~The Siege of Hearts and Houses~

"There, my little knight" Richard murmured as he helped his son's small hands to curl around the reins of his armoured destrier. The sun shone high in the sky and soldiers in murrey and blue liveries rushed all around them, waiting for their King to emerge and lead them from the Tower walls. Swords were sheathed and pikes polished, their sharpened tips shining maliciously in the daylight.

Richard had taken the opportunity his brother's unpunctual nature provided to spend his last few moments in London with his son. Little Henry had always held a fascination with horses, liking to run his hands through their manes and his Father was eager to teach him how to ride one.

He longed for the day he could take his son for his first hunt, bestow on him his very first steed and though it would be a few years until he was able to do that, he still propped the boy up in front of him. Holding his soft body safely against his armoured chest, he smiled at Henry's excited giggles, adjusting his little fingers again so that he held the destrier's reins properly.

His hands were so small beneath his own, his skin still soft and warm as it had been when he was a newborn. The day he'd come into the world had been the happiest of Richard's life, of that he was sure. To see his beloved wife with their son in her arms had given him the greatest joy, a joy he wished to feel again and hoped that one day soon, he would.

"Pretty horsey, Papa" Henry said, bouncing up and down in the saddle in an imitation of trotting that made his Father grin; kiss the top of his downy head.
"One day soon you shall have one of your own" He told him "The horse of a fine Prince. Prince Henry of York, Earl of Rutland!"

"Henny York" Henry repeated quietly, his head quickly turning at the sound of heavy boots on the Tower cobblestones "Uncle Neddy!" He squealed, promptly dropping the reins he held and trying to throw himself from the horse so that Richard had to quickly grab him, holding him back.

Edward's lips split into a wide grin and he strode forward to greet his young nephew, whisking the boy easily into his arms.
"How are you lad?" He asked as Henry climbed onto his shoulders, fisting his hands in Edward's golden hair.

"Well, Uncle" He replied and Richard nodded his approval, dismounting from the destrier to clap his brother on the arm in greeting.
"You're late" He teased and Edward arched an eyebrow, glancing up when Henry gave one particularly hard tug to his hair, not seeming to realise the golden curls were attached to his head.
"I am allowed to spend time with my wife before I go to war am I not?"

"You are" An amused voice answered and the two sons of York turned to see Catherine sauntering towards them, garbed in a gown of light pink with elegant hanging sleeves that were so long they swept the ground "Trying to turn my boy into a soldier already brother?" She asked, grinning at the sight of her son making the King's shoulders his own little throne.

"He is a fine soldier!" Edward replied "Aren't you, lad?"

"I am!" Henry declared, giggling with welcome delight when Catherine reached up and plucked him into her arms "Mama!" He murmured, nuzzling into her neck and her smile widened as did Richard's. Stepping beside his wife, he encircled her waist with his good arm and gave it a gentle squeeze.

She responded by pressing a gentle kiss to his lips, eliciting a low whistle from Edward that made Richard frown at him.
"Oh shut up Ned" He snapped while Catherine merely shook her head, looking between the two brothers with amusement dancing in her eyes.

"Come back" She told them and reached out to place an affectionate hand on Edward's arm, the metal of his vambrace cold beneath her fingers "Both of you. And for heaven's sake don't do anything stupid"
"When do I ever do that?" He replied with a grin.

꧁꧂

The English Midlands, 3rd of May 1471, three weeks later....

In sleep, Richard's fingers inched across the covers of the bed, silently seeking the familiar warmth he'd known for seven years.

It was an unconscious habit that'd followed him through the duration of his exile, haunting him like a loving ghost. Despite knowing that Catherine was across the sea, as far as she could be from his embrace, his body still searched for hers in the dark hours of the night, seeking love, seeking comfort, and feeling empty when he did not find it.

He felt the same emptiness when he awoke to the quietness of his campaign tent that night. Rolling onto his back with a groan, he tried not to shift his injured arm too much, manoeuvring it onto the nearby pillow Catherine would usually occupy. Though they had spent six months apart and it was he who had requested she stay in the capital, it still felt unnatural to not have there.

Come hell or high water, she belonged at his side, a place she'd occupied since they were eleven and would do until the end of their days. She belonged at his side and he belonged at hers, like two pieces of a puzzle lying interlocked side by side: equals.

There were no others to replace her, none that would ever fit like Cate did. She had been made for him, or rather (as he usually thought) he for her for she was the sole object of his desire, the sole purpose of his existence, and sent to earth by God who'd seen their souls reunited despite the war separating them. They were blessed, despite their misfortunes, that he could not deny, and longed for the time where they could return to the bliss they'd enjoyed.

To Fotheringhay.

He would order her favourite food, have her favourite flowers planted in the gardens and take her hunting! He would complete the chapel and have their mottos carved side by side along with their sigils, a matter she was still yet to decide!

Whatever she asked for, he would give and he remembered the day of Henry's birth when he'd stated he would happily wrench the crown from Ned's head and give it to her if she wanted him to! An amused smirk tugged at his lips as he realised he would do such a thing any day for Catherine!

Shifting somewhat, he reached over the side of his bed, grappling in the dark for a moment before his fingers wrapped around a small circular box. Lifting it into the dim light provided by the small lit taper by his bed, he carefully removed the lid and felt his heart swell at the portrait inside. Catherine's Christmas gift from four years prior had been one of the few possessions he'd taken into exile with him and he'd treasured it every moment.

When he slept, he kept it by his bed, when he went out with his brother, he had it tucked in the front of his doublet over his heart and he'd spent many an hour gazing into that familiar face staring back at him. While the portrait was of the girl and not the woman he longed to see, it was still her, those eyes of shining blue were still her, that small smile on her lips glinting with amusement....

He shook his head with a half-hearted sigh, replacing the lid and pushing the box back beneath his bed. He would see his beloved soon enough, he told himself, and not simply by retuning to London for he half feared if he stayed away longer than Catherine allowed she would come riding up the country to fetch him!

As ludicrous as that would be, Richard knew he wouldn't mind and whispered a quiet goodnight into the air, knowing that while she wouldn't hear it, he still hoped her heart could.

꧁꧂

The Tower of London....

"Mama!"
"Aunt Cate!"

Catherine woke with a start to the feeling of two small pairs of hands shaking her awake. Blinking profusely, she could just make out two tear-stained faces in the dark, two lower lips that trembled with stifled sobs. Lizzie and Henry.
"Oh, my dears!" She gasped, immediately gathering them into her arms "What is...."

The air filled with the children's sharp screams as the Tower suddenly shook and a large bang resonated throughout the mighty fortress, sending small specks of rubble sprinkling down onto the bed.
"Christ!" Catherine exclaimed as Henry and Lizzie clung to her "What was that?" The Tower shook again and she clutched the two children tighter, her eyes shooting to the door as it banged open and Margery rushed in.

"We are under attack" She said, her auburn hair wild about her face "By Lord Fauconberg, Thomas Neville" Her chest heaved and she jerked her head towards the open door "He's laid siege to the city, war ships are coming up the river" Catherine's eyes went wide and she dragged herself from the warmth of her bed, her son and niece in her arms.
"War ships? Heaven forbid!"

Rushing over to the window, she peered into the darkness only to see the sky clouded with thick, grey smoke billowing from the banks of the river. Amber flames licked at the Tower walls and Catherine held the children in her arms tighter. She hadn't even thought to ask how the little Princess had gotten into her rooms but she did not care. All that mattered was that she was safe.

"Your grace? Margery?"

Margery's husband appeared at the door, holding their son in his arms and his red hair ablaze in the torchlight.
He was fully suited in armour and his eyes alert as he searched for his wife and her lady, holding out a hand that Margery took.

"Come" He said firmly "I will take you to safety"
Catherine did not hesitate to do as he asked, following Dickie and Margery through the halls and down winding stone staircases that echoed with their hurried footsteps. The boom of cannon fire followed them, leaving a painful ring in their ears as the Tower quaked and dust rained down upon them.

"Mama" Henry whimpered, burying his head in her neck but it was Lizzie who comforted the boy, wiping away her own tears to place a hand on his arm.
"All will be well, little cousin" She told him gently, forcing a small smile onto her lips and, despite her fear, Catherine could feel her heart swell with affection for her young niece.

"It will" She assured them, flinching when another blow hit the Tower and the strong walls shuddered. Down, down, down, they went, hurrying to the lowest chambers of the fortress where arches of heavy stone held up the higher floors, their pillars ground deep into the earth.  There were no windows, only one door and the vast chamber felt like a tomb (the last place Catherine wanted to be) but she knew it was the safest heaven she could find and so entered without hesitation.

The Queen and her daughters were huddled together on the floor, shivering, clad only in their nightgowns with baby Edward wrapped in a thick blue blanket. Jaquetta sat with them, clutching Mary and Cecily close while the little girls cried, calling out with trembling lips for their older sister when they saw her carried through the door.

Squirming from her Aunt's arms, Lizzie ran to them, pulling them close and snuggling into the crook of her Mother's arm.
"Cat!" Elizabeth exclaimed, jerking her head towards the place beside her "Come! Sit!" Catherine obeyed, quickly settling with Margery by her side, cradling her son close.

"Are they all here?" Anthony called as he strode into the icy chamber, armour rattling and looking commandingly to Dickie who nodded.
"The Queen, the Princesses, the Duchess of Gloucester, the Earl of Rutland and Lady Rivers are all safe, my Lord"

"Good....good" Anthony murmured, looking over the frightened women and children huddled against the stone pillar. A moment later he was gone, Dickie in tow, leaving them with nothing but the sound of retreating metal and the boom of cannon ringing in their ears.

Catherine covered Henry's, keeping him wrapped in her arms while they waited, hands clasped, eyes wide with fear every time the Tower shook. Torches blazed through the small windows below the chamber roof, their warm amber glow causing a shiver to run amongst them. It felt like an eternity that they were kept in the bowels of the fortress, listening to artillery roar and men yell commands; swords slide from their sheaths.

The early rays of dawn threatened to prick the sky by the time all went quiet but none slept, all as awake and alert as they had been when they siege began.
"How are you?" Anthony asked when he finally returned, causing the women and children to jump frightfully at the sound of his voice "Baby is well?"

Elizabeth looked down at the little Prince in her arms, at the pair of green eyes that stared uncertainly back at her, peeking out from his swaddling.
"Now that has stopped" She replied, sounding like she had run a thousand miles "And you?"
"Tired" He admitted ruefully "My ears are ringing"
"That makes two of us" Catherine murmured "Have we withstood all they have?"

Anthony nodded and she leant her head back against the cool stone pillar behind as a sigh of relief swept the group.
"For now" Margery whispered, crossing herself which prompted the others to do the same, even the children despite the youngest not understanding the sacred gesture.

"They've moored their boats" Anthony said "Set up camp not far from here. We will come under siege soon"

"And do we have enough men to resist them?" His mother asked, pulling Mary onto her lap.
"The apprentice boys have been flocking in all night. They should help to contain them"

"So we just wait for our enemies to recover and then storm us?" Heads turned at the sound of Elizabeth's voice, demanding and yet soft, echoing around the chamber. She stared at her brother, meeting his eyes with a determination not easily swayed.
"What do you suggest, sister?" He asked and she gathered the skirt of her nightgown, hauling herself to her feet; little Edward in her arms.

"Striking back!" She cried, clutching him close to her chest "stop them from coming any closer to my family!" When Anthony made no reply, she shook her head, glancing over her shoulder for support only to see her Mother and Catherine staring back at her in silence "Let's attack when they least expect it!" She continued, facing her brother again and seeing his expression darkened "Most men would prefer to die in their sleep would they not?"

"Spoken like a true Yorkist" He all but spat, turning on his heels and striding away; one hand gripping the hilt of his sword. Elizabeth let out a shaking breath, kissing her son's forehead before she lowered herself to the cold floor once more.

"There is naught else to do" She said and Catherine gave a small nod, placing a hand on her arm. To spring an attack under the cover of dark while soldiers stole what little sleep they could was against all laws of chivalry. But she had long doubted such a notion belonged in their world and at that moment, she knew it for certain.

"I would rather give them dishonour in death than see my own life and the life of my child taken"

꧁꧂

Catherine was silent as she slowly brushed out her hip length curls, staring at the hem of her gown and listening to the rhythmic pull of the ivory comb in her hand. The battle was over, not that it had been a battle.

It had been a bloodbath.

She knew she would always remember the sight her eyes were met with when she and Margery had peered over the Tower walls just half an hour before. Men with slashed throats still lay on camp beds, some were sprawled on the ground in blood soaked blankets, their dead eyes glassy with shock. Their air was thick with the scent of smoke and burnt flesh curling from tents that had been set alight, leaving only charred ruins behind.

It was more than enough to turn both women's  stomachs and Margery wretched over the ramparts, losing her breakfast to the river below. Catherine had only stared, stared and thought. The dead she looked upon had once been her people, the men whom she prayed for when York and Lancaster clashed. When she heard of the nature of their deaths she would've cried, would've raged against the usurper who took Henry's throne....but the previous night, she had condoned it.

For the sake of her son, of course, but it still made her heart sting with guilt and she'd ordered Margery to rest before forcing herself to return to her rooms.There she removed her headdress, casting aside the steeple hennin and its sheer veil that flowed from the pinnacle like a silken waterfall. With slow, guided movement, she slid the metal pins from her hair and sighed as the golden curls tumbled down her back; reaching for a comb.

Now, the flaxen strands shone like spun gold but none would have the chance to see them in all their glory for her hands were already reaching for a nearby coffer. Opening the lid, she fished out a while veil of soft linen and wrapped it carefully around her head, hiding her hair from the world. That was what was required when a woman attended chapel and though she was not the most devout of souls, she found she needed prayer then more than ever.

Taking up the rosary that lay by her bed, she wrapped the delicate beads around her hand and made for the chapel, relishing the cool relief that washed over her when she entered the chamber. Her footsteps echoed as they walked slowly towards the alter and beams of multi coloured light stained the floor, tinting the stone in hues of red and blue, green and gold.

With the heavy oak door shut and the only person there being herself, it almost felt like another world and as she knelt, crossing herself, at the alter, she closed her eyes without fear. Wrapping the jet black rosary around both of her slender hands, she rubbed the beads between her fingers, taking comfort in their smooth roll.

The peaceful quietness surrounded her, enveloping her spirit in a warm embrace that encouraged prayers to her parted lips.

"Dear God, please watch over Richard in the battle that is to come" She began, the image of her husband's handsome face flashing across her mind "Strike down the men that seek to take his life and keep him safe in your love. Please God, let Richard win, let him live; come home to me and our son...." The tip of her tongue flicked her lower lip "but his is not the only soul I pray for this day. I would ask for your protection over two others. My brother, Henry Percy. Keep him from the battlefield so that King Edward has no cause to turn his anger on him. Keep him safe for the sake of myself and my Mother who cannot lose more than she has already lost. And one more...."

Swallowing slightly she summoned her next words with a slight hesitance "I ask you for your protection over Prince Edward of Lancaster. While he is a threat to my husband, he has done no wrong and seeks only what he believes to be rightfully his. Spare him on the battlefield, give him a chance to live his life in peace, even though I doubt he will take it. I only ask that you do not take his life, nor his Mother's, Queen Marguerite. You will know that she has suffered more than most"

When she opened her eyes, she found they were filled with tears, the cross on top of the alter blurred into nothing more than a golden mass studded with pricks of blue and red.

꧁꧂

Tewksbury Field....

Two armour clad men, two boys, stood opposite one another, one at sword point, the other brandishing the bloodied blade. All around them lay the bodies of dead men but they payed little heed to the lifeless corpses, far too focused on each other. Their gazes were locked in a silent battle of steely blue, much akin to the one they had just fought in only the blood was drawn in their minds.

"York" The younger of the two sneered, not caring that he had no weapons to hand, nothing to defend himself with. He would not cower before such an enemy, especially this enemy.
"Lancaster" The elder returned, just as bitterly, angling his sword more pointedly at the other man.

Edward of Lancaster.
Richard of York.

As alike as day and night yet one and the same in whom their hearts yearned for. The one person that made Richard hesitate in killing the man before him, the last Lancastrian hair and a boy close to Catherine's heart.

"We'll have at it then!" Edward said, an almost taunting note to his voice as he noticed the way Richard paused. "Kill me"
"You think I don't want to?" He snapped "Your brood has caused a lot of strife to my kin"

"And yours to mine" Edward bit out, seething "You were not the one who spent the last ten years in exile, York"
"Which is exactly where you and your bitch of a Mother belong!"

"Richard!"

The young Prince looked up to see a golden-haired man striding towards them, undeniably majestic despite the grime coating his armour and carrying a fierce look in his eyes that whispered of death. Richard turned, still pointing his sword at the enemy's chest and nodding to his older brother.

"I have him Ned"
"I can see that" Edward replied, clapping Richard on the shoulder with pride while he eyed the young Lancastrian, who looked almost bored at their exchange.

"Where is my Mother?" He demanded at long last "She is the Queen and I will not have her defiled...." A loud laugh rang through the air, the King's laugh and he shook his head.

"Your Mother has been captured" He sneered, his eyes running along the sword pointed at the younger Edward's chest "And she is no Queen just as you are no Prince"
"Then why have you not killed me?"
"The same reason I think you would hesitate to kill Dickon here, Catherine"

Edward snorted at that.
"Had I a chance to kill that halfwit I assure you there would be no hesitation"
Richard glared at him and he smirked back, crossing his arms defiantly over his chest.

"You don't need to reassure me of anything" Edward snapped "not that I would believe you and you will respect my brother. He is a Prince of England"
"He is no more a Prince than I am God!"

The tip of Richard's sword scraped his breastplate and he arched an eyebrow "Found some courage, York?"
"I never lost it" Richard seethed, making his older brother grin beside him. But he did not order death, he did not order blood, instead he reached out, placing a finger on the hilt of the younger man's sword and gently pushing down until he lowered it "What are you....?"

"I do not want you to do something Cat would never forgive you for" He murmured and the Prince rolled his eyes at the affectionate nickname.
"So will you kill me or do I have to do it myself?"

Edwards eyes flicked to his and he slowly shook his head, thoughts clearly swirling his his ever avid mind.
"No" he said softly "not yet"

꧁꧂

21st of May 1471, The Tower of London....

Catherine smiled dreamily as a gown of cloth of gold was draped over her body, the heavy skirts gathering at her feet and hanging sleeves covering her kirtle of white silk. Her hair flowed loose down her back, a river of gold yet to be crowned with the bejewelled coronet Richard toyed with.

He sat before the fire in their chambers, his fingers skimming over the circlet of gold while he watched his wife, a small smile on his lips. He'd returned to her mere two days before, bringing tidings of victory with him which she revelled in, thanking the Lord for answering her prayers. Her brother had once again not been present at the battle and so he was safe as long as he chose not to insight a rebellion!

And as for Prince Edward, she had heard nary a word of him and while that would serve to scare some, it only served to stoke the hope in her heart. If the Lancastrian Prince had been slain, Edward would not have hesitated to do all he could to have the news spread like wildfire! No, she thought, if he was dead she would've long heard of it; more likely he had escaped the field while his Mother and wife were captured.

Poor little Anne Neville, hauled back to London and locked in the Tower with Queen Marguerite, without the Father her old friend had killed....

Did she even know?

Catherine shook her head, that day was not a day for sadness but for celebration, for victory and she would act accordingly! Returning her attention to her husband, she could see out of the corner of her eye he still watched her. Reverently, lovingly, as if she were the Virgin Mary and he a pilgrim, kneeling at her feet. The thought made her smirk somewhat.

Henry was perched on his knee, one cloth of silver sleeve shoved happily into his mouth while he too watched his Mother. Every time the golden material, trimmed with miniver, swept across the floor, swirling about her lithe body, his eyes would fill with sparkling wonder.

"Mama" He murmured and Richard chuckled, pulling his little boy more firmly onto his lap so he didn't topple off.
"Yes" He replied "she's beautiful is she not?"

Catherine glanced over her shoulder at him, a mischievous smirk playing on her lips as Margery clasped her customary diamond-shaped pendant around her neck. It was followed by rings of gold, set with jewels, the ones Henry loved to play with until they were removed from him.

"There" Margery murmured, tucking a lock of hair behind her lady's shoulders "You are ready"
"Almost" Catherine replied, looking to her husband who was already placing their son on his feet in preparation for the final touches to her glory "Come husband" She invited with a giggle as he approached her, Duchess' coronet in hand "Anoint me"

"My Queen" He replied, sweeping an almost comical bow that revealed the boyish side of him, making her laugh again. Leaning forward, he brushed a soft kiss against her lips and she smiled, staring into his dark blue eyes when he pulled away; placing her coronet on her head. His gaze travelled from the sparkling circlet to her face, wandering over her features before he kissed her again "My beautiful Cate" He whispered and she smiled against him, wrapping her arms around his neck.

"My handsome Dickon" She replied.
"And Henny too!" Henry pouted, pushing his little body between them until his Mother picked him up.

꧁꧂

Westminster Palace....

Holding her boy close through halls, made multicoloured galleries with Yorkist banners, Catherine walked with Queen Elizabeth, a step behind perhaps for their difference in rank but beside her all the same. Of course, she was dressed in golden splendour as the rest of the house of York were, donning the glimmering gown she wore upon her coronation day, a day she now seemed to relive as she smiled and nodded to nobles that bent the knee to her; crown firmly on her head.

Only now, she held little Prince Edward in her arms.
The second York Prince of his generation.

Jaquetta followed behind with the three Princesses, garbed in a sky blue gown and possessing a smile so bright that a glimmer of her youthful beauty shone through the ageing face the past years had taken a toll on. In such a light, one could truly see she was the lovely Elizabeth's Mother for such beauty could only come from one as beautiful.

Catherine was sure she had never seen the Palace of Westminster trussed in such splendour, and gazed around almost like a child, eyes glazed over with wonder. The twisting stems of great rose bushes wove around alabaster pillars and torch brackets, pure white blooms blossoming from their sage buds. They filled the air with a sweet scent Catherine relished and she smiled, laughing when Lizzie and Cecily took to playing with their Mother's golden train.

All around her glittered like gold and she let herself be dazzled, seeing naught but stars as she smiled at her son and then the Queen; the six month old baby in her arms. How she wished for her belly to be full again!

"Rosy!" Henry chirped, little hands reaching for the nearest flowers they passed. Catherine laughed and plucked one for him, watching with a grin as he buried his nose in the centre of the blossom and inhaled its pleasant scent "Rosy!" He murmured again, and his Mother could not help but think how sweet he looked holding them emblem of his house. What would he one day choose as his personal sigil, she wondered, she still had not chosen hers!

"Girls! Girls!" Jaquetta called when they came to a point where the corridors met in a circle of pristine marble. Nobles lined the way, each dressed in their finest silks and satins, though none in cloth of gold like the royals were, making them the suns amongst men; the Gods. Coming to a halt, they turned their head to look up the hall and the court began to applaud as the three sons of York appeared.

They held their heads high, Edward's grin as bright as it ever was while he nodded to his courtiers, his brothers beside him. Richard smiled too, even George did, something that would have usually caused Catherine's anger to flare but she payed no mind to it then, she was too happy. Even more so when Henry began to clap along with his kin, grinning from ear to ear.

"Papa!" He called when his Father passed and Richard waved to him while Catherine curtsied to the King with her Queen. Once the sons of York had passed, their wives and kin followed in their wake, creating a river of shining gold that flowed proudly through the palace towards the great hall.

"We have won" Elizabeth murmured, keeping her gaze fixed on her husband ahead "And we both have sons to show for it! Perhaps soon a third Prince of York shall come into the world" Catherine glanced behind her to where Isabel walked in the shadow of the Woodvilles, her face the only one amongst the crowd that did not glow with joy. Instead her eyes were narrowed into arrow slits, pointed sharply at the back of the Duchess of Gloucester.

She had always disliked the flaxen haired woman, it was true, she had thought her to be nothing more than a traitor but now she knew her to be nothing more than a murderer and hated her for it. Yes, she hated her.

It took one short glance for Catherine to know this but she knew she could not care less, for Isabel had no power in the realm and did not possess the strength to wield any.

The only Nevilles she truly cared for were Georgie and the young girl in the Tower with the Lancastrian Queen. How she would face Anne she did not know all she knew was that she could not ask for forgiveness for she wasn't sorry for slaying for Warwick.

Not one bit.

"No" Elizabeth continued, noticing her friend look to the eldest Neville girl "The next Prince shall be born by one of us, my friend, he shall not be born of two traitors" Her next words were drowned out by the raucous applause that filled the great hall as they entered, a thousands pairs of hands clamouring for the love of their King and his kin. Celebrating their victory.

The chamber was adorned as the hallways were, with twisting stems of rose bushes wound around iron candelabras, their amber glow turning the royal family to figures of pure gold and majesty. None could compare and none ever would, Catherine thought as they approached the dais where the thrones of England were placed upon red velvet, now firmly in York hands,

Rather literally as Edward and Elizabeth sat, gripping the arms of the regal chairs until their knuckles turned alabaster white.