~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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~The King and The King ~
15th of September 1484....
The camp awoke two thousand stronger than they'd been at sunset. In the midst of the small hours the Duke of Buckingham had scurried across the battlefield and up the bank with his troops, immediately hurrying into Edward's tent and falling to his knees before the boy, pledging allegiance and begging forgiveness.
Of course Edward had given it, he couldn't deny such a force for his cause and when Arthur saw then men he'd thought his own standing side by side with the true king's, in the vanguard no less, he knew he'd be shaken. He couldn't have wished for a more successful night!
Just before dawn, when the cloak of night covered the earth, tinged with a growing golden glow, the last of the men made it to the bottom of the bank. Formations were made, cannons aligned and banners raised. It would hopefully come as quite the shock to the enemy faction if they had not noticed the movement of almost twenty thousand men and a handful of their commanders.
Constance didn't sleep. She didn't think she would. Instead she listened to Margaret's calm prayers and readings from the Bible then the clanking of armour and blades when the camp awoke. When an orange glow tinged the horizon she finally rose on trembling legs and bade them dress her. She wore the same gown she had on arrival, parti-coloured with the arms of her husband and England.
They braided her hair then wrapped the long plaits around the back of her head, pinning them into place but attended no more to it. She could not bear the fuss of a headdress that day.
"Go, see to your menfolk" She told them for their fears were no less than hers. Their hands trembled as they dressed her and their faces were white as bedsheets. Margaret was somehow even paler than usual!
They curtsied, mumbling their thanks and squeezing her hands before leaving, hurrying into the camp and she did the same.
"Is my lord of Gloucester ready?" She asked the man guarding Richard's tent and he nodded, pulling the leather flaps aside so she could enter.
Alone and dressed in his polished armour, Richard was fiddling with the strap of his gauntlet. He looked up as she entered and in a moment she was in his arms, the sound of clanking metal filling the tent.
"You can't die." She whispered shakily, clutching at his pauldrons "I won't allow you to die." "I won't die, Connie." He murmured and a metal-clad hand cradled the back of her head, cool fingers stroking her hair "Nor will I allow Edward to die. We will win and we will live and you and I will guide him until he is ready to rule."
"You can't die." She whispered again, trembling in his embrace, the same feeling that claimed her before Ned went to battle creeping over her heart. Perhaps this was even worse for her son was there too and she'd never been with Ned only hours before battle; had never seen the men move, watched the enemy awake.
