THE NEW QUEEN
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October 1464, Herstmonceux castle
The entire castle was abuzz with the news that arrived that morning. Servants scurried around the halls, carrying chests full of the fifteen-year-old duchess' belongings. The entire household was preparing to leave for London, and seven ladies needed to be prepared.
The young Duchess of Sussex burst from her rooms, her maids still securing a gold and ruby necklace around her neck. Although her appearance was well-kept, she felt anything but. The news that came from London was shocking, but it worried her more than anything. An idiot, Grace thought, he is an idiot.
A young, brown-haired lady strutted up to her, a mischievous grin adding to her already proud demeanour. "Is it true what they say?" Cecily Neville asked. Grace could only roll her eyes in answer.
"Unfortunately," she sighed, pushing her loose hair out of her face. She'd have to have Eleanor Percy do her hair in the carriage because their departure couldn't wait. Lady Eleanor was the second lady to join her service after Cecily. For a while, it seemed the two of them wouldn't get over the rivalry that had ravaged the relationships between their two families, but Lady Eleanor had softened over time, and Cecily had learned to accept her presence, no matter how distasteful she found it. She revelled in having a higher position than a Percy, which was probably where her newly found haughty character found its roots.
Other than those two, Grace had three more ladies in her service. Two of them were of a foreign origin, which had been her mother's idea. If the ladies had no other loyalties in England but to her, then they wouldn't be Edward's spies, and Grace would be protected. Lady Juana was the daughter of the Count of Placencia. She was his tenth child, but there had been rumours that she wasn't actually his, so it had been easy for him to send her halfway across Europe to be rid of her. He hoped that Juana would be married off to a nobleman of at least some degree and he wouldn't have to see her again.
The second foreign lady was Amelia de Valois, the illegitimate half-sister of the French king. If Grace's mother wanted to ensure Grace was free of spies, she'd certainly failed, as Lady Amelia had arrived with a letter from Margaret of Anjou. Despite not wanting to read it, Grace had done so begrudgingly upon Lady Amelia's insistence. She'd broken into tears not long after because although she thought her stepmother cruel for more reasons than one, she had still been one of the few people who'd accepted her existence without disgust. Reading the words she'd written – words of forgiveness – had been enough to make Grace want to hide away from the rest of her life.
The last lady in her service was Ursula Howard, Grace's cousin and the only member of the Yorkist faction save for Cecily. Even then, Katherine seemed to trust her, welcoming her to the household as if she wasn't a daughter of the sister who'd turned her back on her. Although Ursula's colouring was nothing like Katherine's – or her mother's from what Grace had been told – her face was of a similar structure, giving off a strange veil of familiarity even in a lady Grace hardly knew.
She didn't think she'd ever be able to speak to anyone from her mother's side of the family. It had been a forbidden thing for most of her life, but now Ursula was in her service and bowing to Grace as her superior. It made Grace feel uneasy. The sudden switch in standing was strange and left her battling off vertigo. Nevertheless, Ursula was kind and gentle and soon became one of the more trusted ladies in Grace's household.
Grace sidestepped a young servant who almost crashed into her, a large pile of folded sheets in her hands. The girl apologized before skittering away and Grace continued.
"I bet my father scolded him like he would a child," Cecily laughed beside her, keeping pace with her even with Grace's long strides. "I almost wish I'd been there." At this, Grace couldn't help but grin a little. The image of Warwick yelling at a pouting Edward like he was one of his children was a humorous one. If she was being entirely honest, Edward needed a good lecture after what he'd done.
"At least the two entertained the court," Grace remarked, striding towards the open door at the end of the corridor. "I imagine it must get very boring at times." Cecily hummed her agreement and the two of them entered the room. Young Henry perked up from his spot on the floor as the two approached him. He pushed himself to his feet and rushed forward, sporting an ear-splitting grin.
He'd been put into Grace's care a year or so ago after months of her begging Edward for the guardianship. She knew it wasn't fair to the boy's mother Margaret, but she would've never gotten custody of her son anyway and this was a far better situation than Henry staying with his uncle at Pembroke. This way, Edward would be less likely to see him as a traitor and if all went well, he'd be able to be incorporated into court without much hassle.
"Are you truly leaving today, cousin?" he asked, his big brown eyes sparkling with a tinge of disappointment. He swung his hands at his side and swayed back and forth on his feet impatiently.
"We are, Henry. The king will require us at court soon anyway. With luck though, we will return soon. Don't think this is getting you out of your lessons!" Instantly, Henry's mouth curled in a pout and his shoulders sacked.
"Fine," he sighed, "but know that I hate it!" Cecily giggled, though she tried to hide it with her hand.
"We know you do," she said, shrugging, "you tell us every time you have to attend them." It was Grace's turn to laugh as Henry sputtered out a denial, though all of them knew it was true. She didn't think she'd ever witnessed him go to one of his lessons voluntarily. The only ones he liked to attend were horseback riding and archery, though Grace wouldn't count that as an education.
"Be good to your tutors, Henry. Hopefully, we'll return soon!" Grace squeezed his shoulders as he nodded, then pulled him into a quick embrace. They left him alone after that, heading down to the courtyard of the castle where the carriage was most likely already waiting for them.
Grace's stablehand approached them soon after, telling them they'd be ready to leave in less than half an hour. The man was middle-aged, but still as capable as any young man Grace had ever met, and he was kind and gentle with Henry whenever the boy bothered him with questions, so he'd quickly become one of her favourite workers.
"Thank you, John. Do you know where my mother might be?" she asked and the man shook his head. It didn't matter though, because just as Grace was gonna ask another question, Katherine approached her.
Her mother's hair was pulled into a simple braid, perfect for travelling, and she was pulling on some leather gloves to chase away the chill. That spring had been a rather cold one, but luckily the days were starting to get warmer as October reached its end. Mornings and evenings were still cold though, so Grace wasn't surprised by her mother's attire.
"Why is it that we need to head to court so suddenly?" Katherine asked, mouth pressed into a tight line. "I'm afraid I have not been told a single thing." That was to be expected, as Grace had situated her mother at the opposite end of the castle from herself. They'd never truly reconciled after Edward became king, and despite welcoming her mother into her household, Grace still held a grudge against her mother and the words she'd spoken to her.
The last time they were at court together, the tension had gotten so bad that Grace demanded to be given separate rooms from her mother. Edward had agreed, if only because the glare she sent his way when he tried to argue could burn down the entire country, and George had found the entire situation very humorous. He loved to point out the way her cheeks and neck reddened when she got angry, and his enjoyment was only heightened when she tried to hit him for it.
Just one of the many things I love about you, he'd said when he caught her wrist moments before her hand collided with his chest. His usual teasing and haughty grin had been in place, and it was all Grace could think about now that she was suddenly reminded of it. Something fluttered in the pit of her stomach even as she stared down her mother.
"You haven't heard?" she questioned, even if it sounded condescending. "The king had married Lady Elizabeth Gray."
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The whole court was in an uproar, no one more so than the Earl of Warwick himself. The king's announcement of his new wife had been entirely unexpected, and it frankly left Warwick reeling with how sudden it had been. There were very few times in his life when he was caught so off guard, and he didn't appreciate being left in the dark about something this important to the country's wellbeing. Especially when Edward had sent him out to France to secure a diplomatic marriage, only to toss it away the second Warwick succeeded. He was a prideful man, and he hated being humiliated in such a way.
So it had been a most satisfying thing, really, when his daughter came back to court. The Duchess of Sussex had accompanied her, and he didn't think he'd ever seen a fifteen-year-old lecture a fully grown man before. He would've laughed had the situation not been so grim. The new queen's family – even the word made him curl his nose in disgust – was set to arrive later that week for her introduction to court.
He didn't think he could stand her presence even for a moment, but he had little choice. There was no way Edward would stand for any insults or complaints levied against his chosen wife, that much he'd already made clear. So he would hold his tongue, if only because he refused to be pushed from the king's side by something so trivial as not liking the woman he'd been seduced by.
Despite all his worries, he found himself cracking a smile – no matter how small – when he welcomed his daughter into his apartments. Cecily had grown much in the three and a half years she'd spent in the Duchess of Sussex's service. She was almost as tall as him now and had grown into a loud sort of confidence, one he suspected she got from her cousin George, who was almost as, if not more, haughty as her. She had every reason to be, Warwick knew. Cecily had gotten her beauty from her mother, and those deep brown eyes of hers could captivate anyone when she spoke.
So he felt a twinge of worry when she came to him with a frown on her face, ripping at the skin around her fingernails.
"Has the Percy girl been giving you trouble?" he asked without so much as greeting her. Welcoming words weren't important when it came to the Percys. Not after what they'd done to his daughter. Cecily seemed stunned by the question but quickly shook her head.
"No, she's been nothing but amicable for years now. I told you so in my last letter," she reminded him. Her voice even as if they were discussing the weather, but Warwick didn't miss the way her hand jerked when she suddenly tore her skin too sharply and a drop of blood appeared beside her nail. He frowned but didn't say anything else.
"But her presence still bothers you," he remarked, watching as a muscle in her jaw feathered. Her gaze skittered to anything in the room but him and she sighed heavily.
"Of course, it bothers me," she stated, clenching her jaw even tighter than before. "She's the daughter of my jailer." Irritation rose inside his chest, but he stamped it down before it could show on the outside. The reminder of what happened to her was an unwelcome one. He despised any Percy who dared to approach even a few feet close to his daughter. The chances of any of them trying something now were nonexistent, he knew that. Henry Percy had relied heavily on Margaret of Anjou's support of his actions, and he had lost even that, along with his hand when the one-time queen found Cecily locked in a mouldy, wet cell with barely any food in her body. The loss of the limb had led to the loss of his life at Towton, where Warwick had struck the bastard down himself.
That's why he worried now. Although Percy's heir – bearing the same name as him – was locked in prison and would remain as such until the end of his life if Warwick had his way, his daughter was at large. What was stopping her from slipping poison into his daughter's wine to avenge her father now that she had unlimited access to Cecily at all times? Not even the Duchess of Sussex could stop that death. It would be over before she even knew it was happening.
And so he watched the red-haired devil's spawn with suspicion whenever he could, and had even placed spies in her vicinity. The footmen who held the carriage door open for her was his, as was the maid who emptied her chamber pot and the maid who changed her clothing. There were dozens like them, all loyal to him and only him. If he had any hope of stopping any foul play from happening, it was through them. Especially since Cecily refused to leave the duchess' service.
Nevertheless, he tried again. "You could always come back home," he reminded her, though he already knew her answer from the way her mouth pressed into a tight line. "You are only twelve. No one expects you to perform such difficult duties yet." He was proud of her for doing them regardless, more so than he'd admit, but he wouldn't risk the child that was most like him – clever, stubborn and prideful – for a position he could get for her in three years when he needed it.
"And yet I will continue to perform them." Cecily waved a hand in dismissal. "I have the highest standing position in Grace's household. Why would I give that up for the Percy girl?"
Warwick raised his brow. "I hear Ursula Howard is the favourite after you. What makes you say it would be Eleanor Percy who'd receive your position?" Cecily shrugged in answer.
"I will not take that risk," she said, and he knew she meant it. Once again, Warwick felt pride bloom in his chest like an enchanted flower. Most like him, indeed. "Besides, she seems to bow to my will now. I think she realised there would be no beating me. Especially since she's the youngest of all the ladies anyway." At that, Warwick almost laughed. It was easy to forget in his hatred that the Percy girl was only nine years of age, sent to Grace's service by Edward in an attempt to appease the defeated Percys after most of their titles and lands were stripped from them. Still, a nine-year-old was far from harmless. Eleanor could be easily swayed by a single letter from her family or a whisper in her ear by a bought servant, and Warwick doubted she would hesitate in fulfilling whatever task was given to her, especially since Cecily made it clear she was no friend of hers.
Warwick found that another small smile tugged at his usually stiff lips. "It seems you have found your footing," he pointed out, and Cecily raised a brow at him.
"Only because of your many lessons, dear father." She said it in jest, but they both knew it to be true.
Most like him, indeed.
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"Please, do not say anything. I don't want to hear a single word from you," Edward breathed, utterly exasperated. Grace's mouth hung open, arms crossed against her chest, ready to hurl another barrage of angry insults at him and his stupidity. She clamped her jaw shut, rolling her eyes before looking back out the window. Two men stood just below it, appearing to be in some sort of tense conversation.
Edward's new in-laws, apparently. They hadn't been there to greet her when she arrived at court, which had probably been intentional and definitely a good thing. Elizabeth's Grey's father was a short and stout man with thin, white hair and a constant grimace on his reddened round face. She imagined he might've been handsome in his youth – had to be, really, if he'd gotten Grace's great aunt-in-law to marry him despite being only a squire and nothing more. From Duchess of Bedford to the wife of a baron, not even that, because the title had been given to Richard Woodville upon the discovery of his marriage to the king's aunt.
It had been too late to annul it then, because Lady Jacquetta had already been round with child. The second woman had to be the one born from that pregnancy because he looked old enough to fit the timing, but Grace couldn't be sure, because Jacquetta seemed to have a new child every year. Anthony Woodville inherited his tall stature from his mother, whom Grace knew, and his sandy hair was also all Jacquetta. Grace remembered the woman from her time serving as Queen Margaret's lady. She'd been proud despite the sneers and the jokes tossed her way, and she'd never said or done anything cruel to Grace. In a way, they'd been subjected to similar levels of rumours and mocking.
Jacquetta had the last laugh, though, because her daughter was the Queen of England now.
"At least the brother is good-looking," Grace said, which earned another groan from Edward as he dragged his fingers down his face. He was spread out in an armchair, looking entirely done with the world – or rather, Grace's many scoldings. "I was trying to say something nice!"
"I don't think you should say anything at all," Edward called, dramatically spreading his arms out. "I get it, you despise my choice of bride and wish to inform me of your distaste. Well, my darling, precious, dearest, cherished Grace, you will have to get in line."
"I don't have to get in line. That's the whole point of our friendship!" She sat down in the armchair opposite him, pulling her feet off the floor and tucking them under her. The position put pressure on her spine in a most uncomfortable way, but she'd always sat like that in the presence of someone she knew she didn't have to act regal in front of. "I still don't understand what made you marry her. It's the most foolish thing you could've possibly done in your position!"
Edward shrugged, as if his actions were unimportant, as if the entire balance of England's fragile peace hadn't been threatened. All it would take was one wrong move now and the vase would be tipped off the table, shattering on the floor beneath.
"I think I love her," he simply stated, staring off into the hearth. The fire crackled and spit sparks into the air, sending off waves of heat into the chilly room.
"You think?" Grace huffed with annoyance, tossing her head back with a groan. "Are you saying you may realise in a month that you dislike her and will want to be rid of her?" Edward stayed silent, staring at the dancing tendrils of flame in the hearth. Grace watched him and his utterly impassive expression, perplexed. She repeated, this time more softly, "You think?"
Blinking a few times, he seemed to come back to his body. "I do love her," he replied, then affirmed, "I really do." At this Grace didn't quite know what to say. She hadn't expected Edward to genuinely have feelings for the woman he'd married, not outside his famous lust anyway. And, well, if he did truly love her, Grace didn't think she had it in her heart to try and suppress it. He'd lost too much in the past few years, and she understood the desire to be loved, to marry for love. How could she refuse that for him, if that's what she wanted?
"Oh," she said stupidly, trying to gather her thoughts. "You will have to marry her family to higher standing nobles then. No one will ever accept them if you don't, even if your wife is the queen." Edward nodded, because he already knew, but she offered the advice anyway. His eyes bore into her, and he wasn't looking away at all. She didn't understand the emotions behind the gaze, until finally, a cold feeling washed over her, as if she'd been tossed into a frozen lake. Her feet moved out from under her, and she planted them firmly on the ground, her form locking up. Her mother's words rang painfully in her mind. "You're not planning to marry me to one of them, do you?"
She despised how hoarse her voice had gotten, but the mere idea of it, the vocalization of it... she felt repulsed. The ghost of a soft touch wisped over her forearm, and she swore she could see the tilt of an arrogant smirk and the glimmer of umber eyes flash before her like a vision. At best he will marry you off to one of his supporters and let them breed you into submission. She felt her stomach twist.
Edward's face twisted in shock, his eyes widening until she thought they'd simply fall from her head. "Christ, no!" He cried, and on his tongue, it sounded like a proclamation. He shook his head slightly, so barely visibly, but she noticed it anyway. "I wouldn't want you to end up like my sister." She knew of whom he spoke. His eldest sister Anne and her Lancastrian husband. They hated each other so much the whole of England knew of it. "Besides, George would have my balls."
Grace's cheeks heated to the point she was sure they were bright red. Her gaze refused to meet Edward's, and he understood her reaction, grinning broadly from ear to ear. "I have no idea what you mean."
"Oh, of course!" Edward exclaimed, rolling his eyes. "The entire family can see it but you have no idea!" Grace's face reddened even more at the idea that Duchess Cecily was fully aware of whatever relationship there was between her and George. She wasn't even sure if she was fully certain what it was. He was kind to her, kinder than he was to anyone else, really. Whenever he spoke to her, she felt welcome and warm inside, and when she offered a compliment he beamed and shone like the sun.
"Indeed," Grace replied, having a hard time keeping her voice even and emotionless. "So you won't?" she asked. "Marry me off, I mean?" Her throat tightened at the thought, but Edward seemed to notice her distaste for it.
"I promise you, I will not command you to marry anyone." He dramatically placed his hand on his heart to seal the promise, but Grace knew he meant it seriously. She let herself smile.
"Good," she said, pushing herself up from the armchair. "If you ever break that vow, it will be I who takes your balls, not your brother." Her leaving was followed by Edward's deep laughter.
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"What are you two idiots doing?" Grace stared at the scene in front of her, her brow raised as she watched George and Ned do... whatever it was that they were doing. There was a target placed fifteen feet ahead of them, a dozen arrows piercing the ground around it with very few puncture holes in the target itself. A crossbow lay Ned's hand, which would've been entirely fine if George hadn't stood behind him tying a blindfold around his eyes.
"Whatever do you mean?" George questioned, tying off the blindfold with a sudden harsh tug, which almost sent Ned tumbling backwards with an undignified squawk before George rightened him up again. "We are seeing who is the better shot!"
"It is me, of course," Ned said, grinning broadly as he lifted the crossbow into a position ready for shooting. Grace stared at them blankly, then looked towards Marge, who sat sprawled out on the grass shaking her head in heavy judgement.
"You're both terrible," the brunette said, leaning backwards and soaking up the last bits of the sun offered to them this late in autumn. "I'm waiting for you to take each others' eyes out."
"I'm waiting for them to accidentally kill each other," Grace remarked, mouth falling agape as Ned fired a bolt. It missed the target completely and George snickered. He reloaded the crossbow for Ned.
"You wound me, Grace," George mocked, placing a hand dramatically over his heart. "I would never hurt our dear Buckingham here!" At this, Margaret snorted, covering her mouth as burst into loud laughter.
"I remember when you somehow managed to spook his horse at a hunt last year and sent him flying into a ditch!" she exclaimed with a shake of her head. "It was funny to watch how you dragged him out." Grace quirked an eyebrow, unaware of such an occurrence with how'd she been away from court for the last year. None of George's letters mentioned it and neither did Marge's, or the very few from Ned that she'd received.
"Oh, I haven't forgotten. He made me give up my horse because his foot hurt and we couldn't find his horse until the next day. I had to walk back to the palace on foot while he gloated the entire time!" The indignation in his voice made Grace chuckle. A loud thunk sounded through the air – different from when the previous arrow had been fired – and Ned gasped, tearing off the blindfold to see where the arrow had landed.
It pierced the target only an inch or two from the very centre.
Ned dropped the crossbow carelessly onto the floor as he began to gloat. "I won, Clarence! Time to pay up!" George was left staring at the target with a dropped jaw. Grace couldn't help but smile as Ned extended his hand and laughed when George dropped a coin into it. It was utterly ridiculous watching two rich dukes battle over a single coin, but at the same time, it was rather endearing.
"I had an inkling it would be Ned that would win," she said towards Marge, who grinned. George must've overheard them, because he let out an offended shout, which was followed quickly by more of Ned's laughter. Grace shot them a sheepish glance but firmly stood with her words. Ned was known for having a more level head, so it wasn't a surprise that he often had the upper hand. Opposite to him, George flew off the handle far too quickly to try and plan, and he usually fumbled his way to victory, but other than that – and far more frequently – he found himself lagging behind and losing. He was almost two years younger than Ned was though, so Grace thought he'd maybe grow into it.
"You just keep driving the knife further in!" George exclaimed, coming up to her until he was so close it would've been called indecent by anyone who wasn't the four of them. He was almost a head taller than her now, much to her annoyance, forcing her to crane her head up so she could look at him. "Do you even know how to use a crossbow?"
No, she didn't, but she didn't want to admit that. She'd never even gotten her hands on the weapon before, far more preferring a bow. It had been the one weapon that she was ever allowed to lay a hand on, and it had been her mother's favourite sport as well when she was younger, so Grace took comfort in it. A crossbow hadn't ever even crossed her mind.
Whatever face she pulled, it told George all he needed to know and he pulled her towards the target. She almost stumbled but caught herself before she could faceplant into the ground. George picked up the crossbow from the ground and handed it to her.
"Then I shall teach you!" he proclaimed, immediately fixing Grace's grip on the weapon with quick fingers. "You won't find anyone with as much skill as me." Grace raised a brow, almost laughing.
"Didn't Ned just defeat you?" Somewhere behind them, Ned's familiar chuckle sounded as George frowned and waved a dismissive hand. With a roll of her eyes, Grace let him fix her position and aimed when he stepped back. "Like this?" she asked, the crossbow feeling strangely heavy and uncomfortable in her hands.
George stepped forward again, and Grace could feel his presence close to her back. He nudged an elbow higher, then pressed a hand to her abdomen and straightened her spine. The quick, fleeting touches made something flutter in her belly. She felt his warm breath fan over her neck. Her attempt to fight off the shiver that coursed through her was met with failure, and she wondered if George knew what even the faintest of contact between them did to her, even if it was just his breath or the softest graze of his fingers.
"There," he muttered and distanced himself from her again. She would never admit she felt colder in his absence. "Fire away, darling Grace."
With a stroke of beginner's luck, she almost hit a bull's eye.