❝you think Achilles was of impressive descent?
touch me one more time❞
The one where King Edward IV is captivated by Charlotte Neville and their love has far-reaching consequences. For Charlotte had a place in Edward's heart no one could tear her fr...
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August 1485
They had no choice. That didn't make this any easier.
Lily tried to pretend she wasn't in pain, but she was restless even in sleep and the coppery scent of blood in her chamber was impossible to ignore. She'd been like this for three days and Dickon was beginning to wonder if they'd made a terrible mistake asking the woodswitch for tansy.
Simple, a cup of tea and a few days' rest. That was what Dickon had told Lily. She'd barely spoken as he explained his reasoning, just stared at him with solemn eyes. After everything they'd been through, she trusted Dickon more than she should. It had never occurred to her to rid herself of the babe until he'd suggested it.
When they'd found the woodswitch to ask for her help, the woman had glared at him, muttered that men knew nothing. Then she'd touched Lily's cheek and told her she could bear it, if this was what she wanted. Lily's hand had shaken as she lifted the cup to her lips.
She whimpered in her sleep, her arm curled around her still-flat belly. The days had blended together until neither had any idea how long ago Dickon's seed had quickened in her womb. The signs had been there for some time, but he hadn't wanted to see it.
Surely it was better this way, before Lily felt the babe move, before she saw its face. They'd had no choice.
─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────
Anne was as white as snow. Looking down at her younger sister who had her hand in a vice-like grip as she strained and screamed, Charlotte sensed the thought pass through her head. A moment later, she corrected herself. Anne was whiter than snow. At least snow had some sparkle to it when it was freshly fallen. Anne had none. All she had was pain. Pain and a mother's instinct.
In stark contrast to the woman who writhed upon it, the birthing bed was drenched in blood. For a moment, Charlotte feared that her fragile sister was about to bleed out in front of her, with nothing to show for her hours of travail.
The Physicians exchanged a look.
"It's no good, Thomas," the apprentice said. "The child is stuck. The labor has gone on for too long. Even if we were to cut open Her Grace, there's but a slim chance that the child would still live. And her person is sacred. We cannot..."
"Aye, but if this child is a boy, then it is the Duke's heir. A boy to be his father's new heir now that their only son died. If it yet lives, the child is our Earl of Salisbury, the future Duke of Gloucester. Doing nothing means we give that boy up for lost. We may well murder him. Need I remind you of the oath we both took when we entered this profession?"
"No."
"Well then. And this is no ordinary mother and child. This is the Duchess of Gloucester, giving birth to a child that is our King's cousin. Would you have royal blood on your hands, John?"
