❝you think Achilles was of impressive descent?
touch me one more time❞
The one where King Edward IV is captivated by Charlotte Neville and their love has far-reaching consequences. For Charlotte had a place in Edward's heart no one could tear her fr...
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The first thing Charlotte felt when she woke was the chill of the room. For the last two months, Edward had absolutely forbidden the servants to enter his chambers until he called for them. Pulling the covers tighter around her, Charlotte snuggled back against him, seeking his warmth. She heard him groan very softly, and knew he would be awake soon.
Or, she could help him along with the process of awakening, for she'd found several interesting ways to awaken him in the last few months; but she was content to just snuggle against him. She found comfort in their intimacy, and if she read Edward correctly, so did he. She knew there were many days he'd prefer to just say in bed, and honestly so would she. She was glad that despite the fact that he'd had her many times already, he did not seem to have lost his passion for her. If anything, to her, it seems he craved her body even more.
Charlotte moaned very softly, as she felt his fingers begin to trace patterns on her bare back.
"I trust you slept well," Edward murmured, remembering it had been well past two when they'd finally fallen asleep.
"Yes," she murmured, as his hands started to move up, and her breath caught as she realized this was one of those mornings when he did not intend to leave the bed without making love one more time. She sighed softly, wrapping her arms around him, as they kissed.
Charlotte gasped again as he rolled onto his back, pulling her on top of him. The first time they'd been together this way, she'd been uncertain, but she'd soon discovered how his eyes would never break contact with hers, how he gave her complete control of what was happening. Raising herself up, she leaned down and kissed him deeply, grinding her hips against his, feeling him harden beneath her.
"Don't be a tease," Edward groaned, raising his hips, but she propped herself up on her knees, placing her hands on his shoulders and pining him down.
She squealed as he raised himself up, surprising her. It was no surprise he overpowered her, he had at least three stones on her and a broader build, it was easy for him. But in the past months, he'd been gentle on the bedroom, treating her as if she were made of glass.
She giggled as he flipped them over once again, his lips trailing a path down from her neck to the valley between her breasts as he entered slowly.
Charlotte very much enjoyed her mornings with Edward.
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"My late brother-in-law fought for the King as the law demanded," Anthony says for the tenth time.
"Look, I understand, but..." Charlotte trails off, at least as tired as he is and in a mood twice as foul. "The decision is not mine, Anthony. He fought for my uncle and that made him a traitor to His Majesty —"
"You'd all be traitors if King Henry had won!"
The glare she sends him is enough to make him audibly gulp.
"Be that as it may, my uncle did not win the war," Charlotte says swiftly. "I think our conversation is at an end," she spits, rising to her feet and tossing her hair.
She strides from the room then, all the pride of Houses Lancaster and Neville pushing her shoulders back and her head high, and she holds steady until she reaches her rooms.
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They had always been the perfect dancing partners. Even when they were growing up and it became clear Charlotte would not be tall, her lithe frame complimented Edward's broad upper body. A dancing teacher had been brought from Italy and she'd remarked they were the most graceful couple she'd taught.
She did not recognize the flush of Charlotte's cheeks or the blissful flutter of Edward's eyes when his hand went to settle at her waist, nor did she ever see the slightly improper lack of distance between them. When she saw Edward twirling his future sister-in-law in the corridors she, like most people, suspected that Charlotte was Edward's favorite of the Neville girls, but never anything more. She was glad that they were so close; it was one of the most endearing kinds of relationships.
He remembered this as they danced at the feast, opening the floor.
His hands settled on her waist and he held her up, twirling her before setting her down. Charlotte quickly moved, turning and turning in circles around him, until with the beat of the music, he grasped her arm and pulled her against him, his hands settling on her waist once more as he dipped her low.
She went spinning away, her skirts swirling around her legs, exposing the skin of her ankles as her headdress came undone, leaving her hair free. Dark locks trailed down her back, but Charlotte didn't stop dancing. She came closer once again and they locked their arms together, standing side by side as she went down in a curtsy and he in a mocking bow.
Yes, they were the perfect dancing partners. ─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────
Warwick recognizes something is amiss on a sunny afternoon. Isabel tells him a gentleman has taken her older sister for a walk of the grounds and it is not hard to imagine where a young man would take a woman he is trying to woo.
There is a gently sloping hill overlooking the water where flowers still grow, and he would confess to having taken Eleanor and Anne both to that place in the early days.
Charlotte's laughter rings clear as a bell, and Warwick smiles slightly. With any luck, it'll be a Duke's heir who she's with. As he reaches the clearing, he sees his firstborn, barefoot with unbound hair, standing knee deep in the water; her gown is on the bank, her shift gathered in one hand to keep it dry. A tall man is bare-chested but soaking wet, obviously having slipped and fallen fully into the water. Charlotte squeals as the mystery man catches her behind the knee, pulling her down.
His daughter breaks the surface, sputtering and pushing her hair from her face. Warwick is stepping forward to announce himself when the man cups her face, gently brushing strands away from her eyes with the tips of his fingers.
Even from a distance, he can see Charlotte tremble as she leans into the caress; even before their lips meet. This is no chaste kiss between a courting couple; he can see Charlotte's lips part to accept the man's tongue, watches his daughter sink her fingers into his curls to hold him tighter against her body. His knee-jerk reaction is to announce himself, to shout at them for their scandalous behavior.
But Charlotte is smiling as they break apart, her laughter sweet, and he starts to devise a plan.
With one action, he can rid himself of two problems.
