LOVE DAY
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March, 1458
It took Grace FitzRoy exactly two days to understand how she felt. It wasn't one specific sensation, like when one would cry because they scraped their knee or laugh when they saw something funny. It was a mixture of things, of disbelief and anger and the slightest tinge of betrayal. But there was also resignation, because even at the age of eight she understood that she couldn't escape this. The Duke of York was already waiting in the courtyard to take her away. A peace offering, Grace's father had said, though she was not sure how a bastard daughter could be a compromise. She was not fit to marry any of the Duke's sons, and even through her noble blood, the 'unholy' union of her mother and father would always taint her. A bastard was a sin, a mistake, but for some reason the Duke had accepted her as his ward.
Grace wished he hadn't.
She stood still, staring into the mirror as her mother tied up the laces of her gown. She used harsh tugs, perhaps one last way of displaying her anger before she had to put on a mask and pretend she was perfectly fine with this. Grace's body jolted forward with each and every one, but she bit her tongue instead of saying anything and braced herself for the force of the next one.
Katherine Howard was normally a gentle and kind woman. She could take any amount of insults and betrayals thrown her way with the grace of a swan and not show the slightest amount of anger. But this she could not take. Grace was her only daughter. Her only child that had lived. From a total of six pregnancies, only one had lasted long enough for the babe inside of her womb to survive childbirth. Four miscarriages and one stillbirth was what the other five pregnancies had given her.
Her only child, and her only family. Katherine's father had been quick to discard her when he learned of her affair with the King, perhaps one of the only men in the entire realm that would not use that to his advantage. Perhaps because there was not much to take advantage of. Not with Henry's constant manic and depressive episodes where he could not rule and power fell to his wife, Margaret of Anjou, instead. That woman could not be so easily manipulated, and besides, Katherine's father had hoped to marry her off to a foreign duke to gain power for himself.
Her mother was long dead, succumbed to the horrors of childbirth and her siblings had been too young to make up their own mind – Katherine being the eldest of the four of them. That had left her completely alone, but it had not mattered much when she had been able to enjoy moments with Henry. The moments where he had not been out of his own mind. And when he was in those episodes, Margaret of Anjou had not hesitated to take Katherine in. For what reason, Katherine would never understand, but she was grateful.
Now she would be alone once more. Her daughter dragged off to Ludlow Castle where the Duke of York currently resided. The reality of the situation was all too real. Grace would not truly be a ward. She'd be a prisoner.
One last harsh tug, and the gown was fully laced up.
Grace had always had trouble deciphering how her mother felt, every frustration easily hidden by a mask of cold indifference. Now, she could finally see some kind of emotion from her mother. The heavy rise and fall of her chest accompanied by her rigid shoulders were telltale signs of anger, and that was far more than she usually showed at all. Her mother must've been very angry to lose herself in such a way. And then she saw the single tear that ran down her mother's pearlescent face in the reflection of the mirror.
That made Grace uneasy. If her mother was crying, something was definitely wrong. Swallowing her feelings of angst, she turned around to face her mother. And truly, she was crying, though she tried to wipe it away before Grace saw. Too late, she thought, but she wouldn't tell that to her mother.
Katherine looked over her daughter. Slowly, she reached out and fixed the slightly offset necklace so it was perfectly centered between her collarbones. The ruby encrusted in gold sparkled even in the dim light of March. Then, Katherine gave Grace a smile, and it was perhaps the least convincing facade her mother had ever worn.
"Your father and the Duke are waiting," Katherine sighed, turning towards the door. Grace took her mother's hand as they walked down the halls of the palace, passersby turning to look at them. There was not much pity in those gazes, but some of them still looked a little disturbed. The King was giving away his only daughter. To the enemy at that. Even if they looked down at Grace herself for her status as a bastard, she was still a child, and a child needed protection.
When Grace stepped outside, she swore the smallest bit of weight got lifted off of her shoulders. She had imagined the Duke of York as a tall, overly muscular man that had monstrous tentacles coming out of his ears and nose, sharp long fangs instead of teeth and claws of a bear that could tear her apart. What any eight-year-old would think of when told about their enemy. But the Duke was the complete opposite. Yes, he was tall—slightly taller than her father— and yes, he was muscular, but it was the kind of muscle any man who rode horses, shot bows, and fought in wars would have. His face had a few wrinkles and scars – scars he must've gotten in battle – but they were already fading.
The man looked stern, but he certainly didn't look as though he would snap her spine in half. And for that Grace was glad.
"Here she is, my beautiful daughter Grace," King Henry said as he looked in the direction of his mistress and their daughter. He smiled pleasantly at them. He reached his hand out, helping Grace down the steps and towards the Duke.
"Your grace," she said as she curtsied as elegantly as she could. She did not wish to make the Duke angry. His pale blue eyes raked over her, scouring every inch of her body as if looking for something. And then he looked away, and Grace was left staring at the side of his pale face. Relief flooded through her, though she was still a little on edge. The Duke's black hair swayed as he jerked his head towards the carriage that was waiting for Grace.
"Let us go," he commanded as he swiftly turned and walked to his horse, mounting it without even checking if Grace was following. The girl turned to her mother. Katherine's eyes were once again filled with tears, though they did not fall this time. She leaned down and pressed a kiss to Grace's forehead. When she pulled away, she tried to give her daughter a smile. If it was meant to be comforting, then it had the opposite effect. Katherine looked like she was about to walk to her own execution.
"You are the daughter of the King of England. Don't let anyone treat you otherwise," she muttered into Grace's ear, making sure Henry didn't hear. And then she quickly stepped back, smoothing out her skirt and quickly wiping her eyes. Don't let anyone treat you otherwise, Grace had to wonder how the Duke would treat her when they reached his residence at Ludlow Castle. Despite her having the blood of the King circulating in her veins, she was still viewed as lesser than even a lowborn knight at times. Grace sometimes wondered if she had been born a boy, would the nobles of her father's court not sneer at her as much as they did now.
She hoped that someday they would stop, that some day she would either have enough station or wealth to make them look at her with respect, but she doubted that would happen. If she ever did get married, she would be only another thing to make her husband appear more appealing, nothing more. It was the duty of wives, it seemed, to stand back as men take all the glory, while women themselves succumb to horrible and painful death on the childbed. Grace's own grandmother had died that way before Grace was even born, and so she sometimes had to wonder if she herself would end up in the clutches of death upon the childbed.
Next, Henry stepped forward, only pressing a quick kiss to the top of Grace's head and patting her shoulder before he also stepped back. She had wished for a better goodbye, but her father was often detached from the world around him, and by extension had trouble communicating with people as well. Apparently, she was no exception. How he ever managed to charm her mother was beyond her, but she could only hope that he had been far more outgoing than he was now.
Grace visibly gulped as she picked up her skirt slightly to step into the carriage. None of the ladies that usually attended her were coming with her. It was obvious no one wanted to. They would rather try their hand at getting into the Queen's service, and if they failed at that, they would try and convince another high-standing noblewoman to take them in. Them attending Grace was only them following orders.
As Grace lowered herself into her seat, she got the sudden urge to sprint out of the carriage and back into her mother's arms. Instead of giving in, she curled her fingers into the fabric of her dark red gown and grit her teeth. She had to be strong. She could not let her father down. If this was what her use was, she had to accept it.
The carriage spurted forward with a jolt and Grace quickly pulled back the curtain that covered the small windows so she could look out of them. She watched as her father tried to grab ahold of her mother's hand, only for her to promptly snatch it back. Grace's heart ached as she watched her mother sneer at her father, before she turned on her heels and stomped back up the stairs. There, the Queen waited for her, and from the distance Grace could make out a sympathetic look on her stepmothers face.
Grace lifted up her hand, waving slightly. She had not expected Margaret of Anjou to see the gesture, but the woman smiled at her and waved back. After that, the carriage rode out of the gate and Grace could not see them anymore.
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The air inside the carriage was cold, biting at her skin like a thousand tiny needles. She was utterly freezing, but too afraid to tell anyone. They had been riding for a few were now and the weather had drastically changed. She wasn't allowed to open her luggage, upon the command of the Duke. He claimed it would take too long to repack. And so Grace didn't ask for a blanket, nor a cloak. She had also been wearing the same gown for two weeks before the Duke had allowed her to open her luggage – when they stopped at an inn and he had deemed they had enough time for her to do so. Since then she had once more had to wear only one gown, but she had no courage to complain.
She had to wonder if the Duke's strictness came from the wars he was a part of, if somewhere along the line he became more of a soldier than a duke, or if he was just always like that.
As they passed through the last of the trees – large oaks grasping up into the air – and the shape of Ludlow Castle came into sight. It was rather large, even from this far away, the stones that made up the entire castle nothing more than a smudge on the horizon from where she currently was. Despite that, it was fast approaching, and Grace was not entirely prepared for how fast they would pass through the town beneath the castle and through the gate. When the carriage came to a sudden, jerking halt, she realized how truly terrified she was. The Duke had many children, and from what Grace had heard of his wife she was a proud and stubborn woman. Proud Cis, she had heard her mother say once, and she thought that was a telling enough nickname. Even through her temper, she was still known as a pious woman, and Grace hoped that same piety would make the woman see her as an honored guest and not a prisoner of war.
She waited for someone to open the door and when they finally did she stepped outside. She immediately shivered as a gust of cold wind hit her. Despite her fear, she really could not wait to get inside. Her nails dug into her palm as she tried to keep herself from shivering, from showing weakness. Carefully, she stepped out of the carriage, accepting the offered hand of the Duke as she did so. His leather gloves glided seamlessly over her skin, and she felt a quick pang of envy for his warm clothes.
Immediately, she felt many pairs of eyes on her. Straightening her back into the same posture that had been forced down her throat since she was old enough to understand etiquette, she walked towards the group of people that was waiting just beneath the stairs to the castle entrance.
She recognized Duchess Cecily – the Duke's wife and the woman he loved, if the gossiping of young ladies was anything to go by – almost instantly. Most of her hair was hidden beneath a hennin, but a few strand fell out over her face. Barely noticeable, but still Grace took note of the beautiful brown color embalmed with gold that it bore. It had once been flaxen, she could tell, darkened with age. Eyes like those of a calculating wolf stared directly at Grace, and she had to forced herself to not cower in the face of the Duchess' stare. She was dressed almost as richly as her stepmother did, heavy green velvet with golden embroidery and even more golden jewels that hung from her neck, wrists and ears.
When the woman's stare got a bit too much to keep up with, Grace let her eyes wander down the line of people. To the right of the Duchess stood two boys, both taller than their mother, as well as their father. The first one took the lead with a little over two inches, but that could've just been the volume of his beautiful flaxen curls. The same color his mother's once was, Grace imagined as his dancing blue eyes met hers. The boy – Edward, she thought his name was – gave her a charming and welcoming grin.
His younger brother, while in similar stature to Edward, looked completely different in everything else. Rather straight locks of ebony hair fell into his forehead, covering his pale face and matching so well with his umber-gold eyes. He did not smile like his brother did, but he also did not appear threatening like his mother. Instead, a calmness radiated off of him, akin to a gentle breeze blowing through the night as the world slept.
Next there was a girl who looked slightly older than Grace herself. Her brown curls bounced along her shoulders, wild despite the obvious attempt the keep them under control. Grace's hair had been like that once, when she was much younger. The large coil of it had loosened into the elegant waves that it settled in today. She missed her curls profusely, and her mother would always smiled at her when she talked about it.
Next to the girl stood a boy Grace definitely knew was her age. His lower lip stuck out in an obvious pout, but he was quick to hide it when he noticed her looking at him. Soon they were pulled into a sneer as his umber eyes raked up and down her body. His brown hair was the same as his sister's, though it was not held in curls like her was. He looked like he was in the middle of his growth spurt, taller than Grace but shorter than his sister by an inch or two. He crossed his arms over his chest and stuck his chin up slightly.
Grace hated the way he looked at her. As if she was lesser than a common thief or the dirt on his shoes. How he had come to hate her so openly, she would never know, but made her want to run and hide somewhere, preferably in her mother's arms.
You are the daughter of the King of England, you will not be belittled by some boy, she told herself instead, raising her chin just as he did, though far more gracefully. She hoped she exuded the regality that coursed in her veins, but even if she simply appeared better and more mature than this boy in front of her, she would count it as a win.
It was as if her mother was right behind her, chuckling her acknowledgement and support of her actions into her ear. Katherine would've humbled the boy quicker than God himself would have the capability of doing. The image was so funny in her mind, she had trouble toning down the smile that pulled at her lips. Instead of openly laughing in the boy's face – the mere thought of him cowering before her mother could entertain thousands, she ventured – she picked up her skirts and curtsied. As elegantly as she could, and she thought it was much better than the one she had preformed before the Duke the day he had taken her away.
"May I introduce the Lady Grace Fitzroy – the King's daughter – and now, my ward," the Duke introduced her to his family. All of his children bowed or curtsied – some with more enthusiasm than others – while his wife merely dipped her head.
Grace nodded back at her, contemplating curtsying once more simply because of the Duchess' presence. When the Duchess smiled at her, however, Grace was stopped in her tracks. The show of happiness seemed a little genuine, though she was still thoroughly certain that some of it was a mere act. Despite that, it made Grace a little less afraid.
"Lady Grace, welcome to Ludlow castle. Let me introduce my children," she spoke up, her voice laced with so much regality that Grace could only dream of achieving anything close to it. She gestured to the two boys beside her with a wide sweeping motion. "These are my two eldest sons, Edward and Edmund." Then towards the girl. "My daughter, Margaret."
Grace smiled at each of them, and they all did the same in return. Edward seemed the most confident out of all them, smiling as if he had no care in the world but also knew he was better than almost everyone else. Grace could already imagine him as the next Duke of York, adorned in so many riches that he put the sun itself to shame.
"And these are my two youngest sons, George," the boy that had sneered at her smiled, though it was dripping with poison. Grace quickly looked away. She watched as another boy – whom she hadn't noticed before – stepped out from behind his mother. He looked just like his father, with black hair and blue eyes. "and Richard."
Grace grinned at the young boy, suddenly reminded of her own half-brother, before looking back at the Duke, unsure of what she was supposed to do now. Once more she thought about curtsying, but it did not seem like anyone was looking at her with any expectations. Perhaps she should thank the Duchess for her hospitality, she thought, but before she could even open her mouth to speak, a strong gust of wind blew through the courtyard of the castle.
The cold talons of it raked at Grace's exposed skin, and she felt like she was truly going to die if she did not get inside right that moment. The feeling in her nose and ears was long gone, replaced by a dull numbness that was telling enough of her predicament.
"My god Richard, the poor girl is probably freezing to death!" The Duchess turned to her husband, a disapproving look on her face. The Duke looked like he could care less, but apologized off-handedly nonetheless. "Come, my dear, let's get you inside."
Grace nodded her head, quickly following after the Duchess. Just as she was entering the warm, welcoming embrace of a heated interior, she felt a harsh glare at the back of her head. When she looked over her shoulder, she noticed the second youngest son of the Duchess glaring at her.
George Plantagenet was looking at her as if she was the cause of all of his ire, as if she was the devil himself. As quickly as she turned to look at him, she disappeared behind the door.
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Author's Note
Hello my lovelies and welcome the first chamber of the slightly revamped Queen's Poison! I was bored last week and I ended up trying to make a banner for this story so here you can see that, idk how well it turned out but I thought I could show you regardless: