~Days of Joy~

5th of July 1470, London....

Six days and six nights the bells of England rang out, from North to South, East to West, shouting the news from London in deafening chimes.

Bonfires burned in every field, lighting the way to heaven so even the angels could celebrate the King's fortune and wine flowed freely through the streets, bringing joy to all who tasted it! Even the devils danced when the delicate crimson drops of Burgundian red slipped into the sewers.

For his precious Prince, King Edward would spare no expense and ordered the local crier would announce his boy's birth every hour for an entire week!

"Hark! On the day, the twenty seventh of June, in this, the most fruitful year of our Lord, Queen Constance safely delivered of a healthy boy for our King! Long live Prince Edward!"

To prominent Yorkist nobles, specially commissioned medals were dispatched, made from solid gold and bearing the emblem of the Prince of Wales: three ostrich feathers beneath a crown bearing white roses!

It was similar to the sigil borne by Edward of Lancaster, now a young man in exile across the sea but England's King disregarded him entirely. There was only one true Prince of Wales and that was his boy, the sweet little cherub who mewled demandingly in his crib when he wanted something.

"He has the Plantagenet spirit!" He quipped when Constance fed him, already counting the days till he could be taken hunting.

"Mm, and the Plantagenet appetite!" She teasingly replied when her breasts ached from her son's endless feeding. There seemed not a moment in the day when her little Prince would not happily suckle from her, his lips puckered with satisfaction and one tiny hand stroking her skin.

She couldn't believe a human could be so perfect and yet, here he was, living, breathing, gaining his strength from her each and every day! She refused to let him from her sight and the thought of his christening twisted knots in her heart at first.

She would've cried, she would've pleaded, she would've even begged at her husband's feet to be allowed from her confinement early to attend the christening but found she had no need to! On the third day of their son's life, Edward entered her chamber and declared four days hence, their son would be christened at Westminster Abbey with all the pomp of a King!

She, the Queen, would be the one to carry him at the front of the procession - there would be no other.

"You are the one who delivered our boy!" He told her, whisking Edward from his crib to see if he'd gained any weight since his last visit two hours prior "You shall be the one to present him to the world! Let the people of London see their Queen!"

His words warmed her heart, as did every glance he gave, every echo of his footsteps when he drew near. Each of his smiles was infused with adoration for every fibre of her being, every kiss overflowing with gratitude.

God seemed to have bequeathed him a new lease of life, giving him the strength of ten men and the joy of a thousand angels! At servants, who mostly went unnoticed, he smiled, with his kin, he laughed, with his friends he drank, even roping young Dickon into downing flagons of wine - heart fit to burst through his doublet!

He had a son! A true, living heir to the York line!

"Prince Edward" He murmured when he held his precious boy, rocking him before the confinement windows, now pulled back for sunlight "My Prince Edward" When Constance slept, he often cradled their son thus, keeping watch over him while she could not.

Oh, how grand the christening would be, he mused gleefully! It would be made a tale to be told through the ages; a legend to be sung by minstrels throughout the empires of Europe! "Let them all see how great the House of York is" He told his little boy "Let them all see how great you shall be"

On the seventh day the bells rung, the city woke early, flooding the streets before the hands of dawn could stretch their golden fingers across the morning sky.

The finest family clothes were drawn from long-locked coffers, creases shaken out with smiles. Dressed in their best, people lined the path the royal procession would take, already kept vigil over by guards in York livery.

White roses were securely pinned to every chest, special ones crafted from pewter the King had ordered handed out to the masses. They would shine in the daytime, catching the light of the streaming sun which was his precious emblem. The sun watched over the land just as he ruled over it; just as his son would one day do.

London buzzed, a hive of activity, ready to burst with every second drawing them nearer to the Prince's christening. Never would there be a celebration as grand as the one they'd see that day, they'd been told!Voices chattered, street vendors called out to sell their wares, wandering through crowds more than willing to spend a coin or two that day!

They would go home with their bellies warm and the seller's purses fit to burst!

Inside the ancient palace, a little Princess sat on the balcony ledge of the courtyard, kicking her satin-covered heels against the stone behind. Mayhap she would scuff them but no one would see, she thought happily, the train of her gown and eyes on her little brother would see to that!

And so, she swung her legs back and forth on the balcony ledge, sitting prettily in her white gown, covered by a mantle of sky blue velvet.

Her eyes tracked the people milling below, some noble, some lowborn but all on high alert for the arrival of their King and Queen. York banners flew from every window and Marie could swear she'd never seen so many white roses in her life!

It was almost enough to put her off them, she thought with a little grin as her heels nudged the carved stone again.

"Tis a lot of people, Dickon" She observed and the young man beside her smiled, elbows, covered by the cloth of silver doublet he donned, leant on the balcony; shoulders hunched a little.

Marie had always adored her Father's youngest brother, just as she adored her Uncle George and Uncle Richard but, those past few months, she'd found herself growing closer to the ever-faithful Dickon.

He was quiet, reserved, yet pleasant company and not always indulging in the serious expression his face seemed set in day after day. She liked to watch him, she found, whenever he spoke to her Father or another noble for it proved to be one of the most entertaining highlights of her day!

Dickon, as a younger brother, had never grown accustomed to being watched and whenever he conversed with another, all she need do was glance at him to see the truth. It was something others missed, merely because they didn't do him the courtesy of paying the seventeen year old any attention!

She could tell when he thought something wise, which seemed to happen whenever her magnificent Father opened his mouth, something stupid (a roll of the eyes when Woodvilles were spoken of) or something downright foolish at which he would arch one dark eyebrow and fix the speaker with a stare so stern Marie had had to refrain from laughing on numerous occasions!

Yes, she'd grown much closer to him but, in truth, her affection was for his constancy more than anything! Dickon always stayed. George was gone, her beloved Uncle Richard was gone on charges her young mind (though intelligent) still refused to believe.

She knew her Mother's homeland was France and so asked, if Warwick was in France, why couldn't he be fetched back? It seemed simple but the Queen had only given her a gentle kiss on the cheek and sent her to bed after that.

All through it, Dickon never left and whenever the fallen Earl of Warwick was mentioned she could see the resonant sting his memory brought the young Duke's heart, the same it brought to hers.

They were bound by the same betrayal through different channels.

And so, she stayed near her young Uncle and on the day of the christening found him watching the courtyard with one of his usual expressions of severity. She'd grown to know they represented thought rather than unpleasantness. He never looked at her that way, no, with her he almost always smiled, just like he did then.

"That it is" He replied, glancing at her for a moment "And there are more to come, I've counted them!" Her eyes widened, his lips quirked up.
"Counted them?"
"Why yes! You remember I went to the Tower yesterday?" A nod answered him "Well, there I saw to the men who were to take part in the procession today"

"And?" Marie questioned, her little legs now still. Arching an eyebrow, he proceeded to list all the men and women that would be there, the nobles the Archbishops, the soldiers, all while his niece listened in awe "And baby Edward" She added when he finished. Dickon chuckled quietly, returning his gaze to the courtyard.

"None could forget your little brother, niece, he is who we are here to celebrate, is he not?"

"That is what Mother says!" She returned and went back to swinging her legs again, listening to the little knocks her shoes made against the wall "Did you see what Father brought to me last night?" She asked and held up her left hand for her Uncle's inspection, wagging the ring on her little finger in his face!

Set on a golden band, encrusted with diamonds, lay a polished swirl of intertwined letters and when her hand was caught, they could clearly be seen. E, C and M.

"Edward, Constance and Marie" The young Princess recited dutifully, remembering every loving word her Father told her the night before when he sat her on his lap and produced the velvet pouch containing her gift "Ma Mère, Father and me!"

Dickon's dark eyes flicked to hers, another gentle smile tugging at his lips, and he settled her hand back on her skirts.

"It's very fine, worthy of a Princess of York!"
Marie beamed and gave a little sigh into the morning, tilting back her head to let the sun fall on her face.

Had it been a different day, she might've felt a playful hand tug on her braid in what was Dickon's retaliation for her pulling on his dark curls whenever the fancy took her! He couldn't do that today, she thought with a mischievous grin, because that day she wore her hair down like a Queen but that didn't mean she had to stop!

Reaching out, she bestowed a quick tug to the back of her Uncle's head and he jerked up in surprise, making her laugh; feet kicking giddily.

"Marie!" He scolded but there was no true trace of sternness to his voice and, placing his hands on her waist, he whisked her swiftly from the balcony.
"Where are we going, Dickon?" She asked through a shriek of laughter as he strode down the palace steps.

"Somewhere you can't reach my head!" Was his reply and she soon found herself set on the courtyard cobblestones; peering up at the young Duke with a pout. From the ground, her head only reached his thigh! He merely chuckled to himself, choosing to pat her on the shoulder instead of her head for fear of impaling his fingers on the coronet she wore "You'll grow" He said and she scrunched her nose up in displeasure.

"Well I hope you shrink!"
Dark eyebrows quirked up in amusement and he took to toying with the bejewelled dagger held firm by a belt at his waist.

"King Edward, Queen Constance and Prince Edward of England!" The booming voice of Lord Hastings made the two look up sharply and Marie's eyes became as large as saucers. Dickon had set out the procession for her little mind to play with like dolls in her head, listing almost every man to be there.

What he had forgotten to mention was how beautiful her Mother would look that day.

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The Archbishops of York and Canterbury led the way in robes that could rival the stars themselves in brightness, heavy crucifixes around their ageing necks. While the Archbishop of York clasped his hands in prayer, declaring lines of Latin from thin lips, that of Canterbury held a heavy oaken staff, bearing a solid gold cross on top.

They paved the way for God and the royal family that day.

Beneath a canopy of cloth of gold, the King and Queen walked the streets of London, basking in the constant adoration of their people. The King was a magnificent sight to behold, a head above most men and glistening in his purple robes, lined with ermine. The bejewelled crown of England sat comfortably on his head and bejewelled fingers lay hooked in the leather belt at his waist, carrying his trusty sword.

Yes, Edward of York was a magnificent sight but the eyes of the crowd were not drawn to him that day, no, they were all upon his precious Queen.

They were sure she was a Goddess amongst men.

A gown whiter than freshly fallen snow lay elegantly draped her body, falling in silken waves to the crimson carpet covering the swept road beneath. Polished pearls embellished the bodice and heavy skirt with an ivory sash wound firm about her slimming waist; covered in sparkling diamonds the very image of starlight.

Her sleeves were lined with shimmering cloth of gold and brushed her gown's silken train hidden beneath a cloak of heavy purple velvet damask held on her shoulders by a gold chain. Ermine coated the collar and hem: fur only for royalty, for Kings and Queens.

White for her purity and piety.
Purple for the blood that ran through her veins and her children's veins.
Gold for the sun that shone down on them all, ruling from above: the sigil of the King.

Each fibre of her ensemble was filled with symbolism, each stitch and colour infused with majesty, weaving together the perfect tapestry of a Queen.

Constance's dark hair went unbound by veil or by headdress, leaving it loose in shimmering waves to her waist. The people could only imagine what it would feel like to run their fingers through those ebony waves; soft from oils and smelling sweeter than roses.

Like her husband, her crown rested on her head and like her husband, she appeared magnificent!

"Queen Constance!" Voices cried and green eyes, filled to the brim with joy, answered them, darting across the faces of her people. When she smiled, they cheered and so not once did her smile falter, leading to a crescendo of voices rising around her like a choir of riotous angels!

"Prince Edward! Prince Edward of York!"

Two proud parents gazed down at the little boy nestled in the Queen's arms, swaddled with cloth of gold from head to toe! He stared at the canopy above with his Father's eyes, cheeks rosy, not making one sound of discontent despite the roaring crowds!

"Prince Edward!" The people roared again "God save Prince Edward and King Edward! God save Queen Constance" And their sovereigns beamed, their joy encapsulated in the infinite love they held for their baby boy.

Behind, Princess Marie carried her Mother's train proudly in her little hands, head held high and Dickon to her left, carrying his brother's. Everywhere she looked, people smiled, people she had never known, never would know yet seemed to adore every bat of her eyelashes, every merry step she took!

Her heart leapt in her chest and she bathed in their love as did every York that day. It was just as Dickon said it would be!

Her regal grandmother followed, garbed in a gown crafted from cloth of silver and a hennin so high it's veil swirled around her like a river of white silk! Beside her, in a line of nobility, walked the Queen's ladies, in gowns of crimson velvet emblazoned with York roses, rosaries in hand and their hair falling loose behind veils. They too smiled, how could they not?

Their husband's carried the royal canopy (apart from Anne's who's post was filled by James) and every step they took was made lighter with pride for their King! The crowds continued to cheer, continued to yell and wave to the nobles as they passed by, trying to catch a glimpse of the little Prince even as his parents mounted Westminster Abbey's polished steps.

The doors stood wide open, bells pealing to invite the the remainder of the court inside and Constance shivered when the chamber's cool air touched her skin at the threshold. In just a few moments her child would be welcomed into God's embrace!

"Wait one moment, sweetheart" Edward murmured and she looked up at him in surprise. Reaching down, the King swiftly took the little bundle from her arms, ignoring her small gasp, and turned to the crowd. The greatest smile on earth shone on his face.

"Your Prince Edward of York!" He boomed and held his son aloft his head, thrusting him into the gaze of God and the city "Your one true heir!" Constance heart jumped in her chest as the crowds erupted with cheers, waving, jumping, shouting their love to a baby who knew naught but his Mother's gentle voice!

"Prince Edward of York" Marie murmured affectionately and then she decided nothing would harm her brother, not then, not ever.

She didn't care he would have the crown and not her, she did not care he was the Prince her parents wanted. He was her brother and therefore hers to protect. She'd never had something to protect before.

"Come, your graces" The deep voice of the Archbishop of Canterbury drew them away from the riotous crowds and the old man smiled, bowing as low as his aching back would let him "Let us anoint your Prince in God's eyes"

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"Ah! And look what my darling sister has sent us from her court in Burgundy!" Edward exclaimed, drawing Margaret's christening gift from its delicately carved oak box.

By the time the christening had concluded, the Queen had been almost too tired to stand and so her husband conducted she, along with their children, back to the comfort of the Queen's chambers and there they stayed for the rest of the evening!

He did not care if the court wished to see the christening gifts slowly being brought out from the boxes piled high around his bedchamber, they could see them when he was good and ready!

Like a child he sat on the floor beside the fire, propped up against one of Constance's legs while she watched him with a smile. Both had long discarded the finery of the day and were clad only in their nightwear; crowns long gone. They were a simple family.

"Remember these presents out for our son, not for you, dear heart!" She remarked when he held up the beautiful golden chalice, studded with precious stones, Margaret had sent.

"Oh, he doesn't mind!" Edward replied, waving a hand towards the bed "See how soundly he sleeps!" And his words were true. Bundled in blankets in the middle of the great royal bed lay two little children, Edward and Marie, the younger nestled in the elder's arms. It was a sight to melt stone and Constance's heart swelled with love.

They looked so peaceful, so happy with their little eyes closed; Marie's hair tickling her brother's forehead! The little Princess had refused to let him go that evening, even at dinner when she tried to coax a spoonful of soup past his soft lips!

"He has to grow strong!" She'd protested stoutly when her Mother took the spoon away, making her Father roar with laughter.

"Ah, and what is this?" He now exclaimed when a knock came at the door and a servant entered the chamber, carrying a wooden box in his hands.
"From Queen Charlotte of France, your grace" He said, laying the box at his King's feet and was promptly waved away by Edward who's eyes were as keen as a child's!

"From the Queen of France!" He exclaimed, holding out a hand and drawing Constance down beside him on the hearth's rug "How nice of her!"

Queen Charlotte had given the King of France a son just three days after Constance gave the King of England one, a joke if ever there was one to be made!

Now do they not only fight on the battlefield, they fight in the birthing bed too, the people said but Edward payed no mind to the chatter, he only cared Louis did not have a card to outplay him with!

"What is it?" Edward asked, waiting for Constance to open the box on her lap and smiling when she let out a gasp of delight at the gift inside. Nestled in a cushion of purple velvet, lay a golden rosary adorned with rubies and emblazoned with the royal arms of England.

"Oh!" She exclaimed in delight, lifting it from its confines and up to the firelight "How beautiful"
"Indeed" Edward agreed, plucking the cool beads and crucifix from her hands and examining it "Perhaps we should send something in return?"
"We should!" She enthused "Perhaps it is the beginning of a new relationship between our two countries?"

The birth of her son was the beginning of many new things.