~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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~Home Again~
Constance knew she would remember the night of the masque for years to come, perhaps even on her deathbed for she was certain she had never felt so free. She and Richard danced together many times and even when he moved away to a quiet corner, she would not be swayed from the dance floor.
She danced with Charlotte, with her sisters, with nobles she'd never encountered and never would again but that mattered not, she had her memories and she would treasure them. It was a mystical swirl of happiness, taking her through the night and morning until dawn struck the earth. She had eaten and drunk her fill by the time Charlotte told her it was time to leave and giggled all the way back, gazing out of the carriage window.
When she returned to the York camp awoke later in the day she wasn't certain at first that the masque hadn't been a dream. Even if it had, she'd thought, the happiness inside her would never melt when she thought of it. It was confirmed to be real when Richard called upon her later that day, asking if she'd recovered for the last time he'd seen her she'd been partaking in a drinking contest with Joanna!
Usually, she would've blushed at such an unladylike performance but did no such thing as Richard grinned and she replied she was most well and most proud of the victory she'd won over her sister!
A smile danced across her lips at the memory as she stared up at the ceiling of her cabin, the royal ship rocking beneath her as it sailed back towards England. Away from dreams, returning to reality.
'At least I shall see my children again' She mused, tucking a hand beneath her head. She'd missed them terribly and hoped they'd missed her; longed to hold them in her arms.
But what would her life become, she wondered. She and Edward were on no better terms and she'd recovered from the birth of Aliénor. Would the return to England mark the dawn of a new chapter of cold duty done on her back as she waited for it to be over, of endless feasts sat by her husband's side yet further away from him by the day?
Were they to become permanently what most royal matches were? Stone?
She'd meant what she said to Richard at the masque, that she missed Edward and her anger was dwindling but she also was determined for him to be the one to admit fault. She was not to blame. Not in the slightest. And there had been too many times were she was complacent, where she simply looked the other way.
"Are you well, your grace?" She smiled as Margaret approached her, softly perching on the side of the bed. "I am well, indeed. I simply pray we reach shore safely!"
