~My Baby~

June 1470, Westminster Palace....

Constance didn't think she had ever been as terrified as when she stepped into confinement at the end of May, covered in jewels but more afraid than a child was of the dark. Edward held her hand, guiding her inside the dark chamber where her ladies waited, all garbed in the same orange gowns crafted for the birth of Marie.

Many years had passed since then, over half a decade since a baby's cry filled the confinement chamber. Yes, the thought was terrifying and only intensified by the death of Isabel Neville's baby at sea two months before. He'd been too early, there had been no physician but the loss was enough to drive more terror into her heart.

Anne, Beth, Isabella and Katherine all curtsied, their eyes filled with the same fear as the Queen's but not for the baby: for her. None could imagine a kinder mistress than Constance was, none could imagine a better Queen and each of them knew the pain of childbirth.

It was always a torture but more so for a woman who'd lost five babes out of her six. The day of the birth loomed over the Queen's head like a dark cloud, ready to rain down hell upon her with every contraction that would racked her belly.

The heavy door shut behind and she looked around the confinement chamber, dark, constricting, no more than a comfortable cage in her mind.

The large bed was piled with furs, wood was stacked beside the fire and more would be delivered each day despite it being summer! Really, if they intended to cook her her confinement would certainly make a good oven! Carpets and tapestries covered the floor and walls, leaving not one inch of stone to touch the Queen's precious skin, though their patterns were not clear in the dim light.

Only a few shards of sun slipped thought the heavily bolted shutters and Constance found herself wondering how she would breathe in such a space. If she could not survive, how would her boy? What if her Prince died during the birth? What if something went wrong? What if God snatched him away from her like he had done with James?

Edward's hand squeezed hers.

Garbed in a doublet of cloth of gold, lined with white fur and diamonds, there could be no doubt he was King but when he turned to her, all Constance saw was a loving husband.

"Come, my sweet lady" He told her, leading her to the bed and settling her upon the soft covers. Blue eyes wandered over her gown, looking at the tight loops of silk holding the material together with distaste "Here, it's too tight" He said and unhooked the girdle she wore, nodding to himself "Nothing should restrict the babe, my love"

His Motherly worry was enough to make her smile somewhat but it couldn't hold her attention and soon her eyes drifted around again. Her lower lip quaked as Edward slid her rings from her fingers, dropping them onto the covers alongside her girdle with a definite clink.

Lifting a hand, she began to fan herself, the heat of the chamber already causing a delicate sheen of sweat to break out on her forehead. In the heat, her gown was even more uncomfortable, the tight bodice pressing against her swelled breasts; both tender. It was a sign her body was readying to have a baby but uncomfortable nonetheless.

Edward would not have that and with a wave of his hand, her ladies were bringing her to her feet, gently undressing her to her shift. While it took its usual minutes, to the Queen it took an eternity, feeling every loop of silk being unwound from her gown, every piece of material sliding from her body.

When they placed a deep purple robe of silk on her shoulders, Constance smoothed her hands over her belly, rounded almost fully with maternity. The babe inside was bigger than Marie had been, it seemed, and both parents took that as a sign it would be a boy. 'After all, our York Prince will be stronger than all others!' Edward would say and placed his hands atop hers, willing the Prince to kick before he left.

"Don't leave me" She whispered fretfully, but didn't allow their eyes to meet as Anne unbound her hair, keeping hers trained upon the door "It's been so long, so so long, Ned....I don't think I can bear it"

Her ladies exchanged looks.
They could each count how long it had been since the birth of Princess Marie.

Edward could too and gently pulled his Queen back to the bed, forcing her to lay against the plump pillows set out. If he had it his way, she would not leave the bed at all, he thought! Too much weighed on this baby but he didn't say that when he shuffled to her and brushed a lock of hair from her face on which worry was all too clear.

"Hush, mon amour, you fret too much" They both knew she didn't "This boy will be safely delivered" Not even God knew if he would "All you need do is rest and listen to the tales my sisters read to you!" Like a child, paralysed by the painful ropes of fear, all she did was nod, rubbing her belly again to warm the child.

"Will you send your Mother to me?" Edward's face softened further with tenderness "I want her by my side when the babe comes"
"I think that would be a good idea, brother" Anne agreed from behind and he nodded.
"I will bring her, Connie, never fear"

Constance forced a smile, the idea of catching even a glimpse of her husband after that day a blessing to her worried mind.

"She's as strong as you are in her own ways. I'm sure I will be safe but God I wish you could stay!" Grasping her hand, he smiled too, pressing kiss after kiss to her knuckles in the hope of soothing her.
"I wish that too, Connie" He agreed with a voice softer than his sweet caresses "But you know the rules...."

"And the rules must be obeyed!" She finished with a roll of her eyes, making her Ladies smile "Yes I know and on that note I hope you will keep you whore from here. If I find that she is within...."
"She won't be" Edward interrupted "Elizabeth will not be...."

"Brother" Beth scolded cooly "do not speak her name here!"

"Of course, of course" He murmured quickly "I'm sorry, Connie, t'was thoughtless of me" Constance simply cocked her head to the side, sighing deeply. She had little strength for Woodvilles that day.
"She will not be here?" Was all she asked.
"She will not be here" Was his sincere answer "I swear to you both as your husband and your King"

"And you will be here?"
"And I will be here" He repeated "With you and our son in my arms. You can count on it, sweetheart" Leaning forward to seal his promise, he pressed a gentle kiss to her belly and, just as he hoped, a little hand pressed against his nose, soft yet firm: strong. Their son was there. He was alive "He will live" He whispered and Constance's fingers threaded into his hair.

She wanted to believe him, oh God she did. She wanted to laugh and smile and send him away as if the cares weighing on her didn't exist but she couldn't. She just couldn't.

"If only I could be certain"

༻᯽༺

The Duchess of York came to her, just like Edward promised, dressed in a gown of silver damask with her long hair hidden beneath a hennin. It was a relief to the Queen and as the days went by, she found Cecily ruled her confinement with a rod of iron!

Her daughters and nieces obeyed her every word and she kept them in line like she would her own ladies, ordering them hither and thither every second!

She sent them for blankets, food (never denying Constance's cravings), thread to sew with and watered down wine! At almost every hour of the day, one of the Queen's ladies could be seen rushing about and even when night fell, not all in the confinement chamber rested.

Cecily frequented the small alter at the far end of the room each night. Still bound in her clothes of regal magnificent, she knelt and prayed for hour after hour. Constance often peered over her shoulders, wondering how she still felt her fingers with how tightly her rosary was wrapped around them.

When the babe was restless, she joined her Mother in law in prayer, finding it settled him, and it was during one night that Cecily smiled.

"Ned was restless when I carried him" She murmured, chuckling at the little imprint of a foot she could see through the Queen's thin nightgown "Edmund was too. They were both as restless in the womb as they were in life"

A wistful sigh left her lips and her rosary lay to rest on her lap for a moment "They were inseparable. Anywhere Edward went, Edmund went too....there was no jealousy between them, no rivalry, well" She smiled again "apart from in the training yard of course! But it was not aggressive. One would never harm the other"

It was clear to any who'd met the Duchess that she did not linger in the past. Her present was her one true reality and anything before that was only in her mind, locked away. Constance had always seen it as a strength but, in the candlelit chamber where theirs were the only eyes awake to see, she saw it as a consequence instead. A consequence of pain.

Now, she could see memories dancing in the Duchess' eyes, as clear as if she were living them again, like she could see the dead breathe. Just like when she'd mourned her husband.

Constance knew what it was like to lose children, go lose James in the cradle but she'd been spared the pain of watching a child grow, knowing them, thinking them safe, only to have them ripped away. Edmund had been ripped away and that wound would never heal for Cecily nor for his brother, leading to his memory being one of festering silence.

Constance wished she could've known him better, she'd grown fond of his smiles and his gentleness only to lose their budding friendship to a battlefield.

"They were two halves of the same whole"

The candles beside them flickered and in the amber light, Constance could see the solitary tear that slid down Cecily's pale cheek.

"In a way, yes" She admitted quietly "Sometimes, when I look at Edward, I can see his brother; their eyes were the same you see. The only difference between them was that Edward's twinkled with mischief and Edmund's with awe! He was gentler than Ned, quieter, his hair a darker shade. In a way, he was a shadow but perfectly content to be"

Cecily sighed again, fingers playing with the smooth beads of her rosary "I wish he was still here. Not just for my heart but for Edward's too. Dickon is as loyal as God can make a man but Edmund understood his brother in a way only Edward himself could. They were only a year apart...." After that, her voice trailed away and she fished a handkerchief from her sleeve, dabbing away her tears with a sniff.

Just like that, she was returned to the Duchess of York Constance had always known her to be.

One hand gently rested itself on her belly and their eyes met, both filled with the excruciating mixture of pain and hope "I hope you never lose another child" Cecily whispered "My sweet sweet daughter....but the birthing bed is the battlefield of women and like soldiers, sometimes we win and sometimes we lose" Her hand fell away and she shook her head "Sometimes we lose even when we think we've won"

Constance's heart constricted with pain but when she opened her mouth the Duchess only shook her head again, bearing a sad smile "Rest, child" She said "Rest, dream of your boy and how perfect he shall be"

༻᯽༺

July 27th 1470....

The pain was bearable at first, only a slight pinch here and there - enough to make her toss but too little to make her wake. The sensation was a million tiny needles pressing into her womb, spreading throughout her lower back and thighs, akin to the pain she suffered when she bled every month but much worse.

Still she did not wake because it always happened when her baby moved within her. It was normal.

What wasn't normal was when the pain in her belly worsened, when sharpened claws dug into her womb and began to drag downwards. She groaned, she tossed, eyes fluttering as her mind tried to force her awake. A hand drifted between her legs and when her fingers sank into metallic-scented wetness coating her nightgown, her heart began to race.

Blood.

Her terrified scream set the chamber into chaos, with each lady jumping from their pallet beds as the Queen kicked away her covers, trying to escape from the crimson liquid soaking the mattress.

Cecily was immediately by her side, in her nightgown, rosary around her hand. Anne and Isabella rushed to fetch sheets while Beth knelt at the end of the bed, slowly peeling back the reddened part of the Queen's nightgown.

"All is well!" She cried after a moment and Constance's head shot up, disbelieving "All is well! You have only bled a little but your waters have broken. That is why there looks to be so much blood!" While it was a relief to her Mother's ears, Constance only began to weep, clinging to the arms Cecily wrapped around her for dear life.

She couldn't do it, she couldn't have her baby! What if she lost him? What if he was already dead? What if she was to have another babe torn from her womb and her heart? She shook her head, unable to think.
"No...." She sobbed "No....no it's not time....it cannot be time, not yet"

"Unfortunately we women do not have the luxury of selecting a time" Cecily replied, plumping up the pillows behind "Beth, fetch the midwives! I do not care if you need drag them here and Anne, bring those sheets over!" Her daughters jumped to their orders quicker than soldiers and the Queen found herself being moved, blankets placed underneath her and a group of raised voices calling when the midwives arrived.

"How long?" One asked, making room for the birthing chair to be carried in behind.

"Only a quarter of an hour or so" Katherine replied, looking to her terrified Queen "She is not far along" Constance's eyes darted around wildly and pain tore through her belly, making her clutch at it, willing her boy to be well.

"Please...." She whispered between groans of agony "Please, Lord...." Cecily shushed her, smoothing dampening hair away from her face and placing a gentle kiss to her forehead.
"You can do this" She told her firmly "You will give England a son. You will do your duty"

All Constance could to was nod, crying out again when another rip of pain tore through her and her legs were pushed apart by unfamiliar hands.

Three hours went by. No son.
Five hours went by. No son.
Dawn broke across the land and the Queen of England's screams echoed across the palace. Still no son arrived.

The female voices around her blended together until they were all one, the words indiscernible from one another as were the hands helping her move. Cecily stayed put behind her, holding her hands, whispering sweet endearments into her ear to make sure she stayed conscious, mopping her brow with a wet cloth.

The water did nothing to cool her: she burned.

When she pushed, her whole body trembled. Each movement was a torment, each breath was torture, each order directed at her made her weep. Every minute that went by only drained her more.

The sheets were covered in blood by the time the city bells struck noon, nine hours since the birth began, and still the babe could not be seen, nor felt. When Constance put a hand to her belly, she felt no kick or punch and cried out, lamenting the loss she was sure she'd suffer.

"My boy!" She screamed, the soft cotton of her nightgown clinging to her body like a second skin made of sweat "My boy!" The Duchess and her daughters glanced at one another and, before she knew it, the Queen was being lifted, hair a dark, damp mess around her shoulders.

Each step felt as if knives were being driven into her feet, causing her legs to buckle when more blood dripped down her legs onto the fur-covered floors "Put....me back...." Her words were no more than a jumble of mumblings and a moment later she was finally set down. 

Women knelt around her, their faces all a blur and her shift was lifted to her waist once again; legs moved apart. Somehow, her fumbling hands found a refuge of hard, cold wood and she clung to it, realising she'd been placed onto the birthing chair.

"I birthed many of my little ones thus" Cecily remarked, once again dousing the Queen's forehead with water "Tis much quicker than in bed"

'Then why didn't you move me earlier?' Constance wanted to cry but got no chance as pain wracked her body, forcing her to push again. A blood curdling scream filled the room and she pushed a second time.

"That's it!" Beth encouraged "That's it, sister! Bring this child into the world! Your son" Constance's head lolled back against the chair, the fire and candles too bright for her eyes.

"My son" She groaned and when Isabella told her to push again, she did, snatching up the hands of her York sister and squeezing so hard they feared their fingers would break "My son!" She repeated with a sob and the midwives below let out a relived sigh between them.

"He's here!" One shouted, sending the mighty Duchess of York to her knees to catch the babe.
"He's truly here!" She exclaimed through a laugh "Connie! He's here! Just one more! Push just once more!"

"Once more" Katherine echoed and the Queen forced herself to nod, gritting her teeth, shutting her eyes and pushing with all her might while one final scream tore from her body. The world went quiet.

And then, relief.

Her body sagged into the chair and a pair of arms cradled her against a heaving chest while a sharp slap sounded, followed by a mewling cry. A strong cry. 

"Connie!" That was Cecily's voice and the room erupted into excited calls similar to hers. The baby continued to cry and Constance's heart yearned to find its source but she couldn't move "Constance, you have a son! You have a York Prince!"

Her eyes snapped open.

Her ladies cried out with joy and the midwives too, each beaming from ear to ear as the Duchess of York cradled the child, wiping blood from his little body with a towel "A blanket! And furs for the Prince!" She ordered and the little boy was swaddled in the softest confinements.

"The Prince....a son" Constance whispered, watching the little bundle be paraded across the room in disbelief. An urgent need rose within her chest "Mother....give me my boy, my Prince"

Cecily turned bearing cheeks rosy with joy and the largest smile ever to be seen! Happiness flooded her veins and she moved across the room as nimbly as one of twenty, helping to nestle the young Prince in his Mother's quacking arms.

At the feeling of his fine weight, of his little limbs moving, Constance let out a small sob, gazing down into the tiny, reddened face, peering up at her. A pair of bright blue eyes followed her green ones and wisps of drying flaxen hair lay flat on his head. His little chest rose and fell and soon, quiet cries softened to content silence.

Her heart swelled with so much love she thought it would burst.

He was alive! He was truly alive, her baby was alive! She held a York Prince, a legitimate York of the Plantagenet line. All of the little kicks she'd felt, each of the nine months she'd waited in fear were all because of this little human and by God she adored him!

"He's perfect" Beth whispered, kneeling beside her and she nodded, unable to tear her eyes from the tiny child she'd made. Another sob left her throat but this time it was mingled with an almost girlish giggle and soon she was laughing, smiling up at the women around her.

"Where is Edward?" She asked eagerly "You must bring him to me! I must show him I have given him a son!"

"All in good time!" Cecily chuckled, gazing at her little grandson "First let us have this room cleaned and you too! I think a bath sounds nice?" Constance sighed contentedly, the idea of warm water a blessing to her tired, aching limbs screaming silently for releif.

༻᯽༺

The servants finally hauled away the last of the cooling bath water but the Queen gave them no wave of dismissal, not even a glance. Her attention was all taken by the perfect babe nestled in her arms.

Head nuzzled contently against her breast, the little Prince slept, swaddled in a blue blanket and cotton gown sewn by his grandmother. A small smile resided on Constance's lips, one of complete adoration that warmed her to the bone and whenever her little boy moved, she would laugh.

Her hair, freshly dried, fell in soft curls down her back with one lock hanging over her shoulder; resting on the baby's blankets. Little fingers had curled decidedly around it, keeping her close.

"Mon amour le plus doux" 'My sweetest love' She whispered "J'espère que vous savez à quel point vous êtes les bienvenus, à quel point vous êtes aimés" 'I hope you know how welcome you are, how loved'

"He knows" Anne replied from where she sat at the end of the Queen's bed, keeping vigil over her "He will know it with each breath he takes" Constance's smile widened and she brushed a finger over her boy's head, delighting in the feeling of his duckling-down-like hair.

Every inch of him, from the top of his head to the tips of his tiny toes, was perfect. There couldn't be a more perfect Prince!

"My boy...." Her head shot up and Anne quickly rose from the covers at the sound of her brother's voice, bobbing a curtsy.

"You have a son, Ned!" She enthused but the King payed her no heed, stepping into the room as quickly as his feet could carry him. Anne could only smile as she quietly removed herself.

Unlike the day he'd brought his Queen to her confinement, Edward wasn't the picture of regal magnificence he prided himself on appearing, his golden hair was tousled, his shirt partially untucked from his breeches and, when his wife looked closely, she could see even his boots weren't laced correctly!

He was the image of disarray, but did she care? Never!

All she wanted to do, all she yearned to do was show him their son, her son; show him she hadn't failed him even after all the times she felt she had. 'Look!' Her eyes cried as she turned a little so Edward could see the babe 'look what I have given you!' His eyes went wide and he dropped down onto the bed, making her bob a little and the baby mewl, discontent with being jostled.

His small eyes opened and Edward gasped, rare tears springing to his own as joy overwhelmed him.
"We have a son! Lord, we have a son, Connie!"
"Come!" She invited "Come and see him! He's been waiting to meet you!"

"And I have been waiting to meet him!" Standing with a laugh, Edward ran around the bed, settling himself next to his Queen so he could truly gaze at his son. The little boy yawned - his heart melted within his chest "Oh, my sweet son...." He whispered, lifting him from his Mother's arms so tenderly it was as if he didn't believe he was real.

A part of him didn't after all the time he'd waited. Over and over he'd been told he needed a son, he needed an heir after James died and now the little boy was here, his eyes had a hard time convincing his mind they told the truth "My precious, precious Prince...."

A tear slipped from the corner of his eye but he didn't bother to wipe it away. Why would he when it was evidence of his joy? "He has your chin!" He exclaimed, marvelling at how soft his son's skin was beneath his calloused fingers. How could such a perfect child be his?

He'd wondered the same when he'd first held James....

"He has your wide feet!" Constance replied through a yawn of her own and in moments one large hand came to cradle the side of her face.

"You must rest, my love, you have more than earned it!" That was true enough and her body cried out for sleep but when she looked at her son, the ghosts of her heart ordered her to stay awake. 'Don't leave him' a voice told her 'not for one moment'

"I have to...."
"You don't have to do anything" Edward instructed, a firmness to his voice that wouldn't be disobeyed "Sleep, Connie. Edward and I will be here when you wake" At the name, a soft smile overtook her lips and she sighed. Edward. Her very own Prince Edward. Of course he would be called Edward, no other name would do.

"Edward....our boy"
"Our son" He agreed, gently tracing the line of her face with his finger until she settled down onto the pillows.

Within a minute she was asleep and the bells began to peal.