~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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~Golden Days~
21st of May 1471, Westminster Palace....
The Lancastrian nobles fled once they knew the battle lost, some to the nearby town but most to the Abbey where they begged sanctuary and was granted it by the priest. However, not even God could help them that day. Against the laws of the heavens and the land, King Edward broke into the barred abbey with his men, sword drawn, ready to kill, only halting when the priest bade him not shed blood in the house of God.
Apologising to the old man, the York King sheathed his sword but did not relent in his aim and had the Lancastrian Lords dragged from the Abbey to be beheaded the next day under the command of the young Duke of Gloucester.
All but one. The Duke of Somerset.
"A much different fate awaits him, my friend" The King said grimly when Will asked him why Somerset hadn't been put to the sword "Believe me, he shall wish he had been slain this day before the time comes for him to die" He had not forgotten what the man had done to his Queen, how he had had her beaten and their children torn from her arms - nor would he ever.
With the battle of Tewksbury came great victory for the House of York and great defeat for the House of Lancaster, destroying what little left it had.
Edward of Lancaster, the only true heir to his house was slain on the battlefield. At sixteen, it had been his first battle, just a year younger than Edmund of York had been at Wakefield and it was for him, some said, that the young Lancastrian Prince's life had been taken in an act of long awaited vengeance.
His Mother, Queen Marguerite, was captured soon after the battle and, while a strong woman, the news of her son's death crushed her. Delivered cooly on the lips of John Neville, the Lancastrian Queen collapsed to the ground, a heartbroken scream tearing from her throat, one hand pressed against her womb.
He was her only child and he was dead.
While Somerset was dragged behind the King's horse in chains upon his triumphant return to London, she was paraded through the streets in an open litter. The people jeered but she appeared not to see them. Pale faced, eyes red-rimmed, she simply stared ahead of her at the spires of Westminster Palace that used to be her home and then at the Tower walls where she would remain until the York's decided her fate.
The Lancastrian Prince's widow was afforded more dignity, travelling in a comfortable carriage directly to Westminster Palace with its curtains drawn about her. The King had promised his Queen to rescue Anne Neville and he knew she was just a girl, he was fond of her in truth; he would not humiliate her for the sake of it. Besides her heart was suffering enough without him adding to her troubles.
Constance felt pity prick at her heart as she watched the fallen Queen marched through the Tower courtyard from her bedchamber window. She couldn't help but think if the wheel of fortune had turned differently it could've so easily been her instead of Marguerite being locked away, her that mourned the death of a child.
