The Yorkist Rose
A Party at The Palace
"Elizabeth!" her father had called to her just days before, to tell her of an invite from the king, to tell her that King Edward had requested her personally to attend, with her parents, a jousting tournament which he and his Yorkist court of imposters, traitors and fools would be hosting. So much of her had wanted to say no, refuse the offer yet with her father's guidance (well, order) and her own curiosity she had accepted, here she now sat in the gallery, at the palace, her mother by her side dressed in a blue gown and head dress. Elizabeth herself had worn a grey of almost white, her hair apparently glowing in contrast. She had not failed to notice the king's attentions on her, the boy had offered her several smiles had urged her close, of course she had pretended not to see him, pretended to be paying attention to the event and having more interest in the men in armour chasing each other with sticks on horses. A pointless form of entertainment which pleased her little. Her mind pleaded for an entertainment form far more physical, one where she would be touched, warmed and.... She looked up toward the royal gallery. To her surprise the young king no longer sat upon his chair, he was absent from the gallery itself. Far more curious now, it was not for minutes until she got the news of where the young man had disappeared.
His entrance was impressive, she looked upon the arena, the white horse drawing her attention, his metal coated hand stroked the creatures mane, then its ears, he mounted the beast, covered in a blue coat and took up the wooden staff directing the horse to the royal gallery where she saw him talk a woman strict enough to scare any man, any woman. She smiled, probably for good will Elizabeth thought, her mother whispered to her similar thoughts. As the king moved the horse away from the gallery, Elizabeth's eyes fixed on his thigh, the strong thigh by which she had sat just night before the muscles moving, she could recall the movement, trace it in his mind. "Edward." she thought allowed earning herself a curious glance from her mother and no more. The woman did not seem shocked by her daughters words, for she had no reason to be, only for the sake that she had called the king by his name, a name his mother and those granted permission should be allowed to call him, not the daughter of an almost common noble woman.
Elizabeth's heart raced as she watched, the young man destroy his opponents one after another, each victory more impressive until the man won, an undisputed champion...
How was she she could not help think such?
His smile was darling as he removed the iron casing from his head, his horse cantered in their direction, stopping short of the gallery wall, his glance was to her mother, she approached slowly at the kings command. "Your Grace." was all Elizabeth could hear before her mother made an agreement, receiving a kiss on the hand from the king, one she graciously received, one her father clearly angered over. Her mother returned offering her a smile, a hand tap and her attentions returned then to the remainder of the tournament, she mentioned nothing of the kings words to Elizabeth or her father. Elizabeth kept looking toward the gallery, Edward returned briefly, muttering some words to a man she did not recognise, one who bowed deeply before Edward once again retreated from the celebrations. Her eyes followed his figure for as far as she could see him, leading his horse away to stables. It was then the man she did not recognise made his approach toward her. "My lady, the king would wish to see you, at the stables. I shall take you."
Edward stroked the horse, his hand touching gently as he guided it back and into its enclosure where it fed, his heart beat at a furious speed, how he looked forward to seeing the woman, how much he had thought of her. For days he had not slept, for days he had thought of nothing, no one but her. She was beautiful, so beautiful. How he wanted her, there and then. Like an angel she walked around the corner, her dress dragging slightly along the floor, her step delicate, like floating. "Your Grace." She curtsied low, his eyes moved in her direction "Edward." She stepped forward him, her hand touching his arm. He moved slightly, toward her she noted.
"Elizabeth." His voice was a whisper, seductive, she sighed, he wanted her.
"Edward what ever is the matter?"
"I need you Elizabeth, perhaps you dont see it, I desperately need you."
"Edward..."
"Please, I beg it of you, what would I need to do?"
"I cannot.."
"Please, I beg it of you, my heart feels as though it should stop its beat with each time you refuse." "The I beg your forgiveness, causing you such pain your grace, it does not change my decision nor my heart." "You heart, you speak of love? You are in love?" "With a great king your grace." "You love me?" His face showed boyish excitement crossed with the pride and vanity of a man and not a child. His vanity had made the jump, that and to talk of Henry as king was treason, for in Edward's mind, and the minds of this Yorkist court Edward and not Henry was king of England. His lips curled into a satisfied smile. "You love me?" "Your Grace." As though those words explained all, as though they were enough. "Then why not spend some time, alone?" "Because your Grace what you want would strip me of my dignity." "Your pride, your dignity." He scoffed and looked away "All more important than your kings own happiness." "Yes your Grace, my dignity before your happiness and forgive me for my selfishness but that shall not change no matter how much you beg, plead and negotiate. If it does not please you perhaps I should leave." "If you leave I shall not see you again?" "Not for what you wish your Grace, call my presence at court for your queen, when you have her, and I shall come but do not expect me to be your mistress nor your whore for I will not." "Very well I hope you do not regret your choice, leave, this is your last invite. Enjoy my wealth, my kind nature." the king walked away storming passed his mother who stood by the side of a large hedge, she watched the two stumbling as her eldest son past her, looked back and muttered an apology. "Edward, my boy whatever-" "With due respect Lady mother, that is none your concern." "Is she-" "She wanted to see the horses, that is all." Cecily Neville saw her son's face, a usually convincing - though compulsive - liar, lying often for the right reasons, for reasons at least that he saw right. For the House of York, against Lancaster, for England, Warwick... To gain a lover or two, but never to lie about a lover. Today she noticed that her son was lying, hurt invaded his eyes, emptiness, almost hollow, there was something her son needed. She looked at the woman who had been by the stables now taking the winding pack back to the tournament. She regrouped with Warwick a short time after arranging her son a small amount of affection to take his mind off this common girl he should desire no more than the plague.
His entrance was impressive, she looked upon the arena, the white horse drawing her attention, his metal coated hand stroked the creatures mane, then its ears, he mounted the beast, covered in a blue coat and took up the wooden staff directing the horse to the royal gallery where she saw him talk a woman strict enough to scare any man, any woman. She smiled, probably for good will Elizabeth thought, her mother whispered to her similar thoughts. As the king moved the horse away from the gallery, Elizabeth's eyes fixed on his thigh, the strong thigh by which she had sat just night before the muscles moving, she could recall the movement, trace it in his mind. "Edward." she thought allowed earning herself a curious glance from her mother and no more. The woman did not seem shocked by her daughters words, for she had no reason to be, only for the sake that she had called the king by his name, a name his mother and those granted permission should be allowed to call him, not the daughter of an almost common noble woman.
Elizabeth's heart raced as she watched, the young man destroy his opponents one after another, each victory more impressive until the man won, an undisputed champion...
How was she she could not help think such?
His smile was darling as he removed the iron casing from his head, his horse cantered in their direction, stopping short of the gallery wall, his glance was to her mother, she approached slowly at the kings command. "Your Grace." was all Elizabeth could hear before her mother made an agreement, receiving a kiss on the hand from the king, one she graciously received, one her father clearly angered over. Her mother returned offering her a smile, a hand tap and her attentions returned then to the remainder of the tournament, she mentioned nothing of the kings words to Elizabeth or her father. Elizabeth kept looking toward the gallery, Edward returned briefly, muttering some words to a man she did not recognise, one who bowed deeply before Edward once again retreated from the celebrations. Her eyes followed his figure for as far as she could see him, leading his horse away to stables. It was then the man she did not recognise made his approach toward her. "My lady, the king would wish to see you, at the stables. I shall take you."
Edward stroked the horse, his hand touching gently as he guided it back and into its enclosure where it fed, his heart beat at a furious speed, how he looked forward to seeing the woman, how much he had thought of her. For days he had not slept, for days he had thought of nothing, no one but her. She was beautiful, so beautiful. How he wanted her, there and then. Like an angel she walked around the corner, her dress dragging slightly along the floor, her step delicate, like floating. "Your Grace." She curtsied low, his eyes moved in her direction "Edward." She stepped forward him, her hand touching his arm. He moved slightly, toward her she noted.
"Elizabeth." His voice was a whisper, seductive, she sighed, he wanted her.
"Edward what ever is the matter?"
"I need you Elizabeth, perhaps you dont see it, I desperately need you."
"Edward..."
"Please, I beg it of you, what would I need to do?"
"I cannot.."
"Please, I beg it of you, my heart feels as though it should stop its beat with each time you refuse." "The I beg your forgiveness, causing you such pain your grace, it does not change my decision nor my heart." "You heart, you speak of love? You are in love?" "With a great king your grace." "You love me?" His face showed boyish excitement crossed with the pride and vanity of a man and not a child. His vanity had made the jump, that and to talk of Henry as king was treason, for in Edward's mind, and the minds of this Yorkist court Edward and not Henry was king of England. His lips curled into a satisfied smile. "You love me?" "Your Grace." As though those words explained all, as though they were enough. "Then why not spend some time, alone?" "Because your Grace what you want would strip me of my dignity." "Your pride, your dignity." He scoffed and looked away "All more important than your kings own happiness." "Yes your Grace, my dignity before your happiness and forgive me for my selfishness but that shall not change no matter how much you beg, plead and negotiate. If it does not please you perhaps I should leave." "If you leave I shall not see you again?" "Not for what you wish your Grace, call my presence at court for your queen, when you have her, and I shall come but do not expect me to be your mistress nor your whore for I will not." "Very well I hope you do not regret your choice, leave, this is your last invite. Enjoy my wealth, my kind nature." the king walked away storming passed his mother who stood by the side of a large hedge, she watched the two stumbling as her eldest son past her, looked back and muttered an apology. "Edward, my boy whatever-" "With due respect Lady mother, that is none your concern." "Is she-" "She wanted to see the horses, that is all." Cecily Neville saw her son's face, a usually convincing - though compulsive - liar, lying often for the right reasons, for reasons at least that he saw right. For the House of York, against Lancaster, for England, Warwick... To gain a lover or two, but never to lie about a lover. Today she noticed that her son was lying, hurt invaded his eyes, emptiness, almost hollow, there was something her son needed. She looked at the woman who had been by the stables now taking the winding pack back to the tournament. She regrouped with Warwick a short time after arranging her son a small amount of affection to take his mind off this common girl he should desire no more than the plague.