~Where Destiny Lies~

November 1459, Château De Moulins, France....

Fifteen summers Constance had seen through eyes the colour of green sea glass, possessing a certain promising sparkle just as the ocean did.

Fifteen summers she had spent nestled in her bedchamber at the peak of one of Château De Moulin's fine red-brick towers, content to watch instead of play in the gardens her the windows overlooked, filled with wall-scaling flowers and a twisting maze.

While only one of her powerful Bourbon family's estates, the quiet château was her home and always had been. Yes, that was certainly the way to describe it, a quiet home - quiet being the only thing her short life had ever been! The second to youngest of twelve (and a girl at that) there was no cause for excitement, crafting her quiet nature.

While she'd learnt to skip ropes and move chess pieces on a board, the game she'd become most apt at playing was the one of waiting.

Waiting for destiny.

A destiny crafted by the Lord above and sent into her family's hands to see she carried it out. So far that day evaded her and she remained at Château De Moulin, a fine box for her to wait in until it was opened by the hands of fate. All of her siblings had waited there - a few still did.

The autumns and springs were quiet, the glorious summers, the winters too - particularly the winter of 1456, three long years prior when her Father, Charles, Duke of Bourbon, had died at the Château. After that, the building and its opulent grounds were not only quiet but silent apart from the murmurs of prayer.

Most of those prayers came from Constance's own lips and she couldn't count the many hours spent knelt in the family chapel, bathed in in rays of multicoloured light from the windows, praying for her Father's soul.

During the early years of her life she'd known him little, seen as he was away fighting - and a fine warrior he was, making him little more than a glowing figure of her young imagination. But when she was six he'd finally retired to the Château, to his children and the love she'd discovered for him couldn't have been greater! For all his gruffness and eagerness to fight, underneath she found he shared her love of quietness and contemplation.

They were often together in chapel, side by side, not a word being spoken between them yet their bond being strengthened each second.

On her tenth birthday, he'd given her a rosary acquired from Italy, crafted from beads of shining black onyx, nestled between links of gold leading to a crucifix of the same precious metal, studded with diamonds; emeralds at the points, matching her eyes. He'd always known she had a fondness for pretty things.

His doux ange, sweet angel, he called her.

They took walks in the garden, her small hand tucked in the crook of his elbow and he often gave her books to feed her ever avid mind! Many times she'd wandered up to his study where her brothers attended to their lessons, making a home on his lap to read them.

It was those same books she read to him when he lay in his chamber during the weeks before death took him.

She'd been but twelve and he, in her opinion, not ready to die at fifty four. His golden hair was not yet streaked by grey, his muscles not worn down, despite the weight of the world making his shoulders hang heavy. She'd asked him many a time, often through tears, why he had to leave her but he'd only replied it was God's plan for him, something each person on earth must accept.

For his sake, she did.

She spent her days in prayer, hoping God would give her Father her blessings, that he kept the Duke close in his care. She cherished the six years she'd known him in her heart, remembering his peaceful face when she closed her eyes.

Even three years later, tucked away in the stone bay window of her bedchamber, embroidered cushions beneath her, did Constance remember. Tightly laced into a gown of red silk, she gazed down on the garden's below, it was all too clear they were too cold to walk in. The grass was covered in a layer of sparkling frost, the bushes void of all bloom and the extensive maze covered by swirling mist; an invisible giant's exhale.

She had no idea destiny was so close at hand.

The carefully crafted glass was cool against her cheek but she did not mind, her thoughts were not on the icy prickle stinging her skin, nor on the open book balanced precariously on her lap.

They lay on the warmth of summers long gone, memories making a fond smile dance about her lips as she remembered the picnics in the garden's below. Delicate fingers ran along her rosary beads, the precious pendant looped around a crimson sash at her waist - the same as always. How she longed to feel the warmth of summer again....

"The Legends of Charlemagne, you're not reading that wearisome book again are you sister?" The heat of her imagined sun fled with her squeak of surprise at the sound of a voice over her shoulder. She jumped, the heavy book tumbling from her lap only to be caught by a pair of slender hands; held up to amused eyes. The blue eyes of her little brother: James.

He grinned, sandy curls falling over his forehead. She frowned, sitting up with a small huff and trying to snatch the book only to have it whisked teasingly out of her grasp.

"Give it back, James!" She demanded, reaching again but James only whirled away with a hoot, flicking carelessly through the pages "I said give it back!" God, he was irritating, she thought, pushing herself to her feet and trying to stay upright as her legs tingled - the price she payed for curling up in her little retreat.

Yes, James truly knew how to tear her nerves to shreds when he wanted - and as he did then, twirling nimbly around the room, the book held above his head! He was a year younger than her at fourteen (but considerably taller) and the pair were as much alike as night and day; chalk and cheese!

Where Constance was quiet, James was loud, where she was pious, he could be considered a professional blasphemer, ready to spout whatever nonsense came to mind! While he was quite ready to stand up at court and proclaim whatever he damned well pleased, she would quail at the thought, more content to watch than participate!

Yet, they somehow managed the closest of all their siblings.

As different as they were, Constance often felt only her Father had been able to understand her as her little brother could.

He was her other half, a vision of possibility for what she could've been had she been born a man. His destiny would be exciting, of that she was always certain, James was made for adventure! They could often be found together, challenging their minds to chess or watching clouds when it was warm enough but from time to time, Constance found, her little brother simply took joy in irritating her!

He read over her shoulder (aloud to grate her nerves), stole her prayer books and -his greatest delight by far- hid in the oddest of places just to seize the chance of scaring her!

"I shan't!" He now declared, keeping Constance's book aloft while she chased him around her room, a firm hand on her heavy skirts. He almost skipped across the tiled floor, basking in her ire and only collapsing onto the bed when he grew tired. The leather-bound book landed on the velvet covers with a thud and was instantly snatched up by its owner.

Constance clutched it to her chest as a Mother would their babe, anxiously looking over the gold stitching on the spine, the corners of the ancient pages, ensuring no damage had been done.

"It was Father's!" She grumbled as James propped himself up on his elbows, blowing the hair from his eyes "You know that!" Gently brushing a hand over the cover, she placed it neatly on the small table by her bed and flopped down onto the mattress beside him. She was never able to keep up her chagrin with James for long "Be more careful next time" She simply scolded "Now, what need have you for my company, little brother?"

"If either of us is to be named little, it should be you, Connie!" He retorted huffily, making her smile "and it's not me who seeks your company, it is our brother!" The small curve of her lips dropped to a confused frown at that, a genuine one any of her siblings would share were they told the same!

After their Father's death, the eldest of the Bourbon siblings, John, had taken on the mantle of the Dukedom at thirty three but was unlike his predecessor in almost every way.

He was hardly ever seen at the château, preferring a life at court and when did did reside at his family home, he was rarely seen. The most his little brother (for their other brothers were long gone to do their duties) and sister received from him was a nod or gruff grunt.

To him, they were no more than valuable pieces to play, not the cherished children they'd been to their Father, and Marie often wondered if John even recalled her existence beyond a name on a dowery.

"John? Why would he ask for me?"
James shrugged.
"I don't know" He admitted with a wry smile "but it let me slip from Latin and for that I am grateful!" Constance couldn't help but roll her eyes at that, she'd never understand his hatred for the language she loved! At least he was happy.

"Where am I to meet our brother then?" She asked, rising from the bed to brush down her skirts, well aware of the formality that would seize the coming meeting, choking all ease from it "His solar?"

"His solar" John confirmed, dramatically casting a hand to his head "where all dreams go to die!" He snorted as Constance's elbow collided with his ribs, flopping back onto the pillows of her bed again.
"Shut up, Jamie"

Casting one last look at her brother, she quietly left the room, making her way through the marble hallways of her home without a stumble. Still, while her feet didn't trip, her hands trembled, wrapped around her rosary as she sent a silent prayer to the Lord.

In truth, her oldest brother scared her, or at least the idea of him did. Tall, imposing with lips never fond of smiling....she'd never been called to his solar before, a place where he passed so much time, she wouldn't be surprised to find him melded to the walls!

As long as she could remember, Constance had been a shy child, uneasy in the company of strangers and - while her brother - John was a stranger, something that set her heart racing beneath her bodice. For this stranger had something to say.

When she finally reached the dreaded solar, her feet forced her to hesitate outside the door, ears listening, heart hoping that perhaps one of her older sisters was there too but her senses were only met with stinging silence.

Raising a hand, she knocked and a gruff voice answered, convincing her to lift the heavy iron latch beneath her fingers, sending her forth. The stone chamber she stepped into was bright with winter light, the long, wooden shutters pushed back, allowing sun to flood through the rectangular windows, each pane in the shape of a diamond.

The fire was generously ladened with freshly cut logs, their bark crackling amongst the amber flames, almost talking during their heated demise. A marble mantle surrounded it, the Bourbon arms carved into the pristine stone and in front, a great wooden desk, littered with papers.

Constance remembered when her Father had been at that desk, sitting comfortably in the large armchair now occupied by her straight-backed brother. He was garbed in his usual rich velvets, a doublet of crimson covered by a heavy black mantle trimmed with fur. He didn't glance up at her entry, giving her the same amount of attention he would a servant; head remaining bent over the papers clasped in his ringed hands.

Their Father would've never been cold, so silent, she thought, making her way towards the desk but her attention was quickly diverted when the gleam of emerald satin caught her eye. Another figure was in the solar, stretched out like a contented cat on the silk-covered chaise lounge just feet from the desk.

Their Mother.

Agnes of Burgundy was an aloof woman, unapproachable, a beautiful ghost that moved about the château in a swirl of silken majesty with her flock of ladies.

Even at fifty two there could be no doubt she was divine, a paragon of beauty with her slim waist and beautiful brown hair falling to her waist in gentle curls. Her eyes were the same dark shade, two deep pools able to allure from across a crowded room; light up when they landed on one she loved.

Her children had only ever seen that when she'd been in the arms of their Father. When they danced or walked together, she was a different woman, a flower blooming under the care of her ever adoring sun: Charles.

Not one of her children had ever felt the true warmth of her angelic smile, heard the true chimes of her laugh. They had to content themselves with small titbits of such things.

In fact, the only time Constance could recall her Mother's arms around her was the night her Father died and Agnes clung to her by the bed, sobbing into her chest. Even then, her embrace hadn't brought the comfort a Mother's should for it seemed Agnes was the child between them, not her young daughter.

Now, her brown eyes drifted over to Constance, skimming uninterested up and down her developing frame before she lifted her head from the back of the chaise.

"John. She is here"

Giving a small grunt of acknowledgement, John finally looked up and Constance was quick to gather herself, sinking into a deep curtsy; head bowed. The same graceful greeting she would give any noble.
"My Lord brother, Lady Mother" She swallowed, wishing she'd brought James along "what is your will?"

"Ah...." Her brother's voice trailed away after the single note crafting the beginning of a greeting left him and he looked to their Mother, raising his eyebrows.
"Constance" She sighed and the girl before them flushed red with shame, realising the answer her brother had been searching for was her name.

"Yes, Constance!" He amended quickly, resting his arms on the cluttered desk beneath "Tell me, sister" the familial term sounded almost foreign on his tongue "how old are you?"

"Fifteen, my Lord" She answered and the two adults glanced at one another, a triumphant look passing between them that made her stomach turn uneasily. Why would they need to know her age? Her name was used simply to speak to her but her age....that would be put to measure if she were old enough to achieve something.

"See!" Agnes declared and Constance jumped, torn roughly from her own thoughts "she is more than eligible for marriage!" The words struck her like an arrow to a hunted deer. Deep. Quick.

"Marriage?" For all the world, for all her shyness, her lessons on etiquette, she could not refrain from the cry that left her mouth, the word twisted into a sound of fear. Destiny a tiny part of her mind called but it was soon overpowered. The Duke and Duchess turned to her, surprise apparent on their faces as if they'd forgotten her presence and Agnes arched a thinly plucked eyebrow.

"Yes" She replied cooly "Marriage. What else did you think you would be called here for? You are a woman, the daughter of a Duke. Many girls of the same status are with child by now" That only made Constance's eyes widen and she looked to her brother who'd once more taken up a paper, a letter she realised, bearing the seal of an unknown house.

It was not French, she was sure of that, it bore a bear, wearing a a collar, holding a staff and none of the noble houses she had been taught held that sigil! Was she to be sent away from her homeland?

"Yes" John drawled as if he could read her mind "a match has been found for you and at the beginning of the new year, we shall see it made, little sister. You are to marry Edward of York, the eldest son of England's Duke of York. I've been writing to his cousin, the Earl of Warwick. It is all arranged" As fast as her frightened heart was beating, the world suddenly fell silent around her, trapping her in a trance not even a battlefield would've woken her from.

England.

Of all places she was to marry to England. The barbaric land that had held her Grandfather captive until he died, a land of war, of bloodshed, where two rival houses battled for the throne addled King Henry the sixth sat upon, defended by his fearsome French Queen, Marguerite of Anjou.

One house was that of Lancaster.
The other: York.

The former, the ruling, the latter the one who thought it should rule, or at least that what she'd been told, both branches of the same House of Plantagenet.

For four arduous years battles had been fought between them, countless lives lost, the pinnacle of the poisonous tension brewing at the English Royal court. The cost of a weak King on the throne.

They were sending her to the lion's den, forcing her between the beast's teeth knowing her flesh would be torn, her blood spilt.

All her life, Constance had waited, passing each day wondering when her destiny would finally call, preparing, but no amount of warning could've prepared her for this! She was not made for war! For politics and intrigue; betrayal! Marriage was expected of her, expected of all women but she could not lead the life of such uncertainty that many noblewomen in England suffered, waiting to hear if their husband's had been killed or their son's maimed.

She could not do it....

"His Father will be King if he can oust that sickened shadow from the throne" John's voice snapped her to reality once more and for the first time she realised he was looking at her with something other than disinterest. There was a spark in his dark eyes, in the small smile that curved his lips, something that was only confirmed when he spoke "and one day, God willing, the crown shall sit on Edward's head. You will be Queen, Constance"

Ambition. The downfall of all men.

"England already has a Queen...." The words were barely a whisper as she tried to remember how to breathe.
"You shall be Queen if all goes to plan"

"And if it does not, my Lord?" Her mind, addled by fear couldn't resist the sharp-tongued retort and out of the corner of her vision she saw her Mother roll her eyes. The beautiful Duchess tutted, rising with the elegance of water to her feet and gliding to her daughter, extending a hand which landed on a slender shoulder.

Had she not been frozen by shock, the girl was sure she would've flinched.

"Ah, you are fifteen, Constance, a woman on this earth! No matter what happened in England, the eve of your wedding would come soon enough! What else would you wish to do with your life?" An almost mocking chuckle left her rosebud lips "Take holy orders?" That was precisely what Constance would've done, a cloistered life in attendance of God more than suited her.

"Would you allow it had I asked?"

"No, sister, I wouldn't have!" John laughed, seemingly incredulous that she would even have thoughts of her own "We have no need for advancement in the church! Our brother Charles is Archbishop of Lyon and close to the King, you must now play your part for our family. It shall gain us power over both France and England!"

Constance felt her chest constrict with the unfamiliar feeling of desperation, an ever-pressing weight seeking to press the life from her. It certainly pressed the sense from her because before she knew what she was doing her lips had parted again, sending a plea from her heart.

"My Lord....please I am not made to be a Queen"

It wasn't right, this marriage wasn't right! The crown of England was not her calling, neither was war! She had no appetite for ambition, for the blood it would take to keep power! Surely this wasn't what God intended; what he had planned, her mind cried as her fingers found the rosary at her waist.

Her Mother's hand fell from her shoulder and the Duke's face changed quicker than the winter wind, almost excited one moment, thunderous the next. Brown eyes darkened to black, powerful fists clenched and she couldn't help but tremble, a shiver running through her body.

"You are made to be whatever I say you are"

Her eyes fluttered shut at the same time her heart turned away from hope, twisting painfully in her chest. It was not the harshness of the words that stung her, it was the truth of them, a cold stark truth she'd always known and forced to learn again. She was a woman, bound to obey the will of God and men as long as her life endured. It was her duty.

With her Father dead, John was her legal guardian and what he saw fit to do with her future was his to decide. Decide he had, it seemed.

Resistance was futile.

"Truly, you should be thanking me, girl, thanking me for giving you the notion of being a Queen, of serving our family in such a way!"

Constance opened her eyes, raising her head to meet her brother once more. Agnes had retreated to her chaise and was watching her young daughter just like her son was: expectantly. There was no option for her but acceptance. It had been that way for her Mother. It would be that way for her daughters.

Rosary still wrapped around her fingers, she clasped her hands together, the natural image of submission as she nodded.

"If this be God's plan for me, my Lord, then I accept it gladly" She said, voice soft and honeyed "As your sister and loyal servant, I will carry out his will and yours....I thank you
for such blessings"

"Ah!" Her Mother exclaimed, a rare smile ghosting her lips "there is a woman of the House of Bourbon"

"Soon to be a woman of the House of York!" John added, appeased, and Constance forced herself to smile, letting the two adults bask in her acceptance until her brother waved a hand. A clear dismissal. Sinking down into a curtsy, she bowed her head before turning and slipping from the room; forgotten once more.

And so her destiny began.

༻᯽༺

Château de Calais, Port of Calais, France....

"I'm going to what?"
The seventeen year old Earl's voice rang around the study, so loud Thomas Neville wagered the English would be able to hear it across the channel!

Stretching his long, muscled legs out upon the stool he'd placed by the roaring fire, he relaxed into his chair and speared the piece of cooked meat upon his plate, grinning merrily as he ate.

He was the second of the Earl of Salisbury's four sons and at thirty was a rather jolly man with a closely cropped dark beard he would often run his hand along in thought, finding solace in the scratching strands.

Standing as tall as his younger cousin, Edward (the one from which the yell had emerged) at six foot four, he towered above most men and in battle they cowered before him, a fact he often liked to revel in. He had spent his life fighting for his family, mainly chasing the Percys around the country with his brother, John, in the bloody feud between their families for power in the North.

Together, they led their enemies a merry dance many a time and while the arrogance that had stemmed from their victories had led to his and John's capture the previous year, he would not have traded their adventures for another fate, not for all the gold in Christendom! His love of chance, with which he rather recklessly rode the wheel of fortune, would not allow it!

Now he grinned at his older brother, Richard Neville, Earl of Warwick, or rather his back - for the dark haired thirty one year old was currently staring at their little cousin!

"You heard me well and clear, Ned" He said calmly, ever bearing his face of cool diplomacy "You are to wed a girl of the House of Bourbon" The teenager a few feet away stared at him as if he were crazed, wide blue eyes bulging out of their sockets on his handsome face. Thomas chuckled to himself. His brother was always one for concocting plans of great intelligence, even genius he often thought - though wouldn't admit it aloud!

With no more than his words crafted on that silver tongue of his, he could almost challenge God himself in power but had the hilarious habit of springing his plans on others; much to their surprise! He'd done that to poor Edward who'd just moments ago been told he was to be wed in the New Year, making the lad take to pacing up and down the study!

"Wed?" He repeated, leather boots pounding on the floorboards while his cousins watched. It wasn't difficult to imagine him as a King, a powerful leader men would admire, not as a human but a God. His powerful frame and confident manner all but wove the makings of a King into his blood and one day, the Lord above willing, he would be called King. King of England after his Father.

But, for all that Edward adored to declare he was a man (and in looks he was) there was no doubt in some ways he remained a child.
"Who? Why?" He demanded "Does my Father know? Has he given his consent?"

"He doesn't know" Richard replied, calmer than a summer's breeze "nor does your Mother" Thomas snorted at the way Edward whirled around, looking for all the world like he'd seen a ghost.

"Ma mère doesn't know?" He asked in disbelief, the horror all too plain on his face "By God cousin do you wish to see your head removed from your shoulders?" Richard simply shrugged, making his brother grin. Not even God himself could get in the way of his plans, let alone the mighty Duchess of York!

"Many people wish to do that to me already, I see no harm in adding one more to the list! Come now, don't tell me you're afraid of your own Mother?"

"And you're not?" Edward cried, the shock in his blood suddenly sparking to youthful anger "I've always admired you and your ambition, Richard, but has our exile turned that ambition to madness? The Bourbons despise us for locking up their Duke for almost twenty years before he died, why on earth would they aid us? And what is more, you would wed me to a girl of the same nation as that she-Wolf who is the reason we are here? The same blood as the Anjou bitch who would happily see our family's heads on spikes?"

"I would see us returned to England!" Richard snapped, moving to his cousin's side in a few short steps and, while he was smaller, almost appeared to look down on him. Folding his arms across his deep blue doublet, he tilted his head, scrutinising the boy who bowed his own, anger melting away "Is that not you want, Ned?"

"Of course that's what I want"

Richard nodded.

"Good" He said crisply "Then you know what we must do. We need men, we need funds and, as you said, the French are no friends of ours. The only way we can secure support is through marriage and both Tom and I already have wives" A heavy sigh left his lips and a ringed hand came to rest on Edward's shoulder, prompting him to raise his eyes "You would not see us commit bigamy would you?" He shook his head.

Thomas grinned. His brother could always bend others to his will, like hot coals to a rod of iron, even the strongest would melt under his resolve.

"Marriage seems a looming cloud for one so young" He added from the fire, knowing well enough it was not marriage itself Edward balked at but the end of the life he'd led before it. His freedom to galavant where he wanted, bed whom he wanted "but don't worry, lad. To people like us, marriage is a contract, an agreement of mutual gain but once it is achieved, life goes on!"

He wiggled his eyebrows and a small smirk curved Edward's lips "Really if marriage was so binding half the women of England would be out in mourning for you and we can't have that can we Richard?"

"We can't" Richard admitted, a smile of his own on his face "and we won't" He assured their cousin "It is sudden, I know but it is for the sake of your family, our family. We must do what it takes to see them and us secure"

"And my Father on the throne" Edward finished, calmness finally claiming his voice. He could always find some remnant of peace or determination if he knew what he was doing was for his family's own ends.

Sighing, he glanced up to the rafters. Weather he was looking to God or his own mind for guidance, the Nevilles couldn't tell. After a few moments, he looked to Richard again "What is her name?"

The older Earl smiled, success seeping into the dark brown of his eyes, highlighting their glistening golden flecks.

"Constance" He answered "Constance Of Bourbon"