- 𝐹𝑜𝑟𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑚𝑎𝑦 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑟𝑒𝑖𝑔𝑛 -
It's the year 1464 and Eleanor Woodville lives at Grafton Manor as one of the younger daughters of Jacquetta and Sir Richard Woodville. At 11 years old, her worries are little and her joys great but her o...
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~Pleasure~
Richard grimaced as he was once more swept with another sickening wave of the scent of thick wine and sweat. Groans of pleasure echoed in his ears as he tried to avert his eyes from the array of cushions and beds that filled the torchlit room, piled with English nobles and French whores.
He took another swig of wine from the bottle he held. It had been the strongest he and George (who stood beside him in their little alcove) had managed to find and they passed it back and forth, exchanging looks of increasing irritation and anger as they did so.
Both had been forced by Edward to attend and both sighed heavily as they glanced at their elder brother. A sheer curtain covered the bed where he lay, shirt torn open with a whore straddling his waist, riding him. The King's head was thrown back, eyes closed in pleasure as moans tumbled from his parted lips.
"Father would cry for shame if he could see us now" Richard muttered as he tore his eyes away from the scene and George grunted.
"Are you sure you can remember him well enough to know that?" He snapped and his little brother flinched. George's tongue was never sharper than when he was displeased and his words stung as a cut from a dagger might.
It was true, Richard could not really remember the late Duke of York very well apart from fond pats on the head and an occasional soft smile that was rather like his own. But that did not mean he liked for his lack of memory to be pointed out to him.
"Yes" he replied tersely, taking another gulp of wine "yes I am, brother" he found himself wishing that he were not at the castle but in his army camp where Jack, Francis and Rob had all retreated.
They had provided the excuse that they needed to keep the men in check for while the rest of the army had gone drinking and whoring around the town streets, Richard had forbidden his men to do so.
And so they sat quietly in their tents, awaiting further orders from their Duke. Richard was all in all rather pleased with that arrangement if nothing else. His brother's men could disgrace themselves all they pleased, at the very least his would not be found at fault and he was proud of that.
"It's that whore Elizabeth's fault" George spat, snapping Richard from his thoughts as he nodded in grim agreement "she's been writing to him since we left! Telling him not to fight. She has England's high command, not Edward" Huffing and in a high rage, George stalked away to find another dark corner to sulk in.
Richard once more took another hearty swig of wine, shaking his head as he glanced again towards Edward. He found that he could not meet his eye, had not been able to for the past week and so cast his gaze to the ground.
