Crown of Blood | The White Princess

Two York Babes

That night,

As Lisbet felt her mind slowly awakening, she began to be aware of the hushed chatter that was taking place around her.

She felt both her hands being desperately clutched at and found the strength to open her eyes only to find her mother and Francis staring anxiously down at her, causing her to almost jump out of her skin.

"Jesus Christ" she muttered "what on earth are you two doing here? Shouldn't you be killing Henry Tudor?"

Marian smiled and gently brought her daughter's hand to her lips.
"From what is being said around camp, ma chérie, you almost did! Besides, I think I gave them hell enough today!"
"Aye" Francis agreed "you are quite the hero of the hour to the Yorkists, Lillibet"

Lisbet could only find the strength to smile a little and then weakly force her lips to move again as her mind became more and more active.
"Cathy" she whispered "how is she? I...is the babe born? Do we have a Prince of Wales?"

"Cathy delivered a healthy baby around two hours ago, Lisbet" Marian answered gently "and it seems we do have a new Princess of Wales!"
"A Princess" Lisbet whispered to herself, immediately weighing up the pros and the cons of the situation, despite her relief that both the babe and Cathy were safe "a-and what is she called? This new Princess of York?"

"She is called Cecily, after your grandmother" Francis said and his wife's smile grew.
"Cecily" she repeated softly, fond memories of the baby's namesake filling her head as she felt herself began to drift away again "Cecily Plantagenet...my little niece..."

༒༒༒

Slowly sitting up with a grimace and swinging her legs over the side of her bed, the Duchess of Exeter glanced at the thick layer of bandages that were wrapped around her upper arm where the dagger had been lodged.

Upon her losing consciousness, Ned had carried his sister back to the camp and Marian had instantly insisted that she tend to her, leaving Bianca in charge of Cathy while she was away. With Francis pacing relentlessly up and down his wife's tent, Marian had skilfully cleaned and sewed up Lisbet's wound, praying that it would not catch any infection.

Now, Lisbet gently prodded where she estimated her injury must lie and let out a low hiss as she realised she was correct and jerked her hand away at the searing pain her fingers had accidentally inflicted.

"Elizabeth!"
Her head shot up to see little Henry stood in the entrance to her tent, his face screwed up and anxious. Lisbet held out her hand and he ran over, taking it before settling himself down beside her. Gently he took her arm and tilted his head with worry as he saw the bandages under her raised shirt sleeve. "You're hurt" he said but she shook her head.