❝you think Achilles was of impressive descent?
touch me one more time❞
The one where King Edward IV is captivated by Charlotte Neville and their love has far-reaching consequences. For Charlotte had a place in Edward's heart no one could tear her fr...
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Pain.
All Prince Arthur knew at the moment was pain. His skin itched so much with all the red bumps covering it, his body burned to the touch. It hurt breathing and every time he took a breath, he let it out in coughs that left a bloody taste in his mouth.
"Papa!" Arthur croaked, tears streaming down his face as he tried to reach for people who weren't there. Dr. Hatteclyffe looked down at the boy sadly, it was the fourth day and the red spotting had only increased; not a single oatmeal bath eased it, and coughing had lasted all night without stopping.
"I'm here, my love. Mama's here," Charlotte cried, rushing in, uncaring of her appearance. She was disheveled, considering she had only just found out her son was ill and had been ill all night after what had seemed the beginning of his recovery the day before. "I can take over, Doctor. Just tell me what to do, so you can rest for a while."
"Just continue giving him oatmeal baths every three hours," Hatteclyffe instructed. "I've made sure the maids who enter have all had the disease before so they can't get infected and continue spreading it."
"Alright," Charlotte nodded as she stripped her son carefully so he would not sweat so much.
"Mama?"
"I'm here. You'll be fine," she promised. "You're going to be fine, my love."
She started going through the knapsack Marie had given her once, years ago, when Edmund was ill. Honey would ease the redness and itching, there wouldn't be as many scars if he survived...
She shook herself, he would survive. She would make sure of it.
─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────
Arriving in London, Edmund rode his horse straight toward the Tower, disregarding the guards calling out to him, telling him it wasn't safe to travel through London alone.
He stopped in front of the Tower, climbing off the horse before sprinting into the Tower. He bolted down the steps, racing to his brothers' rooms.
"Edward? Richard? Edward!"
He turned to one of the guards, a worried look on his face. "Guard! Open the door. Open it now!" He practically screamed, tears beginning to form in his eyes.
The guard's hands trembled as he unlocked the door but before he could apologize, Edmund had shoved him out of the way and entered the room.
It was clean and the bed was made as well, which he found odd. He had been twelve and nine years old — twelve and nine years old boys didn't clean up. The floor was spotless and the bed was perfect. Nothing was out of place.
Edmund yanked off the blankets and the sheets off the bed, finding the sheets to be cleaned.
As each moment passed, it became more and more difficult to breathe. Where were his brothers?
