~Hush Little Doves~

November 1483, the Tower of London....

The chamber was small and bare, one little bed in the farthest corner and a rickety chair next to the door. On the outer wall, which was curved, there was a small window where Cecily liked to sit, staring out of it; cheeks tear-stained.

The mattress on their bed was thin, filled with straw instead of feathers and carried a musty smell which (over the two months of their imprisonment at the Tower) the three girls had become used to.

No one ever visited them, no one asked how they fared. The cuffs of their dresses were fraying and Isabella's hem was above an inch from the ground. They were fed on a diet consisting of bread and water, porridge; sometimes a thin stew and it had been so long since they'd felt the sun on their skin they couldn't think of any greater joy - apart from seeing their Mother of course.

Or Kate. She was kept from them, though they could sometimes hear her screams. Thumbscrews they'd heard a guard say when their dinner was brought, to discover their Mothers plans.

Aliénor cried that night.
After that, she didn't speak. Not one word.

The only company they held were one another and a nun, named as their nurse, older than the Earth and cross, her face as wrinkled as a prune; fingers like spider legs and sharp as a whip.

Sister Agatha she was called.

In her dark robes, she was an ever present shadow during daylight hours and a feared demon if she checked upon them at night. Her chamber was only a few paces away.

A strict, stern woman, she harshly drilled the girls in their prayers, morning noon and night, lecturing them on their sinful souls and the damned soul of their Mother. No doubt she was loyal to the Woodvilles. Either that or a fanatical creature that deemed every living thing that breathed as sinful as the Devil himself.

She often took a fancy to hitting the little girls when they got underfoot. Twice Aliénor had been sent to bed with a bruised cheek and once Cecily with a cut lip. By morning it was an ugly purple, the blood dry, crusting at the edges of the wound and twice the size it was normally.

It took over a week to settle and by that time she carried a bruised forehead to nurse.

While the nun was their carer, there was not an ounce of care within her. She sat in her chair, eyes narrowed, watching, or closed in prayer, hands clasped and unless she was to bestow one of her punishments, she did not move.

It was Isabella that cared, Isabella that sacrificed her food so that her two little sisters could possess full bellies, Isabella who wiped their tears, sung them to sleep, entertained them and kept their hopes alive; rocked them in her arms as if they were her own babes.

She did everything she thought her Mother would do.

At night, Isabella lay down on her bed, curled up tight and shut her eyes. Resting her hands beside her on her pillow, she slowly intertwined them, holding them together softly. She did it every night, a ritual it had become. Her hands were always cold but she tried to imagine them warm, her skin becoming rougher by the day (caring for her sisters) but she tried to imagine them soft and, if she tried hard enough, she could imagine one of her hands was her Mother's and she felt safe again.

One morning, Isabella, Cecily and Aliénor were knelt by their bed, hands clasped, head devoutly bowed as Sister Agatha recited their prayers, pacing slowly behind them to ensure no missteps were made.

A knock came at the door but they'd long since learned not to lend attention to any distraction that may seek them out during prayers. And do they continued as Sister Agatha swept to the door; unlocked it with the keys that hung from her girdle and swept a deep curtsy, murmuring gracious words of greeting.

"Girls!" Her shrill voice was the one thing that could force them to raise their heads and they did so "Rise. You have a most esteemed visitor" They obeyed, facing forward and at the sight before her, Isabella fought not to burst into tears. If she did, her sisters would follow and they were already shrinking behind her.

Standing statuesque in the doorway was a woman she had never seen before she was ripped from the arms of her Mother, the whore she'd heard of many a time but never caught a glimpse of until the day she would carry forever in her nightmares no matter how much time passed. There was no denying she was still beautiful, though her youthful beauty had faded a little, draining into thin lines across her forehead and at the corners of her mouth.

Her hair was still spun gold (though most of it was covered beneath her butterfly hennin), her eyes still their piercing blue and the smile resting on her pink lips - enchanting.

But despite her beauty, there was no forgetting what she was.

A monster.

She was the devil incarnate that had tormented her Mother for longer than Isabella had breathed; that had her children torne from her arms, imprisoned or in exile. She was the one who had murdered Uncle Will and Uncle James. Her and her deranged son. She had bewitched her beloved Father, she was a witch and a harlot.

She was dressed regally, a heavy purple cloak, lined with ermine, draped over a beautiful blue dress of velvet damask and adorned with so many jewels she would likely blind herself and others if she was to stand in direct sunlight, Isabella thought.

She could never be royal.

She would only ever be evil.

Her Lady Grandmother said that once.

"Good Morrow girls!" Her voice was light as air and carried a pleasant ring to it but, knowing who she was, it grated on Isabella's ears. She hated it.

How could she sound so content, so at peace, with the acts she had committed weighing on her conscience?

"Girls!" Sister Agatha hissed "Greet the King's Mother!"

Her son is no King Isabella wished to say but forced herself to obey, dipping into a curtsy which her sisters followed.
"Good Morrow, my Lady"
"Your grace" Sister Agatha corrected sharply. Isabella bit the inside of her cheek.
"Your grace" She said and Elizabeth's smile widened, triumph glinting in her eyes. What victories she must be gaining, watching her rival's daughters bow to her; address her as their superior. She cocked her head to the side.

"What sweet children you are! I am awfully sorry to disrupt your prayers!" She looked across the short line of the three Princesses, her gaze settling on the eldest after a moment "Lady Isabella!" Isabella hated the way her name sounded on those perfect, rosy lips "Come! I wish to speak with you!"

She gathered the little ones close, taking their hands.

"I go nowhere my sisters do not follow"
Elizabeth's perfect smile did not falter once. She nodded.
"The more the merrier I say! You may all come!"
As if Isabella would've moved one inch without her sisters at her side. Elizabeth waved them forward and Sister Agatha glared.

"Come along, girls! Attend to her grace!"
Isabella walked forward, Cecily and Aliénor by her side, and followed Elizabeth from their cell. They hadn't stepped out of it for three months and couldn't help but stare at the stone walls that passed them by - through windows that gave them a new glimpse of the green.

It was a little bit like an adventure!

Finally, they reached a room, a large one, clearly part of the royal apartments. It was carpeted, the walls draped in beautiful tapestries, two chaises set beside the fire with a circular table in the centre, laden with food that made the girls mouths water.

Elizabeth knew it would.
It was bait.

"Why don't you sit by the window?" She suggested to Cecily and Aliénor, sweeping over to the table and picking up a plate of sugared grapes; passed it to the youngest. Aliénor peered up at her, shrinking into Isabella's side "Go on" Elizabeth encouraged and Isabella nodded, prompting her little sisters to finally let go of her hands and squirrel themselves away in a window seat.

Elizabeth sighed, still smiling at them before she turned to Isabella "Please! Sit!" It was spoken like an invitation but she knew she had no choice and so sat on the edge of one chaise while Elizabeth gracefully draped herself over the other like a Roman Goddess "Would you care for a fruit tart? A sugared strawberry perhaps?"

Fruit tarts. They were her Mother's favourite, Isabella remembered.

"No thank you" She murmured, twisting her hands in her lap, looking at her fine surroundings of the dirt under her fingernails instead of Elizabeth's divine face.

"Oh, come now! You must be hungry!"
She wouldn't be if she was given decent meals "See how your sisters feast!" She could hear them - their little giggles, the crunch of the grapes between their teeth, and she was so very hungry....

She'd grown used to the feeling but with the scrumptious food before her, she simply did not have the will to resist. Tentatively reaching out, she picked up a plate with a fruit tart and a silver spoon and placed it on her lap.

Slowly she dipped the spoon into the centre, scooping up its plum coloured preserve topped with slices of apple and blackberries and raised it to her mouth, slipping it past her lips.

"Good" Elizabeth said as she swallowed, the sticky jam sliding down her throat. Isabella blinked. The tart tasted of everything and of nothing all at once.

Like life had become she supposed.

It was full of anger, hatred, bitterness, tears, sadness, and yet....there was a numbness, a coldness, an empty void that consumed her for the most part.

There was everything (every grievous thing) and there was nothing. It was full and it was empty.

Her stomach churned.

"So" The woman opposite drawled - still smiling "You have resided here for three months now!" She tilted her head in a way that was meant to be warm, friendly - relatable "I hope Sister Agnes has not proved too harsh?" Isabella raised her eyes to meet Elizabeth's. She was watching her like a hawk watches a mouse: hunger in her eyes.

"No" Isabella replied, laying down her spoon "Not too harsh. She is only....strict" Elizabeth hummed, picking up a sugared orange slice.
"Many of them are, sweetling, but she only wishes the best for you and your immortal soul!" She gave a small nod "As do I and Arthur"

"Arthur?"
"Of course, dear! You are his sister! And he wishes for you to have a life befitting as such!"
Isabella frowned, biting her lower lip.
"Arthur....wants my sisters and I to be free of here?"
"He certainly does!" Elizabeth enthused, delicately licking traces of sugar from the corners of her lips "He longs to embrace you as his kin and for your life to be easy!"

"Then why does he not come himself?"
For the first time, her smile faltered a little and from her serene position, she sat up slightly.
"The King is very busy" She said "He is ruling his Kingdom and has matters to attend to"
"Matters more important than the kin he wishes to embrace?"

"No....simply more time consuming"
Isabella placed her plate beside her, glancing at her sisters behind before looking back to Elizabeth.
"So. We are to be taken to court?"
"You are" The woman let her figure relax against the chaise again "But first, certain conditions must be met"

Isabella took a sharp breath, though she knew nothing would be given without her giving something first - something greater than her reward.
"Conditions?" She looked down.
"Yes. Admit that you helped your Mother send your brothers away and conspire with Burgundy to usurp the King with your brother"

Of course it would be something like this. Of course she would have to condemn her Mother and herself in the eyes of the Kingdom. Of course she would have to push her family into the same mud the Woodville's threw to gain any semblance of freedom.

She would not do it, she could not do it....

"I cannot admit to something I did not do. God, my Mother and my conscience forbids it"
She did not look up but did not need to go feel the air in the room change, the warm glow in Elizabeth's face die; pink lips concealing pearly white lips as they pressed into a thin line.

"But would you not like to see her again?" She asked, voice quieter, sharper "If you say what must be said she can be brought here where you may be reunited! And, since you are a child, you cannot have knowingly partaken in her treason! All you need do after is bend the knee to the King and you and your sisters shall be comfortable. You have my word"

Isabella looked up.

Her word? What did that mean? What value did it have after all she had done, after all they had done? None. That was the answer.

She would not lie. She would not submit. She would not bend the knee. She raised her chin.

"I know of no King of England save my true brother and I will accept no other King except my brother. King Edward"

Elizabeth blinked. She was silent for a moment and reached out for a bowl of sugared grapes; plucked one from the pile and popped it into her mouth. The crunch was sharp as she bit down, her eyes ever piercing as she swallowed.

She sighed.

"Do you know how your Lady Katherine fares?"
Isabella fought the urge to shudder, Katherine's desperate screams echoing in her ears.
"I know she is not well"
Elizabeth hummed, slowly nodding.
"So do I, sweetling, so do I. In fact, she cannot every sign her own name anymore, poor thing" She tilted her head slightly to the side "Can you?"

Isabella curled her hands into fists by her sides as a shiver ran down her spine, lower lip trembling a little.

"Yes"
Elizabeth's smile returned a little, though it did not reach her eyes.
"Then why don't you show me?" She reached under the table, drew forth a piece of paper and held it out to the girl "Sign this parchment, right here at the bottom" Isabella looked at it. It was a blank page. She was young, just eleven years of age, but she was not stupid. If she signed her name as Elizabeth asked the witch could write anything above it.

She could have her admit to any crime, any deed, she could sentence her Mother to death, have the most wicked tales her mind could conjure confirmed as truth.

Isabella would not write one letter.

"I cannot"
"Really?" Elizabeth replied, retracting the parchment, smile fading once more, though did not break her gaze from hers "I always find it is best to do things while we possess have the ability to do them"

Isabella shuddered fully then, her breath shaking as she exhaled and tears pricked her eyes. It was a threat, a veiled one but a threat all the same.

And she spoke it so calmly, poison poured from her mouth as if it were natural.....there were few things more terrifying than that. One of them being Katherine's petrifying screams torn from her own throat as her thumbs were crushed before her very eyes. Her sisters thumbs....

A tear slipped down her cheek. She quickly wiped it away, sniffing, one knee trembling up and down beneath her worn dress.

"I cannot do it....your grace" She whispered "I cannot" A sob broke free from her throat "I'm sorry" One shaking hand covered her mouth as she shut her eyes, hunching over as sobs racked her body.
"Oh you sweet child!" She heard the rustling of silk, the patter of shoes and her sisters put their plate down "No, no girls, stay there, it is quite alright!" The weight of a grown body sat next to hers; arms wrapping around her.

Despite herself she leant into the first warm embrace she'd received for three months and her sobs grew, tears streamed down her face. Elizabeth's arms held her, one hand cradling her head as she rocked her back and forth, soft shushes blowing from her lips "There now, sweetling....hush little one....there there, sweet girl....hush now....hush....there is no reason to cry"

There was every reason to cry.

But eventually, she forced herself to stop, flooding her mind with happy thoughts of her Mother and Father, imagining the day dear Neddy came home and everything was put right.

Drawing a handkerchief from her sleeve, Elizabeth dabbed gently at her cheeks. It smelt of roses. Roses and jasmine and the linen was soft on her skin.

"Thank you" Isabella whispered and Elizabeth pressed the handkerchief into the palm of her hand.
"Keep it" She whispered "Allow me to ease your circumstances, sweetling, then let us discuss loyalties, hm?"

Now that was a game Isabella could learn to play.

The game of the mind.

༻᯽༺

Westminster Palace....

Sighing, Elizabeth handed her cloak and gloves to her ladies (her sisters) and waved them away, cradling a cup of spiced wine as she paced in the centre of the room. Heavy footsteps alerted her to her eldest son's entrance, shining in cloth of crimson and his crown.

She nodded in greeting but did not curtsy. She never did.

"So, Mother" He said, arriving at her side and taking a seat by the fire "did your journey prove a success?" She sighed again.
"It did not"
"It did not?"

Elizabeth shook her head, teeth nipping at the inside of her cheek, one perfectly filed fingernail tapping the side of her goblet.

"The girls refused to breech their loyalty to her. Particularly the eldest" Isabella had certainly proved stronger than she'd thought and far more intelligent "She is stubborn....and she is determined"
"She is her Father's daughter" Arthur quipped.
"Her Mother's" She corrected sharply but he only arched a sceptical eyebrow.

"Is that so? Well, what do you intend to do with them now?"
"Give me more time, Arthur!" She said, taking a sip of her wine "I shall get to them, eventually" There would be a way. There was always a way! "They will bend the knee to you! I have promised to make their lives more comfortable and, in time, when the memory of their Mother fades and they see how generous you are, how you care for them, then they will submit"

"We do not have that amount of time and you know it, Mother!" He yelled, standing, his Father's large frame casting a shadow over the hearth. He'd been quicker to anger than usual of late, growing increasingly frustrated and even a touch paranoid some would argue.

"The treasury is almost empty!" He hissed, approaching Elizabeth "The people are discontented and we cannot raise taxes any higher lest we wish for a full rebellion on our hands! You know we do not have the strength to deal with such a thing! The entire land knows of the three boys in Burgundy! Their sister and Aunt take the greatest joy in telling Europe of their health and strength!" A bitter laugh left his mouth "Of parading them around the Burgundian court with crowns upon their heads! They are beloved by the people and I am not! Soon they will gather and army and once they set foot on land, we have little hope! Our power is slipping, Mother" He whispered "our grasp on England is weakening!"

It had been even before he took the crown, he thought bitterly.

"Do not say that, my boy!" Elizabeth cried, placing down her wine and trying to wrap her arms around him but he moved away, shaking his head "You possess a strong, powerful council! A...."

"A council full of turncoats and traitors!" He shouted, turning back to his Mother with a glare "A council of men who turned to me to merely spite the ones they view as true Yorks, of which I am certainly not! Because there is no one left to turn to from Lancaster and because we currently possess the throne! Look at the Percys! The Stanleys! They turn their cloak more often than I breathe! They have no loyalty! And yet they sit at the head of my council, full of smiles and pretty words while they wait for the day those boys return and they can rush to their side, begging for forgiveness and pledging their undying allegiance! I wouldn't be surprised if one of them murdered me in my sleep to curry favour with my victorious enemies!"

Elizabeth shook her head, one hand on her lips, the other on her hip.
"We should have the girls veiled as nuns!" She said. At least that would place them firmly out of the way. But her precious boy sighed.
"Forcibly?"
"Give them to the church, to God, and then they will be out of their Mother's reach forever!"

He laughed again, fingers rubbing at his forehead; frowning.

"To what end? What purpose does that serve other than to cast sorrow on the woman you hate? Nuns choose to give their life to God, they choose a life of prayer and piety!" These girls were his sisters, just as their brothers were his blood. He had wanted to do the right thing by them, he certainly wouldn't cause more pain to his sisters! Their sisters! "It is a righteous one but one of hardships nonetheless! I shall not allow it to be forced upon those girls"

"Isabella of France had three of Hugh Despenser's daughters veiled to show her displeasure!"
"And so we should do the same? Are you so desperate for power you would subject three innocent children to a life of servitude to our Lord? Unwillingly? No" He said firmly "No you will not do that! I shall have them moved to the royal rooms in the tower immediately and shall hear not one syllable of protest from you!"

"Arthur...."
"No!" He roared and, for the first time, his Mother flinched in his presence "You made me King and so you shall obey me as my subject! Now leave me!"
"But...."
"Leave me!" His eyes blazed, Plantagenet fire burning within them "Go!"

Elizabeth opened her mouth but no words came out and, after a moment, sunk down into a curtsy, he noticed her hands were shaking - though she tried to hide them in the folds of her gown.

"Yes, your grace...."

She glided away, her son's gaze boring into her back.

Sometimes he didn't think he knew his Mother.