~𝕭𝖊𝖙𝖗𝖆𝖞𝖆𝖑 𝖎𝖘 𝖔𝖓𝖑𝖞 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖇𝖊𝖌𝖎𝖓𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌~
Born the youngest daughter of Charles I, Duke of Bourbon, Constance of Bourbon grows up amidst comfort and splendour on her powerful family's estates in France. A shy child, she prefers her...
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~To be Me is a Tragedy All it's Own~
"Open the gates for your Queen!" Constance stared defiantly up at the defensive walls of Westminster, her face courageous and confident as she threw back her hood. She had chosen her dress meticulously that day, calling Cecily to assist her in her venture.
She wore a gown of red velvet, with white silk along the neckline and sash, beneath a cloak of royal purple, trimmed with ermine. Only true royalty could wear such a garment, not even the great Earl of Warwick and definitely not Elizabeth Woodville. Her hair was loose, a mass of dark curls beneath a golden circlet of pearls and amethysts and around her neck she wore a necklace of diamonds that glistened in the sunlight, blinding those who looked at her.
Trapped amongst the jewels was a golden E necklace, a reminder to all that saw it that she was Edward's but that he was also hers in a way. It was a prospect that thrilled her and she caught herself hoping Elizabeth would see it.
When the Palace guards looked down from their ramparts they immediately snapped to attention, barking orders at one another while the gates were pulled open. Behind her, Constance looked, feeling a slight pity at the sight of old Henry who was once more bound with a hood hiding his gaunt face.
Perhaps God would frown on using his fall for her own gain but it had to be done, she supposed, and she would see he came to no harm.
She then turned to her right where Richard rode, almost like a giddy child as he shuffled in his saddle, dressed in cloth of silver with his shining chains of office on his shoulders. The Earl could not stop grinning and had not done since dawn struck the earth.
He'd whisked little Marie into the air at breakfast, making her babble in delight, clapping her tiny hands together until he set her down on her Mother's lap. It had hurt Constance to leave her little love at Baynards but her heart knew that Cecily and her ladies would care for her; that she was safe for when she returned.
"Please, enter your grace" The gruff voice of a guard called down and she jerked her gaze up once more, nodding sternly before she nudged her steed forward. Mulberry he was called, strong and as black as night, white speckles like stars on his chest and strong hooves that could crush; pounded on the courtyard cobblestones.
When the royal trumpets blared, filling the air with regal music, Constance felt confidence blossom in her chest, making her sit up in her saddle, breathing in the cold morning air to relish its crispness as it trickled down her throat.
Within moments, flashes of colour, myriads of blue, red, green, orange, veils of silk that swirled down from the tops of their owners bejewelled headdresses, struck her eyes. The royal court rushed from the confines of the palace, flooding into the courtyard and onto the balcony, leaning dangerously from the stone ledge to catch a glimpse of the arriving party.
