- 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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~A Boy King~
"We must catch up to him and we must take him into our custody" Richard said firmly two days later, looking around the faces that belonged to the people gathered around the table in his study.
Eleanor, Francis, Rob, Harry, Jack and Robert Brackenbury. The people he trusted most. The last man had arrived only hours ago and his hair was still damp from the April showers that had cursed his journey. Thankfully he was closest to the fire.
"What are we all to do, your grace?" He asked and Richard looked to him. "I have sent out call to arms for a thousand men...." "Only a thousand?" Francis questioned and Eleanor nodded.
"The King shall be travelling with my brother Earl Rivers and my nephew Lord Grey" she said calmly "If they know I travel with you they will not put up a fight. We do not need an army Francis" Francis raised his eyebrows but did not speak again. Richard nodded to his wife.
"Exactly" he said "now, I have arranged to meet with Anthony Woodville at Stony Stratford. Once we are there we shall all dine together and then I shall take custody of the young King. With any luck, Rivers will hand the boy over and go back to Ludlow as will Grey" "Although we must be careful" Eleanor added "my nephew Thomas is rather a hothead"
"Quite like you then?" Rob teased and she shook her head playfully. "All I'm saying is that you must be careful not to rouse his anger or the whole plan will blow up. Oh and when he drinks he can be rather.... obtuse, shall we say so do not let him rile you and yes that is directed at you Harry"
Harry held up his hands in mock surrender, a grin on his face. "I wont! I promise!" He replied and Richard nodded. "We are all agreed then?" He asked and the six others retuned his nod "good. We set out at dawn tomorrow, keep your swords concealed beneath your cloaks, we do not want to give the impression we are about to wage a war!"
꧁꧂
Blood, warm and fresh trickled down the bloodied execution block, soaking the dirty wood of the scaffold below and staining two silver crosses....
Two crosses....
Two crosses....
A broken crown, torn in half, its golden points twisted and broken, jewels roughly torn from their place and strewn upon the dark earth, lay in a tangle of thorns by a river....
A broken crown....
A broken crown....
Opening her eyes, Eleanor found herself in a dark hallway, only lit by torchlight.
Something cold touched her feet and she gasped as she looked down and saw blood covering the floor, soaking the hem of her shift, her nose wrinkling as the metallic scent assailed it.
