Chapter Text
Lizzie knew it the moment he fell to the ground in battle. Slain, he was. Her Richard. Slain in battle by Tudor's men. And Lizzie knew it. She felt it.
The ground was cold underneath her knees, under the fabric of her gown, when she fell. Screaming, she fell. Wailing in grief, she fell.
Her mother came to her aid and dragged her inside the house, whispering words of comfort, but there was none to be found. Her Richard was gone. And with him, all her happiness. Her hopes. Her dreams. Everything that was worth living for.
“Peace, Lizzie” her mother urged, once again trying to calm her under the light of the hearth “You will be queen of England. Was that not what you wished for?”
She stared at her mother, in agony, in tears. Tears that dried on her skin and tears that fell down her cheeks.
“I wanted to be Richard’s queen!” she found the strength to say “And bear his children. His heirs”
Her mother, the old queen, Elizabeth Woodville, stared at her, pursing her lips.
“You still might” Lizzie ceased her sobbing, unable to understand her mother's words “He is dead, yes. The river has sung to you his fate. But if you laid together last night, there might be a chance you could bear his child. A York heir, under the guise of a Tudor one”
“There is no guarantee of me being with child”
Sadly, she thought.
“There can be” her mother insisted “There is always a way. The same way I gave a son and heir to your father”
Magic, she meant, witchcraft.
But that was dangerous. The curses, the magic, the storms, the songs. All of that was dangerous. Far too dangerous. And yet, Lizzie needed it. Lizzie was desperate.
“How?”