January 1463
They have been living in bliss for four months when reality crashes down around Edward's head, courtesy of Cecily Neville.
It is a bitterly cold night, winter becoming colder. Edward spent his day listening to seemingly endless issues from the nobles and dealing with the pressure to choose a bride. By the time he finally sits to sup, half the castle is abed, and he barely tastes the food, physically exhausted and emotionally drained.
He is staring into his wine cup when Charlotte enters the room; instantly, Edward smiles, eager to see her after such a trying day. She has her hair unbound today, long waves of thick hair cascading over shoulders, and Edward longs to bury his fingers in it, to pull her close and kiss her until he forgets that he has a kingdom on his shoulders.
She'd had to let loose the waist of her gowns and had ordered for new ones to be brought to her with a high waistline, barely skirting around the questioning for the new style of dress she'd been preferring. Only yesterday, she had lamented how difficult it was becoming to mask her stomach, keeping herself wrapped in furs to add extra camouflage, and Edward touches the fur now, running his fingers over the soft texture before pushing it off of her shoulders, leaving her in one of the few dresses she had left unaltered, in the hope that after she give birth, it will still fit her body.
"You look as if you're going to take me on the table."
Edward smiles. "A better meal, for certain." His hands skim over her shoulders, across her collarbone; he moves to cup her breasts, but Charlotte twists, face pinched with discomfort as she shakes her head.
"They're sore today," is all she offers in explanation, carding her fingers through his hair. A wry smile tugs at her lips. "Everything's sore today. I'm going to be as big as a galley by the time this baby comes."
"A beautiful galley," he teases, running his hands over the swell of her middle. Without the heavy furs, her dress falling freely against her body as she leans back against the table, Edward can make out the unmistakable curve of his child. He leans forward, his hands on either side of her hips, and kisses the swell. "I'm so anxious to meet her."
"You're anxious? He is not kicking bruises into your ribs every day."
Settling his hands against her, Edward waits, hoping the babe will move so he can feel it. For weeks now, Charlotte has spoken of movement, but Edward has yet to experience it; there is something about knowing the child inside of her can move which makes everything feel real. There is a part of him which still cannot believe he is going to be a father; his own father always seemed so certain and brave, and Edward does not feel he is either of those things.
"He will be a big babe, I think," she murmurs, smoothing his hair with her hand, and Edward looks up at her, love swelling sharply in his chest.
"I love you."
The click of the door opening reaches Edward's ears only a second before the sound of his mother's gasp does; instinctively he pulls away from Charlotte, pushing to his feet, but he knows it is too late. The Dowager Duchess has seen his face resting against Charlotte's swollen belly, and there is no way his mother could misinterpret that.
"Mother," is all he can manage to choke out as his lady mother — his dignified, always composed mother — slams the door to the room shut. Her eyes are bright with fury, and Edward thinks he has never seen his mother so angry before.
"What have you done?" Cecily hisses. "How could you be so stupid?"
"Aunt," Charlotte begins, wincing at the cruel glare Cecily levels at her. Edward cannot remember Charlotte ever looking so cowed; she is a match for any man in the court, but now she is a woman whose hands protectively shield her growing child.
"You are to be married soon," Cecily snaps as she approaches them. "As we speak, your cousin is in France, negotiating for a bride. Have you lost your senses? The dishonor you will bring upon us all — "
"There is nothing dishonorable about what we have done," Edward interrupts, a desire to protect Charlotte and the child inspiring him to find his voice. "Charlotte and I love each other — "
Cecily scoffs, the noise cutting Edward to the quick. "Do you think that will make this situation better? You are all but betrothed! Richard risked everything to put you on the throne and you repay him by dishonoring his daughter? I thought I raised you better!"
"I have not shamed anyone!"
"And what is the child growing in Charlotte's womb if not a mark of the shame you both shall now carry?" Cecily shakes her head is disgust. "This is how you wish to start your rule, by betraying those who stood behind you when you had no crown on your head? What do you think your father would say if he could see this?"
Edward physically recoils from the words, and he sees Charlotte look at the floor, her face twisting with shame before transforming into the stoic expression she wore when she first told him of her pregnancy. He wants nothing more than to reach for her, to kiss her and tell her how wrong his mother is, but there is no chance; his mother is rushing on, her words cutting deeper with each syllable.
"You knew this was wrong; the fact that you have gone to such lengths to hide it proves that. And what do you plan to do now?"
"I am the king; I can do as I wish," Edward retorts, hearing the petulance in his voice.
"Well, you best know Richard will not abide this," Cecily replies.
"You have no idea what you are talking about, and you have no right to speak to me this way. I am a grown man — "
"Bedding a woman does not make you grown!"
"Leading men into war does! It is not your place - "
"Not my place?" She echoes, and Edward cannot tell if he has further angered her or wounded her by the tension in her voice. "I have been at your father's and then at your side throughout this entire quest, have done everything I could to ensure it was our family on the throne, and you are telling me it is not my place to be concerned with my son, with the futures of all of my children which are endangered by your careless actions?" As Edward lets Cecily's words truly sink in, she turns to face Charlotte, whose face gives away nothing. "And you...I expected better from you, Lottie. What would your mother say if she saw you now?"
Charlotte is quiet for a moment before softly declaring, "With all due respect, Aunt Cecily, it is not for you to speak of my mother." Twisting her head to look at him, she murmurs, "May I have your leave? I'm quite tired."
Edward is not sure what he says, only sees Charlotte gather the furs and wrap them tightly around herself before leaving the room. His mother looks at him as if he is the greatest disappointment to ever walk the earth, and, for the first time, Edward feels the urge to apologize for loving Charlotte Neville.
"We are married," he speaks softly, quietly, for the first time since his mother barged in, but since her eyes widen, he knows she heard him.
"You have to send her away. Everything you have fought for, everything your men have fought for, will all be for naught if you break your marriage contract. If your father was here — "
He goes to speak, but his mother holds up a hand, her fingers curling into a fist before she grits out, "I understand you want to do the honorable thing in regards to Charlotte, but there is nothing to be done. Even if you are truly married as you say you are, no one will believe you. There is nothing to be done."
"I love her. She loves me. She is my wife."
"You're her king, Edward. Of course she loves you! She could hardly have said no, could she?" Cecily shakes her head. "I thought you a better man than this."
─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────
Anne notices things.
She knows many — including her parents — think her a fool and despair of her. Her father wants her to be more like her oldest sister. Her mother wishes she would be more like herself instead. But she is not a fool, despite what they may think and it helps her notice things.
For example, she notices that the king seems enchanted when he looks at Charlotte. But enchanted might not be the right word. King Edward looks at Charlotte like she hung the moon and all the stars. He — the king! — looks at her sister as if she were the sun, and everything revolved around her.
For her part, Charlotte tries to avoid him (at least when she is near). But at night, when there is a feast and she is allowed to stay up with Isabel, she sees that the first dance is always led by the king and her sister. Long ago, she remembers her mother told her that the first dance is always led by the king and the queen, so that must mean the king wants to marry her sister.
Queen Charlotte has a beautiful sound to it, she thinks.
But then, people start leaving. George and Richard, the king's brothers, leave court to go back to the North to live at her father's state. Her parents leave a few weeks later, telling her to obey Charlotte since they have to do something important.
Just when it seems like everyone leaves, Charlotte is the only one who stays. She isn't so happy anymore, as if Father and Mother leaving made her sad, instead of happy. She should be happy, since they now have more freedom, but now she's sad and she and Izzy have to hug her a lot to make her happy again.
"Why are you sad?" Isabel asks Charlotte one day, when a hug doesn't work.
Her pretty eldest sister smiles. "We have to leave court." The three of them sit on a stone bench in the courtyard, but with her answer, Charlotte's eyes stray off her sister to look somewhere far away.
Anne is very unimpressed by her explanation. How can Charlotte think about leaving court? They are having the most fun she's had in years! Charlotte is going to be queen and she wants to leave? It doesn't make sense.
So, she gapes. "But why?! We're having so much fun! You're going to be queen!"
Charlotte's smile turns into a forced thing, and Anne doesn't like it. "Oh, Annie, never repeat such a thing," she admonishes.
"Why do we have to leave?"
Charlotte's eyes go warm before they turn sad again. "I did something wro—" Charlotte shakes her head. "I have to leave before people find out about something that happened. We will return soon, don't worry."