~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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~In Our Hands~
18th of August, 1484, Ripon....
Three days riding had brought them to Ripon (their numbers swelled and spirits high), a town where Richard and York was beloved, the perfect point for more men to join them, despite meaning they travelled south instead of across the country where they intended to draw the enemy. Still it was firmly in the north.
Soon they would travel back north and across England towards Helmsley. It was good ground Richard and his men had agreed, a good place to draw the bastard to.
But that day, all eyes were upon Ripon as the cathedral bells pealed and people lined the streets, cheering themselves hoarse as the higher ranks of the army (the rest in the surrounding fields) paraded through the city, their King at the front in dazzling golden robes - bareheaded. He would not be for long.
The morn of the 16th, Richard and Constance had sent word on to the town to prepare for the coronation of their King, an event that would reap much sweet fruit. Now, the Archbishop of York, Thomas Rotherham (hastily fetched from his post) stood waiting within the great cathedral walls, Edward's crown held by a priest on a cushion beside him. It would have been easier to have had her brother Charles crown him but they decided it was best for the King of England to be crowned by an Englishman.
Charles understood, he'd even agreed.
The townspeople appeared to have never experienced such a state of glee and Constance couldn't hide her smile at their flailing arms that begged a glance from her son, the enthused calls of "King Edward! Our captain!" and "Our hero is returned! Our King come to save us!" that hailed him as their saviour. He received the floods of attention as if it were second nature, waving back and nodding to men that removed their caps and bowed their heads as he passed, winked at pretty girls that curtsied, grinning every yard.
She saw in him his Father and knew they would too. Their warrior. Their King. The golden York boy that smiled like an angel and would set all to rights. All the more reason to show him off as such, she thought! Already she'd become privy to the day's bounty! Glancing to Richard - who rode at her side behind the King - she raised her eyebrows, inclined her head toward the boy before them as if to say "You see that? That's Ned! He's come back from the grave for another day of adoration!"
Richard raised his own eyebrows. "I know!" They said, it was easy to believe, and then they both returned their gazes to the front, riding up the steep hill that led to the cathedral steps where Edward nimbly dismounted. The people followed, clamouring for his attention, not an objecting face in sight. Upon the freshly swept steps he stood, feet apart, shoulders squared, and waved, beaming while his nobles filed inside.
