❝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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January 1485
Her husband was asleep, his expression as peaceful as it had been in their early days at Ludlow, as it rarely ever was today. The green eyes that were set deep in his face and the almost permanent frown upon his lips seemed to melt away into a peaceful man lost in his dreams.
He was handsome, she had always thought him handsome. He had not been unkind to her when he had taken her virginity on their wedding night. He had been gentle and even brought her some pleasure.
But she knew that he did not love her. Not anymore.
She was not a fool. Her brother had agreed for her to marry Edmund because it was a prestigious match, leagues better than anything they would find in Ireland. And, she was realistic enough to know that if King Edward had lived for longer, they might have truly found love in their marriage. But it was not to be. They were thrust into roles they did not expect way too soon and it was managing to destroy the fragile relationship they had built.
She would be a fool not to know that another had captured his heart.
She thought of Bess of Gloucester, her red rimmed eyes at her brother's funeral, her sunken figure as she wandered through the palace. She thought of the way her husband had looked at his cousin. The longing.
Nothing was happening. Not yet, in any case. Bess was mourning her brother, worrying for her mother's failing health and too young at any rate. Edmund was many things, but a rapist was not one of them and he would not take a child to bed. And so, nothing was happening at the moment. But that did not mean it would not happen in a few years, when Bess was older and had fully come into the wild beauty she seemed to have.
Tears began to slide down Megan's cheeks and she turned away from her husband and curled in on herself. Perhaps he would come to love her again one day. When she gave him a son.
She could only hope.
─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────
"You call this stitching?"
Nora's voice echoed in the room and further, into the hallway Anthony and Richard were walking down. The gentle murmur of voices ground to a halt, waiting for the verbal sparring between the girls.
Bella didn't respond, though Richard could easily imagine her flashing eyes; for whatever reason, she appeared loathe to actually engage.
Nora couldn't let it by. She continued: "It's horrible. I could do better when I was three! What kind of a lady doesn't know how to wield a needle?"
"Say that when I've a sword in my hand," Bella snapped, sounding at the end of her patience.
Anthony winced, wrapping an arm around his elbow where Bella had struck him the night before.
