Grace FitzRoy and Cecily Neville were two sides of one deal. On Loveday in the year 1458, when York and Lancaster came together ceremonially to reconcile their two warring factions, the Duke of York and King of England struck a deal. A daughter for...
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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.
