~The New Queen~

Two weeks later, August 1464....

"You really should be more careful!" Catherine scolded as she sat at her dressing table, fingers curled around the ruby ring about her neck. A reminder of the husband that might have been.

The husband that was, sat behind her on the bed, a cloth filled with ice pressed to his forehead to help cease the incessant sting caused by the gash above his left eyebrow. A wry smile crossed his lips as their eyes met in her mirror and he shrugged.

"That is what it is to be a knight!" He replied "Injuries are to be borne as marks of pride! If we do not fight and lose we will never learn to win!" Cathrine smiled at that, tucking her ring into the front of her bodice before walking to the bed. She sat beside him, peeling away the ice filled cloth from his skin and raising an eyebrow at the blood staining it.

"Did John tell you that? Or Rob?"
"Johnny" He answered confidently, grimacing at the soft fingers that gently traced along his cut "Careful, my Lady!"

"You are the one that should be careful!" Catherine retorted, taking the cloth in hand and pressing it back to his wound "You come back with a new piece taken from you each day! Really, George should be more gentle when you fight, he is older than you!" Dickon scoffed, shaking his head.

"That is no reason why I cannot beat him! A good knight should be able to beat all opponents, no matter the age!"

From the first days she had seen him training it had become clear there was a burning rivalry between the two brothers. Each was determined to prove the best in the eyes of their guardian, the Earl of Warwick. It was already quite clear that Edward favoured the younger of his two brothers and so George was determined to be the favourite for once.

That and he took great pleasure in strutting about the courtyard in his armour; barking at servants that passed by. He seemed to relish his power over them, another trait he shared with Warwick and made Catherine shiver when she saw it. Not that he was ever much in the tiltyard with the other boys where she liked to sit and watch. George was much more inclined to keep his armour clean, reclining in one solar or another while his slender fingers plucked at the little lyre he owned.

Until, of course, an opportunity came for him to beat his little brother down.

"Well you are not a knight yet" She sighed, tempted to smile slightly at Dickon's defensive frown.
"I am!" He snapped "Ned made me a knight of the garter three years ago! And with my training I shall be worthy of such a title!"
"If you say so, my Lord"
"I do say so!" He huffed, folding his arms across his chest, at which, he flinched slightly, one hand resting atop his right shoulder.

"Again?" Catherine asked and Dickon nodded sheepishly, turning so that she could ease the tightly wound cords of muscle that pained him so. It was a constant irritant, she had noticed, during their two weeks at Middleham, not a simple injury as she had first thought. Many evenings after his training, she found he would return with pain in his back and spine, a pain that would not rest until she had gently massaged it away, just like Agnes had taught her.

It was no different that morning, since he had been up before dawn trying to perfect his skill with a mace, and so Catherine set to work.
"Thank you" He murmured as her delicate fingers worked their way along his shoulder "You seem to be the only person that can soothe it, Cate"

She looked up sharply.

There it was again. The nickname he had called her the night before they arrived at Middleham, the name her family had called her. A shuddering breath escaped her lips and her hands rested limp atop her husband's shoulders. Dickon peered around at her, his eyes filled with youth for once "Can I call you Cate?"

Despite all of her promises that she and her husband would be no more than civil, she could feel herself nodding. The action would have caused Georgie to laugh, but she knew by then that her determined words to him had been nothing more than an illusion held up above her unwilling eyes to keep her Lancastrian heart.

But an illusion was just an illusion and could not hide reality forever. A reality that showed they were more than civil, they had formed a unique friendship that Catherine was sure Queen Marguerite would scream at if she saw. For the first time she reminded herself that the Queen was not there and continued to nod, making Dickon smile. He chuckled to himself, placing a hand on top of the one she still rested on his shoulder

"Cate it is!" He said "My Lady" He quickly added to coax a smile of her own to her lips before she continued to release the tension in his wrought up muscles.
"And Dickon for you, my Lord"

A sudden knock at the door made the young Duke and Duchess look up, Dickon tugging the doublet he had discarded back onto his body, almost if he were embarrassed "Enter!" Catherine called once he finished, noting his grateful look as the door opened to reveal a flustered Margery, the colour in her cheeks rising higher by the second!

Half a smile graced her lips but her bright eyes were filled with worry when they settled on her young mistress, prompting her to curtsy.

"Your graces, I come baring news from Lord John" She panted, her chest heaving beneath the deep blue gown she wore, one of her own made from the silk Catherine had given to her. It suited her, the little Duchess saw but Margery's gown did not interest her at that moment. What did, was her words, words Dickon seemed to understand were already spoken as he gently took his wife's small hand in his own "The Earl of Warwick has returned with his family"

Within seconds Catherine's breaths had quicken and she put a hand to her chest to try and pull at the invisible band that tied around it, closing in on her heart. Instantly, Dickon waved Margery away, ordering in as an authoritative voice as he could muster that they were not to be disturbed. The older girl obeyed and as soon as the door shut behind her, Dickon took hold of his young wife's shoulders, that now heaved with erratic breaths, and forced her to face him.

Catherine looked upon him with fear-stricken eyes, the cerulean irises turned a darker hue in sheer terror for what was to come. She flinched when he cupped her face, his hands, slowly becoming rough, cradling her cheeks as their gazes met.

"You knew this day would come, Cate" He told her slowly, wiping away the tears she began to shed "We knew that this day would come and we will face it. There is no way out, no escape so we must face it, my Lady" Catherine shook her head, a pitiful sight as she began to sob, lower lip trembling when she leant into her husband. She sought his safe embrace without guile, any room for pretence deserting her in her grief.

All she wanted was safety.
And here, safety was Dickon.

Not Prince Edward, not the ring of promise around her neck, not her faith in Queen Marguerite and King Henry. Dickon. Real, kind Dickon who's arms went around her like warm vines, winding a protective cage around her body so she could not be harmed by the world.

"I can't do it" She sobbed into his doublet "I can't face him, not after all these years....not ever....he fills my nightmares Dickon!"

"As Marguerite of Anjou fills mine" He replied softly, rubbing slow circles on her back just like she had done to Edward the night he came to Haddon "But we must all face our nightmares, Cate. I have no doubt that one day I will face Marguerite but the day for you to face Warwick is now"

Catherine defiantly shook her head, clinging to him with all her strength as if that would somehow serve to save her "You must do it!" He continued "You are under his brother's guardianship now and are to live here since I am your husband. You must face him and you must conquer the fear that lives within you. Besides, he will not be here for long"

She sniffed, moving her head to peer up at him.
"Truly?"

"Truly" Dickon replied warmly "For he has to return to court for the announcement of the union of my brother to Princess Bona of France! He has worked on it for two years now, he shall not miss the announcement" At that, he felt Catherine relax in his arms a little.

He was right, she told herself firmly, Warwick was a man who lusted after power the same way the squires lusted after women. To view his own victory, he would be gone, he would not concern himself with her. She took in a slow breath, letting her lungs relish the fresh air before releasing it once more; feeling her pounding heart relent.

After a moment, Dickon helped her to sit up, gently wiping away her tears with his thumbs while her breaths slowed.

"We had better go down" She stammered, standing up to smooth out her skirt with trembling hands. With a huff, she forced them to cease their shaking, blinking profusely to disqualify the remaining tears from her eyes.

Her young husband stood beside her, gently linking their arms as they stepped forth from their chamber and into the castle passageways. Margery stood beside a near window, her shoulder pressed against the cold stone wall while she gazed down at the arriving party below. It was with a soft smile she turned, brushing a hand against Catherine's free one when she passed before taking her place behind the Duke and Duchess.

The three made their way down the winding castle staircases, striding across galleries and through doorways until the rays of day struck them and a joyous clamour met their ears. The courtyard was alive with a bustle of servants that buzzed around a family of four, each richly dressed and looking upon their Northern home with pride.

Standing tall at the front of the fine horses that drew his carriage stood the Earl of Warwick. A rough hand on the hilt of his sword, his face was as stern as Catherine remembered and his eyes just as serpentine, the emerald hue glinting maliciously in the sun. He smiled when he saw his younger brother, embracing John with all the brotherly affection he could muster, but his smile was not a warm one.

She did not think his smiles could ever be warm.

Beside him stood a slender woman, so pale it seemed she had been carved from marble. Her alabaster skin was almost translucent in the sunlight, matching the long veil that floated past her shoulders from the top of her steeple hennin. The Countess of Warwick wore the same stern expression as her husband, one that betrayed neither hatred nor happiness.

Simply a cool indifference.

A look that seemed to run through the veins of each Neville for standing beside the statuesque figure of the Countess was a girl of the same looks and complexion. Her dark hair was not covered by a hennin but drawn back into a tight braid that made her features appear pinched, almost irritated. She looked upon her surroundings with a degree of displeasure, her thin lips forming a straight line and one elbow sticking out to shove the younger girl next to her.

This small child, resembling a timid mouse, was the only Neville present who did not appear cold. Her soft cheeks were rosy with youth and her honey coloured hair left loose beneath a circlet of sapphires, glinting prettily in the sunlight. She smiled at the servants that passed, at the squires that approached and bowed to her, smiled even more when John came to her; whisking her small body into his arms.

"Ah, Annie!" He exclaimed while the little girl giggled her delight "How I have missed you!"
"And I you!" She replied merrily when she was placed back upon her feet after a scolding from her Mother.

Catherine and Dickon came to stand at the foot of the castle steps, their arms still linked as John looked over to them, gesturing them forward. The young Duchess took a timid breath, gulping and forcing her feet to take the first steps forward; shoes clicking upon the stone beneath them. She felt her husband gently squeeze her arm, a sign of encouragement as they stepped forth into the gaze of the Neville clan.

When Warwick's eyes fell upon her, a shiver ran down her spine, making her shoulders snap to attention, pushing themselves back. Despite her fear, she felt that she had something to prove, or at least her mind did. After years of letting her fear fester like an open wound, the terror eating away at her in her nightmares like a demon gnawing on her soul, her mind was determined to seal it.

This encounter would serve as the hot brand that would seal her open flesh, forcing the tear in her mind closed so only she could look upon it. She had to prove that she was not afraid to cure herself, just like the soldier had to press the white hot iron to his skin to avoid a grisly death from infection.

She no longer wanted him to have power over her. She wanted to show him that she would not be the pawn upon his chess board for him to move and give away at will when a chance came for a more enticing move to be played. She wanted him to know, even if it were not entirely true, that he had not broken her. That she had survived and she would survive again if need be.

He would know that she was still a Percy worthy of the name. A warrior just as her Father had been.

This new boldness that captured her heart forced her to take her last steps forward to meet the man she feared most. Instead of casting her gaze to the ground when she forced her knees to bend into a curtsy, she stared into those serpentine eyes that swam with malice. She stared just as he did and did not let her gaze break even as she rose, almost challenging him, a silent challenge that she would win.

'See' She forced her eyes to say 'You have not beaten me. You will not beat me'

Weather he read that message in her eyes, she cared not. All she cared about was that she did not let her stare waver, her strong stance falter.

A smug smile curved the corners of Warwick's thin lips, cracked with age and with cold, despite the summer heat. A sign of the ice within him.

"Princess Catherine"

She resisted the urge to shudder as her name was spoken upon those horrid lips, the syllables almost spoken as a curse in his deep tone. Still, she stared back with stony eyes, banishing the terror that threatened to creep onto her face.

"Lord Warwick"

Her voice was as stone was, hard and cold to the ear like ice was to the touch. Dickon squeezed her hand as he intertwined their fingers and Catherine took pleasure in watching the way the hated Earl's eyes flickered with anger at small gesture.

"Of course" He murmured gruffly, turning his gaze upon the young Duke who instinctively puffed out his chest, tilting up his chin with a hopeful smile on his face. Catherine's heart sank a little as she realised her husband still adored his cousin just as she had seen he did all those years ago "You two are married? Without my prior knowledge it seems...."

"Indeed we are" Dickon replied merrily, raising their joined hands upwards for Warwick and his Countess to inspect, proving the validity of his words "Lady Catherine is now my wife and Duchess and" He added, almost nervously as if he was scared of defying the Earl in any way "And I expect her to be shown all the respect of that rank....I am sure you understand"

Warwick arched an eyebrow but nodded all the same, smirking at the irritated tut his Countess gave before she conducted her daughters away without a single word spoken from her cold lips. Catherine stared after her, a small smile twitching at the corners of her mouth when she noticed the youngest girl glance over her shoulder, grinning.

Perhaps Annie would prove to be a friend, she thought, before shivering slightly as Warwick's gaze was suddenly turned upon her once more.
"I am glad to see you well, Duchess" He bit out, much to Dickon's delight, clearly despising the very words on his tongue. They were only spoken to please his young ward, to keep the sons of York upon his side so he could keep his power but the young Duke seemed not to notice.

He simply smiled while Warwick sauntered away, nodding to the servants that bowed when he passed. As soon as he was out of sight, Catherine's momentary strength suddenly failed her and her knees became weak, sending her, trembling, into her husband's arms.
"Margery!" Dickon called and instantly the older girl was at Catherine's side, wrapping a strong arm around her waist to keep her steady.

"I shall take her back to her chambers, my Lord" She said with a small curtsy and Dickon nodded, watching with a frown as Catherine was helped away before he followed in Warwick's wake.

Just like he did with Edward.

꧁꧂

September 1464, Middleham Castle....

Catherine and Anne looked up from the little Neville's horse as a great roar from the squires arose in the courtyard. Since the first day of their silent meeting, the little Duchess and Warwick's youngest daughter had become fast friends, regardless of her sister and Mother's disapproval.

Despite their four years difference in age, the two found that they had much in common, particularly their love of horses which led to them spending many warm afternoons in the stables. The beautiful dapple mare that Catherine had met the day she met young Francis turned out to be Anne's! Honeycake, she called her. In all honesty, the girl seemed to prefer the Duchess's company to her own sister's and Catherine found she did not blame her.

Isabel Neville was a proud little thing, the mirror image of her illustrious Mother and a blatant objector to Catherine's existence in the Middleham household.

On more than one occasion she had whispered 'traitor' under her breath when the girls sat side by side at dinner, something which only served to make her Mother smile, as it would her Father if he had not returned to London with John. Anne was made uncomfortable by it however, her sweet nature not allowing cruelty against any, even those who were considered her enemies!

She had sought out Catherine as a companion and companions they had become, walking around Middleham arm in arm while chatting of all manner of things. That September afternoon, they were in the stables once more, feeding Honeycake the carrots Margery had pried from the kitchen. It was a task they took joy in and giggled at, petting the pretty mare while she whinnied.

That was, of course, until a great surprised cry had sounded from the numerous boys that filled their day with crass comments from dawn till dusk and their attention was diverted.
"I wonder what that could be?" Anne murmured aloud, her sweet voice ever soothing even in times of crisis.

"You wonder the same as I" Catherine replied, peering through the open stable door that carried more than a gentle breeze over its threshold. It carried Margery, the thirteen year old wide eyed with a grin on her face that appeared half shock half amusement. With a small curtsy she went to her mistress, clasping Catherine's hands with nothing less than a delighted glee.

"The King has defied Warwick!"

From the side of them, little Anne gasped, her rosebud mouth forming into an O of disbelief.
"Defied?" She repeated "But Edward would never defy Father, never!" Margery simply grinned, turning back to the Duchess with eyes glinting with satisfaction. 'This is what you wanted' they seemed to say 'and now you have it'

In that moment, Catherine wished for nothing more than to grin, to throw up her arms and laugh for all the life within her! To know that the King had defied the Kingmaker, she did not care in what, was the sweetest melody to her ears but she knew she could not put on such a display in front of little Anne! The girl would not understand and she did not wish to lose her friendship over old scores.

"Annie, dearest, why don't you tell Lady Isabel?" She suggested, squeezing Margery's hands, a prelude to the explosion of joy bubbling within her; a buzzing hive of excitement "I am sure that you would like to know something she does not for once?"

Innocent Anne stared up at her, nodding in her own meek way before she hopped prettily down from the hay bale she sat upon; enticed at the idea of outwitting her older sister! Really, Isabel seemed to know God himself when it came to knowledge and to have her bested by her little sister would bring joy to more than Annie....

Still, that was not to be lingered on in that moment and as soon as the honey haired child disappeared from sight, a giggle slipped passed Catherine's lips.

Enraptured with mirth, she jumped down from her own golden hay bale, dragging her Lady across the courtyard and to the keep where she crashed through the doors without a care in the world! For once she did not calculate her measured steps, for once she did not care that her headdress became loose, the pear-encrusted caul breaking free of its iron pins and falling to the floor.

Neither girl stopped to scoop it up and Catherine laughed again as her hair fell about her shoulders in golden ringlets that shone in the sunlight. God, she had never felt so alive as she did in that moment, dragging a willing Margery behind until they reached her chambers and she slammed the heavy door; locking out the world.

"Tell me!" She demanded, her breaths coming in short sharp bursts; heart fizzing like a firework within her pounding chest "Tell me what has been said and what is true, my friend! Tell me all!" Margery beamed, giggling herself as Catherine twirled about the room, collapsing onto the bed and patting the velvet covers beside her "Tell me!" She repeated and her friend came more that willingly; jumping onto the sheets so that they were pressed together; eager in their own little world of gossip and truth.

"King Edward has defied Lord Warwick" She whispered, watching Catherine's fingers curl into the blankets beneath them in anticipation "You know that he was set to marry a French Princess? Bona of Savoy?"
"Yes....we all know...."
Margery arched a knowing eyebrow, lowering her voice further to heighten the suspense that had built in the young Duchess' veins; begging to be released.

"Well" She continued "He revealed before the court that he could not marry Princess Bona because....he is already married to someone else" A wicked grin curled her lips, one that made Catherine clasp her arm, willing her to go on "He is married to an Elizabeth Woodville, daughter of a Baron and" She paused a second time, knowing that the next words she would utter would bring her dear friend the greatest joy she had ever felt. Her grin widened and she bent her head to her mistress's ear "She is a Lancastrian widow!"

Catherine's forehead almost smashed into Margery's as she suddenly leapt from the covers with a cry, beaming from ear to ear.

"A Lancastrian?" She repeated, the blood in her veins singing with a new strength "The King has married a Lancastrian? And a lowborn one at that?" Her friend nodded, adding to the satisfaction that made her begin to dance about the bedchamber, a delighted him emanating from her smiling lips "Oh joy is me!" She declared while Margery laughed, laying back on the covers; clearly quite pleased with herself.

Catherine had never thought she could claim such a victory, though it was not a victory she had won! To see the great Earl defied, humiliated before England as she was sure he was! How could he not be? He was known as the Kingmaker and now the creation of his talents had defied him, broken free from his control to dance to his own tune! His creature was his no longer and Catherine grinned to herself, planting her hands securely upon the nearest windowsill to stare out onto the sunny hills above Middleham.

The hills she so despised.
The hills he had forced her to gaze upon when he had torn her away from her kin.

"You made me fall from grace" She muttered beneath your breath "Now it is your turn. And mark my words my Lord, I shall make your fall such a one so bloody and so cruel that none shall ever dare to forget it" Her eyes fluttered shut, her lungs inhaling a new breath that filled her body with the strength she had long sought; now laid claim to "It is beginning" She said aloud and heard Margery sit up behind her.

"What is, Cat?"

Catherine smiled to herself.
She had always sworn to herself that one day she would take what was rightfully owed to her. All through the dark nights and bleak days of terror that had left a stain upon her soul, she had sworn to herself that the pain would not go unpaid. One Neville brother was dead, the other no longer an enemy to her.

There was only one left. Only one she truly hated. Only one she would send down her wrath upon.

"My revenge"