Chapter first posted on my patreon on 03/24.
February 1484. Greenwich Palace, England.
Sometimes, Blanche missed Richard like a lost limb. Something that wasn't there anymore, but should be. Something that was taken from her, after one too many fights with the King caused Richard's return to his lands in the north. He sent letters to her, letters that were read and delivered to her with broken seals, and she responded in kind.
She described the white roses growing in the southern garden, the dew that collected in her bedroom's window every morning. Her mother's travels to Scotland to see her brother, her return. For his part, he told her about stags and the priest that served him with his lisp, and the way he pronounced King Edward as King Edvard. It made her laugh, how eloquently he could tell a story until her laugh turned into sobs as she remembered her own longing for him.
Dickon was fifteen now, but Blanche hadn't seen him for over a year. She tried to imagine how he looked now. Tall and dark-haired, with blue eyes and an easy smile. His brother was still trying to settle his marriage with the Portuguese infanta, though with everything that was going on in Spain, it was no wonder he was having a difficulty with it. The King of Portugal was attempting to curb his nobility's influence and he wouldn't be happy with his cousin marrying into foreign royalty.
For her part, Blanche was not much changed. She was thirteen, just under 5'6" as she had been for years. Her hair remained as bright a red as ever, with sky-blue eyes. She knew some people thought her pretty, and her mother and Lady Richmond even called her beautiful, but she often wondered whether the King, or Richard thought the same.
Though, in truth, Blanche knew that the King’s opinion didn’t matter to her as much as his brother’s. Edward had a new mistress, someone he met after he grew tired of Kathy Herbert. Blanche didn't know her name, only that she wasn't noble and that some members of the court were angry at her influence with the king. Her ladies talked about it, when they thought she couldn't hear them. And even if she could, would they truly care? She was the Queen of England, crowned and blessed, but she wouldn't be a wife in truth before her fifteenth birthday.
And if she were to be honest, then Blanche would say that she would never love Edward like she loved Richard. They were so different. The King was melancholic and serious, couldn't abide to be wrong. He did what he thought was right, what was allowed to him by the law. He had few friends that he trusted with his whole heart, a great departure from his all-loving father. And Richard was charming, always smiling. He could make her laugh like no one else, could read her face as well as any book.
Blanche knew such thoughts were treasonous. No one could suspect she was
fond of anyone except her lord and husband, for such a feeling might jeopardise the entire succession. It was her duty to bear a son for Edward, a son with the blood of Lancaster and York. A rose, with white and red blooming petals.
The Lord chose her to be Edward's wife, not Richard's. She would have to hold her tongue and kill her love for him, it was the only way.
Her fingers moved delicately over the white Harpsichord keys, playing a song that her music teacher taught her. Lady Richmond sewed by her side, calmly going through the motions to fill up her days. The Queen’s household was usually a boring environment, without the pagentries and masques that were held at court, which explained why her ladies often invented reasons to visit their relatives in the king’s palace. But Lady Richmond was almost always present, save for the few times a year she would take to see her son and his growing family.
At thirteen, Blanche had hardly any need for a governess, so she named Lady Richmond as her principal lady-in-waiting, just for a reason to keep her close. The woman had been with her since she was a little girl of five, and she would be heartbroken to send her away. Since the King’s cousin was married to her son, and Lady Richmond was loyal to the Yorks beyond her familial ties to the Lancaster, the King accepted her decision quite easily.
When she finished her music, Lady Richmond smiled. “That was lovely, Your Grace,” she said softly and Blanche smiled too, her cheeks growing pink with the praise.
"I've been thinking about writing a piece myself," Blanche conmented. "But I don't know if I have the talent for it."
"The Queen ought to try it anyway," she said. "How else would you know if you can or not to do something?" Blanche nodded. She supposed it made sense, at least in the most basic form. "It's important for a young mind to be encouraged with musical pursuits."
"My mother says I have the mind of an elderly woman," Blanche commented. It was because she didn't like to visit her husband so often, to attend the celebrations for his birthday, or for the accomplishments of his younger brothers and sisters. Her mother didn’t like it. She wanted everyone to see her, their queen, and be dazzled by her beauty.
Lady Richmond clicked her tongue. "Your lady mother was hardly fifteen when you were born," she murmured. "With all due respect, sometimes I fear her mind has been frozen in time on that day."
"Maybe," said Blanche. She did feel oddly more mature than her mother, some days. It was a strange feeling to have, certainly. As if she were the parent and Lady Lancaster, her child. But she wouldn't say it was because of her birth. Sometimes, she seemed unable to mature beyond the day she lost her beloved husband.
A knock echoed against the door and one of her ladies entered, Mistress Elizabeth Tilney. Her eldest son Thomas was married to Anne de Mowbray and held, as her husband, all of the Norfolk lands in the palm of his hand, even though he was just eleven years of age. His father was Lady Norfolk's guardian too.
"My lady," said Mistress Howard, "There is a messenger from the court without."
"Let him come inside," Blanche murmured, turning back to her harpsichord. She began to play a new song, wanting to hide how her fingers trembled in nerves, as if Edward had listened in to her thoughts and now sent someone to fetch her. She heard the door opening and closing, the heavy steps of a man entering.
Blanche looked up and saw the muddied face of a strange man, the heavy riding clothes and the mud that dripped down to her floors. She cringed before she could stop herself, nodding at him to start speaking.
"My lady, it is my great sorrow to announce that the Duke of Gloucester has perished," he murmured. Blanche finally noticed the black clothes underneath his mud and her fingers stopped, the final note ringing out. "The King and his family will be travelling to Gloucester to pay their respects within the week. The Queen's presence is expected."
The King and his family. Blanche knew exactly what that meant. And she didn't like it.