~Father, Mother, Uncle~

Two weeks later, Westminster Palace,

As streaks of sunlight graced the dawn, the sky was painted into a myriad of colours. Pinks, purples, oranges, preceded the true light of day and the court still slept. Well, the nobles did. Their guards stood, armour-clad, at their posts, slumping against their pikes while they knew they could afford to.

Inside the King's chambers, the royal couple lay intertwined, Constance's head on Edward's chest, her belly nestled between them. One of his hands lay on the soft curve and had lain there all night, never moving, always protecting.

Ever since their return to Westminster just nine days before he'd not once left her lonely at night. From dusk till dawn, his Queen lay sweetly in his arms and they were content, despite refraining from their lovemaking.

What was more, Elizabeth and her clan had stayed away entirely, in fact they still resided at Sheen on the King's orders. Constance had thought her threats would only take a momentary effect but the truth was the opposite.

Since the day she'd sent Elizabeth from her rooms she'd not seen her once and she didn't think she'd ever felt so free! Well, she'd felt more so when the Woodvilles were away from London altogether but they were of little concern to her as the Nevilles and George had flounced away from court again!

James would've too, she was sure, if it was not for her but her brother was ever loyal and stayed put by her side. His anger toward Edward did not settle easily, though. More than once Constance had caught him glaring at her husband and he refused to grant him one word that wasn't 'yes', 'no' or 'your grace' when the King addressed him.

If Edward noticed his coolness, he didn't comment on it and Constance believed he was far too preoccupied with the Neville's and George's departure to be concerned with her little brother!

Luckily, they didn't grip her mind in the realm of dreams and a small smile curved her lips in sleep. She dreamt of a babe, her babe, with ivory skin and hair the colour of corn nestled in her husband's arms. It was the sweetest vision, sweeter than the honey bread she favoured, and she lay content with Edward as the sun rose, their growing child between them.

The sky was finally a bright blue when the door to their bedchamber opened slightly and a pair of little feet padded across the floor. The steps were so soft, one could almost believe them to belong to a mouse but when a pair of small hands landed on the covers, hoisting up a little girl, it was plain to see there was no mouse, it was Princess Marie.

She'd woken early that morning in her nursery bed, clutching the toy bunny Dickon had given her for her first birthday and staring up at the ceiling; a frown on her face. She'd thought and thought and thought a little more until finally slipping from the warm covers and past her slumbering attendants on their pallet beds, not bothering to put a robe over her nightgown.

She simply needed to find out if her Mother still had her baby.

For most of her little life she'd seen her Mother's belly round and then one day she'd disappear and come back grey and without a bump under her gown. Her Aunt Anne told her three times that 'the babe was with the Angels' but the baby her Mother carried then was not with the angels! Or at least she didn't think they were.

They were still there and she couldn't quite figure out how or why so what better way to find out then to go and look, she thought? She'd seen babies before when Aunt Beth gave birth and she attended their christenings. At the feast of her little cousin, Elizabeth, she'd even been permitted to hold the girl and marvelled at how small she was!

Giving birth seemed so easy for Aunt Beth, who laughed and smiled the entire time, why was it not for her Mother?

Servants stared at the little Princess as she wandered through the halls, undressed and unattended but she payed them no heed and they didn't try to stop her. They hadn't the authority for that. Besides, why shouldn't she go where she pleased, she wondered, she was fully five years old, soon to be six!

When Marie reached her Father's rooms, she tiptoed through the outer chambers, glad to see they were not bustling with noble attendants that may stop her! As quietly as she could, she entered the bedchamber and hopped over to the bed, climbing on top of the covers.

Her parents didn't feel anything at first, only a slight shift in the covers they thought was one of them but as Marie got closer they began to wake, especially when she shouldered herself between them.
"Make room, Father!"
Edward groaned, throwing an arm over his eyes but moving all the same, allowing Marie to slide between her parents.

Immediately, her little hands dipped beneath the covers and she frowned, biting the inside of her cheek in thought when she moved them over her Mother's nightgown. The baby was indeed still there!

"Hm" She mumbled when a little fist pushed into her palm, not realising a pair of green eyes watched her with amusement in their depths "Baby is moving" She observed - a serious little scholar.

With her answer discovered, she flopped onto her back, giggling when her Father groaned again and tucked herself against his side. One strong arm went about her waist and she contently snuggled into him, inhaling the scent of leather and hay that always encased him when he'd been hunting like the day before.

He'd promised to take her with him one day.
She only hoped he didn't bring Arthur too. Woodville brat.

"Did you find what you were looking for, little love?" Her Mother asked through a yawn and her head snapped to the side, nodding.
"You have a baby, ma Mère!" She answered proudly and Constance chuckled, smoothing a hand over her belly.

"That I do and he will be born very soon! Just two months or so from now!"

"Two months" Marie repeated thoughtfully, wondering how her Mother knew it to be a boy "Can I hold him? Like I held cousin Elizabeth?" Constance's heart swelled with love at the thought: her little daughter holding her son. There was no image her mind could paint that was more perfect! Marie would protect him, Marie would love him and he would love her in return!

"Of course!" She replied warmly and her daughter grinned before her face became a serious little picture again.

"Mother?" She asked and Constance tilted her head on the pillows, giving her leave to continue "Once you have my brother....will Arthur be gone? For good? His brother too" The venom that seeped into her voice at the mention of Elizabeth Woodville's sons made her Mother's heart ache and she reached out a hand, brushing a dark strand of hair away from her daughter's face.

One so young as her should not know hate, nor any feeling akin to it.
"I do not know" She admitted quietly and Marie pouted, not noticing the glances her parents passed over her little head "But I will try, I promise"

The chamber doors banged open and suddenly Marie found herself clutched tightly to her Father's chest, the dagger he kept under his pillow pointed in front of them. His eyes widened and Constance sat up as they saw Anne rushing through to them, her dark hair still gathered in its simple night braid.

Marie's lips sunk into her little frown and she watched her Aunt perform a quick curtsy, her eyes never leaving her brother's.

"Your graces" She was breathless "News from the North"

༻᯽༺

"What do you mean another uprising?" Constance demanded as she followed Edward through the halls, Isabella following - trying her hardest to finish tying the laces of the Queen's gown.
"Please, your grace! Hold still for one moment!"

Constance payed her no heed, the clank of her husband's armour causing too much anxiety within her to stop. It had been barely an hour since they lay in bed with their daughter but ever since Anne rushed through, all had been chaos. Edward went to wake Will and when Constance heard his voice in the hallways, she'd rushed away from her ladies without a second thought!

He was barking orders at his men, Dickon, Hastings, James, anyone he could find, telling them to raise their banners and muster their men! Her heart raced.

"Edward!" Constance demanded entering his study, Isabella still on her heels, and the King strode to his desk, beginning to pile papers into great chests.
"It is in favour of witless old Henry!" He raged, slamming the iron lids shut "With a leader who will not announce his name!"

"A leader with no name, cousin?" Isabella repeated, sweeping the Queen's hair over her shoulder and finally finishing tying her gown "I do not...."

"He may be a herald to Marguerite of Anjou" Edward snapped, gathering up more papers "Testing how much support she can raise before she lands her troops to free her husband so I will make quick work of him"

A harsh kick was landed to the wall of the Queen's womb and she grimaced, shaking her head. She needed Edward there! The baby needed Edward there!
"Can someone else not lead the army? Why not Will? He is experienced and you would trust him with your life! Send James with him too! You know they've struck up a friendship!"

Despite her pleas, Edward shook his head.
"No" He replied stubbornly "It is my crown. I must defend it" She grimaced again. There was an echo of Warwick's words in her husband's and for the first time she wished the Earl hadn't been so hard on his old pupil "I must put my neck on the line with the men who love me"

"And I?" Constance cried, waving Isabella away "What of I and Marie? And our son? We love you Edward! Can you not stay?" Cradling her belly, she rushed around the desk and grasped his arm, forcing him to turn to her "Please, my love. For the safety of our boy"

He paused a moment, staring into her eyes but the gentle kiss he bestowed to her forehead only made her sigh. It meant no.

"Our son is all the more reason I must defend my crown!" He replied, beginning to pile papers into chests again and nodding to the servants who came to collect them "I must keep it for my boy to inherit and for Marie of course!" A wry smile lit his lips and he paused for a moment, leaning on the hard wood "We cannot make her a Queen if I am not King"

He received no smile in return and Constance shook her head again.
"How many men do you have? How many stand with you?"

"Ah, my worried little Queen!" He sighed, taking her gently by the shoulders in an effort to stop her persistent protestations "John has pledged his men, he shall join Dickon's army outside of London and we shall ride on together. Will is with me, George and Warwick too" She opened her mouth to speak but Edward shook his head, a little tut passing his lips "They may be angry but they will stand with me. I know it"

Another smile and then he was walking away from her, once more barking orders in a tone harsher than the bitterest wind. She could only follow, trying not to get caught in the web of soldiers weaving around her: pikes sharpened, armour polished, white roses emblazoned on their cloaks.

The courtyard was just the same, bustling with preparations for war and the scrape of metal against metal. Constance stayed on her husband's heels, trotting to keep up with him. It was only once he came to a halt by his destrier that she managed to capture his attention once more and he looked down at her with a look of carefree amusement.

How was he not worried out of his wits?

"I will be with you by May Day morning with apples and peaches for you and my Prince Edward" He promised, not allowing for her to slip one word in "Stay here" He instructed firmly "Go into confinement early and take James if it would ease you but for all our sakes, stay safe, Connie....swear to me"

"I swear" Was all she could say and then his lips were on hers, demanding, all consuming. Her arms wound around his neck "Come back" She urged "Please, Ned, come back" One of his hands landed on her belly and he nodded, resting their foreheads together for a mere moment before he was gone, leaving her cold as he mounted his destrier.

"I will come back" He swore and with that, was handed his helmet, a golden crown attached to it, and his handsome face was covered from her view.
"I will pray each second that you do" She whispered 'for God help us all if you do not'

༻᯽༺

A soft silk veil covered her hair, flowing down her back in a river of light blue. Green eyes, glassy with unshed tears, looked up at the windows of Westminster's grand chapel, the stained glass set high above the alter painted in colours only God could've crafted, turning the marble beneath her feet to a rainbow.

Tombs lay either side of the chapel, topped with effigies of those who had come before her and those who should've been beside her. Three marble diamonds lay before the alter, set into the floor with white roses on their surfaces. Two boys, one girl.

"Viens, Marie" The command was soft but no sooner was it spoken, a small hand slipped into hers. Looking down at her daughter, Constance smiled and they walked forward, both staring at the windows ahead before sinking to their knees in front of the alter steps.

The icy feel of the stone seeped through their gowns, making the skin on their knees prickle uncomfortably, as was ever the nature of piety. Neither moved.

"Devons-nous prier pour le Père, la Mère?" 'Are we to pray for Father, Mother?' Marie asked in perfect French, devoutly clasping her hands but still looking to her Mother for answers instead of God.

"Oui, mon petit amour" Constance replied, bowing her head "Nous devons prier pour sa victoire et son retour sain et sauf" 'We are to pray for his victory and his safe return'  Marie's head bobbed and her Mother smiled, flickers of love for her homeland sparking into flames at her daughter's understanding of her Mother-tongue.

"Puis-je prier aussi pour l'oncle Richard?" 'Can I pray for Uncle Richard too?' She asked and Constance sighed, nodding. Something in her stomach wrapped itself into knots when she'd thought of Warwick during the three weeks since Edward departed, something she couldn't quite figure out. He'd sworn Edward his men and he would give them, wouldn't he? She sighed again.

"Lui peut-être surtout" 'Him perhaps most of all' "But now, let us pray for your Father. Pray to God he keeps his strength and his luck, his wits and his courage. He must remain strong in his duty as we remain strong in ours, Marie. Always"

"Always" Marie repeated obediently.

"Good. Then let us pray. Dear God, please watch over Edward in this battle that is coming. Strike down Edward's enemies and keep him safe in your love" Beside her, the young Princess nodded along, mouthing the words "Please, God, let Edward win. Let him live for England's safety and the safety of my baby"

A little kick confirmed his life and Constance smiled, opening her eyes and hoping her prayers reached God.

Marie too raised her head, watching the curve of her Mother's belly with unreserved fascination. If this baby was a boy, he would not be another Arthur or Anthony would he? She shook her head. This baby would be her brother, her true brother and she would love him, she was sure.

But what of her Mother's love for her? Would she dote on this baby as her Father did his bastard sons? Would she be somewhat forgotten?

"I love you very much" Her gaze darted up at the sound of her Mother's gentle voice and a hand took her small one, guiding it to the bump where her baby brother lived "this baby shall not change that, Marie"

She tilted her head and smoothed her fingers over the front of her Mother's gown "You are my little love" Constance whispered, lifting her chin with two fingers "my heart. You always will be, but there is more than enough love within me to share, do you see?"

It took a moment but, at last, Marie nodded.
"Will there be others? Other babies? Other brothers and sisters?" Taking her Mother's hand again, the Queen and the Princess rose to their feet, wandering slowly back down the chapel isle.

"I hope so" Constance admitted "And I hope you will love them. You will be their eldest sister, they will look to you for a fine example of what a York should be!" Marie tilted up her chin proudly and a little spring was added to her step at the thought. Her brothers would not reach over her but look up to her! She would help raise them, lead them and they would look up to her!

Their oldest sister.

This time, a smile lit her lips when she looked at the bump curving her Mother's belly.
"Hello baby" She murmured "My baby brother"
"Exactly!" Constance agreed happily "Your true baby brother who will be by your side always! Now, shall we go outside? I hear some of the roses are in bloom!"

Marie nodded, jumping excitedly on the spot but the pair never made it outside for as soon as they left the chapel, the sky clouded, turning bright blue to ashen grey. Clouds blocked out the sun, shattering any chance it's light had to reach the earth. An unyielding wind picked up from the Thames and whipped around the palace, rattling the bolts keeping the windows locked.

The Princess still wanted to venture outside, the waves crashing against the banks of the Thames serving as an exciting prospect to her young eyes, but Constance forbade it.

"Tis too dangerous, little love" She murmured, glancing at the window where her daughter lingered, watching every twig blow.

The Queen saw no adventure in the storm whipping London into a blur. It was not natural for such a sunny day to descend into darkness and yet it had, sending ribbons of wind whistling through keyholes. The Queen's ladies gathered in her rooms, taking up their embroidery while they waited for the storm to pass.

"Storms are never a sign of good tidings"

"Hush, Elizabeth" Anne scolded, hissing when she pricked her finger on her needle "Do not speak so" Biting her tongue, Beth looked down at the white roses she'd embroidered onto crimson silk, unlike Constance who hadn't sewn one stitch.

"Our sister is right" She murmured, turning away from the fire a serving girl had stoked to the window behind. Marie knelt on the small seat below, eagerly watching no matter how many times her Mother asked her to come away "It is not natural. It is not right for God to turn so quickly. Something is wrong"

"Perhaps if the weather is too bad to fight, Father will come back!"

The three women sighed, wishing for the same innocence Marie possessed. While she thought the bad weather would bring the King back, they knew it would only keep him away longer and the longer men were away from the safety of their castle walls, the closer danger came.

"For heaven's sake close the shutters!" The Queen ordered and Anne snapped to attention, rushing around the room while Beth called Marie to her skirts. The little girl settled at her feet, ready to take up her own piece of sewing when another intruded on the Queen's rooms in a swirl of silk and anger.

"It was a trap!" The voice of Cecily Neville shrieked as she stormed into the chamber, James on her heels, slamming the doors behind her.

A crumpled letter lay in her hand and strands of flaxen hair had escaped her caul, framing the look of pure rage consuming her expression. She did not offer a curtsy, she only stormed over to the hearth, throwing the parchment into the flames while her daughters rose in alarm.

"'Mother!" Beth exclaimed, trying to coax the Duchess to a seat to no avail "Mother what is wrong?"
"Did you not hear me, Elizabeth?" Cecily demanded, pacing back and forth before the hearth, in danger of setting her skirts aflame if she ventured any closer "It was a trap! It was all a trap!"

"What was a trap?" Constance asked, frowning deeply as Marie shuffled to her slide "Mother, what on earth are you talking about? Where is Ned? Is he well?" Cecily forced a sigh and finally came to a halt, placing one elegant hand against her forehead while her eyes flicked up to the heavens. The Queen had never seen the Duchess so angry with the Lord.

"Edward is safe" James explained firmly "but it turns out Warwick and your dear brother George have once more plotted against their rightful King"

The York sisters gasped but Constance only stared, her eyes widening and tears pooling within them. No. Not again. Warwick and George....no they wouldn't do this, not now, not now that she was about to give birth to a son at last!

Only four weeks ago the Earl had denounced the King as a silly little boy, defending her honour as Queen and now he was chasing that same silly little boy and he sought to replace her? It wasn't possible. Not again.

"How could he?" Beth whispered, tucking a strand of red hair behind her ear "Our own brother...."
"Again" Anne added angrily, tossing her embroidery aside to stand beside her Mother "He's done it, again!"

"Do you think I do not know that?" Cecily cried, collapsing into the nearest seat, the hand pressed to her forehead now trembling "Do you think I cannot hear your Father crying for shame from heaven? Do you not think I cannot hear Richard's Father, my own brother, crying for his son too? For the bloodshed they have brought down upon us?"

The Yorks fell silent and their Mother looked between them, shaking her head "If only Edmund were still alive" She whispered "He always knew how to quell George when he was a child, perhaps he'd still be able to" With a small sniffle, Beth cast her eyes to her skirts and Constance saw a heavy teardrop fall onto the buttercup silk.

"Warwick and George have fled with their family and Edward is in pursuit" James continued, offering Beth his handkerchief "William Hastings rode like a madman to stop the Neville fleet at Southampton so they have taken a boat from Dover to Calais....tonight" The Queen's head darted up.

"Tonight?" The rain attacked the palace windows like sharpened arrowheads, a million fists threatening to shatter the glass at any moment. No one could sail in this weather! It was madness "But Isabel is with child! The ship will sink!" The Duchess just shook her head and the chamber fell into silence; the crackle of the charred fire the only sound.

"Uncle Richard....is gone?" Marie asked quietly but she received no reply. Not one word.

༻᯽༺

Standing atop the slowing rock of the ship, the sea's waves calming, George slowly crept below deck to his wife's chambers. Water dripped from the ceiling onto the wooden floors where bloodied rags lay, gathered around a stool where the Countess of Warwick sat, dark hair wild about her face, a bundle in her arms, Anne at her feet.

She was silent, her pale face streaked with tears as she watched the shaking form of her eldest daughter on the nearby bed where George looked. His heart ached.

All night he'd listened to her screams as the storm raged, tossing their little ship back and forth on the channel waves. She'd gone into labour too early, perhaps not a death sentence on land but at sea....there had been no future for their baby but the grave.

He didn't know if he'd ever felt so wretched as when Warwick told him his son was dead.

Slowly approaching the bed, he sank down on the covers beside his young wife, watching the hot tears gliding down her face as her body lay limp against the headboard. He raised a hand to her cheek, caressing the damp skin beneath his fingers like it were a delicate rose petal or glass that would shatter at the slightest knock.

If he loved none others on the earth, he loved Isabel, of that there could be no denial, and she loved him. He knew many thought he'd taken her hand for his own advantage, his Mother, his brothers, even Constance, but he knew the true contents of his heart, as did God and his wife and he was content with that.

It was perhaps the only thing in life he was content with!

It was strange to see them so loyal, so devoted as they were to one another (an enigma if ever there was one) but to them, it was naught but natural.

He was the arrogant son of York, ambitious and calculating, she the proud daughter of Warwick, often perceived as cold and haughty yet they seemed other souls when in each other's company. In one another they had found kindred spirits upon which their love could intertwine, taking flight on swift wings like a hawk on a summer hunt.

They'd grown together, endured war together, cast ever longing gazes across banquets and balls, craving the day the King gave them permission to wed. When he hadn't, they'd wed anyway and while it served to conjure their King's anger, neither regretted their vows nor their crime.

George and Isabel, the Duke and Duchess of Clarence, traitors to the King and the realm, but never to one another.

"My poor Isa" he whispered, gazing at the large, doe eyes that refused to meet his, so heavy with shame they were when she cast them to the blood, stained covers "Nay, love" He tilted her chin upwards with two fingers but Isabel shook her head, her lower lip beginning to tremble just as it would when she was a child.

"I have failed you, Georgie...."

He shook his head.
"No....do not say that, do not permit the thought to cross your mind...." Her glassy eyes turned to him, her face desperate and drawn. The heartbreak was all too clear.

"But I wanted so much to give you a son!" She cried "I want to give you a son and I have lost him!" Again, George shook his head. It was not her fault, it would never be her fault, not his Isa, not his love! The storm had taken their baby, all she had done was try her best to bring him into the world!

"May I see him?"
"Your grace" Her Mother began, clutching the small bundle in her lap a little tighter but George held up a hand, silencing her words.
"He is my son, I will see him...." His voice turned soft as he looked to Isabel again "if my Lady wife permits it"

Sniffing, Isabel slowly nodded, watching as her husband took the small bundle of blankets containing her precious boy into his arms. George swallowed, cradling the unfamiliar weight carefully in his arms, holding him as tenderly as he would if the boy were living.

He looked down at the little face in his arms, so tiny yet so perfect, cleaned of blood so the tiny baby almost seemed asleep. In such a state, George could almost imagine the boy alive, feeling pride swell in his chest as he pictured him holding him for the first time on dry shores, congratulating Isabel on their first living son, what could've been.....

"I'm so sorry, Isa"
"It was not natural...." She whispered, unable to look at her baby for fear it would only break her heart further "the storm, it was a witches wind, I am sure of it"
"Isabel!" Her Mother hissed but Isabel shook her head.

"No, Mother.....it was her, George, it was the Woodville whore and her Mother. Connie has oft said she thinks them witches and I do too....this was a witches storm, sent to take our baby...." The strength in her voice dissolved to a sorrowful whisper "and it did...."

Again, George moved to sit beside her, cradling their tiny son in the crook of his right arm while he encircled her trembling shoulders with his left.
"He is perfect, Isa, and he is our son.....but now it is time to let him rest amongst the angels"

༻᯽༺

May 1470, Westminster....

The sky was of clearest blue, the only clouds floating around it like oddly-shaped fish, appearing as soft as duckling down! No rain waited to be released from them, no water covered the London streets. It was like the storm had never come and yet all could remember it's twelve hour reign of terror.

"Ned!" Despite how tiering her pregnancy had become, not even God himself could've prevented Constance from flying down the courtyard steps like she did the morning her husband returned. While he'd smiled for the cheering crowds, throwing coins, winking at pretty girls, ever the golden boy of York, he did no such thing once he'd entered Westminster.

His face weathered, his expression defeated, his strong shoulders slumped under their invisible weight they carried. He looked tired, so so tired. Constance had never wanted to hold him in her arms more and when they met, they felt they would never let go.

"Connie...." He whispered into her neck but she shushed him, combing a hand through his soft hair like she did to soothe little Marie at bedtime.

"Hush, my love" She crooned "You must rest. You have endured trials many a man would cower from yet you have faced them and" She added, peering over his shoulder to see carts laden with peaches and apples "I see you kept your promise?"

Edward summoned a wry smile to his lips and nodded, managing to wave to the little Princess who stood at the top of the steps in a fur cloak. Marie waved back but with little joy, a small frown on her face.

"She is in mourning for Warwick" Constance murmured "She cannot believe what has happened"
"Then she is not the only one....and she is not the only one in mourning either" She tilted her head and Edward sighed deeply, letting a gauntleted hand rest on her waist "Isabel lost her baby during the storm"