~The Return of a Son~

The next morning....

A lazy smile painted Constance's face as Edward placed kisses across her stomach, one hand gently stroking her right breast. They'd stayed in bed all day and all night, not just making love (though for hours they'd been claimed with a desperation only sex satisfied) but talking too, limbs entangled, words gentle.

Only once had Edward slipped downstairs to retrieve some wine and then he'd returned, eager as ever! They'd slept little but when she had, Constance woke again to Edward kissing up and down her body and revelled in its pleasure.

"You are most attentive, my King" She purred and he raised his head for a moment, smirking. How she loved that little smirk, she thought, taking to playing with his hair.

"You are my Queen" He murmured, placing another kiss to her stomach before he pushed himself up her body "Tis my duty to tend to you"
"By giving me more sons?"
Edward hummed appreciatively, dipping his head.

"Many, many sons" He murmured against her lips "and daughters too, just like our Marie"

A firm knock came at the door and Edward groaned, rolling to the side. He called for entry, carelessly throwing a sheet over her while doing nothing to hide his own nakedness. He never had, he never would and it only made her love him more! Hastings was the one that appeared and a smile tickled his lips as he leant against the doorframe, taking in the untidy scene in his usual teasing manner.

"Well" The greeting rolled off his tongue like melted butter: smug "I thought you may need this after your little" Greying ginger eyebrows twitched with amusement "reunion" He held up a plate full of meat, bread and cheese which looked so delicious Constance almost forgot to keep the bedclothes tight to her chest "although from the sound of it, I really couldn't tell weather you were happy or disembowelling one another"

"Oh fuck off Will" Edward groaned, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and sauntering towards his friend without a care in the world. Hastings only grinned. After bedding women in brothels for years next to Edward, he'd be the last person to be embarrassed by his state of undress and shoved the filled plate at his chest.

"Eat. And make sure you give some to Constance" Glancing over his shoulder, he grinned at the blushing Queen, daring a wink "it's a wonder she hasn't collapsed from exhaustion!"

"She can't collapse if she's lying down you cocky bastard" Edward retorted and slammed the door summarily in his friend's face, leaving only the echo of Hasting's roaring laughter on the other side.

Chuckling to himself, Edward leant against the door and popped a slice of ham into his mouth, training his eyes on Constance once more. He couldn't help it. Strands of brown hair framed her porcelain face, tinted with its embarrassed coral blush, trailing down collarbones marked red with kisses he wished to bestow all over again.

Too hot, he watched her kick away the sheet and eye him from beneath dark lashes, round breasts rising and falling with every breath. God she was divine, he thought, gulping down his food, and considered throwing away the rest just to have her again!

"Bring that here!" She ordered, seeing the clear lust in his eyes "you heard what Will said! You have to give some to me" Her husband merely hummed, making it back to the bed in two strides that made her shiver with delight at his strength. He was every inch a King. Her King.

"I would give you the whole world if I could" He said, laying down languidly by her side and balancing the plate on his stomach "You know that don't you, sweetheart?" Nodding, she accepted the piece of bread he tapped against her lips.

The act was so simple yet so intimate and she sighed, glancing out of their little window. Everything seemed simpler in Bruges "You are my Queen" She swallowed the bread, tilting her head on the pillow with his words stirring warmth in her stomach.

He looked almost like a boy again in the glow of the afternoon, the sun's rays turning him once more to York's golden son. The boy she'd fallen in love with in the months after her marriage, the boy that had made her feel safe and secure when her whole world was changing. Reaching out, her hand came to cradle the side of his face.

"And you my King" She hummed "My Rose of Rouen"

"Careful with your words, you wanton woman" He replied, lust flickering in his eyes and his voice deep; suave "Or our feast shall not last long" Constance tilted her head, plucking a small piece of ham from the plate and popping it into her mouth.

"Well, I know one thing that shall dampen your mood, we are to meet with dear brother George today"

Edward's answering groan made her smile. For the three days she'd been in Bruges, George had stayed at a separate residence. Weather it was a personal choice or because he feared both of his brothers would beat his face in with their fists, she didn't know, but she was glad of his absence.

All had enough on their plate and there was plentiful tension between John Neville and Anthony Woodville, they didn't need a traitor there too - although perhaps that would help them set aside their heated dislike for mutual hatred? Perhaps they would do that today when George arrived and repented his sins before his King?

Sighing, Constance shifted from the bed and walked around it to Edward's side where their small window was. Peering out of it, her body froze at his sharp gasp and then, she remembered.

Her back....

While it plagued her little by then, she knew the lashes would be a sight to shock his eyes and swallowed nervously when she heard him stand - waiting. A moment later, a single finger landed on one of the red lines, trailing slowly, slowly, down to its jagged end.

"When?" Edward's voice was quiet but made no less dangerous by it, the simple word enough to assure her of his scalding rage.
"A month ago" Her voice was quieter than his, barely a whisper, though not a trace of rage tinted her tone "After the children were rescued" She heard another sharp intake of breath.

"Who?" Another finger joined the first on her back, tracing another line.

"The Duke of Somerset....well, he ordered it, he watched....it was his man that carried it out but I don't know who he was...." She shivered and suddenly Edward's arms were around her, turning her, pulling her against his chest. One hand came to cradle the back of her head, his chin resting on top and a small sob passed her lips.

She hadn't been expecting it but in Edward's arms, a place so safe and warm, her pain came crashing down upon her and there was nothing to do but cry. Tears flooded her cheeks, her whole body trembled until Edward finally picked her up as tenderly as if she were made of glass and laid her on the covers again.

He did not join her. Instead he began to pace up and down beside the bed, his handsome features contorted with a rage she wagered could strike men down with one glance. His fists curled, his jaw clenched, held tighter than a drawn bowstring and he shook his head.

"I will kill him" He hissed at length "I would kill him for merely glancing at you but this....and I was not there to protect you...." At last he came to a halt and looked down on his young wife who was wiping the tears from her cheeks. His heart twisted with pain and he grimaced as the image of her scars flashed through his mind. God, what pain she had endured, his sweet, brave, beautiful Queen.

"Come" Sitting down on the small bed, he carefully pulled her into his arms and cupped her face, trying in earnest to think of anything that could soothe her "I will kill him" He said again "Je te promets, pour tout ce qu'il t'a fait, je le tuerai" 'I promise, for all he has done to you I will kill him'

With shaking breaths, Constance looked up, her reddened eyes staring into his, still glassy with tears. She nodded.

"Kill him. But God let me be there too, Ned. For Somerset was also the man who took our children"

His jaw visibly clenched and there and then, she knew not even God could help Somerset once he got his hands on him.

༻᯽༺

The hall's long table was pushed to the back of the room, beside the courtyard door, the majority of its chairs lined up by the stairs. The two that remained were placed a meter or so before the table and taken by England's King and Queen - makeshift thrones representing the ones they were meant to occupy.

While simply dressed, none could deny the powerful image they presented - side by side, heads held high and Constance's small hand clasped firmly in Edward's, resting on the arm of his chair. A partnership, two halves of the same whole. Neither smiled.

Behind, in a rigid line, stood their companions: Dickon, Will, John, Anthony, Rob and Francis. They didn't smile either, bearing expressions of grim dislike as they stared ahead at the traitor standing before the lit hearth.

George.

He felt like he were on trial - his kin and fellow soldiers were the jury, the King and Queen his judges and even if they did not declare it that day, he knew they'd found him guilty.

He could see it in the stares of icy hatred boring into his soul, especially Dickon's. God, his little brother's eyes never hid anything and while in childhood he'd found it amusing to know his mind, he wished them that Dickon would mask his thoughts. When he didn't, George cast his gaze to his feet, trying to stop them from shuffling back and forth.

The silence was almost suffocating.

When Edward finally sat up in his chair, George almost expected to hear the word 'guilty' on his brother's lips but all there was when he raised his head was the same stony stare.

"So" His voice was curt, crisp "You've returned"
"Again"
"Richard" The youngest son of York frowned, taking to glaring again "Although he is right, George. This is the second time you have returned from treason and I can't help but wonder, will there be a third?"

George shook his head, swallowing when he realised he was expected to speak.
"Edward, I...."

"That is your grace to you" Constance cut in sharply and the men's lips curved up into cruel smirks, making George flush strawberry red "Or are you yet to remember who is King?"
"If I was you wouldn't be here"

At that, Edward's eyes narrowed into slits and George cursed his sharp tongue, grimacing slightly. Why wasn't he able to think when he most needed to?

"Careful, George. Your position is not a strong one and I've already sentenced one man to death for his dealings with my Queen this morn. I would advise you to grovel before I let Dickon push you into the fire as I'm very much sure he'd like to. We'd all like to" Pressing a kiss to Constance's knuckles before releasing her, Edward rose to his feet, towering over his brother even at a distance.

"You are a traitor twice over, a turncoat who currently bears the rose of Lancaster at his collar. Tell me, dear brother, aside for your own ambitions why do you crawl back to my side like a snake seeking prey in a nest?"

George flinched at the sharp words, spat in his direction like poison but Edward was not satisfied. With every syllable he spoke he felt the need to press on the wounds they scratched into his brother, to watch him bleed as he'd made his family bleed. Their family "What would our Father say? What would he say if he could see his sons turning against one another? After all he fought for, after all Edmund fought for...."

"I was wrong, your grace!"

George's outburst startled even Edward and suddenly all in the room were staring not in anger but in shock. The Duke's eyes were blown wide, a certain madness to them enhanced by the gleam of tears. Weather they were genuine, it was impossible to tell. Still, he swallowed and dared raise his head slightly, pushing his shoulders back.

"I was wrong" He repeated "I was wrong to follow our cousin, wrong to seek to displace you as King. The thought should not have crossed my mind, your grace, not just as your subject but as your brother"

"A sudden interest in our family ties George" Dickon quipped but received no rebuke. Edward watched their brother closely, slowly sliding back into his seat to find Constance's hand waiting for his. His eyes narrowed again, contemplating judgement.

"Beg"

All gazes snapped to the side at the sound of the Queen's voice to find her still watching the traitor who looked like he'd been struck. When he didn't respond, she tilted her head, raising an eyebrow in question "You heard me, my Lord. If you are so eager to regain the King's good graces - beg. On your knees"

George's eyes practically bulged out of his skull at the words and all traces of remorse melted away to reveal the coat of arrogance that was as much a part of him as his skin.

"Beg?" He spluttered, looking to Edward and Constance was all too aware of the mocking chuckles that surrounded her, accompanied by smirks "You cannot be serious! Edward?" Will snorted.

"Oh I think it an entirely proper suggestion!" Edward replied loftily, much to George's horror. It would degrade his honour (not that he had any to spare), his pride, his very station! To lower himself to the level a common criminal - something they considered him to be - would be worse than death in his mind!

"I'm waiting" Edward's voice made his stomach churn.

"We all are" Constance added, a cold smile curving her lips when Edward kissed her hand again, his pleasure at her words all too clear "Go on, brother, on your knees. Beg"

George looked around for help, silently pleading John, Dickon, even Anthony for aid but they all just smirked. A Woodville and a Neville were in agreement and that confirmed his fears.

He had no choice.

Grasping what little of his pride he could, he slowly lowered himself to his knees, bowing his head for it was the only way to escape the scornful stares around him. Beg, Constance had said and he grimaced.

"Your grace, my one true King, the rightful King of England. I betrayed you for a false King, a man who could not be King if angels crowned him; following a false guide I now know to be nothing more than a liar and a traitor to your reign. I come before you as a traitor and humbly....beg forgiveness for my crimes"

The silence when he finished was stifling, so tense he flinched when Edward rose again, each heavy footstep hammering on the floor as he walked around the table, bringing the same terror as a bell's death toll.

He kept his head bowed, not even daring to look up when a pair of leather boots stopped before him.

"Rise" God he didn't think he'd ever stood so quickly, almost tripping only to find a heavy hand land on his shoulder, forcing him steady. His brother's eyes bore into his, the icy blue burning with a fire George feared would burn his soul until, suddenly, Edward's hands clasped the back of his neck and bent their forehead's together.

A sign of kinship. Brotherhood.
But the touch was barely there, lighter than a feather on his skin and then Edward was pushing him away, strolling back to lean on the table edge.

"So" He drawled "George of York is returned to his kin?" George could only nod and Edward chuckled humourlessly to himself, glancing over his shoulder "Dickon? Send a message to our sister. The three sons of York stand untied again"

Where a cheer may have once been let up, there was only silence.

༻᯽༺

February 1471, Bruges....

Marie's delighted squeals could be heard three streets away when she flung open the coffers in the hall brought by soldiers of the Burgundian Court. They'd arrived after supper, bringing with them a command from their Duchess and four great coffers.

"Her grace invites you, King Edward, Queen Constance, Princess Marie and the Royal Dukes of Clarence and Gloucester to dine at court tomorrow night, your grace" One said midway through a deep bow to Edward and then they were gone, leaving the King with a triumphant smirk on his face.

"Progress!" He declared, planting a victorious kiss to Constance's lips and then their daughter found her merry way into the chests.

Each carried a beautiful ensemble of silk, velvet and satin, of cloth of gold and cloth of silver; splendour they had not laid eyes on for months yet knew belonged to them. They were garments fit for the royals Margaret was determined they look when they arrived. She would not have her kin humiliated!

"Look Father!" Marie squealed, holding up a Burgundian gown of crimson velvet with diamonds adorning the bodice. In the firelight they glinted like tiny stars, reflecting the innocent joy swirling excitedly in Marie's eyes. Holding the gown up against her small frame, she began to spin across the hall, giggling as she went.

"Look ma Mère!" She called "Look Dickon!" Her delight was only enhanced when she rushed back to the coffer to find a golden circlet studded with diamonds for her to wear atop her pretty head!

And so the next day was spent waiting with bated breath, Héléne caring for the children while the adults shut themselves away. Over and over they talked, pinpointing each comment they could make to sway, to persuade, to gain all they could that night.

It may have been posed as a family dinner but the exiles knew each word, each glance would be a move on the political chessboard. Not a board Margaret played upon, well, when she did they had no doubt she would be upon their lines, but her husband certainly did!

"So you must be on your best behaviour, mon Ma petite Princesse. Pouvez-vous le faire pour moi?" 'Can you do that for me?' Edward asked that evening, on one knee by the hall's fire with his daughter before him. She nodded eagerly, making the pearls on her crimson bodice shake and he couldn't help smiling. He'd never seen her so excited!

For the past half hour, while they waited on her Mother, she'd been prancing back and forth across the chamber like a little ball of sunshine; a large grin on her face! He'd only been able to coax her still with the excuse of adjusting her little circlet!

"La perle de mon monde" 'the pearl of my world' He murmured affectionately, pushing Marie's hair behind her shoulders with a gentle hand. A pleased flush worked its way up her neck and she giggled, twisting the precious ring on her finger.

"I'll be good, Father"
Edward nodded at her promise, patting her on the shoulder as he rose. Straightening the sleeves of his cloth of gold doublet (God it was a relief to wear it if ever there was one) he glanced to where his brothers stood rigidly beside one another.

George in green damask, Richard in blue velvet, their fine clothes doing nothing to mask the tension between them! Every so often the younger would glare at the elder, lips set in a straight line, eyes ever so slightly narrowed; blue irises laced with suspicion. Edward arched an eyebrow.

"None of that tonight, Dickon"
His little brother's gaze snapped up to his and George scoffed, earning another glare.
"Still sulking, little brother?"
"Still a prick, George?"

"Now now, you heard what Edward said" At the sound of her voice, the men turned but whatever arguments their minds prepared died on their lips at the sight of her. There could be no doubt Constance was a Queen.

A golden crown studded with diamonds and sapphires crowned her head, her hair left to flow down her back in gentle waves. Her Burgundian gown was of blue velvet, the hue so soft in some lights it could perhaps be considered grey but what a lovely grey it would be, falling in a luxurious river to her feet!

Fur white as freshly fallen snow trimmed the hem and low neckline which revealed the silk partlet beneath and the buttons on her tight sleeves were pearls; polished, beautiful. Rings encased her fingers in circles of bejewelled splendour, as did the gold resting comfortably around her slender neck, a delicate chain of lions and roses.

While he'd never failed to see her beauty, Edward was then reminded of her beauty as his Queen - how regal she appeared sat on her throne by his side; how perfect. His feet moved without thought, sending him forth to the steps so he could offer up a hand to help her down the last few.

"Oh, ma Mère" Marie breathed, watching enthralled as her Mother descended like an angel from heaven, hand in her husband's, the train of her gown rustling "You look a Queen!" Constance smiled, a smile to melt hearts and Edward chuckled, amused by his daughter but his eyes never left his wife.

"She is a Queen, petite"