𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐎𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐎𝐑 || 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑾𝑯𝑰𝑻𝑬 𝑸𝑼𝑬𝑬𝑵

𝐶ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝐿𝑋𝑋𝑉𝐼𝐼𝐼

~The Boy King~

Stony Stratford, Late April, 1483...

There they stood, crowded in the finest room the village inn had to offer, not a small size by any means but with all the people packed into it beside the furniture, there was barely room to breathe.

Young Edward was a small thing to look upon, although Catherine couldn't think why she would've expected anything else as she stared at his pale blonde hair and eyes that were the ghosts of his Father's. Perhaps it was because he was King? He wore deep crimson (but was soon to wear black) a colour that seemed to make his skin translucent, almost scarily so and had a dependant look to him that made him appear almost younger than he was.

The blonde curls that tucked neatly underneath his chin were exactly like his Father's too but his lack of confidence was not. He looked at the men before him with a slight bewildered expression, despite trying to hide it.

Richard, Anthony Woodville, Richard Grey, Lord Brackenbury (a friend of Richard's whom he'd become aquatinted with in Scotland) and Georgie who'd made haste to meet them on the road, all knelt before their new King, heads bowed.

When Richard and his men had arrived mere hours ago, the Woodville forces had been nothing less than shocked and had they not been too stunned to speak, Catherine was sure a fight would've broken out. Before, she wouldn't be able to picture Anthony and Richard at odds with one another but as much as they enjoyed one another's company, there was only one King, only one Lord Protector.

It was a position it seemed they both sought, even though Edward had declared Richard to be the rightful Lord Protector!

Power could tear apart families, friendships were merely a simple knot for its grasping hands to undo in one swift tug.

Now, they were all gathered in the King's bedchamber, down on one knee to pledge loyalty to him, trying not to look suspiciously at one another. It was strange how power could change a friend, not to a foe, but to a rival within moments.

Even if both rivals had honourable intentions.
Richard sought to keep his brother's will seen to, Anthony sought to see his nephew was guided by the right hand. But why was Richard not that right hand?

Surely they would seek a peace between them?
The land needed stability.

And yet at that moment, none was less stable than the King.

"Dead?" He whispered, looking down at the men, Richard in particular who had just delivered the dreadful news his young mind refused to believe "Surely you are mistaken, my Lord? My Father is strong, he sent for me only weeks ago...."