The year is 1464.
The War of the Roses rages on; a great showdown between Lancaster and York.
Yet, asleep in her bed, fiery-haired Melissa Woodville dreams of splintered shields, broken swords, and the resounding screams of wounded men in the Battle...
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HE WAS BEAUTIFUL, her son. She had taken one look at him, and she was immediately captivated. From the moment her sister, Mary had placed him in her arms, Melissa had felt this all-encompassing love, the feeling that she would do absolutely anything to protect this pure, innocent bundle she had carried for nine months. Her son ... her little boy.
His skin, that which she now caressed with a mother's tender care, was pale; soft and downy. His cheeks were the color of pink roses, delicate eyelids closed over orbs that she had yet to discern the color of. Wisps of auburn hair dusted his head; darker than her own, yet not quite the black coal shade of his father's. His button nose, his sweet little lips ... everything about him was perfect.
"Hello, my sweet boy," she cooed into his ear, cradling the small, wrapped bundle in the crook of her arm. "I am your lady mother, and I vow to love you forever and always."
"How perfect is he?" Richard's eldest sister, Anne remarked, a tender look splayed across her face.
Bess hummed in agreement as Duchess Cecily came to a halt in front of them, a prideful smile covering her lips. "Our first York prince," she beamed. "And what a prince he is."
Melissa had no trouble tuning them out, her main focus being the baby in her arms. He opened his mouth, then, widening into a sweet little yawn, and she could not help but laugh. Truly, he was too precious.
The door to the chambers swung open, and the Duchess of Gloucester could hear her husband voicing his protests, almost fighting to get in, but the midwives would not let him. Richard's own brothers, Edward and George were holding him back as well, and in the face of so much opposition, the duke really held no hope in seeing his wife until the birthing chambers had been rid of the bloodied sheets, sweat-soaked rags, and his duchess bathed and newly perfumed. In his place, the queen and Baroness Rivers entered.
