~To be Me is a Tragedy All it's Own~

"Open the gates for your Queen!"
Constance stared defiantly up at the defensive walls of Westminster, her face courageous and confident as she threw back her hood. She had chosen her dress meticulously that day, calling Cecily to assist her in her venture.

She wore a gown of red velvet, with white silk along the neckline and sash, beneath a cloak of royal purple, trimmed with ermine. Only true royalty could wear such a garment, not even the great Earl of Warwick and definitely not Elizabeth Woodville. Her hair was loose, a mass of dark curls beneath a golden circlet of pearls and amethysts and around her neck she wore a necklace of diamonds that glistened in the sunlight, blinding those who looked at her.

Trapped amongst the jewels was a golden E necklace, a reminder to all that saw it that she was Edward's but that he was also hers in a way. It was a prospect that thrilled her and she caught herself hoping Elizabeth would see it.

When the Palace guards looked down from their ramparts they immediately snapped to attention, barking orders at one another while the gates were pulled open. Behind her, Constance looked, feeling a slight pity at the sight of old Henry who was once more bound with a hood hiding his gaunt face.

Perhaps God would frown on using his fall for her own gain but it had to be done, she supposed, and she would see he came to no harm.

She then turned to her right where Richard rode, almost like a giddy child as he shuffled in his saddle, dressed in cloth of silver with his shining chains of office on his shoulders. The Earl could not stop grinning and had not done since dawn struck the earth.

He'd whisked little Marie into the air at breakfast, making her babble in delight, clapping her tiny hands together until he set her down on her Mother's lap. It had hurt Constance to leave her little love at Baynards but her heart knew that Cecily and her ladies would care for her; that she was safe for when she returned.

"Please, enter your grace" The gruff voice of a guard called down and she jerked her gaze up once more, nodding sternly before she nudged her steed forward. Mulberry he was called, strong and as black as night, white speckles like stars on his chest and strong hooves that could crush; pounded on the courtyard cobblestones.

When the royal trumpets blared, filling the air with regal music, Constance felt confidence blossom in her chest, making her sit up in her saddle, breathing in the cold morning air to relish its crispness as it trickled down her throat.

Within moments, flashes of colour, myriads of blue, red, green, orange, veils of silk that swirled down from the tops of their owners bejewelled headdresses, struck her eyes. The royal court rushed from the confines of the palace, flooding into the courtyard and onto the balcony, leaning dangerously from the stone ledge to catch a glimpse of the arriving party.

Surprised murmurs arose from the crowd as it expanded, spilling out onto the steps like a wave of silk woven by words.

Soon enough, the Woodvilles began to arrive, one by one in their pretentious outfits of glittering jewels only for their confident expressions to fall at the sight of the Queen. Constance tilted her chin up, pushing back her shoulders when the lithe figure of Lady Rivers appeared through a sea of her flaxen haired daughters.

Her husband and sons appeared beside her, their smiles turning to frowns, to looks of rage when they gazed on the royal party. They muttered to one another, whispering incoherently into each other's ears while clutching at their daggers which only made Constance smile, almost mockingly.

"Insecure little things" She whispered to Warwick and his deep laughter made Woodville eyes snap to him in poisonous resentment.

"The King!" A guard yelled and the crowd immediately parted to let Edward through. He strode through the gap as if they did not exist, his sparkling eyes on Constance and his mouth set in a wide grin. By God, he was as handsome as she remembered, even more so and she was reminded of why she melted at his touch.

"Connie!" He called to her and she inclined her head towards him, smiling in return.
"Ned"

She made sure to use the nickname, lathering it with as much affection as she could, extending her hand for Edward to hold when he reached her. He nuzzled against her soft skin, brushing his warm lips to her knuckles, all the while never tearing his eyes from hers.

"Edward?"

The pair looked to the top of the steps at the sound of a melodic, yet shocked, voice. The courtiers were still parted but now Elizabeth stood in the space they had left, her infant son in her arms. A Queen she looked once more, with her golden hair and sumptuous gown, Constance almost rolled her eyes at it, a pale pink hue with sable fur trimming the sleeves and hem; gems glittering on the skirt and bodice.

Her wrists, her neck, her fingers, curls of her hair were all clad in jewels; so much so they almost appeared like armour in the morning light. She held her boy closer, 'Like a lioness protecting her cub' Constance thought before turning back to her husband, tugging his attention away from his mistress.

"I have a gift to you, Lord husband!" She announced, addressing him but really it was so all the court could hear; all a part of her elaborate act "My Lord Warwick?" The Earl answered her call like an eager puppy, nodding and pulling at Henry's reins so that his horse walked forward before them.

"I present to you!" He bellowed, pulling back the old man's hood "Your one time King Henry!" Edward spun on his heels to see if his cousin's words were true, a laugh escaping his lips while he beamed at his cousin, then his wife. Constance smiled back lovingly and trotted forward; moving into the sole gaze of the curious court that now looked ready to explode with surprise.

"The Earl of Warwick found Henry roaming the fields of Northumberland!" She announced, ignoring the Woodvilles as she rode by, much to their displeasure and her amusement "But he rode out and captured him!"

"And you have brought him in, my love!" Edward laughed, retuning to her steed once more and holding out his arms. Constance gathered her heavy skirts and leant into his embrace; relishing the feeling of his strong arms around her while he lifted her down, onto the courtyard stones.

He crashed his lips to hers, holding her waist in his hands while she swayed slightly, silently hoping that Elizabeth and her kin, saw, felt as she did when she heard of her husband and that golden haired witch "Thank you my darling" Edward murmured into the kiss but all she did was shrug.

"Is it not my duty to please you as your wife, my Lord? To help support you in any way that I am able?"

His grin sobered slightly and two fingers came to gently hold her chin; staring deep into the depths of her green eyes.
"You are my wife, my love" He replied "My Queen, the Mother of my child"

"Children" She corrected softly and watched with excited anticipation as happy tears pricked his blue eyes.
"Children?" He chuckled in delight "you are with child? My child?"

"Of course your child, my Lord!"
She whacked him playfully on the arm giggling when he kissed her again before cuddling her against his broad chest. With an even stronger beam than before, he turned to his cousin and the Lancastrian prisoner.

"We will house cousin Henry in the Tower!" He declared and Warwick bowed his obedience, letting the velvet of his hanging sleeves sweep the floor "and show him a mercy he denied my Father and brother. Go in God cousin" Despite his joy, Constance could not deny there was a bitterness festering in his voice, a hatred he felt but dared not let show for his own sake as much as for appearances.

She squeezed his hand while Henry was led away, standing upon her toes to kiss his cheek.

"Tell them" She urged in his ear, almost like a siren, coaxing him to her will "Tell them my love, tell them we have made a true Prince" Eyes flicking to the steps, her heart gladdened when she saw the Woodvilles had vanished like smoke into the wind "Tell them" She repeated a little louder, a little surer and Edward nodded, tugging her closer once more.

Together, they faced the court, a King and his Queen, devoted and loving, reunited; swimming in the golden joy of a child within her belly.
"My good people, we have news!" His voice rang clear throughout the air "Queen Constance is with child once more!"

The courtiers erupted into cheers, clapping almost wildly in their joy, their excitement! The Queen was with child, a Prince could once more be born! A Prince, a line of security that would solidify the House of York upon the throne! It was the best news that they could've hoped for.

"You are with child!" Edward whispered, gazing down at her with utter adoration.
"I am!" She replied, brushing a hand up his arm "And now, after so many nights away, I want you, Edward"

His eyes shone.

༻᯽༺

Standing before the hearth, the fire warmed her body which hid beneath the thin linen of her shift. Her fingers brushed the hollyhocks that embroidered the neckline, a symbol of fertility and yet another reminder of the babe inside her. A hand dipped to her belly, gently resting against the warm flesh that would soon be rounded with life.

She hoped beyond hope that the little one inside her would be a boy, a Prince for Edward, a King for England. Marie was the grace of her life and the light of her days, any who saw her with her eight month old daughter could not deny it, but Marie of York was no boy, no babe that would secure her father and grow into the sword wielding warrior England desperately desired.

Still, she would be a Queen, Constance was determined to see that through, no matter what the cost.

"Is our little Marie asleep?"

"She is" She said with a soft smile as Edward stepped behind her, sliding his strong arms around her waist with his hands settling where their child rested.
"So you belong to me for the night, sweetheart" He whispered, gently pushing her hair aside with his nose so that he could kiss her neck. She sighed when his lips met her skin, she had waited so long, so long for this.

"Edward...."
He met her moan with another gentle kiss, this time on her shoulder as one hand rose to push the strap of her shift aside. She tended to the other and soon the thin material was sliding down her body, the King's hands following, only pausing to cup her breasts.

A pleasured groan escaped her lips and her head rested on his shoulder as the pad of his thumb rubbed her nipple into a stiff peak that sent electric shockwaves throughout her body. Elizabeth did not even cross her mind.

"I have waited for you...." Edward murmured and she laughed shaking her head.
"Waiting is not possible for you, mon amor, you have probably bedded half the whores of London during my absence" Her breath caught slightly "and that....that woman"

The warmth began to flee her body but Edward's touch coaxed it back, pushing her shift from her hips so that he could slide one hand between her legs; groaning at the wetness he found there.
"No" He whispered, pulling off his shirt with his free hand "There have been none.... not one..."

"None?" She echoed, her voice disbelieving to say the least, so much so that she spun around, one hand cupping the front of his breeches. Her touch was soft, almost featherlight but Edward moaned, a deep almost animalistic noise that made her realise he was telling the truth "none?" she asked again and slid her hands up his chest, beginning to back him towards the bed.

That night, she decided, she would be in control; make use of the pleasures he had taught her the past years.

"Only you" He murmured, dipping his head to capture her lips in a kiss that consumed their souls while his knees hit the bed and he fell back onto the soft covers; the silk rippling around him.

"Only me" Constance said, climbing on top of him as he shuffled back and taking one hand; guiding it to her cunt where her arousal was beginning to drip down her thighs. He eased two fingers inside of her, crooking them towards him and watched with a moan as she tossed her head back, brown waves trailing over pale breasts. Her hips rose up and down, taking his fingers deeper inside her until her body begged for more, more of him.

"Promise me, promise me you will be more discreet with your whore" She breathed, bending down to kiss him with all the passion she felt, rubbing herself against his cock that was still trapped beneath his breeches.

"I promise, Connie....Connie...." Her name was a prayer on his lips, almost pleading which made her grin into their kiss.

"Ned" She repeated teasingly, letting her hands roam down his muscled chest to his breeches. Deft fingers tugged at the laces, pulling down the thick material until he was free and it appeared something snapped within the King. Muscles tensed, ready to burst with lust, he grabbed her waist, tossing her back onto the bed as if she was a feather before kicking off his breeches.

Constance spread her legs, letting her body melt into the bed when Edward dipped between them, burying his face in her cunt and giving one lick that had her crying out in pleasure. Fisting her hands in his golden hair, she moaned as Edward pleasured her in a way he knew would make her come apart.

She cried out, pushing his face closer to her centre and nearly finishing when he chuckled, the vibration sending sparks through her body. The grip on his hair tightened as she wrapped her legs around his neck, keeping him from moving away from her, not that he wished to.

When she started to moved her hips against his tongue he knew she was close and pushed his fingers inside of her again, relishing the moan that erupted from his wife's small body that tightened with pleasure before she exploded.

"Edward!" She whined, white light flashing before her eyes before she collapsed against the pillows but she felt no tiredness; only a hunger. A hunger that drove the fire in her veins as she pulled Edward to her; kissing him and tasting herself on his lips before she pushed him beneath her.

They both groaned, eyes fluttering closed, as she sank down onto him, instantly moving her hips while he grasped onto them, begging her to go faster. She complied and soon they were both crying out in pleasure. Edward came first, his weeks left untouched leading to a need for pleasure that once received; consumed him whole and thrilled his wife.

"Only me" Constance gasped as she followed him into bliss, collapsing onto the King and rolling to the side. A layer of sweat covered both of them and an almost suffocating heat thrummed between them but they did not care and cuddled close, pressing against one another while they tried to catch their breath.

"Only you" Edward murmured, kissing her forehead; lacing their hands together "My wife and Queen who carries our Prince"
"England's hope" She mumbled sleepily; settling into his warm embrace.

༻᯽༺

18th of September 1465, Sheen Palace, London....

His sister, Beth, turned to him with eyes swollen from crying as he entered the Queen's chambers. Tears stained her cheeks and her pale skin was blotched with red patches displaying her raw grief.

'So what they are saying is true' He thought, still out of breath from riding from a Westminster council meeting to Sheen once he'd been told the news.

The other Queen's Ladies were much the same, strewn about the room in their stained gowns with dried blood, almost like dirt, lodged beneath their fine nails, even young Isabel Neville who was nestled in the arms of her cousins and Aunt.

"Neddy...." Beth whispered, her gentle voice, so like their Mother's, hoarse with pain, as she tried to shield him from what lay within the chamber but he only pushed her aside. None would keep him from his beloved's side, not then, not ever "Neddy....don't"

Constance was sat on her bed, wrapped in blankets and sheets that he was sure would cook her but her body showed no signs of warmth. Her skin was paler than alabaster stone, her eyes blank yet swollen red from weeping, they stared into space like burnt out stars, lifeless, dead. Her hair was loose, flowing over her shoulders though with none of its usual chestnut shine; it lay limp against her body, the ends damp with shed tears.

Pale hands rested against her belly, still slightly rounded but no longer filled with the little life she'd cared for, adored, for six months. It was gone, carried away in blood soaked blankets and leaving her alone.

"Leave us" Edward whispered, staring at Constance and, unlike after Marie's birth, none hesitated. They walked out of the room with silent steps, wishing to comfort their Queen yet willing to escape the suffocating air of desolation that engulfed her chambers.

Once they were gone, Edward found the courage to approach the bed, slowly sitting down on the pristine sheets but Constance did not meet his eyes. In fact, she did not even glance up nor move at his presence. He thought it would provide comfort but instead, all it seemed to do was cause more pain.

Tears began to slide down her cheeks again and her face contorted with a twisted pain akin to torture he wished he could take to save her.

"It was a boy....." Her whispered words made his chest tighten as his breath hitched and tears pricked his eyes. Reaching out, he intertwined their hands, hoping that even such slight contact might soothe her. Her hand lay limp in his "I have failed you, my Lord"

It was then that tired green eyes finally met blue, not because of the loss of their child but her words, not true, yet spoken with all the belief in the world. Edward shook his head, trying to control the trembling in his hands.

"How can you say that, my love? You have not failed me...."

"But I have!" She cried, her voice wracked with sobs that shook her entire body, aching with the pain of excruciating loss "I am your wife! I am your Queen, I am meant to bear you sons, an army of heirs, yet your mistress seems more capable!" A humourless laugh left her lips and Constance sank back into her pillows even more, trying to escape the world she was trapped in.

The bleak expanse of her mind slipped to Arthur. Arthur, the golden haired baby that seemed to grow stronger each day that she saw him. That, of course, was every day since his Mother took great delight in parading him around as a little Prince. He was so perfect, so strong, every inch the perfect Plantagenet Prince, the Prince that Constance could not give her King.

"It is my fault I cannot give you what you need" She muttered miserably, tearing her hand away from his though he tried to grasp it back.

"I have what I need, you!"
She scoffed bitterly. It was a lie, a sugar coated one sweet with affection but a lie all the same. England needed a Prince, more than that, the House of York needed a Prince! One she could not provide.

"You need an heir, Edward" She stated, matter-o-factly, almost trying to deny the pain that tore her heart apart. She could still see her son's body, his little hands, his little legs....he had been so small, smothered in blood and not yet fully grown but, to her, he had been perfect. Just like James "My boys...." And then she broke into tears once more, sobbing into Edward's chest when he wrapped his arms around her.

༻᯽༺

July, 1468, three years later, the shrine of Our Lady of Walsingham....

The candlelight flickered in the cool draft that flitted through the small church, it's orange glow briefly dimming before returning to full flame. The golden ornaments laid out on the stone alter sparkled in such light, freshly polished so that every crevice gleamed, illuminating the statue of the Virgin Mary adorning the alter's centre.

Cloaked in her customary blue hood, her porcelain fingers in the process of making the sign of the cross while she held the infant Jesus, she stared down at the two knelt before her with clear blue eyes. It was the King and Queen's royal progress, the seventh of his reign and while travelling through the picturesque village of Walsingham, Constance had ordered the royal party to halt.

Now the King and his court resides in castles and manors nearby, leaving her to her prayers.

This shrine was the shrine of fertility and motherhood, a sacred place where woman came to plead for the good health of their children and to let their womb be filled with life.

Garbed in robes of white and plum, Constance's hair was bound beneath a silk veil that helped to conceal her face and the tears that stained it.

Anne of York knelt beside her, clothed in naught but midnight black from head to toe - a startling contrast to the paleness of her almost translucent skin. The Duchess was in mourning and had been since May when news had come that her daughter had passed of a fever.

Even though she'd never met the girl, Constance could see the effect little Anne Holland's death had on her dear friend. It was if she'd been thrown into a dark abyss of despair and did not even attempt to search for a way out for, without her daughter, there was no light to look for.

Both women were desolate, silent in the grief that filled their hearts although one had borne the pain for what seemed like an eternity. The Queen.

Edward's seed had quickened within her but no ripened fruit had followed, only two small babes in 1467 and 1468 emerged along with the anguished cries of their Mother and Father and a river of blood. Constance had born the second just three months prior, a pretty little boy with eyes as blue as his Father's.

None had spoken it, of course, but it was apparent that in the successive loss of her three babes, Constance had lost her youth, the sparkling light of innocence and hope that made her glow. The girl that had sailed to England at her husband's side was well and truly gone. She was dead, just as five of her children were, leaving a broken-hearted woman in her place who no longer knew if she could feel hope, it was futile.

The silence continued until it was almost unbearable with neither finding the strength to pray, only kneel and stare into the candlelight; think on their losses. The Queen thoughts drifted every so often, thinking of the little boy that still existed in the world, Edward's son but not hers. Arthur. He had blossomed like a true Prince, springing from milestone to milestone with the ease and grace of a golden-haired angel.

Each achievement was another dagger driven into her flesh.

She knew that it was wrong to resent a child, to hate a little boy who'd done her no harm but to exist through no choice of his own. It was Elizabeth whom she should focus her animosity and rage upon but each time she saw Arthur and his perfect golden curls, she felt hatred boil within her and had to look away.

She could not help it, how could she when he was the constant reminder of her failure? Of her unfulfilled duty and the pain she had suffered to try and complete it?

He was the demon in her paradise while his Mother was the snake in her garden of Eden, tempting her husband away.

His two elder half brothers did not help either. They were Elizabeth's sons by her first husband, Sir Richard Grey, Thomas and Richard they were called. Possessing the same golden hair and ivory skin as their Mother they seemed also to have inherited her Woodville nature and swanned around court in her wake, ever condescending and arrogant.

"Excuse me, sister" Anne murmured at last and left the chapel in a swirl of black silk, leaving Constance to her misery. Now alone, she began to weep once more, this time letting her shoulders heave with grief while she clasped her hands together and looked up into the Virgin's face in desperation.

"Please!" She begged in heartfelt sobs "Please, give me a son, send me a boy to fill my womb and make him strong" Tears blurred her vision "Make me blind!" She cried "Make me deaf! Kill me in birth but I beg of you, give me a son, a son for Edward. My womb can still quicken but no living child comes from it? Am I broken? Have I done something to offend you, something to make all of my children die? What sin have I committed against you?" Her chest heaved as she struggled for breath, clasping her hands together so tightly her knuckles turned white.

"If it is your will that I bare no more babes then I beg of you, do not let Ned's seed quicken inside of me! Let me bleed each month until I grow to old to do so but do not put a child in me only to tear it away from my womb!" Constance screwed her eyes shut, biting her lip so furiously that it bled just so the guards outside would not hear her weeping. They did not need to know her pain and it would destroy yet another piece of her to know that they did.

"Give me a son" She breathed on tear dampened lips, trying to swallow her sorrow "Give me a son....please"

So deep she was in her desperation, Constance did not hear the soft footsteps approaching behind her nor the sympathetic sigh that emerged from the Earl of Warwick. He watched her, half hidden behind a shadowy stone pillar, thinking her knelt figure a pitiful sight that painfully struck his heart.

His fondness for the Queen was past the realm of simple friendly affection, she was family, as dear to him as his Isabel and little Annie were. Then, of course, there was Marie, little Marie who at almost four was so sweet, such a happy little child who did not know her existence was not enough to fill the gap in the line of succession.

Warwick loved her, she was, after all his treasured Goddaughter and a little ray of sunshine to all who knew her but she was just one ray, not the blinding York sun the country needed and, seeing her Mother beg so desperately for their salvation, drove him near to tears.

He stepped forward as she slipped from the alter, crumpling to the floor in a sobbing heap of silk. Rushing forward, he knelt beside her. With gentle, yet strong, hands he lifted her from the floor and she curled into him like a child, grasping onto his doublet that soon became damp with her tears.

"I will never have a son, Richard" She whispered "I will never hold a living boy in my arms again"
"You will" He told her, though even he doubted it "you will, Connie"