~Gilded Cages~5th of May, Middleham Castle, North Yorkshire....
When his legs became tire of endless pacing, Richard sunk down into the window seat of his bedchamber, looking across the outer bailey and up at the battlements he'd stood at two weeks ago.
He'd been a free man then.
His nephew had been King.
His son had been safe.
That day seemed an eternity away and, at the same time, a single hair's breadth.
He wished he could grasp those precious moments again, wished he could've defeated the invading Woodville force - though the odds had hardly been in his favour - and helped to defend the North from their claws.
But time didn't work in such a way. It was a cruel mistress and there had been many hours where he'd hated it.
The attacking force, lead by Thomas Grey, had defeated his defending one in less than three hours and most of his men had been slaughtered - he was not. He'd been captured and confined to his chambers where he'd languished the past fourteen agonising days. And the agony was not simply in his mind, he was nursing a wound on his left side, caused by a particularly unlucky strike from an arrow.
His attendants had worked quickly and efficiently to remove the arrow and clean the wound (while he tried not to scream with frustration) but by morning they, and the rest of his servants had been sent away and were soon replaced by Woodville ones. Their spies.
Absentmindedly rubbing a hand across his side, he grimaced at the dull ache that struck through his flesh and sighed, leaning his head back against the wall behind.
Where were his son, his nephew, Francis? Were they safe? He hadn't heard any news of their capture but why would he, no one spoke more than two words to him when they brought his meals and God didn't answer any of his prayers. Where was Connie? And his nephews and nieces? What fate had befallen them?
He could only hope they'd successfully escaped to sanctuary while London fell.
His ears pricked up as the sound of keys rattled on the other side of his chamber door, then the turn of the lock. He let his head loll in that direction, only raising an unimpressed eyebrow when Anthony Woodville strode in, golden hair shining and eyes as blue as ever.
"You are not dressed" He observed as he closed the door, looking Richard (who was in his shirt and breeches) up and down.
"You clearly are" Richard replied, eyes wandering over the rich purple damask he wore with a golden gilded belt. He let his nose wrinkle in disgust for a moment "Besides, I do not believe I am going anywhere. That is, unless you have come to conduct me to the Tower?""I have not. I convinced my sister against it"
And Richard laughed for the first time in two weeks.
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𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐄 || 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑾𝑯𝑰𝑻𝑬 𝑸𝑼𝑬𝑬𝑵
Historical Fiction~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...