~Exile~

Bruges, Burgundy, 19th of January 1471....

Rain poured down from the sky in a torrent of freezing droplets, soaking the small group daring to walk thought it, melding leather and linen to skin until they were one.

Never in her life had Constance stepped onto the streets of Bruges but she still sped ahead of her rescuers, unable to stop. Her oversized boots splashed through dirty puddles, soaking her legs but she didn't care, it only spurred her on - strands of hair stuck fast to her damp face; swirls of dark paint across her flushed cheeks.

Her breaths came out in cold clouds when she paused at the end of each street, looking back and forth, listening for the calls of her children. She didn't notice the numbness in her fingers, she didn't feel the ice biting her toes. They were so close....

"Left, your grace!" Rob called, the sound of his and Francis' boots pounding on the wet street behind, louder and louder as they finally caught up with her. Taking in another breath, she hastened along the cobbled street of timbered houses; their windows filled with the amber glow of candlelight.

Inside her chest she felt it, the same beautifully agonising pull she felt in her heart when she'd heard her babes first cries.

It was a feeling only Mother's felt, a blend of pain and incomparable love that drew them wherever it led. It was an otherworldly bond, crafted not by the hands of God, nor by those of men but by Mother and baby; a bond belonging only to them. With every step, Constance felt it strengthen.

And then, she finally arrived at the streets dark end; lit by two blazing torches mounted either side of a stone arch surrounding a great wooden door, just steps from the street. Glancing upwards, her breath caught at the sight of the whitewashed, timbered house, bigger than the others but it's windows were filled with the same glow of candlelight.

The same glow of life.

Stepping through the puddle barring her from the threshold, her feet were doused in ice but she noticed not as she clambered up the single step to the door and pushed it open.

The ageing creak was music to her ears and Constance gasped as her body was enveloped in the true warmth that rolled steadily from the flames of the hearth. She stood in the entrance a small stone hall, equipped with a table and chairs surrounding it, not neatly tucked in but pushed hither and thither about.

'Evidence of the presence of men' She thought with a small smile, boots tapping on the wooden floor as she advanced further into the room and Rob and Francis shut the door behind them. A small blanket lay next to the hearth and a basket upon it, filled with blocks of wood to be used when the heated flames died down.

The stone frame above it was licked black by the heat, a blackness that caught on the tassels of the small Burgundian tapestry hanging on the chimney breast; it's threads of blue silk obscured from view. Opposite, another closed door stood.

"Through there is the courtyard" Rob explained, pulling off his leather gloves but Constance didn't hear him, she wouldn't have had he told her the world was ending for, to her eyes, her world had appeared before her at the foot of wooden stairs; a figure of wide eyes and wild dark hair.

Her Marie. Her daughter. Her baby.

"My little love" She whispered, hot tears clouding her vision and Marie's lower lip trembled as she dashed across the floor, arms outstretched like a little bird spreading her wings.

"Ma Mère!" She screamed, throwing herself into Constance's embrace, not caring that her clothes were sodden, that her skin was colder than ice.

"Oh Marie!" She cried, her arms winding around her daughter like silken ropes as they fell to the floor, a heap of love and tears. Her heart overflowed with warmth for her little girl, pounding with relief at the feel of her finally secure in her arms "Je ne te laisserai plus jamais partir" 'I will never let you go again' She breathed into her hair, running her hands through the soft strands "Jamais jamais jamais"

"Never never never" Marie repeated, her trembling voice muffled against her Mother's cloak "Never let me go, Mother! Not now, pas avant mille ans" 'Not for a thousand years' Constance's sob turned to a laugh and she drew back slightly, cupping her daughter's face.

Oh how dear that little face peering up at her was to her heart. How special. How beautiful.

"My little love" She whispered again, thumbs wiping away the tears staining Marie's cheeks "My sweet, beautiful girl" She smiled, a smile that turned to a confused frown when her eyes dipped down and saw what her daughter was wearing. It was not a nightgown, as she'd first thought but a large linen shirt, almost drowning her little body "Is this...."

"Father's!" Marie finished proudly "He said that I could have it! Even Arthur doesn't have one!" At the bastard the boy's name, a small cry echoed through the building and the same tug Constance had felt in the street roused itself once more.

That was not Arthur.
That was not Anthony.

"My boy...." Eyes now trained upon the stairs, she slowly rose to her feet, her ears filled with the growing cries of her son. Her precious baby son.

"Come along, little lion" Rob's voice called and Constance spun around (only just remembering he and Francis were there) to see him bent down and Marie clambering onto his back with an enthusiasm that told her they'd done this a thousand times "Let us find Dickon, hm?"

"Yes!" Marie called and waved to her Mother as they headed towards another door in the hall, Francis in tow who offered the Queen a small nod.

She ran towards the stairs, feet pounding on the wooden steps as she ascended, one, two, three at a time. It took her mere seconds to reach the second floor and her eyes darted around the narrow corridor; instinctively moving towards the little cries.

The final door was open, giving way to a room filled with the glow of amber firelight. Just as it was in the hall, a blanket lay before the hearth but this one was covered in wooden blocks, some in towers, some scattered around. She hardly payed attention to them, for, placed beneath the room's small window, bathed in pale moonlight, was a simple crib.

And it was from that crib, her son's cries echoed.

Constance was by it in a heartbeat, one hand reaching upward to peel the sodden hood of her cloak away as she peered over the edge. There he was. Her son lay wrapped in plain blankets, his face red, screwed up while he mewled; fists punching aimlessly into the air.

At six months, he'd grown.

A sob tore from her throat.

"Edward...." Reaching down, she snatched the baby from his crib, cradling him to her chest while they both cried "My son, my boy...." Her shoulders heaved, his cries began to quieten as he recognised the skin he nuzzled into, the ever-loving grasp holding him "My sweet sweet son"

His little breaths blew against her neck, warm and sweet, coaxing her to silence, and Constance held him tight, brushing her nose against his head of soft blond hair. He was real, he was loved and he was alive. Her mind echoed with the memories of three months ago, the horrifying moments when her children were torn from her.

'Never again' She swore 'never again'

"Connie...." Edward's deep voice ran through her body like a bolt of lighting, striking her heart, goosebumps erupting on her skin as she spun and saw her husband in the doorway. Dressed in his shirt and breeches, tall frame illuminated by the fire, he stared at her, a few loose golden curls falling over his face.

She knew she must look a mess, dressed like a man, soaked to the skin, eyes red from crying and hair tangled but Edward looked at her like she were no less than a angel. Eyes wide, he gazed upon her, entirely captured by her pale beauty - like a ghost's - as he slowly moved forward, floorboards creaking beneath his weight.

"Connie" He said again when he finally stood before her, their eyes never leaving one another's and Constance's lips parted as his hand came to cradle her cheek. God he looked tired, she thought, a man worn down by the world, but, like him, she didn't care. All she truly saw was her beloved husband before her. Her King.

They stared at one another, their son content between them and when Edward finally smiled, her heart set alight "My Connie!" He laughed and his lips were on hers.

༻᯽༺

When Constance woke, it was not in a familiar bed, made soft by a feather mattress and velvet blankets but still, she was sure she'd had the best sleep of her life. A night without despair; without fear. No panic seized her heart, no dried tears streaked her cheeks, no sickness churned her stomach like butter.

She took a breath, then another, staring up at the wooden canopy of the small four-poster bed in Edward's chamber.

No, their chamber, she corrected in her head.

The floorboards were bare, the single window was small, as was the hearth, and the bed curtains made of faded velvet, fraying slightly at the edges. It was certainly the most simplistic chamber she'd likely ever sleep in, a far cry from her luxurious upbringing, but she didn't care.

How could she when her son lay nestled in her arms, content, warm and ever so sweet to look upon? He was fitted between she and Edward, the King having brought both Marie and their son to her the previous night.

"I thought they could perhaps stay with us?" He'd asked, Edward curled up in the crook of his elbow, Marie holding his hand.
"Our little family...." Constance whispered "come mes petits anges" and together they settled beneath the covers; Marie sticking to her side like glue.

She was no longer in bed but her Mother harboured no fear, she could hear her little girl's laughter echoing through the walls with the clash of swords. The men were training in the courtyard, it seemed!

"They have begun the day and so must I" She murmured to herself, being careful not to shift the mattress as she peeled back the covers and slipped quietly from the bed. The two Edwards remained in sleep and she couldn't help but smile when she turned to look on them: her blonde angels.

Sighing to herself, she reached down and tugged Edward's shirt (a substitute for a nightgown as it was for Marie, though admittedly shorter on her) over her head. Tossing it onto the end of the bed, her eyes moved to the small, cracked coffer in front of it on which lay a long sleeved cotton shift and plain blue gown with forget-me-nots embroidered along the neckline.

Certainly not the garments of a Queen.

Even so, she didn't hesitate to put them on, tugging the shift over her head, smoothing out the creases before the gown followed. Pulling on the laces at the back to close it, Constance rolled her shoulders, one by one, trying to ease herself into the unfamiliar materials.

While by no means uncomfortable, they felt strange against her skin when all she'd ever known was silk and the softer linen of her own shifts!

'It will do' She told herself firmly, drawing her long hair out of the back of her dress where it hung heavy to her waist. God only knew what she would do with it! She had no pins, no ribbons, no ladies to help! The best she could do was comb her hands through the unruly locks until she was satisfied, tucking them behind her ears.

The lack of jewels made her feel unsure too! Always, rings adorned her fingers, jewels dangled from her ears and pearls wound around her neck - now she felt bare with only her ruby wedding ring.

A small yawn caught her attention and she looked down to see little Edward beginning to roll around in his blankets. Balled fists rubbed clumsily at his eyes and tiny toes stretched, making her heart overflow with love. It didn't matter she was not clad in finery, she could spend time with her boy!

"Come here, my love" She cooed, carefully scooping him up from the mattress "We don't wish to wake your Father now, do we?" God knew he needed his sleep and Edward seemed to agree, relinquishing his little waking grizzles in favour of nuzzling into her neck "there" Constance whispered, cradling the back of his head "there sweet boy, that's it, let him sleep"

Slipping on a pair of red leather shoes, she giggled at the sight of her sleeping husband, kissing their son sweetly on the cheek. And with that, she left to explore.

The timbered house was much the same in daylight at it was in dark, possessing two floors and narrow halls built around a small courtyard. But for the great hall which stretched across the front side of the house and the back occupied by stables, the rooms were small and (for the most) rather unfurnished. It was a house used by ambassadors Edward told her the night before.

"Well if this is for ambassadors I cannot think what they bequeath to their enemies!" She'd replied but, in her heart, she was grateful for more than one room to roam aimlessly around! Lifting her skirts with one hand, she held onto her son with the other, slowly descending the wooden steps snaking alongside the wall of the hall.

Edward gurgled happily in her arms, eliciting coos from her lips while she smiled down at him. The chamber was still in the same sense of clutter it'd been the previous night but, unlike then, distant birdsong flitted amongst the rafters and a chilly breeze nipped at her nose.

The door leading to the courtyard was open, allowing the sound of clashing metal to reach her ears and, to her delight, Edward lifted his head curiously to see what was going on! Oh how much he'd grown! Stepping up to the door, she peered into the open space and felt a smile spread across her lips.

While it was small, the courtyard was perhaps the most delightful little place she'd seen! Stone slabs covered the ground and cold winter sun brightened the day, making the little apple tree in the centre shine. Fresh buds, plucked at its branches which overhung a pleasant stone bench encircling it's smooth trunk.

Despite the sounds of the men fighting around it, Dickon with Rob and Francis with Will, the aura of serenity surrounding them didn't fade. It remained like the aftermath of a dream, leaving a lingering warmth in Constance's heart as she watched the Apple tree and her little Marie sat on the bench, swinging her legs back and forth.

It seemed a sacred place.
A happy place.

"Votre grâce?" 'Your grace'
Constance spun at the sound of an unfamiliar beside her, jumping slightly when she found a girl standing behind her. Pretty honey coloured curls escaped the white coif she wore, cascading down her back and framing her heart shaped face with blue eyes set like gleaming sapphires. Gathering the skirts of her simple grey dress - she curtsied.

"Pardonnez-moi, ma reine, je ne voulais pas vous faire sursauter, seulement j'ai pensé qu'il était temps que je vienne chercher le prince" 'Forgive me, my Queen, I did not mean to startle you, only I thought it time I came for the Prince' The local Burgundian accent was thick on her tongue and as she spoke, her gaze turned to little Edward who had perked up at her appearance; reaching out with little hands.

His Mother felt no such enthusiasm, a pang of pain striking her heart that made her clutch her son tighter.

"Pour le Prince?" 'For the Prince' She repeated uncertainly and the young woman nodded.
"Oui, votre grâce. Pour le nourrir" 'Yes, your grace. To feed him'

Constance's heart dropped, the aching pain spreading throughout her body at the sudden realisation dawning in her mind. Her eyes dipped to the front of the woman's gown which was filled by her breasts, breasts filled with milk to give a little babe. The little Prince.

Her breath caught a fraction and the hurt drove deeper, it being spoken in her Mother tongue somehow making her discovery all the more stinging. This woman was Edward's wet nurse.

She'd sobbed herself hoarse when her milk dried up a month after Edward was taken from her, feeling as if her own life had drained away with it. In truth, it had. Now she could not feed her baby, her own dear boy....

"Votre grâce?" She blinked, finding the woman was watching her with a small, concerned frown and forced herself to smile. She was a Queen, even though she didn't look it, it was her duty to behave as such no matter how much she wished to weep.

"Bien sûr!" 'Of course' She said, gathering Edward in his blankets while he babbled happily to himself, clearly knowing he was to be fed "Quel est votre nom? Je crois qu'il est approprié de savoir qui s'occupe de mon fils" 'What is your name? I believe it proper to know who cares for my son'

The young woman smiled prettily, ably taking the Prince into her arms and settling him on her hip.
"Hélène" She answered, curtsying again and Constance couldn't deny the deferent gesture mollified her somewhat.

"Hélène?" She repeated, though her eyes were now on her boy again "C'est un joli nom, car vous êtes jolie" 'Tis a pretty name, as you are pretty' The blush that stained Hélène's cheeks could only be described as beautiful, lighting her eyes, her hair, her skin. She curtsied again, smiling at the little boy who'd begun to tug impatiently at the front of her dress.

"Merci, votre grâce. Tu es très belle, si ce n'est pas impertinent de ma part de le dire, c'est un honneur de te rencontrer enfin" 'Thank you, your grace. You are most beautiful, if it is not impertinent of me to say, it is an honour to meet you at last' And then she was away, almost gliding across the hall before disappearing to the adjoining chamber to serve the Prince.

Constance watched in silence, sighing a little when she turned away to the courtyard door, running a hand over her aching heart as she leant against the frame. The men still fought but her eyes soon found her daughter's beneath the apple tree and she discovered something one wouldn't expect in a child so young.

Understanding.

Marie nodded, giving a gentle smile before she hopped from the bench and skipped away into the stables; hair flying behind her. Her Mother watched, her heart now overwhelmed with such love her mind couldn't fathom how to describe it.

A pair of hands grabbed her waist, pulling her into the hall without ceremony, away from the prying eyes of all. A small gasp left her lips and she found herself pushed against the wall, a strong, tall figure pressed behind her; wanting.
"Ned...."

His hands were all over her, cupping her breasts through her gown, sliding down her body to grab her waist, squeezing - pulling her against him so she could feel his need for her, hard, desperate. He groaned into her neck when she instinctively rocked her hips back against his, the heat of desire flooding them both.

"Sweetheart....my love....my Queen" His lips brushed against her neck, sending molten fire straight between her legs. God, she'd forgotten what it felt like, how it burned, how it awoke a need like no other, intoxicating, unyielding until it was granted satisfaction. Her eyes fluttered shut and one hand wove its way upwards into his hair.

"Edward" She could barely breathe, clutching desperately at the locks between her fingers "someone will see...."

"I have been denied you too long, sweet Connie, far too long. I will have you now" All she could do was whimper, the ragged suaveness of his voice making her tremble before his hands were once more at her waist and she was lifted into his arms.

"Yes" She whispered, her lips seeking his as he bounded up the stairs "Have me. Have me now" He burst into their room without a care, slamming the door and barely setting Constance on her feet before he was kissing her again. He was quick, demanding, but giving the same pleasure he took and Constance moaned when his tongue flicked the roof of her mouth.

She wanted nothing more than for him to be inside of her. Using little strength, he backed her against the bedpost, crushing his body against hers while continuing the heated press of his mouth.

Her hands clasped him close, running over his shirt to feel the strong muscles beneath, proving strength that could crush men; slay their enemies. His pushed to the back of her gown, tugging impatiently at the laces binding it.

"Bloody fiddly things" He muttered when one caught and Constance giggled, making him relinquish his grasp for a moment to pull his shirt over his head. The warm skin was a blessing beneath her fingertips, a long sought memory revived, and gasped when he finally  loosened her gown, yanking it down to her waist with her shift.

Her back arched as her breasts were exposed to the cold, nipples peaked, begging for the attention Edward immediately bestowed. His hot kisses descended down her neck, her chest, one hand cupping her right breast while he took the nipple of the left into his mouth, eliciting a pleasured cry from her.

God, it felt so good, she thought as the heated coil in her stomach tightened and she pushed her hips forward, brushing against his.

"Edward" She called, an almost pitiful mewl that made him raise his head with a lust-filled smirk. Sliding her hands down his chest, she grasped the laces of his breeches, her breaths quickening in her haste to have them undone.

"Eager" He teased but was just the same and grasped her skirts, hiking them over her legs to her waist. Sliding a hand between her legs, his head collapsed against her shoulder, finding her wet and more than ready for him "Sweet hell, Con" She moaned as his fingers began to dance between her thighs, filling the room with the music of her pleasure.

"Take me" She whispered, her head falling back against the bedpost, bucking her hips into his hand. Edward only groaned, pushing his breeches over his hips, taking his cock in hand "For God's sake take me" And he did.

A sharp pain reminded her how long it had been since Edward was within her but she relished every ounce of it, every rock of his hips, every single second reminding her she was home. Curling her fingers into his hair they remained still for a moment, faces buried in each other's necks and chests heaving between them. Home.

"Edward" She whispered, gently nipping his earlobe and something within him snapped. Suddenly, she was thrown against the mattress, the covers rumpled around her, her hair a dark crown, Edward's strong body covering her's.

He was everywhere, whispering hotly in her ear, lips leaving kisses across her body, fingers committing every inch of soft skin to memory while she did the same, her pleasure jumping higher at the feel of the strong heartbeat pounding against her chest. He consumed her whole and she wished for nothing less. Calloused fingers skimmed down her hip, grasping her thigh to wrap her leg firmly around his waist.

Constance groaned, the new angle allowing him to slide ever deeper.
"Sweet Connie....my Connie" He moaned against her neck and her lips sought his once more.