𝐸𝑑𝑔𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝐷𝑒𝑠𝑖𝑟𝑒 || 𝑇𝐻𝐸 𝑊𝐻𝐼𝑇𝐸 𝑄𝑈𝐸𝐸𝑁

𝐶ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑋𝐿𝑉𝐼

~In Sickness~

"And you are sure of this?" Richard asked the next day, in disbelief when Eleanor told him what she had seen in Anne's chamber, quickly swatting at his arm as she told him to be quiet.

"Of course I am sure!" She hissed, glad that the merry music being played around them was loud enough to drown out her husband's shock "Do you think I could hallucinate a child and her mother being locked away?"

"Of course not!" Richard retorted with a slight frown "I just don't see why you did not speak of this to me last night, although I grant you it was late when you returned to our chambers, where were you?"

"With my mother" Eleanor sighed, for it was true, it had almost been two in the morning when she had slipped into bed, welcoming sleep almost immediately "she is sick"

"Sick?"
"Yes, Richard, my mother is sick. Why else do you think she has not been at the celebrations" she lowered her voice a little, grinning "you know how much she loves the gossip....but she shall not miss it for long! Illness never grips my mother for a week or more!"

"The King and Queen of England!" A herald announced and immediately the musicians ceased their song and the courtiers their chatter and dance. All swept down into their most benevolent bows and curtseys as the royal couple walked by, though it was clear by the King and Queen's faces that any form of Christmas joy was far from their mind.

Elizabeth left Edward's side almost immediately, an almost despondent look on her beautiful face as she walked on to her throne alone, while her husband greeted George with a laugh and a smile.

Automatically, Eleanor pushed her goblet into Richard's hand and walked through the crowds of nobles, barely acknowledging their greetings as she went after her sister. Going to stand besides the Queen's throne, the gently lay a hand on Elizabeth's shoulder and squeezed softly in a comforting yet silent message that the pair immediately understood.

"That's her" the Queen murmured bitterly as the dancers began to pair again, forming two lines before the thrones. She pointed quickly to a rather petite woman with a round face and kind eyes. Her gown was the palest shade of pink and her hair loose and long down her back in flaming red ringlets that Eleanor begrudgingly admitted were much like her own.

The Duchess did not need to be told who this woman was as she watched the courtiers begin to dance. For she could be none other than Jane Shore, Edward's mistress. Glancing to the King only confirmed her suspicions and she felt almost nauseated by the way he gazed longingly at her, his blue eyes full of lust and promise as they roamed Jane's lithe body.

"Damn him" Eleanor whispered angrily as Elizabeth's knuckles began to turn white from the iron grip she had on the throne's arms. Still, she could not ignore Jane as she danced. The woman seemed to draw every eye in the room, willing or unwilling, admiring or hating. A light laugh escaped her, as soft and as gentle as the coo of a dove and Eleanor suddenly found herself marvelling at the other woman's beauty; despising herself for it.