Rising High || THE COUSIN'S WAR

Chapter I

November 4, 1429...

Thirteen-year-old Arthur FitzRoy stood in the throne room with all the great lords of England. Sunlight filtered through the windows and lit up the thick carpet on the ground. On the center of the carpet lay an apple from the garden of Bedford.

The young boy with his mother's blonde hair pointed at the apple. "My lords," Arthur began, "I want you to pick up that apple without laying a foot on the carpet." The men turned towards each other, murmuring, and Richard turned to Arthur. "This is not the time for your childish games, Your Grace," he said in a cold voice.

"This is not a game, Richard. This," he motioned towards the set up in the center of the room, "This is a test. You are the esteemed Duke of York and yet you cannot figure out how to solve such a simple issue."

Arthur made his way through the lords before stopping in front of Richard. "Can you not solve this?" He questioned, tilting his head to the side. "After all, the answer is quite simple."

Richard remained silent and Arthur turned away on his heel. "Perhaps it takes a child's mind to figure it out," he declared bluntly, walking to the edge of the carpet before sliding his hands underneath the heavy woven fabric and rolling it forward until he was right in front of the fruit. Arthur picked it up and surveyed the group of lords. "Next time you believe that a child of a peasant can be simple-minded, look back on this very moment and think on it," he said.

Arthur turned away and walked towards the throne room door before pausing and looking over his shoulder. "Oh, and be thankful to our Lord that I will not be made king in two days or I would have you all replaced with men who could figure out such a simple problem on their own."

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November 7, 1422...

"What will happen to us, Arthur?" Anne asked, looking up at their father's dead body as people filed out of the abbey. Her hands fidgeted with her black skirt and Arthur knelt down and took them in his. They were clammy and pale, so he rubbed his thumbs across her skin, trying to warm her up.

"We must live for a little while longer, Nan, and make our parents proud," he said. "Can you do that?"

Anne nodded and he smiled, squeezing her hands comfortingly before standing and kissing her forehead. "Your Graces," a voice called out and the two siblings looked up at the eleven-year-old Richard, Duke of York. "Richard," said Arthur, bowing his head.

"Are you two feeling well? It is hard to lose both parents in the same year," Richard questioned and Arthur sighed. "We will get through this. Why have you come to talk to the bastards of England?"

"Do I need a reason to talk to my cousins?" He asked in a teasing tone. After Isabel's death, a servant had overheard her conversation with Henry and gossiped. Soon the word of Isabel d' Arc's parentage had spread like wildfire across a dry plain and it was generally accepted by most of the Englishmen. So the FitzRoys and Richard had fallen into the habit of talking to each other like family.

"Not really, but I don't want to talk to you right now, Yorkie," Anne grumbled and Richard arched an eyebrow. "Nan, restrain yourself," Arthur scolded and his little sister stuck her tongue out at him.

"Actually, I came to talk to you, Arthur, because the lords are concerned about the future of England," Richard murmured in a low voice so only the three could hear. Arthur took Richard by the arm and they moved away from the crowd of mourners. "What is it now?" He hissed. "What you are talking about could be considered treason."