CECILY
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July 1460,
White Castle, Wales
That day began much differently than Cecily Neville had been used to. Instead of being allowed to sleep in – the servant's pity not at all concealer – she was awoken by a wrinkly hand shaking her body. For a moment, she could not breath as memories of the cell she had been kept in for months crashed into her. He had woken her like this many times, and only pain had followed. But then she had looked upon the old, slightly chubby and aged face of the head maid. Her brown hair was ran through with silver and her eyes looked tired with age, but she was smiling down at Cecily in her usual friendly manner.
"You must wake, my lady," the head maid, Clara, whispered. "They are coming to take you away." And in that moment, the fear was back. Clara did not say who exactly was coming, nor what would happen to her. She probably did not know herself. She had no right to ask the soldiers questions about this matter. Cecily considered rolling over and staying in bed, clawing at the mattress if they tried to pull her out, but Clara had been kind to her throughout the months and Cecily did not want to make things harder for her.
She pushed herself up – arms and body still weak from malnutrition and aching with the ghosts of long healed bruises – and slowly slid out of the bed. Clara gave her a purse-lipped smile. The woman was obviously not happy about this, just as Cecily wasn't. But she did not have a choice. If the command came from the Queen herself, then she had to do it.
The Queen... Cecily could still remember the horror on her face when she had first walked into the cell Henry Percy had kept her in. When she laid her eyes on her skin and bone body, sunken in eyes, blood smeared legs and ripped chemise. Cecily had always heard the woman was cold and unforgiving, but she had not seemed cold when she had wrapped Cecily in her own cloak and taken her to her chambers. When she had stripped her and washed her herself and allowed her to sleep in her bed. The day after that, Henry Percy had lost a hand. His screams and the blood rushing from his severed wrist was the only thing that had allowed Cecily to sleep peacefully at night.
After that the Queen had made sure she was well-fed and resting, and at the end of the month she ordered her brought to White Castle with a few soldiers. That journey had terrified her, but luckily the men stayed far away from her and remained respectful. Perhaps they were god-fearing men, or perhaps they were merely afraid of Margaret of Anjou.
"Clara?" Cecily's voice was soft and weak. Timid, awfully so. A jarring contrast to the strong-willed and at times rude girl she had been before. What would her father say, if she ever saw him again? "Will I be safe?"
It was a stupid question, but she had the need to ask it anyway. Clara had never lied to her, was only ever open and willing with her. When Cecily could not bear to sit alone in a room, reminded far too easily of the darkness of her cell, the older woman had allowed her to sit with her instead. Clara was a healer as well, it seemed, for there were jars on shelves that lined the walls of her small room that smelled of salves and herbs.
"I hope so, my lady." It was the only thing Clara said. The gown she was dressed in was rather dull, but Cecily did not mind. Any gown was good enough for her. She would take a peasant's garb over only just her old dirtied chemise that she had been kept in during her captivity. The gown was a deep plum colour, washed out and dreary, an older style that Cecily's grandmother might have worn in her youth. Her hair was pulled into a basic braids, let down over her shoulder so Cecily could fidget with the ends of it.
After that, she had been fed. Bread and salt and fresh cheese. It was the only thing she had been eating as of late. The only thing her stomach could keep down without her vomiting. It was getting better, though. Clara had said so, and offered her some herbs to calm her volatile belly so she may eat a bit more.
By the time she had finished breaking her fast, she heard the soldiers outside calling for the gate to open, followed by heavy thuds of horse hooves and the crunching of dirt beneath the wheels of a carriage. Cecily swallowed the bile that forced its way up her throat and followed Clara out of the room. She took the offered hand of the woman, allowing her to squeeze her bony fingers in her own plump ones as she let her outside.
The day was bright and hot, the summer sun beating down on her the moment she stepped out of the castle. The walls surrounding the courtyard were old, crumbled and unused. A fortress inconspicuous enough to hold a prisoner, especially one of so little value now. Once, perhaps, she was more important in enemy hands. But from what she had heard, the King's daughter was back in the hands of the Lancastrians and her father had been forced out of the country. That was months ago. Still, she may have had more of a price if it weren't for Henry Percy. If the blood of her lost maidenhead was not smeared across her thigh, and if she had not been used after that a few times more.
Cecily wondered if any of the soldiers around her knew what had truly occurred in that cell. If Clara knew. If her father knew. She may have felt bitterness for him once, but there was nothing really to feel now except for fear. Maybe it would return later, when she was face to face with him again. If that even happened.
The carriage rolled to a stop and one of the soldiers accompanying it rushed forward to open the door. The woman who stepped out was beautiful, an elven princess from the old tales. Auburn hair flooded down her back, only a half up-do keeping it out of her face. Her skin was pale and cold looking, almost like the pearls Cecily's mother always whore around her neck. She stepped forward without any of the reluctance others usually approached her with.
"You are Cecily Neville?" The woman's voice was as soft as a summer's rain, and Cecily found it was a most pleasant sound. She nodded in answer, shifting awkwardly in her place. The smile the woman gave her was not a cruel and jeering one, but it held not kindness either. It was a strange sight, something that was meant as an attempt to comfort her, but something in the woman's eyes remained haunted and afraid. She knew then. The way she looked at Cecily was so different from everyone else. She knew, and the others didn't. Perhaps she had a bigger price after all, if only a few knew of the horror enacted on her. "My name is Lady Katherine Howard, you will be traveling with us to Pembroke Castle."
Lady Howard, Cecily had heard that name before. The King's mistress, she realised, biting down on her tongue. She nodded at the woman, unsure if she would be able to speak out loud. The woman smiled again, the smallest bit warmer this time, and gestured toward the carriage. With a heavy sigh, Cecily did as was expected of her.
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The rain had been pattering down at them for hours now, but the Lady Katherine had not allowed the soldiers to stop and rest. She seemed to look out at their surrounding often, eyes jittering across the land of fields and forests as if she was expecting something to be there. It did not matter to Cecily, she only wanted to be alone. It was an impossible wish to fulfil. She would be stuck in this carriage until their arrived at Pembroke, with the Lady Katherine and the golden-haired girl with a book in her hands. The King's daughter, she knew. The very girl she had been traded for.
When she looked over her, the girl's body looked utterly untouched. There were no bruises – not that Cecily had any remaining on her either, they were long healed – and the bones that were visible through her skin were not caused by lack of food, but rather her natural slimness. Her hair was not as dead looking as Cecily's was and her eyes were bright and without worry. The only thing that would prove any stress or fear were her bloodied nails. Cecily often watched her chew at them.
The King's daughter smiled a lot, Cecily noticed. Whether it be when she was talking with her mother, the flaxen-haired boy outside the carriage, while she was reading or when she was only daydreaming. She always smiled. Cecily found it rather annoying, although endearing at the same time. It reminded her of her own sister Anne. She always used to smile too. She wondered if she still did.
The world was moving around them. Fields and tress and the occasional village. Cecily watched it as if she were watching a play. Occasionally, she would find herself staring at the flaxen-haired boy. His curls were flattened to his hair from the rain, his skin pale from the cold and clothes soaked through. The cloak he was wearing was made of fur, the clothes rich in colour. Once she had overheard someone calling him Lord Edward, and so she had drawn her conclusion that he was just another nobleman's son that was in the care of the Lady Katherine.
He was kind enough and learned quickly not to approach Cecily after she jerked away from him when he accidentally touched her arm once. He had apologised, worried he may have hurt her, and afterwards only spoke to her from a distance in two to three word sentences. Things like 'are you hungry' or 'are you cold'. Cecily had rarely answered vocally in the beginning, but as they traveled and the days grew long and boring, she found she did not mind speaking to the other members of their regiment.
Lord Edward was an educated young-man and Cecily often felt as though she was listening to her own father when he discussed something with the older soldiers. Battle tactics and formations, troop movements. With Lady Grace, the King's daughter, he spoke of philosophers and old pagan gods that he read about. Some would find such a thing blasphemous, but the two discussed it so readily that no one tried to stop them. Once or twice they had included Cecily in the conversation, wanting the hear her opinion on certain legends or deities.
In those topics, she did not mind opening up. They were not personal or dangerous and did not remind her of the war and the cell.
After three weeks of travel, she finally spotted Pembroke Castle. Lady Grace grew giddy after that, often mentioning her 'Uncle Jasper' and 'Cousin Henry' and how excited she was to see them. Jasper and Henry Tudor, they were names Cecily distantly remembered from her lessons, but her mind grew muddled the farther back she tried to remember and she could not be entirely sure. Then she heard Lord Edward say those names, and she grew relieved that she had not completely lost her mind.
"What do you like to do, Lady Cecily?" Lady Grace asked her on the last day of their journey. Cecily was so startled by the sudden mention of her name that her eyes grew wide and she had to wonder if she had even heard correctly at all. The way the hazel-eyed girl looked expectedly told her she had. All words were suddenly lost to her and Cecily wanted to hit herself. She had never had trouble expressing her needs, wants and desires before. Only another thing to add to the long list of things that were wrong with her now. Sympathetically, Lady Grace smiled. "Most ladies I know enjoy reading and embroidery."
Cecily nodded. "I do not mind reading," she began, testing the words on her tongue. Her voice was no longer as weak as it had been before. Good, she thought. "I do not have much experience with embroidery." She had been six when she had been taken, a year later she had been tossed in a cell, and a few months after that she had been ruined. "I have always like horse riding." And archery, and sword fighting, but she would not say those things aloud. It had been a wonder that her father had ever allowed her to indulge herself in such boyish activities. The son he never had, some servants had whispered when Cecily ran from her lessons on etiquette to watch the men spar instead. Cecily hoped her father would have the son he hoped for, eventually.
"That is good, we can arrange to do those things!" The care-free lull of Lady Grace's tone was the only thing that soothed her the tiniest bit.
A few hours later, they rode through the gates of Pembroke Castle.
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Author's Note
First Cecily POV in this book! I hope you enjoy it!