receive a rather bloody wakeup call.

At dawn, the battle began, Edward with Richard at his side charged toward the Cornish rebels.

“For King Edward!” Richard shouted as he knocked down one of the solders. “For King Edward!”

“Are you going to do that each time?” Edward asked his brother disapprovingly. “This isn’t a game for you to show off.”

“I told you I would fight all those who would oppose you,” Richard reminded him.

“Just focus on not dying,” Edward deadpanned as he managed to disarm a man who was about to drive his sword into Richard’s back.

Richard said nothing more as the brothers began to fight back-to-back, allowing the Cornish rebels to come to them, knowing that the man wearing a crown to battle would be too much temptation for them.

The day wore on and it soon became obvious that the rebels’ hearts were not in their fighting any longer.

Finally, Michael An Gof called for a surrender and what was left of the Cornish men laid down their arms.

When the battle was over, the King decreed that the leaders of the rebellion would be executed, their estates being fortified to the crown. However, the remaining rebels would return home unmolested, only receiving a warning that any further incursions would result in severe consequences.

If any of the noble’s thought Edward was being too lenient on the rebels, they did not say so.

Although Edward was tempted to go with Henry’s plan of a severer punishment to provinces that had rebelled, he felt it would do more harm than good in the long run. After all the reason they had attacked in the first place was out of discontent with the monarchy and he had no wish to make them even more angry at him.

“You all right, Ned?” Richard asked as they road towards London together alongside and Henry, leading their men home.

“I’m fine,” Edward answered. He wasn’t sure what he had been expecting but seeing some many dead and wounded men had shaken him to the core.

The way poets described war, anyone would think it was something glorious and something grim and bloody.

He had not taken himself for an idealistic fool who actually had fallen for those pretty words, but he still hadn’t been ready for the reality of it.

“Are you regretting coming?” Richard questioned, leaning sideways and lowering his voice so only Edward could hear him.

“No, of course not. I just suddenly realize why Henry was so insistent on keeping me away,” Edward admitted, glancing over at Henry, wondering if he had felt this way when he had first fought in battle.

“Maybe it gets easier,” Richard suggested, although his tone sounded doubtful.

Queen Eleanor had not been able to sleep all night and was barely able to eat, her fears that her husband might die were too persistent.

Her mother had warned her that it would do good for the baby if she were stressed but Eleanor had not been able to stop these treacherous thoughts from plaguing her mind. What would she do without him? What would happen to her children without him? Would the cousin war happen all over again?

Eleanor never thought herself as a hysterical woman, but she couldn’t help the fears from getting the best of her but around midday, Eleanor was broken from a sudden crying fit when she felt a great pain in abdomen and something wet and sticky between her legs. Pulling the sheets back revealed blood, leading to a new feeling of panic.

“Oh God no. Please no,” Eleanor cried as she shouted for a physician, trying desperately to keep her baby from escaping her womb far too early.

Despite the doctor’s best efforts, he could not save the baby, a princess.

“May I hold her?” Eleanor asked weakly.

“Of course, Your Majesty,” the doctor said, his voice filled with pity as he carried over the tiny and unmoving bundle to Eleanor.

Eleanor’s tears started fresh when she laid eyes on the girl who was too small to be expected to live. Even though her daughter had never drawn breath, Eleanor loved her all the same.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart, this is all my fault,” Eleanor cried, wondering how Elizabeth had managed to hold onto Jasper when he was still in her womb during those months when her husband had been fighting for her brother’s crown.

Elizabeth was beside her now, whispering comforting words in her ears. Despite being luckier where Jasper was concerned, the Duchess of Richmond had lost her daughter and namesake just two years before and so she knew what her sister-in-law was going through.

Eleanor cradled her daughter close to her chest, not even caring when the messenger came in to share the news that the rebellion had been crushed and her husband was on his way to the Tower of London.

Despite all the coaxing, Eleanor refused to be separated from her daughter, not even looking up when Elizabeth left her side only to be replaced by someone who put his arms around his wife and daughter.

“I’m so sorry, my love, if I hadn’t left---” Edward began.

“No! Don’t you dare blame yourself!” Eleanor cut in, tearing her gaze away from the baby to look at Edward.

Had the situation not been so sad, Edward might have been amused that he could snap his wife out of her depression by criticizing himself. “If I cannot blame myself, my love, then neither can you.”

He had arrived at the Tower of London and had been quickly advised of the circumstances by his brother and Maud Percy. He had made all haste to the bedchambers, wanting to comfort his wife in her time of need.

“If I hadn’t gotten so hysterical, I wouldn’t have lost our daughter,” Eleanor whispered, finally allowing the physician to take the baby from her so she could turn and bury her face in her husband’s chest.

“No that’s not so, my love. Sometimes these things happen, my father and mother have had their share of lost babies,” Edward whispered as he stroked his wife’s hair. “Sometimes bad things happen even to the best of people.”

“But it’s easier to blame myself for at least then I can convince myself she had a chance,” Eleanor murmured miserably.

“How about instead we think of the blessings in our life, isn’t that what you tell me whenever I find myself slipping into darkness?” Edward reminded her. “We have three beautiful children who are hale and healthy.”

“I know. Tomorrow I will think of them but for today, I just want to grieve,” Eleanor admitted.

A part of Edward wanted to let her do so and he would stay by her side so she wouldn’t have to grieve alone but according to her mother, she had not eaten or slept since yesterday and that made him fear for his wife’s health.

“But the children are asking for you. They have been asking for you and I don’t think they will be satisfied until you come to them, and they won’t eat unless you eat with them,” Edward lied.

After what seemed like hours, Queen Eleanor finally nodded and rose out of bed, allowing her husband to call for her maids, promising to stay outside until she was ready, and they would greet their children together.

  December 2, 1497

“Harry, get up! Get up now!” someone screamed, shaking the six-year-old boy awake.

“Leave me alone,” Harry muttered irritably, wondering what all that shouting was about. Wait, why was there shouting?

Harry blinked the sleep out of his eyes as he sat up and was unceremoniously pulled out of bed by Charles Brandon. The moon managed to give the room a little light and Harry could see their tutor John Rede hurriedly putting furs on Jasper before running over to Harry to do the same to him and Charles.

“What’s going on?” Harry demanded, becoming rather frightened by the shouting and the terror on his tutor’s face.

“There’s a fire, Your Grace, we must get you away from here quickly,” John Rede explained. 

Once all three boys were ready, their tutor quickly led them out their rooms, hoping to get outside before they became trapped by the fire.

But as they ran through a corridor that would take them from their chambers to the Great Hall, Harry would a horrible rumbling as if the Earth were opening up and would swallow them whole.

Suddenly Harry was pushed forward by a pair of hands, and he could hear the sounds of stone falling, crushing whatever was beneath them. Charles was beside him, helping him up, his tutor was in front of him, his face white as a ghost. That left only one possibility to whoever had pushed him away from the falling stones, saving him at the cost of their own life.

But before the horrible realization could fully sink in, they were running again, escaping the palace to the great lawn where the remains of the Duke of Richmond's household stood in the snow, staring at the burning palace in horror.

Harry did not turn around, instead throwing himself into his mother’s waiting arms. He closed his eyes and buried his face into her nightgown, believing that if he didn’t open his eyes, if he didn’t look behind him, Jasper would be there, alive, and well.

Because it couldn’t have happened. A few hours ago, Jasper had scolded his younger brother for sneaking sweets before bed. They had a playful argument about whether he was acting like a child which Charles had refused to take sides in. Then all three boys had gone to sleep, hoping that tomorrow’s lessons would be cancelled, and they could spend it outside, playing in the snow instead. Jasper had even promised to teach Harry how to play chess if the weather got so bad, they had to stay in instead.

“Where’s Jasper!” Elizabeth asked, growing frantic. Harry just clung to his mother more tightly, unwilling to listen as Charles answered his mother’s question.

It wasn’t true. It didn’t happen. Jasper was okay. He was alive.

All the voices Harry could hear were suddenly drowned out by his mother’s heartbroken wails as she held him tightly.

The Duke of Richmond ignored the people trying to usher him away from the scene as they dug through the collapsed corridor. He didn’t care how dangerous, it was; he needed to find his soon.

When they moved the rubble enough that Henry could see a little arm poking out from beneath, he rushed forward, dropping to his knees so he could help pull his son free, praying that a miracle had happened, and Jasper was broken but alive.

But when they uncovered his body, there were no signs of life. Jasper was still, far too still.

“Your Grace, we must move him,” one of them said softly. “There is too much smoke and dust in the air.”

Henry nodded, scooping up his son in his arms and slowly walking to a part of the palace that the fire had left untouched. He ordered a sheet to be brought so they could wrap Jasper up so Elizabeth and the children wouldn’t have to deal with the sight of his dead body.

As he waited, Henry still clutched Jasper to him, unable to grasp his new reality. Ten. His son was ten.

After their toddler daughter’s death, Henry had hoped he and Elizabeth would never have had to suffer another blow like this especially not Jasper, not their oldest boy.

Overcome with sorrow, Henry wept over his son’s body, not moving until his wife’s wails reached his ears and he knew he could not let her grieve alone.

Chapter Text

January 21, 1498

While Richmond Palace was being rebuilt, King Edward had given Leeds Castle to the Richmonds despite knowing a castle could not make up for what they had lost that dreadful night.

Although Edward had suffered his own share of loses, he could barely comprehend the loss of a child on the cusp of manhood. The loss of his and Eleanor’s unborn child would pale in comparison to the loss of Ellie or Richie or even little Ed especially if they were taken as brutally as their luckless cousin.

Henry Tudor had requested to take his leave from court for a month so he could mourn his son’s death and he did not return to court until a fortnight past Christmastide.

Eventually he came out of mourning and returned to Edward’s council, but anyone could see by looking at him that he had returned a broken man, weighed down by the death of his oldest son who had shown so much promise.

“Harry has been having nightmares. Poor boy is shaken up. He refuses to talk about it, acts as though his brother’s death is barely affecting him,” Henry remarked glumly. “I don’t think he’ll ever be the same again.”

“He probably blames himself,” Edward reasoned, grimacing at that thought. “I used to feel the same way about my half-brother’s death even though I knew there was nothing I could do to save him.”

“I think it might be exactly that. Jasper pushed Harry out of the way when the ceiling collapsed on him. Harry has gotten himself convinced that Jasper would be alive if he hadn’t been so slow,” Henry explained, burying his face in his hand. “Either way, one of my boys is dead and the other barely sleeps. He wouldn’t eat either, had Elizabeth not begged him to eat in fear she might lose him too.”

There was a part of Edward that wanted to press Henry to return to Leeds as it sounded as though he was still needed at home, but he knew what answer he would receive.

Lord Henry Tudor was not a man who let personal tragedy get in the way of his work. As devastated, he was at his son’s death, he was determined to continue his duties no matter how much pain he was in.

“I know you well, Henry, I know you will not accept any pity even from your king and brother-in-law. Nonetheless, I hope you will at least join me in a drink,” Edward requested as he poured two goblets of wine, handing Henry one of them.

Richmond inclined his head as he took the goblet, taking a tiny sip before putting it back down, tapping his fingers on the glass as his face grew pensive. “You know there is a lot of things I wished I had said to Jasper. Things I will never get to tell him. Like how proud I am of him and of how glad I am that I made the choices I did because he has suppressed my expectations of him.”

Edward suspected that Henry was no longer speaking about his ten-year-old son. “Well, I’m sure he would be glad to know you think so highly of him,” he said softly, averting his eyes before adding: “You might have married my sister, Henry, but you have been like a father to me.”

For the first time since he returned to court, Henry smiled. Without another word the two men hugged each other, taking advantage of their privacy to allow their formal and stoic masks to crumble and for their emotions to come to the surface.

For a moment they weren’t king and subject or even two noblemen, instead they were two ordinary men, family by marriage, grieving over the death of a young boy who meant a lot to both of them.

“If that man has a heart it is made of marble,” Richard growled. “His son has only been dead a month and already he is back, trying to make sure that no one has weaseled their way in his spot on the council in his absence.”

“Everyone grieves differently, dear one,” Catherine said in a sweet voice, one she tended to use when she thought Richard was being especially stubborn about something.

“I refuse to believe a man like Henry Tudor has any feelings other than ambition. He probably feels his son’s death means there is one less Tudor to contend for my brother’s throne,” Richard snarled.

“Richard, please, your sister’s son is dead. Your nephew,” Catherine reminded him in a harsher tone becoming fed up with her surly husband. “Even if you are right that Henry Tudor sees his sons as means to an end at the very least you could have some more compassion for that poor bairn.”

Although she felt that even if Henry Tudor wasn’t seeking the throne for him and his dynasty, she felt sorry for him and her sister-in-law. The thought of losing sweet Robin the same way poor little Jasper was lost tormented her.

Richard considered his wife’s words for a moment and sighed. “God help me, even now my hatred blinds me but what can I do, my mother has dreamt of the future, and she is never wrong.”

“Perhaps she is not wrong but what if she misinterpreted the dream?” Catherine suggested, biting her lip so she wouldn’t add the idea that anyone could actually dream of the future was superstitious nonsense. Richard clearly believed that his mother had visions of the future and would not listen to anyone who said otherwise.

“Her dream was of one of the sons of Richmond declaring himself the true King of England and swearing to make sure to have my brother’s son share the same fate as his father who was murdered,” Richard recalled, shuddering at the thought of Edward being murdered. “How else could one interpret that dream?”

“Was your mother certain about the two feuding claimants’ identities?” Catherine asked, an eyebrow raised.

“Well, no but my mother’s description of their appearance leaves few other suspects,” Richard pointed out.

“They could be Harry and Ritchie, or they could be their descendants or even Roberts’ descendants,” Catherine pointed out reasonably. “We can’t know exactly what will happen. However, what I do know is if you allow your resentment to fester you could pass that on to next generation of Yorks and Tudors, causing your mother’s vision to happen either directly or indirectly. After all, did Oedipus’s father does not try to circumvent a prophecy only for it happen because of his actions?”

Now Richard’s expression changed to a stricken on, for all his dislike and distrust of the Tudors, he did not want the Cousin War to happen again especially if it happened because of him.

Greek Mythology had many instances where people trying to circumvent prophecies instead cause the prophecy to ring true despite their efforts. If he was not careful, he might end up doing the same. But at the same time, he could just stand idly by while the Yorks were under the Tudor threat.

“What do you suggest I do then?” Richard asked.

“Prove yourself to be a most helpful and diligent councilor. Wait for him to make a mistake or overstep his bounds,” Catherine told him, knowing full well that a man like Henry Tudor was not likely to do either of these things, but if she could not convince Richard to stop his ridiculous hatred of the Tudors than at the very least she could help him be more patient and less impulsive, hiding his true feelings and bumping himself upwards in his brother’s opinion.

February 14, 1498

Henry was crying again. He tried to muffle it in a pillow but lying in the next bed, staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep, Charles could hear him.

The young Lord Brandon was not known to be the most tactful of boys or the best when it came to empathy. Besides Henry had a temper which made it hard to figure out whether he would accept any comfort or get angry about it, feeling as though the person with pitying or coddling him, something he would not accept.

Unable to sleep and his conscious unwilling to allow the younger boy to continue crying miserably, Charles took a shot in the dark.

“I never knew my father,” he said, struggling to find the words. He did not turn to see Henry’s reaction, but he waited for the sniffles to subside before he spoke again. “He died when I was still in my mother’s belly. He died saving your father, he was a hero. Or at least that what my mother said, but I never knew him, so I don’t know what he was. All I knew was he was dead, and I never met him. Should I miss him? Should I wish he were here right now?” Realizing he was getting lost in his own melancholy thoughts, the boy cleared his throat, getting back on topic “Then shortly before you were born, the de la Poles died when they were only a little older than me.”

“Don’t forget about Uncle Jasper,” Henry pointed out grimly. “He died too.”

“He was old when he died so he doesn’t count,” Charles told him. “What I’m trying to say is sometimes bad things happen and we can’t ever know why. We just must assume that God has a reason for all things.”

“Does that help?” Henry asked doubtfully.

“It’s supposed to. I think,” Charles answered, trying to rack his brain for a better response. “Besides that’s not what’s important. What’s important is Jasper was called to God not and it’s no one’s fault especially not yours.”

Henry was silent for a few moments.

“He pushed me, Charles. He knew what was going to happen, but instead of protecting himself, he made sure I was safe,” Henry confessed. “I’m not sure I would have done the same.”

“What would you have done? Pulled him back so you could both die?” Charles asked incredulously.

“That’s not funny.”

“I wasn’t joking,” Charles stated softly. “Jasper pushed you because there was little else, he could do. I’m not saying he wasn’t trying to save you, but I don’t think he had other options.”

“I guess that’s a good point,” Henry grumbled reluctantly.

“Do you want to sneak down to the kitchens to get something to eat?” Charles offered once they had lapsed back into silence. It was a full moon so hopefully there would be enough light for them to traipse about the castle without getting hurt.

“I don’t feel very hungry,” Henry replied.

Instead, the two boys just continued to talk until Henry had fallen asleep. Charles on the hand, stayed awake, knowing if he fell asleep, he would dream of those rocks falling on both of his friends that fateful night.

April 7, 1498  

France

“I’m sorry, Your Majesty, but the king is dead,” the physician told her with sorrowful eyes.

Perhaps he expected Cecily to go into hysterics upon hearing this. She did not. Instead, she gave orders for the court to prepare for their return to Paris, make arrangements for her husband’s remains to be transported as well and a message sent for her son and daughter to be brought to Louvre Palace.

Once she had finished, she made her way to her private chapel and kneeled at the altar, allowing the tears to finally escape her eyes.

“I knew this would happen, so I tried to hard not to love you," Cecily said regretfully. "I tried so hard to treat our marriage as if it were a business transaction and nothing else. I was certain that loving you would bring me pain. But you, you sweet fool, wormed into my heart, breaking down the walls I had so carefully built up. The worst part is I never let it show so for all you knew you died with a wife who neither respected or loved you."

Charles was a hard person to dislike and a harder person not to love. Not when she had been married to this man for twelve years. Not when he was the father of her two beloved children. Not when he had always treated her kindly, never taking a mistress, never blaming her for her miscarriages.


Cecily had loved him but never allowed herself to show. Now she wished she had just one more moment with her husband so she could at the very least tell him that she loved him.

The last thing she had said to her husband was to scold him for acting like a child just because he refused to see physician about bumping his head on his way to see a game of tennis.

Considering after the game he fell into a coma, she wished desperately he had listened to her.

But there was nothing she could do about it. Her husband was dead. Her nearly eleven-year-old son was King (a boy king like his father and uncle before him). 

Suddenly Cecily shivered as her thoughts turned to her son as her recurring dream flashed in her mind’s eye.

Edward, Anne, and François stood on the great lawn. As Cecily watched them, they began to grow older.

As Edward grew older, his body grew thinner until the flesh melted away leaving only bones. Cecily could only watch in horror as the skeleton that was once her son collapsed into dust that was blown away, leaving nothing behind.

As Anne and François grew older the light seemed to shine on them and when they joined hands, flowers began to bloom around them, until the entire lawn was covered with hundreds of fleurs-de-lis, standing strong against the harsh wind.

Cecily had tried to look at her dream from every angle, even sending Louise to some known soothsayers---paid to keep their mouths shut---- in hopes her dream might mean something different.

But her dreams could not be clearer if an angel had descended from Heaven, appearing to her like Gabriel had to the Virgin Mary and said it outright: her son would die, and it would be up to her daughter and Louise’s son to bring France to a golden era.

“Your legacy will not die,” Cecily vowed, keeping her voice low just in case something was listening. “I promise you it will be our descendants who will rule France one way or another.”

With that said, Cecily began to pray for her husband’s soul, hoping he would not have to spend too much time purgatory.

Once she was done prying and crying, she returned to her rooms where Louise was waiting for her.

“Your Majesty, I am so sorry,” Louise said earnestly, knowing how it felt to lose your husband.

Cecily nodded, closing her eyes so no more tears could leak out. She was done crying, now was the time to act, to make sure everything was put in mention.

Although it devastated her that her son was marked for death, she could not fail her daughter by letting herself get caught up in her misery.

If it were to be Queen Anne and King François of France, she would make certain it happened.

“I’m glad you’re here, Louise, there is much to be done,” Cecily told her old friend, building back up the walls around her heart, swearing never to let them down again. She couldn’t afford to be vulnerable.

May 2, 1498

England 

News had broken about King Charles of France’s death. Prince Edward would be crowned king in May, taking the regnal name of Charles in honor of his father, making him the ninth of that name. 

Henry and Elizabeth had gone to France as Edward’s proxies. Edward had been surprised when Henry volunteered but once he learned that his sister was also going, he guessed it was the Duke’s way of reuniting Elizabeth with the sister she was closest to so they could comfort each other for the heartbreaking loses they had each endured.

A part of Edward wished he had gone to France and to Charles’ funeral, traditions be dammed. He was certain Charles would have done so for him.

Instead, he sat in his study, rereading the letters he and Charles exchanged over the years. He didn’t even look up when his wife walked into the room and took a seat next to him, waiting patiently for him to acknowledge her.

“He wrote this letter a week before,” Edward began, a slight hitch in his voice. “He suggested a marriage between Princess Anne and Ritchie for it is only fair that he married a daughter of York that his daughter marry the son of York. He wanted to give our families another tie, give our countries a reason to stay friends after we have left this world for, we are the only sensible ones, extending the hand of friendship instead of continuing a pointless rivalry that brought nothing but death and misery to our two great countries.”

“He most certainly had a way with words,” Eleanor remarked, a little surprised at the philosophical tone of the letter.

“When Tom first brought me and Dickon to France, we were greeted by the French court and allowed to stay with them. King Charles came up to me, placed a hand on my shoulder and told me he understood what I was going through. And he did. His father had died just a few months after Father died. We were both around the same age. The only difference was his regent could be trusted,” Edward recalled, remembering how Charles had once privately told him that he might be the head of state, but his older sister Anne was the body, and she alone kept the head intact. The fact that she was female seemed to matter not a whit to Charles who did not like statecraft and was relieved that someone else was willing to do his job.

“Sounds like you two were destined to be friends,” Eleanor said sweetly, taking her husband’s hand in hers.

“I think we were. For you see Charles didn’t care that we were both kings and that our countries had warred for at least a century if not more. To him, all we were was two young boys who had lost their father and were thrust into a difficult and unpleasant position. He saw a kindred spirit in me and I in him,” Edward explained, his eyes glistening with unshed tears.

For all his talk of Kings not crying, he found he could barely keep himself from doing so. In a span of eight months, he had lost his unborn child, his nephew, and his best friend. He could handle the three devastating deaths by themselves but putting them together just hurt. How many more loved ones was God planning to take from him.

“Oh Ned, my love, perhaps we can honor him. Call our next child Charles if it is a boy or Charlotte if it is a girl,” Eleanor suggested, cupping his face with her hand, and stroking his cheek with her thumb.

“It would be long overdue,” Edward observed, a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips remembering how outraged Charles had been when Richard had been chosen as the Prince of Wales’ namesake, scolding Edward for he assumed that after giving Edward a nephew and godson named for him, his brother king would return the favor. He later added that if Edward insisted only naming his sons after the sons of York to at least name his next daughter Charlotte.

“Then that’s what we’ll do,” Eleanor decided, resting her head on Edward’s shoulder, using her free hand to lay it on his hand as he lightly caressed her stomach. 

May 11, 1498

It had been almost six months since Ritchie had seen either Henry or Charles. Charles had been kind enough to respond to the Prince of Wales’ letters, but Harry had not replied to any of the letters Ritchie had sent. (Ritchie had to constantly remind himself that Harry was dealing with a lot and was not ignoring him because he was being rude or mean).

Now seeing the state of his friend, who looked rather thinner and a bit haggard since they had last seen each other, Richard mentally scolded himself for every moment he selfishly got mad at Henry for ignoring his letters.

“Harry are you okay?” he asked.

The look on Harry’s face made it clear if his mother weren’t standing a few feet away, he would have answered sarcastically. He had lost his older brother; no worse he had witnessed his brother’s death. He wasn’t okay, not yet anyway.

“I’m starting my lessons now. Will you and Charles be joining me?” Ritchie asked hopefully, deciding to change the subject before he put his foot further in his mouth.

It was well known that his father and Richmond had hoped to install Henry as the Prince of Wales’ companion, strengthening the boys’ friendship.

“We already began our lessons with our own tutor,” Henry pointed out.

“I know that, but I thought you would be joining my household,” Ritchie explained, beginning to wish he hadn’t spoken up at all.

“When you go off to Wales, Henry and Lord Brandon will be joining you,” Elizabeth interjected softly, smiling kindly at the young prince.

“Oh,” Ritchie muttered, trying not to frown. He wouldn’t be going away to Wales for the next four years far too long for Harry to be away.

The disappointment must have been palpable on Ritchie’s face for Harry playfully punched his should and managed to smile at him. “Once we are at Wales, I have no doubt you will quickly get sick of us!” he exclaimed, punching his shoulder again.

“Harry don’t be so rough,” Elizabeth scolded her son.

“It’s okay, Auntie, I know what to do when I’m being attacked,” Ritchie assured her before kicking Harry’s leg.

“Why you little---!”

Soon the two boys were wrestling on the ground with the women and men around them being unsure whether they should separate the two or join in the laughter the other children were doing as the boys tumbled about.

Elizabeth couldn’t help but think this was the first time in almost six months that Harry seemed like himself again and she found herself wondering if it would be better to have him join Ritchie’s household sooner instead of later.

May 31, 1498

Spain

The baby was a week premature which was concerning and according to the reports of the ladies, it was a difficult birth, causing no end to fear for Juan and his parents.

Juan was desperate for a distraction.

“Where are Lina and Maria?” he asked his father. “Perhaps I should go fetch them.”

“Why?” King Ferdinand questioned.

“I don’t know. For support,” Juan muttered. One of his grooms poured a goblet of wine and tried to offer it to the Prince of Asturias only for the young man to wave him away. “Do I look like I need a drink!” 

“Yes,” Ferdinand replied bluntly. “It might calm your nerves.” 

“I’m fine, Father, really.”

“No, you’re not, and I know you’re not because I was the same way when we thought we were about to lose you,” Ferdinand admitted, a melancholy look on his face as he recalled that terrifying day when he and Isabella were forced to rush to their son’s side as he was close to death.

But God had been merciful and performed a miracle, allowing Juan to emerge from his illness stronger than before.

Even better Margarita was discovered to be pregnant, adding to the joy of Juan’s survival.

If Ferdinand ever had any doubts that the House of Trastámara was blessed, he no longer had them for God had blessed them doubly and he prayed that God would continue to bless them.

Finally, the screams stopped and seconds later, a baby’s wail was heard from the bedchambers.

Juan took a few tentative steps towards the bedchamber only to stop suddenly, frozen with apprehension of what he might find.

Thankfully the doors opened by Isabel who had insisted on helping her daughter-in-law with the birth of her first grandchild, for all her belief of dignity and proprietary of monarchs, she would have never forgiven herself if she didn’t help Margarita during her troubled pregnancy.

“A healthy girl, my angel, the Infanta has delivered an Infanta of her own,” Isabel told her son, grabbing his hands in hers.

“God be praised, we have been most blessed!” Ferdinand declared. Although he was disappointed that his first grandchild was not a son especially when a son would continue his dynasty, he was prudent enough to understand that only where his son and daughter-in-law young enough to have many children, after such a hard pregnancy it was better that the babe was healthy, regardless of her sex.

“Her name will be Margarita,” Juan decided before rushing off to greet his wife and daughter, unwilling to be parted from them for a moment longer.

Chapter Text

February 2, 1499

Spain 

“Did you learn nothing from the last time!” King Fernando exclaimed, trying very hard to stay mad at his son when he was in fact a little proud that his son managed to impregnant his wife after only a short time of being back in her bed.

“My apologies, Father, but isn’t continuing your dynasty something I’m supposed to do?” Juan questioned rhetorically with a big smile on his face.

“Cheeky little whelp,” his father grumbled, unable to deny that was true.

“Your father and I are just concerned for your health as well your wife’s well-being,” Queen Isabella said softly.

From the look on her face, it was clear she was thinking about her oldest daughter who had died from childbirth last August.

“I am fine, Mother, you don’t have to worry about me. As for Margarita, the physician gave her the all clear,” Juan assured them. He could still remember how he had hurried the physician and the ladies out of the room so he and Margarita could resume their duty immediately. It had been months since he had been in her bed and Juan had not wanted to waste a second. “Besides, I would think you two would be happy that I am going to give you another little grandchild. Perhaps a son this time, named Fernando perhaps.”

“And as much as I would love you name your son to stroke my ego,” Fernando drawled, giving his son a deadpanned look. “The fact of the matter is you were supposed to wait a year.”

“I assumed you meant a year since the last time Margarita and I conceived,” Juan lied, still smiling, clearly not taking this seriously.

Isabella sighed. “My angel, a good ling sticks to his word,” she told him gently.

“A good King also has a duty to provide the realm with an heir,” Juan countered before sobering. “I do not deny I disobeyed you and punish me if you must, but I am not a child, any longer. I shall always look to you as my beloved parents for guidance, I also will rely on my own judgment as well.”

Fernando and Isabella exchanged a meaningful glance before nodding. “For the next four months you will go to Castile and act as your mother’s regent so we may see that you are ready to be a responsible adult,” Fernando decided. “Your wife will not be allowed to go with you, she will stay here under the watchful eyes of your mother.”

“She couldn’t be in better hands,” Juan remarked, trying to keep the annoyance out of his voice.

Although it bothered him that his parents would separate him from Margarita especially in her condition, he was aware that they could remember the strain she had been under the last time she was pregnant and also of how their oldest daughter had traveled late in her pregnancy which was suspected to be the cause of why the birth had been so hard on her.

However, if this was what it took to keep his parents from treating him like a child, then the four months would be well worth it. Besides, it was high time, he got a taste of rulership.

After the meeting with his parents was concluded, Juan made his way back to his apartments. On the way, he spotted his youngest sister chatting with her maids.

“Lina, my darling Lina, have you heard the good news?” he asked her as he embraced her not caring that they were in public. In two years’ time, his precious sister would leave Spain to wed to that boy King of France. Although he knew that he would have lost her to England, anyway, losing her to France was just as bad.

It angered Juan that the pompous Duke of York broke his engagement with his sister forcing his parents to accept the French match instead, tying them to their ancient enemy.

He supposed he should be happy that Catalina would a queen instead of a simple duchess, but it rankled him that anyone would pick a common woman over a princess with such impeccable lineage. He supposed there was no account for taste.

“I did and I am so happy for you and Margarita. You two must be so pleased,” Catalina gushed, beaming at him as she took his arm.

“Very pleased. I was thinking that if I were to have two more daughters, I would name one after Mother and our older sister, of course, and the other after the new Queen of France. Hopefully, she would do me the same favor,” Juan told her with a sly wink.

“You know it won’t be up to me,” Catalina pointed out.

“Oh, I am certain you will have that boy wrapped around your dainty finger,” Juan told her with a laugh.

“If he agrees, I’ll name him Juan,” Catalina assured him with a fond smile.

“Now Lina, if you don’t find France pleasant, just write to me and I will do everything in my power to bring you home,” Juan told her in a soft whisper.

The stories he heard of the French court, of the loose morals the courtiers had, he couldn’t help but think it was not the place for his innocent and sheltered sister.

He prayed to God that Catalina would find happiness in France as both a queen and a wife.

February 21, 1499  

England

The Duke of Richmond was looking over a list his steward had composed for perspective brides for his son. Before Jasper’s death, he had thought it would be best to wait until Harry was a little older, not wanting him to be able to sire a son before Jasper did, causing strife in the family.

Luckily, Harry was still young enough that it would give him plenty of time to negotiate a fine marriage for his heir.

 Muriel Howard was still in the running, but she was over five years older than Harry.

Richmond would rather walk barefoot on broken glass to consider one of the Percy brood.

Lady Elizabeth Somerset was the daughter of the Earl of Worcester and the Baroness of Herbert. Considering Earl of Worcester was the illegitimate grandson of Lady Margaret Beaufort’s uncle, Henry doubted his mother would be displeased with such a match for her grandson.

There were other girls from good families in England and some even abroad (minor nobles hoping to have their children mix with minor members of royal houses).

Harry was not the only child whose future marriage, Henry was considering. His daughter, Mary might just be a toddler, but already there were men of gentry birth vying for her hand either for themselves or their sons.

Margaret was already engaged to the Earl of Surrey so Henry would look to other houses for a husband for his younger daughter.

But such thoughts would have to wait when his steward burst into his chambers.

“The duchess has delivered!” he exclaimed.

At once Henry rose from his desk and hurried out of the room to the birthing chambers, stopping momentarily to quiz her maid on Elizabeth’s health and the health of the babe.

Once he was assured that everything was fine, he went to his wife’s side, kissing her chastely before inspecting the baby in her arms: another boy.

“Should we name him Jasper?” Henry asked softly.

Elizabeth shook her head. “No, I don’t want him to feel like he is his brother’s replacement,” she replied. “How about Edmund, after your father?”

“Edmund Tudor is a good name,” Henry agreed, stroking the top of his son’s head.

Jasper would forever remain in their hearts, but God willing Harry and the newborn Edmund would continue the Tudor legacy, keeping their little dynasty thriving, stopping their legacy from washing away like footprints on a sandy beach once the tide came in.

Jasper’s death had proven how fragile life was. How it was not just sickness that could take away loved one but also mischance, something you could not account for. It was terrifying and it made Henry a little afraid for the infant slumbering in the crook of his wife’s arms.

As if she could peer into her husband’s mind and read his paranoid thoughts, Elizabeth gently took his hand in hers, squeezing it and smiling reassuringly at him.

“Everything will be well,” she whispered, and Henry wanted so very much to believe her.

February 28, 1499

“Our newest nephew’s name is Edmund,” Edward announced as he read from Richmond’s letter.

“A pity, I was hoping that we would have niece to be a companion for our Charlotte,” Eleanor said, smiling down at the almost two-month-old baby in her arms.

“Well perhaps Catherine will have a girl this time,” Richard suggested, grinning as he thought of his pregnant wife. As she had already given him a handsome boy, Richard would be overjoyed if a beautiful daughter joined their small but growing family. “Then she can be a playmate for the sweet princess.”

“Do you think Father knew how blessed our family would be? Giving him so many grandchildren,” Edward remarked with a laugh.

“I think he would be very proud of you, Ned,” Richard assured his brother with a fond smile.

Edward smiled back before returning his gaze to his wife and daughter.

The York line continued to be strong and the dynastic matches he was planning for his children would only make it stronger.

Ellie would be marrying the Crown Prince Christian of Denmark and hopefully one day she would become the Queen of three countries.

Ritchie would be marrying Eleanor of Austria, granddaughter to the Holy Roman Emperor. Although they did have a six-year-age gap, Edward was certain the betrothal would not be failure as the girl’s aunt was to the Duke of York. It was all thanks to Edward’s aunt, the Dowager Duchess of Burgundy who had convinced her stepson-in-law to consider the match.

Little Edward’s bride would be Princess Quiteria of Navarre. Although Henry thought it might best to send Edward and any younger brothers, he might have to the Church so to stop their descendants from restarting the Cousin War.

But Dickon pointed out, the same could be said of his children or Richmond’s children or even Buckingham’s future children. Not even Henry could argue with that and soon the whole council was in agreement to open up negotiations with the Queen of Navarre for her daughter’s hand.

As for dear Charlotte, Edward had sent his brother Thomas to Portugal in order see if Prince Miguel would be willing to have an English Princess for a bride.

Edward couldn’t help but feel happy about the way things were going.

Gone were the days of uncertainty. Gone were the days of where he was afraid that something bad would happen.

The Yorks had prevailed at every turn. When they were struck down, they got back up, stronger and better than before.

“You were right, Ali,” Edward remarked.

“Aren’t I always?” Eleanor asked playfully. “What was I right about this time?”

“We really are in a time of peace,” Edward said, a faraway look in his eyes. “Our realm is secure, and our enemies are gone. Our children will never have to go through what Dickon, and I did.”

It was the first time he had ever sounded so optimistic, and he could tell that it surprised as much as it pleased his wife and his brother.

March 11, 1499

France

It was done, Catherine of Aragon and King Charles IX would be married by proxy in May of next year, the Pope had granted a special deposition to allow Edward to be married despite not being of age.

Two years after the proxy marriage, once Edward had turned fifteen, the Spanish princess would arrive in France so she could be wedded and bedded.

Cecily watched as her twelve-year-old son proclaim that he was a lucky boy to be marrying such a lovely princess.

“Uncle Richard is a fool to have let the jewel of Christendom to get away,” Edward exclaimed.

“I would think you would be happy that he did,” Cecily pointed out, a smile tugging at her lips.

“That is true, Mama, that is very true,” Edward agreed, before sitting down next to her.

Cecily ruffled her son’s hair affectionately. “How are you feeling, darling? You gave us quite a scare yesterday.”

It had been a nice day yesterday, so they had gone outside for a picnic along with Anne, Louise, Marguerite, and Francis. They were having a wonderful time until Edward had another coughing fit, complaining he couldn’t breathe and that his chest was too tight. He could barely even speak.

“I’m fine, Mama,” Edward assured her dismissively, returning to gushing about how pretty and clever Catherine of Aragon was.

The Dowager Queen tried to keep a smile on her face as her son spoke but inside, she was tangle of mixed emotions.

For one thing, her son’s continued bad health made the possibility of her dream coming all too real.

However, there was a man standing in-between Edward and Francis, the Duke of Orleans. His son with Anne of Brittany had died young but she was pregnant again and there was no guarantee that it would not be a boy.

If it were a girl, the soon-to-be King Louis could insist that his daughter marry Francis in order to keep Brittany under French control which meant Anne and Francis would need to be married before Edward died.

Cecily was certain that Edward would not mind petitioning the council for his sister to marry Francis---Louise could not bring it up as it would make people suspicious she had plans to clear her son’s way to the throne---and as his regent, Cecily would be able to strong arm the men to agree, convincing them that it would keep the Count of Angoulême loyal to the throne.

But Cecily wanted to pretend. She wanted to pretend that her son would have many children with Catherine of Aragon and that he would keep his father’s male line from dying out.

“Mama, what’s wrong?” Edward’s concerned question broke into Cecily’s thoughts, and she realized she was crying.

“I’m sorry sweetheart, I was just thinking of your father,” Cecily explained.

“Oh Mama, it’s okay. There’s no need to be sad. I’m right here and I will never leave you,” Edward told her as he hugged her.

Cecily held her son tightly in her arms, wishing she could protect him from his dark fate.

March 30, 1499

Her daughter was not even seven yet, and she was smarter than all of the lords on the council put together.

“The Dowager Queen wants Anne to marry Francis because she thinks King Charles going to die, doesn’t she?” Marguerite asked in a low voice. They might be at home instead of the royal palace, but one could never be too careful.

“What makes you say that, cherie?” Louise inquired; an eyebrow raised.

“The way she looks at him,” Marguerite explained. “Like she knows something bad is going to happen, but she also knows she can’t do anything about it. Besides when Francis plays with Anne, she smiles, and then looks guilty as if she doesn’t want to be happy about them. You just look pleased.”

If Louise didn’t know any better, she might have thought she heard disapproval in her daughter’s tone.

“Did you know Jacquetta Woodville once claimed she was descendant from a river goddess? There were rumors that she and her oldest daughter Elizabeth had visions of the future,” Louise informed her. “Cecily, despite being quite cynical, gained her mother and grandmother’s gift. She dreamt of a future where Francis and Anne usher in the golden age of France. They are destined to be King and Queen.”

“Oh,” Marguerite said, not quite sure what to do with that information. Then she cocked her head curiously as something occurred to her: “What about me? What’s my destiny?”

“I don’t know, cherie but I am certain it will be magnificent just like your brother’s destiny,” Louise assured her, kissing the top of her head.

Oh yes, she could see it now. Francis as King of France, and his sister: an intelligent Queen of whatever country whose king was lucky enough to have her.

April 5, 1499  

England

Richard and his cousin Edward of Warwick were discussing their wives as they walked down the corridors, paying little attention to the courtiers they passed.

“I wasn’t even doing anything wrong. I was only talking to her and the next thing I know Dorothy is standing next to me with fire in her eyes, possessively putting her hand on my arm, making some flimsy excuse to lead me away,” Warwick recalled. “She didn’t say anything about it, but it was clear she was not happy.”

“Was it really that innocent?” Richard asked doubtfully. He and his cousin were very much cut from the same cloth with beautiful women being their weakness.

“Well, I might have been flirting a little, but Dorothy still overreacted, I haven’t had a mistress since she came of age,” Warwick said crossly before shooting his cousin an annoyed look. “Not that you should be judging me. Does Catherine know about Anne Stafford?”

“No and neither does the Duke of Buckingham and I would rather keep it that way,” Richard hissed, glancing about to make sure no one overheard.

It was one thing for a man to take a mistress from the lower nobles or gentry but a sister of a duke especially when she was related to Richard by marriage was another thing entirely and it would cause a scandal if found out.

Suddenly Richard’s eyes landed on a boy of nine, a boy who looked very familiar. Curious, the Duke of York walked towards him, not even seeing the woman holding the child’s hand.

“What’s your name, lad?” Richard asked before he could stop himself.

“Francis Bryan, Your Highness,” the boy replied, sighting up, sounding awed.

Oh. Richard glanced up at the face of Margaret Bryan whose expression was a completely composed mask.

The Duke of York glanced back at the boy, looking over his features spotting the ones that seemed similar to his own. He swallowed, trying to think of something to say, wondering if he even should say anything.

“Papa!” Robert called. Richard spun around just in time for his almost three-year-old son to throw his whole wight into his legs, nearly knocking Richard over.

“God’s teeth, you nearly knocked the wind out of me, son, I swear you are getting stronger every day,” Richard laughed merrily as he picked Robert up. He saw Catherine standing nearby, an unreadable expression on her face. He walked towards her and kissed her, putting his hand on swollen stomach, grinning when he felt a kick against his hand. “Oh Cate, I think we might have another warrior on the way.”

“Another son for you to spoil,” Catherine remarked, a slight edge to her voice as her eyes looked at something over Richard’s shoulder and Richard had a sinking feeling he knew who she was looking at.

“Where were you going when Robin decided to rush me?” Richard asked.

“I thought we might walk outside in the garden for a bit,” Catherine answered, unable to keep the frown on her face when her son was smiling at her, unaware of the tension.

“Well then, I think I’ll join you,” Richard decided, turning around with Robert still safely in his arms. He turned his head to apologize to the Earl of Warrick and when he did so, he noticed that the Bryans had left.

Guilt pricked his conscious, but he knew there was nothing he could do.

In the gardens, Catherine and Richard walked together as Robert ran as fast as his chubby little legs could carry him, enjoying the sights around him.

“Who was that?” Catherine asked coolly, keeping her eyes on her son to make sure he didn’t get hurt.

“Francis Bryan and his mother, the Lady Margaret,” Richard answered, hoping she would leave it at that.

“Were you ever going to tell me that you have a son?” Catherine demanded, not at all impressed with her husband’s attempt at ducking the question.

“Margaret was so long before you and she wanted me to stay away so Francis would believe that Thomas Bryan was his son so I didn’t think it would be important,” Richard admitted guiltily.

“It didn’t look like you were staying away,” Catherine observed, giving Richard a piercing look.

“What do you want me to say!” Richard demanded, growing angry. “That I will never acknowledge him. That I will treat him as though he is not my flesh and blood! Is that what you want!”

“Do not put this on me!” Catherine exclaimed, turning around to glare at her husband. “You are the one who can’t keep it in your pants! Tell me if Anne Stafford becomes pregnant, what will you do?”

“Do not speak so loudly! No one must know about that!” Richard hissed.

“You care so much for her reputation but not the humiliation of your wife!” Catherine shouted. “At least Henry Tudor would never dream of being so dishonorable!”

“HOW DARE YOU!” Richard roared, furious that she would say something like that.

“I dare because I am your wife and the mother of your legitimate son! I will not let you humiliate me with bastards and mistresses!”  Catherine screamed, hitting his chest with her fists. “You swore to be loyal to me! You said that there would never be anyone but me!” Just when Richard was about to grab her writs, the color drained from her face, and she clutched her stomach as she screamed for a different reason. “Oh God!”

Richard’s eye widened and he quickly called her his servants to escort Catherine back to the palace, praying that their fight would not cause the death of the second child. He then looked around for Robert and realized he was nowhere to be found.

“Robert!” Richard shouted, as he stalked around the hedges, looking desperately for his son. “ROBERT!”

“Over here, Dickon,” Elizabeth called from the middle of the hedge maze where she, Henry, their oldest daughter, and son were sitting by the fountain.

Robert was sitting on the Duke of Richmond’s lap. Perhaps if he were in a better mood, Richard would not have overreacted to this but the sight of the man he had hated for a long time being near his son was enough for Richard’s already violate temper to grow hotter.

“Never touch my son!” Richard snatching Robert from Henry, holding him tightly in his arms, mistaking the gasp of alarm to be because of Henry and not because he had just been grabbed violently. “Stay away from him!”

“My apologizes, Your Highness, it seems he got scared of his parents shouting and wanted to find a place to hide from them,” Henry said coolly. He placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder as the new Earl of Pembroke seemed to be ready to be outraged on his father’s behalf.

“That does not give you a right to touch my son,” Richard growled. “I know you have everyone---”

“That is enough!” Elizabeth exclaimed, getting to her feet, her expression furious. “I have had enough of the way you treat my husband. Henry didn’t have to fight for Ned’s crown, nor did he have to give it back once he had won it. But he did and I would think that should be enough for you to trust him.”

“I am not giving him a prize for doing the right thing,” Richard countered. “Bess, I have nothing against you---”

“No, just my husband and my children,” Elizabeth interjected. “You don’t think I don’t know what you think of my children. You think I don’t know how you look at your own nephew as if he is an enemy. Mark my words, Dickon, the Tudors won’t be your death but your paranoia of them will be!”

With that Elizabeth stalked off, her family close on her heels.

Richard waited until they were out of sight before he put Robert down on the ground, checking him over.

“Papa, why were you so mad?” Robert asked shakily.

“It’s a grown-up thing, Robin, I’ll tell you when you are older,” Richard promised him in a soft voice. “Now we should go, your Mama needs us.”

By the time Richard and Robert returned to his chambers, the physician informed him it was too late, and Catherine had lost the baby.

For once Richard could not even blame the Duke of Richmond.

Elizabeth found herself in richly decorated room. The two occupants could not see or hear her, but she watched them closely.

The handsome man was her baby, Henry, there was no doubt about that. She could spot the golden-red hair and the blue eyes anywhere. Standing next to him was a dark-haired woman with brown eyes like hooks for the soul.

“My father must be rolling over in his grave. The Cousin War has started again, another cycle of revenge,” Henry muttered, his face in his hands.

“It’s not your fault, sweetheart, you did all you could,” the woman told him soothingly.

“And yet it was not enough,” Henry said bitterly. “England cannot keep going through this. How many more civil wars until we are completely destroyed?”

Before the woman could answer, a man ran in. “Your Grace, you are needed.”

Henry groaned. “I’ll be there in a moment,” he replied as he moved towards the door. He paused briefly. “My mother once said that paranoia would be the cause of my uncle’s death. But it wasn’t. It was me.”

“You didn’t kill him,” the woman protested, sweeping up to him, stroking his cheek.

“No but I was the reason he went there in the first place,” Henry argued sadly.

Elizabeth woke up with a start, and it took her a few moments to realize she was in her own bed.

Henry was at the desk in their bedroom. He turned around when he heard her gasp, and immediately jumped to his feet, rushing over to her.

“Bess, what’s wrong? You’re shaking,” Henry said concerned, taking her in his arms, holding her close.

“It was a bad dream,” Elizabeth lied, knowing what she saw was very real. “It was just a nightmare.”

She knew that Henry would never believe her, perhaps dismissing her nightmare as something her mind conjured up after the heated argument between her and her brother.

But Elizabeth knew deep in her heart that what she had seen was real, and she had no idea how to stop it from coming true.

Chapter Text

September 20, 1501

The Marquess of Dorset was at peace. Oh, his bones ached, it felt as though there was stone upon his chest, making it hard for him to breathe and his fever raged. And yet, he was at peace.

For he would die and go to heaven, knowing that he is leaving a strong legacy behind. He would greet his mother happily, assuring her that his siblings had been well taken care of and he had looked after all for them for her. He would also get to see his Richard for the first time after so many years. When Father died, it had been him, Rick, and Mother. When the King came and married Mother, it became him and Rick. Oh, Mother was still there, and she loved them----- it doesn’t matter that they are royalty, Rick, we are Mama’s first-born and therefore her favorites, he used to assure his envious brother---but it still had been just him and Rick.

Then his stepfather died, that knave King Richard--- may he be rotting in hell---murdered Rick, and it soon became Thomas and his half-brothers. Watching them grow up, being a part of every mistake, heartache, and achievement they went though.

He had done all he could, not to help his brothers survive adulthood, but also, he had watched his own children grow older. Sadly, he would die before any of his children gave him grandchildren, but still he was satisfied that he was leaving them all to live in comfort. It had made Thomas Grey happy. Knowing he had been a part of something bigger. And now he was going to reunite with his mother and Rick.

Feeling pleased with himself, the Marquess of Dorset closed his eyes and took his last breath, ready to receive his heavenly rewards, having no regrets at all.

King Edward and the Duke of York were side by side when the physician and the priest came out both looking somber.

“His Grace is with God now,” the priest announced, making the cross sign.

Edward couldn’t believe it. He had known that his older brother was on his deathbed, but he had hoped that maybe he would make miraculous recovery. A foolish hope, perhaps; one he had desperately wanted to come true for the death of his brother just did not seem real.

Thomas had been a major part of his life even before he became King. He was the one smoothing things over whenever Edward got into an argument with either Henry or Dickon. In his early reign, he was the one to gently prod Edward into the right direction or patiently explaining something Edward didn’t understand.

He had always been there for his younger brothers, their rock in those months in France, when they had been cast out from their homes, strangers in a strange land, not knowing what would happen to their mother and sisters, reeling from their uncle’s betrayal and wondering if they would ever return home.

Thomas Grey had been a steady constant in Edward’s life and now he was gone. The only consolation was the fact that two years ago when Eleanor had given birth to their third boy, they had named him Thomas for his half-uncle, a tribute to the years of loyal service the Marquess of Dorset had given his Kingly brother.

“Ned,” Dickon said softly, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder.

To Edward’s horror, he realized that his cheeks and beard were becoming wet. Kings don’t cry. Thirty-year-old men did not weep like children.

Unwilling to let his brother see him break down, he quickly shook his hand off of him. “I must go. I have important things to be done,” he said before walking away very quickly, not even looking in Dickon’s direction. If he had, he would have seen the hurt on his younger brother’s face.

Miles away in Wales, the Earl of Pembroke and the Prince of Wales were lying on the great lawn just staring up at the cloudy sky, unaware of their half-uncle’s death.

Henry was quiet today. Not in the sulky, he didn’t get his way kind of quiet, but in the depressed quiet he usually got whenever Jasper’s birthday came and went. It had been four years since that day and Henry seemed to have mostly moved on from the incident, but on the days surrounding anniversary of his brother’s death and Jasper’s birthday, he would fall into these moods of melancholy quiet.

According to Charles, Henry still had nightmares of Jasper’s death, usually involving him watching as the ceiling crushed his brother, unable to move to help. These nightmares usually became more frequent during those quiet days.

It scared Richard to see his friend this way. Scared him because he had no idea how to act. Should he be trying to keep Henry’s mind off it? Should he try to comfort Henry? Ask him if he would like to talk about how he was feeling? No, that question would probably get him a glare and Henry storming off, ridiculously offended at the notion that he had feelings.

“Why are you staring at me?” Henry demanded, shooting Ritchie an annoyed look before he glanced back up at the sky.

Ritchie could feel his cheeks heating up not having realized he had been staring. “I, uh, you were saying something and then you trailed off,” he explained, feeling quite embarrassed.

“Oh. What was I saying?” Henry asked, his brow now furrowed as he tried to remember what they were doing moments before.

“I don’t remember, I think it had to with our cloud watching,” Richie recalled, glancing upwards.

“Oh. Well that one looks like a rock,” Henry said pointing at a nearby cloud.

“Really it looks like a turtle to me.”


Henry scowled at him. “It doesn’t look like a turtle in the slightest. It is a rock.”

“I am telling you, Harry, it is a turtle. Look you can see the head poking out,” Ritchie told him, actually glad that his friend was acting like his normal self.

“There is no head. You are blind and brainless!” Henry exclaimed.

“Hey! I’m your future King! Don’t forget to treat me with respect!” Richard mock admonished, giving Henry a playful elbow in the ribs.

“All right, your Majesty, what I meant to say was: you’re blind and brainless, sire,” Henry jeered in the same playful tone, making a mocking hand gesture. He laughed when Ritchie stuck out his tongue at him. He suddenly got a thoughtful look on his face. “What do you think it will be like? You being king, I mean.” 

“Well, there won’t be a lot of cloud watching that’s for sure,” Ritchie remarked. “But I know one thing, you’ll be right next to me like your father is right next to my father, being my right-hand advisor, helping me whenever I act stupid.”

“Nah, I’ll probably be helping you act stupid,” Henry contradicted, smirking. However, there was a proud gleam in his eyes at the thought of being like his father.

“All I know is as long as you’re there, it won’t be boring,” Ritchie told him.

“Now that I can agree with. I would never let it get dull,” Henry assured him. Then he frowned and Ritchie was worried he was about to go into his quiet state again, but it seemed that this time it was not his brother who had crossed his mind. “I don’t think your Uncle Richard will be very happy about me as your right-hand man.”

Ritchie’s brow furrowed in confusion. His Uncle Dickon was always a fun and doting uncle to him, but also seemed to distance himself from Henry. And it seemed that the bad feeling was mutual.

“I don’t get why though. He is your uncle too,” Ritchie said, genuinely bewildered how his uncle could treat some of his nephews affectionately and be so cold to his other nephews. And it seemed to be the nephews only as he absolutely adored Margaret and Mary Tudor.

“It’s because he hates my father. If what my grandmother says is true my father is Lancastrian heir and he’s supposed to be King of England instead of your father,” Henry began.

“The Dowager Countess said that!” Ritchie interjected, outraged at the gall of the woman.

“Father was furious when he overheard her telling me that, accusing her of trying to put ideas in my head, which in all fairness, knowing my grandmother, she was, and they had a shouting match about it,” Henry recalled, a proud smile on his face. “My father is loyal to the core. Uncle Richard is a fool if he doesn’t realize that.” 

“Wait so Uncle Richard thinks you and Edmund, the two-year-old, are going to steal the throne from me!” Richie exclaimed in disbelief.

Henry shrugged. “I don’t know if that’s what he thinks, but I know that's why he hates my father. He suspects that the honorable Henry Tudor, the best most noble knight in all of Europe, is looking for a way to take the crown,” he hissed, looking outright furious. “He is a fool, Ritchie. A fool. My father took one look at your father and chose to fight for him. He didn’t have to, if anything he could have just had the factions supporting your father and the factions supporting the usurper fight each other than just destroyed whoever was left. Instead, he fought the usurper, won your father his crown back and the only reward he wanted was my mother. Uncle Richard is blind and brainless if he can’t see that.”

“Well, my father is not, and neither am I. If I say you will be my right-hand man than that’s what you’ll be and if Uncle Richard doesn’t like it, he can soak his head,” Ritchie declared determinedly, causing Henry to grin at him. “Whatever I do, I’ll need you by my side, so we’ll never be without each other.”

October 11, 1501

Her youngest son was almost a month, born just two days before his uncle’s death. As he already had an older brother named Thomas, they had named him Henry after the Duke of Richmond.

The Duke of Richmond had promised to return the favor in April when the newest Tudor baby was due to be born.

It made Eleanor happy, knowing their family was still growing. She and Ned had six children. The Richmonds had almost five children. Dickon and his wife had little Robin and Catherine. In France, the Dowager Queen Cecily had King Charles and Princess Anne. Over in Scotland, Queen Anne had two sons. The Duchess of Buckingham had given birth to three children. What had once been a small dynasty now continued to grow stronger every day.

Even if they had lost some pretty important people along the way. Thomas was more of a brother to her than Henry Percy had been. She would miss him greatly.

“Momma, why are you crying?” Ed called from where he and Charlotte had been playing with Tommy. He and his younger sister got up and hurried to their mother, leaving poor Tommy to wonder what was going on.

“Did little Hal upset you?” Charlotte asked, glancing down at her baby brother, wagging her fingers at him. “Was he being bad? Did he bite you?”

“No sweetheart, Hal didn’t upset me,” Eleanor assured her daughter, trying not to giggle at the stern expression on her daughter’s face. “I was just thinking sad thoughts that’s all.”

“About Uncle Tommy,” Ed guessed. His mother nodded, getting up so she could put Hal back in the crib and could sit down on the floor with her three other children.

“Yes, darling, I miss your uncle very much. But I should not be crying for I am surrounded by so much love that I should be happy instead,” Eleanor whispered, picking Tom up so he was on her lap and then wrapping her arm around him, Ed, and Lottie.

Eleanor was always a woman to count blessings and she could say she had very many blessings. Being Queen of England, of course, having a loving husband and children, being surrounded by some many good friends and family.

But Thomas’s death had stared a feeling of dread in Eleanor’s heart that things were changing and might not be changed for the better.

There were three people in Ned’s life who could keep him from falling apart, three people who saw what he needed and would always be able to give him advice to help him. Herself, Tom, and the late King of France.

Not even Richard or Henry Tudor could help him when he started spiraling not in the way the three people who didn’t just know him but understand where he was coming from all the time, never once misunderstanding why he was acting in that way.

Charles’ death had been bad enough, but Thomas, the older protective brother, that death had hit him harder. Edward tried to pretend it didn’t affect him and had been avoided most people, pushing them away so they couldn’t see his vulnerable.

Once upon a time, Dickon had understood that. He had understood that Edward often took all the burden on his shoulders, never letting others see him at his weakest. Now it upset him as if he were the only one Edward was closing himself off too.

Eleanor was always an optimistic and yet the fear that things were becoming undone, that the once close-knit family was falling apart.

 And she didn’t know how to fix it.

October 30, 1501

“YOU SON OF A BITCH!”

The Duke of York had just been walking through the corridors with Warwick as they discussed their wives when suddenly he found himself being shoved into a wall by his brother-in-law.

“Hello Edward, how may I help you?” Richard asked, trying to play this off as some sort of misunderstanding. Unfortunately, the Duke of Buckingham didn’t seem to be very amused.

“HOW DARE YOU SLEEP WITH MY SISTER! HOW DARE YOU RUIN HER!” he bellowed.

Richard’s eyes widened. How had Buckingham found out? He and Anne had been discreet for the past two years. Only Catherine knew about it or so he thought.

“Perhaps we should talk about this somewhere more private,” he suggested, very conscious of the many listening ears who would soon become wagging tongues spreading gossip faster than the speed of any messenger.

“PRIVATE! NOTHING WILL BE PRIVATE SOON ENOUGH AS I JUST HAD TO TELL SIR WALTER HERBERT, THAT HIS WIFE-TO-BE IS PREGNANT WITH ANOTHER MAN’S CHILD!” Buckingham roared, shaking Richard as he screamed.

The Duke of York shoved the other man off of him. As far as he was concerned the only person who was shaming poor Anne was her own brother.

“Your sister is a grown woman. It is not my fault that she thought it might be better to have a prince in her bed instead of a bastard,” Richard snarled.

“YOU SMUG ARSEHOLE!” Buckingham shouted, taking a step back before lashing out with his fist, causing Richard’s head to hit the wall hard, sending him onto the floor. The enraged duke seemed to be ready to continue the fight only to be pulled away by Warwick. “ONE DAY YOU WILL GET WHAT YOU DESERVE!”

With that, the Duke of Buckingham stormed off, leaving Warwick to help his cousin off the floor. “This is what happens when you think with what’s below your belt,” he tutted reproachfully.

Richard grinned at him. “But it’s so fun,” he laughed as they continued walking, neither taking Buckingham too seriously.

However, Richard decided he would go and check on Anne Stafford and see what he could do for the poor woman whose brother clearly didn’t care about her, just how this would affect his reputation.

When he came to see her, he was horrified to see a bruise on her cheek. It had mostly faded, but still visible, enough to get the Duke of York’s blood boiling.

“Did your brother do this to you!” Richard demanded, cupping her face. It wasn’t just Buckingham hitting Anne that angered him; if he could harm his own sister than that temperamental man was also capable of hurting his wife despite her being a princess of blood.

“Only because I refused to abort the child,” Anne confessed, tears falling down her cheeks, as she touched her belly protectively. “I know the baby is a bastard, but it is mine and I love it.”

“No, not yours, sweetheart, ours,” Richard corrected her, moving his hand from her cheek to her chin, lifting her face up so their eyes could meet. He kissed her forehead comfortingly. “I promise you that I shall provide for you.”

Anne cried out in relief, embracing him. Richard winced as he thought of what his wife would say about all this.

“WHY DON’T YOU JUST INVITE YOUR WHORE TO JOIN US IN OUR MARRIAGE BED!” Catherine shouted, just as angry as Buckingham had been.

“Will you lower your voice. Our children are in the next room,” Richard hissed.

“Well thanks to that fool of a duke, everyone in court is aware of your dalliance with Lady Stafford. I don’t know why the children would be any different,” she snarled.

Of course, considering Cate was less than a year-old, she would more likely get upset at raised voices than anything else and even though he could understand the angry words of his parents, Robin would not know what they meant.

“Cat, my love, please, she has nowhere to go. Her brother has disowned her. She won’t live with us. I will just give her a comfortable manor for her to live in so she may rise the baby until I have found a husband for her,” Richard pleaded with her, taking her hands in his.

“And what of the child, will you acknowledge it. Allow it to be raised with our children!” Catherine exclaimed, although the fact that she was speaking softer and not wrenching her hands from his grip told her husband that she had calmed down a little bit.

“I have always regretted not acknowledging Francis Bryan, and he is being raised by two loving parents, you can’t expect me to just walk away from this child who needs me a lot more than Francis did,” Richard told her, his eyes entreating her to understand the difficult position he was in.

“I’m starting to realize I shouldn’t expect you to do anything,” Catherine scoffed as she walked away, her head held high. Just before she opened the door leading to the nursery, she said one final thing without turning around: “I shall treat the child with love and affection. After all, a child should be punished for the folly of its parents.”

With that she went in to see their children, slamming the door behind her, leaving Richard alone, running a hand in his hair, wondering what the hell he has done.

If the Duke of York had thought it was over now, he was doomed to be disappointed. Not long after his heated words with Catherine, he was summoned to the King’s private chambers.

Edward was not happy when he saw him.

“I just had a very long conversation with the Duke of Buckingham. Would you explain to me what you were thinking?” the monarch demanded, a furious look on his face.

At once Richard felt defensive. “He is the one who attacked me!” he defended himself, wondering what exactly their brother-in-law had told him.

 “Not that. I am talking about you sleeping with our sister’s sister-in-law. Did it never occur to you things might get bad if you started sleeping with not only a member of our extended family, but also the sister of a duke!” Edward shouted, furious at his brother’s foolishness.

“I don’t think it is anyone’s business who I sleep with,” Richard snapped, growing angry at Edward meddling in his life. He might be the King and his older brother, but that did not give him the right to dictate who Richard should not be sleeping with.

“Dickon, you are nearly a man of thirty. It’s time to stop acting like an irresponsible child,” Edward admonished him. Buckingham had all but demanded Richard be arrested for bedding his sister or at least there be some sort of punishment. Of course, Edward had pointed out that because it was consensual, there was no crime and in fact if anything Buckingham should be the one in trouble for attacking a royal duke. That all being said, he was angry at his brother for putting him in that position.

“Then don’t treat me like one!” Richard bellowed, slamming his fists on a table. “This has nothing to do with you!”

“This has to do with the peace of my court which you just destroyed because you never think about anyone, but yourself!” Edward shot back, waving his hands in Richard’s general direction.

“And what about you! All you ever care about is your work! You don’t even care about Tom!” Richard shouted.

“Don’t you dare bring our brother into this!” Edward screamed. “I am a King! I can’t fall apart when I have a country to run! Tom would have understood that!”

“Tom would not be yelling at me over something that wasn’t any of his business and he would have banished Buckingham for daring to punch me,” Dickon told him hotly.

“That will only make things worse,” Edward remarked, turning away. “If anything, I should banish both of you for acting like children.”

“You know what, Your Majesty, do as you like. I couldn’t care less,” Richard growled, before storming out of the room, not even caring that Edward had not given him permission to leave.

Eleanor was sitting in her chambers, doing her needlework with Ellie had her other ladies. In three years, her oldest daughter would be off to Denmark and so the queen wanted to spend as much time with her little girl as she had left.

Unfortunately, the mother and daughter time was interrupted by King Edward walking in, a black scowl on his face. Thankfully, his expression immediately lightened by the time his eyes fell on Ellie.

“Oh, my sweet girl, how wonderful it is to see you,” Edward greeted her as the almost eleven-year-old princess as she raced into his arms.

“Greetings, Papa, Mama is helping me practice knitting, would you like to see?” Ellie asked excitedly. She beamed at her father when he nodded. Then she went over to grab her embroidery showing it to her father with flair.

“A masterpiece, my love, a perfect masterpiece,” Edward declared.

“It’s not finished yet, Papa,” Ellie informed him, not bothering to hide her titters like the other ladies of the sewing circle.

“Well why don’t you finish while I talk to your mother about the All-Saints Day celebration,” Edward suggested, smiling lovingly at his daughter.

Edward and Eleanor went into a small antechamber, out of earshot of Ellie and the other ladies.

“What happened?” Eleanor asked, knowing by her husband’s face that he did not want to talk about celebrations.

“Dickon and I had another fight,” Edward admitted, pacing around the room, fidgeting with flowers that were in a vase.

“What about?”

“I think he is acting like a child, and he disagrees,” Edward answered before elaborating on everything that happened. “And he had the nerve to try and make it about Tom’s death.”

“He’s angry, right now. He thinks you should have taken his side instead of Buckingham. Which is understandable considering how Buckingham reacted. I mean I understand his anger, but he went too far,” Eleanor pointed out.

“I know that, and I have made it clear that if Lord Stafford does not learn how to control his temper, he will find himself quitting court for a very long time,” Edward informed her, his scowl back on his face. “I am just sick of having to deal with Dickon’s screw ups. How can I ever rely on him if every time I turn around, he has done something stupid?”

Eleanor let out a heavy sigh, she wasn’t quite sure how to answer that. Edward knew his brother loved him, but he would never act the way Ned wanted him to.

“I don’t know, but I promise you that you can always rely on him, no matter what,” she assured him, placing her forehead on his before wrapping her arms around his neck to which Edward responded by putting his arms around her waist.

“I love you, Ali.”

“I love you too. And I shall always be here for you, my dear heart. Whenever you are tired, lean on me,” Eleanor gushed. 

Chapter Text

April 2, 1502

Robert of York, Earl of Nottingham, cocked his head quizzically, not sure what to make of the baby in his father’s arms. The almost five-year-old boy looked from the baby to his father and then his mother, his brow furrowing in confusion.

“I don’t understand. How is he my brother if Mamma didn’t give birth to him?” he inquired.

“That is a very good question,” Catherine muttered, her lips curved downwards into a deep frown as her eyes threw daggers sharp enough to bore a hole into the back of her husband’s head.

“He is your half-brother, my son, that means while you two have the same father, he has a different mother,” Richard explained tactfully, hoping this explanation would satisfy Robert and he wouldn’t prod any further.

“Oh, okay. What’s his name?” Robert asked curiously, deciding that answer was good enough for him, too young to grasp the sordid implications of his brother’s origin, or the heartache it caused his mother.

“Richard.”

Behind him Catherine made a disgusted noise, clearly furious that Anne Stafford would choose Richard as her son’s name, making it unlikely that it would be used for the Duke of York’s second trueborn son.

In Richard’s opinion, it was completely understandable that Anne had named their son Richard as it was the baby’s father who had given her a roof over her head and means to live comfortably after the Duke of Buckingham had disowned them both. Richard was even looking for a husband for his mistress, determined that the mother of his son was well cared for and would not die as his unwed former lover; a marriage befitting her station.

“So, is he and his mama gonna live with us?” Robert asked innocently, seemingly unaware of his mother’s irritation.

“He will, my son, but his mother has her own estates,” Richard explained, pretending not to hear the disdainful sniff from behind him.

Robert looked confused again. “But won’t she want to live with her son?” he wondered innocently.

“Of course, she does,” his father replied. “However, we both though you and Cate might want another playmate. She wants him to live with his siblings.”

He had promised Anne that she could visit her son whenever she wanted or when the babe was older, he could be brought to her.

Anne had taken this in stride, knowing that it was the best decision for everyone. However, she had still cried when Richard had come to take their son and it had broken his heart. He had comforted her best he could, promising that he would write to her the moment they arrived at York palace, giving her a full report on how the babe was settling in.

“Well, I promise that I will be a good brother to him, Papa, just like I am to Cate,” Robert assured him.

“I am very glad to hear that my son,” Richard told him, using his free hand to ruffle his son’s hair. “My half-brother took very good care of me, and I hope you will follow in his footsteps.”

The fact that Robert barely knew the Marquess of Dorset didn’t even matter. All he knew was much like Edward and himself, the new Richard of York would need his big brother at his side.

They would be brothers to the end, standing united against whatever enemy they had to face.

After spending some time with all three children, Richard and Catherine returned to their own chambers. Now that she was away from her son and daughter, the Duchess of York dropped her pretense of pleasantness--- not that she had been trying very hard to maintain it in the first place.

The minute they were alone, Catherine tore herself away from Richard, turning to glare outside a window, preferring to look outside than meet her husband’s eyes.

“Catherine, my love, I know you are angry, but promise me you will not take it out on little Rick,” Richard pleaded with her, knowing better to touch when she was in this mood.

“I have already told you that I will not blame him for his father and his mother’s sins. Unlike you I will actually keep my word,” sneered Catherine.

“Cat, please, how much longer will you insist on punishing me?” Richard implored her. He did not point out that it was a man’s right to seek pleasure outside marriage. That would just make the fighting worse. “I love you; I have always loved you. You are the only woman I am devoted to.”

“Devoted? I don’t think you know the meaning of the word of love let alone devotion,” his wife scoffed. “The Duke of Richmond knows what it means to be devoted far better than you ever will.”

Dickon gaped at her, aghast and angry that she would compare him to his hated rival. While it was true that Henry Tudor was faithful to Elizabeth, the only person he was loyal to was himself.

“How dare you?” he growled, shaking his head in disbelief, barely believing that she would deal him such a low blow.

“I tell you how I dare. Henry Tudor is a very devoted man, both to his wife and to your brother. You claim he is playing the long game and yet from the moment he knelt at your brother’s feet, he has done nothing but fight for King Edward, doing all he can to help him. How have you helped King Edward, besides caused him no end of trouble because of your impulsiveness? Richmond would put your brother before himself in a heartbeat, he would lay his life on the line to protect him, and even if he disagrees, he will still do everything in his power to make it happen,” Catherine shouted, her chest heaving, spinning around so Richard could see the fire in her eyes. “You cannot stop causing trouble long enough to be of any use of your brother.”

“I WOULD DIE FOR EDWARD!” Dickon shouted, spit spewing from his mouth.

“As would every solider in his army,” Catherine countered with a derisive snort. “You have such a childish outlook on what true devotion, true loyalty is, thinking loving your family and being willing to die for them is all it takes. You think your words are enough to prove that you are a man of faithfulness even when your actions say otherwise. You think that because you have good intentions that means that you are faultless for your mistakes and that you should be rewarded for your empty promises.” She paused for a split second.

"I---you---" her husband spluttered, struggling to come up with a defense.

A smirking Catherine deadpanned, “You are nothing but a child, believing in fairytales, playing pretend that you are a dashing knight, fighting against an evil foe who has bewitched the good king. Did you ever consider that maybe there is a reason why your sister and your brother trust Henry so much? Perhaps it is because he has earned it while you have lost it.”  

“You’re wrong,” Richard protested weakly turning away from his wife.

“To answer your earlier question, I shall forgive you eventually, my lord, but I shall never forget. Because I know what kind of man you really are, a man who can make a hundred excuses for his selfish desires and refuses to take responsibility and will never change no matter how much he loves his family,” Catherine spat the word love as though it tasted bitter on her tongue before storming away to another room.

Dickon was left behind, her words hurting like daggers to his heart. The worst part was all he could think was how it was possible that even his wife preferred the Duke of Richmond to him.

Miles away at Leeds Castle, Elizabeth of York had been in labor for hours. Although they had four healthy children, the Duke and Duchess of Richmond had been thrilled at the idea of another child, one who would bring them happiness.

Alas, it was not to be, once again the Tudor family had suffered a loss. Their joy fleeting like a flower blooming in spring, only to be crushed by the harsh winter storm.

“I’m sorry, my lord, but her Grace has delivered a stillborn boy,” the midwife announced somberly.

Henry sighed heavily, running his hands through his hair. He tried not to feel disappointed. After all, he had two sons and two daughters. Enough to keep his bloodline going. Margaret would be marrying the Duke of Norfolk in two years and a year after that Harry would be married to Elizabeth Somerset. He had not yet found spouses for Mary and Edmund, but he would look into that another time. For the Tudor line was secured.

And yet it still hurt knowing that he and Elizabeth had lost three children, one they had known for ten years before he was taken from them through a tragic accident.

His mother used to say God had a plan for the Tudors---although she had wisely stopped insisting that plan involved St. Edward’s crown--- and Henry knew better than to question God’s will. 

None of that would ever soften the pain of losing three children.

Oh, Jesus, when had he become so self-pitying? He was not a man to wallow in his misery or to get lost in what could have been. It was time to stop moping and go comfort his wife who gone through hard labor only to have delivered a stillborn; if anyone was allowed to grieve it was her.

That thought in mind, Henry walked into his wife’s rooms where she was crying in a pillow.

“Oh sweetheart,” Henry murmured as he hurried to the bed, lying down next to her and wrapped his arms around her, nuzzling her hair. “Hush, sweetheart, it will be all right, I promise.”

He wished he could say they would have more healthy children, after all they are not---or rather she is not old yet---- however, he can’t bring himself to say it for even if they do have more, there is nothing to guarantee that any future baby won’t die in their arms, leading to another round of heartbreak.

Losing Jasper had created a hole in their heart that not even little Edmund could quite fill as they were waiting for the next tragedy to hit. Now every loss hit them as hard as Jasper’s death had; it was like they were experiencing his death again.

“His name will still be Edward,” Elizabeth said firmly as she turned to bury her face in her husband’s chest instead. “He may not have lived, but he was still our boy.”

The Duke of Richmond nodded in agreement, kissing the top of her head as they lay together, taking comfort in each other as they always did.

May 1, 1502   

France

When Charles was still alive, he used to love jousting, nothing would prevent him from riding out in full armor, asking for his wife’s favor, and jousting with the best France had to offer.

Unfortunately, his son had wanted to be the same to impress his new bride, despite barely being a man, his frequent bad health, and the fact that he had no heir. Edward was growing to be much like his father, foolhardy and eager to goof off rather than focus on serious matters.

Of course, in his case, it came from insecurity as he was aware that everyone kept waiting for him to die. Unlike Cecily, Louise, and apparently little Margot, no one realized that Edward was fated to die, but nearly everyone viewed him as sickly boy who would be called to heaven at any given moment. Because of this Edward was determined to prove them wrong, to prove that he was not weak.

Thankfully, through the combined efforts of his mother, his paternal aunt, and Katherine of Aragon herself, he had been convinced to reconsider jousting with his wife, pleading with tears in her eyes for him to sit with her because she couldn’t bear the thought of him getting hurt.

Cecily glanced over at the Spanish girl, who had only been in France since June. She was a demure girl, barely spoke a word of French and it was quite clear that she was not too fond of the liberal ways of the court. And yet, she still managed to bound with her husband, managing to get past the language barrier, and were rarely apart from one another.

The Dowager Queen was pleased that the Spanish match had worked out so well. When her husband had first suggested it, eager to offer up their son to make up for Dickon’s snub, Cecily had her doubts that such a match would even be entertained by the Spanish monarchs with whom they were currently hostile.

King Ferdinand, Queen Isabelle, and the Holy Roman Emperor had seemed determined to encircle France with enemies, allowing them to curtail any attempt of France to take back the lands that belonged to them by right.

Shockingly a treaty was made without the monarchs of France and Spain coming to blows. In exchange for Charles giving up fighting for Naples, King Ferdinand would renounce his own claim on Navarre. 

This also put an end to the Italian war, making sure that the debt that Charles left behind was not as large as it could have been.

It would not last, she was quite aware of that. She knew that eventually Spain and France would find another reason to fight especially when Katherine of Aragon became a Dowager Queen of France herself and would be sent home a childless widow.

Cecily bit her lip to keep herself from weeping at the reminder that her boy would die soon and that he would leave no heir behind. Of course, her dreams never mentioned whether or not Edward would have children, but considering it was François who was destined to be King, that meant both Edward and Louis of Orleans would have to die without any sons.

Perhaps Katherine would have a daughter, but even then, it would not matter as she was more likely to be put in a nunnery so she could not be married off to someone who might use her blood to press their claim.

The Dowager Queen of France was so wrapped up in her thoughts that she did not notice her daughter sneaking off, undetected by everyone, but her fiancé who glanced about the royal box before following her.

François was nine years old and even he knew that princesses should not wondering off on their own without their governess. However, instead of alerting anyone, he decided to follow her instead, waiting until they were far enough away before tapping her on the shoulder causing her to jump and spin around, fists raised.

“Princess Anne, tut, tut, running off on your own like that. What will your mother say when she finds out?” he teased with a grin on his face.

Anne huffed, rolled her eyes, and let her fists fall. “Mother is too wrapped up in His Majesty, the King to care about what I am doing,” she muttered, although her tone was defensive, there could be no mistaking a note of resentment.

The young princess had barely even known her father, but at least he was dead and therefore had an excuse to not dote on her. It seemed that her mother spent every waking moment thinking of Edward, barely sparing a thought for her daughter.

Whenever Edward was sick, which was often, their mother would not leave his side, even neglecting her duties to fuss over him, as though she was scared that she would never get another moment with him.

Whenever Anne was sick, Cecily would send her physician and Louise to take care of her, only coming if she had no work to be done and if Edward happened to call for her, she would leave with promises to be back momentarily, promises she never kept.

The Count of Angoulême made a sympathetic face, knowing how frustrated Anne could get with her mother. For all of Louise’s ambitions, she could never be accused of neglecting her daughter, just as proud of her as she was her son.

“So where are we going?” François asked, deciding to change the subject.

“Who said you are coming with me?” Anne inquired with a raised eyebrow.

“Because I am a knight, and a knight should always accompany the fair maiden to protect her from whoever may wish to harm her. And if I go back now, I might let it slip that you ran off,” François pointed out before Anne could protest.

The princess of France grumbled something under her breathe but nodded her head before she continued walking on the great lawn with François on her heels. They stopped at a pond, sitting at its edge, skipping stones.

“When we are married, will you always wear my favor?” Anne questioned, apropos of nothing. Perhaps she was thinking of how her brother had argued that if he didn’t participate in the joust, there would be no one to wear his wife’s ribbon.

“Depends.”

“On?”

“On whether or not there is a prettier lady sitting next to you, offering me hers,” replied François, not really meaning it, but enjoying railing her up anyway.

Anne glared at him and shoved him, harder than she meant to as François had lost his balance and he tumbled headfirst into the water. Despite it being an accident, she couldn’t help but giggle at the now dripping wet François. Her laughter turned into a shriek when he sized her arms and pulled her into the pond.

“Oh, you knave, you aren’t a knight at all! A scoundrel is what you are!” Anne exclaimed still laughing, splashing him to which he replied in kind.

Soon both children were splashing and dunking each other, the pond being shallow enough that they were not afraid of drowning.

When Louise, her ladies and Margot found them, they were punished for not only running off, but also running around in wet clothes when they could have caught the death of a cold. However, for now, François and Anne just enjoyed playing together.

June 22, 1502  

Spain

“Papa! Papa!” Margarita shouted, running towards her father.

Prince Juan unceremoniously shoved the flat box into the hands of his grooms before spinning around, kneeling, and opening his arms wide enough for his daughter to run into his embrace.

“My sweet girl,” Juan murmured, kissing the top of her head before straightening back up with the five-year-old still safe in his arms. His smile grew bigger when he saw his wife holding the hand of their almost three-year-old son. “My love and Alfie. I thought you were being kept prisoner in Aragon. How did you manage to escape?”

It was of course a mere jest as he knew his wife and children were allowed to stay in Castile as long as they liked. However, ever since the loss of Miguel, Isabelle and Ferdinand wanted to see their grandchildren as often as they could.

However, Juan was determined to take his duties in Castile seriously and would often stay behind.

Ferdinand had jested that Juan was snubbing him first by not naming his son after his father, although he doted on Alfonso far too much to be upset about that especially when his full name was Alfonso Ferdinando, and by rarely visiting Aragon.

“We have come to retrieve you,” Margarita explained. “Your father thinks it is time you started your duties to Aragon.”

“Such a manipulative man,” Juan said with a fond smile. “He knows you three are my weakness and that I shall not deny you anything.” He grinned down at his son. "What do you think, Alfie? Do you want your Papa around, spoiling you rotten?" His son nodded his head and Juan beamed at him, ruffling his hair with his free hand. His heart almost melted when Alfonso grabbed his hand, clutching it tightly.

July 30, 1502   

England

The heat was almost unbearable. Edward thought as he made his way to his wife’s chambers.

He smiled at the sight of Eleanor, as the bulge of her stomach was becoming slightly noticeable. They had not made an announcement yet as she had not even reached her third month, but the king could not help feeling excited.

It wasn’t until she had dismissed her ladies, did he realize that Eleanor was frowning, although she was trying to conceal it.

“Is something amiss, my love?” he asked her, his brow furrowing in concern, taking a seat next to her and putting his hand on hers.

“Just a letter from my brother, trying to guilt me into convincing you into making him a duke,” Eleanor explained with a heavy sigh, shaking her head in exasperation.

It had been nearly ten years, anyone else would have given up by now, but the Earl of Northumberland, despite being a grown man, continued to pester his sister, insisting that as the uncle of the future King, he deserved a dukedom.

Little did Henry Percy know, that had Edward been willing to give that pompous man a dukedom, Percy’s instance on harassing Eleanor and Henry had made up the King’s mind that as long as he lived, Northumberland would stay an Earl.

“Ridiculous man, perhaps I should have a sharp word with him,” Edward suggested, his eyes narrowed as he considered banishing Percy from court, telling him he was not to come back until he had gotten a dose of humility.

“No, no, sweetheart, that will only make it worse,” Eleanor told him softly. Although her words were gentle, Edward could tell that her brother’s behavior was really upsetting her.


Wanting to get her mind off of her brother, the King stood up and offered his hand to his wife. “Dance with me.”

Eleanor smiled up at him, remembering how he had done this before over ten years ago, when their eldest child was only a mere babe. She got up and they danced without music, acting as though they were the only two people in the world.

“What is it?” Edward inquired as he noticed the thoughtful expression on her face.

“I was just thinking of how far we have come since that day I assaulted you with a snowball,” Eleanor reminisced with a laugh.

“Sometimes I keep thinking I will wake up and be that boy in France, scared that he will let everyone down and never be half the king his father,” Edward remarked.

“Even in France, you managed to befriend two men who in another lifetime would have been your greatest enemies. And now, you are a strong king with four sons, something that has not happened since Edward III,” Eleanor pointed out. Edward decided not to remind her that the descendants of those four sons were the instigators of the cousin war. He prayed that his sons wouldn’t repeat history. “England prospers, Ned, and it is all because of you.”

“Well, I had help,” Edward said modestly.

“I know that Henry and your brothers---”

“Not just them,” interjected Edward, affection dancing in his eyes. “You were always there to soothe my troubled mind, make me smile when I would begin to brood, believed in me and supported me every step of the way.”

“I promise that I will always be here for you,” Eleanor whispered, kissing him lovingly.

February 11, 1503

Edward stared in horror at the prone figure on the bed, feeling as though he had just stepped into a nightmare. He prayed that his eyes were deceiving him. That any minute now, she would stir and tease him for being so paranoid, for assuming the worst had happened.

But the worst had happened. His eyes were not deceiving him. Eleanor, his Queen, his wife, his Ali, would not wake up. She was dead. She had died of childbed fever.

He had always told himself that kings did not cry, but he could not stop the tears that trickled down his cheeks onto his beard as he collapsed on his knees, burying his face in his wife’s stomach, grabbing her cold hands in his, sobbing and begging.

“You promised. You swore, you would be here for me, Ali. Please don’t go, please don’t leave me. You are my everything. I’ll do everything. Please don’t leave me,” he implored her, despite knowing it was too late.

First Tom, now Eleanor. How many of his loved ones was Edward destined to lose? He couldn’t bear it. It was too much pain.

Who was next?

One of his children? His sisters? Dickon? Dickon!

Things between his fool-hardy brother had been tense over the years. The thought that he might lose his younger brother gave Edward a gut-wrenching feeling especially if they were still barely speaking to each other.

Perhaps he had been too hard of Dickon. After all, the Duke of York had always been there for him and was only acting out when he felt hurt by Edward.

Eleanor would want him to make things right with Richard for she loved him as if he was her own brother. She detested it when they fought and was always looking to get them to talk to each other.

“I promise you, my love, I shall be a better brother to Dickon, and I shall make sure our children are well loved. I will not let you down, Ali, I swear to it. You always had so much faith in me, and I will continue to deserve your confidence,” he assured her, kissing her hands and then her lips.

He wiped his tears and got up, studying her face, and committing it to memory, knowing it would be the last time he would get to see her loveliness until he joined her in heaven where they would spend the rest of eternity together.

Still devastated, but determined, Edward walked outside of her chambers, finding Dickon waiting for him.

“I didn’t want to disturb you,” Dickon told him, his face filled with quiet grief. “But I want you to know, Ned, I am here for you.”

“I know, Dickon, and I am very grateful for that,” Edward assured him, placing his hand on his shoulder. “Come, let’s pour a drink and make a toast to my wife, the Queen among Queens.”

Richard smiled weakly at him, relived that it wasn’t like when his brother pushed him away after Tom’s death. They sat together, talking about their favorite memories of Eleanor.

Once again, it would be the York brothers against the world. They would stand together no matter what happened, and no one would separate them.

Upon being told of his mother’s death, Ritchie had needed a minute to contain his emotions and had stepped out of the room so his siblings could not see him cry. However, his tears were interrupted by a crack and a shriek followed by shouting and wailing.

He quickly raced back into the nursery to find three-year-old Tommy glaring at Ed, waving his fist threateningly at him as Ellie comforted Lottie who was clutching her cheek. One-year-old Hal had not understood the fact that his Mama was dead or rather that she would never be coming back, but he still was quite upset by the sudden violence and raised voices as was his younger sister.

“What happened!” Ritchie bellowed, struggling to be heard over the noise.

“Ed hit me!” Charlotte exclaimed, tears running down her face.

“You said it was Lisbeth’s fault, Mama died!” Ed screamed back, his hands clenched into fists, looking as though had Tommy and Ellie not been in his way, he might have slapped his sister a second time.

“Well, it’s true, isn’t it! If she weren’t born, Mama wouldn’t have gotten sick!” Charlotte shot back.

Before anyone could say anything else, the governesses ran into the nursery to find out what had happened. Two of them took the still screaming Hal and Lizbeth to another room so they could comfort them.

The remaining royal children refused to say what had happened, even Tommy who wasn’t quite old enough to understand the concept of not tattling said nothing.

Ritchie waited until the adults had left them alone, after receiving promises not to start yelling again, before he said anything.

“Ed, would Mama have approved of you hitting anyone let alone our younger sister?” Ritchie asked, giving his brother a stern look.

Had it been any other day, the seven-year-old would have grumbled and glared at his brother. But today, the day their mother died, Ed only looked sad and contrite, tears in his eyes and he turned to his sister.

“I’m sorry for hitting you, Lottie, but Mama wouldn’t like it if she heard anyone blaming Lisbeth for her death,” Ed told her, his voice now gentle.

“Mama would want you to love Lisbeth for her,” Ellie spoke up.

Charlotte’s shoulders sagged, tears still rolling down her face. “But then who is to blame? Is it us? Were we bad and that’s why God took away our Mama?”

“No!” Ritchie exclaimed, shocked that his sister would come to that conclusion. “Of course not. It’s no one’s fault at all.”

Lottie just cried in her sister’s arms and was soon joined by Tommy. Ed and Ritchie exchanged looks before they too joined the embrace.

The queen was dead, leaving her heartbroken family behind to weep over her grave.

Miles away, unaware of her brother’s heartache and her sister-in-law’s death, the Duchess of Richmond walked in the gardens, thinking of the dream she had last night.

Her mother had visited her, talking to her about her grandchildren and how happy she was that all her children had happy marriages---it was only when she had woken up, did Elizabeth wonder if she really meant all considering the tension between the Duke and Duchess of York.

Suddenly the dream changed, and Elizabeth had found herself on a battlefield where two great armies were clashing. One the side with the Tudor banners, there were no banners of the House of York and that terrified the duchess. The two Elizabeths watched as the men slaughtered each other, calling out for justice, for vengeance.

Her son----she could pick out his features anywhere----shouted at his rival. "I am going to give you once chance to stand down. Do so and I promise you no harm will come to your family."

"I trust you not, Tudor," his enemy called back, his eyes cold as ice. "You lie as easily as you breathe. You killed my father and I shall not let you do the same to my loved ones."

The man next to Henry bellowed, "Your father was a traitor and you are as well for rebelling against my nephew."

“The only traitor I see is the one who stands next to a murderer and protects him from receiving his just punishment.”

Soon the battlefield is alive with clashing weapons and the blood of men slain.

Elizabeth wakes up before the end, her mother’s voice ringing in her ears.

“Three princes shall enter the tower, but one will not come out. A Duke shall turn back the clock, rewriting history for the better. A final clash between the Yorks and the Lancastrians shall spill much blood. A great house shall spring forth from their ashes like a phoenix, renewed and reborn, stronger than before.”

Chapter Text

March 9, 1507
France

It shouldn’t have come as a surprise. Her brother was always sickly and always seemed to be in the crossroads of life and death, he would often be seen on one path, only to suddenly serve over to the other.

Just days after his daughter’s first birthday, Edward had another episode where he couldn’t breathe. Unlike the other times, it had gone on for almost four hours before his body finally couldn’t take it anymore. No amount of prayer, screaming on her mother’s part, and medical assistance could help him.

He died gasping for air.

“King Louis moves fast, doesn’t he?” Dowager Queen Cecily grumbled, breaking her daughter out of her memories. The former York Princess was dressed in all black, and Anne doubted she would ever wear lighter colors ever again. “My son hasn’t even been buried yet and he insists on being crowned so quickly. He doesn’t even think that he should wait least Katherine is pregnant.” 

“Even if she was pregnant, there is no guarantee that the baby would be a boy,” Louise noted, giving her friend and mistress a pointed look.

Cecily glowered. “He doesn’t know that,” she snapped. “He already has plans to send Marie to a nunnery and her mother back to Spain. Katherine came to me in tears, begging me to not let her be separated from her daughter.”

“Well, we can’t very well send Marie to Spain. God only knows what devious plot they would cook up to undermine the Valois rule,” Louise remarked.

“He has also suggested breaking the betrothal between Francois and Anne,” Cecily continued.

“He can’t do that, can he?!” Anne asked, startled by this sudden revelation.

“He is the King, dear. He probably thinks it would be better to marry my son with little Claude as she will be the Duchess of Brittany if the new monarchs have no male heir,” Louise explained, reaching out to pat her hand. “Don’t fret, we won’t let that happen. Your brother’s will makes it quite clear that he wishes for you to marry Francois, and the betrothal agreement was finalized years ago.”

Cecily turned her head, looking at her daughter for the first time since Anne had entered the room. “In fact, we have arranged for you and François to be married in June.”

“Don’t you think I am too young, Mother?” the twelve-year-old girl inquired, knowing full well what married couples were expected to do and it scared her a bit.

“If you mean to marry, no. If you mean consummating your marriage, you will wait until you are fifteen. But once you are ready, you must do it often as France is in dire need of a male heir,” her mother told her matter of factly.

“Yes, Mother,” Anne said obediently as her mother went back to talking with Louise, leaving her to wonder why she was invited at all since she was all but ignored. Perhaps she could chalk it up to being a young girl, but Marguerite was only two-years-older and if she were here, their mothers would never exclude her from the conversation.

Edward is dead and Mother acts if her only child was taken from her. Sometimes I wonder if she would even care if I died. Anne thought bitterly, staring at her hands that she kept tightly clasped in her lap.

Suddenly another hand appeared, gently squeezing her hands. Anne followed the arm up to the person it belonged to and smiled when she saw Louise, still talking to her mother. Despite not looking at her, the older woman had sensed the French princess’ misery and had reached out to comfort her.

Spain

King Ferdinando of Aragon, Naples and Sicily was sitting in his study, pouring over matters of the state when his son, the King of Castile threw the doors open. The herald announced each and every one of his titles as he stood regally in his silk garments, a cornet instead of a hat upon his head.

My son and his dramatics. Can’t even come into a room without fanfare, Fernando chuckled to himself.

After Isabella’s death, Juan had moved to Castile permanently and yet he seemed to find any excuse to either visit his father or invite him to Castile.

“Father, I have a demand!” Juan proclaimed, a boyish grim threatening to split his face.

Fernando blinked. “What?”

“I have a demand,” Juan repeated.

“Not many sons command their father, let alone their kings, to give them things,” Fernando drawled dryly.

“Well, I have a demand,” Juan stated, miming pounding on his father’s desk.

All right, there is dramatic and just plain childish, Fernando snorted inwardly as he fought a smile. “Yes, I know. You said that three times now. So, go on tell me: what is your demand?”

“When Catalina arrives back from France, I want her to come live with me in the Palace of Madrid,” Juan informed him.

“Very well.”

“I will not take no for an ans----you ruin everything,” Juan complained, a sulky expression on his face once he realized his father had said yes, depriving him of the joy of convincing him.

Despite himself, Fernando could not stop the chuckle from escaping his lips. However, he quickly sobered. “Your sister is most distraught over not only losing her husband, but at having to leave her baby daughter in France. Therefore, spending time with her nieces and nephews will do her some good,” he predicted, his heart clenching painfully as he thought of his youngest daughter, tearfully pleading not to be separated from her only child.

“I wish there was a way we could convince that fat old King to allow little Maria to be sent to Spain with her mother,” groused Juan, shaking his head in frustration.

“If you were married to a French princess, had only a girl before you…” the old monarch paused for a moment, trying not to think of that horrible time when he and Isabella were so afraid that their only son would die. He swallowed thickly before continuing: “I would not want my granddaughter to be in the hands of my enemies.”

“But that is different. France has Salic law. My daughter would be heir to Spain,” Juan pointed out reasonably.

“True, but that didn’t stop England, now, did it? France doesn’t want a repeat and therefore the only recourse they have is to either marry Maria off to a French Prince or send her to a nunnery,” Fernando explained.

It was perhaps a cold way to speak of his own granddaughter, but Fernando was aware that in politics, every person was a chess piece, and they were used and discarded no matter how important they were.

“Well hopefully, they will at least allow Catalina to visit her and write letters to her,” Juan said with a sigh. Then he smiled at his father. “I have some good news though. It seems that my glorious wife and queen is pregnant again. If it is a boy, we thought we’d name him Maximiliano after his other grandfather.”

Fernando could not help but smile at this, pleased at the thought that might be four sons of Trastámara. After so many years of he and his son being the only heirs of such a noble house, Alfonso, Fernando, and Juan were a very needed breath of fresh air.

“And what if you have a daughter?” he wondered, an eyebrow quirked, smirking as he could guess the answer.

“Catalina, of course,” Juan replied with a playful smile of his own. “Now if you excuse me, Father, I must go. My darling children cannot sleep without me singing to them. Of course, I am told that I have the voice of an angel.”

“Careful, my boy, you know that pride is a sin,” Fernando warned him sternly, even though there was an ounce of humor in his gruff tone.

“But I am not the one saying how magnificent I am, Father, it is everyone else who says it,” Juan protested, his chest puffed out like peacock.

Fernando only hummed before bidding his son goodbye, watching him stride off with an expression of fond exasperation.

He knew that Juan was a man who worked as hard as he played, but sometimes he wondered if he should not be a little more annoyed with his son’s antics. Hopefully, Catalina could help Margarita curb Juan’s eccentrics, just enough to keep the boy from doing anything foolish. 

England

Spring had come early to England, bringing a lovely warmth to make up for those cold days of winter. Courtiers were relieved to be able to throw off their heavy furs, take a walk outside without snow crunching beneath their feet.

However, in the privy council, the air was frigid with tension as the councilors watched uncomfortably as the King and the Duke of Richmond argued. Well almost all of them, the Duke of York was rather enjoying this.

“Although we all miss Queen Eleanor very much, it has been four years since her unfortunate death and it is your duty to marry again for the safety of the realm,” Henry told him, his tone betrayed his annoyance at what he viewed as something rather obvious. 

“I have four sons, my lord, I think my kingdom is quite safe,” Edward said in a clipped tone, his eyes flashing dangerously. He had stopped wearing any color other than black, refusing to stop mourning the woman he had loved.

“Fate is not always kind when it comes to our children,” Richmond reminded him, his face crumbling briefly before he returned it to an impassive mask. Of all people, he had good cause to know that the blessings that were innocent children could be taken away just as quickly as they were given. Had Jasper’s death not proven that all life was fragile? “Her Majesty would want---”

“DO NOT USE MY WIFE TO MANIPULATE ME!” bellowed Edward, slamming his fists on the table, causing a few of his councilors to jump in their seats like they were deer startled by a twig snapping. Even Richard who was staring at the scene with barely concealed glee startled a little, surprised by his brother’s sudden fury.

However, Henry was not moved, standing firm, not even flinching. “Your Majesty, I only ask that you at least consider the matter.”

“I have considered it. I have considered it each and every time you nag me about it and my answer is still no,” the King declared. “The Queen is dead and there shall be no new Queen until I have left this world. Now ceases your badgering.”

“I am only trying to look out for you,” Henry started to say.

“By God, man, my brother is a man of thirty, not a child!” Richard interjected, jumping up from his chair. “If he asks you to stop, then do so. You are the servant, and he is the king, not the other way around.”

Richmond glared daggers at the other man but before he could retort, Edward spoke up: “My brother is right, my lord, I am no longer a boy who needs your guidance. Perhaps it is time for you to retire from your post,” he suggested, causing all to stare at him in shock.

For a council member to be dismissed so publicly and abruptly, sent away like a child would be sent to their room without supper for misbehaving, was nothing short of humiliating.

“If that is your Majesty’s wish, I shall obey,” the Duke of Richmond replied, a slight quiver in his voice. When Edward nodded, he collected his papers and stalked out of the room, his dark robes fluttering behind him like the wings of a bat.

For a moment, nobody said anything or even moved a muscle, afraid that if they spoke, the monarch’s ire would turn on them instead. Not even the Duke of York spoke, although he studied his brother intently, trying to catch his eye.

“Leave,” Edward commanded at last. When no one rose, he raised his voice. “Out all of you!”

The council scrambled out of their seats, heading for the door, practically pushing each other out of the way, fleeing the room as though someone was chasing them.

Dickon lagged behind, signaling for the grooms to leave him and his brother alone.

“That order included you as well,” the monarch huffed as he stood up, walking to the window, putting his arm on the glass as he stared outside.

“I know, but I don’t care. Ned, do you remember what you said to me the day I arrived at the Tower?” Richard quizzed, shivering when he spoke of…that place. Twenty-three years have passed and yet the mere thought of the Tower of London makes me quiver in fear, knowing that we could have died there. I have not set foot there since and I will never do so again. He inhaled sharply before continuing, pushing away his dark memories and focusing on his brother: “You said we were in this together, it was us against the world.”

“Dickon, please, I just want to be left alone,” implored Edward, clenching his hand into a fist.

“I know, but I don’t care,” the Duke of York reiterated, playing with the rings on his fingers. “You can push me away, Ned, but I will always be here because it will always be us together no matter what.”

Edward smiled softly, turning to look at his brother. “Nothing I will do will get you to go away, will it?” he guessed.

“I am afraid not,” Richard replied with a smirk. 

The king walked over to the younger man and hugged him, clinging to him as though he was afraid that if he let go, he would drown in the sea of his own misery. “When will it stop hurting?” he sobbed, unable to keep the emotions from spilling out of him.

Richard had no answer, he only held his brother tighter.

“We’re leaving.”

Elizabeth blinked. She had been in the sitting room, sewing a cap for her first grandchild, little Tommy Howard, when her husband stalked into their apartments, a face like thunder and made his announcement, ordering the servants to pack their things at once.

“My lord is your wife allowed to know why we are leaving so abruptly?” she inquired as she put her needlework on a table, before she got up and went over to her husband, placing her hands on his shoulders.

“His Majesty has decided it is time for me to retire,” Henry informed her. While his tone was cool, there was an edge of fury to it.

“I see,” Elizabeth prompted as she led her husband over to a chair and began to message his tense shoulders.

“It has been four years. Four years since Queen Eleanor died. Your brother is only thirty years old, young enough to continue to have heirs. England is strong now, but what if Prince Richard and his brothers die or fail to have any children of their own. That is why there must always be spares,” Richmond ranted, rubbing his temples as he leaned forward, giving his wife better access to his back.

“And what if I died? After all, we only have two sons and the Tudor dynasty could always use spares,” Elizabeth pointed out, a delicate eyebrow quirked. “Would you marry again for the sake of your house?”

“Of course, I would. She’d just have to look and act like you,” her husband muttered, reaching over his shoulders to cup her cheek. “You don’t understand, dearest. While you are right, I certainly would not be keen to marry after losing you, But Edward, since the death of his wife, he walks around like he is a shell of his former self. He looks…lost and I suppose I hoped that a new marriage would give him some direction.”

“Your heart was in the right place, my love, and I am sure my brother knows this. Perhaps we should stay at court. I am sure this will all blow over soon and everything will turn out the way it was,” opined Elizabeth, nodded her head in certainty.

Henry heaved a sigh, resting his chin on his chest, his expression pensive. “Or perhaps we should go. Retire to the country, spend the rest of our days together however long or short they are,” he mused.

Elizabeth stared at her husband as though he had grown another head. She raised her hand to fell his forehead, checking to see if he had a fever. “Are you ill?” she demanded worriedly, wondering if she should call for a physician.

“I’m not ill, dearest, just tired,” answered Richmond, giving her a wry smile.

“Tired or not, I know you, Henry, you will be bored out of your skull, not working. You’ll be going mad, wondering how the kingdom is doing without you,” his wife predicted, stroking his arm.

“And maybe that’s the problem. I do not rule England, your brother does. It is time I left him do it without any of my input,” Henry remarked, a hint of melancholy creased his tone. When he saw Elizabeth opened her mouth to refute him, he quickly elaborated. “When I first met Edward, he was twelve years old, a boy who needed me to guide him, help him govern. Even when he grew into a man, I still stood by him, whispering in his ear, giving him advice, helping him solve problems.”

“But now…” Elizabeth prompted, rubbing his shoulders again.

“But now, I realize that I have grown too used to that. So much so that when he disagrees with me, I am finding it hard to accept that, perhaps I got drunk with that power I had, or I simply enjoyed being so needed by the king. Regardless, I must let go. Let him do things without my input, act without my approval or disappointment,” Henry decided, his tone becoming more resolute with each sentence he spoke.

The former York princess walked around him before kneeling down and cupping his face, tenderly caressing his cheek. “Are you sure you are not just saying that because you and Ned had a fight?”

“No, the more I think about it, the more I know I am right,” he replied somberly.

Elizabeth grabbed his hands and pressed a kiss to his knuckles. “Then I shall spend every day making you the happiest man in the world,” she gushed.

The Duke of Richmond chuckled fondly. “How could you possibly do something you already accomplished when you first agreed to be my wife over twenty years ago?” He then pulled her onto his lap, kissing her lips sweetly.

Hours later, Elizabeth had gone to oversee the servants packing and Henry had begun to peruse his papers, looking to see what could be left behind and discarded and what needed to be kept when King Edward entered the Richmonds’ apartments, looking shamefaced.

“My liege,” Henry greeted him formally, causing the young man to flinch as if Richmond had just struck him.

“I wanted to apologize for my outburst and rescinded my order for you to retire from the privy council,” Edward explained, fiddling with his livery collar.

“You are too kind, Your Majesty, but I have decided that you are correct, it is time I took my leave from court.”

Edward gaped at him for a few seconds, just as surprised as Elizabeth had been. Then his gaze hardened. “Just because I am refusing to see it your way, you are packing up and leaving. After so many years of service, the one time I don’t obey you, you decide to throw a tantrum and storm off!” he accused.

“Your---”

“And over what? I have four sons, a brother who has two sons, a cousin from the male line who has a son of his own. England is safer than it has ever been. If anything, marrying again could lead to conflict, after all, who is to say that my next wife won’t believe that her sons have more right to the throne than his half-brothers?” Edward ranted.

Henry’s eyebrow rose as he gave the monarch a skeptical look. “That is a very logical and well thought out argument, my lord. Now tell me the truth,” entreated Richmond.

“I have let my guard down in front of very few people. Eleanor was the only one, I never needed to put up a front for. She saw me vulnerable, in my worst moments and helped me through them. She never needed me to be the King of England because to her, I was always Edward whether or not I wore a crown,” Edward lamented, glancing back down at his feet, unable to look the other man in the eye.

“I feel the same way about Elizabeth,” Henry admitted as he walked off and clasped a hand on Edward’s shoulder. “She rightfully pointed out that if I were in your shoes, I wouldn’t be wanting to marry again either. Although in all fairness, I wouldn’t have much time as you do.”

“If you understand where I am coming from then why are you still leaving?” Edward inquired, letting the “me” hanging in the air unsaid, although by the glimmer of sympathy in Henry’s eyes that he heard it anyway.

“Because I think perhaps it is time, I let you run your kingdom without my help. It is time you stood on your own two feet without leaning on me,” the older man answered, giving Edward an encouraging smile.

“And what if I need your help?”

 “Then you can write or come to Leeds, Richmond, or Pembroke. Of course, Elizabeth and I can be summoned to court whenever you wish,” avowed Henry.

“Thank you, Your Grace, for all your years of service,” Edward declared, losing control of his emotions for the second time today and throwing his arms around the man who had come to view as a father figure.

The stuffy old duke wasted no time hugging him back, his lips tugging upwards in a wrinkled smile.

Richard was having a good day. The Duke of Richmond was being sent packing, no longer able to keep his greedy claws in Edward. Perhaps the now vacant position of Lord Chancellor would go to someone more deserving, someone more loyal, more trustworthy than that whoreson Tudor. Someone like me, The Duke of York mused with a smile on his face.

“Papa! Papa! Save me! Save me!” Roland shouted, running as fast as a three-year-old could run. His pursuers seemed to be taking their time as they followed him, knowing they could catch him easily.

Richard scooped up his youngest son, named after the legendary Roland of France, and glared in mock fierceness at the two knaves who had been chasing after him. “Halt! Who dares attack the greatest knight in my realm?!” he demanded in a booming voice, although his eyes twinkled merrily.

“He is no knight! He is a thief, and we aim to steal his money and give it to the poor!” nine-year-old Robert insisted, waving his toy sword while his half-brother nodded.

Little Richard was now four years old, and he had gained the nickname Berry from Warwick who had, much like himself, chosen to call him after the place both he and his father were born in: Shrewsbury. 

Dickon let out a loud gasp, glancing down at the toddler in his arms. “Is this true, Roland? Have you been stealing? Are you a naughty boy?” 

“No Papa, I’m not a theeve,” Roland giggled, too young to realize that he was not doing a very good job acting innocent with that big grin on his face, showing off his adorable baby cheeks.

“Then these rapscallions are trying to slander you!” Richard exclaimed dramatically, sending a fake glare at the two boys who were trying to cover their sniggers with their hands. “Let us capture them so they may be imprisoned for their terrible lies!”

Robin and Berry quickly ran away while Dickon chased after them, keeping a tight hold on Rolly.

When he saw his older sons were now out of breath and had all, but collapsed onto the grass, he pretended to trip and fall to the ground---carefully making sure Roland wasn’t hurt---so he could wrap his arms on all three of his boys, tussling with them.

“Now I have captured you vagrants!” he thundered as bear hugged them, nearly squashing the toddler in the process. “And you shall receive a fierce tickling for your crimes.”

“Oh no, Father, please have mercy!” Robert laughed, trying to swat the threatening hand away. “We’re sorry. We will never do it again.”

 “Robin’s sorry and he won’t do it again,” Berry said cheekily, causing Robert to elbow him. He just stuck his tongue out at him. 

“What do you say, Rolly Polly? Shall we forgive them?” the Duke of York asked his youngest.

“I’ll give you a sweet,” Robert cajoled the toddler whose eyes lit up and he nodded vigorously.

“All right then, boys, all is forgiven!” Richard proclaimed, grabbing all three into a hug. “Now come, it will be supper soon and your Mama will want you to wash up.”

His sons grumbled but they followed him back into the castle making their way to the York apartments where their mother and sister was waiting for them. He held Roland’s hand as they walked, his other arm around the shoulders of both Robin and Berry, lightly teasing them.

Not paying attention to where he was going, he nearly collided with someone.

“Forgive me, my lord, I wasn’t watching where I was going,” Francis Bryan stated, looking quite embarrassed.

“There is nothing to forgive, lad, I was a bit distracted myself,” Richard assured him as he studied the young man and noted just how much they looked alike. By God, the teenager was his spitting image. “It has been a long time since we last met. How old are you now?”

“Seventeen, Your Grace,” Francis replied, a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

Seventeen? Has it really been that long? It seemed like only yesterday I first laid eyes on him. He was nine the last time I saw him. The years went by so fast. Richard thought, felling a dull ache as his chest constricted with guilt.

Roland and Berry were tugging at him, not understanding why their father was stopping to talk to a random stranger, wanting to get to supper as fast as they could. Robert on the other hand looked up at Francis curiously, obviously noting how this man’s appearance was similar to his father and perhaps even realizing that there was tension in the air.

“Papa, let’s go!” Berry whined, kicking his feet.

“Just wait one moment, son,” Richard told him, flashing his natural son an indulgent smile, missing the envious and angry look on Francis’ face. He then glanced back up. “Forgive me, Master Bryan, but my boys are restless, and I fear I must get some food in their bellies before they turn into ravenous monsters.”

Francis nodded choppily before clearing his throat. “I was wondering if I might be able to speak to you in private, Your Grace. It won’t take long,” he pleaded.

His expression was so earnest and almost desperate that it made Richard’s heart crack. He wanted nothing more than to speak with his son, the boy he had left behind seventeen years ago.

I did it for a reason. I was no older than he is now, and his mother and her husband wanted to claim that his father was the man she married. I don’t deserve to be his father, not when Thomas Bryan was the one who raised him. It is too late now. Richard deliberated, feeling almost sick as he spoke.

“Forgive me, Master Bryan, but I am much too busy right now. Perhaps another time,” he apologized, keeping a friendly smile on his face.

Francis Bryan looked as though the Duke of York had just slapped him, his shoulders sagged as a dark shadow flashed across his face, his eyes flickered downwards at the three boys, lingering on the younger Richard, his lips curling and for moment, the older duke feared he would make a scene.

“Of course not, Your Grace, I wouldn’t want you to be late for supper with your family,” Francis remarked, his tone clipped and cool. “If it pleases you, I shall take my leave of you now.” 

Richard swallowed before nodding, watching him go with a sense of sorrow.

“Who was that, Papa?” Berry questioned, curiously.

“No one, no one at all,” his father lied.

It wasn’t until later, did Richard wonder if it had really been a coincidence that he just happened to bump into Francis or had the teenager been trying to reach out to the man he either suspected or knew was his father, only to be rejected.

Chapter Text

February 7, 1509

Spain

The first thing the King of Castile heard, when he entered the garden, was the sound of laughter. He loved that sound; it was music to his ears. Especially when it was his children, wife and sister who were in a merry mood. It made his heart swell, almost bursting from the sweetness of it all.

He just hoped the news he would bring would not sour the mood as it had done to him.

I am a selfish man, a terrible brother, but I cannot help it. They snubbed her once, and they do not deserve her, and yet, she deserves a crown, John fretted with an uncharacteristically grim frown.

Alfonso and Fernando were in the middle of a mock duel. His oldest son was wearing his mother’s favor, while his younger son wore his aunt’s handkerchief tied around his arm.

It was most precious.

Juan broke out in applause when Alfonso managed to disarm his “opponent” and then chose to give a daisy to his mother as a thank you for her favor which he was certain had helped him win.

“Ah, what a gallant knight, you are, my boy,” the Spanish monarch praised him, startling the attendants who quickly bowed and curtsied. He then turned to his second son with a friendly smile. “Keep practicing, dear Nando, and you will become as a fierce warrior as your grandfather. I bet when your brother becomes king, you will be his best general.”

The boys beamed at him before they went back to their mock duel. Juan turned his attention to his wife and sister, kissing them both on the cheek, after making sure his wife wasn’t too cold or too hot, and wasn’t feeling ill, he spoke to Catalina: “I have some good news, sweet sister. The King of England has stopped stalling, and according to his ambassador is asking for your hand in marriage.”

“He is?” Catalina asked with a trace of astonishment. She had known that the English ruler had been a widower for the past six years, and despite his relatively young age seemed not to wish to remarry despite his advisors’ prodding. Apparently, he was still madly in love with his late wife.

Juan mistook his sister’s surprise for another reason, and he scowled for a moment before beaming at her. “Of course, he is. Unlike that fool of a brother of his, King Edward has good taste,” he informed her, patting her shoulder. “However, I will reply no to him if you wish it, sweet Lina. If you would prefer to stay in Castile surrounded by your nieces and nephews who adore you, I will grant it.”

“That is very kind, Juan, but if the King of England wishes to marry me, I shall be most honored,” his youngest sister told him with a sad smile, and both her brother and her sister-in-law guessed just what she was thinking of.

Although she had spent almost five years in France, she had only been a mother for one year before she was shipped off to Spain again.

“Do not fret, Lina, I am certain things will end happier this time,” predicted Margarita, cheerfully, taking her hand in hers, and giving it a squeeze.

“Just be mindful that King Edward has four sons so should you have another son, you might want to go with a more unique name. After a brother of yours perhaps?” Juan suggested, his tone perfectly innocent, causing both of the ladies to giggle.

March 10, 1509 

France

Prince Anne, the Duchess of Angoulême, walked through the halls of Louvre Castle, her head held high as they whispered about her.

They think I am a poor little girl who lost everything: my father, my brother, and my mother. I am sure they thought I spent a year crying in my rooms, overcome with grief, She thought bitterly.

The truth of the matter was Louise had wanted to keep her out of King Louis’ clutches for fear he might annul the marriage between her and François, wanting his heir to marry his daughter, Claude instead.

Thankfully, she had been summoned back to witness the formal engagement of nine-year-old Princess Claude and the Duke of Alençon. Despite the large age-gap, King Louis had thought it be prudent to marry his daughter was a member of the male Valois line, especially when she was the heir to Brittany.

Once the ceremony was over, Anne would return to her estates, not wanting to deal with tiresome people who would undoubtedly waste no time reminding her that she needed to prove to be more fertile than her mother.

“You are scowling,” François whispered in a warning tone, glancing sideways at the people lined up on either side of the corridor, making shallow curtsies and bows as they passed. He then added, with a teasing edge in his voice: “They might think you are not happy to be back at court, and therefore go overboard trying make you smile.”

Anne said nothing, but she did smile, stretching her lips so wide it hurt her cheeks. However, try as she might, she couldn’t stop thinking about her mother and the last time she had spoken to her.

After Edward’s death, Dowager Queen Cecily’s health had begun to fail. She barely spoke to anyone, only allowing Louise to see her in her weakened state, having no care for her daughter or for orphan granddaughter who was turned over to a nunnery just a month after Katherine of Aragon returned to Spain.

Princess Anne hadn’t seen her mother in almost a month, and she was very nervous to see her now. It was a terrifying thought, knowing that in that room the woman who had given birth to her was dying. The woman, she had reached out to, but could never quite reach, was at least extending her hand, one that felt cold and clammy.

The Dowager Queen of France looked rather small and haggard as she lay in her bed, her hair undone, her face damp with sweat.

“Not to close, sweetheart, we don’t want you to get sick,” Cecily ordered her, an odd note in her voice. Perhaps it was affection or concern.

Anne’s heart soared, and tears prickled in her eyes. This was the last few moments she would ever get with her mother. Maybe they could make up for lost time. Maybe she would apologize for ignoring her for most of her life.

Then her mother spoke again, and Anne’s heart dropped like a block of ice, shattering onto the floor.

“You need to stay healthy and strong for your destiny, my dear. You will be Queen of France, one day, and you will bring the golden age,” Cecily declared, pride shinning in her eyes.

The princess could not trust herself to speak, she instead grabbed handfuls of her dress and promptly fled the room, her vision blurred. When she reached the sanctuary of her room, she began to let out her emotions. Violently.

With a wordless scream, Anne grabbed everything not nailed down, and began to throw them around, finally letting out the building rage she had towards her mother for several years.

She wasn’t sure how long she had been doing this before someone came running into the room, and grabbed her, trying to get her to stop even though she continued to flail her arms, struggling to get away.

“LET GO OF ME!” she shouted.

“Not until you stop acting like a deranged madwoman,” François told her, as he kept a firm hold on her.

“Anne, please, your mother is dying. Whatever she said, I’m sure she didn’t mean to offend you,” Margot assured her as she ran over to her brother’s side, wanting to help calm the angry princess down.

Anne's eyes flashed angrily as she tore herself free from François' arms. “My mother. My mother. Any other mother on their deathbed, would have told their daughter how proud they were of her, how much they loved her. But my mother, God forbid, she shows me an ounce of affection. Instead, she is insisting that I will be queen because she is so desperate to cling to my brother even in death, that she wants his blood to be on the throne,” she ranted.

“That’s not exactly why she said that,” Marguerite began, glancing at the door nervously before she told François and Anne of the Woodville’ gift of visions, and how Cecily had known about the futures of her children.

 By the end of that tale, all of Anne’s anger and resentment…stayed exactly where it was. “Am I supposed to feel better? That doesn’t excuse the way she treats people. She closes herself off, keeps everyone at arm’s length even her own daughter,” she snarled, turning away from them both. “I’m not going back there. She has said what she wanted to say to me, and I have said what I wanted to say to her.”

Now as she walked the halls of the palace, Anne found herself regretting being so cold. Maybe she should have at least brought it upon herself to say goodbye to her mother. But then again, those words felt hallow even a year later.

Besides, she didn’t want to hear any more nonsense about her destiny.

If François and I do become King and Queen of France, we will bring the golden age. Not because of some dream my mother had, but because we will do everything, we can make France a place of glory and culture. Furthermore, whether we have two or ten children, we shall love them all equally, Anne decided firmly, holding her chin out in a defiant manner, almost as though she was daring the spirit of her mother to disagree.

Anne’s smile became less forced when she was greeted by Princess Claude who seemed to be able to cheer anyone up, no matter what. Then her smile became a radiant grin when she spotted a little girl holding Louise’ hand.

“Marie,” she breathed, bending down so she could pepper her niece’s face with kisses.

“In celebration of my daughter’s engagement, I thought I’d finally give in to Madame Louise’s begging, and decreed that until she reaches her sixth year, the Princess Marie shall stay with the Duke and Duchess of Angoulême,” King Louis explained, an almost fatherly expression on his face.

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Anne said gratefully, scooping the three-year-old up in her arms.

Although her words were for the monarch, her eyes remained on Louise, hoping they would convey her appreciation at the older woman’s gesture.

Cecily of York may have birthed me, but it was Louise of Savoy who loved me as mother should love a daughter.

April 21, 1509  

England

“Come to see a condemned man die?” Harry inquired, as he tossed his arm around the Prince of Wales’ shoulders. His playful tone did not match the morbidity of his words. 

Ritchie snorted. “This is your wedding, not your execution, Harry,” he admonished him, playfully punching his shoulder.

“Same thing really,” Harry muttered, shrugging before grinning at him. “Soon you will be getting married, Ritchie, what do you think that will be like?”

“I don’t know, I have six years before I have to join you and Charles in the chains of matrimony,” Ritchie quipped, causing Harry to throw back his head, and laugh.

“At least Charles gets to sleep with his wife. I have to wait at least three years before we can consummate our marriage,” Henry groused, running a hand through his hair.

“At least you will have Mistress Jane Popincourt to keep you occupied while you wait,” teased Ritchie with a grin.

“That is true, my friend, Janey will keep me very happy while my wife blossoms into a woman,” he agreed, his eyes twinkling with a bit of lust as he thought of that pretty French girl, he was currently wooing.

“I must admit I am surprised that your father isn’t just waiting until she is fifteen for you two to be wed just so he can be sure that it is consummated,” Ritchie remarked.

Considering Lady Margaret Beaufort had consummated her marriage at age twelve, and birthed her son at age thirteen, it was obvious that the Duke of Richmond was unwilling to allow his daughter-in-law to go through the same thing.

“Between you and me, I think my father was just looking for an excuse to plan something he could invite your father to,” the Earl of Pembroke admitted with a conspiratorial wink.

The Prince of Wales snorted. “Don’t get me started. It has been two years since your father retired, and of course, they are acting like they don’t miss each other. Like they don’t miss working together, and seeing each other every day,” he observed, rolling his eyes at the ridiculous men who called themselves the heads of their households. “Father hasn’t even officially named a chancellor. Rumor is he is hoping that your father will come out of retirement.”  

“They are both so stubborn,” Henry commented with a chuckle. “Unwilling to show a hint of emotion least it makes them look weak.”

“Which of course, you wouldn’t know anything about,” Ritchie jested, causing his friend to trap him in a headlock. “All right, all right, I yield. I take it back.”

Harry let go of him just as Sir Francis Bryan stormed into the room, his face like thunder. A frowning Charles Brandon followed.

“I take it you heard,” Ritchie said with a sigh, shooting his friend---and also his cousin---a sympathetic look.

“Heard what? What has Uncle Richard done this time?” Harry inquired, looking at the three men in turn, wondering what drama he had missed.

“Apparently, he got a maid pregnant. She gave birth to a girl and couldn’t afford to take of her so…” Ritchie trailed off, allowing Henry to fill in the blanks.

“Francis, I already told you, forget about that arsehole, he isn’t worth your time,” Harry reminded him before turning to Ritchie, a look of disbelief on his face. “Are you telling me that Aunt Cat is actually allowing him to let another bastard into the nursery, to be raised beside their children?”

Now he could see his mother allowing it to happen, if his father were the kind of man to shame his wife like that. But Elizabeth of York was gentle, sweet-tempered woman who would take any child into her heart regardless of whether they were related to her or not. Catherine Gordan, on the other hand, was not the type of woman who just allowed such things to happen.

“That’s how we found out about it,” Charles explained as Francis continued to glower. “They had quite a loud argument; in fact, I’m surprised it wasn’t heard by the whole castle. It seems that the Duke of York arranged for his daughter to be brought to the nursery while his wife was being churched. She just found out.”

Catherine had given birth to another boy who Richard had decided to name him Rufus. It seemed that in the meantime, her maid had given birth to her husband’s bastard and Richard had thought it best to bring the girl into nursery before his wife could find out and put a stop to it.

“He has named her Elizabeth after his mother, my grandmother,” snarled Francis, his lip curling up in disdain. “Is that lovely?” he spat out the world lovely as though it were a curse.

“Francis, please, you are taking this a little too personally,” Harry chided him.

“With all due respect, Harry, you have never been rejected by a man who you know is your real father, he knows you know, and yet prefers your other siblings, two of them bastards like you,” Francis pointed out angrily.

“Yes, but you were raised by your mother and her husband, something both Berry and this new baby will never be able to do,” Ritchie pointed out. “Perhaps he just feels that you shouldn’t be looking for another father when you have Thomas Bryan.”

“If that is really what he thought, he would have said so. No, he just doesn’t want anything to do with me,” the knight declared, hitting the wall with his fist.

“Christ’s blood, this is my wedding day, can we please just focus on that, instead of discussing Uncle Richard’s latest foul up. That man has no respect for anyone, and he won’t ever change. You are better off just ignoring him,” Harry told him firmly. “Now come along, the ceremony starts soon, and I want you all witness me getting my death sentence.”  He then walked out of the room, a swagger in his steps. Francis followed, still scowling.

“Lady Elizabeth Somerset is such a lucky girl,” Charles drawled sarcastically, meeting Ritchie’s eyes. They had to quickly look away in fear they might burst into laughter.

“I heard that!” Harry shouted from outside, causing both men to have to muffle their chortles with their hands.

After the wedding ceremony, the Duke of Richmond had thrown a lavish feast to celebrate his son’s matrimony. Everyone was in high spirits, drinking, eating, and laughing. Well not everyone. The Duchess of York had plead illness and was now in her chambers while her husband was sulking like a child, not even putting on a pretense of enjoyment. Not even the Earl of Warwick’s jokes were enough to shoo away the dark cloud hanging over Dickon’s head.

Despite the Earl of Pembroke’s disparaging words, he treated his new wife with respect, and affection, complimenting her pretty dress, listening politely as she spoke of her favorite horse, even promising to buy her a new horse.

“I was thinking that perhaps we could spend our honeymoon in Pembroke, dear Bessie, would that be agreeable with you?” Harry asked. Of course, it would only be a honeymoon in the aspect of them getting to know each other.

“I would be most pleased to travel to Wales. I suppose we will be stopping at Ludlow,” Bessie guessed, a knowing twinkle in her eyes.

“Well, we must. Ritchie gets so lonely without me,” Harry simpered, guffawing as the aforementioned teenage almost choked on his wine, causing Charles Brandon to slap his back.

“Lies. If anything, you are the one who can’t stand to be away from me for more than a few weeks,” he countered.

“Lies and slander,” came the light-hearted reply.

Their bantering was interrupted with the Duke of Richmond stood up, his cup raised, causing others to do the same.

He began, “My lords and ladies, I would like to make a toast to the Tudors and the Yorks. Forty years ago, I didn’t quite know how my life would turn out. In fact, I believe I thought it would end with myself dying as a traitor or living a miserable life of exile,” he reminisced, his lips tugging into a smile.

After a short pause, he continued, “But then I was trusted by a boy king and was loved by a princess. I won’t lie, and say my life was easy after that. However, I am glad for the choices that I made because I don’t think we would be half as secured if I had made a different decision. Now I can only hope that my son’s new wife will make him as happy as his mother made me. So, I ask you to join me in drinking in the honor of both the White and Red Roses of England.” 

“Hear, hear.”

With that, everyone took a drink of their wine. And for a moment, all was well. Then the Duchess of Richmond cried out, and nothing was the same ever again.

“Henry, Henry, what is it? What’s wrong?” Elizabeth of York asked, causing all eyes to turn back to the Duke of Richmond who had dropped his cup, and was now clutching his throat, falling backwards.

The Earl of Pembroke was up like a shot, running to his parents’ sides. “Father! Father!”

King Edward also leapt to his feet and joined his nephew and sister trying to figure out what was going on, leaving Ritchie to be the one barking out orders for a physician, and for the wedding party to return to their rooms including the young bride.

The older man stopped clawing at his throat and began pointing instead. Henry followed his father’s finger, seeing the wine that was now splattered on the floor, looking far too much like blood.

“Poison! POISON!” Henry shouted, putting the pieces together, his eyes widely darting around until they fell on the Duke of York who was staring at the scene before him with a rather blank expression. “YOU! YOU POISONED MY FATHER!”

Before his Uncle Richard could say a word, Henry had gotten up, and lunged for him, punching him in the face, knocking him to the floor.

“I did nothing,” Dickon growled, his face filled with outrage, blood dribbling from his nose to his chin.

“LIAR! Everyone knows how much you hated him. How you were jealous of him. How you wanted to be chancellor, only for King Edward to refuse to give it to you,” Henry snarled, ready to attack the man again only to be held back by Ritchie.

“Stop it!”

“He’s a murderer,” Henry shouted, trying to push his friend away so he could get at their uncle.

“Do you have any proof of that? At no point was Uncle Richard near your father let alone his wine. I have sent guards after the cupbearer. Until then please calm down. Making accusations won’t help anyone,” Ritchie told him, keeping a firm grip on the earl’s arm.

Henry opened his mouth to argue, but whatever he was going to say died on his tongue as both boys heard a strangled sob, turning around to see King Edward had buried his face in the Duke of Richmond’s chest, and was sobbing like a child.

“Please don’t go, please don’t leave me. I need you, Papa, please don’t go, please. Please Papa, please,” Edward begged.

The younger Henry Tudor fell to his knees, a hand over his mouth as he watched the light fade from his father’s eyes. His mother was sobbing openly, clutching her brother as they both cried.

Ritchie began to say a prayer, hoping it would be enough until the Richmond’s chaplain could arrive, and do the last rites.

Henry Tudor, the first Duke of Richmond, who fought a battle to win the crown for a boy who in another life would have been his rival, was dead, taken just brutally as his oldest son.

April 28, 1509

The events after the wedding seemed to blur together. The cupbearer was found dead in the woods, his throat slit. According to the other servants, that unseen to the nobles, he had slipped away shortly after filling the Duke of Richmond’s cup. He then tried to flee the castle, only to be denied a horse by the stablemaster, and therefore was forced to find another way to disappear without being noticed.

Many suspected that his co-conspirator had found him and silenced him for good in order to hide their identity. Unfortunately, it was working as a week had passed, and they had no leads.

Although the entire Tudor family had taken their patriarch’s death hard. But none had taken as hard as the Countess of Richmond and Derby. The old woman had clung to her fantasy of her son being king for so long that her son’s murder just added to her grief, causing her to fall deathly ill almost immediately afterwards.

When Henry walked into his grandmother’s bedchamber, he almost surprised to see her looking so frail and defeated, nothing like the formidable woman he was used to.

“Grandmother,” he greeted her politely, sitting far away enough from her that, he wouldn’t catch her illness.

“Have they found the treacherous knave yet?” Margaret demanded, not bothering to beat around the bush. She had precious little time, and she would not waste it on pointless pleasantries.

“Not yet, my lady Grandmother,” replied Henry, letting out a heavy sigh. “But I assure you that His Majesty is looking most diligently for the culprit.”

Margaret let out a wheezy laugh that quickly turned into a series of hacking coughs. “Bah. The king is too busy moping as he has done for the past six years. I will give him credit where it is due; before his wife’s death, he was a hard worker, but even then, he was dependent on my son. Not that I am upset about that, mind you. This gave Henry, at least, some of the power that was rightfully his,” she sneered, her nose wrinkling in disdain.

Henry did not refute his grandmother’s words, as he could not help but think that while his royal uncle had locked himself him his chambers, it had fallen on him and Ritchie to take up the burden of statecraft.

“I swear to you, Grandmother, we will find out who has killed father, I will not rest until he is brought to justice,” the 2^nd Duke of Richmond vowed passionately, already imagining driving his sword through the murderer, still adamant it was the Duke of York as he was the only one with a motive. “It doesn’t matter if he outranks me, I will make him pay.”

“You suspect the Duke of York,” Margaret said coolly. She had not been at her grandson’s wedding, having caught a cold a few days before. I should be thankful I did as I would have broken down completely had my one and only child died in front of my very eyes.

“Who else could it be?”

Lady Margaret gave him a look that practically screamed How stupid are you? “Men jealous of your father’s power, who want to see your father dead out of petty revenge. And no that does not just describe that foolish flop of a boy,” she deadpanned.

“All right, Grandmother, who else then?” Henry inquired, a raised eyebrow.

“Now the Duke of York is the most obvious suspect, and too stupid to realize that he would be the most obvious suspect. Then there is the pompous Earl of Northumberland who is a complete moron, blaming my son for the lack of privileges, and titles that he thinks he is owed because his sister managed to snare herself a king,” the old countess summarized, rolling her eyes. “Then there is the Duke of Buckingham.”

“Buckingham? But he has never had a quarrel with father,” Henry pointed out. “In fact, if anything he would be more likely to poison the Duke of York.”  Everyone knew Edward Stafford still had yet to forgive his brother-in-law for impregnating Anne Stafford who was now the Countess of Huntingdon.

“I was getting there. Don’t interrupt me. Buckingham is a greedy, power-hungry man who has wanted to step into your father’s place as the king’s right-hand man for a while now. And considering he had to know that York would be suspected, he may have thought he would be killing two birds with one stone,” Margaret explained.

“You make good points, Grandmother, I shall keep an eye on all three of these men, and see what I can find out,” Henry told her, his brow furrowed as his mind raced, trying to figure out who was more likely to pull such an underhanded scheme.

“Good boy. My son deserved so much more than he got. My poor noble boy. They took advantage of his good heart, tricking him into forsaking his birthright,” the old woman cried, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief. “He deserved to die in his bed, King of England, surrounded by his many heirs. “Make me a promise, Henry, promise me that you will see those who destroyed your father pay.”

“I swear, Grandmother, I will avenge him,” her grandson replied, a thunderous look on his face. “Even if it takes decades, I will find the person responsible and when I am through with him, he will beg to be executed.”

Margaret smiled, pleased by the sadistic note in his voice, wanting whoever killed her son to suffer much pain before they were given the sweet release of death.

She hoped that Henry would do more than find her son’s killer, she wanted her grandson to finally oust the Yorks from the throne and take his rightful place as King of England. Her dream had died with her boy, but it could live through her grandson.

All he needed was a chance.

Miles away the Duke of York was paying a visit to the Earl of Warwick’s estates. The two men were in the Earl’s private chambers, drinking wine as he discussed his woes.

“As if it is bad enough that Cat is refusing to be in the same room as me, the new Duke of Richmond has been telling everyone that I am the one who killed his father,” Dickon growled, an angry expression on his face.

Warwick scoffed. “No one would believe a word of that. You would never sully your hands by murdering the late Duke of Richmond,” he declared.

“Oh, I would,” Richard growled, causing his cousin to look at him in shock. “But I wouldn’t use poison, that is a woman’s weapon, a coward’s weapon. If I wanted the duke dead, I would have killed him using my bare hands.”

“I wouldn’t say poison is a coward’s weapon. Perhaps the culprit merely thought that he would be overlooked,” Warwick suggested, an odd note in his voice. “I have been thinking about this for a while. Obviously, the true murderer had already gotten the cupbearer’s help before the wedding, perhaps even before the man was hired. Elizabeth told me he was a recent addition. So, the mastermind puts his weapon in the household, waits for some big event to happen before having his accomplice put the poison in the wine, while making sure everyone sees him as a guest, looking as though he is enjoying himself so to throw the suspicion off of him.”

“That is clever,” Dickon agreed gruffly, nursing his goblet.

“I thought so too, then I realized that person who did it is probably going out of his way to deflect blame onto someone else,” Warwick speculated, his chest puffed out in pride.

The dark-haired man’s eyes widened as realization dawned on him. “You think Henry murdered his own father?” he asked. For all my distrust of the Tudors, I never thought they would be so cold-blooded to kill one of their own.

“Well think about it. Henry Tudor wants his inheritance, wants to get in good with the king, and hates you so much, he wants to destroy your reputation. What better way to get all three things by being the grieving son whose father was murdered by his treacherous uncle,” Warwick suggested. “You said it yourself, the Tudors are playing the long game. Perhaps Henry Tudor decided to play a game of his own.”

“True, but patricide? I don’t know. For all my problems with my nephew, I cannot see him killing the man, he idolizes especially when he is his flesh and blood,” Dickon said skeptically, swirling his wine around as he gazed into it, getting lost in thoughts.

“I have paid a visit to the Tudor numerous times over the years when Dorothy wants to visit her aunt. I have heard the younger Henry get into loud arguments with his father. One time I heard him call his father a coward for giving the crown away instead of keeping it himself,” the earl told him with a sad shake of his head.

The Duke of York sank back in his chair, wondering if it were possible for his sister to give birth to a bloody thirsty monster, one who was so murderous, he would kill his own father for his ambitions.

Then he recalled his mother’s dream about a war, and it caused a shiver to go down his spine.

“You maybe on to something, but if that is true, I doubt anyone will believe us,” he remarked. “We must figure out another way to keep that boy from harming anyone else.”

“Whatever happens, Dickon, you know I’m on your side, and I will do anything to help you,” Warwick assured him loyally.

After many years of people not believing in the Tudor threat, it was nice to hear that, and for the first time since he had arrived, Richard smiled, and raised his glass in a silent toast.

Warwick copied his gesture before changing the subject to something much more pleasant: his latest mistress.

Chapter Text

November 21, 1509

Her first wedding had been a spectacular event, much cheering, celebrating throughout France. The commons didn’t care that Katherine was the daughter of their ancient enemy, and how many remembered the hated Isabeau of Bavaria, she wouldn’t have been surprised if they did not want to accept a foreign queen.

When she was leaving for Spain, crowds of people lined up on the beach, promising to keep her in their hearts and prayers wishing her well, and calling her good Queen Kat even though she had lost that title upon her husband's death.

Upon arriving on the English shores, she received just as much as a warm welcome---from her new subjects at least; her new family’s reaction to her was much more mixed.

She had arrived at Dogmersfield less than a week ago before making her way to the city of London being escorted by the Duke of Norfolk, and the Duke of Buckingham. Upon arriving at the Palace of Placentia, she was given a few hours to change her clothes, and freshen up before she had met her soon-to-be husband.

King Edward’s hair was growing prematurely grey, with the wrinkles and the bags under his eyes, he looked more like a man her father’s age. He was dressed head to toe in black. He greeted her with a formal kiss on the hand, and he seemed to be looking past her when he spoke to her.

“Your Majesty, I hope you are enjoying your time in England,” Edward had said in a somber tone.

“Very much so, Your Majesty,” replied Katherine, feeling a bit awkward, but not wanting to let it show.

“I trust your journey here was pleasant?”

“It was,” Katherine answered.

And that had the extent of her first conversation with her new husband.

The wedding ceremony had been small, just a private ceremony at the Church of the Observant Friars. The lack of opulence did upset Katherine somewhat, as she felt that she was being treated as though she was lesser than the late Queen of England. However, she acknowledged that it was a second marriage for both of them, so they had no need to make it too extravagant.

After the ceremony, Edward took her aside, saying he had people he wanted her to meet.

“If it would please you, my lady, I wish to introduce to you to your stepchildren save Eleanora,” Edward paused, wincing at his daughter’s name as if it pained him. “She writes her apologizes, but she is with child, and her husband does not think she should be journeying in her condition.”

“I shall pray for her health, and that of the unborn babe,” Katherine proclaimed, vowing inwardly to send her stepdaughter a handmade cap and gown for the baby.

That got her a nod before the monarch lead her to another room where her six other stepchildren were waiting for her.

Prince Richard of Wales stood tall, the bewitching green eyes of his Woodville kin shining brightly. He was a handsome man of seventeen, and she had no doubt he would make a fine husband for her niece. He made an effort to be friendly to her, greeting her warmly, kissing her hand and asking her how she fared.

“My second son, Prince Edward, Duke of Exeter, Earl of Ulster,” King Edward continued. Katherine couldn’t help but notice that he and his namesake both had the same somber expressions.

“Your Majesty, it is an honor to meet you,” the teenager greeted her politely, looking at her almost critically, as if he were mentally comparing her to his mother.

“The honor is all mine.”

“Prince Thomas, Duke of Somerset, Earl of Rivers,” Edward announced.

The boy of nine or eight, took a few steps forward, a bouquet of flowers in his hands which shook as he held them out to her. “For you, Your Majesty,” he stuttered, looking at his feet.

“Thank you, Your Highness, I love them very much,” Katherine told him sweetly, bending down so she could pat his head, before taking the flowers from him, and handing them to Maria.

“My youngest son, Prince Henry,” Edward introduced, his eyes gleaming with sorrow as he thought of the boy’s namesake.

According to what Cecily once told me, he saw Duke Henry as a father figure. I can only imagine the pain he is going through, especially when it was so recent, and they have yet to find the culprit responsible for such a grievous crime, Katherine mused as she sent the young boy a winning smile which he returned.

“My daughters, Princess Charlotte, and Princess Elizabeth,” Edward finished, gesturing to the two girls.

Princess Charlotte did a curtsy, and muttered a greeting, but it was clear to all that she was not happy to be here.

The youngest of the bunch, at age six, Elizabeth looked up at Katherine with eyes glowing with happiness. “Are you our new Mama?” she questioned, hopefully, making the Spanish Princess’ heart ache, knowing that she had spent her formative years with no mother to care for her.

“No, she isn’t. She’s just Father’s new wife!” Charlotte snapped, glaring at her sister as if she had just said something treasonous.

Katherine could not help but flinch at those words, thinking they were truer than the girl had intended. It was bad enough that she was a young widow who had failed her husband’s country by not given her husband an heir, she was now to be a king’s second wife, her children behind their siblings, getting the second best of everything, while she would forever be in Queen Eleanor’s shadow.

I failed to give France an heir, and I will never have the chance to do so with England, She thought miserably.

Her only consolation was she would have a second chance at being a queen and a mother.

“Charlotte, don’t be rude!” Edward barked, fixing his daughter with a hard look.

“But it’s true, isn’t it? She is not our Mama. She is nothing!” Charlotte shouted.

“Mistress Howard, please take my daughter to her bedchamber, where she will remain until she remembers her manners!” the monarch commanded, his eyes flashing furiously. He then walked over to Katherine, wordlessly offering her his arm.

As they walked out of the antechamber, and through the corridors, Katherine decided to speak up, if only to end the suffocating silence between them. “I hope that the Princess Charlotte will not be punished too harshly. I am sure that she was merely tired and did not mean to offend me.”

“She is eleven; old enough to know better than to speak that way to anyone let alone her new stepmother,” Edward said in a hard voice.

“True, but I cannot imagine it must be pleasant for her especially if she thinks her mother is being replaced,” Katherine opined softly, thinking of how she might have felt if her mother had died when she was a young girl, and her father remarried years later. While she certainly wouldn’t have reacted the way Charlotte did, she would have at least felt a bit resentful over the matter.

For the first time since they had met, Edward smiled. “You have a tender heart, my lady. I am hopeful that Charlotte will come around. I have heard it from Buckingham that you have already won over my subjects which makes me certain that you shall do the same for my children,” he speculated.

“With God as my witness, Your Majesty, I shall be a good queen, wife and mother,” avowed the Spanish princess, her eyes glittering with determination.

They came to a stop at the doorway that the led to the queen’s apartments. From the melancholy look on Edward’s face, it was clear that he had not been in there since his wife’s death.

He rallied himself within seconds, giving her a soft and apologetic smile that made it clear he knew how awkward she must be feeling.

“Please, call me Edward, and if these rooms are not to your liking, do not hesitate to tell me. I will see to it that you have every comfort you desire,” Edward assured her as he led her into her chambers, signaling for the ladies and gentlemen who had accompanied them to stay outside.

The walls were decorated with rich red brocade tapestries depicting scenes of famous English legends or kings. To Katherine’s delight, she could pick out a few hangings that had her badge and coat of arms on them.

“I am most pleased that you would go through all this trouble for me,” she complimented, glad that he was at least making an effort to think of her, even if his thoughts still largely remained with Queen Eleanor.

“I will not lie to you, Kat…may I call you Kat?”

“Of course.”

“I will not lie to you, Kat, I am very much still in love with my wife,” Edward confessed regretfully, rubbing his face. “But just as you have made a vow, I shall make one to you, that I shall be a good and faithful husband.”

“Edward, you are not the only one who is suffering from a broken heart. I will not try to replace your late wife, just try to fill the hole she left behind,” gushed Katherine, reaching out to stroke his arm.

The English ruler patted her hand, a glimmer of affection in his eyes. “Your words are music to my ears,” he flattered her.

Katherine smiled genuinely, glad that the initial awkwardness seemed to be coming to an end.

As the conversation turned to more begin topics, her thoughts began to turn to her life in France with her Edward and Mary. She had tried so hard to not think of them, fearing she would lose control of her emotions, but as she and her new husband continued talking, she began to realize the truth of his earlier behavior.

He was thinking of his first wedding. That was why he could hardly look at me. He was afraid that he wouldn’t be able to go through with it, Katherine speculated.

She had been right when she had told him that he was not the only one suffering from a broken heart.

Although the proud Spanish princess still partly resented feeling like she would always come second, she understood that she could not come into this marriage seeing Eleanor as a shade she would have to banish, shoes she would have to step in, a rival for her to hate.

No, Eleanor had a husband and children who loved her very much, and Katherine’s duty was to mend the broken family, stitching them back together as she would a torn shirt.

Meanwhile the Duke of Exeter stomped into the royal nursery, barely concealed fury on his face. Both Thomas and Henry immediately rose, either to stop their older brother, or to shield their sister.

However, Edward was faster, and had already slapped Charlotte across the face by the time they had reached her.

To her credit, Charlotte did not cry out as she had the time their mother died, and he had hit her for saying that it was Elizabeth’s fault. Instead, the eleven-year-old glared at her brother, her chin sticking out defiantly.

“You shouldn’t hit ladies,” she declared haughtily.

“I didn’t hit a lady. I hit a selfish brat,” Edward countered, his lip curled in disdain. “How dare you speak to our stepmother like that. How dare you embarrass us by acting like a child. Actually no. Elizabeth had better manners than you when she was three.”

“That woman is not our mother! And it is not fair that we are expected to treat like she is,” Charlotte exclaimed, stamping her foot on the ground.

“YOU ARE EXPECTED TO TREAT HER WITH RESPECT!” Ed roared, spit flying out of his mouth.

“Do you even care that Father married her to replace Mama? Do you even care about Mama anymore?” accused Charlotte, her eyes brimming with frustrated tears.

Three things happened at once. Ed’s face turned from red to purple. Thomas tackled him to the ground while Hal stood in front of Charlotte protectively. But just before the chaos could erupt, their youngest sister---who had been doing her best to remain out of sight----managed to make them all freeze.

“Ritchie!” Elizabeth cried, running into the arms of her brother, burying her face in his doublet. “Ed hit Charlotte. Charlotte said that Papa’s new wife isn’t our mama, and we shouldn’t treat her like she is. Ed said that we should treat her with respect. And then Charlotte---”

“I heard what she said back,” Ritchie interjected, giving her a smile, kissing the top of her head. “Why don’t you go with Hal and Tom to find your governess?” he suggested, placing her on the ground.

Tom gave Ed a warning look while Hal’s relief for a chance to escape was palpable. Elizabeth seemed almost disappointed to be sent away, but she obeyed without a question, grabbing Hal and Tom’s hands as though she was the one escorting them instead of the other way around.

Ritchie’s expression changed from affection to ire the minute they had left, glaring at Ed, and Charlotte in turn. He decided to start with his brother.

“You are fourteen. Far too old to be using your fists instead of your words,” he scolded. “If I told Father that you hit anyone, let alone our sister, you would not be allowed to stay at court for a very long time.”

“But she---” began Ed.

“I don’t care what she said. You do not touch her,” Ritchie commanded, his expression fierce as he stared down his younger brother. “Is that clear?”

The fourteen-year-old prince had a petulant scowl on his face. “Yes,” he hissed through gritted teeth.

“Father is planning on making you Lord Deputy of Ireland in a few years. He will not do so if you don’t learn to be more diplomatic instead of flying off the handle when someone does something wrong,” Ritchie remarked.

“With all due respect, I have a feeling the Irish will be much more civilized,” Ed grumbled, sending Charlotte a rueful glower.

“Humph. Well, you wouldn’t know anything about being civilized,” Charlotte sneered, with a derisive sniff. She shrank down when Ritchie rounded on her.

“Listen to me, and listen to me well, Charlotte. You are a princess, so you will act like one. Let’s put aside that you should never tell anyone, even if they were the lowest spit boy in the kitchens, that they are nothing, Katherine of Aragon has lost her husband, and was forced to leave her daughter behind. Both she and Father have lost somebody. As far as I am concerned, she will be good for him because she might be able to make him happy. Don’t you want our father to be happy?” Ritchie inquired.

“Yes,” the princess answered, looking down at her shoes. “But I just don’t want her to replace our mother.”

Ritchie’s eyes softened, and he heaved a heavy sigh. “She won’t. Besides, don’t you think our mother would want you to give Queen Katherine a chance? She wants Father to be happy, and I think she would want us to have someone to be a mother to us while she cannot,” he opined softly.

“I guess that’s true,” Charlotte admitted grudgingly.

“So, will you give her a chance? For Mother,” the Prince of Wales implored her.

Charlotte nodded mutely.

“Good because I am dealing with a lot lately, and I very much do not want to add you two to the people I need to keep an eye on,” Ritchie informed his siblings sternly.

Between my despondent father, my spiraling best friend, and my can’t-stop-causing trouble-uncle, I don’t think I can take anymore drama, Ritchie added inwardly.

It was growing dark, and the candles were getting low. From the sounds of music and laughter that seemed to resound throughout the castle, the celebration feast was in full swing.

Not that the Duke of Richmond cared, he was instead squinting at the crude drawing he made of a table, names of the people sitting there, and of the servants that were in the room with them were scrawled on top of the dots that represented the guests, and the victim.

There were witness statements scatted about the desk, with words underlined or circled, little notes were scrawled in the margins.

A journal was at the side of the table, filled with detailed entries of findings, thoughts, and theories.

Henry was so engrossed by his work that he didn’t seem to notice that the door open, and Ritchie came in, holding an apple, a tart, and a leg of mutton wrapped up in a napkin.

“You keep missing meals, Harry, and you are going to be skin and bones,” Ritchie noted playfully.

“Not hungry,” Henry grunted, not even looking up.

“You know I asked Charles where you were, and he lied to me, saying you were sick,” the younger man reported, as he shut the door behind him.

“Uh-huh.”

“I pressed him, and he finally told me that the reason you weren’t at your king and uncle’s wedding feast was because you were up here, looking over things, you have already looked at a hundred times,” the Prince of Wales continued, placing the food on the table, trying to catch Henry’s eye.

“I see,” came the disinterested response.

“Of course, if my father had known, he’d probably be here with you,” conceded Ritchie as he glanced at the journal, reading the latest entry.

“Most likely.”

“Anyhow, I told Charles that I would talk to you, and bring you something to eat because I was your best friend,” Richard narrated, as he discreetly flipped the page over so he could continue reading. “He objected to that quite strongly, saying that I was a rotten liar, and that he was your best friend.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes, well I wasn’t too happy about that, so I killed him, and I am now wearing his teeth around my neck,” Ritchie finished in a droll voice.

“That sounds de---wait what!” Henry spluttered, his head snapping up. “That’s just sick.”

“Well clearly, I needed to get your attention somehow. But to be completely honest, I would deck Charles if he claimed that he was your best friend,” Ritchie jested, a small smirk tugging at his lips.

“Well as flattered as I am that my friendship means so much to you, I have work to do, so if I may ask---” Henry started to say.

“As your future king, I am refusing to leave,” interrupted Ritchie as he sat down to prove his point.

Henry glowered at him. “I hate when you use that against me,” he groused.

“Oh, come on, it keeps you humble,” Ritchie jested, taking advantage of Henry looking away, to inconspicuously turn to another page, only to have to jerk his fingers out of the way before they could hit by Henry slamming his journal closed.

“Do you know what keeps me humble?” the young duke asked, in a deathly quiet voice. “My brother pushing me out of the way when the ceiling collapses on him. My father who was so loyal and dedicated to his king, even stepping away when he thought he had too much power, being poisoned like he was a rat invading the pantry.”

“Henry, I understand that you are feeling frustrated,” Ritchie soothed.

“YOU UNDERSTAND NOTHING!” Henry roared, slamming his fist on the table, causing some papers to fly off. “It has been over six months, and I have found absolutely nothing. Nothing that can tell me why that damn cupbearer would do this or who paid him. I have men trying to locate the seller of the poison used to kill my father. I have men tracking down any known associates of that bastard who put the poison in my father’s drink. I have even interrogated our steward to find out where he found that blasted murdering servant. And yet, I have nothing!”

And with that, Henry all but collapsed in his chair, placing his head in his hands.

“You are going to drive yourself mad if you continue to obsess over this,” Ritchie observed.

“You think I don’t know that. Do you think I wouldn’t rather be hunting or dancing, or pollinating pretty flowers?” Henry challenged, although his voice was considerably softer than it had been a few minutes ago. “But I can’t. I have to find justice for my father. It is the least he deserves.”

“What he deserves is a son not losing himself to obsession, taking care of his wife and younger children, working hard to his successor. When I am king, I will need a right-hand man, and I want it to be you. We’ll be like our fathers, working together,” Ritchie speculated, getting up to clap Henry on the shoulder. “I promise you, that we will never stop searching for answers, but you cannot lose yourself to this, Harry. Please for your mother’s and siblings’ sake.”

Henry sighed, glancing at the table, that was still covered with papers. “I guess you have a point,” he muttered, reaching to grab the napkin, licking his lips as he eyed the leg of mutton. “No honey cakes?”

“I think the words you are looking for is thank you for bringing me food, Your Most Splendid Highness,” Ritchie told him, rolling his eyes.

“You’re only the Most Splendid if you brought me honey cakes,” Henry shot back before taking a bite of the leg.

“Next time, I’ll just let you starve,” Richard declared as he got up to pour two glasses of wine.

“Thank you, Ritchie,” Henry said, his words a bit garbled as he chewed his meat.

“Hasn’t anyone ever told you do not talk with your mouth full?” the teenage prince lectured, making a face. “God’s teeth, sometimes I think I am the only mature person in this entire castle.”

“You came in here saying that you had made a necklace out of Charles’ teeth,” Henry recalled, giving him a knowing look.

“Eat your supper.”

The Duke of York had not really wanted to go to his brother’s wedding. It wasn’t that he was against Edward getting married again, in fact he was hopeful that the new wife could bring some joy to his brother who beginning to become morose especially after the Duke of Richmond’s death.

However, the fact that Edward was getting married to Richard’s ex-fiancée, Katherine of Aragon, made things a bit awkward for him so even though he had accepted the invitation, he had rather hoped for an excuse to skip the wedding.

Eventually he could stall no more, and just decided to send his gift, and apologize to Edward the next time he saw him.

However, he now wished that he had gone to court instead of choosing to stay home.

“YOU BASTARD!” Catherine bellowed, as she stormed into the room, throwing something at him which he caught reflectively.

It was a locket. A locket he had given to Sarah. She was such a sweet girl, never asking him for anything. She hadn’t even wanted to tell him she was pregnant, apologizing to him as if it was her fault. She swore she would ask nothing of him, that she could raise the babe by herself. She needed nothing, even if her family threw her out, she would be able to make do.

(He wasn’t so stupid to think she wasn’t exaggerating a bit just to inspire sympathy. He still wanted to do right by her regardless).

“How did you get this? What did you do to her?” Richard interrogated her, worrying she had fired that poor apprentice seamstress, throwing her out to the streets.

Catherine’s gaze was murderous. “You care so much about your mistresses, but no care at all for your wife!” she snarled through gritted teeth. “You said after Elizabeth, you would not have any more bastards raised with our children.”

“And Sarah’s babe will not be raised with our children,” Richard protested, as he pocketed the locket, vowing inwardly to find Sarah as soon as he had calmed down his wife. “I am just moving her into one of the rooms, just to make sure she is comfortable until the workers have finished building her house.”

Catherine’s face turned from red to white. “You are building your mistress a house?” she repeated, sounding like she didn’t know whether to cry or laugh. Her body began to shake uncontrollably. “Tell me are you planning on building a castle for your next whore or will she be moving into my bedchamber?!” 

“Sweetheart, please. These children are my responsibility especially when their mothers can’t afford to take care of them,” Dicken told her gently, trying to get her to see reason.

“I have a perfect solution for that. STOP IMPREGNATING THE SERVANTS!” Catherine screamed, starting to look a bit wild.

“Catherine, please, you are becoming hysterical,” Richard murmured, walking over to her, putting his hand on her arm, hoping to comfort her.

His wife slapped his hand away, backing away as if he had scalded her. “Don’t touch me. I never want you to touch me again!” Catherine shouted. “As far as I am concerned, our marriage is over.”

“You can’t mean that,” Richard whispered, grabbing her, and pulling her towards him. “I love you.”

The woman let out a mirthless laugh. “No, you don’t. If you did, you wouldn’t hurt me like this,” she snarled, tearing herself away from him. “I am packing my things, and I will be leaving for Scotland in the morning.”

“No, you can’t go. You can’t leave. I forbid it,” Richard told her, his tone growing desperate. “Please don’t leave me. Don’t leave the children. Please Cate, I will do whatever you want. I can change. I promise, I will never sleep with any other woman ever again. Just don’t go.”

Suddenly Catherine’s anger faded, her face crumbled, and there was sympathy in her eyes. She kissed him passionately. “I love you, Dickon,” she confessed as they parted. “I will always love you. But I know you won’t change. You will always be who you are.”

“Cate.”

His wife put a hand on his lips, silencing him. “I know you aren’t lying when you say you promise me. But I also know you won’t keep it. You are a man filled with lust. You cannot stay true to any woman,” she opined. Her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

Richard suddenly dropped to the floor, clutching her dress like a child. “I swear to you, on my mother’s grave, I will not ever look at another woman who isn’t you. Please, Cate, stay here. There will be no one but you,” he vowed. “Please, please, my love, give me one more chance. I beg of you, one more chance.”

Catherine closed her eyes, and swallowed a lump in her throat, trying to stay firm. But it was so hard when her husband sounded so pitiful.

At last, she spoke: “All right, Dickon, one more chance. Your final chance. Do not make regret it.”

Chapter Text

February 16, 1510

“To my grandson, Prince Hans of Denmark!” King Edward proclaimed, rising his glass; his expression happier than it had been in months, perhaps years.

Katherine tried to smile as she raised her goblet as well, but her thoughts were in France where her daughter was just turning four. She longed to be there, showering her with love and gifts.

She had written her daughter thousands of letters, knowing that her former sister-in-law would read them to the little girl. She prayed that one day she could see her daughter in person as the words on a paper just weren’t enough to truly describe how much she loved her precious Mary.

“To think, it has been almost two decades when we were celebrating the birth of the princess herself,” the Duke of York declared, a fond smile on his face, his eyes twinkling as he thought of time long gone.

Katherine frowned as she glanced in her brother-in-law’s direction, stamping down the rush of annoyance she felt towards him. He had returned to court shortly after she was crowned, offering no apologies for snubbing her wedding and her coronation. He even had the nerve to introduce his wife to her, acting as though she would have no problem with meeting the woman, he had spurned her for.

Although, considering how he treats that poor lady, practically rubbing his affairs in her face, I think it is safe to say that I was lucky not to be married to man so unworthy of me, she scoffed coldly.

“It was a most merry time,” Edward remarked, his face falling for a minute, as he thought of the people they had lost over the years. “Sometimes it feels as if it were just yesterday, and other times like it was even longer than twenty years.”

“The past was full of both joy and sorrow,” Katherine spoke up when an uneasy silence fell over the hall. “But let us not look backwards, and instead continue forwards to what we hope to be a glorious future.”

“I will drink to that!” Edward declared, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically, beaming at Katherine.

“Hear, hear,” the guests chorused as they clinked their goblets together.

“Thank you for that,” the king whispered gratefully after taking a sip of his wine, and then setting his glass back down. He leaned towards her so his words could be only heard by her.

“For what, my lord?” inquired Katherine, her brow knitting together in confusion.

“For saving the feast from my bout of melancholy,” Edward explained, averting his eyes.

“Well, you aren’t the only one who is feeling a bit melancholy today,” Katherine noted, finding her own gaze suddenly being drawn to her lap.

Edward reached for her hand, squeezing it gently. “Your daughter’s birthday,” he guessed.

“Perhaps it is silly,” she stated, her heart clenching. “Every year she grows older without me. Soon I won’t even be a memory to her, simply a person she knows exists on paper.”

“It is not silly,” Edward contradicted, shifting in his seat so he could be closer to her. “One day, we shall visit France, and we can see Mary, spend a few days with her. I’d like to get to know my stepdaughter.”

“That would be wonderful,” Katherine agreed, kissing the back of his hand. “I hope that we will also have children of our own. I may never get the chance to watch Mary flourish, but hopefully I can see ours grow up.”

“We shall work on that,” Edward decided, with an impish grin. “Every night if we must.”

His grin only widened when he saw a pink flush on her cheeks.

After the meal was finished, the tables were cleared, and the courtiers now were mingling with each other.

Ritchie was about to slip away, wanting to retire early, when out of nowhere, his uncle grabbed his shoulder.

“Don’t you dare,” Dickon admonished him playfully. “I rarely see you outside the privy council, Nephew, and I am determined to change that tonight.”

“As you wish, Uncle,” acquiesced Ritchie, shrugging the hand off his shoulder. It wasn’t that he wasn’t fond of his uncle, but there were times when he found the man overbearing.

The fact that he was always suspicious of the Tudors did not help matters especially when the current head was like a brother to the Prince of Wales.

“You are eighteen, far too young to be so obsessed with statecraft,” Dickon remarked. “When I was your age, I was living my life to the fullest.”

It is hard to live my life to the fullest when ever since mother died and Richmond left, I have had to run the country with no help from you, Ritchie sneered to himself, trying to not to scowl.

“I suppose I am my father’s son,” he said aloud.

The Duke of York guffawed at that, clapping Ritchie on the back, nearly toppling him over. “You and Ned were indeed cut from the same cloth,” he observed. “Both of you always wanting to do your duties.” 

“Well, we do have an obligation to our subjects,” Ritchie opined dryly, rubbing the sore spot on his back.

“Obligations, pah!” Dickon exclaimed, waving his hands dismissively. “That is just something people say so they can force things like arranged marriages.”

Ritchie was beginning to suspect that he was not going to like what his uncle would say next. He glanced around the room, praying that Queen Katherine and his father were far away so not to overhear the Duke of York.

Thankfully, they were on the other side of the room, a sea of chatting courtiers keeping them blissfully unaware of the conversation between the two Richards.

“If you and my brother weren’t so duty minded, you wouldn’t be stuck with marrying that Spanish cow and her ugly niece,” Dickon finished, jerking his head towards his former fiancée with a derisive snort.

“What did you just say?” Henry boomed, causing Ritchie to nearly jump out of his skin. He had not noticed Henry and Brandon coming up from behind him.

The Duke of Richmond’s shout caused the banquet hall to fall silent, heads whipping around to see what was going on.

“I was not talking to you,” Dickon snapped, glaring at his sister’s son.

“No, but you were talking about your queen,” Henry pointed out hotly. “Now why don’t you repeat your words so everyone can hear you?” he challenged, an ounce of vindictiveness in his voice.

“Harry,” warned Ritchie, not wanting a fight to break out.

His friend ignored him, not tearing his gaze away from their uncle. “Well, go on,” Henry dared Dickon. “If you have got something to say about the queen, have the decency to say it to her face instead of being a coward, flinging mud at her when her back is turned.”

“Dickon,” King Edward spoke up, his voice like ice. “What did you say about my wife?”

“I didn’t say anything,” the Duke of York spluttered. “His Grace must have misheard me.” 

“I misheard you calling the queen a Spanish cow?” Henry inquired, his eyebrow quirked, causing some people to gasp in shock, others like the queen’s ladies, and the king himself just looked outraged.

“I never said anything of the sort,” Dickon snarled, his face like a storm cloud. He seemed to be trying to shoot lighting from his eyes, wanting to smite Henry for daring to call him out on his words. He then turned to Ritchie, with a pleading expression. “I didn’t say anything like that, right?”

The Prince of Wales swallowed, feeling torn. On one hand, he knew his uncle did in fact call Katherine a cow, and furthermore insulted Leonor as well. To deny that would get Henry in trouble and would also do irreparable harm to their friendship.

On the other hand, he really did not want to make matters worse, and things more tense, by causing a rift in his father’s relationship with the Duke of York. He knew that his uncle would see him telling the truth as him siding with Henry against him just as he felt Edward did with the elder Henry Tudor.

Thankfully, he was saved from making that choice by the queen. “It matters not who said what,” Katherine declared in a commanding voice. “We are celebrating the birth of Prince Hans. Let us not mar the evening with petty disputes.”


Ritchie felt a rush of affection for his stepmother as he and Charles Brandon practically dragged Henry away from the Duke of York.

“If Charlotte had insulted her stepmother like that, her governess would have boxed her ears and sent her to her rooms,” Henry objected before Ritchie could even open his mouth, cutting off the rebuke.

“You are not our uncle’ governess,” retorted the prince. “And be honest, Henry, you were looking for a reason to fight with him.”

“He doesn’t deserve to be here,” Henry snarled, not denying the accusation. His hands were clenched into fists. “I know he is behind my father’s death. I don’t know how he did it, but I know he did.”

Ritchie heaved a heavy sigh, exchanging a worried glance with Charles. Neither of them knew what to say to their friend. The bad blood between Richard of York and Henry Tudor seemed to be getting worse as the years went by, and soon it would reach the boiling point.

The red-haired duke seemed to take their trepidation as them doubting him. “Out of everyone, Uncle Richard is the only one who hated father enough to want him dead."

“You have found no evidence supporting that aside from his grudge,” Ritchie disputed. He felt a prick of guilt when he saw his friend wince at the reminder that he had no evidence against anyone despite it being almost a year since the old Duke of Richmond’s death.

“Not to mention the timing doesn’t add up,” Charles reasoned. “The Duke of York was with you when the cupbearer attempted to flee. Did he ever leave your sight in-between the time where your father died, and the servant was found dead?”

“No,” Henry admitted reluctantly, his brow furrowed either in anger or frustration. Then his head snapped up, his eyes widening. “He could have hired someone to do it. That’s it! I’ve been doing this all wrong. I have been trying to figure out the connection between the cupbearer and the culprit. Maybe there was no connection!”

Charles and Ritchie swapped a confused look.

“Uh, what?” Brandon prompted, blinking in confusion.

“David was in our household for years, almost a decade,” Henry realized, beginning to pace around the corridor, growing excited with every step, gesturing wildly. “He never had a problem with father, I couldn’t find anything like lack of funds or bad habits that could be used against him. What if he were just a scapegoat the real culprit killed? Not because they were afraid that he’d be connected back to the murderer, but because he might recognize them.”

“Didn’t the servants say they saw him leaving after he filled your father’s cup?” Charles questioned, chewing his lip in thought.

“That could have been a coincidence, perhaps he needed to refill the wine pitcher,” Henry speculated. “Mayhaps, he saw something that spooked him, and he fled fearing he would get the blame or rightfully feared he would be silenced for what he had witnessed.”

“That is…possible,” Ritchie concurred fairly, mulling it over in his mind. “Nonetheless, none of this proves that our uncle is a murderer.”

“Rich…” Henry began.

“I am trying to keep an open mind, and I only want you to do the same,” the prince cut in before the other boy could start long rant about how it could not be anyone but the Duke of York. “Don’t let your bias blind you like it has him.”

“Harry, remember that day in the gardens,” Charles recalled, causing both of his friends to look at him in bewilderment. “A few months after Edmund’s birth, when he yelled at your father to stay away from Robert. Remember what your mother said to him.”

Mark my words, Dickon, the Tudors won’t be your death but your paranoia of them will be.

Henry grimaced as his mother’s voice seemed to echo in his mind.

“All right, both of you have made your points. Now come on,” he commanded, his face lighting up. “Since you two are so opened minded, you might be useful reexamining everything.” With that, he hurried away, fully expecting them to follow.

“Did he just imply that we were useless?” Charles exclaimed; his face scrunched up in offense. “It wasn’t like I spent five hours interrogating servant after servant, trying to find out who knew what. Not to mention all that time scouring the darkest corners for anyone who sold poison because Henry didn’t trust anyone else to not buy it and use it on him.”

Ritchie masterfully turned his yawn into a sigh. “And here, I was thinking that I wasn’t going to spend another night with no sleep.”

“You are the Prince of Wales, you can say no,” retorted Brandon grumpily, waving his hand in his direction. “I’m his best friend so I can’t refuse him.”

The green-eyed prince gave him a withering glare, opening his mouth to dispute that claim. Before he could, the Duke of Richmond popped his head around the corner.

“Are you two coming or not?” Henry demanded.

Charles and Ritchie exchanged no more words as they followed their friend towards his apartments, hoping that this new theory might lead them to solving the murder of the late Henry Tudor.

Meanwhile, King Edward decided to pull his brother into an antechamber, a vexed expression on his face.

“It was just a joke,” Richard protested before he could say anything. He felt a surge of anger towards his sister’s brat of a son. That boy was shaping up to be just as much as a troublemaker like his father. 

I am just glad Elizabeth decided to keep her other son at home, it is bad enough that her oldest is trying turn my brother and my nephews against me without it being the two of them, sinking their claws into my family, the man thought snidely.

“And how would you feel if someone said that about your wife?” Edward countered coldly. “Would it matter to you that they were just joking when they decided to call her a cow despite her being nothing but courteous.”

“Courteous?!” Dickon sputtered incredulously. “She has been aloof around me. Furthermore, she looked like she had a bad smell under her nose when I introduced her to Catherine.”

“You didn’t come to her wedding or her coronation, not even having the decency to tell us beforehand, let alone make any sort of apologies afterwards,” Edward scolded him, having also been irritated at his brother’s antics.

His brother’s absence had left Edward scrambling to come up with a polite lie to not only his bride (who now was jilted three times by Richard), but also the Spanish Ambassador who would make sure to inform both King Ferdinando and King Juan of the duke’s behavior.

“I was trying to avoid making it awkward,” Richard defended himself, fixing his sleeve, trying not to think of the other reasons he had to stay home. He had not told anyone save Warwick about Catherine’s threats to leave him.

Although he didn’t like keeping things from his brother, Dickon knew that Edward would side with Catherine and admonish him for even thinking of building a house for his mistress.

“Well, you certainly succeeded in that respect,” Edward drawled sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

His brother never seemed to realize that his actions had consequences. He always seemed to think that as long as he had good intentions, he should not be held responsible for any incidents or bad feelings he caused.

It was infuriating.

Dickon, to his credit, swallowed his simmering temper, and spoke regretfully. “I admit that it was a poor joke, and I apologize for it.”

“You shouldn’t be apologizing to me,” Edward told him, not at all impressed with his brother’s attempt to soften him. 

“Please extend my apologies to the queen,” Richard told him. He quickly amended his sentence seeing the look on his brother’s face. “She has retired for the night, and I don’t want to disturb her.”

Edward sighed, knowing that was true even if he suspected his brother was using that as an excuse not to face her. “Very well, I shall tell her of how sorry you are for your insult. Good night, Dickon.”

“Sleep well, Ned,” Dickon replied, bending his knees slightly before backing out of the chamber, back to the gathering that despite the king and the queen’s absence was still going strong.

The Duke of York made his way over to the Earl of Warwick who was talking to two ladies.

“Your Highness, have you met Lady Elizabeth Stanley and her sister Margaret?” he introduced them. “They are the sisters of the young Earl of Derby.”

“Your Highness,” both girls murmured as they curtsied, allowing Dickon to take a good look at the cleavage. They looked to be in their late teens and were quite lovely.

 “It is a pleasure to meet you both,” Dickon said, licking his lips as he continued to leer at them. “I do hope that you will forgive me, but I must steal your companion away from you for a moment.”

“Oh, come now, Dickon, I was just telling Lizzie and Marge here about how we might like a nightcap with them,” Warwick suggested, wiggling his eyebrows.

Dickon could not help but glower a little bit. “You know I cannot do that,” he grounded out, annoyed at how his friend and cousin had just picked that scab. He knew that Richard had promised his wife that he would be faithful so for him to try and set him up with one of these, admittedly beautiful, women was just insensitive.

“My lord, your loyalty to your wife does you credit,” Liz Stanley spoke up, her eyes were downcast. “Marge and I are new to court, and we hoped to get to make some friends. I don’t think a friendly drink between four people will be seen as anything but innocent.”

Not unless you were having them with the two biggest womanizers in England, Richard mused before speaking aloud. “As much as it harms me to decline, sweet lady, I am afraid I must. My wife is expecting me.”

He bade them goodbye before striding out of the banquet hall, Warwick close on his heels.

“Dickon, really? It is not like she will ever find out,” Warwick protested as soon as they were away from listening ears.

“She always finds out,” Dickon countered as he continued walking. “And if I break my promise to her, she will leave me. I can’t lose her. I won’t.”

“She is your wife. She is bound to obey you,” Warwick reminded him, a trace of annoyance in his voice.

“Catherine has sacrificed much for me,” the Duke of York confessed, coming to an abrupt stop, almost causing the earl to bump into him. “Being faithful to her is the least I can do.”

As he spoke, he turned to face his cousin, his eyes darkening with regret.

“All right, fine, if you truly feel like this, I shall say no more on the matter,” Warwick vowed, heaving a sigh.

“Thank you,” Dickon said with a smile, hugging the other man.

“You know I would anything for you,” Warwick assured him earnestly. “I would even sneak you down to the brothels if you ever needed me to.”

Dickon let out a sharp bark of laughter, separating himself from Warwick, and clapping him on the back. “I will hold you to that.”

With that, the two men parted, unaware that they were being watched.

Francis Bryan stared at the sight in front of him with a bit of amusement and bewilderment. Once he was sure that neither the Earl of Warwick nor the Duke of York were coming this way, and neither were in earshot, he put his hand on the shoulder of the boy.

Amazingly, the almost thirteen-year-old did not scream, but he did jump, whirling around with a look of fear, only to relax when he saw that the man was not an enemy or worse, his mother.

“May I ask why you are spying on your father?” he questioned, frowning slightly the voice in his head modified his words.

“You mean our father,” Robert corrected him much to the man’s surprise.

Soon Francis’ dumbfounded expressed crumbled to a scowl. “I wouldn’t know. He has never mentioned it.”


Now Robert looked ashamed. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m not mad at you,” Francis hastened to comfort him, lightly squeezing the boy’s shoulder.

“Mother said that your mother asked father not to claim you as his son,” Robert informed him, trying to defend his father as much as he possibly could.

His older brother ran his hand through his hair, choosing his words carefully. “I know that, but that doesn’t mean I can’t be angry that he acknowledges all his sons but me.”

It wasn’t that he didn’t understand. It wasn’t that Thomas Bryan was a bad father, in fact as far as Francis had been concerned, he had two fathers, one who sired him and the other who raised him.

However, none of that changed the fact that he wanted to get to know the man who was his birth father. He couldn’t quite explain why it was so important to him. All he knew was it hurt that Richard of York did not feel the same way.

“Do you think he doesn’t want you?” Robert asked curiously, his eyes filled with pity.

Francis closed his eyes, trying to keep himself calm so he wouldn’t shout at his brother for asking him something like that. Besides, he really did not want to be bearing his soul to a thirteen-year-old in the hallway where anyone could discover them.

“Why were you spying on your father and Warwick?” Francis repeated his earlier question.

Although Robert looked a little put out by the change of subject, he did not try to push Francis, and instead averting his eyes, his guilt palpable.

“I overheard Mother talking to one of her maids,” he began, ducking his head. “She said that Father was probably off with a mistress so I wanted to find him so she wouldn’t leave.”

 “Leave?” echoed Francis, his brow furrowing in confusion.

Robert shot up, his eyes wide with fear, realizing he shouldn’t have said that. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

Francis sighed and got down on one knee, putting his other hand on his younger brother’s shoulder. “Robert. If you felt the need to find your father just to make sure that your mother wouldn’t leave, then it clearly isn’t nothing. Please tell me.”

He supposed it was a bit hypocritical to expect the boy to tell him how he was feeling, but sometimes it was easier to talk to strangers than the people you’ve known for your entire life.

“A few months ago, mother and father got into a big fight about the pregnancy of father’s mistress,” admitted Robert. “Mother got really mad, and she told him that she was going back to Scotland. Father begged her to stay, and she agreed, saying that if he remained faithful to her, she would stay.”

Bryan felt a stab of pity, not towards the Duke of York or his wife, but instead towards his younger siblings. Robert hadn’t mentioned them, but he had a feeling that if Robert knew than the rest of them knew as well.

He also felt anger at Richard for being such a callous whoreson and at Catherine Gordan for letting her children think she would abandon them for her husband’s actions.

He then placed his hand under his younger brother’s chin, bringing his face up so they were eye to eye. “Listen to me, Robert, you are not responsible for keeping the peace between your parents, however noble that may be,” he amended when he saw Robert open his mouth to object. “Now run along now. You need to sneak back to bed before they find you out of it.”

“May I write to you?” Robert requested, biting his lip shyly.

“I don’t think your parents would approve of that,” Francis told him, patting his head.

“But you’re my brother, and I want to know you,” protested the boy, looking up pleadingly at him.

Bryan’s heart clenched as he recalled saying the same thing about the Duke of York to his mother when she tried to convince him not to approach the man. He knew he could not say no.

“You may write to me.”

Meanwhile in the queen’s apartments, Katherine was already in her nightgown when Edward came in. She was at her desk, using the candlelight to write a letter. She looked up when Edward entered, smiling so sweetly, he could not help but return the gesture.

“Another letter to your daughter,” Edward guessed as he walked over and sat down on her bed.

Katherine made an embarrassed noise. “I know that I already wrote to her for her birthday, but I just need her to know that I am thinking of her especially today,” she explained, glancing down at the letter, caressing the edges as if she was touching Marie’s face.

Edward didn’t answer, and when his wife glanced towards him, she could see that something was on his mind. However, before she could question him, he spoke up, startling her with his next sentence.

“On our wedding night, I dreamt of Ali.”

Katherine froze, unsure where this was going, or why he would bring up his dead wife in the first place. Aside from their first honest discussion as man and wife, there had been an unspoken agreement to not bring up their former spouses.

“Oh?” she prompted, deciding that if her husband needed to say something than she would listen even if it hurt her.

“She told me that I had to let her go,” Edward reminisced, closing his eyes, and clenching his jaw as if he were in pain. “She said that I would never be happy if I didn’t let her go. She told me that I could fall in love again if just let myself.”

Well that certainly explains why he started to become so affectionate, Katherine mused, a tiny giggle slipping from her lips before she could stop herself.

Edward’s head snapped up, half confused, and half offended. “Am I amusing you, my lady?”

“No, of course not,” the Spanish woman soothed as she stood up and walked towards him. Kneeling and grasping his hands in hers. “It makes me incredibly happy that you are trying to open your heart to me. Nonetheless, I must urge you not to force yourself. I do not want you to think you must love me. If you are kind and gentle, I shall be most content.”

Edward reached out, stroking her cheek, and then running his fingers in her hair. “With you, dear Kate, I do not need to force myself to feel affection towards you,” he assured her.

“Your words are like caresses,” Katherine murmured, nuzzling her hand. “It is too early for love, but it does not make what we have any less special.”

The monarch pulled her into his lap, kissing her passionately on the lips. “Do you have to finish your letter now?”

“I can finish it in the morning, provided I am not too tired,” Katherine replied, giving him a coy smile.

Edward smiled and began to tie her laces as she undid his buttons.

Lady Margaret Howard nee Tudor had decided to check on her son and daughter before she retired for the night. Ever since Tommy had died after just a few months of life, Margaret had found herself becoming almost paranoid that she would keeping losing her children.

Her logical side reminded her that it was just a harsh fact of life, some babies did live past toddler years. It didn’t stop the pain though.

As the Countess of Surrey walked into the nursery, she was surprised to find that she was not the only visitor.

“What may I ask are you two doing?” Margaret inquired, an eyebrow raised as she stared at her sister-in-law’s young daughters. “Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

“We couldn’t sleep so we wanted to check on Harry and Bessie,” Anne explained, giving her aunt a dazzling smile. “Just in case they couldn’t sleep either and needed some company.”

“That and Anne wanted to see if she could get Harry to say her name,” Mary chimed in, causing her younger sister to elbow her.

“I swear we didn’t wake him,” Anne protested as she picked up her cousin, trying to show her aunt that he was far too lively to have just woken up. “We just came in and saw that he was awake, so we started playing with him.”

“Well Harry is just a baby, and he needs his sleep,” Margaret chided them gently, unable to stay angry especially when little Harry was waving at her.

“Mama, Mama,” he babbled.

Her heart swelling at her beloved son, Margaret scooping him out of Anne’s arms, kissing his downy head.

“My sweet boy, I love you so,” Margaret cooed before pointing at her nieces. “Harry, Harry, who is that? Who is that?”

“Annie!” Harry exclaimed.

Anne Boleyn’s eyes light up and she clapped in delight.

“What about me?” Mary demanded, pouting slightly.

“Well obviously he loves me more,” Anne declared in the haughtiest voice Margaret had ever heard from a young child before. Her dark eyes sparkled mischievously. She giggled when Mary promptly stuck her tongue out at her.

“He loves you both equally,” Margaret interjected before a less playful fight could break out. Shen the proceeded to repeat her early actions, prompting Harry while point at Mary. “Who is that? Who is that?”

“Maree!” Harry shouted excitedly while his mother tickled him and peppered his face kisses.

“Oh, my smart and clever boy,” she gushed as she walked towards the crib. “Let us get you to bed. And when I turn around, two little girls better also be in bed.”

Once she had gotten Harry settled and made sure he was fast asleep, Mary walked into the room shared by the Howards and the Boleyn girls. Her daughter was fast asleep, not having even been disturbed by her cousins sneaking out.

Anne and Mary were also in bed, and Margaret pretending not to notice that they were faking it as she went to kiss her daughter’s forehead, tucking her in before she also gave her nieces good night kisses.

The Howards were a big family, and Margaret liked it that way.

Chapter Text

July 23, 1510

“My lords, I hope you will forgive me for choosing such a hellish day for our council meeting,” King Edward commented as he fanned himself, glancing almost forlornly at the window as if he longed to stick his head outside, desperately searching for a breeze to cool him down. “But I have let the marriages of my younger children fall to the side for far too long. And with a little one on the way, I think there is no time like the present,” he finished, his lips curving upwards.

Katherine was only three months pregnant so they had not made a public announcement, but they had told the council and the queen’s ladies, just so they could be on top of the proceedings.

There is murmuring of congratulations around the table, rather half-hearted as the weather has made the councilmen rather uncomfortable, looking as those they would like nothing more but to dump a basin of water on themselves.

“Well, the Holy Roman Emperor has suggested another marriage,” Thomas Ruthall began. “This time between Charlotte and his grandson.” The secretary of state was a tall and slim bald man. He had a very dry voice which was not helping the rather lethargic councilors pay attention to him.

Ritchie grimaced, knowing exactly why a second marriage had been proposed. “Leonor has mentioned the possibility in her letters,” he recalled, clearing his throat. “I don’t think it would be wise to agree as it might give France the impression that we are breaking the peace treaty.”

“I don’t see why we should keep it,” Dickon spoke up, leaning back in his chair, sounding bored. “Our brother is dead as is our nephew. The king on throne is nothing and no one to us. If the Papal states, Spain, and the Empire want to attack France, why shouldn’t we join in?”

Henry opened his mouth only to close it when he felt a small kick on his leg and could almost hear Ritchie’s unspoken rebuke. He decided to just scowl instead. It wasn’t that he wouldn’t love for England to join the Holy League, but the fact that it was the Duke of York who suggested it, made Henry decide it was a foolish idea.

“It is far too hot today to talk of war,” drawled Edward, tugging at his collar. “Emperor Maximilian has suggested a double wedding to take place when the girls are eighteen. That should give us enough time to negotiate the terms of the contracts, making sure that both sides get what we want.”

“Eighteen?” Richard Foxe repeated, his brow furrowing, making his large nose even more pronounced on his long face. “Should they not be sent at fourteen or at the very least sixteen.”

“His Imperial Majesty and I both agree that time is not of the essence,” Edward explained, rubbing his temples as he felt a dull throb. Out of the corner of his eyes, he could see Dickon studying him with a concerned expression. He rubbed his neck, grimacing inwardly as he felt how sweaty he was.

After all, Edward had three sons after Ritchie and perhaps a fourth one soon enough, and the Emperor was far more concerned about making sure that the prince and princess of Hungary were safely married to his grandchildren.

Thomas Fitzalan, the 17^th Earl of Arundel stroked his white beard, his wrinkles creasing as he smiled. “I think we should not complain. It will give us more access to the Burgundian trading monopoly.”

“Speaking of trading ports,” Ritchie began, his eyes shining. “let us not forgot Portugal who has a crown prince only a few months older than the littlest princess. Now that would make me happy, all my sisters being queens.”

“I think Charlotte would like to remind you that she would be the Holy Roman Empress,” Henry speculated with a chortle, thinking of how happy the middle daughter of King Edward would be at the notion of being a future empress.

“A truly grand idea,” Edward agreed with a nod of his head, shifting in his seat, wishing his chair weren’t directly in front of the window where the sun seemed determined to try and melt him “We shall breach the subject with the Portugal ambassador. Furthermore—"

“Brother, are you well?” Dickon interrupted abruptly, causing all eyes to fly to the king.

Edward could feel himself flushing red in embarrassment. “Very well, Dicksy,” he replied, waving his hand dismissively, trying to ignore the bile coming up his throat.

“Father, perhaps we should finish the meeting another day,” Ritchie recommended.

“I am fine,” Edward snapped. “’m ot. Get on wit it.” 

“Ned, I think perhaps we should summon Dr. Linacre,” the Duke of York suggested.

The monarch pounded his fists on the table, finding himself in no mood to be mollycoddled. “I said no. Let’s just fishen.”

“Ned, please,” Dickon started to say as Ritchie said: “Father, we can do this tomorrow.”

Edward jumped up, ready to let his son and brother have it for pestering him when it was obvious that he was not ill, only to grab the edge of the table to steady himself as the room spun.

He vaguely could hear people yelling as his vision began to go back and the floor came up to meet him.

Meanwhile, Queen Katherine was in her apartments with her ladies. As a musician played outside the chambers, the ladies were sewing the silk canopy for the new baby along with clothes for the poor. The women consisted of Maria de Salinas, Maud Green, Elizabeth Stafford, and Anne Hastings.

“It shall be lovely to have a little prince or princess running about,” Maria remarked, cutting through the idle chit chat. “Has His Majesty made mention of what names he would prefer?”

Maria de Salinas was a slender woman with a fair complexion, shimmering blue eyes and warm brown hair. She had followed Katherine to France, back to Spain and then to England, her loyalty to her mistress was unquestionable.

“My loving husband has agreed to name the babe John if it is a boy,” Katherine recalled, a fond smile tugging at her lips. She was wearing a Spanish gown of gold and burgundy damask with a matching garbled hood.

“And if it is a girl?” Anne Hastings prompted. The Countess of Shrewsbury was a plump woman after having been pregnant eleven times. She had a motherly and warm deposition. She was one of the few remnants of Queen Eleanor’s ladies and had taken it upon herself to be indispensable to her successor.

“He said there shall be no other name but Catherine,” the queen recited, unable to hide the giggle that came out of her lips, feeling almost deliriously happy.

It had taken her almost four years to fall pregnant with Marie; with Edward, it had been only a matter of months, something that was a good omen for their future.

“Catherine is a lovely name, Your Majesty,” Maud Green commented, a devious smile on her face. She was a tall woman with dark blonde hair. “If I should have a daughter, I think it would be a perfect name for. I can only hope that you would do her the honor of being her godmother.”

Katherine smiled at the younger woman, not at all affronted by her boldness. “Of course, I would be most pleased at such an honor,” she proclaimed.

“Eleanor is another good name,” Elizabeth Stafford chimed in, causing the merriment in the room to come to a halt. She was a slight woman, wearing a dark brown dress, her blonde hair tied up in a velvet French hood. She was Queen Eleanor’s closest friend and therefore seemed to dislike Katherine on principle.

Anne and Maud looked uncomfortable. Maria’s expression was murderous.

“Eleanor is a lovely name,” agreed the queen, her tone cool and collected, unwilling to rise to the woman’s bait. “But I believe the king already has a daughter named Eleanor.”

Despite the warm welcome Katherine had gotten from most of her new court, there were rumors that Katherine was trying to outdo the late queen. Edward suspected the rumors were started by Eleanor’s brother, the Earl of Northumberland. Unfortunately, they had no proof so he could not be punished.

The rumors began to pick up steam when Katherine convinced Edward to let her sew his shirts for him. To her, it was a sign of the deep love and respect she held for her new husband. To some people, it was a sign she was trying to pretend to be modest, act as though she was a better wife than Eleanor.

It was ridiculous gossip. Unfortunately, people like Elizabeth Stafford just wanted a reason to be hostile to the new queen, a reason to dislike her, pretend that they weren’t spitting on the grave of a woman who by all accounts would have loved Katherine simply because she made Edward smile.

The Countess of Sussex sniffed haughtily, as she began to make large stiches in her needlework.

The atmosphere had grown tense now as the ladies continued to sew in silence. Out of the corner of her eyes, she could see Maria shooting glares in Lady Sussex’s direction. She was about to nudge her old friend to stop when Elizabeth of York entered the room, her face pale.

“Lady Richmond, is there something amiss?” Katherine inquired, instinctively touching her belly, knowing that whatever the news was, she would have to keep her emotions in check so not to become hysterical.

Elizabeth glanced at the other three women meaningfully.

“My ladies, you may go,” the queen commanded, nodding her head at them. But she grabbed Maria’s hand before the woman could get up out of her chair. “Except for you, Maria, please stay.”

Anne Hastings, Maud Green, and Elizabeth Stafford rose from their seats, curtsying before they vacated the drawing room.

“What is it? Is the king all right? Are one of the children sick?” interrogated Katherine, clutching Maria’s hand in hers.

“Ned, His Majesty,” Elizabeth amended, a sliver of fear in her voice. “During a Privy Council meeting, he has been afflicted with heatstroke.”

“Heatstroke?” Katherine repeated, mystified by this. It had been very hot today, but Edward had barely been outside barring his early morning ride.

“Yes. He is unconscious right now---” the Dowager Duchess of Richmond continued, wringing her hands nervously.

“Where is he?” Katherine interrupted, grabbing handful of her shirts as she stood up, letting go of Maria in the process. “I must tend to him.”

Neither Elizabeth nor Maria argued with her and instead they escorted her to the king’s apartments.

Lord, please protect my Edward, Katherine prayed. I do not know if I can bear another loss.

When Edward came to, he was in his bed, dressed in nightshirt, with his wife dabbing a wet cloth on his face and his neck.

Their gazes locked, and the king reached up to stroke her face. “How long was I out?”

“Not long,” Katherine assured him as she placed the rag into a basin on the nightstand. “No more than three hours. However, you caused much worry throughout the court.”

“I will make my apologizes later,” Edward promised, trying to sit up, only for his limbs to protest, too exhausted. “What happened? One minute, I’m fine, the next it is like I am melting faster than snow in…what is the hottest place in Spain?”

“Andalusia,” Katherine supplied with a chuckle.

“Does it even snow in Andalusia?” Edward asked curiously.

“Sometimes,” she answered with a light laugh before pressing her hand to his forehead. “Your temperature seems to be going down. I will summon someone to fetch Dr. Linacre just in case.”

“Oh, Kate, if you love my truly, please don’t,” Edward implored her. “That man will confine me to this bed for days if not weeks. Do not let him make me a prisoner.”

“You are the king, you do not have to listen to him,” Katherine reminded him, her eyebrow shooting upwards. “All he wants, as we all do, is for you to regain your strength, and to be mindful of your health.”

Edward groaned, not missing the loaded statement or the way his wife’s eyes flickered down to her stomach. “Very well,” he grumbled, before taking her hand in his, kissing the back of it. “I am glad you are here to lift my spirits.” 

“I will stay as long as you like,” Katherine vowed, leaning down to press a chaste yet loving kiss on his forehead.

Two Richards and a Richmond, observed Charles, dryly. United in their fear for King Edward.

The Duke of York’s rivalry with the late Duke of Richmond had been one-sided. Unfortunately, Henry, on the other hand, was quite vocal with his dislike of his uncle, and his suspicions that York had something to do with his father’s death only made things worse.

In the beginning, Ritchie had loved his uncle, but over the years the Prince of Wales had become resentful of how the Duke of York behaved, feeling that he was foolish and irresponsible. He also found the Tudor-York conflict tiresome and saw Dickon as the primary cause for the prolonged feud.

If one were to view the three men now----as they stood in the antechamber outside the king’s bedchamber--- they would not see a trace of tension as the three men interacted with each other.

“There were ten men in that room,” Ritchie ranted as he paced around the room. “Why did only one of us see father was sick?” 

“Because I grew up with him,” Dickon responded, his voice gentle as his gaze slide from the door, separating him from his brother, over to his nephew. “I know when he is sick and pretending not to be or doesn’t even realize it himself.”

“He was redder than a tomato, and no one noticed until you called it to our attention,” Ritchie countered angrily.

“We were all hot and uncomfortable,” Henry protested. “It didn’t occur to any of us that what he was experiencing was more serious.”  

“It should have!”

“Nephew, calm yourself,” Dickon implored him. “I agree with Henry. No one had any cause to suspect something was amiss.”

Had the situation not been so serious, Charles would have snorted at the idea that York had concurred with Henry.

The conversation came to an abrupt end when Dr. Linacre exited the king’s room, bowing twice before approaching them. The royal physician was fifty-year-old clean-shaven man with dark brown hair and a large nose.

“How fares my father?” demanded Ritchie, his anxiety palpable on his face.

“His Majesty is conscious,” Dr. Linacre began.

“Praise the Lord,” the Duke of York interjected, making the cross sign.

“His temperature has gone down, but his strength has been sapped,” the man continued. “I would recommend that he stays in bed for at least a week.” 

“He will not like that,” opined Dickon, mostly to himself. “I better go and cheer him up.” 

With a nod of his head, the Duke of York hurried into his brother’s chambers.

“Doctor, I understand it. My father was well this entire day, and then all of a sudden he falls ill within a span of a few minutes,” Ritchie noted, his brow furrowed in confusion.

“It is entirely possible that the symptoms showed up earlier and he did not notice or ignored them,” Linacre speculated, rubbing his chin in thought. “Heat stroke is a condition that usually is a result of prolonged exposure to or physical exertion in high temperatures was your father doing today?”

“Well, he went riding in the early hours of the morning, I believe, and he also participated in a tennis match,” Ritchie recalled. “But Uncle Dickon did those activities with him as did some other nobles so why didn’t they suffer from heat stroke?”

“I am afraid that is not a question I am able to answer,” Linacre said apologetically. “However, I can assure you that as long as he remains conscious and does not suffer further symptoms, His Majesty will be fine.”

Ritchie was still frowning, but he dismissed Dr. Linacre with grace, waiting until the older man left before turning to Henry and Charles.

“I’m going to check on him,” he announced. “Will you two go make sure the court knows that my father will be indisposed until further notice, and also check to see if he has any petitioners waiting.”

 “We’ll see to it,” Henry assured him with a pat on his shoulder.

Ritchie nodded in acknowledgement before departing, leaving Charles and Henry alone.

“Do you think he’ll be okay?” Charles questioned getting up from his seat.

“I think he just needs rest,” replied Henry nonchalantly. “He’ll be right as rain in a few days.”

“I meant Prince Richard,” Brandon explained. He was glad that the king’s illness had not been a deadly one. However, this relief was coupled by the notion that while Edward’s indisposed, Ritchie would probably be working twice as hard to fulfill his father’s duties.

The Duke of Richmond’s blithe expression crumbled a little, but he rallied himself and gave Charles a strained smile that was more akin to a grimace. “It is not like it is the first time, Ritchie has stepped up while his father has been…” he paused briefly as he searched for the right word. “unwell.”

Charles nodded, unable to shake this foreboding feeling that was creeping up his spine.

August 18, 1510 

France

“What happened to the baby?” Marie asked, cocking her head quizzically. 

Her aunt had been sick for almost three days, and she had not been allowed to see her. Finally, today, the French princess was summoned into the living room where her aunt dismissed her governess, wanting some alone time with Marie.

Anne tried not to wince. Although those words had hit her hard like they were a physical blow, she knew that her sweet and innocent, not to mention young niece, was merely curious why after three months of excitement, she was suddenly being told that she would not be getting a cousin.

“I was mistaken,” Anne told her. “I thought I was pregnant, but I was wrong.” She clutched her rosary and silently prayed for forgiveness for lying. Marie was only four and she did not have a grasp on the concept of death much less understand what a miscarriage was.

“Oh,” Marie said, her expression puzzled and disappointed. Much to her aunt’s relief, she did not push the matter any further.

Anne smiled sweetly, extending her hand for Marie to take. “Come along dear, why don’t we go read your mother’s letters. That will cheer us both up.”

Usually, the mentions of her mother’s letters usually made Marie’s entire face light up. Instead, the strawberry-red-haired girl’s demeanor changed from confusion to unease, averting her gaze and putting one of her feet behind the other.

The Duchess of Angoulême sat down on the white velvet couch, patting the spot next to her, indicating that Marie should come to her. When her niece climbed up on the couch, Anne quickly moved her to her lap.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” she asked gently. “Don’t you want to hear from your mother?”

Marie was quiet, still avoiding her aunt’s eyes. Anne grasped her chin, moving Marie’s face toward her, repeating her earlier question: “What’s wrong?”

“Momma’s gonna love the new baby more than me,” Marie answered finally.

“What?” Anne exclaimed, her eyes wide, shocked that Marie would think so. But then again, she wouldn’t remember the tearful goodbye Katherine had with the one-year-old. “Oh, dear girl. Your mother loves you very much.”

“Then why did she leave!” Marie cried, tears of frustration prickling in her blue eyes. “If she really loved me, she wouldn’t have left!”

“Because she had to,” Anne began, trying to choose her words carefully. “Her father and king commanded her to return to Spain. She could not disobey him.”

The sixteen-year-old prayed that Marie would not ask her why she wasn’t allowed to go with her mother. King Louis’ refusal to let Katherine take Marie with her was a pragmatic move, not one made out of malice---and considering he allowed Marie to be raised by her devoted aunt showed that he was not made of stone. Nonetheless Marie might not see it that way, believing that Louis was a wicked man who purposely separated her from her mother.

Marie sniffled and cuddled up to Anne, not saying another word.

They sat there together, two orphaned princesses, unwanted.

“I want you,” François purred, his hot breath tickling her ear. He was dressed in a black and white doublet with a fur trimmed black hat. They sat together in the orchard, on top of a blanket.

“Do you?” Anne challenged, an eyebrow raised. She was dressed in a pale-yellow dress with black trim. “Or do you want Marie Gaudin?”

“Say the word and I will send her away,” countered François. “I love you, Anne, I always have. Since the day you pushed me into the pound.”

“Not that it stopped you from pulling me in,” Anne laughed, unable to stop the smile tugging at her lips.

“Well, you deserved it,” he shot back, pinning her down and then tickling her, sending her into a fit of giggles.

“Stop it, François, you are being childish,” Anne mock-scolded him, managing to get him to stop by kissing him passionately.

When they could no longer ignore the protests of their lungs, they parted with François rolling off of her to the side of the blanket, one arm still around her.

“My mother would probably find us foolish for thinking we are in love,” Anne opined, turning so she was on her side, laying her head on François’ chest, listening to his heartbeat.

“As would my mother and Marguerite. We know better,” he insisted firmly, nuzzling her hair.

“I’m pregnant.”

François became very still, his grip slacking as he processed her words. Then he sat up, causing her to the same.

“Truly?” he inquired, his eyes gleaming with glee. When Anne nodded, he let out a whoop, kissing her forehead, her cheeks, her lips, her shoulders and then her belly. “Anne, we are blessed.”

For once in her life, the young duchess agreed with him. She placed a hand on her abdomen, images of a boy with the dark hair of François flashed in her mind.

“You weren’t mistaken, were you?” Marie’s voice brought Anne out of her memory.

She blinked, wondering why her cheeks were wet. Oh. She was crying. Then Marie’s sentence finally probed her hazy mind, and she looked down at her niece who was staring at her with such a piercing gaze, it was like she could see into Anne’s very soul.

“No, I wasn’t,” she confessed, knowing instinctively what Marie was referring to. Her dear niece was quite perceptive.

“You could have told me,” Marie protested, her temper spiking, scowling darkly. “I am not a baby. I know that some people are gone like my papa.”

“I’m sorry. I just didn’t want to upset you,” Anne admitted.

“Would you have liked it if I did that to you?” Marie demanded angrily.

A sharp back of laughter caused both girls to look up. François had entered without either of them noticing, still clad in his riding clothes. He had been in Paris and had undoubtedly journeyed to Château de Cognac the minute he learned of his wife’s miscarriage.

“Forgive me, but that was an excellent point,” noted François, giving his niece a fond look before he crossed the room, taking a seat on Anne’s other side.

“You didn’t have to come,” Anne told him as he greeted her with a kiss.

Instead of becoming offended at his poor reward for dropping everything to race to her side, her husband just wrapped an arm around her. “I know. But I wanted to,” he replied tenderly, as he tucked a fallen curl behind her ear.

“I love you,” Anne murmured.

“And I you.”

“And I love both of you,” Marie pipped up, clearly unwilling to let them forget that she was there too.

François and Anne beamed at her. “We love you too,” they replied in unison.

December 27, 1510  

England

Francis Bryan’s thoughts were racing as he walked through the corridors. His heart was thumping loudly in his chest as he replayed the conversation, he had with his brother over and over again in his head.

The Duke of York had brought his wife and children to court so they could celebrate Christmastide. Robert had almost immediately sought out Francis and the two had talked for a while as they played cards in his private rooms.

“Father has been keeping his promise,” Robert reported excitedly, pleased that his mother wasn’t going to leave because of their father’s unfaithfulness. “He hasn’t had a mistress for months now.”

“Warwick must be so disappointed,” Francis chortled. “Now he has lost his drinking partner. I suppose he is visiting the brothels alone.”

“What are brothels?” Robert asked, his expression was a picture of innocence. When Francis looked horrified, his façade was broken by a wicked grin.

“Don’t do that,” Francis admonished. “I thought I was corrupting you.”

Robert chuckled, only to frown a moment later. “Is it true that the Duke of Richmond thinks that father is responsible for his father’s death?”

Francis shrugged, not wanting to confirm anything, Robert might repeat back. “He has many suspects,” he half-lied. His scrutiny locked on his half-brother’s face, noticing that he looked nervous all of a sudden. “What?”

“Nothing,” Robert said quickly. A little too quickly.

“Rob, you can tell me anything,” Francis reminded kindly.

“It is probably nothing,” Robert insisted, averting his gaze.

Francis pressed his lips together. “Rob, if you know anything that could clear our father, I think it is best you tell me,” he prompted, wincing at his own manipulations.

“You said father wasn’t a suspect!” Robert exclaimed, his eyes wide.

“I said Henry had a list of suspects. Besides, that is hardly the point,” defended Francis. “If you were in Henry’s place, how would you feel if someone was keeping vital information.”

Robert’s shoulders sagged and he slumped down in his chair. “I don’t know what I saw. I don’t want to cause trouble. What if I am wrong?”

“Tell me and I will figure it out,” Francis assured him softly.

“When everyone left the banquet hall, I couldn’t find Berry, so I went looking for him,” Robert began. “I thought he might be outside, so I went to look. As I did, I saw someone leaving the woods, wiping something red off his face and his clothes.”

Francis’s heart lurched, realizing at once the significance of what Robert was saying.

“I got a bad feeling, so I hid in an alcove when the man walked past,” Robert explained. “I caught a glimpse of his face. It was Warwick.”

“Warwick,” Ritchie repeated, unable to mask his horror. “Are you certain?”

He and Charles had been surprised when Francis sent them a message separately, telling them to meet him at once and to not tell Henry.

“I am positive it was him,” Francis replied, keeping his voice firm.

“I don’t understand. Why would you wait so long to come forward with this?” Charles Brandon questioned, his brow furrowed.

“Because I was hoping I would be able to stay out of it,” he replied, knowing full well how lame that excuse sounded. He did not care. For once the open secret that he was the Duke of York’s bastard would work in his face as people would suspect his reasons of keeping quiet were because he wanted to protect his father’s friend.

“Warwick was sitting next to the Dowager Duchess at the feast,” recalled Charles, still frowning albeit for a different reason. “All he would have to do was wait until everyone was distracted then reach over and pour something in the late Duke’s drink.

“Charles, I want you to get a group of men to discreetly interrogate the servants of the earl’s household,” Ritchie ordered, before turning to Francis. “You will come with me so you can explain this to not only Henry and my father, but my aunt Elizabeth as well.”

Francis nodded, feeling rather queasy, knowing Henry would not be happy when he learned that Francis had “known” about his father’s killer for a year and said nothing. He would probably never speak to him again.

However, Bryan was not letting his little brother be forced to testify against their father’s best friend. He didn’t care that he was committing perjury or the fact that he would probably earn the ire of the Duke of York. After all, it would be far better if York hated the son he never acknowledged.

Less than a half an hour later, Francis was in the king’s audience chamber repeating what he had told Ritchie and Charles.

As he predicted, Henry was increased. “YOU KNEW AND YOU DIDN’T SAY ANYTHING!” he roared, as he hit a wall.

“I didn’t have any proof,” Francis protested. “Who would take the words of a knight over a royal earl.”

“You still should have told me,” Henry barked, shooting daggers at his friend.

“As much as I hate to admit it, Sir Bryan has a point,” Ritchie noted. “Warwick is a royal earl, and many would take him at his word. If we could get a confession…”

“Give me five minutes alone with him. I’ll get a confession,” Henry snarled, his eyes glinting malevolently as he smacked his hand with his fist, leaving no question to his meaning.

Elizabeth of York and King Edward had both been oddly quiet during this interaction. Their faces were pale and haggard as they absorbed the fact that their cousin had murdered the man they loved so dearly.

“I think I might have a better way to get a confession,” Elizabeth spoke up, hugging herself as her body quivered.

At once Henry went to his mother, embracing her. “It will be all right, Mother,” he soothed. “Warwick will pay, I promise you.”

Before anyone could ask what Elizabeth’s plan was, a page entered the room, with a message that he handed to Edward.

“The queen has gone into labor,” he announced in a small voice, still reeling from Francis’ revelation.

Henry, forgive me, Edward prayed as he paced around the dimly lit chamber. I failed you. I ate, drunk, laughed with your murderer. I promise you, he shall suffer for his crimes.

Elizabeth was sitting at the table, staring at the door with eerie calmness. The only sign of her anxiety was the shaking hands that she had clasped together in her lap.

Finally, Edward Plantagenet, the Earl of Warwick, son of the late Duke George of Clarence, strolled into the room, a haughty look upon his face.

“Your Majesty, dear Bess, what have I done to be summoned by you?” he inquired, his tone playful.

It was clear he was unaware of his impending downfall. Perhaps he had gone unpunished for so long, he thought he had successfully gotten away with it. Or maybe he was innocent, and this was just some sort of misunderstanding.

“Warwick, I am not speaking to you as your king, but as your cousin,” Edward began, licking his dry lips, scrutinizing Warwick’s visage for any sign of guilt. “Did you kill Henry Tudor?”

The Earl of Warwick paled, taking a step back. “W-what?” he stammered. “Of course not. I would never hurt him.”

“Someone saw you leaving the woods shortly before David was found murdered,” Elizabeth whispered, a tremor in her voice.

“Clearly they are lying,” Warwick declared. “Why else would they take so long to come forward?”

“Teddy, please!” Elizabeth exclaimed, her head snapping up, her eyes gleaming with tears. “Look me in the eyes and tell me you didn’t kill my husband.”

Their gazes seemed to be dueling until finally Warwick looked away, his shame palpable on his face.

“I’m sorry, Bess, I had to do it,” he confessed finally. “Dickon was convinced that your husband was planning something, and Ned was a mess. I thought with Richmond gone, the problem would solve itself.”

“You killed Henry because Dickon was paranoid!” Edward bellowed in both disbelief and fury.

He almost lunged at his cousin, only for Elizabeth to beat him to it, jumping out of her chair and running towards Warwick slapping him as hard as she could.

“You sick bastard!” she screamed. “I invited you into my home. Let you around myself and my children. Never knowing you were the reason my husband, the love of my life, was dead.”

“I’m sorry,” Warwick repeated, cupping his cheek. “I truly thought this was for the best.”

“Guards!” Edward shouted. Four of his sentries came in running in. “Take this man back to his rooms and lock him in there until I can draw up a warrant for his arrest.”

Once the men had dragged the disgraced earl out of the room, begging Edward for forgiveness, Elizabeth embraced her brother. “Henry will be avenged,” she promised.

Meanwhile, Henry had cornered Francis Bryan in the corridor.

“You were lying,” he said in a soft voice, looking over his shoulder just in case there were any eavesdroppers lurking about.

“I saw Warwick exit the forest,” Francis reiterated.

“Oh, I am sure that someone saw Warwick,” agreed Henry, his eyes narrowed. “I just don’t think it was you.”

“Why would you say that?”

“Because you would have said something,” the red-haired man stated bluntly. “Why are you hiding the identity of the witness?”

“Because he is my brother and I don’t want him put in a position where he has to choose between his father and doing what is right,” the knight divulged reluctantly.

Henry’s eyebrows scurried up his forehead, surprised by this answer. “Francis, if someone finds out you are lying…” he began.

“I don’t care,” Francis interrupted with a steely undertone. “Either I saw, or nobody saw.”

Henry’s expression turned to one of outrage. “Your father is going to hate you for this,” he jeered.

“So? What is he going to do? Ignore me even more than he already has,” Francis sneered, a mirthless chuckle slipping past his lips.

“You better hope no one can prove that you didn't see Warwick,” was all Henry could say to that.

Unaware of the tense situation that was coming to a boil, Queen Katherine lay in her bed, tired from the hours of labor, but glowing with happiness as she beheld the squirmy pink baby who was in her arms.

It had taken her almost four years to become pregnant with Marie. Even though she was not a boy; she had been taken as a good omen for future sons. The death of King Charles of France had dashed all those hopes that she would give birth to a dauphin.

Now after almost five years, Katherine had given birth to a son. He might never be king, but at least no one could blame her for supposedly failing to give birth to male progeny.

“Prince John,” Katherine proclaimed, wanting to hear how the name sounded on her tongue. “John Plantagenet.”

John Plantagenet just like Edward and my ancestor John of Gaunt, the queen realized with a smile, shaking her head, wondering how she had not come to that conclusion before. I suppose I was too focused on pleasing my brother. She had even gone into labor on the feast day of St John the Apostle, making the name even more fitting.

As if he could sense her thinking about him, Prince John babbled, reaching out towards her. Katherine quickly raised her hand, wanting her son to grab her finger, marveling at how tiny his hand was compared to hers.

“Oh, sweet boy, you are my second child and your father’s eighth,” Katherine gushed. “But do not think that makes you last in our hearts. For you are our son and that makes you special. Whether you join the church or become a great soldier, diplomat or whatever else, we shall be proud of you.”

John gurgled and Katherine choose to take that as an assurance that he heard her. She placed a kiss on his dower head, studying his features, picking out the pieces that belonged to herself and Edward.

He has the shape and color of Edward’s eyes. But he has my button nose and my mouth.

Her son was perfect. Nothing could ruin this glorious day.

Chapter Text

December 27, 1510

On the heels of the announcement of his newest nephew came the news of the Earl of Warwick’s impending arrest. Duke Richard could hardly believe his ears. The minute the page had finished conveying the message, he immediately hurried to Warwick’s apartments, demanding to be let in to see his cousin.

“His Majesty has decreed that one is allowed in or out without his express permission,” the guard informed him in polite but clipped tone.

“I AM PRINCE RICHARD, DUKE OF YORK!” Dickon bellowed, incensed at the audacity of this man. “SON OF THE LATE KING EDWARD THE FOURTH AND BROTHER TO KING EDWARD THE FIFTH. YOU WILL LET ME IN OR I WILL SEE TO IT THAT YOU NEVER WORK EVER AGAIN!”

The guard didn’t even flinch at the loudness of his voice. “To be frank, my lord, I would expect the same treatment if I were to disobey the king’s direct orders,” the man retorted in the same calm voice. His companion stared at him as if he had grown a second head.

“What is your name?” growled the duke.

“Roger Harrison,” the unrepentant guard replied, sticking his chin out defiantly.

“I will remember you,” threatened Dickon, his eyes flashing dangerously before he spun on his heel and trounced away, heading straight for his brother’s apartments.

His bad mood soured even worse when he was told that the English ruler was with the queen, forcing him to walk even further.

Upon arriving at the queen’s rooms, he saw that most of the court was there, celebrating the birth of the new prince. When Dickon spotted Henry, his vision went red.

“WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!” he boomed, causing the music and merriment to come to an abrupt stop.

“I have done nothing,” the Duke of Richmond answered. The coldness of his voice and the grimness of his features made him resemble his late father quite severely. 

It took all of the Duke of York’s willpower not to stride over to his nephew and stab a dagger into his heart---that is if he could find a heart in the first place. He wouldn’t be surprised if all Tudors had nothing but a gaping black hole in their chests that pumped poison instead of blood.

“What foul lies have you sprouted that would get Warwick arrested?” he demanded instead, clenching his fists.

To his disgust, Henry threw back his head and laughed. “Warwick is getting exactly what he deserves,” he sneered, venom dripping off his words. “He killed my father.” This prompted gasps and furious whispering, among the crowd of spectators.

“Lies and slander,” Richard snarled, his eyes narrowed. “My cousin would never do such a foul thing.” Perhaps, Warwick was right. Perhaps my nephew really did kill his father, and upon being unable to use me as a scapegoat, is now trying to frame another target, he mused.

“A witness saw him leaving the woods where my father’s loyal and faithful cupbearer was found murdered a short time later; Warwick was wiping blood off himself,” reported Henry, his lip curled up in a snarl. “Furthermore, Warwick confessed in front of two witnesses. I suppose you think that the three of them are liars.”

It took all of Richard of willpower not to smack that smug smirk off Henry’s face.

“I do! I declare them liars!” he shouted.

“That’s interesting considering that my father’s murderer confessed to his crimes, not only to my dear beloved mother, but also my kingly uncle,” Henry said with almost malicious glee.

Richard blanched, his mouth open like a carp. Of all the names, he had expected Henry to say, Elizabeth and Edward were not among them.

Before he could say anything else, Edward burst into the room, Ritchie close behind.

“What is the meaning of this?” the king barked, his gaze sliding between Richard and Henry. “My wife needs rest after her long hours of labor. Furthermore, I do not want my son’s birth to be marred by any more unpleasantness.” 

“Brother, tell me it is not true,” Dickon pleaded. “Our cousin is not a murderer. He is nothing like his wretched father.”

The Duke of York had long heard of George of Clarence’s crimes, his paranoia of Elizabeth Woodville even going as far as to accuse her of killing his wife through witchcraft. He was a despicable man who had turned against his brother three times for the sake of his own ambition. He murdered two innocent servants on false charges. He said things about Elizabeth Woodville that made Richard of Gloucester’s claims seem kind in comparison. His son, on the other hand, had none of traitorous traits.

Edward’s stern visage softened as he walked over to his brother, placing his hand on the back of his neck. “I’m sorry, Dickon, but it is true. Warwick admitted that he poisoned Henry’s wine glass and he was seen leaving the woods after killing that poor servant who saw him commit the deed.”

“Who saw him?” Richard spluttered, still unable to process what his brother was telling. He felt as though someone was sitting on his chest, cutting off his air supply.

This didn’t make any sense. If someone saw Warwick on the day the Duke of Richmond was poisoned, coming from the same area that his cupbearer was found then why had they waited a year to come forward?

“Sir Francis Bryan,” divulged Edward.

Francis? He would not lie----unless…

“You,” Dickon accused, pointing at Henry. “You have even gotten your friends to cover up that fact you committed patricide.”

“Richard!” the king admonished, horrified that his brother would allege Henry of murdering his own father.

Henry had been standing at the side, his features were a mixture of spite, smugness, and hatred. Now his entire face was flushed red, and he let out a wordless roar before charging at the Duke of York, not noticing, or not caring that he knocked the monarch down as he lunged for his younger uncle, tackling him to the ground and pummeling him with his fists.

“Stop it! Stop it right now!” Elizabeth of York shouted as Ritchie and Charles Brandon tried to grab the two wrestling men. Edward was helped up by Sir Robert Knollys, rubbing his face where a bruise was forming.

The former princess’s red-golden hair now had streaks of grey in them and the wrinkles on her face were becoming prominent, but she stood tall, her eyes blazing in fury as she stormed up to her youngest brother and slapped him across the face. “How dare you accuse my son of poisoning his father!” she ranted, her voice surprisingly soft but venomous. “I am sick of you treating my sons like they are criminals, not to mention how you behaved with my husband. If you are determined to see the people I love as your enemies, then you will treat me the same.”

“Lizzie,” Dickon beseeched as Charles and Ritchie let go of him and Henry now that Elizabeth stood in between them.

“That is Lady Richmond to you,” his sister interrupted coldly before swerving her glare towards her son. “As for you!” she snarled through clenched teeth. “How dare you use your father’s murder as a way to antagonize your uncle!”

“I’m sorry, Mother, that was wrong of me,” Henry conceded, his face crumbling into guilt.

Elizabeth of York said nothing more, she just raised her chin defiantly, spun on her heel and stormed off, her daughters scrambling to follow her.

Charles and Ritchie drew Henry away while Edward went to his brother, placing his hand on his shoulder. “Warwick confessed to both me and Elizabeth,” he confirmed. “He was not forced, and he was not lying. I know it’s hard to believe the boy we grew up with could do such a thing, but he did.” 

“I want to hear it from him myself,” insisted Richard, trying to ignore how his heart clenched as his sister’s words replayed in his head.

She didn’t. She wouldn’t just throw me away. I’m her brother. She can’t just cut me off.

Edward nodded. “Okay. I will send message, just give me twenty minutes,” he requested.

It wasn’t until Richard had walked outside, did he realize that he was shaking, and his beard had become very wet.

For once Francis Bryan had not actually wanted to bump into the Duke of York. But he had also not wanted to stay in the room least he might say something to Henry, he might regret.

He understood that the young duke had been angry at his insistence at lying about who had actually seen Warwick leaving the forest, and granted, it would have come out eventually. Nonetheless, it was infuriating for Henry to announce that he was the witness just in an effort to anger Dickon of York.

The worst part was his birth father implying that he was covering for Henry, framing an innocent person for murder. He always knew the prince had a low opinion of him compared to his other children, but for him to think Francis would do something so vile wounded him deeper than the constant rejection.

“Why would you think I would frame Warwick for murder?” Francis blurted out before he could stop himself.

“To hurt me,” Richard replied bluntly, keeping his back to Francis.

The younger man straightened, clenching his fists. “Why would I want to hurt you, Your Grace?” he inquired sardonically, blood rushing to his ears, his heart thumping loudly against his ribs. “What possible reason could I have to be angry at you? What am I to you?”

A suffocating silence fell over the corridor. 

Say it. Say it, you coward! Francis shouted in his head. But as usual, he was disappointed as the royal duke choose to walk away instead of responding.

Never before had Francis felt the overwhelming urge to grab his dagger and thrust it at his birth father’s retreating back since the day, he had overheard him telling the bastard son, who he had acknowledged, that Francis was no one.

A hand clumped on his shoulder making him jump. He turned around to see the kind eyes of Sir Thomas Bryan.

“I’m sorry.”

Thomas Bryan sighed, knowing instinctively what his son was apologizing for. “Don’t be, you have every right to want a relationship with the man who sired you,” he affirmed kindly, breaking the unspoken agreement never to allude to the fact that he had not fathered his wife’s son.

“Even though it is clear he wants nothing to do with me,” Francis grumbled, scowling darkly.

“If your mother and I hadn’t insisted that he act as though you were my son----” Thomas Bryan started to say.

“No. If he wanted to connect with me, he would have done so regardless of what you two said,” the younger man protested firmly, shaking his head. “It is his choice to ignore me. No one made him reject me. I just wish I could accept it.”

“Come on, your mother and sisters are worrying over you,” his stepfather reported, his arm around his shoulders, leading him in the opposite direction of where the Duke of York had gone.

Richard had intended to stay outside the queen’s apartments, waiting for Edward to send the messenger to that pompous guard so he could speak to Warwick. However, after being confronted by Francis, Richard had to leave, least he began to cry audibly.

He still couldn’t believe it. It was just so unfair. Edward of Clarence had been like a second brother to him and his best friend. And now he was going to die because of that Tudor brat. Worse, Lizzie had chosen to side with Richmond, declaring her intention to have nothing more to do with him. How could his own sister, his flesh and blood have turned against him so utterly?

Then there was Francis Bryan. He knew his actions had caused the boy to become resentful, but for him to betray his birth father like this was just unforgivable.

The Duke of York returned to his apartments, feeling like weight on the world was crushing him. He all but collapsed in an armchair, barely registering that he was not alone.

“Father?” Robert called, from his spot in front of the fireplace. He was in his nightshirt, but was standing next to the window, wanting to see the fireworks that would be set off in celebration of the newest prince. “Are you well?”

“No, my son, I am not well,” Richard admitted, beckoning the boy over so he could place him on his lap, groaning as he did so. Robert was getting too big for this.

“I heard they arrested Warwick,” Robert stated, averting his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“There is no need for you to be sorry. It is not your fault,” Dickon assured him, a dark look upon his face. “I don’t believe it. I am sure that Warwick is being used as a scapegoat. The so-called witness is lying, I know he is.” 

As for the confession to Elizabeth and Edward, Richard suspected that it was made only out of fear that he would be killed by the true culprit if he did not admit to it.

“It was me.”

Richard blinked, glancing down at his son, his brow furrowed. He was ready to believe his ears had deceived him when Robert repeated those three words in a slightly louder voice.

“What do you mean? What was you?” Richard quizzed.

“I saw Warwick leaving the forest,” Robert divulged, staring fixedly at the floor as if he were trying to bore a hole through the wood.

“What?”

“I saw him leaving the forest, wiping something red off his garment. I hid while he walked past me,” Robert ranted, a trace of hysteria in his voice, his eyes welling up with tears. “But he is always so nice, and he is your friend so I thought maybe it was just a coincidence, but I couldn’t put it out of my mind. I didn’t want to tell you or Mama. Then when I started getting to know Francis, I told him. He said he would tell everyone that he was the one who saw so I wouldn’t get in trouble. He only lied to protect me.”

Richard stared at him, dumbfounded. “No, you couldn’t have seen Warwick. It must have been someone else,” he contradicted, much to his son’s confusion. “Are you a hundred percent sure that is what you saw? It must have been someone else. It was someone else, wasn’t it?” 

“Uh, I,” stammered the boy, fidgeting in his father’s grasp. “I thought it was him.”

“But you’re not sure,” Richard prompted.

“Robert.” Catherine’s voice cut through the air like a knife. She was standing in the doorway, her lips pressed together, her nostrils flaring, and her jaw clenched. “Go to bed, it is late.”

The little Earl of Nottingham scurried off his father’s lap and to his bedchambers.

 “Cate---”

“Do you think our son was lying?” she interjected.

“Of course not, but I think he could have been mistaken,” answered Richard.

“Mistaken about the man he has known his entire life. Are you so bent on believing the worst of the Tudors that you are willing to force our son into doubting himself?” Catherine spat.

It took him a few minutes to be able to regain the use of his tongue. “I wasn’t trying to do that. I just was hoping that he had been wrong,” he defended, his shoulders sagging as he realized that perhaps he had been a little harsh with Robert. He knew his son would never say anything unless he had been certain. He had raised his son well. “I will apologize to him in the morning.”

“Very good. You can make your apologies to him before you do so with the others,” Catherine declared as she began to walk towards their children’s bedchambers.

“Apologize to who?” Richard spluttered.

“Your sister, the Duke of Richmond, and Francis Bryan,” Catherine answered nonchalantly, disappearing inside before he could argue.

Ten minutes after his talk with his son and wife, Dickon was informed that he could now visit his hapless cousin. He made sure to give that pretentious disrespectful guard the stink eye as he sauntered past.

Edward of Clarence, Earl of Warwick looked as though he was suffering a hangover after a night at a tavern.

“Dickon,” he greeted him somberly. He kneeled down in front of the prince, his head bowed. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t careful enough. I thought I had gotten rid of any loose ends but there was a second witness. If I had known, I would have taken care of him too.”

Those words were like a gut punch. Richard staggered backwards, overcome with disgust.

Not only had his cousin done exactly what everyone said he did, he was apologizing to Richard for getting caught, acting as though he would condone the murder of two, actually three people. Including…

“My son,” he croaked out. He swallowed the bile rising up in his throat. “My son was the witness. Are you saying you would have killed him to keep your vile actions a secret?”

The disgraced earl was silent for a few minutes. “It would have been for greater good,” he whispered at last. “Henry Tudor needed to die for all of us to be safe. My only regret is not riding the world of his sons. I had many opportunities when I visited Lizzie, but I was too afraid I might be caught.”

Richard was sure that if he spoke the vomit, he was trying to keep down would come tumbling out. He couldn’t take it anymore, standing in the same room as an unrepentant murderer.

He pounded on the door, needing to get away as fast as he could. Behind him, Warwick was saying something, but Richard could not make out the words.

When the Duke of York arrived at his brother’s private chamber, he was as white as a ghost. Without a word, King Edward drew his younger brother into a hug.

“Warwick murdered Henry Tudor,” announced Richard, miserably.

“I know, I know,” Edward soothed, rubbing circles into his back.

“He did it and he thought I would approve,” Richard cried, his face scrunched up in revulsion. “I hated the late Duke of Richmond, but I would never have killed him. How can he be so unapologetic about it? How could he possibly think I would want it to happen?”

Edward shook his head, pushing his brother slightly so he could face him. “Because of your feud with the Tudors. He thought you thank him for getting rid of your enemies.” 

“But I never wanted them dead,” Richard protested, grimacing inwardly as he knew that wasn’t exactly true. Nonetheless, he would have never done the deed in such a cowardly and underhanded fashion. “You believe me, don’t you, Ned? I would never want any harm to come to them.”

“Of course, I believe you,” affirmed his older brother, squeezing his shoulder firmly. “However, this feud between you and Henry, both Henrys, have gotten far too out of hand. You will not be able to end it with the elder, but at least you can make amends with our nephew. Please, before it is too late.”

But Mother said that Henry Tudor would lead a rebellion against us, Richard almost told him. The words died unsaid on his tongue, as he realized that perhaps his mother was as wrong about the dream as he had been about a man he had counted on as his closest friend.

Then Lizzie’s harsh words resounded in his head and that made up Richard’s mind. This feud had been destroying his relationship with his sister. It had left him blindsided to the real villain who had nearly alienated him from his family.

“I will, Ned, I promise,” Dickon avowed.

“We will not let the treachery of our cousin destroy all we have gained,” Edward professed ardently. “And instead use this to heal old wounds.”

“Wise words,” complimented the duke, nodding approvingly.

First, I will talk to my nephew, then I will apologize to both Elizabeth and Francis, he decided, wringing his hands nervously. Although he was sure that Lizzie would forgive him. He wondered if Henry and Francis would instead rebuff him.

His anxieties must have been palpable for Edward clapped him on the shoulder. “Do not worry, little brother. All shall be well. Soon we will put this behind us and start anew,” he declared optimistically.

Dickon tried to smile, still feeling sick to his stomach.

Henry was inside his chambers, drinking a goblet of wine as he listened to the sounds of celebration outside his window. The people of London had no idea what was going on behind the castle walls, and instead were celebrating the birth of their newest prince.

There was no such merriment inside the Palace of Placentia. After the public fight between himself and his dratted uncle, the court had retired to their own rooms as the mood had gotten far too gloomy and tense for them. 

“Your Grace, the Duke of York requests an audience,” Anthony Knivet, his steward, announced.

Henry gripped his goblet tightly, a fierce scowl on his face. “Send him in,” he growled, wondering what that bastard wanted.

Mother is convinced that he had nothing to do with father’s murder. However, that does not make him less culpable, he seethed.

He did not rise from his chair when Richard strode in. Instead, he drained his glass and held it out for his steward to take.

“What do you want?” he snarled.

Richard frowned at his rudeness but did not comment. “I came to apologize. I have been wrong about many things, and I see that now---”

“It is a pity, it took Warwick killing my father to convince you of that,” Henry sneered.

This made the older duke bristle. “I understand that you are angry that I accused you---” he began.

“That is only part of it,” Henry interjected, jumping up, his eyes blazing. “For nearly twenty years, you have treated my father, myself, and my brother as though we were criminals, traitors. My father fought in the name of your brother when he could have just kept the crown for himself, something you should be thanking him for.”

“I am not giving your father a prize for doing the right thing,” Richard objected through gritted teeth. “Edward was the true king and had Richmond turned against him and kept the throne for himself, he would have been a traitor.” 

His nephew chuckled darkly. “You know what I keep thinking: Warwick killed the wrong Tudor.” 

Richard paled, a shiver going up his spine. “What?”

“I am not my father. I am not as noble, my mother constantly reminds me that I have spent more in a month than he would in a year, and he would have accepted your pathetic attempt to bury the hatchet,” Henry explained, averting his gaze. “Not because he forgave you, but he would have hoped that you meant it and wouldn’t continue to act so boorishly. I, on the other hand, know you will never change.”

“You are an insolent brat,” the Duke of York growled.

Henry just snorted before turning his back on him, leaving Richard with no alternative but to leave, fuming as he stomped out.

She was standing in the throne room, watching the events unfold in front of her. Henry stood tall, his blue eyes dark like the sea during a storm. Edmund and Prince Edward stood a few feet in front of him, their hands on the pommel of their swords.

“I was trying to save them." The words came from a man in the center of the room. He was staring at Henry defiantly.

"From whom?" Henry demanded. "As their Lord Protector, I would keep them protected." 

His opponent snorted. “I've heard that before. From my Uncle Richard as he slaughtered my mother’s relatives before locking Ned and I away in the tower. After which, he stole Ned’s crown.”

“And yet it is your actions that mirror the late Duke of Gloucester,” Prince Edward drawled, baring his teeth as he sneered at the older man.

“I was trying to return the boys to their mother,” spluttered the Duke of York. “I feared for their safety.”

“My lord, you understand it is well in my right to have you arrested,” Henry noted, his tone deceptively bland. "You have committed treason, not to mention the countless deaths you caused."

“My hands are not the only ones bloodied. My son was murdered!” Richard roared.

“Because you were a fool!” Edward shouted. “Trying to take the boys. Did you think my brother would just lie down and let you! I promise you had he died, I would have slaughtered you all!” 

“Brother, please,” a seventeen-year-old spoke up from the side of Queen Katherine who was glaring daggers at the Duke of York. He stepped forward. “Uncle, if you must blame anyone for the death of your son, blame me. It was my fault.” 

“I think that is enough blame to go around,” a woman spoke coldly, stepping up the dais. She had brown hair that matched her hazel eyes. “You did not have my permission to take my sons. You say you wished to reunite them with me and yet you were willing to kidnap them without my consent.”

“There you have it, Uncle, the boys are with people who are trusted, who have always been trusted,” Henry remarked, a smirk tugging at his lips. “It is because of your son’s death that I will show mercy and let you and your co-conspirator return to your estates unmolested. That being said if you try something like this in future, you will be executed for treason.” 

The Duke of York glowered, and he opened his mouth to say something, only for the man beside him to whisper furiously in his ear, causing him to bite his tongue.

“If something happens to my great-nephews, you shall pay,” Richard spat.

“And if you try something, I, like my father before me, shall defeat Richard of York,” Henry countered.

Richard’s expression turned murderous but he and the men with him only bowed before departing.

“You shouldn’t have let them go,” Prince Edward hissed. “If my uncles are so deranged to try this once, they will do it again.”

“Oh, I have no doubt they will,” replied Henry with a toothy grin. “And we will be ready for them.” 

“Those who ignore history, are doomed to repeat it,” a voice whispered in her ears. Suddenly the walls began to drip with blood, filling the room and drowning all who were in it.

Mary woke up with a gasp, her heart beating fast. It took her a minute to realize she was in her own bed. She lay back into the pillow, staring up at the ceiling, trying to get her breathing back under control.

That was a strange and disturbing dream. She wondered what it meant.

Maybe I should talk to Mama, the teenage mused before shaking her head. No, she is so upset about Uncle Richard that telling her about my dream will just make it worse.

Instead, Mary decided to go back to sleep, putting it at the back of her mind, hoping that when she drifted off, she would see the handsome face of Charles Brandon.

January 2, 1511

Thanks to the efforts of Elizabeth of York, the Earl of Warwick was convinced to plead guilty, allowing them to avoid a lengthy trial and hiding the fact that Sir Francis had lied about seeing Warwick.

By bill of attender, Edward of Clarence was stripped of his titles and lands. King Edward was kind enough to give his land to his ten-year-old son, but the earldom was now just as cursed as the dukedoms of Gloucester and Clarence were associated with ambitious traitors.

The former earl was first paraded through the streets of London and then whipped publicly before he was brought inside the tower for his private execution.

Only the members of the privy council were allowed to watch as Clarence was brought to the caldron where he’d be boiled alive. The man could barely walk, but he still fought with his captures, with one desperate attempt to free himself.

“I was protecting England! I am a martyr!” he raved. “The Tudors will doom us all!” He continued to scream as they forced him into the caldron and began to pour the boiling liquid on him.

Rest easy, Father, Henry muttered to himself, not taking his eyes off the madman as his screams grew louder and more pained. I have finally avenged you.

Chapter Text

November 2, 1514

Lady Mary Tudor walked down the corridor that led to the banquet hall, a bounce in her step as she went on her way to her uncle’s birthday celebration. She was wearing a blue satin gown with matching sapphire earrings----his gift to her on her last birthday.

As she passed by the tapestries depicting scenes from myths and folk tale, Mary paused when she spotted an entwined E&E, cocking her head curiously as she pondered how the architects had missed that one, not changing it to the more appropriate E&K. This wasn’t some forgotten hallway in a palace the court rarely visited so there was no excuse for their obvious mistake.

Granted, considering it was still here even though Katherine was queen for four years, it was clear that many people hadn’t noticed it.

I wonder how the queen would react if she saw it, Mary mused.

Katherine of Aragon, despite the slander Northumberland and his ilk spread around, had no problem with her predecessor. She treated Eleanor’s children with love and respect, showing no more favoritism over John, William, and little Kitty than she would her stepchildren.

However, it still must be jarring to come upon a reminder that she was not the first to stand at his side, birthing his children, basking in his love. Perhaps she would wonder if her husband had deliberately left it there, not caring about how she might feel about it, having only married her for her dowry.

That is unfair. For all his feelings for his departed wife, Uncle Edward truly loves Queen Katherine, Mary scolded herself.

She was just nervous and projecting her own anxieties on the royal couple. Besides perchance the E&E was left over from her grandparents: Edward and Elizabeth. Now she could see her uncle being that sentimental, leaving something his parents left behind untouched.

The youngest Tudor girl let out a shriek when she felt someone kiss her neck and she promptly spun around, slapping him across the face. She did not soften when she realized who it was, in fact the sight of his smirking face just enraged her. “Charles Brandon, what were you thinking?! You nearly scared me half to death!” 

 “Forgive me, I just wanted to say hello.” He pressed his body up against hers, his lips stopping only centimeters from hers. “You look ravishing in the candlelight.”

Mary struggled to keep her features schooled in a disapproving fashion, but his hot breath was making it hard for her to concentrate. “You are a knave. What would Henry say if he knew you were terrifying his baby sister?”

“You haven’t been Henry’s baby sister for a long time,” Charles remarked, licking his lips.

“It took you long enough to notice,” purred Mary as she wrapped her arms around his neck just as he closed the gap between them.

They parted only to catch their breath, but they remained entangled together. Her arms around him while he had one hand on her hip and the other slowly descended from her hair, caressing her skin before placing it on her waist.

“Better late than never,” quipped Charles as he once again drew her into a passionate kiss.

“What do you two think you are doing!” Margaret Tudor demanded, causing the couple to jump apart in surprise. She glared at each of them in turn. “Anyone could have come out and seen you. What would they have thought?”

“That we were practicing for our wedding night,” her sister suggested innocently.

Margaret’s expression became scandalized, however it changed into a glare when Charles snorted. “You are a terrible influence.” She then turned upon Mary. “Come along, Mother is looking for you and I do not want to have to tell her you decided to skip our uncle and king’s birthday for a dalliance.” 

“A dalliance?” Mary repeated, bewildered. “Margie, he’s my future husband.”

“You are not married yet,” the Countess of Surrey countered. “Furthermore, even if you were husband and wife, you should not be so handsy in public. Tis unseemly.” 

Mary huffed but she did not argue. Instead, she kissed Charles' cheek before the three of them walked towards the banquet hall with Margaret in between them so she could ensure there was no funny business.

They were greeted by the sounds of merriment. The musicians strummed on their instruments, playing a gentle tune as the courtiers supped.

Like a shepherd leading his flock, Margaret maneuvered Mary to a seat next to their mother. She then shot Charles a dirty look before sitting on the other side of her sister, forcing Charles to sit beside Henry instead.

“What have you two been up to that has Meg acting like a governess whose charges were caught with their hands in the pantry?” Henry asked, chuckling a little before quickly sobering when his mother’s stern gaze mirrored his older sister’s.

“We were just greeting each other,” protested Mary.

The oldest Tudor daughter’s eyebrow shot up. “If that is how you normally greet people then we should lock you up in a convent.”

“All right, girls, that’s enough.” Elizabeth intervened, patting her daughters’ hands. “Margaret, while it is good of you to be watching your sister’s virtue, you should trust that she has the judgement not to let it go too far. Mary, I understand that you two are engaged, but you still must maintain some decorum.” 

“Yes, Mother,” they chorused, neither looking very happy, but accepting and understand their words.

“As for you, my Lord Lincoln,” the dowager duchess began, her lips pressed together, and her chin lifted regally. “I expect you treat my daughter like the lady she is. “ 

“I wouldn’t dream of acting otherwise,” Charles assured her, nodding his head respectfully before nibbling on a piece of bread, chewing it thoughtfully.

It seemed like only yesterday, he had gone to Henry and Prince Richard, confessing that he was courting Mary. He had expected Henry to be angry, having chosen to tell both of them in hopes that the Prince of Wales would calm the temperamental duke down.

“Pay up. I knew he’d be the one to tell us,” Richard had laughed. Henry grumbled, fishing a coin out of his pocket before grudgingly placing on their friend’s outstretched palm.

“I thought for sure it would be Mary,” the duke muttered.

Brandon blinked in surprise. He had not been expecting such a casual response. “Are you not upset?”

Henry frowned in confusion. “Why would I be upset?” Then his expression morphed into outrage. “Unless you are not planning to marry her. Are you stringing my sister along?”

“I would never,” his friend protested. “I just didn’t think you would be so accepting of Mary and I.”

The Duke of Richmond threw back his head and laughed. “Charles, you are our best friend. And we’ve known that you and Mary have been courting for quite some time. If we didn’t accept it, we would have mentioned it by now.” 

“Furthermore, if you are worried that you are too lowly to marry her, I have convinced my father to make you the Earl of Lincoln,” Richard added.

Charles could not stop himself from giving the Prince of Wales a deadpan look. “I wasn’t thinking that, but thank you, Your Highness.”

Henry laughed again, taking a few steps forward and throwing his arm around his soon to be brother-in-law. “Now, come on, let’s find a pub and drink to your engagement.” 

Unseen to the redhead, Charles dug a coin out of his pocket and handed it Richard as he walked beside them. “You’re buying.” 

“Is it my fault I know you two so well?” Richard’s countenance glowed with smugness.

Back in the present, Mary was talking about Charles’ daughters and how she hoped her stepdaughters liked the dresses she had bought for them.

“Oh, they would not stop praising them and they can’t wait to take part in our special day,” Charles reported with a fond smile.

“Really?” Mary had been feeling a bit nervous. Although, she had known Anne and Mary Brandon their entire lives, she wondered if they might resent her for taking their mouther’s place much as Charlotte had resented Queen Katherine.

“Of course, they are. They adore you,” her fiancé replied, bemused. “They can’t wait until you come to live with us. I must warn you though, they are expecting a sibling very soon. Preferably a new brother.”

The youngest Tudor girl’s cheeks turned pink. “Well, I hope we can grant them their wish.”

“I do too.” 

Queen Katherine hit her glass with a spoon, causing the conversation to die out while she stood up, placing a hand on her belly which was getting bigger. “My lords, my ladies, I would like you---”

But before the consort could begin, the grandeur doors flew open and the Duke of York strolled in, a grin on his face. “I’m sorry, I’m late!” 

Edward jumped up from his seat, sprinting towards his brother and enveloping him in a bear hug, with a boyish expression. “Dickon! What are you doing here?”

“It’s your birthday, Ned, like I’m going to miss it!” Richard laughed as he patted his brother on the back.

“Considering he missed the past three birthdays,” Henry muttered. “That did cross our minds.”

“Henry,” Elizabeth warned.

“What? After Warwick’s execution, he and his family left without a word and stole away to Scotland for almost four years,” her son remarked with a black scowl.

 Even though all that time had passed, Warwick and York continued to infuriate the young duke. As far as he was concerned, even if the latter had no involvement with his father’s murder, he was still the cause of it.

“Well, he has returned, perhaps it is time to let go of old grudges,” Elizabeth suggested, her gaze piercing.

The Duke of Richmond slumped, for once not making a jest, knowing how much his mother loved her brothers and how much it pained her that her youngest brother and her son would not get along.

It’s not all my fault, Henry mused, as his blue eyes shifted towards his uncles who were still hanging off each other as they ambled over to the royal table. If he had only shown my father respect, instead of treating him and his sons as if they were scoundrels, I would not be so angry.

“Your Highness, we were not expecting you,” Queen Katherine proclaimed as she returned to her chair, setting her glass down, her manner one of a hostess whose gathering had just been invaded by an unwanted guest.

None of the guests on King Edward’s side were happy with being forced to move a seat down to make room for the monarch’s brother. Even Prince Richard---who always kept his emotions carefully concealed whilst in public---shot his oblivious uncle an annoyed glance.

“My dear brother, I apologize for not bringing my gift in with me, but I feared it would make a mess at the feast,” Duke Richard was saying as he sat down, not even saying a word to anyone else, although he did pat his nephew on the shoulder.

“Oh, is it outside?” Edward inquired in an innocent manner.

“It is not a horse.” Richard chuckled knowingly. “But nice try. You will have to wait until after the feast to see what it is.”

Edward’s lips quivered before he turned back towards his wife, placing her hand on her abdomen. “I’m glad you are home, you have a new niece and nephew, not to mention this little one, who are dying to meet you.” 

“Do you think it is another son?” Richard wondered. “By God, you are rising an army with so many children. It seems like just yesterday, you only had two children with Ali, now you have a whole brood. The Yorks are a strong dynasty indeed. Tell me, what names have you considered for my newest nephew or niece? I do worry you may have run out of names.” 

“We were thinking of Charles or Cecily,” Edward answered. “Or perhaps Anne after our dear departed sister.”

Queen Anne of Scots had died just a few months after Dickon had gone to Scotland. She had left behind her husband and their only surviving son. King James had followed her two years later. The new King James, fifth of his name, who was married to Marguerite of France.

“I think that is a splendid idea, Ned,” Richard declared, before raising from his seat, raising his wine glass. “I would like to propose a toast to our king.” Had anyone been looking at the queen they would have seen her nostrils flaring. “I have spent three years away from England and I must say, it is good to be home. It is warmer and the company far more pleasant. Most of all, I am once again surrounded by friendly faces of my family.”

“I thought this was supposed to be about the king,” Henry jeered, keeping his voice low so only Charles could hear him.

The earl snorted. “I’m sure that he’ll get to him at some point.”

“I am so happy to have returned on such a blessed day,” Richard continued, using his free hand to clap his brother on the shoulder. “Celebrating and supporting my brother is important to me.” 

Henry caught his mother’s eye and immediately stuffed a leg of mutton in his mouth to stop himself from making a comment. 

“It is good to be back, and I hope everyone will join me as I drink to the continued health of King Edward the Fifth!” The Duke of York declared.

“Amen,” the guests chorused before they clinked their glasses together and drank their wine. 

Before long everyone was talking amongst themselves again, although Henry had no doubt the conversations were about the prodigal prince and the suspicious lack of his wife at his side.

Edward had missed his brother terribly. “Three years, Dickon, you have been gone for three years. I barely heard a word from you during that time. Only a letter a month.”

“Forgive me, brother, I just needed to get away for a while,” Richard confessed.

The monarch nodded sympathetically. “I understand. Our cousin’s betrayal has shaken our family to the core. I still shudder at the knowledge that I let Henry’s murderer walk free among us.” 

“I keep going over every interaction in my mind, trying to decipher what I must have missed about his behavior.” The Duke of York scratched his neck, averting his eyes. “I can’t help but feel like I should have figured it out and stopped him.” 

“You couldn’t have known,” Edward insisted. “None of us could.” 

“And yet, I’m sure there are those who blame me.” Richard’s gaze shifted to the lower table that held the Tudors. Elizabeth must have felt his eyes on her for she stiffened but she did not turn around.

The old prince’s stomach twisted into knots as he recalled the last time he spoke to his oldest sister.

“If you are determined to see the people I love as your enemies, then you will treat me the same.”

“That is Lady Richmond to you.”

He had not dared to send her a letter during those three years he spent in Scotland. Nonetheless, he had hoped she would send something to him or visit him, something that would tell him that she still cared about him.

“Dickon, talk to her,” advised Edward, as though he was able to read his brother’s thoughts. “I know she has missed you very much, just as much as I have.”

“Really? Then why didn’t she ever write to me or come see me?” Richard bemoaned miserably.

The monarch couldn’t help but think the same could be said about Richard who hadn’t even bothered to attend the christening of John, Liam, or Kitty. “We all thought you wanted some space, so we left you alone and let you come back to us when you were ready.” 

“I understand,” the duke said with a sigh. “Perhaps I will go talk to her. Later though. For I refuse to spend another moment without celebrating your birthday. Sixtieth, right?”

Edward glowered at him. “You know full well that I am forty-four.” 

“Ah, well, in that case you aged terribly,” jested his brother.

“You do realize that you are only three years younger than me,” Edward pointed out.

“And yet, I don’t look a day over thirty.” Richard smirk as he sipped his wine.

Unable to be mad at his brother, Edward guffawed, glad to have him back again. It was just like old times.

After the feast, some of the guests retired to their rooms, chief among them was the Tudor women.

“I was thinking of wearing mother’s wedding dress, but adding a decoration that symbolizes the Brandons,” Mary gushed as she flopped down on her bed. Charles’ arms consisted of bars of ten argent and gules, with a crowned lion on it.

“That sounds lovely dear, but I was thinking perhaps you might want a new gown,” Elizabeth suggested, much to her daughters’ surprise.

“Really, Mama? Are you sure?” the soon-to-be Lady Lincoln asked, her eyes lighting up. She then frowned, before glaring at Margaret, coming to a realization. “You told her.” 

Margaret had known that her little sister had wanted to design her own wedding dress, but she had not wanted to hurt her mother’s feelings. “I told you she wouldn’t be offended.”

“I’m not offended at all, sweetheart,” Elizabeth spoke up, reaching out to take her daughter’s hand in hers. “It is your special day and I want you to be happy.”

“It is not that I don’t love your dress, Mama,” Mary quickly affirmed. “I just want to walk down the aisle with something of my own, something new to start my new life with Charles.”

“I think that is a lovely thought, sweetheart,” Elizabeth murmured, using her free hand to caress her cheek. “You are going to make a beautiful bride.”

Mary turned and laid her head in her mother’s lap. “I just wish Papa was here to walk me down the aisle.” 

The three women looked up when Anthony Knivet appeared in the doorway. “Your Grace, His Highness, Prince Richard, Duke of York is without.” 

Margaret and Mary glanced up at their mother, wondering how she would react at hearing that the brother she had an estranged relationship was, after three years, waiting outside to speak to her.

Elizabeth sighed, gently moved her daughter’s head to the bed, stood up, smoothed the wrinkles off her black dress before nodding her head at their steward, informing him she would speak to her brother in the drawing room.

“Come girls, let us greet your uncle,” she commanded, causing her daughters to follow her, exchanging worried glances behind her back.

Richard had gained a few wrinkles, which crinkled when he frowned and there were spots grey in his blonde locks and beard.

“Bess, you are a sight for sore eyes.” The Duke of York then pressed his hand to his heart, gasping. “Margie and little Mary, look at you both, taking my breath away with your beauty.”

Mary giggled. For all of her uncle’s faults, he had never been anything but loving towards her and her sister. Unable to contain herself, she strode forward and embraced him.

“Uncle Dickon, I missed you so much.” She kissed his cheek.

“I missed you too, dear girl, and I hear I have returned just in time for your wedding,” Richard observed. “Speaking of which, remind me to have a serious talk with Charles Brandon, make sure he knows what will happen if he ever makes you unhappy.” 

“Oh, Uncle, that is not necessary,” Mary insisted, playfully swatting him.

“And dear Meg, my rose without thorns,” Richard remarked, leaning forward to lay a kiss on her cheek. “I can hardly believe you are a mother twice over. Tell me what is the newest little one’s name?”

“Elizabeth, after our mothers,” his niece replied, her tone frosty. “Speaking of my children, I think I best go. My husband will be looking for me.” The countess curtsied at him before scurrying out without another word. Unlike Mary, she was not quite as willing to forgive her uncle’s past dealings with her father and brother.

“Mary, perhaps you should get some rest,” Elizabeth suggested. “We will have a busy day tomorrow.” 

She could tell that her youngest daughter saw through her ploy to be alone with her brother, but thankfully she did not argue. She instead hugged her uncle again before leaving for her bedchamber.

“Bess,” Richard began. “I wanted to apologize.”

“I do not need your apologies.” In Elizabeth’s opinion, the Duke of York should be making reparations with the people he wronged, for although his inability to trust her sons nor her husband did hurt her, it was them who were treated badly.

“Then what do you need? I do not like this divide between us,” protested Dickon.

“Neither do I, but as long as you and my son are in conflict, I see no other path,” the dowager duchess reported, her sorrow palpable on her visage. Her brother looked so vulnerable, it reminded her of the small boy she had to say goodbye too before he left to join their brother in the Tower of London.

Richard scowled darkly. “I tried to make amends with Henry, and he refused me. If he does not wish to accept my hand of friendship, then there is nothing I can do about it.”

“I am not asking you to be friends with Henry. All I want is for you to stop treating my sons as if they are the enemies.” Elizabeth knew how stubborn her son could be. However, she was certain if he and Richard stopped provoking each other, then that would be a start.

“And what of him? Will he stop treating me like I am responsible for his father’s death?” the Duke of York demanded harshly.

“I will make sure of it,” his sister answered firmly. There were two people, Henry would listen to: the Prince of Wales and herself. He might be the Duke of Richmond, the Lord of the Privy Seal, but he answered to his mother.

At once, Dickon softened. “Good because I don’t want to fight anymore. I want us to be a united family.” 

There was something in his voice that made Elizabeth pause, a note of despair and regret. She raised her hand and cupped his cheek. “Dickon, why have you returned to England alone?” 

Her brother averted his eyes. “Catherine has decided to stay in Scotland with our children.”

“Why?” Elizabeth questioned, her eyes full of concern.

“I had lapse of judgement and broke a promise. She now wishes nothing more to do with me.”

The dowager duchess knew instinctively what her brother meant and hugged him as he wept on her shoulder.

“It was a mistake,” Dickon swore. “I didn’t mean to do it.”

Catherine gritted her teeth, her hands balled into fists by her side. “Please spare me those tedious excuses. I have heard them far too many times to believe them.”

“I have been faithful for the past five years, surely you can forgive this lapse of judgement,” her husband pleaded.

His wife made a disgusted noise. “I am not letting you off for good behavior. Not to mention this was not a one nightstand and that was no ordinary whore you slept with.”

Richard winced. “We were comforting each other. We never meant for this to happen,” he avowed.

“Comforting?” Catherine repeated in disbelief. “That’s what you are calling it? She had a husband who could comfort her.”

“He was mistreating her,” her husband protested. “She turned to me to help her when your father would not.”

“Oh, my sister is a lucky woman,” Catherine spat, her eyes blazing with fury. “To have a knight to rescue her from such an unworthy husband.”

“Cat, I promise---”

“NO MORE LIES!” the duchess bellowed. “I have had enough of your empty words. Go back to England, Dickon, I refuse to spend a moment more in your presence.”

Catherine Gordon swirled around, ready to storm away from him. Richard sank to his knees and grabbing her sleeve, still her moments.

“I cannot take back what I have done. But I beg of you to give me one more chance,” he pleaded.

“I already gave you a final chance five years ago and you repaid me by desecrating our marriage bed with my own sister.” Catherine’s lip with curled up into a sneer.

“It was a mistake,” he reiterated, his tone filled with regret.

“I believe you that you made a mistake.” Catherine’s words were enough to make Dickon’s heart soar with hope that his wife would forgive him. “However, you are forty years old. It is high time you learnt that your actions have consequences that you will have to live with.”

She turned to face him, her countenance hard as a rock. “You think that because you have good intentions that you should not be held accountable for them. You think that you can run and hide every time something bad happens. It is time you grew up and acted like a man instead of a boy.”

“Cate---”

His wife pressed her finger to his lips, cutting him off. “No. I will always love you, but you have given me no reason to trust you. Return to England, face those you have wrong and make amends. But it is too late for us.”

“You don’t mean that. You can’t mean that.” Richard threw his arms around her waist, holding on to her like a child would hold on to his mother’s skirts. “Please make me go. Please, I want to say here with you. I promise you, I will change. I will never hurt you ever again.” 

Catherine held him, but she stood rigid like a block of ice, unmoving, unyielding.

After talking to his sister, the Duke of York ambled down the hallway, deciding to go back to the celebrations. Just as he rounded the corner, he nearly bumped into Francis Bryan.

“Why would you think I would frame Warwick for murder?”

“To hurt me.”

 “Why would I want to hurt you, Your Grace? What possible reason could I have to be angry at you? What am I to you?”

Three years ago, when he fled the castle, so broken up about Edward of Clarence, that he did not even think of his oldest son.

Now that Francis was standing in front of him, their last conversation played in his mind as he struggled to come up with words to express his remorse for not only what he said then but also for the years of neglect he heaped on this boy’s head.

To his surprise, Sir Francis kept his features schooled in an impassive mask, bowing shallowly before stepping to the side to let him pass.

“Perhaps we should talk,” Richard finally managed to say, cursing himself for being so tongue tied.

Francis Bryan pressed his lips together, his gaze flashing. “I have nothing to say to you,” he grounded out through clenched teeth before pivoting and stalking off, not even glancing backwards.

Richard gaped after him, hardly able to believe it. Francis had tried to reach out to him for many years, only to rebuff his father when he finally tried to make things right between them.

Well, if that’s how that ungrateful child wants it, then I won’t bother him again, the Duke of York decided with a frown before continuing his walk to the banquet hall.

Apparently, God had others plans in store because he turned another corner and saw the Earl of Northumberland, the brother of the late Queen Eleanor.

“There you are, Dickon, I was looking for you,” Hal professed. Although the two York boys had been closer to his sister than himself, Richard remembered the times when they were children together quite fondly.

“Oh?”

“Yes, I wanted to tell you how glad I am you returned,” Northumberland explained, his scrutiny shifting about the corridor as though he was checking the shadows for spies. “The court has been filled with too many men supporting Queen Katherine.”

York’s brow furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“You know how Ali was.” Henry Percy smiled thinly. “She never tried to influence the king. She never interfered with politics. She knew her place and never once tried to overstep.”

This only served to perplex the duke more. While it was true that Eleanor did not like getting involved in the matter of state, believing she was not qualified to do so, if she had an opinion, she would express it.

However, he decided not to correct Northumberland, realizing that he was leading up to something.

“Queen Katherine, on the other hand, has been meddling in affairs that have nothing to do with her,” Percy continued, his tone heated. “During the War of Cambrai, her father sent her letters demanding she twist her husband’s arm to get England to join up against France. Luckily, the king did not listen, but that alone shows that she is looking out for her own interests.”

If the Earl of Northumberland remembered that he had been in favor of the war against France, he showed no sign of it. He just continued ranting, “More recently she badgered the king into sending her favored candidate to be Lord Deputy of Ireland instead of Prince Edward. Worse, she’s been convincing His Majesty to send the Prince of Wales back to the council of the Welsh Marshes, vacating his position as Lord Chancellor for whatever creature of hers she wants to fill it.”

“I’m sure she just thinks Edward is not ready to be Lord Deputy of Ireland,” Richard suggested fairly. As for Ritchie, he had no doubt that his nephew was eager to return to his estates.

“I don’t like it.” Northumberland shook his head. “I fear she is trying to drum up support for her half-Spanish welps.” 

“Surely, she would not. After all, there are four boys ahead of her sons,” Richard noted, trying not to shiver at Northumberland’s ominous words.

“You and your brother were ahead of your uncle, and he still tried to usurp the crown,” the earl recalled. “I have heard rumors that the Spanish queen’s father killed her oldest sister’s first husband. Not to mention the fact that her parents took Castile from her half-aunt.”

The Duke of York licked his dry lips. Henry Percy was making good points and that terrified him. Had his brother really married such a wicked woman who would go to any lengths to see her son put on the throne.

Damn Richmond for forcing my brother to get remarried, he cursed the dead duke. Perhaps that had been Henry Tudor’s goal all along, cause another civil war, but this time take the crown for himself.

“I loved my sister very much,” Northumberland remarked. “I know she would want me to protect her children from the wicked vipers that are slithering around, waiting to pounce and destroy her dynasty.”

Richard nodded in agreement. Ali had been like a sister to him as well and the idea that Katherine of Aragon was using her death to take advantage of his brother so she could displace Ritchie with her son, enraged him.

“I promise to help you in any way I can,” he vowed.

Northumberland’s stoic features melted into an expression of gratefulness. “I am glad to hear it. Together we will prevent both the Queen and the Duke of Richmond from advancing their ambitions.”

Chapter Text

January 25, 1515  

France

The sun shone brightly on the Feast Day of the Conversion of Saint Paul. The bitter cold wind did not tear through the city of Reims, leaving everyone shivering down to the bones. It was as if the Almighty had made this day glorious on purpose. Nonetheless, the sky was a clear bell of arctic grayness, cold with the promise of frost soon. It was not snowing today, and the streets had been cleaned from the earlier snow in advance.

Resplendent in ermine cloaks, the new monarchial couple rode on their white stallions caparisoned in blue and white velvet, ornamented with golden fleurs-de-lis. They were King François I of France and his consort, Queen Anne. Often, queens were crowned separately from their husbands at Basilica of Saint-Denis, even if they ascended to the throne together. Monarchs could be still crowned alone to emphasize the subordinate role of a queen in the French realm due to the ancient Merovingian Salic law.

Large crowds lined at both sides of the narrow streets. Reims was the gateway to the Champagne region of France, and it was located a day’s ride from Paris. Having arrived from the Île-de-France and Champagne, as well as other provinces in addition to the inhabitants of Reims, these people had all gathered to watch the coronation procession of the ruling couple. Their youth and vivacity, as Anne and François flashed grins and waved at them, embodied the dawn of a new era in the people’s minds.

The King and Queen of France had arrived in Reims yesterday with their entourage. The governor of Reims and some officials had met the royal cortege at the gates and handed the keys from the city to them. Then the Valois couple had conducted the joyful entrée into Reims, with many tableaux vivants dedicated to the history of the French monarchy having been performed in the streets, thronged with countless spectators.

François veered his gaze to his wife. “Some nobles offered me to have you crowned at Saint-Denis after my own coronation at Reims. I categorically refused.”

Despite being a Frenchwoman through and through, now Anne was annoyed with her country’s traditions. “Ah, the Salic law… Sometimes, I think it needs to be abolished.”

He lifted his brows in bewilderment. “We cannot! I’ve never expected to hear this from you, mon amour. A daughter of one of our previous monarchs!”

“I know.” In fact, she mentioned that because of the lack of male heir after years of their marriage, which worried them both. “Or there might be many foreign pretenders for our throne, and perhaps a civil war.”

Her husband smiled. “Indeed. So, we will have our joint coronation.”

They were interrupted by cheers. “Long Live King François and Queen Anne!”

François and Anne waved at them, holding their smiles in place while they spoke. As per custom, the king and his wife had spent the previous night before their Sacre at Palace of Tau, or Palais du Tau. It was the palace of the Archbishop of Reims. At dawn, they had been awakened by two ecclesiastical peers – Louis de Bourbon de Vendôme, Bishop of Laon, and Louis de Villiers de L’Isle-Adam, Bishop of Beauvais. According to the rule introduced by King Charles V in 1364, the bishops of these dioceses had come to fetch the monarchs in their rooms. The clergy and officials, involved in the coronation, had assisted the spouses in dressing for the Sacre in gowns prepared in advance.

“You would not have dared to deprive me of this ceremony because of your love for me.” Her lips lengthened into a grin. “And I’m a daughter of King Charles the Eighth.”

He teased back, “Yes, for these reasons. Yet perhaps I would have dared do so.”

Anne lowered her voice as she replied, “At times, I want to slap you, François.”

“Try.” His quiet voice nearly vibrated in his chest. “But later, please. At night.”

Charles IV, Duke d’Alençon, and Duke Charles de Bourbon, as well as Louis d’Orléans, Duke de Longueville, rode just behind the monarchs. They were followed by the high-ranking clergymen: the Bishop of Laon and the Bishop of Beauvais, together with Gilles de Luxembourg, Bishop of Chalons, and Charles de Hangest, Bishop of Noyon.

Besides, there were other nobles and prelates, all clothed in expensive ermine and sable cloaks. They were those whom King François had selected to serve as the holders of the Sainte Ampoule. Having taken the Holy Ampoule, they had sworn to return it back after the Sacre to the Abbey of Saint-Remi, which kept the relics of Saint Remigius, Bishop of Reims, who had converted the Frankish King Clovis I to Christianity in 496. The Sainte Ampoule was a flask containing a sacred oil, which, according to legend, had been applied during the baptism of Clovis.

Soon the royal cortege stopped near the magnificent Cathedral of Reims. It stood at two-hundred and sixty-six feet tall, its towers seeming to touch the clouds above. Since Clovis of the Franks, the basilica embraced many moments of history. In 816, Louis the Pious, the King of the Franks and co-Emperor, had been crowned at Reims by Pope Stephen IV together with his father, Charlemagne, Holy Roman Emperor. Since then, many French rulers had gotten coronated in this magnificent chapel.

Helped by the grooms, François and Anne dismounted, and the others followed suit. Everyone glanced up at the cathedral with a sense of wonder. The Carolingian, early Gothic church had been destroyed by fire. The present Gothic Reims cathedral had been constructed starting from the 13th century and until the mid-15th century. They entered the basilica after the chanting of the canonical hour of Prime.

Inside up on the many archways were the stained-glass windows, depicting the early Capetian and Valois kings of France and some biblical scenes such as David and Goliath. There were grand statues of former monarchs craved in the walls. The people in the pews stood up as the new monarchs were making their way down the aisle.

King François had not shaved his beard, determined to make such rugged looks fashionable. After he had discarded his sable cloak, his outfit of white and blue velvet ornamented with rubies and diamonds, shimmered in the candlelight. There was a gold and blue brocade mantel draped over his shoulders, flowing out behind him. All of these things were embroidered with the Valois coat-of-arms and golden fleurs-de-lis. 

On his arm, Queen Anne was garbed in a gorgeous white and blue damask gown with golden fleurs-de-lis etched into the fabric. Her crescent stomacher was of golden brocade, studded with diamonds. Anne’s auburn hair was pinned behind a bejeweled French hood. From her neck dangled a sapphire necklace, which her husband had granted her for their wedding day, having said that it sparkled like her eyes.

Unlike her usual somberness, the queen was smiling radiantly, as was the man beside her. Their mood soared to the ache of exhilaration as they promenaded along the long nave, admiring rose windows, the vaulted roof of the nave, and upper galleries.

The choir commenced singing prayers. The abbot and monks of the Abbey of Saint-Remi, clothed in red robes, were arriving in a long line. The monks carried the Sainte Ampoule in its reliquary, connected with a golden chain with the neck of the Archbishop of Laon, who traditionally possessed the holy mixture during the ceremony. Four monks bore a silk canopy over him. Everyone bowed reverently as they passed them.

Adonis and Helen of Troy, Louise de Savoy observed from where she was in the front pew, misty-eyed. Oh, dearest Cecile, if only you could see them now. You would be so pleased. They are the golden couple of France. Louise was fond of her daughter-in-law, as if she were her flesh and blood. Nonetheless, the lack of a son worried her. Being now in this sacred place, Louise prayed hard for the bright future of this couple and begged the Lord to give them a male heir. 

The young royal couple approached the altar and waited. Dressed in sumptuous crimson robes, Cardinal Robert de Lenoncourt, Archbishop of Reims, and others reached the altar. Lenoncourt, as well as the other present archbishops and bishops solemnly swore to return the Sainte Ampoule to the Abbey of Saint-Remi after the Sacre.

The Archbishop of Reims led François through the coronation oath. Now in his early thirties, Lenoncourt was a tall man, with a pale and strict countenance framed by a long beard at the bottom, and smooth black hair, covered by his red flat cap.

In an uncharacteristically subdued tone, the chestnut-haired monarch recited, “I, King François of France, first of my name, swear to uphold the justice and laws of the land. To keep the peace and prevent iniquity. I swear to defend the Catholic Church and my people from all our enemies both domestic and foreign.” His conviction rang true for all to hear. “To act as a knight protecting my subjects as well as leading them.”

All around, the Valois and Bourbon princes of the blood, aristocrats, dignitaries, and churchmen turned their attention to their new sovereign. Then their eyes shifted to Queen Anne, who approached her husband and proceeded to her own oath.

The Archbishop of Reims spelled pronounced: “Et per praesentem traditionem nostram, omnium scilicet episcoporum, caeterorumque Dei servorum.”

The queen spoke clearly and regally. “I, Queen Anne of France, pledge to be a steadfast consort who serves her people dutifully and loyally. I pledge to uphold God’s will, as well the king’s will as his consort and his dutiful wife.” It was a necessary thing to say in the country where the Salic law was of paramount importance. “I promise to help my husband, our lord and master, govern with wisdom and compassion.” 

Upon saying the oath, the monarchs rose from the floor. Anne curtsied to her husband before going to stand a few feet away from the dais, knowing this part of the ceremony was for the monarch alone. François was already king, but the ancient rituals had to transform him into the true son of God chosen to rule the French lands.

The monarch was then aided to change into a special shirt for the upcoming anointing. This garment would later be burned after the coronation according to tradition.

The Duke de Longueville, Grand Chamberlain of France, placed a pair of leather shoes, decorated with the fleur-de-lis, and laced them up before attaching a pair of golden spurs to them. Once he was finished, he bowed and took a step back.

Duke Charles d’Alençon was attired in a blue and crimson jerkin with red breaches. The fair-haired man of twenty-six had been honored with the same role his grandfather had performed at the coronation of King Charles VII almost a hundred years earlier.

“My king,” Alençon breathed as he held the legendary sword Joyeuse, which was said to be wielded by Charlemagne himself. “Accept this sword from our hands, and with it be a great ruler and warrior, just as the illustrious Charlemagne.”

“May I always be worthy of wielding it,” François proclaimed with determination.

The monarch received it with his knees bent, then put it to the altar, and retrieved it back. Finally, from his hands, it was given back to one of the seneschals who would keep it unsheathed throughout the ceremony until the return to the Palace of Tau.

After the ritual of chivalry, it was the time for anointing, the center of the ceremony. The Archbishop of Reims approached François, carrying the Sainte Ampoule. With the thumb, the prelate took the mixture of oil, which had almost mystical importance in this ritual, and traced nine cross-shaped anointings across the sovereign’s body, while also pronouncing the ritual words. François felt the gentle touches on the top of the head, the chest, between the two shoulders, the right shoulder, the left shoulder, the joint of the right arm then of the left arm, and then on the palms of the hands.

Afterwards, what was left of the holy mixture in the Sainte Ampoule would be returned to the Abbey of Saint-Remi. This reinforced the popular belief in its inexhaustible contents.

The queen was anointed with holy chrism twice on her chest and her head.

A few moments later, the royal insignia was brought by Pierre II de Gouffier, Abbot of Saint-Denis. In the meantime, the Grand Chamberlain helped the ruler dress into a red brocade tunic similar to that of the sub-deacon. Then Longueville helped François put on a dalmatic like that of the deacon and a mantle like the chasuble of a priest. All these items were of red brocade, with the Valois heraldry, and fleurdelized. 

The Archbishop of Reims blessed and placed the ring on the fourth finger of the monarch’s right hand. “Your Majesty! Please, accept this sign of holy faith and the integrity of the kingdom to encourage the good and correct the bad, to lead the righteous in the right way, and to protect the humble.” Then prayers followed.

Within the next few minutes, the King of France received the scepter, a symbol of his authority, from Michel Boudet, Bishop of Langres. The Archbishop of Reims then put a majestic golden crown, composed of a golden circle surmounted by four fleurs-de-lis placed on a velvet cap adorned with pearls, upon the head of the monarch. François then settled in a grand throne, holding the scepter.

Robert de Lenoncourt neared the throne and declared, “May God make Your Majesty the mediator of the clergy and the people.” Then he stepped aside. 

The peers of the realm approached the throne. Each performed an act of homage to their liege lord with a kiss on the hand, saying, “Long live the eternal king!”

A number of birds were released under the vaults. François and his mother, Louise, had purchased more than seven hundred sparrows and doves beforehand for this occasion. A host of them was flying as if in slow motion along the length of the cathedral, twittering and causing the congregation to laugh. Then coins and medals were thrown up.

As the presentation of the insignia and the enthronement, King François and Queen Anne attended a celebratory Mass in the basilica. In addition to standard prayers and the Te Deum, the Mass for the coronation of King François I and his consort had been composed by Claudin de Sermisy, who was a musician of the Sainte-Chapelle since 1508 and a member of the Chapelle Royale since the reign of King Louis II.

The ceremony lasted for at least five hours, and by its end, everyone was tired, impatient to return to the Palace of Tau to attend the splendid coronation banquet.

At the Palace of Tau, the court had their fill of meat pies, legs of mutton, pastries, and rich delicacies. After a scrumptious meal, with many toasts to the new royal couple, it became time for dancing.

The music started playing as the men and woman of the court divided into two lines with the king and queen leading, holding each other hands. They glided across the room slowly, moving with the beats of the music.

“Mademoiselle Marie is most put out,” Anne noted as they took two steps to the right and then to the left. “I think she was hoping that you would choose her as your dance partner.” 

François frowned, not even glancing towards his mistress. I sense a trap, he mused, she is going somewhere with this. “It is our coronation celebration: I shall dance with no one but my wife.”

As they shifted their wight side to side, the queen’s eyebrow rose up her forehead as if she were intrigued by his words. “And what of the celebrations afterwards? Will you dance with your mistresses then, snubbing me for their favor?”

Her husband was affronted. “Do you think I would humiliate you so?” Their marriage was a happy one, born from their childhood friendship and genuine affection for each other.

“What if you met a woman who demands such treatment, wishes for you to publicly show your devotion?” Anne inquired.

“Then she is unworthy of my attention,” proclaimed François. “I will not choose someone who disrespects you.”

“That is all I ask, husband.” 

The Basse dance came to an end as the couples did the reverence where the men bowed, and the women curtsied at their partners.

Taking advantage of the lull of music as the musicians tuned their instruments, François led Anne to a secluded corner.

He wanted to know why after five years of marriage, she was bringing this up now. “Why do you ask such questions? Do you think I would humiliate you so?” he reiterated. 

Although, the brown-haired man knew of his wife’s cynicism, he had always thought she at least trusted him.

“Would you like my honest answer?” Anne asked, her eyes darting around the hall, making sure that no one nearby was listening in.

“It pains me that you even have to ask that,” François muttered.

The queen inhaled deeply, having the air of someone choosing her words carefully. “I wish to be consulted when you make a woman your mistress so I may be assured of her character.”

François pressed his lips together in thought. That was…not an unreasonable request. As king, there would be many ambitious women vying for his affection, who might put on a mask of sweetness to hide their shrewish nature.

Although his mother, who had a knack for knowing all that transpired in the court, would be able to sniff out such snakes and intervene before he became smitten, having a mistress the queen could get along with, would keep the harmony of the court.

“I still get the final say.” Despite the sternness of his tone, François knew that if Anne asked him to banish his lover from court, they would be gone before she could finish her sentence.

Anne smiled knowingly at him as if she could read his thoughts. “Of course, my love. I would never deny you that.”

The music started again, a jaunty tune, signifying it was time for the tourdion.

François extended his hand in silent invitation, bowing shallowly. His wife took it wordlessly and they sauntered back to the dance floor, joining hands with the other dancers.

They took a step to the left before moving back, then they swung forwards.

“We’ll meet again,” François jested as he twirled her around, having her take the spot on his other side.

“You’ll wait for me then?” Anne laughed.

“Always.”

March 18, 1515 

England

The nursery was quite crowded for the first time in many years. The York children huddled around the crib to see their newest sibling. Even Queen Elenora of Denmark was there, she and her husband having decided to visit England to strengthen the alliance between their countries, in hopes they would provide aid to the reconquest of Sweden.

“Isn’t she precious?” Elenora cooed, reaching down to touch the infant’s face. She could not help but feel a bit of jealousy as she had only two children in the past five years while her older stepmother had four.

Then again it was not her fault that her husband like spending time with his ill-bred mistress instead of her. Hans and Edvard were proof that she could birth healthy heirs and they were enough.

“Princess Isabel,” Elizabeth whispered from where she was standing with the year-old Kitty in her arms. “Her name is the Spanish version of my name.”

Charlotte rolled her eyes. “We know that.”

“Lottie,” Eleanora warned, giving her sister a meaning glance. “Be nice.”

“We didn’t know that,” Johnny pipped up.

Much like Thomas and Henry had latched on to Charlotte, John and Liam had latched onto Lizzie.

It reminded Eleanora of the days when it had only been her, Ritchie, and Ed. Back when things were quiet and peaceful. Before the tragedies started happening and the tension between her uncles boiled over.

She had left England three years after her mother died, a girl of fifteen. Before she did, she had gone to her mother’s rooms, just to look around one last time, seeing her mother’s chambers untouched and unchanged.

Her first meeting with her stepmother had been awkward to say the least, for when Eleanora stepped foot in the queen’s apartments, she almost lost her composure.

Gone were the tapestries of scenes of Robin Hood and his Merry Men and the images of King Arthur and Queen Guinevere. Gone was the portrait of Sir Henry “Hotspur” Percy---her mother’s famous ancestor. Gone were the gentle touches her mother had scattered around her chamber.

She had known her mother was dead for years. However, in Denmark, it was easy to pretend that her mother was still there, just an ocean away. Somehow not even her father’s real marriage had really deprived her of that silly notion. Seeing the changes in her mother’s chambers was finishing blow. Her mother was gone, and nothing would bring her back.

“Your Majesty.” Queen Katherine’s voice broke through her thoughts, gently pulling her back to reality. She had just been given the all clear to have visitors, having emerged from her churching.

 “Forgive me, I have not been in my---I mean the queen’s apartments for some time,” Eleanora amended, berating herself for being so foolish. “It is a little jarring. I hope you will not take my melancholy as an insult.” She tried to make a joke, but she was sure it fell flat.

Pity swam in the queen’s eyes, and she gestured for Eleanora to sit down beside her on the black velvet couch.

As she sat down, the former English princess was relieved that Katherine had dismissed her ladies, allowing them to have some privacy.

“You must think I am so childish,” Eleanora blurted out, touching her cheeks to be sure there was no wetness on them. “I am a woman grown and I knew my mother was gone but coming here like I have so many times as a child and not recognizing the place is overwhelming.”

“I understand.” Katherine did not apologize for making the apartments she lived for the past four years her own, but she could empathize with Eleanora’s sadness.

She had left Spain before her mother died, coming home to witness all her mother’s things being replaced by Margarita’s possessions had been unnerving to say the least. Granted, she had also been mourning the loss of her husband and baby daughter that it had taken a toll.

“My mother would have loved you,” Eleanor remarked.

The queen stared at her in surprise. “Really?”

“The last thing she ever said to me was I hope that your father loves again because I don’t want him to waste away in unhappiness.”

Eleanora took Katherine’s hands in hers. “Thank you for being there for my father, for bringing him joy.” 

Katherine said nothing more. She took the girl in her arms and hugged her.

“HOW DARE YOU!”

There was the sound of a slap as Katherine thrust open the doors. Inside her bedchambers, Maria was looming over Elizabeth Stafford, eyes filled with fire. As for Mistress Stafford, she was clutching her cheek with one hand, with her other hand holding something behind her back.

“What is going on here!” Katherine demanded, shooing the ladies behind her away so she could deal with this, closing the door behind her.

“Lady Maria hit me!” Elizabeth Stafford sounded like a child tattling to her mother. “I didn’t do anything, and she slapped me!”

“You pathetic little liar,” snarled the Spanish woman.

“Maria!” Katherine admonished, scandalized by her lady’s outburst. Even in private, noble ladies were supposed to be in control of their emotions.

“Forgive me, Majesty, but I just found this thief rifling through your things, reading your letters,” Maria reported. Although her tone was much calmer now, red fury was still painted on her visage.

Katherine’s scrutiny flew to her troublesome lady-in-waiting. As the woman was the sister of the Duke of Buckingham, she could not be fired without proof of wrongdoing---well she could be, but the queen had no wish to alienate a high ranked duke especially when he was married to the king’s sister.

Edward Stafford was a prideful and temperamental man. Nonetheless, if Maria’s words were true, then not even he would disagree with his sister’s dismissal.

Katherine drew herself up, schooling her features into a stoic mask. “Well? Lady Stafford, what do you have to say for yourself?”

“My lady, I swear I know nothing. I was minding my own business---” Elizabeth Stafford fell silent when the queen raised a hand.

“Please do not insult me with an obvious lie.” Katherine kept her tone carefully measured as she took a step towards the woman who was acting like a mouse backed in a corner. “Hand it over. Now!” The last word was sharp enough to make Elizabeth Stafford jump.

The blonde had a sullen expression on her face as she shakily brought her hand out from behind her back, revealing a nearly crumpled piece of parchment.

Katherine snatched it from her, smoothing out the paper and giving it a cursory glance to confirm it belonged to her. She felt a surge of fury when she recognized her daughter’s handwriting.

Although it was enraging that the lady, she had trusted to serve her would invade her privacy, there was something about this wretched wench reading the letters her beloved Marie wrote to her that just infuriated her. 

She could imagine this spiteful witch laughing at her sweet daughter as she poured her heart out, admitting her deepest wishes, confessing her darkest fears.

It was enough to make her want to rip the woman’s hair out.

Katherine took a deep breath, steadying herself, struggling to keep her emotions in check. She certainly could empathize with Maria’s earlier outburst, but she had to lead by example, always remaining composed.

“Who paid you to read my letters?” she inquired.

Elizabeth Stafford had nothing to gain and everything to lose by snooping through the queen’s things. Regardless of her feelings towards her mistress, being the queen’s lady-in-waiting was a coveted position and she wouldn’t take such a risk unless there was a payoff.

The Countess of Sussex bit her lip, her thoughts racing. Finally, she stuttered out, “My brother, the Duke of Buckingham. I didn’t dare refuse him.”

Whoever hired her to spy on me must have been desperate to have hired her, Katherine jeered. My four-year-old son lies better than that.

“Maria, have someone summon the Duke of Buckingham,” the queen commanded, keeping her gaze locked on the disgraced lady. “I wish to get his side of the story.”

Lady Sussex turned white as a sheet. “Wait, don’t.” 

Katherine quirked a delicate eyebrow as if astonished. “Why not? If your brother is bribing my ladies, I want him to be aware that this behavior will not be tolerated,” she declared. “In fact, I may have Edward banish him from the court for his deceitful behavior.”

Beside her, Maria had not moved, and she put a hand on her mouth as though she was concealing a vindictive smile.

“It wasn’t my brother,” divulged the soon-to-be ex-lady-in-waiting. “It was the Earl of Northumberland. He hired me to make copies of the letters you wrote and the ones you received as well as inform him of your activities.”

“How long have you been working for him?” Katherine demanded.

Elizabeth Stafford fell silent. The queen was about order her to answer when King Edward burst into the room, a dark scowl on his face. His sudden appearance was so startling that only Maria remembered to curtsy. “Answer my wife’s question,” he instructed in a dangerously soft voice, having overheard everything.

“Since I was first assigned to her household,” Elizabeth Stafford admitted, tears in her eyes as she knew what was coming next. 

Edward opened his mouth, only for Katherine to place her hand on his arm, silently requesting he let her handle this. After all, it was her lady who had erred, and it was her privacy that was invaded.

Her husband nodded his consent. Katherine swiveled towards Lady Stafford.

“You will leave court immediately and return to your husband’s estates,” she ordered coldly. “Your post as my lady has been terminated. I will be sending a full report of what has transpired to your husband and to your brother.” 

Perhaps it was pettiness, but the queen very much wanted Buckingham to know of his sister’s attempt to shift the blame onto him.

Now Elizabeth Stafford was crying as she fled the room. Katherine dismissed Maria with a nod. Her most faithful companion curtsied twice before vacating the bedchamber, allowing the monarchs some privacy.

“I will be having a sharp word with Northumberland,” declared Edward, his eyes flashed with wrath. “He will be exiled from court along with his co-conspirator.”

Katherine didn’t think she had never seen him so irate. But then betraying his trust was one of the few things that caused him to lose his temper.

“No, don’t,” she protested, reaching out to stroke his arm. “He already is insisting that I am against him and his sister, this will only fan the flames.”

“I will not let this go on unanswered,” Edward said firmly, placing his hands on her shoulders. “You should not have to deal with a man who is making it his mission to undermine and slander you.” 

“He can squawk all he wants, it doesn’t mean anyone will listen,” Katherine pointed out with a ghost of a smile on her lips.

“I still don’t like it and I will be making sure he knows that.” Edward’s tone broached no argument.

His former brother-in-law had always been pompous, ever since Eleanor and he married, and the only reason he had not ousted Northumberland from court was for his wife’s sake.

Katherine kissed him, deciding to change the subject. “Did you just come to visit, or did you have a reason?” 

“Perhaps visiting you is my reason,” the king teased, lowering his hands from her shoulders, caressing her arms until her was at her hands. He entwined their fingers and lifted one of her hands up so he could lay a kiss on the back of it. “We have received an invitation to make a state visit.”

“Oh?” 

“King François and Queen Anne have invited us to spend a month in France,” her husband announced.

It felt as though the wind had been knocked out of her. “We’re going to see Marie,” she breathed.

“We’re going to see Marie,” Edward confirmed.

For all of Katherine’s belief of keeping poised even in front of her loved ones, she all but wept in her husband’s arms at the notion of holding her little girl again, after eight years apart.

“I want you to know I had nothing to do with my sister’s treachery.”

King Edward chuckled. “I never said you did.”

After leaving his wife’s apartments, he had gone to his private audience chamber and summoned Northumberland, while he was waiting, his other brother-in-law all but demanded to be permitted in his presence.

“I will of course be apologizing to the queen for this conniving behavior on her part as it has shamed my entire family.” The Duke of Buckingham was usually red faced, but this time it seemed to have spread to his ears and neck.

And he hasn’t even been told about his sister trying to make him into a scapegoat, Edward mused dryly.

“I must be cursed to have such wrenches for sisters.” Buckingham was continuing to rant, including the disgraced Countess of Huntingdon in his sentence. He had not talked to Anne Stafford for many years and had never laid eyes on his bastard nephew.

“My lord,” Edward interrupted the man, raising his voice slightly to catch the duke’s attention.

Immediately, Buckingham fell down to his knees, clearly expecting a scolding. “Forgive me, Sire, I am just overcome with anger.”

“While I can understand your outrage, it is not you who she spied on,” the king reminded him sharply. “It is not you whose trust she betrayed.”

His father had snakes in his court and in end it had nearly destroyed his family. Katherine had begged him to not incite the Earl of Northumberland. Nonetheless, he would not allow another Clarence or Gloucester to destroy his family.

The younger man nodded vigorously. “Yes, Your Majesty, I apologize for my imprudence. Despite my sisters’ actions, I swear to you that I am loyal.”

Edward rubbed his temples, mentally making a list of his brothers-in-law.

Obviously on top of the list were the late Henry and Charles, both he would have gladly called his family without them marrying his sisters.

Then there was Juan of Castile, he never had meet him in person, but they had written countless letters back and forth, and managed to come to an understanding. In fact, they were thinking of marrying Elizabeth with Infante Alfonso. King James of Scots had been a polite man who treated Anne of York well even giving up his mistresses for her, but he and Edward had not gone past formal pleasantries.

Buckingham was second to last. He was entitled and temperamental. However, he was satisfied with the roles he received. Katherine suggesting him as the Lord Deputy of Ireland certainly had made him happy. 

Lastly was Henry Percy. He used to be Edward and Dickon’s childhood friend but after all of his actions, the English ruler was ready to strip him of his titles and lands just to humble him.

However, Katherine was right, if he did that, she would get the blame and he would rather not to punish Eleanor’s nephews and nieces for their father’s foolishness.

“The Earl of Northumberland is without.” Edward was brought out of his musing by the voice of his steward.

“Thank you for your words, my lord.”

Buckingham recognized the dismissal in his voice. He got up from his knees and bowed before backing out of the room. He glared at Northumberland as he passed him.

If that didn’t give Henry Percy a clue that he was in trouble, the furious look on Edward’s face was enough for him to drop to his knees just as Buckingham had done just moments before.

“Your Majesty, I beg your---”

“DO NOT SPEAK!” Edward roared, slamming his fist on the table. “You hired someone to spy on my wife!” Suddenly his eyes widened. “Was she the only one? Tell me now!” He would have Richard Pace interrogate the queen’s ladies to make sure that there were no other disloyal vipers in her household.

“I have no spies, Your Majesty, I swear!” Percy vowed. “That woman was lying, I swear to you.”

“DO NOT LIE TO ME!”  bellowed the monarch, gripping the table’s edges just to make sure he did not rush over and pummel that knave to a bloody pulp.

How Ali was related to him, I will never understand, Edward snarled.

“Sire, this is clearly some sort of misunderstanding.” Northumberland kept his face lowered to the floor, his manner carefully composed. Yet there was a trace of fear and dismay. “If you will just let me---”

“Enough,” Edward injected, grinding his teeth. “Your lies will only make me angrier. Against my better judgement, I will not be punishing you as harshly as I would like. However, let me make this most clear to you, if you put a toe out of line ever again, if I can trace any rumor back to you, if I find out that you have paid anyone else to spy on my wife, you will be lucky if I only throw you into the Tower of London!” 

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Northumberland stayed on the ground, shaken by the viciousness of the king’s rant.

“Additionally, I think you were about to ask me to retire from court for…let’s say six months,” decided Edward, turning his back on the man.

Katherine was right that Northumberland would think any banishment came from her, but he would not allow his former brother-in-law to escape unpunished.

“Is that your wish, my king?” the earl inquired, lifting his head. “Or your wife’s?”

Edward couldn’t take it anymore. He spun around, marched to Northumberland, and grabbed him by the collar, lifting him up.

“You listen to me, you pathetic worm,” he snarled, spit flying out of his mouth. “Eleanor wanted my happiness more than anything in the world!”

“Even at the expense of her children!” Northumberland shot back. “There are rumors about King Ferdinand, how he poisoned his son-in-law, Prince Alfonso of Portugal. For all we know his daughter could try to get rid of her sons’ rivals for the English throne.”

How dare he! How dare he make such a vile accusation about Katherine! Edward punched Henry Percy, sending him sprawling to the floor. “GET OUT NOW! IF YOU ARE NOT GONE FROM THIS PALACE IN AN HOUR, I WILL HAVE YOU ARRESTED!” 

Thankfully, the earl seemed to have gotten the message that he had gone too far, and he quickly scurried away, leaving King Edward to seethe alone.