❝you think Achilles was of impressive descent?
touch me one more time❞
The one where King Edward IV is captivated by Charlotte Neville and their love has far-reaching consequences. For Charlotte had a place in Edward's heart no one could tear her fr...
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November 1461
As the meal comes to an end, the tables are cleared away and singers make their way to a small platform to accompany the bands of music. The Lords and Ladies that have already come to the fledging court make their way onto the dance floor.
Warwick wants more than anything to make his way to his firstborn, for her to inform him of what had happened while he was away negotiating in France, but he sees it will be a futile task. Charlotte is surrounded by a group of women all fawning over her dress and jewels and she is paying attention to each of them. Clever girl, he thinks, for it seems at least one of his daughters had not grown into an empty-headed chit whose only use would be as a broodmare for her husband, once he arranged a match for her.
Charlotte sits for the first two dances, nursing a goblet of wine in her spot at the high table. As the third starts, Warwick watches as men make their way towards her in the hopes of asking for a dance, but George of Clarence sweeps in from nowhere, not bothering to ask as he pulls his daughter onto the dance floor.
"We need to speak to her," Anne hisses, turning to look at him.
"We will," he whispers in return, placing his arm around his wife.
When he turns his eye back to his daughter, Edward has taken his brother's place, spinning Charlotte about the dance floor. Her head is thrown back, her smile bright and her cheeks flushed from heat.
As the dance comes to an end, he watches as Edward pulls Charlotte closer to him, leaning in to whisper something in her ear. She reddens and hides her face in Edward's neck, causing his eyes to narrow. It is highly improper of the both of them to act so much like a couple. The negotiations for Edward to marry one of the French girls were underway and they certainly did not need the French putting up an act of worry for the king's fidelity and as an extension, his own trustworthiness.
And, a voice whispers in his mind again, that does not look like a girl putting up an act. No, it did not. He feared that his faith in his firstborn had been misplaced and she had allowed her feelings to rule her, rather than her wits.
─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────
"Walk with me," the King says quietly that evening after the feast, as people drink and dance around them.
He extends his arm and Charlotte's eyes go around the room, cautious of who's watching, before she relents with a sigh, after seeing her father talking to some other noblemen. She takes his arm, trying to ignore that warmth that immediately spreads through her, and walks with him.
"The celebrations were wonderful, Your Grace," she says eventually. "I hope you've had a good day."
He smiles down at her, softening his expression. "Thank you, Charlotte. I have."
