~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 Aftermath of Victory~
The enemy was routed after their leader's death, their ranks breaking, scattering like dropped marbles. They were chased and slaughtered in the surrounding fields, their dark crimson blood watering the earth, staining every blade of grass. All fighting men were killed and their commander's captured to be hauled before the victor; their fates placed in his young and vengeful hands.
It wasn't long until the Yorkist forces stormed the enemy camp and the scent of blood in the air mingled with that of smoke.
"Edward?" Constance cried, rushing like a madwoman through the swathes of men staggering back up the bank, smiling but injured all the same - tired beyond belief. They laughed while carrying bleeding friends, sang their victory as they dragged themselves away from the field.
She couldn't see Edward.
She'd watched the battle begin, felt the earth shake when the vanguard's stormed upon one another but was soon taken away by her ladies who feared she was on the brink of throwing herself from the cliff to get to her son or they would to find their own. They kept her in her tent for four agonising hours until cries of victory went up and a panting soldier burst through the entrance, falling before her and proclaiming her son's triumph.
"The King? Where is the King?"
No one could give her a consistent answer.
"Routing the enemy!" Shouted some. "With his grace of Gloucester!" Called others. So Richard lived! Relief swelled her heart for a brief moment. "Riding back to Helmsley!" "Retired to his tent!"
The last was the only one she could check in person - though she was more than willing to wade through the blood of the dead - and rushed to his tent, bursting through the entrance red faced and anxious.
No Edward.
She ran to Richard's, her head pounding, heart crying for a moments rest.
No Edward.
She would not give it.
"Neddy? Where are you?"
She then went to George Neville's, he was her son's favourite friend at present and it would not be unusual for the two to be resting together after battle! It was both their first fight, it would be normal for them to seek the other's company! Hoping, praying, she would find her son but her heart dropped low into her stomach as soon as she entered.
No duke. No Edward.
Barely able to breathe, she ran across the camp to her tent, intending to secure her ladies' help (if they were not searching for their own kin) and rushed through the leather flaps only to stop dead in her tracks.
