~King in All but Name~

Four years later, September 1488, Westminster Palace....

"Ned's shining bright today." Beth said as she laced her mistress's soft woollen kirtle. Constance smiled, gazing out of the window she stood before - the same one she always stood before in the morning as she was dressed, searching for her husband's sun in the sky.

He indeed was shining bright. It promised to be a warm day - not that she'd be able to enjoy it, she had the council to attend and rule and that chamber was about as sunny as a Scottish cave! The day ahead was by no means void of troubles but it was good to have her Ned warming it.

"Yes he is." She said "Our boy must be leading a successful hunt!" Only Edward certainly wasn't a boy at eighteen and hadn't been for quite some time and his siblings, well, they were flocking from the nest of childhood quicker than she could count. It made her heart sing to know they could fly without danger.

Under her regency she'd seen peace restored across all of England, from north to south, east to west. To secure the Scottish border they'd been negotiating for the past year for Scotland's king to wed sixteen year old Isabella who'd grown into a beautiful and learned young woman - if a little too serious at times.

She often preferred to keep her own company but the solitude Constance initially disapproved of had borne fruit in seeing Isabella publish a book of music the year before. She was the first woman in England to do such a thing and her love of the arts would certainly recommend her to her intended husband who loved them the same.

Yes, Isabella would make a fine Scottish queen but her marriage was many moons away while little Aliénor, now thirteen, had already descended down the aisle two years prior.

Her marriage to young King Charles of France was possibly the greatest pageant Constance had ever seen with almost the entirety of the English court crossing the channel to witness and celebrate the nuptials. Three whole weeks of feasting and dancing consumed Amboise Castle where much wine was drunk and much sleep evaded in favour of midnight card games or watching the rising sun.

Upon the conclusion of the festivities and now bearing the title Queen of France, Aliénor returned to England with her kin and court. It was decided she wouldn't reside with her husband until she was fourteen and so held her own little court at Eltham palace where she was waited upon by French attendants and taught the customs of her future homeland.

When in the great hall she sat beneath a great canopy bearing the arms of France, on a throne that had the legs sawn down so her little, silk-slippered feet could touch the ground! She liked her husband (who was five years her senior) she'd told her mother when she visited, he was kind.

Constance agreed, while the young king was neither the most handsome nor the cleverest of men he had a sweet disposition, one given much to generosity and almost never to anger. Every day of their marriage celebrations he'd sent his little bride a gift: two white horses, a golden chess set, a necklace of sapphires, a crown of golden flour de lis for her hennin, to name a few.

She couldn't see him conquering kingdoms but believed he would look after her youngest daughter very well indeed.

Edward was not fond of having one of his palaces swarming with the French but he hadn't much of a choice and besides, as Constance told him with an indulgent smile when he complained, she was French too!

Neither was his time spent much in London. A strong man, adept at all he lay his hand to and not yet having to bear the full weight of kingship, Edward was oft away from the city, gallivanting on hunting trips with his close circle of friends she heard he was often found with stumbling into one tavern or another - laughing until his lungs almost burst!

He was away hunting that very day and had been for over a week but she couldn't begrudge him, he'd spent the entire summer touring the kingdom on progress with his eleven year old wife. Theirs was a sweet friendship and he liked her company well enough but not so much having to dine with every noble and be blessed by what felt like every priest in the country.

The endless smiling and waving almost drove him mad, he said, he'd much rather have spent the warm, summer days sailing along the Thames in his barge or hunting with his friends. Still, he understood his duty and never once was swayed from it, something Constance could never find the limit of her pride for.

His two brothers led much quieter lives, Richard (now twelve and threatening to soon grow as tall as their father) trained in the north under John Neville's guardianship and six year old Charlie was a happy little boy, charming all who met him with his blonde curls and angelic smile; a cherubic face with rosy cheeks that could melt hearts of stone and very easily persuade sweetmeats from the royal cooks hands!

Fifteen year old Cecily was good at that too although she was much more given to simply sweeping into the kitchen and helping herself to what she wanted when she wanted it. She was a headstrong, clever girl and her mother could already see she'd be a force who'd knock down any who dared cross her. Just like her namesake. Constance was thinking of a match with Portugal for her.

Oh how she wished Edward could see them, not from heaven but in the flesh; tell them how proud he was, hold them in his strong arms. The past years hadn't been easy but the greatest pain lay in her grief for her Ned.

Once Edward was crowned the dam she'd shakily built broke, snapping in two and allowing every drop of grief to flood her body, drowning her in pain. Her grief was slow and painful, like a jagged knife embedded in her heart, tearing tender muscle with every breath. Daily the salt of guilt was poured into the wound.

During daylight hours she'd forced herself to live and see to her duty but at night she lay awake in their bed, clutching a pillow to her chest trying to will the warmth of his flesh into its feathery body. It was often wrapped in a doublet or robe of his and she'd sob when it lost its familiar scent.

For one torturous year she wore only black velvets and white silks, then after, the deepest shades of blue and purple beneath which she would hide something of his or a token of their love. She still often carried his pendants around her neck, his brooches on her bodice and not only did these serve to make it so that he was always close to her but to make others remember who she was, who she had been to the late king, of his trust in her judgment and his will that saw her placed in power.

Most often about her throat was her locket with his hair and the golden heart pendant he'd given her the day he'd first told her he loved her, her fingers curled around it when in council and next to her heart at night. She relived that blessed moment more times than she could count. 'I love you too!' She'd think, eyes screwed shut, tears leaking from them, wishing with all her heart that she could return to that day and live their life again 'I love you too!'.

How she'd borne the pain, she didn't know nor did she know how it eased, how remembering him, his face, became a thing of comfort from one of the greatest sorrow. She used to only search for the sun in the evening, sobbing over its diminishing light as it fled her gaze, now she only searched in the morn. It made her happy.

She found pleasure in speaking to him when the day was done, in sitting before the fire with a glass of wine opposite his chair (often she poured one for him too) and recounting the day's events.

Instead of through heaving sobs and an ocean of tears she spoke to him with a smile and a laugh. She did not ask him why he wasn't there, why he'd left, she spoke of the present and when she touched upon the past it was only to bring a smile to her lips. It was in those moments she saw him again and she treasured them - not with pain but with joy.

It had been five years since she lost him. Five years without a word or embrace. Half a decade.

It still hurt, it always would, but she'd slowly come to understand a most important thing - that he would always be with her, and not as a ghost haunting her every step, filling her breaths with excruciating pain, but an angel, a beacon of happiness she could think of when low and he would restore her spirts.

She understood that she could lose his body but not his memory. That was hers to keep and nothing and no one could take it.

At long last she felt comfortable in herself again, not complete but satisfied with the knowledge that being without half of her soul for a time would not kill her. And she wanted to live! She wanted to hunt and to dance and to drink and to laugh! She knew Edward would too and now indulged without guilt or fear of his displeasure. He was laughing with her, she knew it.

She was content. More so even for she'd been offered a great gift and decided (after much deliberation) to accept.

Beth finished the laces of her light blue gown. The pleasing hue was like the colour of the sky on a crisp winter morning with diamonds set in gold around the square neckline. Beth stepped away and Isabella came forth, a velvet cushion in her hands bearing Constance's crown.

Her regent's crown.

She'd had it made in the months after Edward's coronation - well this was one of them she had two. This was the smaller of them to go around the base of her hennin, pure gold with red and white enamel letters spelling out 'Constance of York' in Latin about the base. Between every few letters were white roses, their centres studded with alternating rubies and sapphires; a diamond cross at the front.

The same beautiful flowers and their jewels adorned the flowers around the top on long stems and when Beth slid the crown onto her truncated hennin she closed her eyes and sighed. The feeling never failed to imbue her with power.

With it on, Katherine (now healed though her grip was sometimes a little shaky) attached her veil. Readied, Constance stepped forward, letting herself bathe in Ned's warm sunlight and smoothed out her skirts. Lord this would be a busy day.

"Any news from Sheen?" She asked. The great palace was Anne's residence.
"No, your grace." Isabella replied and Constance nodded. That was good. She loved the girl as her own and had no wish to deceive her but there was much to be done before she could inform sweet Anne her father was dead.

She remembered the day her own father had died and the pain that tore through her heart but Duke Francis' death left much more trouble than his had. Anne was his heir, was now the Duchess of Brittany in her own right but she was also the queen of England, Edward's wife and France no doubt knew of the duke's death already.

Even with Aliénor as their queen, it wouldn't prevent them from trying to snatch her sister in law's rightful inheritance they'd been scheming after for years. Constance sighed again. Yes, there was much to be done and quickly too.

She was only glad her menses had ended two days prior, not that they much bothered her, they only burdened her every few months and were lighter than in her younger years. It was simply irritating when there was so much work to be done.

Walking through the corridors, servants and nobles bowing left and right, she could already imagine what the men of the council would say. She could hear their murmurs and squabbles. Some would want to send an English army to secure the land but she wouldn't allow that. It would only spark a war and that was the last thing England needed when trying to secure land for its future heirs.

Chairs scraped against stone and men stood when she entered the council chamber.

"You may sit, my lords." She said as she took her seat upon her throne at the head of the great oak table covered with papers. She nodded at Cecily who sat to her left "My lady mother." With her son now under John's care and the man seeing to order in the north, he still had a seat on the council but was almost never there to fill it. There was no better candidate to do so than Cecily who'd been added to the council not six months into Edward's reign.

Of course there were some groans about a 'council of women' being forged but she would not deny the realm nor her son Cecily's talents for the sake of avoiding prejudice.

"Now, we gather today, my lords, with haste for, as you will by now know, news was carried to us this morning of the death of Duke Francis of Brittany. Without male issue this leaves his daughter, Queen Anne, to inherit the duchy. This is no simple matter of inheritance, though. The marriage contract of Queen Anne to the King clearly stipulates that should she inherit, Brittany is hers alone and does not belong to England nor her husband by marriage or by law. Only when she passes, which we all pray shall be a day long in the future and after each of our own deaths, will it pass to her heirs with the King and the land be brought into English possession."

She leant forward, laying her palms flat against the table top "So, it must be decided how we are to defend Brittany in the coming years for, while I know they have their own forces, their ruler is here and must remain here at her husband's side which leaves the land more open to French attack. We have treaties of alliance with both lands but should the latter attack Brittany, it is to Brittany's aid we shall go in defence of our queen which leads me to ask how we keep it safe from France before such can occur."

To her left, Richard hummed, stroking his clean shaven chin in thought before he looked to her.

"The Queen should be dispatched to Brittany immediately, you grace. Have her formally recognised as its ruler on her lands so no dispute can be raised."

"Perhaps with a large force of our own?" William Stanley suggested from further down the table. Another addition to the council but by Edward's dictation, not his mother's. His reasoning was that he was a powerful man and had proven his loyalty, thus should be given an opportunity to prove it further.

Constance didn't fully understand but the wiry man was more palatable than his dead brother and was, indeed, a powerful man so the King's wish was granted - not that it would've been denied "Show the people that she is also England's queen and they may count upon our support and show France it is not a land to be trifled with."

"And make the Breton's feel threatened with invasion?" Richard replied. He was much more opposed to Stanley's presence and took many an opportunity to make it known - despite Constance telling him to do otherwise "That their child-ruler is no more than an English puppet. Do that and they may invite the French there themselves."

"It would show strength."

"It would show the Queen's weakness to her people which is the last thing she or we need."

"My son of Gloucester is right" Cecily said, one elegant finger tracing the arm of her chair while her gaze rested on Stanley "You would not welcome a Breton force onto these lands, would you sir? And much less surrounding our ruler. It would feel like an invasion and, as my son said, that our ruler were a puppet. You, nor any other at this table would take kindly to it."

Anne was rather a puppet in this, Constance thought, poor girl, but one who's strings would be pulled not only for England's ends but for her own - her children's.

"I agree." She said "And for certes she should be without the King at her side. But there must be an English presence in some form upon Brittany's lands to strengthen their borders and our security. We must find a way to do so without stirring unrest, make it appear they are there by the Queen's behest and for protection, not invasion or control."

It would be a long day indeed.

༻᯽༺

"Your grace." Constance looked up from the papers before her and the council quietened "The King has returned." The page boy at the door said and a smile graced her features, relief relaxing her heart. It always did whenever he returned though she knew he was perfectly safe and happy. Now he'd given her a respite from the council and her seat too - her legs were starting to feel numb!

"Ah!" She exclaimed happily, pushing away from the table ad standing - which prompted the others to do so "And so we must lay this matter to rest for the moment, my lords and my lady mother."

"Your grace." They all chorused as she stepped aside from her seat and strode from the room, smiling. Her pace kept quickening the closer she got to the courtyard and she kept having to reminds herself to remain regal. She couldn't help it.

Ned's sun shone even brighter than it had in the morn when she arrived at the top of the courtyard steps to be greeted with one of the happiest sights she knew. There he was, her son, tall and golden amongst his friends, clapping them on the back and laughing like his father. George Neville was at his side as always. Despite the five years between them, the two were inseparable.

She wasn't alone, the young ladies of the court had already gathered and were leaning over the arcade wall to watch the King, whispering and giggling to one another.

Descending the swept steps, Edward's smile grew when he saw her and he gave a merry wave, striding up to her with a relaxed ease in his long strides. The crimson doublet covering his broad chest was unlaced at the top and his strong chin covered with fresh flaxen stubble - the evident of merriment. Constance chuckled.

"Your grace!" She said, dipping into a curtsy "You have returned to us!" He waved away her obeisance with an easy laugh, his grin wide in a way that made his eyes crinkle at the corners, iris' twinkling with mischief. He was so like his father but there was something of her in there too, she could see it.

"No ceremony, Mother, no ceremony! Come and kiss me!" She took him in her arms and did so. He smelt of leather and slightly of wine which made her smile grow.

"You were successful, I hope?" She asked, pulling back to look up at his handsome face again, though she didn't release her hold. By God he was tall! Somehow it still managed to shock her "You've been away from us for almost two weeks, my love! The ladies of the court have certainly felt your absence." She added, sparing the young women a glance. Edward did too, conjuring more giggles when he sent a red-headed beauty a wink.

"Ah, there was much success to be had!" He told her "Tonight I'll present you with a feast that will rival even the greatest of Father's, ma mère, I promise you!" He said the same each time he returned from a hunt and he always delivered. Her boy had a taste for rich indulgence and grand displays, just as Ned had, with her taste for keeping promises!

"And I'll hold you to it!" She laughed, patting his chest "Now, inside with you," She ordered "I've ordered a bath drawn. Afterwards you can greet your brother and sisters, Charlie has been asking after you relentlessly for the past three days!" Edward tossed back his golden head and laughed at that. He adored his youngest brother, indulging him at every turn "Next time you should perhaps take Richard with you if he's returned from the north. He is old enough to keep up with you during a hunt!"

His amused gaze returned to hers with a tilted head and raised eyebrows, his lips twitching with an even greater grin.

"But perhaps not old enough to partake in our other excursions, ma mère!" He told her. It was her turn to laugh and she shook her head. No, Richard certainly wasn't old enough to join his brother and his friends in their other excursions, although she couldn't deny it wasn't an eternity until he would be!

"Mhm, no. Go on, mustn't let the water cool!"

Edward bent down and kissed her cheek, then took her hand and did the same before he moved past her and ascended the steps into the palace. With him gone (and more than a dozen young women rushing after him), Constance's eyes fell on George Neville who approached and bowed low, smiling at her. When he rose, he carded a hand through the light brown curls that bobbed around his face.

He was a pleasant, handsome man, much like his father, though a little more confident in his tone and manner. He always brought merriment with his presence; never failed to conjure laughter! It was he who raised Edward's spirits when he was low, he who stayed with him when he couldn't sleep or didn't want to sleep, who rode out with him at dawn or at dusk. She liked him greatly and over the years he'd become almost as dear as another son to her.

"Ah, George!" She greeted "You are well too, my dear?"
"Indeed, madam!" He replied, hooking his calloused thumbs into the tight belt of red leather around his hips "We've had many merry days!"
"Constance." She corrected with a smile and a kiss "I've had a bath drawn for you too." George grinned.

"Thank you. We're both sore after so much riding!" He winked and she slapped his arm with a laugh, playfully pushing him towards the steps.
"Ha! I'm sure you are! Now inside with you!"
He followed in his king's footsteps, merrily ascending the steps with a whistle on his lips.

He was a good man for Edward to have as his closest friend, she thought, a white rose to the core and his cousin at that!

She sighed to herself, nodding at the bows and greetings of Edward's other companions. Merry faced, as was their leader, it appeared none of them knew of crisis from across the channel and as soon as Edward had bathed, shaved and dressed, she'd tell him of Duke Francis' death. She'd do well to order fresh horses prepared too before she returned to the council, she decided, knowing that Edward would wish to tell Anne himself.