An Endless Supply Of Rubies

The Definition of Love III

Fanfic: An Endless Supply of Rubies Ch 12, Tudors | FanFiction

7 August 1535

Constance adored John. He was an adorable boy, with his round cheeks and wide smile. While Amelia and Charles were at the dinner for the French Admiral, Constance had been trusted with John. It was late in the evening, and John had been put to bed not long ago. Constance sat by the light of the fire stitching.

Before she had become Amelia's maid, her life had been awful. Maids were neither to be seen nor heard, yet for some reason, someone would always walk in on her right before she left. The other maids had ridiculed her, and the keeper of the house made sure to punish her all the time for her indiscretions.

But then she had met Amelia, who had been kind to her. Amelia did not care if she returned to her bedchamber to find Constance changing the linens or stoking the fire. Instead of scolding her, Amelia struck up conversations. They would discuss life at court, literature, religion, and, of course, the weather.

Constance could hear the two guards posted outside the door laugh. The King himself had placed them there for John's safety. Even though it had been months since the mysterious attack, the King took no chances when it came to his grandson's safety.

The sound outside changed. They began to argue. Constance heard them mention "Amelia," "Boleyn," "heir," "John," and "kill." The last word sent a cold chill down her spine.

Instead of sitting idly, she hurried over to John's crib and quickly woke him. She picked the little boy up in her arms, and he smiled sleepily at her. "Hello little one," she cooed. "You need to be a good boy for me. Do not make a sound until you hear your mother and father, alright?"

The little boy nodded and went back to sleep, burying himself in Constance's arms. The sound of the men arguing outside got louder, and Constance felt more panicked. She hurried over to the wardrobe in the back of the bedchamber and threw open the doors, searching for a place that she could hide John. The trunk in the bottom of the wardrobe contained some of Amelia's half-finished dressed, and she carefully nestled John in them before closing the wardrobe doors and returning to her seat by the fire.

Before she could take another stitch, the door to the chamber burst open, and one of the guards burst in. He was a big, burly man with a long, scruffy beard. His pike had been abandoned in favor of a bloody dagger. Constance peeked around him to see his companion dead on the stone behind him.

Her heart hammered. Was this the assassin? "C-c-can I help you s-s-sir?" she asked, her heart hammering in her chest as her voice wavered.

"Where is the boy?" he asked, his voice low.

"He is not here," she responded, trying to make her voice sound more confident. "His Majesty puts little trust in anyone when it comes to his son. I believe he is with the Lady Latimer tonight." Constance knew full well that the Lady Latimer was, in fact, with the ailing Lord Latimer, far from London.

"I think you're lying, Miss," the man responded.

"What do I have to gain from lying, sir?" she asked in response.

Apparently, the answer didn't suffice. Even with her eyes trained on the dagger the whole time, she didn't see it coming.

The feast looked simply fantastic. Amelia was glad that she was back at court. The two weeks she had spent at Westhorpe were wonderful, but a little stressful. She had made friends with Monsieur Gontier, and had learned of his own wife and children that he missed when he travelled with the Admiral.

There had been great stress as well. Every time she had seen Mademoiselle Germaine, her eyes had been on Charles. Charles had never returned her looks up until the day after his ride with the Admiral, which was shortly before they were to bring the French party to court.