EDMUND'S WARNING
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June 1460, Westminster
Half a year passed since the Rout of Ludford Bridge and Grace couldn't say she was exactly happy. She was back in London, spending most of her days as she always did – lessons, embroidery, a walk through the garden. It was all incredibly boring, but at the same time she could never truly relax. The threat of a Yorkist attack grew every day. Especially now that the Earl of Warwick was conducting raids on the shores of England and the Duke was said to be returning soon as well.
A few weeks prior, her father and stepmother moved the court to Northampton and she had been left behind. She could not say she minded it though, not when she could barely look her father in the eye and her angry bubbled dangerously whenever she was in the same room as the Queen. The Rout was still on her mind. With the departure of most of the nobles, the palace was awfully quiet. The only company Grace had was her mother, the servants and her own thoughts.
She was currently waiting in the great hall for her mother, swaying on the ball of her heels as she stared at her own hands. She had developed a habit of picking her nails when she was nervous, and she was trying with all her might to stop herself from doing it again. Katherine wanted to introduce her to someone, a son of a high ranking noble that was going to be staying here apparently. But she did not know his name, because her mother had not said.
Golden light flooded into the room, lighting it up brightly. Shadows fell across the floor, leaving illuminated spots in the shape of the windows between them. There were banners that hung around the great hall, all embroidered with red roses. Red like war, red like blood, she reminded herself, pursing her lips in frustration as she looked away from them.
She gazed at the throne that stood upon the dais at the end of the room. She had spent many hours here, sitting on her father's lap even when it was deemed unacceptable for such a thing to be. She was a bastard, and the King's wife always sat beside them. In the eyes of many, it was an insult to the Queen. Whether it ever bothered her stepmother, she never let it be shown and she instead often smiled at Grace and spoke with her kindly. That was before she was hardened by the court, but even then she was only ever kind to her.
So it had made her mind reel when she allowed the Rout to happen, when she stood by and watched her men commit atrocities and steel that which was not theirs. Suddenly, she was no longer the perfect queen to look up to. Even if she saved Lord Warwick's daughter from Henry Percy, even if she was still kind to Grace, even if she did not put the Duchess and George and Marge and the rest of them to the sword.
The large door on the opposite side of the great hall opened and her mother walked in, looking as radiant as ever with her bright red hair and emerald green and gold gown. Shortly after her came a boy, perhaps only a few years older than Grace from the looks of it. He was taller than her by a few inches, but the child-like roundness of his face was still there and obvious. His flaxen hair fell over his face, almost hiding his blue eyes from view. He was dressed richly.
Katherine stopped in front of Grace, smiling as she turned to the boy beside her. "Lord Edward, I would like to introduce you to Lady Grace," she said in a pleasing voice, gesturing over to Grace. Immediately, Grace curtsied, and to her surprise he bowed. It was not uncommon for lords and ladies to simple stare at her with distaste. She may be the King's daughter, but she was a bastard and held no title, heir to nothing and didn't even hold the name Plantagenet. "Lord Edward is the heir of the Duke of Buckingham." There was a meaningful look in her mother's eyes as she dipped her chin slightly and... oh.
So that was why her mother was so adamant on introducing the two of them. An heir of high-ranking title who was her age and did not curl his lips in disgust at her? There was only one thing her mother would want from him. Grace had to fight herself internally to not let her dismay show on her face. She was eleven years old, most definitely not ready for a wedding band to be placed upon her finger.
But at the same time, what other option did she truly have? She was a woman of illegitimate origin. If she ever wanted people to stop scowling at her – even if they still hated her inside – she would have to get a title or her own or she would have to marry. And she wouldn't be getting a title of her own. She was glad, in a way, that her mother was trying already. The sooner she secured a good match, the better she supposed.
"It is a pleasure, my lord," she greeted Edward with as much grace and elegance as she could, lifting her chin slightly – not too much as to appear arrogant, but enough to appear interested, as her mother often did. Edward gave her a pleasant smile. Perfect, she realised. He was perfect. From the way he stood to the way his eyes sparkled.
"The pleasure is all mine, Lady Grace." He nodded, his smile seemingly brightened. "I must thank you and your mother for such a warm welcome. I will be staying here in London while my father fights with his men." Why the boy had not stayed at his estates, she did not know, but she did not ask.
"Perhaps my daughter could give you a tour of the palace, Lord Edward? I am afraid I have duties to attend to," Katherine said, playing the part as perfectly as she always did. Just as Grace had suspected, Edward did not doubt a single word she said and quickly agreed with a nod of his head. And with that it seemed it had been decided. The tour, and perhaps even her fate.
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With a whizzing sound, the arrow flew from her bow and embedded itself into the target like a thud. It fell almost to the exact centre, practically a bullseye if one were to squint hard enough. She turned around and smirked at Edward – whom she had begun to call Ned over the course of the past few weeks – and bowed at the waist. He was standing not far from her, leaning against a tree and crossing his arms over his chest. His eyes sparkled with amusement as he watched her.
It had been about three weeks since his arrival in London and Grace had to admit that he was one of the kindest and most charming people she had ever met. They had quickly become friends, courtesy of Katherine constantly finding ways to push them together in hopes her scheming would bear fruit. In the end, Grace supposed it had, but perhaps not in the way her mother had wanted. Edward had taken up a habit of sneaking into her chambers through her window, something her mother would frown upon no doubt if she ever heard of. There was a tree right outside her window, perfectly climbable. And Ned used that to his advantage.
She did not know why he did it, perhaps only for the thrill it brought to do something that was practically against the rules.
"I told you I'd win again," Grace told him, running a finger over the bowstring as she looked back at the target. Her almost bullseye was much better than Ned's arrow, which had only hit the outer ring. That had been an accident, no doubt, since the rounds of archery they had done before were almost always a tie, with Grace claiming she had won simply because the hole her arrowhead had caused was closer to the centre by the smallest margin. Ned only hummed at her words, the blue of his eyes a little hazy. Her face dropped. He hadn't even been paying attention. Still wasn't, it seemed. She walked over and kicked him lightly in the shin. "What are you thinking about?"
A grin found its way onto his face. "Just what I'll sneak out of the kitchen later," Edward answered with a teasing tone. "Perhaps I won't bring you anything this time! As you have not even tried to preserve my dignity." He wildly gestured at the target. Grace rolled her eyes, but could not help and smile back at him. The ongoing tradition of him climbing through her window was almost always accompanied by sweets, of course, because what else would they do?
She was about to ask for another round, suggest that this time she may let him win if he managed to nab her favourite caramels from Brittany, when her mother's voice carried over the gardens and towards them. Both Grace and Edward turned to look at her, squinting their eyes against the summer sun. She was calling to Grace, and even from a distance she could tell that something was wrong. Her mother's hand was curled roughly around a piece of parchment, perhaps a letter. Most definitely a letter.
As Grace and Edward approached, it became more and more apparent that her mother was worried about something. For a moment, fear seized Grace around the heart like a cold hand. What if something had happened? What if there was a battle and they lost? What if her father was lost, captured or worse, dead. She quickly batted those thoughts from her mind. She would not worry until she had a cause to worry.
Katherine's face was tight, but it did not show her emotions too readily. Edward was still in their presence, after all, and it would only do harm if he suspected something had gotten terribly awry.
"I apologise, Lord Edward, but I am afraid I must speak to my daughter alone," she told him before turning her head towards Grace. "Come dear, there is an urgent matter at hand. It is best if we speak inside." She turned around before Grace could argue or ask anything. There was no point really, and so Grace curtsied swiftly to Edward – despite there truly not being need of it, but she never knew who was watching – and scurried after her mother.
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They had been sitting in her mother's sitting room for hours now, so long that the sun had disappeared from the sky and was replaced by a thousand glittering diamonds on a black canvas. The fire in the hearth was burning brightly, tendrils of flame whipping and twisting back and forth with every crackling of the wood. Bright light was emanating from it, and Grace sat right at the centre of that ball of warmth. The fire was so close to her that it was burning her skin, but still far away enough that it did not cause any real damage.
The letter her mother had been carrying was placed on her lap. Despite it being only paper, it felt as heavy as iron. Perhaps it was the words written on it with a hasty hand, barely readable but still there. Her eyes had already lines multiple times, chasing a meaning that wasn't there simply because she did not want to accept what was.
She had not recognised Edmund's hand when her mother had given the letter to her, knowing it was him that had written it only after he had signed his name at the bottom. The letter was not even addressed to Grace herself, and perhaps she might have been offended that he was writing to her mother instead of her if his words were not as drastic as they were.
To the honourable Lady Katherine. It read, and Grace had watched her mother's lips curl as she read the words honourable. Perhaps she thought Edmund was making fun of her, as many people did, but Grace knew he truly meant it. It was in his nature to be kind and gentle and calm in all he does, and she often thought there was nothing that could ever force him to make a rash decision.
Grace scanned the lines hastily one again, skipping over a few sentences she did not find important. I risk a great deal writing to you.... my father plans to attack soon... wants to land in Kent... head to London... Salisbury is convinced you and your daughter are a threat... wants to capture and execute you... father is unsure... may agree... flee as soon as you can.
All over again, tears gathered in Grace's eyes, and they slowly leaked onto her cheek. She inhaled shakily as she wiped them away. She had cried enough, had felt bad about herself enough. It was only a matter of time until the Earl of Salisbury would want revenge for his granddaughter, he supposed. Grace was a little surprised that it was not Lord Warwick himself that had suggested her head being separated from her body. She wondered if they knew of the horrors that had befallen sweet Cecily Neville.
That was not what had hurt her. She was not afraid. Or perhaps she was, but it was nothing to the burning feeling in her lungs as she read over the sentence that claimed the Duke of York may actually agree to her execution. He had been kind enough during her stay at Ludlow and she had thought... had believed... it did not really matter now.
Her mother had already packed necessities, had gathered enough soldiers and servants to accompany them to a safer location. She was tossing the last of their things into a small chest now. Enough clothing for a journey to Wales. They would be going a long way, but there was no safer place than with her Uncle Jasper. Her uncle lived in Pembroke Castle with her cousin, Henry, and had yet to join the fighting. They could make it in time for him to still be there, and if they did not, they would simply meet his army and then travel to Pembroke from there.
"Mother?" Grace called into the emptiness that was the darkness of the sitting room. The space was so wide yet so empty without any servants or ladies bustling around. There was a paused in the sound of her mother's movement, and Grace knew her mother was looking at her. She was worried about her, constantly offering small pleasantries like pastries, pies and those caramels from Brittany she loved so much.
"Yes, darling?" she finally voiced when she realised Grace would not continued without an answer. Grace's eyes fluttered closed, the last of her tears falling down her cheek and onto the paper.
"Do you think the Duke would truly hurt me?" she asked, ignoring the way her voice wavered and cracked. She should not be as hurt about it as she was. The Duke had taken her as his ward practically unwillingly. She was the compensation for his cousin being taken. Grace had asked Marge once why it had not been her that had been taken in exchange for Grace, and the girl had frowned and said: because my father and mother would rather die than allow me or my siblings to come to any harm. Grace had swallowed thickly and looked away. And now she wondered why she had ever thought that perhaps over the year she was there living under the same roof as him, he had grown that close with her. It was a child's dream, a girl's illusion of the world. She knew that. Wanted to tear those thought from her head. The Duke was not her father, was not her friend, and only knew her for a year.
"I do not know," her mother answered, the sound of her footsteps echoing through the room as she walked towards Grace. A hand was placed on her shoulder, and then her mother was kneeling beside her. With nimble fingers, she pushed a stray lock of Grace's hair behind her ear. "But for our sake, it is best to assume he would. Never allow your life to fall into the hands of fate." Their lives were always in the hands of fate, Grace wanted to argue, clutching the small cross that hung around her neck. Everyone had their own destiny. Her mother had long stopped believing in such things though, and perhaps that was a good thing. Perhaps her mother's cautiousness was the reason that fate did not turn against them, why Grace was still breathing and living. Perhaps it was why she would continue to breathe and live. "Your uncle will protect us, Grace. Do not worry."
Grace knew it to be true.
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