~𝕭𝖊𝖙𝖗𝖆𝖞𝖆𝖑 𝖎𝖘 𝖔𝖓𝖑𝖞 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖇𝖊𝖌𝖎𝖓𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌~
Born the youngest daughter of Charles I, Duke of Bourbon, Constance of Bourbon grows up amidst comfort and splendour on her powerful family's estates in France. A shy child, she prefers her...
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~Rebellion~
July 1469, the English Midlands....
"I hate him" Marie mumbled, frowning at the hand she'd stuck out of the carriage window; letting the gentle summer breeze slip through her fingers.
At almost five years old she was now permitted to ride in the same sumptuous carriage as her Mother when the royals were on their summer progress, a thrill if ever there was one, but while she tried to enjoy such luxurious status, she could not help but let her mind wander into resentment stirring within.
Marie was a pretty girl, with her Mother's brown waves and her Father's blue eyes, she was intelligent too, more so than most girls her age!
Already she'd proven herself an apt York Princess, attending to her studies, dancing with grace and becoming master of three languages, English, French and Latin! The only downside was, with the latter language, she found amusement in correcting her personal chaplain when he dared say one word wrong!
It was something she'd learnt from her Uncle George.
She loved her Uncles, she knew as much, although her Father's brothers were simply George and Dickon to her, playmates at times, dance partners at others. She had not seen the elder for two months now, though Dickon would be waiting for her at Tamworth, she was sure of it, he'd promised!
And Dickon never broke a promise. 'Loyaulte me lie' She thought with a sigh 'Loyalty Binds Me' It was his motto and one she greatly admired; wished her Father would imitate but that was a fool's dream.
Her Mother was sat beside her as their carriage trundled along the rocky English roads; wrapped in a thin satin shawl with one hand gently combing through her daughter's hair. Her gown was of blue silk, the same as Marie and even their headdresses were of the same hue!
Dressing them in similar garments had been a tradition Constance developed a taste for ever since she'd given birth to Marie, feeling it tied them together despite the invisible bond between them that was unbreakable.
Marie adored her Mother, she always would, there was not another on earth who could ever love her more, she always thought whenever Constance kissed her goodnight or read to her by the fire. She adored her Father too, that was only natural and he did love to dote on her, but his handsome, golden figure would never overshadow Queen Constance!
Twenty five summers Constance had seen.
"Who, my little love?" The Queen now asked, looking down at the little dark haired girl and feeling her heart swell with affection. Marie's little lips pouted, her brows creasing while her slender fingers curled into a fist.
"Arthur" She spoke the name with bitterness, one so virulent the syllables no longer formed a name nor a word but an all-consuming poison of hatred brewed over many years.
