❝ Tell me losing everything is what saved you,
Tell me you finally tasted freedom.
Can you even imagine yourself in paradise?
Even the daughter of gods must know loneliness, must sometimes want nothing more than to be trapped in a hell of forevers...
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September 1485
'Beautiful' was not accurate to describe Princess Lily. She was beautiful, yes, but far worse than that, she looked like royalty incarnate. Henry hated her and loved her on sight, if only because she looked, unquestionably, like she belonged on the throne; not like him. He was tired, ragged, ill-cared for, constantly looking over his shoulder, feeling his enemies at his back. Unlike her bastard sisters, Lily was not as golden as the sun. Charlotte Neville's coloring had won out more often than not and so, she had her mother's luscious dark locks of hair instead of the golden curls Elizabeth Woodville gifted her daughters. Still, with her dark hair contrasting against her alabaster skin, her deep eyes and high cheekbones, she looked fit for a throne.
If something were to happen to Lily — if she's barren, which is just about all that matters at this point — Henry must still wed one of the Yorks. This is as undeniable and formulaic as his betrothal to Lily, and so he thinks little to nothing of it when the others are brought before him as well. First Lily curtsies, scarcely concealing her hatred, and then her mother, the Kingmaker's daughter, steps back, revealing her younger daughters in the doorway.
"My other daughters," Charlotte says, and for a moment, everything for Henry stops.
Henry was born for an alliance, not for love, which is why when he sees Caitlin of Lancaster, he knows instantly lightning has struck. He's felt fanciful, fleeting imitations of love before; he's been with women. He's nearly thirty, after all, and hardly inexperienced. He holds his composure, meeting each of the York daughters, until he arrives at Caitlin's hand.
"Something wrong, Your Majesty?"
Nothing is wrong, he thinks, and yet everything is wrong.
─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────
Henry stood at the foot of the table in his council room.
"I will not marry her," he announced, much to his councilmen's shock. "There are more than a dozen European princesses, all of whom are less willful and would make more obedient wives."
"But none of whom will unite the warring houses," Lord Stanley spoke up, but Henry was quick to argue.
"The other York girls would," he pointed out. "Or Elizabeth or Margaret Plantagenet. God knows there are enough girls with York blood."
"But you have promised that you will marry Princess Cecily," John de la Pole, the Earl of Lincoln, spoke calmly.
"If you refuse, you will insult her and the Yorks will rise up in her defense. You will have to wage war on the North of England and perhaps Burgundy as well," his father continued, agreeing with his son.
"The Yorks can still command England, Henry. And Princess Cecily also has Lancastrian blood running through her veins. Her Neville blood commands the North" Jasper explained in smoothly, causing Henry to sigh in defeat.
