Small chapter dedicated to all who voted for this story on the turtledove poll, but also with a special mention to
@TheBookwormBoy who has spent too many hours listening to my ramblings, and also encouraged me in May 2021 to write the new idea I just had about Magdalena of France marrying Edward IV. This is your victory too, Michael, not just mine!
August 1474. Newhaven, England.
His feet hit the wet sand with a muffled thud as he jumped off the small boat that had led him off the ship. Edward of Westminster, rightful King of England and France, looked around at the plain shore surrounding him, his heart swelling up in his chest.
It didn’t feel real, to finally be there, in his homeland once again, after so many years of exile. First in Scotland, then in France, driven away by the Yorkists and the Usurper. Edward closed his eyes and took in a deep breath, inhaling the salty sea air. The wind hit his face, messing his hair, blonde curls stuffed inside a tight cap bouncing against his cheeks.
He kneeled on the ground and took a fistful of the sand, bringing it to his lips to kiss it. Home. At long last, he was home.
Edward straightened up and saw his wife coming to stand beside him, holding tightly to Blanche’s hand. Maisie had her face pinched in a tight expression, wearing simple blue garments fit for the travel through the channel. They hadn’t reconciled entirely since their argument about Blanche joining the household of the Queen of France. Not even Edward acquiescing to her demands and allowing their daughter to remain with them brought husband and wife back together, but at least, when he turned to look at her, Maisie was smiling. A smile he had not seen ever since they lost their son.
“I thought I would never see this isle of Great Britain again,” she admitted. Edward nodded.
“I was born here,” he said. “I shall die here.”
“God willing, this shall not happen for many years yet,” said Maisie, placing her hand on the back of his head to play with the nape of his hair. He shuddered and chuckled, turning back to see the 2,000 mercenaries the King of France had funded for them disembarking. The men that would bring him back to London with his father’s crown returned to him.
Edward nodded at a group of riders in the distance, observing him and his party. “Edward of York will be aware of our arrival within the week,” he said. “Jasper Tudor has landed in Wales to gather supporters and we must rejoin with him, or we shall have no hope of winning this war.”
Maisie nodded. “It will take days for Edward to gather his forces,” she said. “Until then, we can reclaim the lands on our way to London.”
A hearty cough echoed behind them and Edward turned to see his mother being helped by the Duke of Somerset out of her boat, a fist closed against her mouth as her shoulder shook with the strength of her sickly shudders.
He turned back to his wife. Blanche was trying to grab her own fistful of sand, curly red hair flopping with the wind. “Look, mama!” she said. “A rock!” Edward and Maisie chuckled, his wife bending to pick up their four-year-old daughter in her arms.
Edward nodded at the land before them. “Come on,” he said. “We have a kingdom to reconquer.”