The year is 1464.
The War of the Roses rages on; a great showdown between Lancaster and York.
Yet, asleep in her bed, fiery-haired Melissa Woodville dreams of splintered shields, broken swords, and the resounding screams of wounded men in the Battle...
forty-four.— kings, queens, princes, and princesses!
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"LILY! LILY!" MELISSA called out. "Come here, my darling."
Her daughter, previously immersed in her entertainment of choice (a bouquet of roses Eliza had fetched from the gardens for her), looked up from her position across the room and beamed. Always happy for attention, she exclaimed, "Yes, mama!" and got up, running toward her mother as fast as her legs could carry her.
"Did papa tell you," Melissa began, catching the little girl before they collided. "That you are a princess, now?"
Eyes wide, Lily nodded.
"And did he tell you what that means?"
Squinting, her daughter said, "Have to be pro--" an intense look. "Prop-- er." She nodded, now confident. "Proper."
"That is right, my love." The duchess kissed her daughter's forehead. "And do you know what you have to do when you see Uncle Edward, today?"
This time, instead of saying anything, Lily sketched a wobbly curtsy, quickly looking up for approval from her mother, which she was promptly given in the form of a little clap and tight hug. This action was one of the many things she had been practicing with Mistress Colborne, the governess newly assigned to her and Guinevere by the king. Since Lily had been made a princess, many things had changed for her, but the one thing that had stayed the same was Guin's companionship — at Melissa's insistence — which they both appreciated.
"Now that I know you have that down, how about you let mama braid your hair?"
"Pretty braids, mama!" Lily giggled and spun around, tossing her red curls behind her back.
"Pretty braids," Melissa laughed and agreed, gently taking the locks and beginning to twist them with her fingers.
A few chambers down from the one they were currently in, she knew, Richard was readying their sons in the nursery. At the beginning of the week, they had been fitted for all new doublets in varying shades of dark red, forest green, and sapphire blue, differentiating each one from the other, and making them stand out in their own way. That had been Duchess Cecily's idea — a smart one, given that they didn't want the attention to be on solely one boy (likely William), therefore making him nervous or having him fumble. Little Ned, of course, would have to be carried, as he was scarce a year old, and still not quite steady on his feet, but all measures had been taken to make sure that they all looked magnificent.
