The year is 1464.
The War of the Roses rages on; a great showdown between Lancaster and York.
Yet, asleep in her bed, fiery-haired Melissa Woodville dreams of splintered shields, broken swords, and the resounding screams of wounded men in the Battle...
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TWO WEEKS INTO the preparations for her wedding, Melissa Woodville found herself shamefully hiding in a dark corridor, thinking to herself, "I shall not be found. They may not find me."
Wearing only a light chemise with a robe hastily thrown over it, the girl darted from arch to arch, panel to panel, struggling to reach her chambers before anyone spotted her. Having just made her bid for freedom from her sister, the queen's rooms, she knew her greatest chance of being caught was in the royal corridors.
"The Lord curse this rivalry." The red-head seethed, thinking of the obvious discontent between her family and the York ladies.
Not only did they seek to outperform each other at the every turn, but they had now pulled Melissa into the fray as well — and God help her, should she prefer something one of the duchesses presented to her over the material her sister boasted (or vice versa, really). With all the bark and bite thrown around, it was a wonder they had managed to get anything done.
"Just a few more steps." The marchioness murmured under her breath, spotting the edge of the gilt doors to her chambers. "Just a few more steps."
Peeking from behind a corinthian column, she took a deep breath and nodded. The end to her humiliation was in sight.
"Honestly," she thought, exasperated, steeling herself to move. "The fact that I must run away from them in my nightclothes!"
The hallway was empty, she noted one last time. No one was there. No one would bear witness to this disgrace. This was her chance.
And regretfully, Melissa took it.
"Going somewhere?"
A startled scream erupted from the girl's chest as she whipped around, stumbling back toward the wall. Edward stood tall, as always, an amused look on his face as he surveyed her attire.
