~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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~Barnet~
Goodbyes were always painful.
They meant absence, loneliness, the departure of a loved one without the promise of seeing them again; a final declaration of love in case they were never seen again.
They meant danger - at least to Constance.
Edward was King again but she did not feel like a Queen, how could she when another was approaching English shores and would land any moment?
She remembered the words young Anne Neville had once said to her in the summer of 1466, when she'd still been too young to understand their meaning.
"They say they are three Queens of England" She'd recited, making a daisy chain at Constance's skirts "One in exile, the second barren, the third without a crown"
Well, her two healthy children (particularly her son) certainly disproved any rumour of barrenness and Elizabeth was locked beneath the country's greatest Abbey but those facts did nothing to diminish the danger the third Queen posed.
She was a lioness leading her pride, sharpening her claws to protect her only cub and she was dangerous.
Warwick was dangerous too Constance thought as she entered hers and Edward's tower chambers, warm beneath her furred robe. He would leave on the morrow to face his old mentor and the might of Lancaster and, despite the heat of the room, she shivered.
A large fire bloomed in the hearth, engulfing the logs a pageboy regularly thrust in to heat the water brought up from the kitchens. Before the flames, the King was stretched out languidly in a wooden tub, elbows resting on the side, beads of water dripping from his skin, eyes closed. Ribbons of steam danced from the hot surface and his head lolled back contentedly on the carved edge, the wood cushioned with white linen.
He sighed as the page poured another jug of water into the tub, rolling his muscled shoulders into the warm cradle of relaxation. In a few hours, he would be gone from the Tower, gone from London, that was his plan. Advance in dark, attack at dawn. It would perhaps give the Yorkists the upper hand they needed against the superior Lancastrian numbers and by God they needed that.
"Your grace" The pageboy greeted when he saw the Queen lingering in the doorway, offering a deep bow and a smile curved Edward's lips, though he didn't open his eyes.
"Leave us" He murmured with a wave of his hand and the boy bowed again, placing down his empty metal jug before scurrying away, closing the chamber door softly behind him. Watching her husband, Constance slowly made her way over to the fireplace and Edward finally opened his eyes, his smile widening when he saw her.
