~Once High, Brought Low~

October 1470, Westminster Palace....

The Tower of London was arguably the securest fortress in England, bearing walls fifteen feet thick and soldiers trained to give their lives for those inside but still, the Queen refused to step through its armoured gates.

It would be like stepping into a nest of snakes with the Woodvilles occupying the halls and Constance was determined that her son should not even breathe the same air as they did, nor Marie who would gladly throw her half brothers (not that she ever called them thus) from the nearest window!

It had been the King's idea - to protect his children bastard or legitimate - and his Queen didn't resent him for that but she wouldn't suffer Elizabeth's presence for the sake of war or any other reason!

Edward would fight, Edward would win and return to her, she had no need to lock herself away, she thought, and reminded herself of that every day. She did so again as she sat by the fire of her bedchamber one evening, using the flickering amber flames to light the patterns her nimble fingers embroidered flowers onto cream silk.

Roses, lilacs, lilies decorated the fabric and with one firm tug on her needle, another York rose was completed.When she was done, her son would have a new little gown to wear!

Three of her ladies sat opposite her, each attending to their own needlework with their long hair resting down their backs; allowed to be loose in the presence of their Queen. Yes, she thought, tying off her string of white thread, they were safe within the walls of Westminster until Edward's return.

She prayed each day that would be soon!

It had only been two weeks since Edward left London to quell the traitors in the North but to Constance it felt an eternity. She craved word from her husband, a letter, a note, even just a few spoken words from a courier to assure her of his safety.

Of course she worried every time he left to face foes but this time was different because of their children, because of their son. Everything was different because of their son.

A small grizzle made her look to the cradle set by her side so she could keep watch and the fire could warm the babe. Prince Edward slept soundly, much to her delight, making a soft smile curve her lips as she watched him; curled up, sweet and soft. Innocent.

"There, my love" Reaching into the crib, she tucked the blankets he lay bound in beneath his little chin. Edward yawned, his little mouth puckering into a small O before he settled again.

"Is the Prince well?"

"He is" Constance answered, smiling at Isabella "He grows stronger with each passing day" She chuckled quietly "As Marie ever reminds me! She hardly leaves his side"

"She loves him" Beth said, laying down her own work "Which is just as it should be, he is her brother"

"Her only brother" Constance cooed, trailing finger two fingers softly down her boy's cheek. He was perfect "My son" Hopefully the first of many. Her eyes flicked to Beth's belly, swelled by her fifth child and a hand found its way to her own, smoothing across grey velvet. 

The soft patter of feet made the group look up to see a young serving girl approach the Queen, her eyes lowered as she dipped into a low curtsy.

"Your grace. I bring a message from the Tower"

After watching the girl for a moment, Constance gestured for her to rise and took the piece of parchment she held out, recognising the elegant hand of Elizabeth Woodville all too easily. 'For heaven's sake will she not leave me in peace?' She wanted to cry but kept to biting the inside of her cheek while Anne waved the serving girl away.

Royals were meant to keep emotion to themselves; if it was permitted existence at all.

"Is that who I...."

"Yes" Constance replied tersely, cutting Isabella off and unfolding the parchment before the fire. It made the words easier to see and she could toss the paper into the flames when she was done!

Betrayal is only the beginning. They are coming.

The impulsive jerk of her hand to throw away the parchment stilled, frozen with her mind's understanding of the swirls of black ink marking it. Her brows knitted together in a deep frown and slowly, uncertainly, she passed the parchment to Anne, watching her expression warp to mirror her own.

Beth read over her shoulder, Isabella too and soon, all of the women were frowning.

"What does it mean?" The second York sister whispered but Anne only shook her head and then it came. Then it happened.

It was distant, merely a terrifying whistle on the wind, outside of the castle walls but there was no denying it was a woman's scream and that scream struck terror into their hearts.

"Oh God...." Tearing from her seat, Constance ran to the nearest window, yanking back the painted shutters and staring into the night, into a city dotted with moving pinpricks of light. Torches. Lifting the latch, a stinging burst of air hit her face and she gasped as her ears were filled with ghostly screams; hard, loud crashes and the cries of men; powerful and strong.

Cries of 'King Henry! God save King Henry'  that forced themselves closer to the palace gates with every passing second.

"Oh God..." No, no, Edward was King! Edward was the only King! Henry couldn't be King, the Lancastrians couldn't have taken London, they were in the North!

No, she refused to believe it as her heart began to pound and her hands began to tremble, her feet forcing her to turn "Isabella...." Her eyes flicked to her ladies, on their feet with eyes stricken by cold bolts of fear "Isabella fetch Marie now. Now!" Picking up her skirts, Isabella ran as Constance rushed to her son's crib and swept him into her arms, clutching him to her chest.

Edward wailed, little fists flailing against her chest in resistance of his rude awakening but for once there were no words of comfort to soothe him, no gentle kisses. There was only panic and he cried harder "Lancastrian soldiers. They have somehow made it into the city. We have to go, we have to go now!"

"We will go to our Mother!" Beth said, pulling cloaks from a nearby coffer "We will go to Baynards and if we need further escape we will take the river!"

"You must go" Constance ordered, ignoring the look pf pure disbelief she received as Beth pulled a blue cloak around her shoulders "You are with child, Beth! Go to your Mother now and we will follow! If you see Isabella take her with you, Marie will find her way to me"

The Duchess began to shake her head but Anne swiftly grabbed her by the shoulders and began to haul her from the room.

"She's right" She said firmly, clutching her sister's hands "You must go, Elizabeth, you must go now, for the sake of you baby! We have lost too many of our blood already" Two pairs of blue York eyes met, glassy with tears, wide with fear.

"Don't be long" Beth whispered, the memories of the last time she'd seen her family to war all too clear in their mind, and then she was gone, drawing her hood over her bright hair.

Behind, Constance retreated to the window, ebony strands of hair dancing wildly around her face as she peered into the night and at the torches advancing towards the palace.

"Open the gates!" She heard a deep voice cry and her heart stopped "Open the gates in the name of King Henry!"

That voice crying out for Lancaster belonged to Warwick.

"Thats not possible...." She clutched Edward all the tighter "Anne, he's meant to be in the North! Edward marched to stop Warwick in the North!"

"And now he is here" Anne finished, letting out a small cry of relief as Marie was carried through the chamber doors by a hurriedly dressed pageboy in a partially unlaced gown with her hair a mess from sleep.

"The Countess of Northumberland entrusted the Princess to me, your grace, she encountered Lady Hastings on the way and took her with her" He explained, out of breath, setting the girl down so she could run to the Queen.

"Ma Mère!" She cried, colliding with Constance's skirts and clinging to them with all her might "Mother what's happening? I heard screams! Where's Father?"
"We must go, little love! We must go to your Grandmother and we must go now!"

"Come with me, your graces" The boy hurriedly offered, barely fifteen Constance estimated yet with the bravery of a man "I directed my Lady of Northumberland and Lady Hastings to an exit through the servants quarters. It will ensure your escape. Please, come with me!"

The two women exchanged looks and Princess Marie looked around, confused, until suddenly her hand was taken and she was running through the palace halls at her Mother's heels, the bangs and crashes echoing through the city only growing louder.

"They're trying to bring down the gates!" A man yelled as guards rushed past them carrying gleaming pikes ready to be drenched with blood. All she could do was keep running.

"This way, your graces" The boy cried over his shoulder, moving quicker and quicker with every step. They turned corner after corner, descending stairs, climbing them, trying to ignore the ever-growing screams and clanks of metal that accompanied any army "This way!" The page boy said again about to turn a corner "This...."

His words were halted by an agonised gasp, shock and terror crammed into one trembling breath as he looked down to the sword driven through his middle; protruding in a bloody mess through the flesh of his back.

Marie's scream filled the hall.

Shaking hands grappled uselessly at the front of his doublet where the warm crimson of his blood soaked into the fabric, spreading as his life shrank. Blood bubbled on his lips, sliding down his chin in a slick, metallic river when he tried to form words before the sword was pulled from his gut and he slumped to the floor, unable to even cry out.

The young Princess watched him, grabbing at her Mother's skirts to hide but unable to tear her eyes away from the pool of blood forming around the boy who'd carried her just minutes ago. He writhed slowly, limbs jerking, his fingers painted in his blood as they desperately probed at his wound until he lay still.

Marie watched him. Her Mother didn't.

Frozen to the floor, clutching her son to her chest with one arm and her daughter to her side with the other, she stared down the hallway filled with torch carrying demons -that quickly surrounded them - in Lancastrian livery.

A sight she never thought to see in her halls.

Her eyes travelled slowly across them, settling on the man leading who was slowly wiping the pageboy's blood from his sword onto the crimson velvet of his cloak. Tall, armoured, with pale skin only marked by drying blood and chestnut hair that curled at his shoulders, framing a strong jawline, there could be no denying he was handsome but that beauty was marred by the cruel sneer twisting his lips, revealing white teeth.

He looked on the dead boy as if he were a mere inconvenience, a pest who'd made him mar his pretty cloak, and gave him a quick nudge with his armoured boot when he sheathed his sword again.

A deep sigh escaped him when he finally looked up, cocking his head to the side as that cruel sneer warped to a malicious smile and his blue eyes, bright as ice under the sun and just as cold, took in his captives.

"Well well" His tone dripped with long awaited triumph like wax from a burning candle "What do we have here?"

"Move!" He cast a glance over his shoulder as another voice sounded and the soldiers moved aside, making room for the man Constance wanted to sob at the sight of. Warwick "Move man! The gates are...."

He stopped dead at the sight of her, halting just a foot behind the Lancastrian leader who didn't hesitate to take pleasure in the thick tension created when Constance and Warwick's eyes met - chuckling. The Earl's eyes darkened slightly with surprised dismay and flashes of guilt; jaw slackening slightly as he sighed. He hadn't expected her to be here, or rather, he hadn't expected her to be caught.

She shook her head in disgust and disbelief, feeling her stomach churn at the sight of the red and black Lancastrian livery he wore over his armour. Friend, kin, enemy, traitor - all of the titles he could be given, al of the titles he'd laid claim to, flashed through her mind. That dark livery wasn't meant to be there, it screamed, it was never meant to be there!

"I loved you" She murmured, trying to force the tremble from her voice "more than that, I respected you"

"You believe respect more worthy than love?" Warwick replied, his bland tone making her heart hurt all the more.

"Yes. It is far harder to win and far easier to lose" There could be no doubt he had lost hers.

It wasn't right. None of it was right. He was meant to be Edward's man, the Queen's ally, Dickon's second Father, Marie's Godfather!

One look at the little girl was all anyone needed to see her heart was broken. Her dark eyes peered out from behind her Mother's skirts, shedding tears that dripped onto the front of her nightgown as she stared up at the man she'd loved as much as her Father.

"Uncle....Uncle Richard?"

He didn't even glance at her.

"How could you, cousin?" Anne hissed by her side and Warwick's stare snapped to her, wrapping a hand around the hilt of his sword at the other man's amused hoot.

"Cousin?" He repeated, looking Anne up and down "Oh God you're Holland's wife, are you not?" Anne visibly grimaced at the sound of her husband's name, digging her nails into her palms "Allow meet introduce myself or re-introduce for we have met before. Edmund Beaufort, Duke of Somerset"

"Traitor" She hissed in Warwick's direction, ignoring the Duke and his smile widened somewhat as he turned to the second woman and the children with her.

"Constance of Bourbon and York's little runts I take it?" He asked lightly and Warwick's short nod made Constance's defiance flare, shooting a searing burst of flame momentary through her fear. No one would insult her children.

"They are not runts" She spat, pushing her daughter further behind her "They are the true born son and daughter of King Edward the fourth of England, the rightful heirs to the throne. The only runt here, my Lord, is you who would slay a boy without a second thought"

Again, the Duke only smiled, clasping his hands in front of him as he stepped over the boy's body, closing the gap between him and the Queen. He towered over her; a menacing angel of death.

"Edward is no more a King than the Devil" The small curve on his lips remained but his voice deepened with a hatred so deep she was sure she could see it in his eyes, festering like an uncurable disease when torchlight flickered across his face "He has fled this land, a land he slew my kin to claim, a land that was never his. He has abandoned you and the rightful King occupies the throne once more"

"What?" The demand escaped her before she had time to think, something she instantly regretted when two iron-clad fingers gripped her chin, forcing her to look up.

"Edward is gone. He is gone"

No.

That was not posible. Edward was King, he would fight, he would win with his brothers by his side and secure the country from Lancastrian rule forever. He would weather the storm sent by Marguerite and Warwick and return to London triumphant. He would give her more sons and see their boy on the throne, he would never abandon them, he would never abandon her! Never!

Constance shook her head, trying to free herself from Somerset's iron grip but he only clutched her harder, making the metal of his gauntlets dig into her skin. Tilting his head again, he stared at the babe she held for a moment, sighing deeply before that mocking smile returned and he stepped away back over the bloodied body, releasing her.

"So" He drawled "What do do with you all? I think perhaps the Tower?"

"No" Warwick interrupted sternly, fixing the Duke with a glare "No. King Henry will want to see the Qu....her will he not? Best to keep her here until his grace decrees otherwise?" Somerset arched a flaxen eyebrow, staring unwaveringly back.

"Marguerite is your one true Queen. You would do well to remember that....although I suppose it must be difficult as in your deluded state you tried to create one of your own...."
"He didn't try" Anne snapped "Constance is the Queen and it is treason to say otherwise"

Somerset's head snapped to the side at that, all traces of humour fleeing his face and stalked towards her but Anne did not quail under his gaze. She was a York. Yorks did not quake in fear. Reaching up, he grabbed Anne by the back of the neck like a dog, causing her to hiss out in pain as he brought his face to hers. Warwick grimaced.

"Do not talk to me of treason. Not when a traitor's blood runs through your veins. Your Father was a traitor, your Mother and brothers too, my own dear, dead brother never did anything so good as to stick his head on a spike....York bitch" Shoving her away, Anne stumbled, falling against the wall where Constance reached for her.

"No!" She said, holding out a hand and drawing herself up "No, I am fine, your grace. I am fine" Tears pooled in her eyes, fuelled by rage and grief but she would not let them fall and stared defiantly at the enemy.

Somerset sniffed.

"Lock her in her rooms, the others in the Queen's rooms" Immediately his men gathered around the group and the two sisters looked at one another, gazed fear-striken as rough hands pulled them in opposite directions "and you should enjoy it while you still can, your grace" Somerset added mockingly "the true Queen will return soon"

Warwick only watched.

༻᯽༺

"What are they going to do to us?" Marie's timid voice asked as she watched her baby brother sleep in her Mother's arms. She wished she was that small in that moment so she too could be held and sleep soundly like Edward did. After that night, she doubted she would sleep again.

She'd seen a boy slain in front of her, she'd seen the life drain from his eyes; everything he was, everything he ever would be taken in moments. The metallic stench of his warm blood still filled her nose.

A small kiss to her brow startled her from her grisly thoughts but still her Mother didn't answer her question.

In truth, Constance didn't know what the plan was for she and her children and she dared not try to imagine it. Locked in the Queen's rooms, all they could hear was the clank of enemy armour and the violent rip of fabric as York banners were torn down.

Every noise made her grip her children closer, retreating into the pillows and covers of the bed while she tried to make sense of what was going on around her. It was impossible.

At least Edward slept, she thought, looking at the babe who bore no signs of worry on his little brow. Lucky thing.

"I love you both very much" She whispered, kissing Marie again and the girl pressed herself into her side, trying to bind them together "your Father too"
"Where is he?" Another unanswerable question that made Constance tremble.

"The stars...." Tears pricked her eyes but she blinked them back, determined to be strong. Her daughter was terrified as it was, she didn't need her Mother's strength to fail her too "He will come back....he will come back for us Marie"

Again, Marie cuddled into her, resting one hand on her brother's blankets.

The sound of keys rattling in a lock sent fear coursing through her veins and she grabbed her daughter's hand, pulling her off the bed with her "Up, my little love" She instructed as the doors swung open and the Duke of Somerset strode through "We must not show our fear to the enemy"

Long divested of his armour, he now donned the red and black of Lancaster in stunning velvet and silk, comfortably balancing a golden chain of office on his broad shoulders. The mud and blood had been wiped from his skin and his walk was the epitome of confidence, carrying the conviction of ten men in every step. It was enough to make most cower but Constance stood firm, willing herself to remember who she was, who she had been taught to be.

A Queen.

Two of his soldiers followed him, garbed in armour, menacing swords at their sides. She clutched her children tighter; tilted up her chin. She would not show fear.

"My Lord Somerset" He came to a halt just a few feet from her, returning her greeting with a small tilt of his head.

"Your grace" The title was no less than a mockery on his tongue "I come from the King"
"Ah so my husband has returned so quickly? Well, that victory was short lived I must say, my Lord" A small smirk flickered at the corners of the Duke's mouth and he shook his head, sighing.

"You know full well of whom I speak, Madame. I come in the name of King Henry who has decided what to do with you and your" He gave a wave of his hand towards the children, eying them with clear displeasure "offspring" The same hand was held up briefly before one of his men placed a roll of parchment in it and he unfurled it, revealing the writing within.

"By order of King Henry, rightful King of England, King of France and Lord of Ireland, you, Constance of Bourbon are stripped of the title of Queen of England and, being denied the titles Duchess of York and Countess of March due to your husband's treason, shall henceforth be known as the Lady Constance. As heirs to the traitor, Edward of York, the Lord Edward and Lady Marie are to be removed from London. You are to remain here"

The seizure of her titles hadn't phased her, no, she'd come to expect it during the hours she's been locked in her rooms but Somerset's last words, spoken with such ease, made her heart stop.

She shook her head, eyes growing wide as they looked around wildly. Surely she hadn't heard correctly? Surely there had been a mistake? They couldn't take her children....they couldn't. They wouldn't.

"No!" She protested stoutly "No, they need me! My children need me!"

Somerset only sighed and two more figures floated through the doors, demons dressed in grey velvet and starched wimples, nursemaids, Constance realised with a pang but she didn't recognise their ageing faces.

Like wrinkled demons they approached, bony hands clasped. The hands that would take her children. With a pounding heart, Constance stumbled back only to find the back of her knees hit the bed, giving her nowhere to run.

"They are a threat to your King, they must be removed"

Her wild eyes found Somerset's uninterested ones again and her stomach balked in horror. How could he be so unmoved, so heartless? Still, the grey ghosts drifted ever closer and when one reached to take baby Edward, something inside Constance snapped.

She screamed.

Clutching her son and daughter as tears flooded her eyes she tried to fend off the skeletal clutches of the nursemaids, her children's kidnappers. Little Edward began to wail, a shrill desperate cry that set his Mother's mind aflame with desperation.

"They are not a threat!" She cried, feeling her son's small fingers trying to clutch at her necklace "They are children, my little boy and girl!" She twisted and jerked, doing everything she could to keep her babes close only to have the sound of approaching metal fill her ears "No!" She screamed as iron-clad fingers grabbed her arms trying to tear them from her children.

"You have no choice in this, my Lady" Somerset answered stonily, watching the excruciating scene with no more feeling than he would watch the rain "Tis the order of the King and you will obey"

"No! No, please!" Constance begged, struggling against the hands that held her trying to drag her from her children; the hands of demons "No! Do not do this!" She screamed when the nursemaids continued, one trying to grasp Edward, the other taking Marie by the shoulder, so roughly the little girl cried out in pain "Don't touch them! Get away from my children"

Despite her determination, her protests - the strength of her love was no match for the strength of men.

Hot tears spilled from her eyes as little Edward was ripped cruelly from her embrace, wailing at the top of his lungs for her, arms flailing, legs kicking free of his blankets.

His sister screamed, her cheeks sodden and clinging to her Mother's skirts as Constance clung to her with all she had.

"Ma Mère!" She screeched when one of the guards took her by the waist, the other grasping her Mother's arms; twisting them behind her back until she cried out "Ma Mère don't let them take me!" One harsh jerk and she was pulled away, kicking screaming, hauled over the soldier's shoulder with less dignity than a sack of potatoes "Ma Mère!"

"Marie!" Constance cried, her throat burning in agony as if the very fires of hell liked the inside of her body "Marie! Je te trouverai, je te promets que je te trouverai, je t'aime!" 'Marie, I will find you, I promise you that I will find you, I love you!'

With a mocking bow, Somerset turned away following the nursemaids, the soldier and the man holding the Queen threw her to the floor. A pained cry tore from her throat as she hit the stone but he payed no mind to it and followed his master, slamming the door shut.

The lock was turned.
She wept, crying out for her children; for her husband until she could no longer speak and her body dragged her from the world into darkness.

In the days, that followed, Constance was left alone. What little food was brought to her went untouched - ignored for she couldn't find the will to eat, not with her children away from her. She didn't need food nor wine, she didn't need sunlight or the fresh air of day, none of them would fill the void in her soul her children's absence left.

Every thought that crossed her mind was filled by their little faces, contorted with fear and confusion while they were ripped from her arms. Their distressed screams echoed in her ears, a never ceasing torment that wet her cheeks with tears until she could no longer cry.

All she wanted was her children in her arms. Where were they now? Were they safe? Did their little hearts still beat, did their chests rise and fall with life? Her limbs grew heavier every day, ungodly weights attached to an unwilling body that tried to protect her ever-breaking heart.

Her breasts ached more painfully than they ever had, still full of milk but without any to take it. There was no little mouth to suckle happily from her, there was no relief. Deep purple crescents of despair carved themselves under her dark eyes and into her palms which bore fingers brutally stripped of their skin; nails bitten down to nothing.

On her wedding night Edward had kissed the bruises marring her skin, a King healing his Queen. Now, he was across the sea, nothing more than a failed man in the eyes of Europe and she was a prisoner; their children taken.

When a bath was brought to her she did not immediately step in and allow her body to become submerged in warmth for a moment of relief: she waited, watching swirling ribbons of steam dance above the surface of the water.

Only when it was colder than the bitter drink of icy death winter air outside forced down the throats of those unfortunate to be caught in it, did she finally strip and slide into the bath's freezing depths, submerging herself entirely for a moment.

There she lay, cold but unable to shiver, the water pricking her skin as a million needles would, staring blankly at the ceiling until servants arrived and she was forced to move. When she emerged her skin was paler than ice and her eyes dulled, like two burnt out stars - the very window to her despondent soul.

It didn't take long for her to sicken.