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wonder-worker · 7 months

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It is of course possible that Richard (III) only advanced his own claim to the throne after he was informed by a deeply troubled Bishop Stillington that Edward V and his brother were illegitimate. It is possible, but highly implausible. The case finally put together concerning the bastardy of the princes, and enrolled in a parliamentary statute of January 1484, is theologically sound. It was that Edward IV had entered a pre-contract of marriage with Eleanor Butler before he had married Elizabeth Woodville and that this rendered his children by her illegitimate. Under canon law, had Edward IV entered a pre-contract of marriage with Eleanor Butler, all the children born of a later union, before or after Eleanor’s death, even if Elizabeth Woodville had been ignorant of the previous liaison, would have been illegitimate. In this respect the fact that Edward IV and Elizabeth Woodville had married clandestinely made matters worse. Moreover, it was perfectly acceptable in law to raise objection on these grounds several years after the event. The pre-contract story, in its final form, presented a strong legal case.

There are, however, several sound reasons for doubting its truth. While it is the case that parliament was a proper body to adjudicate on matters of inheritance that resulted from illegitimacy, in England in the later-fifteenth century an ecclesiastical court should have heard the original charge. And if it were true, why was it not put before such a court so as to remove all doubts? Moreover, even if it had been proved that Edward V and his brother were illegitimate, deposition was not the only course open to the protector. The stain of illegitimacy could have been removed by the ritual of coronation. Edward V, like Elizabeth I later, could have been declared legitimate and all doubts removed. Above all, the revelation of the princes’ bastardy was so timely and convenient as to leave little doubt in the minds of contemporaries that it was but the colour for an act of usurpation.

There is, too, a suspicious degree of confusion over the precise detail of the charge of illegitimacy as it was first advanced in June. Mancini’s account of the sermons and speeches hints at a change in the story. At first the charge appeared to be that Edward IV himself was a bastard; two days later it seems that the princes were. The first official government statement appears in a letter dated 28 June to the captain of Calais informing him that his oath of loyalty to Edward V was no longer valid. Many people, he was assured, had made similar oaths in ignorance of Richard III’s true title which had been shown and declared in a petition presented by the lords spiritual and temporal and the commons on 26 June, a copy of which was to be sent to Calais for publication. Unfortunately that copy has not survived. The earliest surviving version is, therefore, that transcribed as part of the parliamentary act settling the throne on Richard. This purports to reproduce that petition verbatim, but doubts have been cast on its veracity. It is possible that the final, official version, had been subsequently amended. Even so, there is no reason to doubt that the substance of the original petition of 26 June was the same as that reproduced in January: namely that ‘all the issue of the said King Edward been bastards’

It is difficult to avoid the conclusion that Richard III usurped the throne in June 1483. Perhaps in retrospect what happened appears more controlled and more deliberate than was in fact the case. We tend to favour a conspiratorial view of the past, where often a ‘cock-up’ theory might be more applicable. Did Richard III mastermind a brilliantly conceived and skilfully executed coup d’état? Or did it all happen in confusion, ignorance and fear? Richard might well have had a plan to take the throne by one means, but found that he had to change it as events developed.

... We should not assume that the usurpation was conducted according to a timetable; but there are nevertheless several observations that can be made with some certainty. The first is that Richard took and never surrendered the initiative. It is hard to sustain the idea that he was forced into usurpation by circumstances or by his rivals’ actions. He did not need to seize Rivers and his companions at Stony Stratford; he did not need to execute Hastings on 13 June. On both these occasions experienced politicians walked unsuspectingly into a trap. None of Richard’s victims in the summer of 1483 anticipated the fate awaiting them. In modern jargon, Richard was proactive, not reactive. The second observation is that Richard acted with unprecedented ruthlessness. His enemies were executed without trial. They were not in arms against their sovereign; they were not taken after battle and slain even under the colour of the law of arms. There was no pretence of lawful process. They were murdered in cold blood. The third observation is that Richard faced little opposition. Potential opposition was removed by pre-emptive strikes. The fourth observation is that he deposed a boy of twelve, his nephew, who on his own insistence had been placed in his trust.

The magnitude of what (Richard III) did should not be played down. Edward V was not of an age to have caused personal political offence. He could not be accused of tyranny, like Richard II, or gross incompetence, like Henry VI. He had begun to reign, but he had not yet ruled. The usurpation of 1483 was of a fundamentally different order to those of 1399, 1461, or even 1485. Those, whether justifiable or not, were acts of the last resort. In 1483, uniquely, deposition was used as a weapon of first resort.

-A.J Pollard, "Richard III and the Princes in the Tower"

#SAY IT LOUDER 👏🏻#it's definitely ridiculous when people act as though Richard's actions in 1483 were typical of its time or 'just another usurpation'#absolutely not #it was unprecedentedly ruthless unpredictable and unnecessary #people did not go around casually imprisoning bastardizing and murdering their own pre-teen nephews #r*chard iii #edward v #princes in the tower #15th century #english history #the wars of the roses #queue #my post

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primofate · 2 years

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The Ruthless Prince (Part 21 - Finale/Epilogue) Scaramouche x fem!reader [Genshin Royal AU]

Summary: When Prince Scaramouche picks you out of a random group of commoners to marry, your life is turned upside down. He’s mean, snarky, condescending and he doesn’t act like a proper husband or prince at all. However, when Prince Tartaglia from the neighbouring kingdom takes an interest in you, Prince Scaramouche finds himself even more annoyed than usual. This is the story of him and you navigating this roller coaster of a relationship.

Note: aaannndddd it’s done! It’s not a very long chapter for several reasons. I just wanted a clean ending and though there were not a lot of details of what happened to the gnosis, Serena and Finnian and other things, I decided to keep those for the extra chapters! Thank you so much for going on this journey with me lovelies! My first full Genshin fanfiction has finally ended and what a nice journey and process it was!

Warnings: mentions of a honeymoon, soft-ish Scara

Word Count: 3k

Summary and a recap on the Royal AU plots are here.

Read other parts: (Ruthless Prince Masterlist)

“Where do you think you’re going?” Scaramouche’s gruff and sleepy voice reaches your ears. His arms are suddenly tight around your waist, tensing at the slight movement of you trying to take his hand off.

“Just to the bathroom, Scara,” you tell him, still grasping the back of his hand to take it away from your waist. He huff-sighs, retracting his arms to himself to let you jump off the bed. He pushes himself up by his elbows, the blanket pooling on his lap as he props himself up into a sitting position, back leaning against the headboard of the bed.

He doesn’t say anything as he watches the door to the bathroom click close, and he lets out a stifled yawn, not bothering to cover his mouth. From the looks of it, it was probably nearly time to wake up anyway, judging from the sunrays peeking through the curtains.

Scaramouche sat in silence, mind still a little foggy at the sudden awakening, but he’d rather be awake than asleep whenever you had to be away from him, even if it was just to the bathroom. He’s painfully aware that it’s probably leftover trauma from your disappearing act a month ago.

His eyes peeked open when he heard the bathroom door open up again and you came strolling out, sporting a yawn just as he did earlier. You’re about to walk over to your side of the bed, but Scaramouche beckons you over to his side instead and you tilt your head in question.

He’s shirtless. That’s how he slept now, becoming more comfortable around you and behind closed doors. He’s nicer, occasionally still harsh and biting, still incredibly stubborn and sometimes still insufferable. But now, he didn’t seem to have a lot of problems being clingy, or was that more of his paranoia speaking?

You supposed it was because of the incident, and you couldn’t quite blame him for being paranoid of history repeating itself. Though you insisted that he should really ease up.

As you approached his side of the bed he easily envelops you in his arms and pulls you on top of him, then he rolls to his side, bringing you along with him while you yelp in surprise at the sudden move. You’re trapped in his arms again as he closes his eyes, ready to go back to dreamland.

“We’re supposed to be waking up,” you mock glare at him, knowing that he can’t see you. You’re inches away from his peaceful face.

“...When have I ever woken up on time?” He counters and you can’t say anything back, just shaking your head to yourself. You end up resting your eyes as well. It’s getting colder in the kingdom and you thought that Scaramouche’s tendency to be more cuddly in bed came at the right time.

If the blankets weren’t enough, his warmth surely was.

“We’re visiting Kuni today,” he suddenly mumbles. You don’t open your eyes, but your heart sinks a little at the statement. You hadn’t visited his grave, perhaps part of you wasn’t ready yet, but the two of you had agreed on it today.

Dragging it on just didn’t seem respectful.

“...I know,” you relax into his hold, your mind moving into your subconsciousness as a slight sleepiness overtakes you, going back to the day you found your way home.

“The broken arm is the biggest problem,” The doctor told Scaramouche when he came back into the room after the doctor’s evaluation. “But the bruises on her back are bad too,” the doctor prescribed a tub of salve but Scaramouche wasn’t aware of the bruises at that point and he turned to you with his brows furrowed.

“What bruises?” he asked you and you could only turn back around and slip the yukata off your shoulders to show him just how purple your back was from whatever impact it went through. Scaramouche held back from grimacing at the sight, it spanned near your shoulder, up until below what seemed to be your shoulder blade.

The doctor was dismissed, and after a nap you’d woken up feeling better than the past few weeks. Scaramouche was in bed with you, but he was sitting on his side of the bed, just silent and accompanying you till you woke. Part of him was trying to sort out his thoughts, but while you were asleep he had already sent a letter to your parents, along with asking a maid to update his own.

Scaramouche made sure you were awake enough to answer his questions, and you told him everything. Starting from when Tartaglia had forcibly entered the room, to him wanting the gnosis, Kuni staying behind, up until you found yourself with Serena and Finnian, finding out you lost the ring but somehow kept the gnosis safe. By the end of the story, Scaramouche had a difficult expression on his face.

“...About Kuni,” He couldn’t meet your eyes as he told you, but your eyes had nowhere else to go to except his face, and the more he talked the wider your eyes became.

Kuni had passed away.

The first thing you thought of was it being your fault. If you were stronger, if you maybe stayed, maybe gave the gnosis up, even though all the solutions you could think of were bad solutions it might’ve at least left Kuni alive. You were flabbergasted for a moment, Scaramouche’s gaze still turned away from you, until you turned yours away from him too.

There’s a moment of silence that passed between the two of you, both of you sort of letting it really sink in that these things have really transpired. People were lost and you almost lost each other.

“...It’s–It’s my fault–” it came out involuntarily, your sentiments about Kuni’s death, but Scaramouche, almost as if he predicted you would feel that way, cut you off without a second for you to argue.

“You know very well that it’s not,”

“But it feels like it is,” you whisper, voice wavering at the slowly descending knowledge that Kuni was gone. He might have seemed like a small part in the grand scheme of things. But to you, he was a sort of kindness in an unknown world. A guide that was patient and understanding, wiser than anyone else in the castle. “...You blame yourself too, don’t you?” You end up asking Scaramouche.

His silence was a clear answer.

He blamed himself for more than just Kuni’s death. The war itself. Your disappearance. Your current state. The knights that fell under his command. Losing the gnosis. Not planning in advance. In a sense it was as if the whole world was on his shoulders, and he had failed everything that he was responsible for.

His thoughts broke when he feels a weight on his shoulder. He glances sideways to see that you’ve laid your forehead on his shoulder, concealing your face from his.

“...I’ll stop blaming myself if you stop blaming yourself,” You bargained with him, but that was so much more easier to say than to do.

“...I can’t do that. This Kingdom is my responsibility,” He was truthful in his answer. Yes, perhaps not everything was his fault, but there were definitely things he could have done better. He wasn’t depressed nor distraught over his mistakes. He was simply disappointed, but it was fuel for him to plan and do better next time. He wasn’t going to let it cripple him.

“...Share it with me then,” you whisper, almost inaudible. He dips his head a little closer to hear you better.

“...Share…?” He repeats, not exactly knowing what you were trying to say.

“...Your responsibilities, your burdens, your struggles… Share it with me. As the princess of this kingdom and as…” you pause, still having your face concealed from his gaze had probably made you a little braver. “...as your wife,”

Scaramouche feels himself freeze at the words. He held back a shiver that crawled up his whole being, an electricity that woke him up to the reality that you were here with him. Not just physically, but in his mental state, his struggles. You were here, and you were willing to experience it all with him.

There’s a squeeze at his chest that he could only describe as beautifully painful. Your sentiments of wanting to be acknowledged as his partner, and wanting to be involved in what he went through had probably cut through him easier than any blade.

He relaxes as you continue to rest on him, a secretly tender gaze on his face when no one else is looking. “Idiot,” he whispers, but leans down to press a kiss on the top of your head.

Scaramouche remembers that clearly in his mind.

That was probably one of the things that pushed him into planning for today.

As the two of you stand in front of Kuni’s grave, you offering a prayer as Scaramouche laid down flowers next to the stone, it’s a wonder that peace is all that he feels. He didn’t know if that was because he had already mourned enough in his own time, or if it was because you were there with him, but he felt like he could face his old advisor once again.

There was still a deep set sadness, seeing the grave, but as you spoke to Kuni out loud, Scaramouche was more comforted than anything else.

“I made it back, Kuni. Thanks to you, and thanks to Scaramouche, I guess,” You added as an afterthought, almost as a joke. Scaramouche can’t help but scoff next to you. It feels like talking to an old friend who had never left.

“Scaramouche is still an asshole,” you start, to which Scaramouche was ready to scold your head off for, but you continue within seconds. “But he’s also a little nicer. To me, at least.” You grin a little, feeling the evil glare on you. “He’s trying his best to sort things out in the castle and he’s always so preoccupied about keeping the kingdom safe. It’s all he ever does.” Scaramouche could sense the eye roll on your expression, though he wasn’t looking. You continue to subtly insult Scaramouche in front of Kuni and ended with “but I’ll keep an eye on him!”

You bow your head towards the grave then turn to Scaramouche, mischief in your eyes. “Anything you wanna say, Scara?” you ask and he has glared at you all through your tattling to Kuni about him but he takes a deep breath and sighs it out just as deep.

Scaramouche turns to Kuni, closes his eyes, as if talking to him privately. He stays like that for a moment before opening them and stating, “...I’ll be fine now, Kuni,” there’s determination in his voice and nothing but confidence. But he had to ruin it with an equally condescending comment about you. “Y/N nags me so much that there’s no way I’ll forget to do things. I even hear her in my sleep.”

“Hey!” you protest.

“You started it!” he barked back.

You huff and cross your arms over your chest, grumbling. This was certainly not the type of behaviour one would expect in front of a grave…but since it was Kuni, you had a feeling that he understood anyway, and was perhaps happy to see everything was still as it is, maybe a little better.

“...I forgot something at the carriage, wait here a second,” Scaramouche mumbles, averting his gaze away from you and starts the short walk towards the carriage. It was just a few feet away from the two of you. If you turned, you could see it waiting by the street, but you turn your attention away from it and back to Kuni’s grave as Scaramouche walks away.

“...In all honesty, he’s doing much better, Kuni,” you whisper, not wanting to get caught saying nice things about the ruthless prince. “He’s so stubborn, so annoying and so insulting but he’s just a little concealed in his ways. I think you knew that already though, right?” You smile and stifle a laugh, “He’s nice to me, in his own weird ways,”

“What’re you laughing about?” You whip your head around to see Scaramouche raising an eyebrow at you. He’s clutching something in his arm, and when you realize what it is you let out a gasp.

“Th-That’s my teddy bear! Where’d you get that?!” Scaramouche had conveniently left out the part where your mother had given him your teddy bear. The bear in his arm looked new though, and it was then that you knew he had it repaired. Though you always liked the rustic look of your old bear, knowing that it was repaired and could last longer was a surprise too.

“Somewhere,” Scaramouche replies cryptically. He hands you the bear, and you happily take it. You recognized it as your own because of the purple ribbon around the neck but, on closer inspection, there’s something different about the ribbon.

“What’s…?” You mumble absentmindedly, taking the ribbon on your palm and noticing that something was tied around one of the strings cascading down.

It was a ring tied to the ribbon, letting it hang on the teddy bear’s chest. You touched the ring, and turned it around in your fingers, inspecting it.

It was a simple rose gold band. Very subtle and very unassuming with no jewels or gems at all. You lift your head up to look at Scaramouche with question in your eyes, but he had his gaze averted away from you, hand rubbing the back of his neck. He mumbled something that you didn’t quite catch. “...Huh?” You ask again, leaning ever so slightly closer to try and hear him better.

“I said,” he says louder, taking in a breath, “Marry me,”

The wind is knocked out of your lungs.

The proposal was so unexpected and awkward and yet so endearingly sincere. He’s looking straight at you now, a stern gaze on him and you look back at him with your heart caught in your throat, breath taken away, and all you can think of is how much more handsome he looked at that moment.

You stared at him wide eyed, your mouth opening “...We’re already married, idiot,” you couldn’t help but state and he snaps his gaze towards you at that.

“I know that, stupid!” he glares, but you can see that there’s slight unease in his posture. His arms that are always crossed over his chest is not because he was feeling smug at the moment, but more of embarrassment and unsureness.

“I meant, marry me, for real, this time,”

And though your heart was pounding you could only really reply to his proposal with some humor. You were bursting with warmth from your chest, but you didn’t know if he was being serious. “...We ARE married for real,”

Scaramouche lets out an exasperated sigh and draws himself closer to you, hand catching your elbow, not letting you scamper away from him. “You KNOW what I mean,”

“Do I?” You whisper, a bit of blatant disobedience coming out from you. You feel him lean closer to you and you don’t resist. His other free hand places itself on your waist, gripping at it to move you even closer to him. He closes his eyes, tilts his head the slightest bit sideways and leans in to capture your lips in a chaste kiss.

That’s how you know he was serious.

The kiss lasts for a few innocent seconds, yet the message behind it is priceless. There’s a hint of want, as if this alone was not enough and though he was gentle, he’s held back. As if he wants more than just your lips and your body, like he wants every part of you, your heart, your soul, existing next to him for all eternity.

He pulls only an inch away with a soft sigh, “A wedding with a real kiss at the end,” his hand snakes up towards your neck and tilts your head at the right angle for him to pepper kisses down your jaw. “A wedding with real vows,” he whispers, stopping at your chin then moving up to press one on your cheek. He can’t help but think how warm you are, even in weather that’s bordering on winter, his fingers and lips are heating up on your skin and he loves it. “So? Are you gunna give me an answer, or not?”

There it is. That somewhat charming assertiveness and the rare show of affection. It melts you a little inside when his touch as much as grazes you. “...A small one? With just the few people we care about, maybe?” You try to bargain though it must be strange to have a re-wedding, even with just the closest people there, but you had a hunch that Scaramouche had it all planned out already, excuses and all. He’d always been a detailed planner, if he really wanted something to happen.

He lets out a half-huff and a half-laugh, “I don’t care, princess. As long as you’re there and I’m there,”

It’s your turn to stifle a smile, giving yourself a silly, lovesick, lopsided grin at his statement. “...Alright then, you greedy man. I’ll marry you. Again.” You roll your eyes, but no words can describe how much of a teenager you feel at that moment. How those flutters in your stomach were in fact from this man who had once given you nothing but trouble and grief. He had a long way to go, and so did you, but the world had brought the two of you together, two different shades of the same colour that clashed yet blended together so effortlessly in the end, turning into a pleasant painting of an imperfect yet fervent relationship.

“Then you agree to a real honeymoon too?” There’s a grin in his voice and you gasp in mock surprise.

“Is this why you want a re-wedding? You just want the honeymoon that we missed the first time around!” You put your hand on your chest, pretending to be hurt and wounded but he slinks away from you and flicks your forehead at your antics.

“Maybe,” a smug grin splays on his face, but you know well that he’s just playing along with you. He takes your hand and pulls you along with him, back to the carriage as you continue your act of being torn and hurt.

“You wound me,” though you squeeze his hand back, and you tuck the teddy bear under your arm as you willingly follow him. The smile on your face a complete contrast from your constant complaining and teasing.

He puts your voice at the background as he calms the storm in his heart. As per usual he had a confident and put-together look on, but he had been anxious that you wouldn’t have liked the idea of a “real” wedding.

It wasn’t so much the wedding or festivities that he cared about…it was strangely the authenticity of it…that you deserved more than just a fake one and that he wanted a sincere one for you.

He had it in his mind, had it at the tip of his tongue, but there were some emotions that he wasn’t brave enough to face yet, and some feelings that he wasn’t sure how to put into words, still discovering and exploring it with the thought of you, but he knew what he had envisioned:

A wedding. With sincere and real feelings of what he thought he never needed: Love and a lifetime of companionship.

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