- 𝐸𝑚𝑝𝑖𝑟𝑒𝑠 𝑟𝑖𝑠𝑒, 𝐸𝑚𝑝𝑖𝑟𝑒𝑠 𝑓𝑎𝑙𝑙 -
It's the year 1485 and King Richard III has been slain at the battle of Bosworth along with his beloved wife and Queen, Marian of Lancaster. Their eldest daughter, Lisbet, is given little time to...
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The crown safely wrapped in the cloak she had managed to salvage from the wreck that had been the York encampment, Lisbet rode silently through the woods with Francis by her side and a few Yorkist soldiers tagging along behind, weary looks on their bloodied faces.
As the dawn sun began to rise, she looked to the horizon, that was occasionally blotted out by trees, and sent another prayer to God and to her dead kin, willing them to send her some divine intervention.
Over and over she wondered how she was going to tell Marian that her eldest son and her firstborn was dead; had died in agony with a pike in his gut.
And how was she to tell Cathy? How would she say to her that she was no longer Queen? That her husband was dead and her daughter would grow up fatherless?
What was she going to say to Ned? Would she just present him with the crown? No, she had to provide an explanation! But how she would word it she did not know.
What would her kin think? Would they blame her for Edmund's death? Would they yell at her? Would they comfort her? Would they demand that the 5 day old Cecily become Queen? Would Ned even accept the crown? Would he be a good king? Edmund was the one who had been trained to take the throne, not Ned!
He had never entertained the idea that he may rule, not in all of his 22 years of life! It had been drummed into him since he was 7 years old that his elder brother would one day rule and the loyalty that he had come to harbour toward him had meant that dreams of taking the throne for himself had never crossed his mind. Now he had to be King. He had no choice. For Edmund was dead and...
"Are you well, my love?" Francis asked gently and Lisbet nodded, though she knew she was anything but. Within the space of two days she had lost her Aunt Elizabeth and her brother 'I can't do it' she thought but forced herself to push all feelings of grief from her mind and heart, willing herself to be strong.
Pulling herself up on her horse, she yanked the animal to a halt. "Smoke" she observed as she smelt the distinctive smell, one that would haunt her for the rest of her days. Turning to the duke, she raised an eyebrow "should we follow? I do not think that our family would be so stupid as to light a fire now?"
"Perhaps to keep the baby warm?" Francis offered and Lisbet sighed. "We will follow" she concluded stiffly and motioned for the men to move forward again, nudging her steed into a trot.
Following the sickening scent, Lisbet was relived to see more and more Yorkist soldiers as she passed by. They bowed low as always as she went but the Princess caught the desolate and demoralised looks in their bloodshot eyes.
Was this truly the same enthusiastic force that had sailed from France mere weeks ago? It seemed not to be so.
The small sound of muffled sobbing drew Lisbet's attention to a clump of trees and it was there she spotted her kin, though they were hardly recognisable with their tear stained faces and blackened garments that were torn and tattered.
