𝑂𝑛𝑙𝑦 𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑎𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑒𝑛𝑑 𝑜𝑓 𝑖𝑡 𝑎𝑙𝑙....
In a world of bloody war and misgivings that lead to treason, there is only one thing Catherine Percy can be sure of and that is danger.
Her life had not always been thus, f...
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~Accursed Rebels~
Framlingham Castle, late July 1469....
A battle had been fought.
The battle of Edgecote field where Satan gifted victory to the rebel forces when they collided with the King's in the North. But there was no hope spurred on the King's behalf when the news came, no words of encouragement spoken that told of another way for the rebels to be vanquished. There had only been silence. Cold, deafening silence that spoke more words than any rain-soaked letter ever could.
At least Richard had not fought; nor Edward.
Summer seemed to slip away, the shining rays of sun meaning little in such times of darkness. The sky, stained blue and clear of all obstruction was almost a torment, making a mockery of the danger each day posed. The least God could do to lessen the wound was force the days to darken, fill the sky with stormy clouds to show his displeasure at the King being opposed by his own subjects.
But, then again, he had conjured no such signs when King Henry was deposed, so why would he do so for Edward? Perhaps he merely sat and observed from his throne in heaven, amused by the quarrels of the pathetic folk he'd placed upon his earth. The Bible told that for many years he had tried to convince humans to seek peace and trust in his will and at every turn he had been denied.
Perhaps now he found it a fitting punishment to let the House of York burn, just as the House of Lancaster had done?
"They will not win" Elizabeth had seethed when the letter containing her husband's defeat arrived, tearing the parchment to mere scraps before she tossed it into the fire "By God they will not win!" She spoke the words with venom and Catherine half expected a forked tongue to slither from her mouth but after that the Queen had become silent.
She appeared more a mouse than a snake.
She gathered her children close, her precious boys and her darling daughters, keeping them all but stitched to her skirts as she greeted nobles in Framlingham's great hall. 'Show them that you are Queen' Earl Rivers had told her the morning the Yorkist forces departed from Tamworth Castle and she'd proved excellent in her duty thus far. Only, she did not smile as a Queen was meant to and when she greeted nobles her eyes were dead, glassy, unseeing.
She often stood by the window, listening to the river rushing below her bedchamber window with Catherine watched from the shadows. Light lashes would fan her cheeks and the breeze would kiss her cool skin, turning it almost to ice while silent tears glided along the smooth surface. It was as if the river told her what the nobles and non-existent couriers did not, answering the question each member of the household held.
