The drumbeats marked his final steps, each hollow thud echoing across the square like the heartbeat of some dying beast. I stood motionless among the crowd, my face concealed beneath the deep shadow of my hood, as Lord Edmund Aubrey walked toward his death. A death I had orchestrated with careful precision. "Traitor," someone whispered nearby, the word carried on the chill February wind. "They say he plotted against the king himself."

Six months a widow, I had crossed the Narrow Sea to seek the truth about my father's death. The whispers in France had been too persistent to ignore. Lady Margaret Beaufort held the keys to every locked door in England. I had come to ask her to open one. The room was colder than I expected.

After a long journey from London, John Paston finally settled into his favorite chair by the hearth. He reached for the latest chronicle,

Welcome to our hilarious and historically dubious series, where I've exhumed some fierce ladies from the Wars of the Roses era for an...

Welcome to our hilarious and historically dubious series, where we've exhumed some fierce ladies from the Wars of the Roses era for an...

Gossip Mil with Jane Shore Moderator: Jane, regarded as the most beautiful mistress, spill the tea! Jane 💋: Darling, beauty's got its...