Like Fire and Powder (Violent Delights Book 18)

Chapter 1: the engagement according to Elizabeth of York

"I don't want to be Queen of England," I say, standing the hall as servants rush past me. I can feel anger burning in my cheeks and I will it away.
"Well that's a shame because you're going to be," my mother says, walking past me to tug me into my room. Ten people are packing it up. I'm being taken to London. Today.
"I don't want to marry this man," I say.
"Well that's a shame because you're going to," my mother isn't a very sensitive person. Nor very comforting. But she is very, very practical. My father was her second marriage so when all of us came along she was finished with having children. Shame there were ten of us.
"He killed Richard," I say, looking at her doubtfully. My mother didn't like my uncle. That means almost nothing because my mother doesn't like anyone if she can help it.
"Yes, that is what men do. They kill one another," my mother says, taking my hands as she guides me to my room, "They have their wars and their battles and kill one another it's the only way they know to remain alive. And us? We survive them all. These mad Tudors have power now. So we latch onto it—,"
"Father—," I begin, for she liked my father if she liked anyone.
"Your father is dead. Your precious uncle is dead. You are alive, and if by marrying this Tudor boy you can save your sisters and yourself, you'll do it," my mother says, putting a hand to my cheek. "You don't think god gave you these looks to waste away in a convent, child?"
"I don't want to marry him. I don't want to be queen," I say, my voice wavering. They can't force me, can they? Yes they can.
"You didn't say that when it was Richard," my mother says.
I blush, angry. My uncle Richard was the only man I've ever met who had any moral character. That's a very easy distinction to get considering the other men of court are mostly my brothers, uncles, and my father's friends but there it is. And my uncle was only thirteen years my senior and kind to me and since I was ten years old my mother's been preparing me to marry some horrid bearded old man probably twenty years my senior so yes when my uncle was widowed I wasn't opposed to the idea of my pious soft spoken uncle who I at least knew wouldn't use me ill. Naturally nobody agreed and now he's dead, been murdered by the man they're now marrying me to. About my third, arranged engagement and so far the worst given the aspect involving deaths of my close relatives.
"You will do this. You were born to. He's only a man," my mother says, "Give him a few children and then find him a mistress and he'll leave you alone. It is what we do. And he's not yet thirty even if he's coming with diseases from the continent. And it really doesn't matter, because there is nothing you can do about it."
I stare into her eyes, "CECILY, go get my cloak. We're going to an abby."
"You are not!" My mother follows me as I stroll out into the hall.
"Watch me. I'll take holy vows," I say, going to my room.
"We're really doing this? Isn't she going to stop us?" Cecily asks, but getting our cloaks all the same.
"She can't it's kidnapping. I'll scream," I say, jerking my arm away from my mother.
"You're a foolish girl. You have the chance to save your family—,'
"Save my family? My brothers are dead, my father and uncles dead—all of us can be safe in a convent without me whored out to this Tudor bastard from nowhere," I sob, stepping back, "I'm a princess of England."
"Which means you get a title, better than a common whore but yes. You are buying our freedom it is how women like us survive. It's all any of us do but at least you get pretty clothes and pretty title you could be a whorehouse by the dock waiting for sailors. This way you're in a palace waiting for a king. You get jewels, and to pretend like you matter. So you might as well try to enjoy it because life does not get any better. It gets worse as you watch your own sons die at war and you must whore your own daughters," my mother says, with nothing but poison in her voice.
"I won't do it. I don't—I won't do it," I say, shaking my head, "What are you going to do? Treat me like I'm seven and refusing to sing for father and his drunk friends, and you twist my arm behind my back? That won't work anymore I'm not a child."
Well, that is exactly what she's going to do and apparently it will still work. She catches me by the arm and twists it behind my back and marches me out to the litter. She knows better than to let me ride on my own I would simply ride away I am my father's daughter after all. I'm more his daughter than hers, he never did as he was told either. He wouldn't have been king if he had.
My mother still has my arm firmly pinned behind my back as we sit in the litter. She adjusts my hair carefully. Making me beautiful for this man. As ever she cares more about this stranger's opinion than my feelings.
"What if they kill us?" Cecily ventures. This is her trying to help. It's not strictly helpful but at least the sentiment is there.
"They don't kill women," my mother scoffs, "They'll likely marry you to one of them as well. If your sister charms him perhaps you can have some say in it. But since she won't walk under her own power I don't hold out much hope."
I did go completely limp getting into the litter the men lifted me in. That was undignified and since it didn't work. I'm not going to do it again.
"But, as Lizzie said, they're really—bad people they did kill Uncle Richard," Cecily says.
"Why are both of you so concerned about that? I've known that man since he was a boy he was always going to fight a monster he'd never best. That was his nature. I'm surprised it didn't happen sooner to be honest it's quite immaterial who killed him he was always going to die. We're all going to die and usually men die badly," if I do become queen I'll make it a law my mother is never to comfort anyone.
"Even so—we're not going to be safe," Cecily says.
"Of course we're not going to be safe. They are men they aren't safe. Hopefully they are too preoccupied killing each other than they are tormenting you but they may not be. You can charm them if you smother some of your York tempers," our mother scoffs, finally letting go of my arm and looking at me as though she's wondering if I'll jump out of the litter and run for the woods. I would but I fear if I did they'd just present Cecily as me and I don't want her to have to do it.
"Fine, so we're doing this," I may still find a way out of it to be honest, "What makes you think this Henry Tudor isn't going to simply kill us?"
"He's a man and you're beautiful."
"He's a tyrant," Cecily mutters.
"Yes get all that out now. Heavens your father's blood is thick," our mother usually blames our father when we're stubborn as if she's the picture of cooperation. She is not.
"So you'll have me what? Smile and speak fairly to this murderer?" I ask.
"Yes. That's exactly what you're going to do. I'm pleased you remember."
"I can't do it."
"You're a woman so yes you can. It's better he takes you gently, trust me," our mother says, dryly.
"I won't let him hurt you Lizzie, we'll stab him together," Cecily says, taking my hands.
"You will not," our mother says.
"Thank you," I say, holding my sister's hands tightly. My sister is probably the only reason I've not turned to dust by now. I feel like I'm going mad I'm sure she does too but together we've enough reason left to remain sane.
"No, you won't do that. You'll play the part as generations have before you and you'll survive," our mother says, "You may get used to him."
"I won't," I say, shuddering. I can't imagine this is about to be the rest of my life.
"What do you suppose they're doing?" Cecily asks.
"Plotting how to kill us," I mutter.
"If you're lucky," our mother scoffs, "Henry Tudor and his whole band are getting their fill with whores before you arrive."