~Strike Firm, Strike Hard~

9th of October 1484, St George's Chapel, Windsor....

They were all meant to ride together through the night to Windsor when the sun set the day before but when Constance had asked where Edward was she found he'd already left; speeding off without them. She hadn't seen him all day, no one had and she couldn't conjure one word while stood by him in the chapel, not one that wasn't Ned's name marred by a sob.

Her beloved Edward's year's mind mass was meant to be held a year to the day after he died, an evening to remember him, to reflect on twelve months without him. Instead she thought of eighteen. Or tried to. She shuddered and cried, cried and shuddered. All she could think of was her husband's face as the bishop recited Latin, her own hidden by her black veil, eyes swollen from crying and resting on the tomb not ten feet from her.

Carved from white marble, a painted effigy of Edward lay atop it, dressed in his robes of state and crown. The hand closest to her was laid upon his chest, clutching his sword and the other bent at the elbow, raised slightly aloft, waiting for hers to intertwine with it. Below were a simple wall of marble would be were carved great arched windows through which could be seen a chamber where an effigy of his corpse lay.

A memento mori tomb - she remembered him telling her she wished for one ten year prior. Next to his stone skull lay his favourite bejewelled cap - red velvet with a diamond brooch - and at his feet lay his banner, unfurled and covered in dust. At the left side of both his living form and the dead lay an empty space - a space for her.

She'd not yet had her effigies made but knew in her heart and mind she would do the same as he despite her hatred for that skeletal corpse, its cold presence that taunted her wickedly every second.

She could only thank god and the stonemasons that his side had been finished before his death for she knew she'd have to destroy, unable to bear the thought of it stained by Woodville hands, Woodville ideas. She wouldn't let them touch her husband in death - wouldn't let Elizabeth have him in death.

' No!' Her mind hissed, how could she even think of that bitch at such a moment? She shivered, fresh tears sliding down her cheeks and looked at the tomb again.

How could her Edward be in there? Her strong, handsome Edward who embodied life itself in his merry laugh and stunning smile? How could he be beneath the cold earth? He wouldn't like it there, she thought, he wouldn't be able to move and it would be so very dark! Was he cold? Was he lonely? Did he look like the lower effigy, flesh rotted away, bones twisted and cracking? She silently sobbed harder, her onyx rosary twisted around her fingers so tightly she could no longer feel them. 

The small group gathered with the rising of the sun next to his grave in the north quire aisle made a puddle of black, heads bent, hands clasped in prayer, the only noise between them being the occasional rattle of a rosary or muffled weeping. Only the closest of Edward's friends and family had been invited - Constance, their children, Cecily, Richard, Beth, John and Isabella (who'd returned with the little queen and York Princes), Will's eldest son - Constance would've had Katherine there too but Marie told her no.

Her friend had been freed from the Tower the day her daughter entered London and while she was now safe, Marie said she was weak, dangerously so, and she'd sent her to the nuns at St Mary's to be cared for and regain her strength. Constance had promised herself to visit as soon as she was able.

Richard stood a few feet away from her. She hadn't spoken to him that day, nor could she meet his eye, so consumed with guilt she was and it only fuelled her grief as they stood by her husband's grave, the guilty ones come to confess their betrayal, their sin. He could see it, she was sure he could see it.

Shaking her head, her body heaved with another sob and suddenly an arm was about her. Neddy's. A quiet cry tore from her lips and her face fell into the front of his doublet, trembling arms wrapping around his middle.

She knew she was supposed to be strong for her children that day, the unassailable figure guiding them through their sorrow but she couldn't, she just couldn't! All her strength seemed to have been spent and she couldn't summon one more ounce, even when little hands clutched at her skirts and small sobs filled her ears.

It was if her heart were being torn from her chest all over again, she'd even avoided looking at the grave for half the service, too painful it was for her to look upon the lifeless marble despite its vivid colour. Jagged claws were deep in her chest, yanking, tearing, piercing, shredding her heart and soul

The questions that'd been filling her head since his death swirled around her mind. Why couldn't he come back? Why couldn't her Ned be the one embracing her by an evening fire or after a long day's hunting? Why couldn't he have stayed? Why didn't he fight harder? Why didn't he live? Why? Why? Why?

Twenty three years! Twenty three years they'd been wed and it'd all been snatched away in one night, taken forever into the arms of god, never to be returned - stolen. How could Ned have allowed it to happen? How could he have left her alone when she needed him, loved him more than life? That damned fever, how she wished it were flesh and bone so she could beat it bloody, tear it limb from limb and rage and wail and somehow bring her Edward back!

For a day, an hour, a moment, just enough time for one last kiss, one last word. But she knew she wanted more than that, she wanted another twenty three years and the decayed stone reminder they would never be given drove her deeper into torturous sorrow.

How could she possibly mourn him without the pain robbing her of life?

༻᯽༺

The excruciating desolation of returning grief was what spurred her ride back to Westminster, her reunion with Edward what drove her tears to dry, sadness replacing anger and determination filling her battered heart to the brim as she sought to carve out the last demon from her life.

The witch whose shadow had loomed large for so long, clawing jagged wounds through her life, tearing at her soul and womb. She'd survived. She'd survived it all and now it was her turn to tear down Elizabeth Woodville once and for all.

Some would call it madness.
She called it checkmate.

The final move on the board they'd been dancing around for twenty years.

Walking across the tower green she felt James' spirt call out to her and she refused to let more tears fill her eyes. He was there to spur her on, not cause her failure. He was almost avenged now and she would drive the last nail of vengeance into Elizabeth's coffin.
"Stay with me." She whispered knew he was by her side. He always would be. She could almost feel him grinning.

Each clank of the great door concealing her enemy pricked her ears and when the wood was finally pulled aside, she stepped into the cold lair of Elizabeth's prison.

A sharp breath sped past her lips as her eyes found the fallen woman in the centre of the chamber. She knelt on the floor, pink skirts stained with dirt pooled around her and her golden hair was knotted and fell about her face, barely held together by the frizzed tangle that had once been a braid.

Stepping over the threshold, the door closing behind her, Constance's nose wrinkled at the scent of old sweat that hung in the air.

Elizabeth's head snapped up and Constance's jaw clenched as icy blue eyes met hers of furious green. She would stand her ground. She would not flee. She had no need to, she'd won and there was immense satisfaction to be had when she found the beautiful Elizabeth to be no longer beautiful.

Her eyes were swollen and red rimmed from crying, her cheeks marred with dirt and those lovely lips of hers were tinged with blue, chapped white lines running along the rough flesh.

A growling snarl left then and Elizabeth stumbled to her feet, the chains binding her wrists (which were nailed to the floor) rattling as they jerked her arms behind her.

Constance only watched, unflinching, empty of any feeling than seething hate.

"Come to gloat?" Even her voice, the tone that had enchanted a king, was ruined, turned to a grating, reedy thing that would've drawn pity if it inflicted another "To lord your victory over me?" Ah, so even though she admitted defeated, her smug spirit was not entirely crushed, the demon that had plagued Constance all the years she'd known her - that arrogant plague, that insulting disease.

"I have many a reason to." Constance replied cooly "The righteous have triumphed in the face of your treason. Those you have harmed shall be healed, those you have cursed with your dark magic shall be set free, those you have murdered shall be avenged, not least of all my children"

Sandy eyebrows twitched with confusion and Elizabeth drew back a little like a coiling serpent, frowning.
"Your children?" She echoed "The tower may have given your daughters nightmares but I have not murdered any of your children" Constance's fingers curled into angry fists, itching to strike, to maim and cull. How could Elizabeth deny her crimes in her presence? Deny the pain she'd caused with a veil of feigned confusion.

"Do not pretend to know of what I speak!" She hissed "My babies! The babes, the sons and daughter I lost in the womb and the one that took but a few weak breaths before dying."

A cynical smile overtook Elizabeth's chapped lips and she tilted her pale head.
"My dark magic you presume?"
"I do not presume, I know!" Constance spat, stepping closer.

"You think you know and what you think is wrong." Elizabeth returned with a shrug that inflamed her anger with its nonchalant nature. The smugness in her voice was gone, replaced by an almost apathetic tone "I am many, many things, have had many things thought of me that are correct. Witchcraft is not one of them. I did not kill your sons, Constance."
"You lie!" Of course she was lying, Constance knew she was to blame, she'd known for years!

"I don't." Elizabeth said "You have simply believed in this nonsense for so long that it no longer matters whether there is truth to it for it is true to you." She shrugged again "As is the course of rumour."

Constance's breath quickened and she shook her head, heart thumping against her chest. She had come to destroy the last thread's of her enemies will, to flaunt her victory and claim back her dignity before she sent her to her death and yet she could feel the scales cruelly shifting.

"Your family boasted of your lineage to Melusina!" She pointed an angry finger "Of the magic in your blood!"

"My mother did." And a wry laugh left Elizabeth's discoloured lips, eyes tilting up to the dirty ceiling of her prison for a moment as she shook her head "Good God I have the stains of much on my hands, I know that, but the blood of your children is not one of them."

Oh god.

A thunderbolt struck Constance's heart. Was Elizabeth's demeanour taunting or defeated? Was she bored of her evil, or simply resigned - broken beyond recognition? Was she in fact too late to break her enemy, was her soul already crushed and now she awaited death?

Did she tell the truth.

No!

This was the woman that had murdered her babies, Constance thought, she was sure of it, she'd always been sure of it! Elizabeth was a witch and she'd used her powers to stain her soul with the death of infants. This conniving demon only sought to taunt her further.

"Your ambition has no limit as proven by your treason this past year, placing your bastard on the throne! Killing my true born sons only added fuel to your wicked fire, gave you power and took mine! You had much to gain from it!"

"And yet I did not use it!" Elizabeth declared, looking straight at her again with those ugly reddened eyes "I used my womb and my beauty to craft my power, not the blood of your unborn babes! The fate of your children lay in God's hands, not mine."
"Unless you snatched that fate from him to weave your own! You lie even in the face of death."

A beat of silence passed between them and then the air was filled with a scratching laugh and the rattle of chains as Elizabeth swayed from side to side.
"Perhaps I do!" She chuckled "Perhaps I say this now to plunge you further into darkness, to plague you with confusion." Her face straightened "Or perhaps I tell true."

"You killed them!" Constance yelled.
"I did not!"

Her breath trembled and she stepped away shaking her head, feeling every stab to her womb, one for every child she'd lost, every child Elizabeth had taken! She would stab back, she had stabbed back. Richard, Arthur, Thomas, Anthony. She would stab again.

"Well then, if it was God's will that my sons should die, it is his will that yours have done." She declared lowly a smirk curving her lips "that three of four of your boys lie dead," One step forward "two in unmarked graves," A second step forward "the other displayed on the steps of Westminster abbey for all to see." A third and they were only one apart, Constance's expression stony, eyes glinted with the malice long possessed by the woman before her. She tilted her head "Perhaps there is room enough yet on the block for the fourth"

Her strike was true and Elizabeth's alabaster face paled further, lips parting in a silent gasp. Her jaw tensed and her chains rattled as she tried to move forward, go close that last step but her chains wouldn't allow it - Constance wouldn't allow it.

"Anthony is a child!" She hissed.
"So is my Edward. In fact, he is younger! And yet he had men sent to kill him, has been forced into exile and then into battle where he saw men slain and slaughtered them himself, had a finger crushed to pulp! Childhood did not matter to you then, nor when you took my daughters from me and forced them to listen to the tortured screams of one of my dearest friends"

Tangled golden curls thrashed with the vigorous shakes of Elizabeth's head, glistening shards of fear slicing tears in her eyes.
"If you order his death you will be the monster you believe me to be, the monster I may be." She hissed "Will revenge take you that far?"
Constance tilted her head, unmoved and sharpening her knife again, taking one step back.

"Maybe even farther." She replied "Never have I hated a soul as much as I hate you, Elizabeth, a part of me wishes to wring your neck with my bare hands but I would not deprive the people of the spectacle of your death, the death of the demon that has stalked these lands for far too long." Twenty years, she thought again, twenty years she'd been a poison to her and Edward's love, their marriage, their children. It didn't have to be so.

"Your boys could have lived, Elizabeth, your bastards could have remained lords and become valued men of my son's household, his friends even, leading long and content lives, leaving many a child to carry your blood!Now Arthur will never see another dawn, remembered only with hatred as a usurper and Anthony languishes in the Tower, never to see his beloved brothers again or his Mother. He will be alone in the world." She arched her eyebrows as one tear slid down Elizabeth's face, craving a path through the dirt on her cheeks. Was it grief borne from love or the loss of her puppets she played for power?

"Is that what you wished for him? For it is you who have brought him such a fate, you who signed Arthur's death warrant with the pen of your ambition." Elizabeth shook her head, face crumpling like wrinkled parchment "You say you used your wit to capture power and yet I think if you had possessed more wits then all of this pain could have been averted." She stepped forward again, renewed anger bubbling in her veins as every memory of the past year flashed in her mind.

"Did you truly think your bastard would be accepted as King?" She hissed "That the hideous lies of mine and Edward's marriage you conjured would endure? That you had enough support to hold the country? More than I? My sons? Cecily Neville is the mother of the house of York but I am her daughter through and through - beloved, revered and powerful. If you had respected me, known the boundaries of power you were kept to and not clawed over, if you had had the intelligence to think of the future instead of the glittering present then I do not think you would be here."

A wry laugh left her lips and she glanced around the dim little cell. Elizabeth had not one moment of cleverness to her name, she thought, did she even possess a brain or could one knock against her skull and hear a dull echo? She'd like to have a go, maybe knock so hard the bone cracked right open for her.

Elizabeth had never taken care of anything other than the moment the world resided in, never thought of true consequences for herself or for others. Since the day Arthur was born she'd paraded him around like a little prince, paraded herself about like a queen in her silks and satins and jewels. Constance remembered that - she'd always remember that for the memory was burned into the flesh of her heart like an iron brand.

"Your bastards would be honoured as offspring of the King, you would live a comfortable life! Think of Jane Shore, she only ever sought to please the King, her lord, wished not a thing for herself, never once overreached, always showed me the upmost respect as her anointed Queen and now she shall spend the rest of her life in luxury, with an ally in the King's Mother, favoured by the King for her service to him, bestowed a generous pension for that and in the memory of the King she pleased, perhaps even welcome at court!"

Constance sighed and shook her head again, looking back to Elizabeth whose gaze was so reddened she thought for a moment her eyes would burst into balls of flame.

"Although, she would not have had to complete the services she performed for myself and my sons had you not committed your treason, she would've been treated much the same if all had been peaceful." A sigh passed her lips, one bearing the same boredom Elizabeth held mere minutes ago "Alas," She said, straightening her velvet sleeves "you are a stupid harlot with a talent for scheming but absolutely no ability to keep the power you so desperately crave and it has cost you three sons and now your own blood." A smirk spread across her lips.

"You have destroyed your own line while mine is stronger than ever and shall grow stronger still. They will be remembered as Kings and Queens, the founders of dynasties and matriarchs of great houses." Yes, each of her children would live, would find power and keep it, would be safe. Her smirk straightened and Constance finally closed the gap between them, shoes tapping on the stone floor as she took that final step, staring deep into Elizabeth's eyes. She could see her soul and it was blacker than the night.

"Yours will be remembered as traitors, the very lowest and foulest of criminals. You stabbed us with your thorns but we dragged you out by the roots and they shall be cast into hell." Drawing back, triumphant, she stepped away and feigned a turn to leave before letting out a small laugh of remembrance and clasping her hands as she looked back.

"Oh and you shall not receive a burial. Your body shall be burned until it is ash, not a trace of your flesh remaining, and then those ashes shall be dispensed of in the Thames. When the day of judgement arrives, you shall not be resurrected. And It is only for the sake of my dear husband that I shall not do the same to Arthur."

The chains rattled again, Elizabeth's fingers curling into fists.

"So now it is you who plays god?" She demanded, earning a sardonic laugh that filled the room and Constance's sickliest smile.
"I believe it is my turn! You should be thankful that I chose not to burn your flesh while you still live as is the written punishment for traitorous women! That is the King's mercy, my mercy, and far better than you deserve for the memory of a man who foolishly favoured you."

She breathed in the air through her nose, dirty and sour but to her it was sweeter than syrup. It smelt of victory.

"Ah, and before I leave, I think there is a chance to reap the respect you denied me for so many years. I want you to curtsy"

Elizabeth's inflamed nostrils flared with indignation and she stuck her own little nose up in the air.
"I shall not!" What did she have to lose? Well, Constance could give her a number of things.

"You will if you wish your remaining son to live and for your neck to snap on a long rope instead of suffocating with a short one. You will curtsy to me, just as Edward ordered you to do or will your stupidity persist even now?" A part of her wished she would refuse to bow so she could employ that second threat but after a moment of seething silence, the chains rattled again and Elizabeth clutched her dirty skirts between her grime covered fingers and bent her knees. Just a little.

Constance arched an eyebrow.
"You can go lower than that, I know you can. I imagine being on your knees is second nature." She nodded towards the floor "Go on."

Gritting her teeth, Elizabeth lowered herself further, bowing her head as her knees hit the floor and with their thud she was well and truly beaten. At last. It was done and twenty years worth of satisfaction filled her to the brim and stretched her lips into a smile.

"Goodbye Elizabeth. You will suffer in hell."

And with one swift knock to the door she was away with not one glance back.

༻᯽༺

Westminster Palace....

"You went to see her."

Edward's voice made her jump as she entered her chambers. The chambers Ned had built for her. They been stripped of every trace of Elizabeth and her possessions put back in place long before she'd arrived on the orders of Marie.

She'd offered them up to Anne, after all they were the finest and she was queen, but Edward refused. He commanded she stay put, declared she would retain her rooms for life and placed Anne in the old queen's chambers with the promise he would have them remodelled for his young wife.

Now he sat in the closest of the two great armchairs by the hearth, the one his father had so often occupied, and she could only see one hand which was curled around a silver goblet; resting on the chair's arm.

"I didn't expect you." She said, removing her cloak and tossing it onto the window seat, she'd likely have it burned "I thought you and the others would....." Her words were taken as she walked to face him only to see little Charlie was curled up on his elder brother's lap, sound asleep on his chest, one tiny hand nestled beside his face and Edward's arm securely around him.

"He wanted to come." He murmured, looking at the little blonde head resting against his doublet "I found I couldn't stay near father tonight and Charlie kept toddling after me until I lifted him up and then he refused to let go." He arched his eyebrows "He has quite a firm grip you know!" Constance chuckled, sitting opposite them with a smile on her lips. What a blessed sight her two boys were after the trials of the day! Ned's boys!

The nightgown Charles wore was clearly far too big for him, covering his body like a christening gown and hiding his little feet under the swathes of white linen. It was his brother's. "I wanted him to be comfortable." Edward explained when he saw her eyeing the garment with loving amusement "But I couldn't find any of his and I didn't want the servants about, they would only disturb him. Still, you went to see her, didn't you?" She nodded, said she had "To what end?"

"She's been my enemy longer than you've lived, my love, and has caused me so much pain, you and your brothers and sisters so much pain, I had to face her."

The door opened and she felt her chest tighten as Richard walked in, himself briefly halting at the sight of her before continuing and pulling up another chair to the fire, sitting between them. Charlie squirmed at the noise, letting out a disgruntled groan that faded into silent contentment again as Edward kissed his hair, stroking the golden locks and murmuring that all was well.

"Ma Mère went to see the whore." He then told Richard who nodded, unsurprised. He knew Constance's designs for revenge almost as well as she.

"I hope you found her quite desolate?" He asked, finally looking at her and their eyes met for the first time that day, though not without guilt.
"Quite." She replied "I believe her to be broken and now the only thing left to do is dispatch her to the devil."
"What do you plan for her?"

Constance swallowed thickly, her gaze drifting to the glowing flames of the fire.
"You know what I do to those who take my children. And her crime is made worse by the foul murders of my beloved brother and friend who committed no offence but loyalty, the torture of dear Katherine too. She will die," She declared "by God she will die."

"I will arrange a trial for the morrow." Edward said and she looked at him.
"Tomorrow?"
"Why not?" He asked "The quicker she is gone the better, I shall not have her live to see the day I'm crowned. I wish my coronation to be the dawn of a new era and it cannot be so when a remnant of the old still lives." He was right and she too wished for her son's crowning to mark a new chapter, a happy one free of the creatures that had stalked her life for so long.

"What is she to be accused of?" Richard asked. Constance had been waiting to answer that for many a year.

"Witchcraft, high treason, sedition, blasphemy, usurpation, sheltering enemies of the crown, the kidnapping and imprisonment of the Princesses Isabella, Cecily and Aliénor, the murders of James of Bourbon, Duke of Somerset an William Hastings, Baron Hastings as well as the unlawful torture and imprisonment of Lady Katherine Hastings. Do you wish for me to go on?"

"We should burn her. That is what witches and traitors deserve."
That would be a spectacle, she thought at Edward's grim words but found herself shaking her head.
"No."
"No?" He demanded and she nodded.
"Your father would not want it."
"He'd certainly want it now! He shall be in heaven demanding it, Mother! Surely you know that?" His voice was a raised hiss, he was trying not to shout for Charlie's sake. Constance knew he was right but still.

"No, I want her hung as a common criminal. I want to snatch away any remaining ideas of high station. I want it done, I want to be rid of her as quickly as may be. I've taken her sons, destroyed her power and now I shall still her heart. I want her gone. Her body shall be burned after. We shall destroy her twice, Edward, in this life and the next, that's certainly something your father would agree with. I want to see the fear in her eyes when she falls into hell." She saw his jaw tense, conjuring another protest but he stayed his lips, relaxing into his chair a little. For a moment, he only watched her.

"I leave her fate to you, ma Mére." He then told her "Above all it is you who deserve to decree how the bitch is to be destroyed and what you wish shall be done.You have my word as your son and your king." She nodded, smoothing out her skirts. Yes, she did deserve it.

"Thank you, I'll write up a full list of her crimes before I retire." She wouldn't sleep, she'd spend the night in prayer instead, thinking of her Edward and her children, praying for their happiness and peace "Now, Charlie needs to go to bed. I'll have a maid sent for."

"No." Said Edward and with a kiss to the little boy's head, hooked his arms under his weary body and lifted him as he stood "No." He repeated "I want him to stay with me tonight." His gaze dipped to his shoes and he uttered in a small voice "Can we stay here? With you?"

Tears pooled in his mother's eyes and she went to his side, stroking back the soft flaxen curls that'd fallen across his tired face; cradling his cheek.
"Of course you can, my love." She said and kissed him "Of course." She kissed him again then Charlie's sweet little head. Smiling up at him, she watched as he walked to the bedchamber door and through it, pushing the painted wood closed with his foot.

She was on the cusp of following to tuck her boys into bed and took two steps only to find herself still beside Richard's chair. Her hand found his shoulder.

"I'm not angry with you." She whispered "Are you with me?" His hand slid atop hers, squeezing.
"Never." And with a firm nod she went to the bedchamber, her plans amended. She would pray, yes, she would pray, but then she would hold her boys close.