~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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~The First to Fly~
March 1483, Westminster Palace....
The great hall of Westminster was alight with music and merriment, laughter dancing through the air like the brightly dressed couples before the royal dais. Acrobats tumbled around the room and stood atop one another's shoulders, building human towers they jumped and juggled fiery batons from. The trestle tables lining the walls were laden bywith food, not a single souls didn't bear a smile, wine flowed freely and, at the centre of it all, was the Princess Marie of York.
In a dazzling gown of cloth of gold, her hair loose and adorned by a crown, she spun across the floor with her ladies, giggling and chattering to her heart's content. Her parents watched her glowing with pride, the court with affection and awe. She was truly perfect.
She and her ladies held hands, dancing in a circle of silk and satin, smiling at each other, enjoying their last moments at the English court. Soon they would all be on a ship to Burgundy (Marie having convinced her Father to allow all of her ladies to accompany her abroad), a new adventure as Cecily called it or a terrifying prospect as it had been christened by Anne. Still, she would not leave her Princess- none of them would.
"Dance with us!" Marie giggled, pulling Isabella into her circle of friends as she passed by, drawing a startled cry from the ten year old before she began to laugh. By the time it was her eleventh birthday, her elder sister would be in Burgundy so, even though it was Marie's farewell ball, and of course she would give her sister a present before, she saw no reason why not to give Isabella a treat!
Their parents watched on proudly, dressed in cloth of gold just like their eldest with their crowns atop their head: beaming. She wished her Grandmother were there, she wouldn't be able to say goodbye to her, she wished Neddy and her Uncle Dickon were present too. She'd said goodbye to them at Christmas but her marriage, her future, hadn't seemed as final as it did now.
A sudden weight appeared on her heart and she drew in a sharp breath, drawing away from the circle, bringing her hands to her bodice. "Sister? Are you well?" Isabella asked and Marie forced a smile, nodding. "Yes, Issy, I simply need some air is all, the hall is quite....hot...."
Before her ladies or sister could say another word, she turned on her heels and began to make her way through the swirling crowd of courtiers, trying to acknowledge every bow and curtsy with her usual distinguished grace and hoping she succeeded.
When she burst from the great hall, the cool of the corridor washed over her like an ocean of relief and she walked quickly, pressing her back against the stone wall as soon as she turned a corner. Something dripped onto her cheek and a few moments later slipped into her mouth, the salty taste of tears pooling on her tongue. She reached up a hand, wiping her eyes.
She knew she was a woman grown, that she was a Princess ready for marriage but, at that moment, she didn't feel ready, nor did she feel grown.She felt like a child small and scared and unprepared to do what was asked of her. She was seventeen and a few years ago that would've seemed the most grown up in the world to her but now....she still felt young, too young.
