THE NEW QUEEN
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May 1465, London
"What are you doing here, Clarence?" Edward, Duke of Buckingham's icy voice slithered over George's skin uncomfortably as he entered the room. This certainly wasn't the greeting he'd expected to receive, and he felt something tighten in his chest as he immediately put his guard up. Ned never spoke to him like that. Not unless he was truly angry. George strode over to the table he sat behind anyway, dressed in all the finery he owned for the coronation of that Woodville woman.
George had to wonder why he was working even now, reading over some parchment that undoubtedly had something important written all over it. He recognized the slight furrow between Ned's brows as he focused on it, turning his attention away from George's presence as if it meant nothing. He didn't take offence, for once. His friend always looked unimpressed with his presence, though it was usually just exasperation he played up as a jest. It was different now, though.
"You disappeared last night," George remarked, pulling up a chair to the other side of the desk. He scanned Edward from head to toe, taking in the indigo blue of his doublet, laced through with golden stitching. His chain of office glittered on his shoulders, the roses and suns representing his allegiance to the Yorks strung together with perfect craftsmanship. George fought off his impending frown at the white lion pendant hanging from it. The white lion of March, forever a cuff binding Ned to Edward. George's brows furrowed slightly, but he smoothed it out with a deep inhale.
One day, he told himself, Ned would wear the bull of Clarence instead. This was only temporary until his position as a Yorkist was forever solidified. It was not his fault, George knew, that his grandfather had fought for the previous king.
Once more, he brought his gaze over Ned's form. Not one sign of him being frazzled, or even tired save for the slight dark circles beneath his eyes. George bit his tongue. He'd probably failed then. It seemed there was no bringing his companion out of his shell.
"Did you enjoy the whore I bought for you?" He tried anyway, but that was clearly a mistake. Edward scoffed almost viciously, signing a document off with a force that told George they were teetering on another pointless but vile argument.
"You mean the one you forced upon me?" Edward replied, his voice like the cutting edge of the knife. "No, I did not enjoy her. You know I don't fuck whores, Clarence." The use of his title for the second time almost made George flinch. He was no stranger to it rolling off Edward's tongue, but it was usually a teasing thing, a poke to the ribs rather than a harsh slap across the face. He felt the pride he'd curated inside all morning crumble like the old walls of an ancient fortress.
"You're angry with me." Edward's eyes, which had drifted down to a letter in front of him, shot up. A shiver ran down George's back at the harsh glint in them.
"Yes." He did not say anything else, a short but decisive dismissal. George felt an apology play on his tongue, but he'd never been known to apologize before, and he wasn't about to start now. Instead, he pushed further, despite his better judgment. He'd regret it later that day, he was certain. But he'd never been able to help himself, despite how much he truly tried to understand.
"I do not understand why you don't," he sighed, "Do you not have desires you wish to see fulfilled? You do not need to hold yourself back, it is only natural for a man to feel that way." Ned looked up at him, and for a second George thought he saw a forlorn look in his eyes that said he did desire something, but it was gone as quickly as it came.
"As I've said a hundred times over, I will not bring disease or bastards into my future marriage. Though I do not see how my choice in bedmates, or lack thereof, affects you in any way." He was right, of course. It was a pointless game that George played, one he knew he'd lose and therefore couldn't help but partake in anyway. And maybe, some small part of him took notice of the far-off, lonely stares his friend sent off into the abyss.
Like the one he bore now, George realised with a start, though this one was not the lonely stare of a man without a lover. No, he'd seen this one far too many times since the very beginning of their friendship all those years ago when he'd almost sent his fist into Ned's face. His hand shot out without a second thought, snapping his fingers in front of Edward's face.
"Out of your head," he bid, and almost immediately Ned blinked rapidly, ripped from his stupor. Don't go where I cannot follow, George thought, though he didn't voice it. He knew where his friend disappeared off to in these strange fits. Into the past, onto a snow-cloaked battlefield where the earth turned liquid with the blood and guts of slaughtered soldiers. Ned had stood amongst those corpses, thirteen years of age, and when he'd come back and George greeted him again after his exile in Burgundy, he was not the same. George knew it to be the case, even when Ned tried to hide it.
He grazed his thumb over the pale scars on his knuckles from when his fist had met the wall instead of Ned's face. Forever a reminder. Perhaps it brought some solace when he saw Ned's stupor; the way he was lost in a veil of remembrance that caged him as well as any prison.
"I'm sorry," Ned muttered, squeezing his eyes shut as he rubbed them with his thumb and index finger. "I have not been myself lately." His hand dropped to the desk, fingering the parchment he'd been reading before again. George couldn't make out what it said, but he had an inkling suspicion that it was one of the reasons for Ned's words.
"Has something happened?" George sent a meaningful glance at the letter, brow arching up only slightly. It was enough for Ned's jaw to tense as he nodded.
"My stepmother wants me to marry soon," he stated it like the most expected fact. George's shoulders tensed as he stared at his friend. He knew full well of Ned's distaste for any such suggestion, almost as much as George's insistence of just trying a brothel. "She even sends a list of possible candidates."
George snatched the letter from Ned's hand, roving his eyes over the daughters of lords he knew well. A Herbert girl, the daughter of Baron Audley, a de Ros girl with a large dowery and–
"Warwick's daughter?" George snorted. "Don't tell me you'd want Warwick as a father-in-law. And Isabel is so dull."
Edward rolled his eyes. "But she's his heiress and he is a powerful man. Besides, I didn't say I'd marry Isabel." He sighed as he leaned back in his chair. "If I were to take a wife from his three daughters, it would be Cecily." That made George freeze. His younger brother had been infatuated with the girl for a long time now, blushing so red George thought he'd explode whenever she was near.
"I didn't know you desired someone," George said, unsure of how to broach the subject and turn Ned away from such a prospect. His brother was annoyingly respectable and righteous, but he was still his brother. And frankly, out of the two of them, Richard had a much larger chance of actually marrying someone he wanted.
George had his own love that he craved, but he didn't dare to hope for such a marriage to take place. Maybe later, when Edward's new wife bore him a son and his brother had no more use for him. He could convince him then, he hoped. The ghost of a gentle hand bumping against his own sent goosebumps up his arm.
"I do not desire her, you fool." Ned rolled his eyes. "She is the only one that I know more closely." George nodded slowly.
"But you do not wish to marry now?" Ned shook his head, turning his gaze to the surface of his desk again. George let out an annoyed exhale. "So why do you worry? Your stepmother holds no power over you. Why do you listen to what she wants?"
Edward frowned at him, the lines of his face hardened as he spoke with all seriousness: "Because she is my mother." George had plenty of arguments against that – first and foremost that she wasn't actually Edward's real mother – but the flare of reproach in his glare was enough to silence any of them.
"Fine," George acquiesced, raising his hands in mock surrender. "But you should ignore it for now. We have celebrations to attend today." At this, the corner of Ned's lips raised in a barely-there smile.
"You speak as if your attention will be on me during them," he said, "I believe there is a fair maiden with golden hair that you plan to romance the whole time." The description of Grace FitzRoy was more than adequate at conjuring up an image of her in George's mind, and he felt something inside him flutter and bloom like spring flowers.
"I have no idea what you're talking about." Ned raised a brow, now grinning from ear to ear as he stood and shoved George towards the door playfully.
"Go on you lecher."
"Lecher? I take great offence to that!" George squawked, sending a short, not-at-all-serious glare at Ned when he was out the door.
"You are more than free to do so, your Grace!" Ned laughed, the sound cut off as he shut the door tightly and the wooden panel separated them. George couldn't help the scoff that came from his throat before he spun on his heel and went to do exactly what Edward wanted of him.
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Ursula slid pins into Grace's hennin, gliding her hand across the veil to smooth it out. She'd always been careful and intricate with her work. Never as good as Eleanor, but her patience allowed for her to work on more difficult styles for Grace, whereas the Percy girl was indeed just that, a girl who wished to run rampant. Grace couldn't blame her at all. She'd wanted to do much the same when she was younger, but that had never been properly allowed. Her childhood would forever be tainted, but she saw no reason for Eleanor to experience the same.
It was the day of the Queen's coronation, and she deserved to spend time with her family. The ones that were left, at least. It was difficult for her to live in an enemy court with no real friends, save for Grace due to the sympathy she felt. Eleanor's father was dead, a fitting punishment for his cruelty, but her brother was locked away in the Tower of London, though he'd never done a thing to warrant such a fate. He was the same age as Grace, meaning he'd been imprisoned since he was only twelve. Now, at sixteen, there seemed to be no sign of a release coming his way. Even if there was, his title was long stripped from him and given instead to Warwick's brother John.
"There, cousin," Ursula breathed as she secured the final pin, letting the silver glitter in the sunlight filtering in through the windows. She smiled at Grace through the mirror, her hands placed firmly on her shoulders. "You look beautiful. Radiant, even."
Grace couldn't help but grin at the compliment. "It is all thanks to your work, Ulla!" She shook her head, ghosting her fingers over her hennin's veil just as Ursula had done moments before. "I do not know how you do it!"
"Years and years of practice! Being the eldest of five sisters, I've had plenty of chances to try my hand." Ursula paused, suddenly turning solemn. "Now that I've mentioned family, there is something I would like to speak to you about." Grace turned on the stool, looking up at Ursula. Worry gnawed at her, but she was certain that if something was wrong, Ursula would approach her differently.
"Of course," Grace said, nodding her head to bid her to speak. Ursula awkwardly fixed the girdle around her waist.
"I have a cousin– well, I suppose he's your cousin too – his name is Thomas, I believe your mother knows his father, Sir John?" Grace couldn't be entirely sure, but she nodded anyway. "Well, he has been my dearest friend since we were children I was thinking, would it be possible for your Grace to find a position for him in your household? You spoke of wanting to meet more of your relatives, and he is kind and hard-working, I promise."
Grace waved her hand at her. "You do not have to beg and promise anything. I am aware that my household is rather lacking for a lady of my standing." Her mother had pestered her plenty of times over it, though Grace supposed she understood how things worked more than she did. "And if he is how you say, then he should fit right in!"
Ursula breathed a relieved laugh and her mouth curled into a broad smile. "I thank you, my lady! You will be able to meet him at the coronation feast later today. Though, I fear you will have to hear about his dreams of being knighted. It is all he ever speaks of!" At this, Grace couldn't help but laugh.
"What young man doesn't dream of those things?" She shrugged and stood, smoothing her hand over her skirts. "He would honour me if he met with me during the coronation. My mother will be glad I'm finally extending my household!"
A knock sounded from the door, cutting off any further conversation. Ursula swept across the room, cracking the door open only an inch to peer at whoever stood outside. She paused only for a moment before turning back to Grace.
"It is the Duke of Clarence, my lady." Grace raised a brow, and Ursula returned the gesture, though hers was more teasing than confused. With a nod, Grace bade Ursula to let him in. She was overly aware of every inch of her body all of a sudden, and she hid the fidgeting of her fingers in the skirts of her gown.
George entered the room with a broad smile, his chain of office glittering around his shoulders. He sauntered closer to her, bowing his head the slightest bit – which he did only because Ursula was present – before straightening himself to his full height. Grace couldn't help but notice how the edges of his eyes creased when he smiled.
She caught Ursula's eye over his shoulder, motioning for her to leave. Her cousin's lips turned up in a teasing smirk before sweeping out of the room. Both Grace and George waited until the door behind her closed.
"This is most inappropriate, my Lord Clarence," Grace chastised him, forcing herself to remain utterly serious even as a smile threatened to play on her lips. George rolled his eyes at her, tracing his hand from her elbow to her wrist. He raised her hand to his lips, planting a kiss on the back of it.
"And yet, you still sent your attendant away, my Lady Sussex," he rebuked, his eyes sparkling. He tilted his head. "I got you something." Grace's brows shot up as he raised his hand, in which a golden chain glittered like a thousand stars – a large, oval ruby hung from the chain, almost the size of an egg. The air was abruptly punched out of her.
"George, this is far too grand–"
"Nothing is too grand for you, darling Grace." She clamped her mouth shut, unsure of how to answer that. God knew there was no convincing George of anything, especially when he was determined. By the look he was giving her, she could tell he was just that. "Let me put it on you?"
Without any argument, Grace turned around and swept the veil of hennin aside and slightly up, giving him access to her neck. He carefully unclipped the necklace already around it, placing it down on a surface close to them. Then his hands returned, gently settling the ruby between her collarbones and bringing the two ends of the chain to the back of her neck, where he clasped them. Every skim of his fingers against her skin made goosebumps rise along her arms. She was glad they were hidden in long sleeves.
"There," George sighed, almost like the sight of the necklace on her brought him everlasting peace. "You look perfect." Grace ignored how her heart began to race like a rabbit's, instead turning back to him with a smile.
"Thank you," she said, resting two fingers on the ruby, afraid that she would damage it somehow. "It is a beautiful gift. I've never had anything like it!" Not even when her father was still unmarked by the stress of war and rebellion. His gifts had been grand as well, but never as grand as a true-born princess would receive. She knew he wanted her to have extravagant gifts, as was noticeable in the vast wardrobe he allowed her to have, almost as large as Queen Margaret's, but his desire was quelled by her own mother's pestering.
She worried, Grace knew, what the nobles would think. Even when she ignored their glares and their murmurs, which were aimed at her, she could hardly stand it when they were directed at Grace instead. Not to mention the queen, who'd been her dearest friend. Only her father's closest men were ever truly friendly with Katherine and Grace, a sharp juxtaposition to every other lord and lady. They were all gone now, just like her father. Most of them were even dead.
"It is you who is beautiful, not the gift," George stated, and then his hand was on her cheek, tracing the arching bone there with his touch and his gaze. The skin must've heated right beneath his fingers, as Grace certainly felt like she was boiling all of a sudden. His hand disappeared just as quickly as it came, and his eyes returned to Grace's own. "That is not the only reason I came. I wanted to ask if you'd allow me to lead you into the abbey today."
Grace's brows quirked up, her head tilting ever so slightly. "Lead me in? But I thought you and Richard were to enter alone?" George grinned and he shrugged as if it did not matter at all, as if it were not the Queen's coronation with a carefully set plan. "Have you consulted Edward?"
"It does not matter what Edward says. I want to be the one to lead you in. Besides, it would be a show of unity in front of the nobles, and not even Edward can argue against that with his current circumstances." Those being, of course, the ridicule he received for marrying someone viewed as a commoner. Most of the Woodvilles had also been situated into powerful positions, much to the distaste of much higher-standing noblemen, who'd vied for those positions and fought over them like dogs. Even George grew increasingly more dismayed with each passing day. He was still Edward's heir, and if things went truly wrong, he'd remain so for years to come. Yet Edward, in his state of seemingly unconditional and unswayed love for his wife, preferred to listen to her and her family's council instead.
Grace couldn't say she blamed him. George was a few months younger than her, and she certainly did not feel ready to offer any valid council to Edward in the ways of rulership. But others, like Warwick and even Edward's mother, most certainly were. And yet they too found themself sidelined as of late.
"I suppose that's true," Grace agreed, folding her arms over her abdomen. "Then I suppose I must accept your offer. Though I expect you not to trip on our way down the aisle." With a burst of laughter, George sank into a dramatic bow, even widely sweeping his hand outwards in the way the actors did during plays.
"I would never dream of embarrassing you like that, my most gracious lady," he proclaimed, then offered her his arm in a similar fashion that he would later that day. "Now, I believe we are to meet my brother's wife in the Tower?" Grace nodded, accepting his arm. As he led her from the room, she couldn't help but grin to herself, stamping out the giddy feeling bubbling in her chest.
≿————- ❈ ————-≾
"So our new Queen is not only Lancastrian, but now we've got half of Burgundy out in force," Warwick scoffed as he led his three daughters through the Tower of London. Cecily could make out the pinched annoyance on his face even with only a sliver of it visible to her. He'd had the same expression for months now, forever trying his best to hide his dislike of the Queen while also making it painfully obvious to her and her family. The Woodville brood, he called them, and Cecily didn't think there was a more fitting way to describe the Queen's family. "Why? Because she is related to them."
Better than having no alliance at all, Cecily thought, though she knew better than to voice her opinion. She knew that France would've been a much more fitting choice, but she couldn't help but wonder if there were worse choices that Edward could've made. There were a dozen young ladies in England who held no sway over any European nation at all. And while there were certainly better options to be had than Elizabeth Grey, at least she could bring them the wealth of Burgundy.
"But Issy, we like her better than the old Bad Queen, don't we?" Anne, Cecily's youngest sister, asked her oldest. Isabel threw Anne a short look, saying 'shut up', before she picked up her pace to catch up with their father. With a barely hidden annoyed sigh, Cecily grabbed onto Anne's hand in a short comfort, hoping her sister wouldn't feel too saddened by Isabel's dismissal.
"Queen Margaret is not as bad as they say," she told her, the aching need to defend the woman who had taken her rapist's hand as punishment forever throbbing inside of her. Margaret of Anjou was not a perfect woman, maybe even cruel at times. But she had not been cruel to Cecily. No, she'd been uncharacteristically kind and gentle as she washed away all of Henry Percy's sins from her body. Cecily caught her father's eye when he turned around upon hearing her words, a hard stare in his eyes telling her to never speak such words again. "But that does not mean she or Elizabeth make good queens."
The quick addition was enough for her father to continue walking, though she was sure she'd receive an earful of criticism and a dozen scoldings beside when this was all over and done with.
"And now we must crown her before her belly grows too fat," her father continued his endless rant. It had been revealed a month before to the King's 'inner circle', if Cecily could even call them that, that Elizabeth was indeed with child. The first York prince, Edward had apparently boasted. The Queen's belly was expanding quickly, probably because she'd already had two children prior, and her body was used to it. That was what Grace's mother had said, anyway, and Cecily believed Lady Katherine in this. The council had agreed to crown Elizabeth before the month's end, pushing the coronation up from the previously agreed-upon date.
And so, here they were.
"I heard the Duchess Cecily refused to come," Cecily voiced the stray thought that ran through her mind. Indeed, the woman they called Proud Cis had put her foot down and was currently staying in one of her London manors. A short giggle came from the top of the stairs they were walking up, and all of them turned their eyes towards the figure standing there.
Grace was radiant as ever, smiling down at them with a glimmer of amusement in her hazel eyes. "Edward is lucky I agreed to come. I almost told him I was ill." The words made Cecily's father smile for the first time in weeks, though it was little more than a minor amused curl of his lips. "Come, she should be out soon enough."
Warwick hastened his step, stopping only when they arrived in the hall outside of the chamber where the Queen was getting ready. Grace was already there, of course, but with her were the King's two brothers.
Cecily couldn't help but notice the envious glare Isabel sent Grace's way when George walked up to stand beside her, offering up his arm to her. Almost like she wished to hide it, Isabel quickly looked away, and straightened her back until it was like a pin. Isabel had her ambitions. Cecily was fully aware of them, even if she never said them aloud. But George offered Isabel little attention. He spent all of his time with Ned, and when he wasn't with him, he was fawning over Grace.
Even if their father managed to somehow convince King Edward that a marriage between his brothers and his daughters was a good idea, Isabel would never be George's first choice. Cecily hoped her sister saw that.
"Is the woman dressed and ready?" Warwick asked with a long annoyed sigh. His three daughters curtsied before the dukes and duchess. Richard's brows shut up a little at the crude wording, and Warwick waved him off. "She's not been made queen yet."
George smirked at Warwick's words, nudging Grace in a way he must've thought was inconspicuous. Cecily raised a brow at Grace, but her friend and lady ignored her and made sure her face remained impassive.
As if her father's words had summoned the Queen, the door opened and Elizabeth walked out in all her dazzling glory. She was beautiful, Cecily had to admit. Perfect in every way, smiling just so. Cecily would never be able to achieve such flawless elegance, but she couldn't say she envied Elizabeth for her capability. She was happy where she was now, and with Richard Neville, the Earl of Warwick being her father, she did not have to excel in anything. She could be just an average girl of her age.
And really, that was all Cecily craved as of late. Normalcy, and her father's recognition.
Elizabeth's gown glittered gold and flowed like the wind. There were a dozen types of beads and jewels sewn onto the bodice and skirt, adding a texture that Cecily wanted to run her hands over. The colour was stunning on Elizabeth, and it fit with the message that Edward wanted to send. Look upon the Queen, a new, golden age will follow.
It was George who stepped forward first, reaching out his arms to grab Elizabeth's ring-clad hands. "My new sister," he began, "you're as beautiful as a queen should be." He then planted a kiss on her hands. As he stepped back, Cecily had to wonder if he was being sarcastic, because he most certainly never had any compliments to give the queen before. That was different, she supposed. He was not speaking directly to her face then. George went back to his spot beside Grace, leaning over and whispering something in her ears.
The young Duchess' face flushed bright red, like the large ruby around her neck or the embroidery on her otherwise cream-coloured gown. The only one that seemed to pay them any mind was Isabel, while her father pointedly looked away. Strange, Cecily thought. If he wanted one of his daughters to marry George, why was he not more concerned about the obvious affection George showed to Grace?
Had she still been only the King's bastard, Cecily might've understood. But she was a duchess now, being restored to the title and lands that her grandfather and uncle owned before her. The Duchy of Sussex was something that many noblemen vied after. It might even been enough to convince Edward that a marriage between one of his brothers and Grace was valuable. It would even be a way to tie her further to his own house.
Perhaps her father already expected that. His focus could've long shifted to the youngest of the York brothers. Warwick was staring at him intently as Richard stepped towards Elizabeth and offered his own well-wishes to the soon-to-be-crowned queen. And he had been raising Richard for years now. The son he never had, Cecily thought bitterly, swallowing down the rancid feeling that thought brought.
"Thank you, Richard, George." Elizabeth smiled broadly, carelessly. "I'm very grateful for your kinship." She looked around the room, searching for something. Her brows furrowed tightly. "Where is Edward?"
"At the abbey," Grace spoke before anyone else could. "It is custom for the king to watch the coronation from behind a screen. I thought you knew?" Her voice was laced with genuine concern, lacking any condescension, much to Cecily's surprise. An unsure look passed over Elizabeth's face, but she hid it well and quickly. "It does not matter, your Grace. You shall have enough people escorting you and offering you help, should you need it."
It was a surprise that the two women could even be in the same room, with how their relationship had started. Though Cecily doubted that Grace had any real malicious thoughts or feelings towards Elizabeth, her mother was a different story. And well, Elizabeth was rarely without her mother at her side.
"My daughters will escort you," Warwick said, gesturing to the three girls behind him. "They have been trained for such an occasion. As has the Duchess of Sussex, who will also be leading the procession behind you–"
"The Queen has her own sisters to attend her." The voice of the Baron Rivers flooded through the room, the prideful arrogance obvious to all. "Your daughters may join the procession. Behind us." The air in the room seemed to thicken.
Cecily saw how her father's shoulders tightened, his jaw setting in the way it always did when he was furious. He wasn't the only dismayed one in the room. Anne's face fell, Isabel scowled. George opened his mouth to say something, no doubt in defence of the flaxen-haired girl beside him.
"Forgive me, my lord, but your daughters are practically commoners," Grace spoke out before anyone else could, challenging the baron with little more than an eyebrow raise. Cecily did not even try to hide her grin from the Woodvilles. Grace outranked the baron in all the ways that truly mattered. Only Elizabeth would be able to say anything against her.
The Queen looked between Grace and her father, unsure of how to respond to the situation. Grace already disliked her mother, and now the baron was eyeing her distrustfully as well. In turn, Grace looked down her nose at him, as if she had not thought of the man sympathetically before his daughter married Edward.
"My lady is quite right," Cecily asserted, drinking in every moment where she had the upper hand. She felt it so rarely after Henry Percy. It was like ambrosia. "I am sure the Queen agrees that she must show unity with the noble houses before the eyes of England. The Duchess is one of the richest women in the country." Margaret of Anjou had not been stingy while landing her stepdaughter, and Edward certainly hadn't tried to take anything away. "And my father is the King's closest advisor."
She knew that rubbed salt in an already opened wound.
Grace breathed a short laugh, "Precisely. I am sure the King would agree with that assessment. You will forgive me, my lord, when I say that you and your daughters may be the ones to join behind us in the procession. Behind the King's brothers, of course." Grace did not bother to stay and listen to any arguments Baron Rivers might've had, spinning towards the exit in whirlwind of skirts before she gestured for the Queen to go. "After you, your Grace."
Elizabeth did as she was bid with pursed lips, clearly not happy with the dismissal her father and sisters had just received. She did not argue either, though Cecily was sure she would mention this slight to Edward.
"Do not worry, your Grace, your sisters will have plenty of time in the spotlight at today's feast. There will be music and dancing. Where better to show their beauty and grace to the many suitors you wish to acquire for them?" The dulled eyes of the Woodville girls brightened at Grace's words and a wave of excited murmurs swept over them. Baron Rivers looked at least a little placated by it. Grace continued to speak, focusing now on the procession, "The Queen will be first, of course, I will follow with Isabel at my side."
The shifting of Isabel's body was a strange sight; the uncertainty, shock at being picked as if she hadn't been expecting such a thing. Only a moment later, she grinned broadly and nodded at Grace.
"Cecily and Anne will be behind us, and behind them, the King's brothers." With one last nod, Elizabeth walked through the door and out of the Tower of London.
≿————- ❈ ————-≾
The sun outside the Tower of London was blinding and warm, bringing with it the start of a long and lingering summer. The carrier that Elizabeth would sit in was prepared for her. With the coronation cloak hung upon her shoulders, she made her way towards. Grace sighed, still feeling her heart beating rapidly from the confrontation with Baron Rivers.
She surprised herself when she spoke up, not even thinking twice about it. She doubted that Edward realised how pushed away Warwick was truly beginning to feel, but it was as plain as day on his face. No matter how much he thought he hid it. Grace had witnessed a similar bitterness and envy on many faces before. She'd watched as it twisted men's hearts and blackened them beyond recognition. What was left after was not even human anymore, and it ended only in blood.
Out of all people, Grace knew.
The horse that was prepared for her was a pale white, similar to the fabric of her gown. It huffed happily as she ran her fingers over his neck. She knew the horse well. It was one she'd been gifted for her fourteenth birthday by her Uncle Jasper only two years prior, during one of his rare visits to Herstmonceux. She hadn't seen him since, but the horse was a daily reminder that she and Henry were entirely forgotten.
Hands wove around her waist and Grace's whole body jerked. A familiar laugh sounded from behind her and she quickly relaxed. As she turned around, she wanted nothing more than to slap George. His umber eyes glimmered with amusement.
"Relax," he said, nodding up at the saddle. She understood quickly, placing her hands on his shoulders so he could lift her onto the horse. Grace rolled her eyes, a frown tugging at the corners of her lips.
"Perhaps you shouldn't frighten me, my lord," she chastised him, only slightly annoyed. The sweet melody of his laugh was enchanting. He bowed slightly to her before walking to his own horse. With a sigh, Grace settled herself properly onto her mount, smoothing out her skirts.
She felt the searing gaze on her only moments later. She'd grown so used to people not looking at her with hatred and disgust anymore – rather with admiration or even want, thanks to her newfound position – that the sudden weight of it, the heat, almost sent her toppling off her horse.
Carefully, she turned to glance at the girl beside her. Isabel's blue eyes were as cold and sharp as ice. The strange twist of her face was something Grace could not pinpoint, but she swore she saw jealousy swirling somewhere in that dark gaze of hers. After taking a deep breath, Grace smiled at Isabel, hoping she hid the way she'd been derailed.
It's nothing, she told herself, just childish jealousy. She knew full well that Isabel had set her sights on the Duke of Clarence years ago, no doubt spurred on by her father's words of a marriage that Edward declined over and over again.
Grace was unsure if she should feel angered by Isabel's envy. Did she want George for herself? She'd certainly grown closer to him in the past years, even more in the few months she'd been at court since Elizabeth's arrival. She couldn't deny that something fluttered in her stomach at the sight of him, and that she laughed and smiled more in his presence. And that tingling feeling at the tip of her fingers when he touched her certainly wasn't anything platonic either.
With a quick, barely noticeable shake of her head, she wiped that thought from her head. It was dangerous and unseemly. The chances of a marriage between her and George were low, even if the child Elizabeth had in her belly came out being a boy. She herself would tell Edward that the best marriages for his brothers would bring great and powerful alliances. Warwick, while angered at the moment, was a Yorkist through and through. England needed more protection than just an Earl, and it certainly needed more money.
What would Grace's hand in marriage be compared to a Scottish princess or the daughter of an Italian banker? Nothing, she knew. Foolish, naive, pointless, childish, she listed off at least a dozen different words as the procession made its way through the London streets.
Grace attempted to send bright smiles to the people of the city, earning many cheers, though not as many as the Queen. White rose petals flitted through the air, falling like snowflakes upon the procession. Calls of 'God save the Queen' sounded all around them, the people admiring their radiant and youthful ruler. Grace could not remember when the last time was that her stepmother received such a welcome in the city. Before the war, surely.
Entering the abbey set a heavy weight on her shoulders. She walked through the arched doors, her arm on George's. With each step, she dug her fingers deeper into the fabric of his doublet. The pressure must've been painful, but he did not complain, only led her forward and made sure that she did not lose her footing even as her head began to spin.
It felt wrong to do this. When Edward had been crowned, she had not been to the city yet. It was only after the city had cried out 'King Edward' that she had knelt before him and proclaimed him the true monarch, betraying her father and the rest of her family. Then, when he'd won at Towton and he'd been given a much grander, proper coronation, she had been too high on the joy of having Henry in her care and her friends safe from harm that she had not cared.
Now, she felt like she was dealing out an even grander betrayal. She could only imagine the sneer and glare her stepmother would levy against her had she been present. Grace begged her for forgiveness in her mind with every step she took. It had not been her who'd placed Elizabeth on the throne, but she was walking in her procession and showing false unity to help her anyway. All those years Margaret had fought tooth and nail to protect her brother Edward, and even Grace herself, and Grace could not even repay her. She was damning her even more.
The bright red hair of her mother in one of the front rows made bile rise in her throat. Katherine was there too, but Grace could see the bitterness on her mother's face as she gazed at Margaret's crown laid out on a velvet pillow, awaiting the new Queen. The wife of the usurper. Katherine was there for Grace, and no one else.
They finally made it to the end of the aisle, taking their place in the very front row. Grace felt eerily exposed, a thousand needles pricking at her skin with every glance anyone sent her way, even if they were nothing more than fleeting gazes of bored nobles waiting for the ceremony to be over.
Elizabeth passed their row, making her way up onto the dais where a throne was waiting for her. She kneeled before it, receiving the blessing of the archbishop and crossing herself. When she stood, she took another step towards the throne.
Grace's breath hitched in her throat. A cold sweat broke out on her forehead, and her fingers began to go numb. But then they were encompassed in warm flesh, and George's fingers were curling against her own, their hands hidden in the many layers of her skirts. He squeezed her hand firmly, though he did not tear his eyes away from Elizabeth.
It was a bigger comfort than she thought she could ever receive.
She blinked, and then Elizabeth was sitting on the throne, the archbishop in front of her turning to the gathered nobles. "I here present onto you, Queen Elizabeth, your undoubted Queen." His voice resonated loudly through the abbey. "Wherefore, all you who have come this day to do your homage and service, are you willing to do the same?"
Grace's mouth and tongue moved on their own accord as she spoke next: "God save the Queen." She blinked back the tears stinging her eyes, knowing they were nothing more than traitorous, dangerous things. Her throat was tight, but she said again as the archbishop smeared Elizabeth with the holy oil: "God save the Queen."
"We offer up the sceptres and the ring to our one and mighty Queen." The sceptre glittered boldly in Elizabeth's hand.
"God save the Queen."
The ring was put onto Elizabeth's hand. Grace watched on, her hand gripping George's tightly. His thumb ran over her hand in hopes of comforting her. The crown was finally brought forward. Grace swore she would vomit if she did not look away, but her eyes remained on the golden, glimmering jewel.
The crown that her stepmother had worn so often, so perfectly and regally that it looked strange lifted above Elizabeth, glistened in the light. It was lowered onto Elizabeth's head, and Grace could still not avert her eyes. She let go of George's hand as she lowered into a curtsy with everyone else. He and Richard bowed in time with her. When she stood, she could only swallow down the guilt building with the pressure in her throat.
Finally, painfully, she looked away.
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A/N
This hasn't been updated in forever but hey at least this chapter has 7k words.
I find it so funny how George can't understand that a man might not think the same way he does and makes it his mission to prove his stand on things right (he's definitely not right).
Also, my bbg Grace is IN HER FEELS at the end and I can't blame her.