King of the Sea (Violent Delights Book 3)

Chapter 11: "Love is not love that alters when it alteration finds"

After the battle of Wincheslea, we return home once more. My mother greets us on shore, pleased we survived, but intentionally calm. I know she watched with the others. But she does not know how we got aboard the other ship. I assure her I saw little combat. Ned does not mention bodily throwing me mostly onto the deck of an enemy ship. This is why we're good brothers. As we discover afterword, our father was in much the same predicament, his ship also sank and he and his men also fought aboard the other ship. His ship sank because he ordered it ram into the freighter, to break it, which was not going to work based on physics. That conversation mostly absorbs our parents and our mother trying to teach our father physics some thirty years, or perhaps a mere ten hours, too late. I'm more than relieved to be on dry land again. And once I reflect on the ordeal I'm pleased I discovered my original assessments of myself were correct. I get no pleasure from battle. Ned sees it too.
"You fought bravely," he says, on the ride home to Berkhampsted.
"Thank you," I say, it's high praise from him.
"But I saw your face. And it doesn't—I suppose I'm saying it doesn't have to be you," he says.
"I wasn't afraid," I lie.
"Fear is healthy. But I know you don't enjoy it. Do you?" He asks.
"Do you?" I ask.
"It's all that I am," he says, quietly.
"No, you're prince, you have a country to rule—,"
"As you just said. I'm a prince. There I'm Prince Edward. I'm their Prince Edward, they rely on me. And I'm good at it," he says, simply
"Of course you are. You can be good at anything," I say.
"No, no I'm not like you," he says, "I envy you sometimes you know. I used to think it was an act. But none of it touches you, does it?"
"What do you mean?" I ask.
"You really do like who are you are," he says.
"Well I've not been anyone else," I say, shrugging, "Everyone must enjoy it or they'd be someone else."
"No. We don't always. But we learn to. Eventually. Anyway. My point is—don't let anyone change that. You were brave and you did well. But—I don't know. Just don't let any of us change you all right?" He asks.
"All right," I nod. But I don't understand his words for some time. It's only once we finally returning to Berkhampsted, and I watch his eyes search for Adele among the women, that I realize what he meant. He meant that he's more at peace out there than coming home again. That he doesn't know how. And for me I'm at ease at home and at court.
But he did say he would learn to. Just as I planned to learn the art of war from him. My mind is not bent to it, but I wanted his company, and the education. There was no better teacher, save our father, who gave me his time when he had it.
And days slip into months. Which then slip into another year. Chirstmas comes again and again we're all up at Windsor. I'm still serving as Ned's squire. We go to tournaments. And spring comes again. There's affairs of court, and the usual level of intrigue which I share with my mother, either in person or via letters, and Ned plots with our father for returning to France. They'll go away together now and again, and sometimes I'm allowed to come.
I'm eleven years old. Ned and Burley will take me to taverns, incognito of course, and we drink ale and practice donning common accents. Brocas will sometimes come with, either to laugh, or to come in and pretend to challenge Ned to a duel in front of everyone. They both find this quite amusing, as do I after half a tankard of ale. I have no idea if the horrified witnesses of this ever discover it was their beloved crown prince who had a very skilled sword fight outside their establishment with his best friend. But I like to think one day they did. Secrets aren't any good if they're kept forever, most secrets anyway.
It's sometime in spring that Ned's resolve, or better judgement, finally gives way. He removes Adele from all duties. And she's simply moved to a room on his hall. He doesn't tell us this. Brocas, Burley, and I all find out individually then tell each other in turn.  Ned refuses to acknowledge it and says nothing, he's too much a man of honor to truly admit that he's finally taken a mistress. But he's also spent the better part of two years staring into her eyes from across the room. And despite his obvious misgivings, she's simply remained. In spite of all the universe standing between them, she loves him too. And she'd prefer he weren't a prince and she could have him freely. But he is a prince, so she waits for him anyway.
All of Berkhampsted was well aware of the internal struggle between them and I think we are collectively relieved they've given up pretending they're not drawn to one another. Ergo, we are tight lipped regarding the current arrangement. I do not even tell our mother, mostly because I know Ned is so silent on the subject. He doesn't breach it with me, but I'm eleven. But because I'm 'precocious' and 'generally irritating' (my sister's terms of endearment), I ask the others.
"No, he's honorable," Burley says, "He wouldn't talk about a woman even to us."
"He thinks if he doesn't talk about it won't actually be happening, but he's only a man and he wasn't going to resist a woman like that loving him forever, but we, because we're men, we think that if we simply act like something isn't happening, it's not really wrong," Brocas says, flatly.
"What he said," Burley says.
"What do you mean 'we're men' what do you think I am?" I ask, folding my arms.
"An annoyance."
"I'm a Prince of England."
"Pretty sure you're an annoyance."
I tell Ned that Brocas called me an annoyance and he laughs for about a minute and tells me to annoy Brocas less. And then I do get over it and come to the conclusion our sardonic master of the hounds was likely correct. And out of respect I also do not acknowledge Adele's presence in his household, since he clearly doesn't care to talk about his compromise of morals.
That doesn't go very well for him. For by the end of summer, her belly has clearly begun to swell. The little Frenchwoman was always slim, so the pregnancy is almost immediately apparent, on her tiny figure. First her cheeks are flushed and thicker, then within weeks her belly is obviously swelling beneath increasingly loose dresses.
Now, Berkhampsted at this point is not only intensely loyal to its crown prince, but also now severely invested in this relationship, ergo we are going to tell no one.   If he doesn't acknowledge the child then so be it, the rest of us will simply act confused. If he does then it's hardly any great scandal, nor surprise. Nobody has actually said anything, but by the end of August the early stages of the pregnancy are quite apparent, and more than that, that there is something to hide, especially considering Adele ceases taking any meals with the rest of the main household, as was the custom before even after Ned had officially unofficially taken her as his mistress. But now she's suddenly hidden away.
The first it is spoken of is Ned waking me up at ungodly hours of the morning with a fist on my door.
"We're going to Windsor, you're coming—are you still asleep? It's nearly noon," he says, just coming in my room.
"Yes? I have no chores," I say.
"You probably do but I don't care. We're going to Windsor," he says, hands hips.
"Why we?" I ask. I had reading to do.
"Because I'm going to talk to our mother. Why, did you have plans?"
"Yes."
"Were plans a book and food?"
"No," I say.
He stares at me.
"Yes," I nod.
"You're coming."
"Why? I know what mother looks like," I say, pathetically.
"Because she'll likely want to give me a painful speech, which you shall also get someday, and she likes economizing as there's so many of us so we might as well get the painful speech at the same time so you're coming."
"Why do you want me coming?"
"Because otherwise she'd economize with Lionel or Edmund who'd cry and you'll look bored and like it doesn't concern you, you're better than a dog for sitting through painful speeches with. Now get ready," he says, tossing me one of my boots which I fail to catch.
"I must need wine that made sense," I mutter.
"Meet me at the stables," he simply leaves.
It takes me the entire time getting dressed and packed to guess what he's going to talk to our mother about. And what the painful speech might be about. I assume he's not written to our parents of Adele's condition, and I assume that because as a rule I read his messages. It's not really malicious of me I just want to learn about Royal correspondence between the hours of midnight and three in the morning.
Ned only brings one of the wolfhounds to lope after us, the other, Geoffrey, is entirely attached to Adele by now, and she to the great creature. It's now Ned's custom to leave it to guard her and has been for sometime. Burley and Brocas appear to also have this duty, for they don't accompany us either.
Ned says nothing to me of note for the entire journey, which is well because I'm still half asleep. When we reach Windsor it's late in the evening, and as is typical we enter with the common workers, we're naturally dressed plainly for travel.  Now everyone here knows who we are, but they are polite enough to ignore it.
"We're also chatting with father. I'm currently accepting guesses on which parent will be more painful."
"You've not said what we're chatting about," I point out.
"But you know," Ned says, so tired of me.
"Yes, I do."
"Right then."
"Definitely father," I say.
"Why?"
"He'll say something embarrassing; mother talks like me," I say.
"That's what I thought. It's definitely true then."
We go inside and wind our way to my mother's quarters. I assume she specified a meeting place to Ned, though I never saw that response. He leads the way and I trail behind him obediently. Our mother's servants recognize us immediately, naturally, and then hurry to alert her we're here. I'm hungry I've only eaten what I packed and that wasn't much so I'm generally hoping that the painful chat will involve food. I know better than to bring that up when Ned's drumming his hands like he does beside me.
The expulsion of all the usual attendants and my mother's accountant signal she's ready to have a private painful chat. We're showed in then the servant leaves quickly without being told.
"Lady mother," we both bow quickly. Our mother is seated by the fire with one of her dogs, clearly setting aside some correspondence she'd been working on.
"Boys, come sit down," she says, kindly, "John, you look hungry."
"He's fine," Ned says.
I wince and nod that I'm fine because I want to support my brother.
"It's rather late you must both be tired. If you wish we can speak in the morning I've some time free," she says, standing because Ned was coming no closer.
"I'd prefer to speak now. If I could—we could," Ned says, quickly, forcing his hands still as though steeling himself.
"As you wish," our mother says, gently, studying her eldest' s face. I'm going to guess her spies have reported something approximating the truth already.
"I told you, of the Frenchwoman who returned with us from Calais?" Ned says, going back to tapping his fingers.
"Yes," our mother says, waiting patiently.
"She's with child," Ned says, stiffly. I wonder if he's spoken the words till now.
"I see."
"No it's not like that—it's—look I know this is some sort of lecture so can we get it over with?" He asks.
"Your brother doesn't need to be here," she says.
"Weren't you going to economize and have one of my brothers attend the lecture anyway?" Ned asks.
"Oh. You noticed we're doing that. Your father said you might," disappointed the community parenting was noticed.
"Yes, I noticed!"
"We all noticed," I say.
"Hm. I don't really care you get the same information you can get it in little groups. Anyway you're right likely John will need it soon," she says.
"Oh he was just available," Ned shrugs.
"But he'll need it first—,"
"Wait what does that mean?" I ask.
"Shh, pretend you're not here it'll be better," Ned pats my head, "Lady mother? If you would? Go on I know I get the talk."
"You're not stupid," our mother says.
Ned sighs.
"You care for this girl."
He nods.
"That's dangerous."
"I know—look she's already having my child, bit late for all that," he says.
"You have two options now, as this is your responsibility. One) acknowledge her as your mistress, support the bastard and any others, as long as she'll remain and take the inevitable gossip and stain to your record, and potential complications with finding a wife someday. Two) you marry her off quickly to someone who would take care of her, off the top of my head Brocas he's got very little going on, you can tell the child the truth or not that's for you to decide," our mother says.
Ned shakes his head no, a little, taking a breath.
"You will do right by her. And I think you're well aware what the life as your mistress could do to the girl. No name for the child. If something were to happen to you she'd have no life whatsoever."
"This no choice whatsoever," Ned says, something like anger in his voice.
"I know. You've known your whole life you're a prince of England," our mother says, calmly.
"I'm the prince of england, mother. John or Lionel don't have to marry to have a queen," Ned nearly cries, "I do."
"And now someday you'll have to tell your future wife and your future children that you've already had a child. And if you do keep seeing this girl then you'll have to ensure your future wife knows and does not care, which is something of a rarity, you know that," our mother says.
"No. No, I'm not—this is why we're doing this right now. I'm not doing this. I'm not doing either," Ned says, folding his arms to have something to do with them.
"What do you propose?" Our mother asks, "You know if you marry this girl you ruin her life."
"I've already ruined her life. Haven't I, mother?" Ned asks, voice nearly shaking.
"Yes," she says, calmly.
He sighs and looks at the ceiling.
"You know the options you have. You just don't like them."
"I'm choosing none of them. None. I want—I get something don't I? I'll go back to France it's what I'm good at. I'll learn to rule someday I'll be good at that too. But I also get this. I want to keep her as my mistress, yes. But so long as she lives and wants me I'll marry no other. Everyone can talk. I do not care."
Our mother sighs.
"I will not marry her, no. No one knows about her or the child, at least while it's small. If it's a girl she joins Izzy's ladies or Lionel's wife or whatever when she comes of age, and if it's a boy he goes into the church or if he is well being a royal bastard I make him a knight. But when it's—tiny—and she's having it. I get my secret. For a few years I get something real without this mess we're born into," Ned says.
"You know how hard that will be."
"Yes."
"You know it will be nearly impossible to prevent all gossip?"
"Yes."
"What assurances do you have that she won't hate you? This girl she's carrying your child, now you're keeping her in seclusion away from everyone. Her reputation is still ruined she still has a child out of wedlock. What if something were to happen to you? In France or otherwise?"
"I asked her. She doesn't want to marry another. She says she doesn't care if I must marry someday I told her I'm not. And she wants the child. She knew there could be a child when—we both knew this could happen. And we want it. I want it, I want them. I haven't asked you or father for anything else have I? I'm the good prince, the good son. I do as I'm told I do the engagements the tournaments I win battles. I am asking for your help with this. I'm not—I'm not asking I am doing this. But I am asking for your blessing, mother," Ned says, his voice softening, telling his mother of her first grandchild.
"You know this won't be easy. For you or for your child," our mother says.
"My child won't have to be me," Ned says, some poison seeping into his voice, "We'll weather our storms."
"You hate your life?"
"No. But I want this part of my life. I want to go home to no pretense, no secret meetings, no political intrigue, no wife I have to share with half the world. I know you and father are happy and I want to be happy too. This will make me happy. And I get to enjoy my child not train it to rule—not because that is wrong—but because this is what I want," Ned says.
Our mother walks up and cups his face in her hands, "You are my son. I will always bless that which gives you happiness. I have wanted nothing more since the day I first held you in my arms."
He tips his head, tears running down his cheeks.
"We will do as you wish."
"Thank you," he whispers.
"Where is the girl now?"
"Berkhampsted we—where she's been," Ned says, quickly, wiping his face with the back of his hand, "She's there. She's well—she's fine all things considered. We're happy for the child."
"Good. You don't expect to keep her there in that condition?"
"No," Ned admits, "I thought Wales—,"
"Don't move her to one of your properties. If you do not wish to be discovered in it, it's far easier to have her at one of your father's castles, something of the crown, but where any noble or yourself or your father, or soon enough your brothers, could be keeping a mistress. That at least delays suspicion, you and a few others ride out to somewhere remote there's no real question," our mother says.
"Yes," Ned says, readily accepting the advice now.
"If it's your father's property then people will immediately assume the child is his, which is fine by me they gossip enough about him anyway because he's charming to everything constantly, in fact it will amuse us both if that happens," she says.
"All right," Ned nods.
"Soon enough find some reason to put a small bit of property in her name. That way should some tragedy occur, and we're unable to provide for her, she has something to care for her and the child. Now she can never marry, and the child could be ill," our mother says, crossing to her papers.
"Right—ah, she has worked for me I can—,"
"Write it to me. I will do it. We need to remove any connection to you. Even so this will likely not work for very long. People talk. And eventually she may wish to be free."
"Just while the child is small. I don't—people would be cruel to it," Ned says, softly. And the pain in his face, knowledge his unborn child will be ridiculed for what he's done, and who he is.
"Yes. People tend to be. That's why I recommend becoming crueler. Now, has the girl any family at all?"
"No, a sister in an abby."
"How far gone is she?"
"Not much more than three months," Ned breaths, "April she said—we think the child will be born."
"Spring. A good time, and it'll be easier to conceal it for longer under heavy cloaks, so we've time to move her. Have your father think of somewhere he'll be glad to help you know," our mother says, picking up a letter, then finding another, "Take this. It's midwives in a few areas, discreet mind."
"You just—have lists of midwives—?" Ned is rightfully suspicious of our mother.
"I have four sons, child. Now, my one request is once the child is strong enough you bring it to meet your father and I, all right? Even if you're still intent on secrecy. I do want to meet my grandchild," she says.
"Of course—of course, I'll send you word we're well," Ned says, relief finally glowing in his face.
"Good. I will also need the name of this girl, and where she is staying, always. If you were to be captured or killed—,"
"No, I know," Ned nods.
"—I would bring her here and the child," she says.
"Thank you," Ned nods.
"You," our mother snaps her fingers in front of my face, "You fancy some girl who you can't marry. If you get her with child then you find her a husband or keep her as comfortable as if she were wed. If you tire of her you still have to keep her as she gave you a child. You will care for that child and bring it to me. And if you hurt some girl I will find out and you will be hurt. Clear?"
"Most assuredly," I say, snapping my fingers back. She pinches my cheek.
"I noticed his was really short," Ned mutters, still wiping his face.
"His included a threat," my mother and I say, in unison.
"And his will likely have to be repeated," our mother says, tugging on my hair which is getting long, "Go on now. You're both likely tired and you still have to talk to your father who will be very happy for you."
"We're going home tonight," Ned says, stubbornly.
"You are not."
"I don't want—we'll go it's fine," Ned says. He wants to go back to her.
Our mother sighs.
"What?" Ned asks.
"Nothing. You're just a good man," she says, shaking her head a bit, with something like sadness. We both know good men rarely win.
"We'll be well, won't we John? He was asleep till noon," Ned says.
"Stop reading late."
"Yes, mother."
"Is our father about d'you know?" Ned asks.
"Oh yes, I told him I needed to talk to you so he's with Lancaster drinking and waiting for a proper time to come and find me," she says.
"Thank you," Ned says, retreating and tugging me with him. I still was hoping for food.
Ned breaths a sigh of relief the moment we reach the hall.
"Well that went well," I say, encouragingly.
"She's right. I want it to work," he sighs, "And they don't—what if they hate me?"
"They won't. Adele is happy. And the child—you'll take care of it. And you've got me. If you're at war or whatever I can go care for them," I say, unsure of what that might entail. But I'm willing to help.
"Thank you," Ned squeezes my shoulder.
We find our father, who migrated with Lancaster to a hall where they and several other knights are clearly drinking wine based off of how quickly they can knock the sword from each other's hand. That sounds confusing and dangerous and that's because it's both.
"My sons," our father smiles merrily at the sight of us, and immediately leaves his pack of followers with a few generic excuses. "I'll walk with them. Lancaster I'll see you in the morning as my wife's bed will need me soon."
"As you will," Lancaster nods at us.
"Father," we both try to almost bow but he waves us on, hand on each of our backs.
"Stop growing, Johnny, Ned's already taller than me so's Li," our father says, cheerfully, guiding us towards the nearest doors to the courtyard.
"I can't help it, but if I could I'd be at least taller than Edmund," I say.
Our father laughs, "Have you seen your mother yet? She informed me you were seeing her then me I have my instructions to return you—,"
"We spoke with our mother, I did. John's just here because I didn't want to come alone and you and mother economize and always give us talks in groups—"
"I told your mother you noticed we were doing that—,"
"Yes, I noticed! I asked you what happened if you died and you called for the nurse to 'get some of the other kids in here at the same time'," Ned says, upset.
"How old were you?" I ask.
"Four," he says.
"He's known you were doing it since he was four," I say.
"So John doesn't need to be here, he's extra," our father says, hand over my mouth, "Right your mother owes me a crown. Go on."
"You—bet with our mother?" Ned asks.
"Of course they do," I say, moving our father's hand.
"Who else would lay money on the things you children do? There are a lot of you," our father says, like that's little to do with him when based off his previous comments about his plans for the evening he's happy to get more of us.
"Right. Okay," Ned rubs his face.
"Just tell him," I say.
"I should have left you someplace," Ned breaths.
"Your brother isn't good with directions Ned," our father says, "Lock him someplace yes. Like Lionel he's not good with directions either. Speaking of, remind me to go get Lionel when the conversation is done. Or send someone to. You can if you like—? You can get wine while you're at it—,"
"And we were both right," Ned says, "Worse."
"I know," I nod.
"No side conversations when you're here to see me. Now. What are you both on about?" Our father asks.
"Do you recall the woman who came back with us from Calais? Adele?" Ned asks.
"The one you couldn't keep your eyes off of? Who couldn't take her eyes off you?" Our father asks, knowingly, "That one?"
"Yes. She's—I've taken her as my mistress. She's —we're having a child," Ned says, but nearly chocking on the words.
"Good for you. Took you long enough," our father says, shaking him by the back of his neck, "Smile boy. You're finally making me a grandfather. I'm thirty eight it took you long enough."
"You're sixteen years my senior!"
"Nearly seventeen."
"How is that different—?"
"Took you long enough, I was getting worried," our father says, smacking Ned's back as Ned nearly leans away. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"I did, I mean I am. I only decided—I only took her as my mistress this past summer. I was going to tell you over the holiday when we had the chance to talk but, well, now she's with child. We didn't know that would happen— that quickly anyway," Ned says, disjointedly, while being aggressively hugged by our father.
"Why not? There's seven of you isn't there?"
"Ugh," Ned winces.
"And you just said I'm nearly seventeen years your senior. That's because your mother's about a year younger than me so it's her fault really," our father says, amused.
"Enough of that, information, I'm well with that, ah—,"
"What? You were laying with this girl for a fortnight and got her with child? That's excellent. Probably threw a boy. Illegitimate or no it can still be a knight, you'll have a grand time you're good with that one and anything will talk less—,"
"Wow, I can hear you," I say.
"Good you should know you talk more than anyone alive—this is good you can have a couple boys before I'm forty and here I was thinking I'd never get to knight a grandchild. And when you get married your wife will know you can sire boys—,"
"It's not born, don't know it's boy, this is so much worse, I'm going to talk to mother again or just leave," Ned says, face completely red, "John stop laughing so help me CHRIST."
"Oh, as if you both won't do worse to me," I say, hands on my chest, "He's probably got a separate speech prepared for me."
"No, actually not entirely neither did your mother we thought because of your hands and what you do with them and well—everything about you we weren't going to need girls speeches but you started staring at women a few years ago so we're being careful. Do you want mine now while Ned's here? Might make him stop being embarrassed," our father says.
"No, he doesn't," Ned says, escaping our father and trying to leave with me, dragging me by the balled up back of my tunic.
"We're supposed to ask him stuff mother said," I say.
Ned sighs.
"Oh stop blushing. You're going to be a father. When I got you I told the whole court on Epiphany Day I didn't know your mother could go red, should've seen her she looked lovely as ever, I kissed her twice as often in front of everyone," our father says, not helping Ned's obvious embarrassment. He kisses her in front of everyone all the time.
"When did you tell everyone you were having me?" I ask, to save Ned.
"When you were already born and we were home in England. You let me hold you it was a delight to show them all I had another healthy son. We did not tell anyone before that because you were a surprise because your mother and I were busy, and we were adding a lot of other things, not to do with getting you, not that we are not glad to have you," our father says.
"I like being surprising," I say.
"Good you were, the three months prior to your birth was very fun realizing we were having another child soon didn't know how soon, I came back to your mother to an entire new infant and you cried all the time—he didn't, I used to wake him up to tell him about jousts I'd been thinking of, and then kiss your mother when she eventually woke up— saying it I'm surprised we delayed your sister an entire year—,"
"Okay," Ned cuts him off, blushing severely, "Father, mother told us to ask you—I don't want anyone —anyone public, to know of the child and it's mother, just yet. When it's small. If it's a girl. Whatever, they don't need to know. I want peace for a while."
"It's likely a boy," our father says with obvious affection, "He'll have girls."
"What does that mean?" I ask.
"It means you ask questions all the time."
"Even so," Ned says.
"So you're keeping it a secret?" Our father asks. He loves secrets as much our mother. It's probably how he seduced our mother.
"Yes," Ned says.
"But if it's a boy you'll bring it about because I am going to knight it I don't care what its name is—,"
"Yes," Ned says.
"Or if it's a girl—,"
"Yes, I'll bring it around, but just, mother suggested we not stay at Berkhampsted—Adele not, in her condition," Ned says, blushing again at the final part.
"Put her at Clarendon. It's an easy ride you can smuggle yourself off there and it's out of the way. We never use it," our father says, immediately.
"May I?" Ned asks, hopefully.
"You had better bring this child and the next ones back to meet your mother and I," our father says, smiling, hands on hips.
"I will—let's get this one born, all right, existing, all right," Ned says.
"These things happen there'll be more," our father says, patting Ned's back, "Give the mother a girl as well to be fair." As if he doesn't smother our sisters in ungodly amounts of attention and privilege definitely more than our mother does.
"We'll see. It's not coming till next spring so," Ned says.
"You know that?" Our father asks nicely.
"Yes, we know that!"
"When I got you the estimate was end of May to July—,"
"Start of April," Ned says, extremely embarrassed.
"Excellent I'll come in summer."
"I said I'll bring it—,"
"I know and I'm seeing my grandchild, come here," our father squeezes Ned strongly, "You'll make a good father."
Ned begins to weep quietly, "How do you know?"
"You haven't killed John."
"I am RIGHT here," I groan.
"Good you should know people are going to want to kill you after listening to you speak."
I do know that. Didn't know my father the king did.