The Forgotten Rose {COMPLETED}

Part I: Chapter Nine - The Princess Maid

Richard,

I shall wait for you Richard. My sister's ladies are watching me so be careful, I think they fear I am plotting something. Or George does and they are his spies. Wait until they see what we shall do. Do write to me soon. I look forward to our next meeting.

Anne.

Anne scrawled her named onto the parchment before folding it over and sealing it with wax. Her stamp imprinted her initials onto the wax as well as the Neville shield. She placed the letter on her dinner plate which she had managed to clean of its contents. She had never thought waiting could tire her so much. Her eyes were still in a deep darkness, she was not away from her past yet. She was still prisoner of her sister and forgotten by the royal court of King Edward. Still her hands shook as they had when she left the battlefield which killed her first husband.

Already she had become hardened like Margaret of Anjou, the woman who had gambled her future and had lost, falling so far that she was locked away in the tower. Sharing the same apartments her recently deceased husband had lived in. That was York's torture for Margaret. She would remember what she had lost: a husband and a son as well as the trust of her men. She would never rise again.

Anne gazed around the lush chambers in which she now spent her days, the window shutters were pulled back and let in radiant beams of the evening sun. Spring had truly settled in London, all were out basking in its light; all that is other than Anne Neville.

The door opened and Anne's gaze instantly fell on the hooded figure that entered and bowed to her.

"Lady Anne," she recognised the voice in an instant, though it was a little deeper than when she had last heard it was unmistakably Francis Lovell. He was once ward to her father just like Richard. Anne remained where she was for a moment until the door was shut behind him, then she stood. Staying where she was just in case she was mistaken.

"Francis?" Anne dared to step a little closer.

"Yes," Francis replied he too came closer until there was little more than a foot between them. Anne puled him into an embrace and rested her head on his chest. She had missed him dearly it had been too long since they had last spoken, far too long.

"You have grown, little Anne," Francis said pulling away from the embrace.

"As have you," Anne said her cheeks flushed red. Francis finally took the opportunity to pull back his hood to reveal his dark brown eyes and long, narrow face that was even paler than Anne - though it was not because he was sickly Anne could not remember Francis ever falling ill as a boy. He must have been eighteen now. Anne had so many questions to ask, had he a son? Was his marriage happy? How was his wife keeping? Did he truly believe Richard wanted to marry Anne?

"You were hurt," Anne brushed her hand over the scar on Francis's cheek.

"But I am here, living and breathing - talking to you," Francis placed his hand on top of Anne's, "too many are not. We are both lucky."

"Indeed," Anne looked to the ground as she thought of her Prince Edward, he should have been saying that. 'Only a scratch I'm fine,' he would have shrugged it off and kept on fighting. 

"I am sorry for your loss," Francis said and moved Anne's hand from his cheek. He kissed her forehead, and pulled her back into an embrace, "it will be good soon. Everything will be better. You shall have Richard, he will protect you as will I."

"Thank you," Anne said with a little sob, she didn't want to be like this in front of Francis, but at the same time she knew he could not tell anyone what she did. He was on her side, like the big brother she never had. He would protect her just like Richard would, from George and Isabelle and all those who wished her ill.