~The Most Lucky~

28th of June 1461, The Tower of London....

The soft glow of morning called Constance to consciousness as golden beams slipped through diamond-paned windows. For the past week she and Edward had stayed in the ageing fortress by the River Thames, away from the great, bustling halls of Westminster Palace, as was tradition for monarchs before their coronation.

The chambers were sumptuous, freshly furnished for the new King and Queen, the gardens were pleasant and yet, Constance couldn't help but feel a sense of unease as she walked about the place. The shadows on the walls had eyes, the paintings too, watching her every step as she moved from room to room.

But she tried not to think on that.

They would be crowned together, she and Edward, in the first double coronation since Richard the second was crowned beside his Queen, Anne of Bohemia. The thought made her smile and, her mind still encased by sleep, she stretched a hand across the bed, searching for the warm body of her husband only to find the sheets cold.

Her eyes fluttered open.

Blinking, she slowly sat up, her body trying to rouse itself as her vision adjusted and she peered past the heavy velvet bed curtains.

It was then, she saw him, sat at his desk before the great chamber window, his arms folded on the wooden surface, head bowed. The morning light cast an ethereal glow onto him, making his hair shine the bright golden hue of an angel's halo, but never had an Angel looked more downcast then Edward did.

Her heart ached.

While he smiled and laughed when discussing the coronation plans, picking and choosing what he wanted and what he did not when under the eyes of the court, when they were alone, he withered like a flower in winter.

The coronation marked the true beginning of his reign, the reign meant to be his Father's, a celebration meant to be attended by Edmund and Thomas. He bore a weight not meant to be carried by one so young and Constance did everything she could to help lessen his burden.

Pulling back the covers, she slipped from the bed, nightgown fluttering around her ankles, tiptoeing to the desk and sliding her hands around her husband's broad shoulders.

"Come back to bed, my love" She whispered "The hour is still early and you must rest" Edward only sighed, letting his head settle on her arm.
"I cannot rest, not when I know when the sun sets I shall bear my Father's crown....."

"It is your crown now" She murmured into his hair and he drew in a sharp breath "It feels wrong, I know, Ned but if the crown was to fall to anyone, your Father would want it to be you. You heard what your Mother said the day you rode into London....."
"That my Father would be proud"
"And he would! I know that he is!"

Edward sighed again, clasped fingers fiddling on the desk surface, his mind slowly drifting back and forth from memory to reality.

"When I entered the city of York.....they were still there" Constance felt her blood run cold and she gripped the back of the chair. She did not need to ask who 'they' were "they were still there, rotting like common traitors....I could hardly believe it" He paused, his throat suddenly running dry as he tried to speak the words he had kept inside for so long. A tear escaped the corner of his eye "Father, Salisbury, Tom"

When he looked up at her, Constance was sure for a moment her heart would break in two for he wore an expression of such desolation he reminded her of his little brothers; for a moment helpless. No great King or ruler.

"As long as I did not see them, a part of me believed that they were still alive" He murmured and she nodded her understanding, there was a part of her that still believed the dead were alive, there was no helping it "but what was worse than realising that they were truly gone was....as I looked up I could not tell which was my Father. Think of that, Con" His voice broke slightly and hot tears began to roll down her pale cheeks "I couldn't recognise my own Father....my own flesh and blood....and then Edmund....Eddie"

"Oh my love" Kneeling at his feet, she pulled him into her arms, peppering kisses all over his face. She could barely imagine how he managed to hide the pain tearing at his heart beneath a merry facade with the decaying faces of his kin burnt into his mind. The horror he must have felt, the shock....

"I have chosen a motto. Fortis in Officio" She murmured in an effort to distract and his tender gaze shifted to her, a small smile playing about his lips. It was a motto she'd thought long and hard on, trying to weave it exactly to her liking, to her thoughts and values. She thought this one suited perfectly.

"Strong in duty" Edward translated, an almost vulnerable look in his eyes as he stared at her. She nodded "You will always be by my side?" The words warmed her heart and tilting her head, Constance cupped his face in her hands; smiled.

He would never have cause to doubt her loyalty to him.

"Always"

༻᯽༺

Leaning her head against the carved edge of the wooden tub, sheer silk veils hanging around it for modesty, Constance relished the feeling of warm water pouring over her skin. The tips of her fingers glided across the clear surface, creating ripples that dispersed into watery nothing, settling into their warm depths.

In the gilded Tower chamber, the stone walls lined with golden tapestries, the three daughters of York (all now her ladies in waiting) surrounded her in elegant dresses of silver damask. Margaret's two sisters (The Duchesses of Suffolk and Exeter) had arrived in London almost as soon as Edward was declared King and made the merriest of company!

Red headed Elizabeth, the same age as Constance, was merry of heart, a woman of good natured smiles and jokes that could lighten any dark mood! She possessed the type of kindness children simply adored and her younger brothers could often be found in her company, playing games in Westminster's vast courtyard if she was not tending to her young son.

Her sister, Anne (five years older at twenty two) was quieter in nature, more reserved in a noble sense, but nonetheless pleasant company, often a source of advice for her young sister in law whenever she asked after English Court customs. Her hair was dark, the deep hue of oak and her eyes much the same as her siblings, presenting a contrast of brown against bright blue which was almost startling when she first met someone!

She hadn't led the happiest life, Constance soon found, being married aged only nine to the staunch Lancastrian Henry Holland who despised every breath she took. The pain he'd caused her was a ghost haunting her silently day and night, torturing her through memories she hated to speak of.

He was a cruel man, Anne confided one evening, one who took pleasure in her pain, particularly when he bedded her, often calling her a 'York Bitch'; striking her. She could easily remember how he used to rip open her shift, leering at her young body until she cried and then sobbed with pain when he pushed himself inside of her. Such memories caused her to grimace but the discomfort was quickly tucked away behind her regal facade.

She was like her Mother in that.

After her daughter was born, she'd left her husband's household and held the lands Edward gifted her in March when he attainted her husband for treason. Anne once confessed that day was the happiest of her life.

Each York daughter held a porcelain jug filled with hot water, constantly keeping the Queen's bath warm. An oak table stood to the side, stacked with glass bottles of lotions and liquids that were rubbed into Constance's hair and skin, cleansing her of all dirt until she all but glowed, the embodiment of the beautiful and graceful Queen the people wished to see.

"We shall see you shine brighter than the crown" Margaret told her as she gently rubbed ointment into the ends of her hair so they would shimmer when dry.

When Constance stepped out of the cooling water, Anne wrapped a warmed towel around her and used a second to gently pat her dark tresses into place, soaking up the warm water that held them straight.
"How do you feel, sister?" Beth asked, fetching a clean shift and stockings embroidered with silver thread.

"Well" Constance replied with a dreamy smile while the shift was gentled over her head and Margret lifted her legs to slide her stockings on, tying garters embroidered with intertwined Cs and Es "though I wonder if I shall be the perfect Queen the people and nobility expect of me...."

Her words trailed away as Anne brought forth a gown spun from pure gold, or so it seemed, the rich silk glistening in the chamber's light. Cloth of gold formed the bodice and skirt; the sleeves that hung elegantly in a cascade of magnificence. Ermine trimmed the cuffs and neckline, the deciding symbol of royalty and noble blood, the fur that would define her role in this country that was now her own.

Beth and Anne lifted a kirtle of white silk over her head, tying the back and sleeves with laces of silk before they dressed her in the golden gown the latter held. Margaret slipped on her silk slippers before rising to her feet with her sisters and fell silent alongside them. Gathering their skirts they dipped into elegant curtsies, bowing their heads until Constance signalled for them to rise, a sense of triumph blossoming within her chest.

Beth arranged her hair, brushing gently through it before placing a coronet of gold, studded with pearls upon her head, there would be no veils or hennins for her that day, only a crown!

"You are ready" She whispered, clearly in awe and looked towards the door where the wide world awaited.

"Not quite" Cecily Neville's clear voice corrected as she glided into the room, carrying a shining casket that almost disappeared amongst her sumptuous robes of cloth of silver and ermine. Her daughters dutifully curtsied to her and Constance smiled, eager make her happy on the day that should've been hers.

"I am honoured that you are here" She said and Cecily gave an airy laugh, waving for her daughters to wait outside.

"You are Queen" She replied gently, motioning for Constance to sit at the nearby dressing table where she set the casket down "It is my duty to attend you" the young Queen bit her lip, looking to her lap until she felt the cold touch of metal around her neck and glanced up to see Cecily settling a beautiful necklace of diamonds and rubies on her skin.

Loops of gold connected them, one great diamond in the shape of a raindrop settled in the centre, making the pendant hang heavy about her throat.
"It is beautiful....." She whispered, raising a hand to brush her fingers across the smooth surface of the jewels, making the woman above her smile.

"It belonged to Marguerite of Anjou, as did the rest of the Queen's jewels" She murmured, fastening the golden clasp "Now they are yours" A pang of guilt struck Constance's heart and she turned to her Mother in law, taking her soft hands.

"But they were meant to be yours!" She cried "This was destined to be your day, your crown!"
"But it is not!" Cecily only replied matter-o-factly, no trace of anger or envy in her voice "God and Edward have given it to you and you must enjoy it, for we have much to be joyful for, do we not?"

"I admit....we do, despite our House's grief" And before she could speak again, Constance guided her right hand to her belly, covering it with her own, bearing a shy smile on her face. Cecily gasped, the bright blue of her eyes glistening.
"You're not....."

"I am, Lady Mother!" Constance breathed, nodding over and over as if to assure herself of her own luck. When she'd not bled when she was due, she'd at first thought she was merely late but it had been three months since then and she'd begun to crave her oranges again. There could be no doubt "I am with child again!"

Another little baby blossomed in her womb, another child, another tiny human all her own she would love with all of her heart! Though they could never replace little James, she hoped they would fill the void left by his death.

The Duchess smiled and sank to her knees for a moment, staring tenderly at the place they both hoped a York Prince grew.
"You have made this day more joyous than I thought possible!" She murmured and they both knew how scarce that joy was "A new King and a new Prince of Wales!"

It certainly spoke for fruitful times ahead!

༻᯽༺

Westminster Abbey....

Constance could barely breathe as she and Edward knelt before the Archbishops of Canterbury and York, her hand firmly held in his as the sign of the cross was made over their heads. The procession from the Tower to Westminster Abbey had been one of shining splendour that almost had the pair deaf with the crowds cheers!

"King Edward!" The cried, waving with all their strength, craving a smile, even a simple glance from their King "God save King Edward and Queen Constance!" In a litter drawn by four white horses, draped in cloth of gold, the young King and Queen and stayed hand in hand the entire procession, each other's constant touch perhaps the only thing keeping their minds from spinning!

Edward looked the King England wished for, young and charismatic with his golden hair curling on his head and charming smile Constance knew few would be able to resist! He smiled and waved, ever obliging, reaching out to catch the white roses thrown his way. Each one he caught, he presented to his Queen with a gentle kiss to her lips, causing the crowds to explode into appreciative crows and whistles.

Soon, she had a whole bouquet in her lap and bestowed them to women or girls at the roadside, wishing them good fortune in all they did!

Both the young King and Queen understood the importance of establishing their dynasty, the precarious beam upon which they balanced, that they would keep balancing on even when the crowns were on their heads, when they were anointed with holy oil. To keep their thrones, they had to be loved, and from the reaction of their people to their presence, they were endearing themselves to the country quicker than lightning.

If only her Father could see her then, Constance thought as she waved to a crowd of young girls that almost tumbled over one another in an effort to rerun her gesture! If only he could see his Sweet Angel had finally grown her wings and was talking flight into the world with a smile instead of trembling fear.

He would be proud. She knew he would be proud!

The nobles of the Kingdom (the Yorkist ones at least) processed in great pomp behind them, Duchess Cecily and her two young sons, either side of the Earl of Warwick, riding on white palfreys as were the three York Princesses. The little boys especially were enthralled by the thousands calling their names, waving in their direction, hailing them the Princes they now were!

Never in their life had they imagined such splendour, such glory, well, they had dreamt of it as all children did, but in exile, that dream had begun to fade. Their Father was dead, their brother was dead, what prevented their Mother and the rest of their beloved kin from being slain, they'd often wondered.

Prince George and Prince Richard, now the Dukes of Clarence and Gloucester. Just the night before their elder brother had knighted them at the Tower, making them knights of the garter!

Banners of murrey and blue streamed from every window, accompanying the white rose petals falling like snow from the sky, showering the King and Queen in their House's sigil.

It was as if the dead Duke was sending his blessing from heaven, smiling down at the from God's side. Now the deafening cheers were muffled by the vast stone walls of the Abbey and inside all was silent, the royal court watching on in their smooth silks and glimmering jewels, George and Dickon staring at Edward in awe, their sisters doing the same for Constance.

The Archbishop of Canterbury gestured for the young adults before him, just nineteen and sixteen, to raise their bowed heads and ascend to the thrones set on the dais above. The delicately carved wood was reserved for royalty alone, a timeless symbol of power and majesty. From these two seats, they would rule, dispatching power to each corner of the Kingdom.

Letting go of Edward's hand, Constance gathered her skirts and stepped up the dais, her eyes trained on the throne before her. Her throne. Together, she and Edward turned, smoothing out their golden robes before they sat, exhaling shakily as they raised their heads, looking above the court.

For a split second, they glanced at one another, a small smile curving Edward's lips as he mouthed 'Together' and she nodded. They would do this together. They would rule together.

He was the first to be crowned, his forehead painted with holy oil in the sign of his cross, his fingers adorned with the King's signet ring, a golden sceptre placed in his hand. Then came the crown, a great golden, glittering object that shone in the shards of sunlight cascading through the great abbey windows, throwing multicoloured beams across the great chamber.

"God save the King!" Rang clear throughout the Abbey, each person calling it at the top of their voice, including Cecily who stood in the front pews, shedding tears of sadness and joy. All had promised to obey and serve him, to support him as their rightful King and pledge allegiance to him and him alone.

Then, it was Constance's turn.

She felt as if she were being raised to heaven.

Her breath caught as suddenly faced with a thousand faces, each watching her every move, every rustle of her gown, every flick of her eyes as they gazed around.

"I present unto you, Queen Constance" She jumped at the sound of the Archbishop of Canterbury's voice, deep and clear, though she hardly dared to believe his words "Your undoubted Queen"

'Undoubted' She thought, almost tempted to place a hand to her belly. She may be the undoubted Queen in the eyes of the law but in the eyes of Lancaster she was not. Once she had her son safely in her arms, then she would be safe, then she could be proclaimed the undoubted.

"Wherefore all you who are come this day to do your homage and service, are you willing to do the same?"

"God save the Queen!"
The cry of the nobles floated above the rafters, enthusiastic, loving, a pledge of loyalty. She wondered if such pledges would ensure the tests of time.

The Archbishop approached her, gently painting a cross onto her forehead with the holy oil reserved only for Kings and Queens. This would make her an anointed Queen, one step safer to security.

"Let the anointing of this oil increase your honour and establish you forever"

"God save the Queen!"
The voices rang out again, and this time, Constance was sure she could hear her Father's amongst them. Perhaps it was? Calling down from heaven.

Her eyes fluttered close for a moment and she felt a wrinkled hand lift her right one, place a heavy ring onto her middle finger while the sceptre of England was nestled safely in the opposite arm.

"We offer up the sceptres and the ring, to our one and mighty Queen"

"God save the Queen!"

Watching the Archbishop from the corner of her eye, she saw his bony hands grasp around the golden circlet studded with jewels that belonged to many before but was now entrusted to her. The crown of Queens. She forced herself to stare forward as it was brought forth to her, fixing upon the stone pillars until she felt the circlet touch her and a small gasp escaped her lips.

Finally the golden crown was placed upon her head and she was no longer simply the daughter of a French Duke, a small piece in the much larger game of politics. She was no longer simply the King's wife, a vessel to bear his heirs, she was the Queen of England.

For a moment, to carry such a golden beauty was effortless but then she felt she would collapse, the weight threatening to snap her neck! Nevertheless, she forced herself to stare forward, never once letting her chin drop, she must be strong, she must be Queen.

The rustle of fine silk made her aware that those present were bowing and curtsying and she allowed her eyes to flick to where Cecily Neville stood, her tall stature diminished slightly as she dipped down but that did nothing to decrease her aura of power. She watched Constance with careful eyes, wonder swimming in their blue depths until their gazes locked.

Nodding, she lowered her gaze demurely to the floor beneath.

༻᯽༺

Westminster Palace....

The great hall was filled with the heavy scent of cooked meat, steaming from great pies and roasted beasts lying along the tables where the court sat. Boars, swans, peacocks, pigs, the birds still bearing their feathers, wings set upwards as if they were about to take flight, were being eaten, soaked in rich sauces and washed down with the finest wine!

On the high dais, the King and Queen sat with their family, heads bent together, youthful smiles on their faces. Edward had his lips to the Queen's ear, whispering words that made her giggle as she accepted the sweet segments of orange he offered.

Their intertwined hands played on the golden tablecloth, fingers twisting around, drifting across each other's skin in gentle tenderness, a never ending dance only adding to their mural of affection.

It perhaps wasn't the most becoming behaviour for a King and Queen but Constance knew she'd much rather be swaddled in affection than appear a Queen of stone!

"How do you feel?" Edward asked, drawing back a moment to pop a piece of ham into his mouth. Constance smiled, looking up to where the crown sat on her head, made heavy with responsibility as well as gold.

"I feel as though I have aged a thousand years!"
"Thank God you haven't!" He chuckled, letting a hand slip beneath the table to rest against her belly "Or this child wouldn't be growing inside of you" Idly his thumb stroked her gown and he sighed, praying this child would be another boy. He needed a boy.

When she'd told him she was with child again, just two weeks prior, he'd wanted to announce it to the entire country, filling his study with glee as he picked up his wife and swung her around until she giggled. He still grieved for their little James, often thinking what he would be doing if he still lived. Would he be able to sit up? Would his smile have grown stronger?

Such thoughts were pointless, he knew.

"You, my son, shall be called Edward" He told the baby beneath his fingertips and Constance smiled again.
"Edward" She hummed "He will make a fine King, just like his Father" His hand left her belly and came to hold her own again at that, bestowing a kiss to her knuckles.

"I believe God made me a very lucky man when he willed me to marry you" He confessed quietly and Constance blushed, the suave intimacy of his voice spreading a pleasing warmth through her body.
"God or Warwick" She joked but Edward was entirely serious, gazing at her intently.

"I care not who it was....all I know is that you and I, we are the most lucky" He stared at her as if she were the only other person in the great chamber, as if the court and his kin had simply faded away. With his words, she was equally entranced, feeling her heart swell and wanting tug deep in her belly.

"Maxime Felix" She breathed and Edward nodded, tracing circles on her palm.
"The Most Lucky" He repeated, excitement beginning to shine in his eyes "It shall be our motto my love. I shall have it embroidered on banners and painted on Westminster's walls! All shall know of our fortune in love"

"Of our fortune in each other" She finished, feeling sure he was about to kiss her, right there, in front of the entire court when Cecily suddenly called to them.

"Have you seen Dickon?" She asked and Constance peered around the table, easily spotting the empty seat where the youngest York was supposed to be seated "He must have slipped away"
"Because he's a crybaby!" George jibed earning a sharp look from Margaret.

"He is younger than you!"
"All he does is cry!" The boy protested, chin jutting out and Edward huffed, pushing back his chair when a gentle hand landed on his arm.
"No" Constance said "I'll find him, you must stay, you are King"

Manoeuvring herself around the dais, she began to make her way across the hall where groups of nobles (who had finished eating) mingled, waiting for the dancing to begin. As she walked, she left a sea of bobbing nobility in her wake, either bowing or curtsying in a way that almost unnerved her.

She'd never possessed such undivided attention from so many and wasn't much fond of it like dear Dickon. He was young, he was slight and good at hiding in dark corners where he often wouldn't be found unless he wanted to be. Constance herself had been apt at doing just that when she was little and knew the great hall didn't harbour the young Duke, so she left, slipping along the corridors silent of all footsteps but her own, bathed in murrey and blue banners.

Eventually, a small sniffle caught her attention, muffled behind a large tapestry. She knew instantly it was the missing York son and gently peeled back the fabric to find Dickon huddled in a small window seat, his slender knees drawn up to his chest.

He wasn't crying but, in the light, Constance could see streaks of shed tears on his cheeks and her heart ached for him. How much he'd lost, how much he'd endured at such a young age. He carried ghosts men grown were never haunted by.

"May I join you?" His head bobbed up at the sound of her voice, embarrassment flashing in his eyes as he hastily made to wipe his face on his doublet sleeve.
"Here, take this" With a tender smile, Constance drew her handkerchief from the cuff of her gown and offered it to him. Dickon's little face perked up at the white linen and he took it with a shy smile.

"Thank you" He mumbled, shuffling up to make room for her "I always seem to lose mine"

"Well you may keep mine" She told him, smoothing out her skirts as she sat "And I trust you will not lose the Queen's handkerchief, my Lord?" Poor Dickon managed another sheepish smile, tucking the handkerchief neatly up his sleeve once his young face was dry "Now, may I ask why you are not at the festivities, I came to breathe some fresh air but you do not appear to be doing the same cooped up here?"

She tilted her head, hoping she could coax even a little out of him. Of course she hadn't admitted his family sought him, worried that would make him feel either patronised or in trouble and Dickon needed no more worries weighing on him.

He bit his lip, contemplating his thoughts and her for a moment before he spoke, still hugging his knees.

"It doesn't feel right, your grace"
"Connie" She corrected gently "I am Connie when we are alone, Dickon" The young boy nodded, sniffing again.

"It doesn't feel right, Connie" He repeated "To see Edward as King, to see him wear the crown I thought my Father's....I wish Edward to be King" He quickly added, not wishing to offend "but my Father should be here, Edmund should be here....ma Mère shouldn't be a widow, my brother shouldn't be dead...."  Suddenly, his small mouth dipped into a frown and he peered up at her, fresh tears welling in his eyes "will Lancaster kill me too? Will I die?"

"Oh, sweet boy" Reaching out, Constance drew Dickon to her, the ache in her heart only growing stronger as his spindly arms wrapped around her middle. 'Dead. Dead. Dead' The words he'd sobbed that hellish night in January echoed in her mind. She wove a hand through his hair, pressed a gentle kiss to his head as she pushed back tears of her own.

"You...." She shook her head "You will not die for a very long time, Dickon....I promise" He clung to her tighter "Edward will protect you, I will protect you and as you grow you will be able to protect yourself, cousin Richard will show you how. He is a fine warrior"
"As my Father was" Dickon murmured and Constance slowly drew away, tilting his chin up with two gentle fingers.

"Listen to me very carefully, Dickon, you are a York, you are strong and no one can take that from you. Now" She forced a smile to her face, offering the young boy her arm "come and help me find a drink! You are a Prince now, you must be kind to fair ladies such as I and your sister Margaret, why don't you ask her you dance?"

Obediently, Dickon hopped down from his seat, giving her a nod and a small smile as they stepped out into the hallway.

She would see him protected.
She would see all she loved protected.