~Wounds opened Anew~

April 1470, Sheen Palace....

Seven months.

Seven months had passed since she'd found herself pregnant and still her baby grew within her womb. Still he blossomed, still he breathed, and every time she felt his little feet kick, the embers of hope, so close to burning out in the depths of her heart, fanned into tender sparks.

It was a relief and her greatest source of fear....

At all times she kept her hands on the swell beneath her gown, the soft curve containing England's most precious cargo, and took every day as a new one; slowly, gently. The nobles watched whenever she passed, her hand in the King's, as if their never ceasing stares would somehow make her baby more likely to live.

They blamed her for her failures of the past years. She could see it in their eyes.

On Edward's request (and her own) she forwent almost all royal duties after three months, choosing to keep to her rooms instead of wearing the heavy mantel of politics. Her beautiful rooms were her safe haven and she often spent the days in bed, hardly daring to move while her ladies read aloud or she prayed at her prie-dieu.

She forbade anyone to touch her, at least her belly, for fear that the slightest knock would cause her to lose the child. Only Edward was allowed to place his hands ever so gently on the place their baby grew, only he, James and Marie, of course. The little Princess knew her Mother's pain so only let her fingers dance lightly on her gown when she greeted the babe.

Constance often lay awake at night thinking about her Prince, praying in stuttered whispers for God to protect him, to not take him away and leave her heart broken again. If she lost this baby, she did not know how she would live.

If she didn't produce a son for Edward, for the House of York she'd married into, she would fail as Queen; pave the House of Lancaster a direct road back to the throne because they had an heir, their own Edward. She had to deliver this baby safely.

And then she had to produce others. Other boys. That was the only way to build a wall of safety around her husband and her crown and her little Marie. God help her if anything ever happened to her darling Marie. Her one surviving baby of six.

This seventh one she would have alive in her arms. She needed him.

So as her ladies readied her to join Edward in the great hall to hear petitions (not too taxing as she only had to sit and the King liked her to be in his sight) she kept her hands cradling her belly covered by emerald silk, willing the baby to kick every moment, even if it hurt, to assure her he still lived.

"Here, sit, Connie"

Beth's gentle voice startled her and Constance allowed herself to be guided to a chair while Anne arranged her hair, brushing through her brown waves to soothe her. She did not bind them beneath a caul or hennin but left them loose, only adorning her head with a bejewelled circlet.

The two sisters exchanged looks.

Each day they worried for their Queen, their dear sister, but they worried for her worry.

From the moment they entered her chambers in the morning to the moments they readied her for bed at night, she could not stop anxiety consuming her like a fever. It burned in her mind, crawled through her skin, set her heart racing and her eyes fearful.

They knew how much she feared for the baby in her belly, anyone could see that from the way she used her hands like a bejewelled cage shielding her growing bump, but they also knew how her own strain would place a strain on the baby. Neither could bear to see her go through such pain again.

Four times they'd seen her give birth.
Three times the baby was dead.

Adjusting the veil of her hennin, Beth slowly knelt in front of the Queen, lifting her hands one by one to slide shining rings onto her fingers. The metal was cool against Constance's flushed skin but it brought no comfort.

"You must not worry so much, sister" Beth pleaded gently "you know what worry will do" Her breath caught at the same time as the Queen's and she balanced her next words on her tongue, well aware of what they could possibly do "what it can do" Constance looked up, slowly nodding as her hands came to cradle her belly again.

"I can't help it, Beth....I cannot lose another boy, another baby....I can't fail Edward"
"Oh, sister" That was Anne's motherly voice, infused with comforting warmth, calling to her through the haze of her mind and suddenly both York sisters were kneeling before her, sheer veils floating behind their shoulders, pretty faces concerned.

Two gentle hands pried hers away from the belly and she was seized with the urge to snatch them back, to protect her unborn child "No" Anne murmured, her grip growing firmer. She'd never seen Constance this afraid "You will never fail Ned. You are his wife and his Queen"

"But my role as Queen is to provide him with sons...."

The York sisters exchanged looks again. They couldn't deny what she said was true for it was their house her baby depended on. They had been raised with the same duties as her. Anne's grip slackened somewhat and Constance's hands retreated to her belly, smoothing over the soft silk of her gown.

"You will give him a son" Beth decided firmly, providing not an inch of room for objection "This child shall live and you will be Mother to the next King of England!" She tilted her head "When was the last time your pregnancy made seven months, hm? When you gave birth to Princess Marie!"

"Exactly!" Anne enthused brightly "and where is she now? Five years old and thriving!"

A small smile overtook Constance's lips and she forced herself to nod. Marie was alive, Marie was strong and it pained her that her little girl was not enough to fill the gap within their house. She should have been but that was not the order in the world of men she'd been born into.

"She is my guiding light. My little love"
"And healthy!" Beth added, rising to her feet with her sister; taking the Queen with them "There is no reason why this Prince shall not be"

Constance's breath shook as she inhaled and a shiver ran down her spine, quaking with her memories.
"Apart from the fact his five siblings left my womb already angels and his brother did not live long enough to see his first spring"

༻᯽༺

When Edward came to her, outside of the great hall doors, he sunk down onto one knee and kissed her hand. Gently, oh so gently, placing his own hands on either side of her belly, he leant his forehead against the front of her gown, silently praying for a Prince.

It had to be a Prince.

"He is strong, as are you" He murmured when a firm kick collided with his nose, and stood, taking her hand to kiss it a second time. Although she was undoubtedly the more anxious one between the two of them, Edward could not deny he harboured fears in his heart.

Three Princes and a Princess had been lost to the Lord's care too soon and he did not know what they would do if another was whisked away. Over and over he was told, as a boy and a King, 'you need an heir, you must have an heir' and yet ten years married, nine years on the throne and where was that heir he so desperately craved?

Arthur lived, Arthur thrived but Arthur was a bastard and, no matter how pleased he'd been at his birth, a bastard could never take the throne. 'Nor would I want him to' He thought sternly, looking at his little Queen, rounded with their child, they had their Marie. She was strong, she was alive, proof that they could produce healthy children so why would God keep more from them?

He wouldn't, he was sure of it. Constance would have this child and it would be a boy. It had to be.

A male heir was like oxygen to a bloodline, keeping it's name, it's legacy flowing through the ages; a crimson river. Without one, a line, a house would suffocate like one would underwater, drowned beneath the ambitions of others.

His Father and dearest brother had lost their lives for the crown he now wore, he would not allow any to take it. Again, his hand came to rest on her belly and a pair of green eyes peered up at him, still Constance was paralysed with fear. It was not right she should be so afraid.

"Our boy will come to us and you will do your duty as you always have, after all, your motto is Strong in Duty, is it not?"

The doors opened and their gazes snapped forward.
"King Edward and Queen Constance of England" Their titles made the duty he'd spoken of flood their veins and they raised their chins, focusing on the path ahead.

"Come, sweetheart" Edward murmured, stepping into the light of the great hall, crowded to the brim with nobles clamouring for the King's attention, petitions and papers in their hands - men that placed the blame for his lack of heir on his Queen's shoulders. Their 'superior' sex would never be blamed for it.

She could feel their scrutinising gaze on her as she walked, out of the corner of her eye for she kept hers on the throne ahead where Richard, George and Dickon stood. The Earl nodded to her, a gesture she gladly returned ascending the steps of the dais, sweeping the train of her gown aside and sitting down; a hand on her belly.

The sea of nobles stood before her, watching waiting and she tilted up her chin a little more, settling her free hand on the sleeve of Edward's burgundy doublet. She would show them, she thought, smiling when he patted her hand. If he still had faith in her so should they for who were they to question their King's belief?

Edward grinned his boyish grin at her and interlaced their fingers, bringing them to his lips; pressing a firm kiss to her knuckles.

"Let us begin, my Lords" He drawled and immediately, the great hall became filled with clamours for the King's attention. While Constance expected them to form an orderly queue when she first became Queen, it soon became clear the nobles became no better than a pack of animals!

Not that they weren't, they were simply better at hiding it normally.

A jolt of panic swept through her as the nobles crowded around the dais, waving papers, shouting, vying for the King's attention but all Constance could see was a pack of wolves, advancing towards her and clutched at her belly, her breaths quickening with panic.

Into her palm, a tiny foot pressed and she held tighter, eyes wide, alert, heart waiting for the next kick, the next little punch. However painful it was, she waited on those little movements, those signs her baby was alive and strong. Her son. A hand on her arm startled her, forcing her head to snap up to meet Edward's warm gaze.

He smiled, just as lovingly, reassuringly, handsomely as he'd always done when he looked at her, making his eyes glimmer with affection. Constance couldn't help but smile back. He was not paying attention to his nobles, no, he was paying attention to her. His beloved Queen.

"Est-ce que tu vas bien, mon cœur ? Est-ce que bébé va bien?" 'Are you well, my heart? Is the baby well?' A pleased flush painted her cheeks and she nodded. Even though French was known by all nobles, learnt alongside English when they were babes, when Edward spoke it to her, it seemed a language belonging to them. Their language of adoration: pure, loving.

Edward opened his mouth to speak another gentle endearment but the doors of the great hall swept open and a gust of icy wind blew through the room. Despite the summer heat, Constance shivered, looking up with her husband to see a sight she could swear to imagining.

Like a pride of lions, the Woodvilles strode into the hall, heads held high, golden hair glinting like thick, curled manes in the sun. Earl Rivers didn't lead them, Lady Rivers didn't, Elizabeth did, bedecked in jewels like the Queen she masqueraded as, a circlet of emeralds on her head; a mock crown.

Her slender fingers glimmered with rings, her neck shone with rubies wound around her swan-like neck, her silk gown swept along the floor, trimmed with white fur, almost as pale as her complexion.

But she was not nervous, no.

She had never looked more triumphant.

Wither her brothers and sisters, creatures of bloodthirsty ambition, she led their Pride towards the royal dais, a look in her eyes glinting with power. A power easily won, or so some would say.

At her side was Arthur, dressed in a murrey and blue doublet, almost skipping to keep up with his Mother, little thumb in his mouth. Most would have halted that habit as soon as they could; not Elizabeth, she would give her boy all and anything, but he was not the one that was the focus of all eyes, high and low in that moment, he was not the one that made Edward rise from his throne and his brothers and cousin gasp.

For in Elizabeth Woodville's arms was a baby, not just any baby, a boy, a boy with a cowlick of blonde hair sticking up on his head and a pair of blue eyes staring curiously around him.

The King's eyes. Edward's eyes.

Constance's breath was knocked from her lungs, all of her precious air snatched away in mere moments at the sight approaching her.

Elizabeth's eyes met hers, accompanied by a smirk curving her beautiful lips with a wickedness only the devil could bestow. Constance shook her head, silently begging the nobles to refuse her passage instead of parting willingly to let her go by, willingly leading the wolf to the lamb. Not even Warwick moved from his place beside the throne, too stunned to speak.

Richard was never speechless but his face contorted with rage, as did his younger cousins; both George and Dickon.

The room fell silent, the only noise the tap of Woodville shoes on stone before they stopped at the dais and the whole clan swept bows and curtsies. Rising, Elizabeth's eyes met the King's, now shining with the pretty coyness that had captured the King's attention so easily and still did it seemed but not from lust, from shock.

"Your grace" Elizabeth began, her sweet voice a melody to all who couldn't see through her cloak of beauty "I come here this day to present your son to you"

A second son. Constance's lungs clawed for breath and all traces of colour fled her face, turning her skin to alabaster, whiter than her knuckles clutching the arms of her throne. No, Elizabeth could not give Edward two sons...she couldn't.

"My son?"

Constance shook her head at the sound of Edward's voice, watching in utter horror as he descended the dais, away from his family, away from her, transfixed at the sight of the little four month old boy his mistress held. His son. A boy all his own "My son, Elizabeth?"

The blonde-haired beauty smiled at him and held her son out, willing the King to take him into his arms; acknowledge him.

"Anthony" She whispered and the Queen's eyes flicked to the eldest Woodville boy, the man who had kissed her hand, gone down on one knee before her as his Queen. He, along with his sister Mary, was the only one who didn't look up to the royal dais with dreams of majesty in their eyes, keeping his gaze to the floor.

Without speaking a word, paying no mind to the eyes upon him, the eyes that would record and the mouths that would tell of that day, that moment for decades to come, Edward reached out and took the baby into his arms. The boy looked over his shoulder, watching his Mother as he was pulled into an unfamiliar embrace until the soft fur trimming the King's doublet brushed one rosy cheek and baby Anthony giggled.

It was a sweet sound, one made to craft infinite joy between those who heard it but for the lonely woman still upon her throne, all it did was break her heart. Hot tears pooled in her eyes, stinging, blinding her so the baby became just a blur, her husband a mass of cloth of gold, Elizabeth a Queen in her finery.

'A family' The thought crossed her mind before she could stop it and two tears slid down her cheeks, clearing her vision again but not her mind. They truly looked perfect together. Edward, Elizabeth and their two sons. 'Sons' Her mind screamed at her over and over until a hand flew to her mouth, trying to stifle the sob forcing itself from her.

She knew she should fight for control, that she should steel herself and look at the scene with a cool indifference and maintain her composure as Queen. But at that moment, she did not watch as Queen, she watched as a woman, a woman who's heart was breaking.

If she had felt as strongly as she did in that moment before, she hadn't known it but the feeling of utter failure crashed down onto her body like a meteorite onto earth - destroying all. Her head spun and she was blinded again, looking around in her dazed state for some salvation only to find none.

She couldn't stay....she couldn't carry out her duty.

Bile rose in her throat, forcing her from her throne and the great hall without a backward glance. Her body thrust her into the mercifully deserted hallway, catapulting her trembling frame across polished marble until the happy gurgles of baby Anthony no longer rang in her ears.

When she finally came to a stop, she retched, her whole body convulsing as she vomited into a corner, choking on air with every breath she scrambled to take. One hand grasped the nearby wall, trying in earnest to steady her while her legs shook, feeling like they bore the weight of the world instead of just Constance.

Again she retched, again vomit spattered onto the floor, the stench making her stomach churn all the more but this time, a pair of hands gathered her hair, gently pulling it back from her face.

"There, easy now" A sob passed her lips as she recognised Richard's voice, retching a final time before her body gave up and all she did was shudder.

Gently pulling her upright, the Earl drew a handkerchief from his doublet and dabbed at her lips, frowning deeply. For all the world he looked like a concerned Father, flames of rage spouting from the depths of his eyes on her behalf, but for once she took no joy in that observation, she only thought of the throne room; what horrors it contained.

Two cold fingers tilted up her chin and her eyes met his. She blinked "Constance?" Her name was enough to break her and she leant into his arms with a sob, crying into his doublet with all her might. His arms immediately encircled her, holding her tight, one hand gently combing through her hair.

If any were to see them, alone, like this, he knew the rumour mill would run wild and so, with one quick look about the corridor, whisked her away to the nearest room, shutting the door quickly behind them. Still he held her, still she cried.

"Je ne peux pas le faire" 'I cant do it' She wept against him "Je ne suis pas capaz, Richard, je ne peux pas!" I'm not able, Richard, I can't' God it enraged him, making his blood boil hot in his veins. While he loved his cousin, he could no longer deny Edward was a fool, a fool undeserving of his Queen.

All Constance had ever done was try to please her husband and fulfil her duty to the House of York, all she had ever done was try and what did he do? Insult her without one backward glance with his bastards and his whore.

His arms instinctively tightened around the Queen, his heart clenching when he felt a small kick come from her belly. He was not a typically sentimental man, definitely not one to show it, but then he did not care. Constance had become as dear to him as either of his girls and to see her hurt was no less than a dagger to the gut.

"Damn him" Beside them the door swung open and Richard looked up to see the very man he wished to throw out of a window at that moment.
"Connie...." The sound of her name on Edward's lips only made her cry harder.