𝗤𝗨𝗘𝗘𝗡'𝗦 𝗣𝗢𝗜𝗦𝗢𝗡 || 𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗪𝗵𝗶𝘁𝗲 𝗤𝘂𝗲𝗲𝗻

9

Slight guilt ate away at Grace. She knew why Cecily was uncomfortable around them all. It was not because she was an awkward little girl with strangers, though that might've been just another reason for her distancing herself. It was because horrible things had been done to her. Things Grace did not even wish to imagine. Her mother had looked sickly green whenever speaking of the girl's captivity. She had never told Grace what had truly happened and she didn't think Cecily would ever be comfortable enough to open up to her. Not that Grace could blame her.

It had taken weeks for her to grow comfortable around the Duke of York's family, longer still to actually befriend them. And she had been handled with care. Certainly, not the way Cecily had.

A heavy sigh left her as she walked through the garden. A heavy feeling weighed down on her chest. It had not left her since the moment she woke up that morning. The similarity between this and the dread she felt before the Rout at Ludford Bridge did not escape her. Those hours spent staring out of the window, expecting the red banners of Lancaster to appear at any moment.  She hated that feeling. It was a warning sign that something horrible was going to happen. She tried to shake that feeling away, but a thought kept on sneaking its way back inside her mind. Last time, it did, it screamed at her.

Memories of the blood-soaked streets, the organs spilt on the floor, and the screams of innocent people pushed themselves into her consciousness. Grace had been so numb for days after that day. Utterly disarmed by the realisation that her own stepmother could order such atrocities. The woman she had looked up to and thought of as a woman of strength. A pillar of virtue that she could trust. That was no longer the case. Grace could no longer pray at Margaret of Anjou's altar without her stomach twisting.

A gentle breeze pressed softly into her. It was such a stark contrast to harsh and cruel thoughts inside her head that she was torn out of them for a moment. That did not last long, however, and her mind almost instantly drifted to a much more horrible realisation.

The Lancastrian and Yorkist forces would soon clash at Wakefield. It was written in the missive that Uncle Jasper received just a few days prior. She wasn't supposed to know of any troop movements, but she had snuck into Jasper's office late at night. When the rider arrived early in the morning, it hadn't left her alone. She knew that whatever was in the letter could be nothing. But it also could be important, and so she had crept from her bed when everyone else was asleep.

Her chest tightened painfully. York had nine thousand men with them. Lancaster had two times that number. The Yorks wouldn't win that fight. Not even if God smiled upon them. Grace knew that she should be happy about that. Her family would win! It would be another step closer to ending the war. But Edmund was with the Yorkist troops. He would be caught in the crossfire.

Grace might've been young, but she knew what happened to prisoners of war. It was either the cell or the axe. Neither of them were good choices. Certainly not for the son of the Duke of York. If he didn't die during the battle, only torment could await him afterwards.

It wasn't fair. How come the first true friends she had ever made in her life stood on the opposite side of the war? It had to be some cruel joke from God. Was she truly so terrible – so despicable – that she couldn't have anything good in her life? A broken family, a dirtied name, traitors for friends.

Edmund and his father would most likely perish in the next few days. She doubted she would ever see them again. What she wouldn't do to see the Duke of York's harsh and cold eyes again. Even for a moment, so she could remember the man that had taken her in so kindly even when she was the enemy's daughter. He had been withdrawn and distant from her, but he had still been kind.

Neither he nor his son would receive proper burials. No traitors ever did. Their bodies would be put on display for everyone to see. Left to rot in the sun until they were unrecognizable.