Winter's Consort

Chapter One

Elizabeth twisted and turned as she slept. Her head pounded from bad dreams and her eyes did not want to open. She did not wish to discover the fate which would await her when she did awake.

She saw them all. Both sides the two armies fighting for her brother's crown. Men running at each other, swords in the air, screaming and dying. Her uncle King Richard and her betrothed, Henry Tudor, fighting for the throne of England. Her fate was being chosen by men once more. She would be queen, of either England or Portugal. Whatever the outcome of the battle, somehow, she would be a Queen. Married to Tudor, or a Portuguese prince, rumours of marriage to her uncle still seemed to be stirring. No matter what they said, a crown would still fall upon her head just as it had her mothers.

But I will be a queen. Who doesn't wish to be queen? Elizabeth told herself even that thought wasn't enough to put the young woman to peace. She just wanted it over, she wanted the war done.

That night saw her dear sister, Mary and her two sweet little brothers, those who had passed before their time. Her father and her uncle George, those who had caused this day to come. It was always the sons of York, and now the final son rode to battle. If he fell perhaps there would never be another war.

Her life hung in the balance. She was waiting for one man to defeat his enemy.

Who would win? That she could not say. She did not feel certain of who she wanted to win. A Lancastrian usurper of a bastard line, or the man who killed her two little brothers. In that moment Elizabeth could not stand the thought of marrying. Not even Manuel of Portugal who resided hundreds of miles away in a distant land and free from the Cousins War. Free from England's rivalry with itself pushing and pulling to find a King to suit them. A good king, a just king who would let the high lords do as they pleased. Pushing daughters, little girls into their paths and Elizabeth was the daughter at the centre of the war. Her mother's plots had made this battle. Her mother's plots would end Elizabeth's line.

Yet, Elizabeth, once so willing to be sold to France, did not want to live out her life like her aunt, Anne Neville, as the pawn in a mans game. She wanted to rule herself, but who would allow her to do that? Her mother certainly wouldn't and at battles end she would be the king's property, whoever he may be, not her mothers.

What life was that? All she wanted was her mother, her sisters and herself to find safety somewhere; somewhere that all the politics that surrounded them meant nothing. A place where they would live free of Kings and their crowns. But that would never happen.

And Elizabeth wanted to be with her mother when she heard the news, not miles away without a word. She wanted to hold her mother, weep if she needed, as she learnt which man had become her new master.

"Bess." Cecily nudged Elizabeth awake from her restless sleep. "Wake up." Cecily's hair curled over her shoulder and over her chest, the plait still perfectly in place. In the dim light the two sisters could have both shared Cecily's light grey eyes and dark hair. All the gold had dulled out from Elizabeth's long plait, the gold that her uncle said became her.

"Cecily? Has news come of uncle Richard?" Elizabeth's eyes were clouded by sleep. She looked to Cecily who broke a weak smile through her tired eyes. Elizabeth assumed that was more from tears than sleep, Cecily must have been widowed in the battle. It was a shame, Cecily was still young, she might have married him quite happily had he lived. Elizabeth stared at her sister through the haze for a moment before she rubbed it away to see her mother stood at the foot of my bed. She pulled the bed sheets up around her to cover herself from the sudden cold which filled the room. "Who has won? Mother, who has won?"

Uncle Richard. Tudor. Stanley. Beaufort. Who lived out the battle, who wore the broken crown upon their head now; moreover, Who would decide Elizabeth's fate?

"Tudor." Her mother spoke like she was a ghost, her voice slow and shaking. Her face, white and her eyes had faded to grey, lost in sorrow. But she was a ghost, she was not there with her daughters not truly, yet she seemed so real. Her husband and her princes were dead. No hope was left for Elizabeth's mother, the Dowager Queen, Dame Grey, not unless she sided with her enemy. But who was her enemy, Elizabeth's enemy? King Richard who stole the throne and killed her sons, Elizabeth's sweet little brothers, or Tudor, a man who had ended the line of her House? "Tudor has won the battle." She choked.

"King Richard? He is dead?" Elizabeth said in shock. It was those words that sealed her fate as well as actions of the men on the battlefield. She was not to be Queen of Portugal, she would never even meet Manuel. Only Henry Tudor. She was to be Queen of England. "I am to marry Tudor?" She stammered as Cecily placed her arm around Elizabeth's shoulder. Elizabeth nuzzled her head into her younger sisters shoulder for a moment, sobbing a few light tears before looking up at her mother. Her uncle had always been kind to her, even if not her brothers, he was kind to her. He loved her. What if Tudor did not? What if he cast her away? "I do not want to marry Tudor." She stated sitting up from her sisters shoulder. "I can't." She protested holding onto her sisters hand tightly as a final tear fell from her blue eyes. "I don't want to marry him, mother."

Elizabeth wanted to run from England, and never have to look upon her uncles murderer, the usurper but he held her destiny, her queenship. She would only be queen if she married him now. She had been a princess of the house of York, then a bastard daughter of a shamed king she had run long enough from the crown. She needed safety, and she supposed that Henry Tudor would be the only man who could truly give her that.

"But you shall." Her mother went to her side and held her hand. "I know that, my dearest Bess, I know that you are scared. He is our enemy. But if we want to be looked after, if we don't want to live in shame this is the only way. Think of your sisters, if you do not marry Tudor they shall have no life. And little Bridget, she is only four." She smiled at her daughter trying not to show any more sorrow than she had too. Her hand cupped Elizabeth's face and stroked her pale complexion.

She was sure it was a dream, and she knew that there had been another to tell her the news, but she wanted her mother there with her. So Elizabeth kept pretending and let her mother speak her final words. "And you, my darling Elizabeth, you shall be Queen of England."