Like Fire and Powder (Violent Delights Book 18)

Chapter 2: the engagement according to Henry Tudor, King of England

"We're going to die aren't we? We're all going to die they're going to storm the castle and kill us this is how we die," I say, gripping the desk, my breath coming in far too short to get me proper air.
"We don't die until I say we die. And even then we keep fighting.  I've sent enough of them to hell to keep us occupied for centuries," my uncle says, pacing the room.
"I don't want to die—," I say, I can still feel blood warm on my face. The way his eyes dulled as the life drained out of him. Still fighting.
"Your plan. And it worked," my uncle says, "It's worked so far. We keep going. It is what we do."
"Half the men in England want my head—there is so much to do, no time to do it—," and I can still hear the din of battle in my ears.
"The crown of england sits upon your head. You have not won but this is endgame. They have no moves left to make," he says, coming to put a hand on my back.
"Yorks still live—the princes—,"
"Are dead. I'm sure of it. The remaining Yorks are girls you marry one and you've united the houses."
"I can't believe I'm doing this. I can't believe we're here, we've done it—and I'm marrying a York, I'll not marry to secure the crown—," I frown then. I'd sooner battle. How will that work? Where's the honor in that?
"You will. You will do whatever it takes to keep yourself alive not just for you, but for everyone who died trying to get here. But you won. You won for your murdered cousin, and your murdered uncle. You won. We're not prisoners anymore you have an entire country no longer a jail cell. We made it. We just have to keep it but keeping it is politics you're good at politics," he says.
"It's also battle. Which I am not good with," I say. I froze. I know I froze as I watched him die, the crown bloody on his head. I do not want that fate. I fear it.
"That's why you have me. I'm not going anywhere," my uncle says, squeezing my shoulder, "I'm not leaving you. You are not alone. You are never alone."
"You could die," I say.
"And I'll still be with you. I may die, yes, but then I'll have a nice chat with the saints and tell them my Henry's still back here and I'll be right by your side," he says, "All right? You breathing again?"
"Just, the ah—the girls will be here soon won't they?" I taking a breath,
"Yeah you good? Not panicking?" He asks.
"No, I'm well," I say, steadying myself. 
"Brilliant, it's my turn, christ," he sinks into my chair, face in his hands.
"What?" I ask.
"My turn to feel the weight of the inevitable. I've only won and lost this crown a couple of times, seen my brothers, nephew, and father murdered, along with half my friends, excuse me for feeling like anything halfway good that happens to me is weighted with tragedy and I'll be knocked down again worse than before," he sighs, leaning back.
"You just told me to stop panicking!"
"I know. That was so I could have my turn before we have to do things again you must understand I nightly run through every single scenario ending in me just throwing you over my shoulder and carrying you to the safety of Wales while we plot my two hundred and ninety eighth plan," he says, rubbing his face.
"You can't throw me over your shoulder," I say. It's likely not true he probably can. He's not a terribly tall man, but he's fit. The Welsh don't call him the Black Bull without cause. He's solid as if he were made of stone and almost unnaturally strong.
"Is that a challenge? Because I'll do it even if I've a sore back," he mutters. He was dehorsed at Bosworth not that that stopped him or anything like that. He's uninjured, beyond a few bruises, thank god. He's currently a solid 50% of House Tudor and I absolutely could not be doing this alone.
"It was not a challenge, it was me being argumentative, god in heaven I don't want to be murdered in my bed," I sigh.
"You won't, you won't be—working on that, decoys, different rooms," he moves to the desk, putting a big hand on each set of papers, "They can't know your movements fully."
"Armed guard at all times, and the girls as well now that they're here."
"Correct, don't want them targeted for being on our side—my contacts and those loyal to us—those who owe me money—those who I have secrets on who I'm blackmailing—," he taps different stacks of paper.
"Uncle we've been in the country two months how do people owe you money?" I sigh. I thought I'd been watching him.
"I shouldn't be left to my own devices with bits of paper," my uncle says, shrugging a little. He looks more logical in a Welsh pub chatting with miners than in the middle of court but he's highly suited to it. I'm not beyond intrigue or plots but I learned from the master. This is his two hundred and ninety eighth plan that's an accurate count and I know it. If I asked him for a plan to take over the kingdom of France he'd have it on my desk before the sun rose again. Despite being unaware of and acting as though he's not a danger to himself and possibly most of Europe he distinctly is. His ability to cheat, lie, and coerce is only rivaled by his ability to survive even the most impossible situations. So I aspire to be just like him, obviously.
"Yeah we'll leave that all right—my plans for taxation and armies, the biggest fear right now is someone musters an army I'm not fond of attempting another battle," I sigh, trying to blink my eyes as though the blood is still splattered in them. So much blood we were washed with it. The blood of a king. Anointing me almost.
"Correct, I'm sending my spies out. As always we have strength in Wales, and now we have strength from France as well, so that's on two sides," my uncle says.
"I'm changing out the old staff I'm not fond of whoever might have worked for Richard but I don't want to turn them out on the street," I say, moving a set of papers.
"I'll distribute them to your mother's castles."
"Oh, right, good idea," I shake my head. My mother. Who I've not seen for some fourteen years and I saw her briefly when I road back in. I'm well aware she wasn't thrilled I decided to usurp the crown and nearly die in combat. Well I think she wasn't. I have met her a handful of times in my life she's written to me but that's different. We're different, she's barely fourteen years my senior.
"She's sending people and I'm bringing Welsh staff in, particularly for the girls so they're not spying with whomever they've got with them. I sent David to do that," he says.
"Right, excellent, who are our main threats at the moment?" I ask.
"Pretenders claiming to be King Richard, pretenders claiming to be one of Edward's princes," my uncle says, "All are dead."
"You promise me the boys are dead?" I ask.
He nods.
"Do I—," they were boys, "How?"
"They're dead. Clear your conscience."
"What of your conscience?"
"I threw it in the channel sometime ago thank you so for asking."
I laugh, "Christ, we're going to die aren't we?"
"I mean in theory yes at some point. But we don't die today," he says, checking through a couple of papers, "We have to send the French troops back but I want a Welsh guard before we do, there's thanks to France to sign, and I'm guessing you want to go over expenses as a little light reading, as well as these crown accounts and state of the treasury?"
"Yes, yes thank you," that will actually be relaxing to organize. Well to get it organized will be. Knowing it's organized. I do enjoy it but everything is quite a mess.
"Also there's armed guards outside your room day and night, seven people following you all times, I'm doing the same for your mother," he says.
"And yourself."
"You know if you think about it carefully if someone tries to kill me we'll know they're sending assassins—,"
"Uncle."
"Fine, I'll have guards, whatever, I'm very durable," he mutters.
"Uncle."
"I said fine. Also your mother's here for the time being, her husband is not. I don't trust him," he says.
"Stanley's on our side."
"Hm, yes, but I'm blackmailing him to achieve that effect, which means someone else could. Right now I only know of a few earls with major dissent, the Yorks remaining are female but doesn't mean they aren't powerful enough to take the crown and put it on the head of some boy that pleases them, there's still one York boy—,"
"The Warwick boy yes," I say. He's in the Tower.
"Not clever but they'd put the crown on his head before yours," he says.
"So marry the York girl," I say.
"The doubtful will like her on the throne," he says, "So best make her happy."
"Where's this leading? I hate games."
"You do not."
"Fine I've not the time for them."
"All right I'll say it nicely your mother put me up to it I don't know what she's on about but she said generally the way you are is—unsettling," he says.
"I am not," I might be I know that. Growing up hiding in the shadows of taverns, lying our way onto merchant ships, forever a different accent a different story, forever hiding. That didn't do anything for my demeanor and I know it. "I'm perfectly nice."
"Just try smiling now and again and don't glare at people all right?"
"I wouldn't do that to a woman," I say.
"Good, chat done."
"Why didn't my mother tell me that herself?" I mutter.
"She thought you'd take it if I said it I suppose. I wouldn't know."
"You would," I mutter. My mother and he are thick as thieves. Weird to say in that he's not actually my father, and she is actually my mother but he and she act like siblings and not by marriage like they are. By both accounts he's been a father to both of us so yes we're all just odd.
"You've not seen her in fourteen years and you nodded and kissed her cheek and walked on, it wasn't receptive," my uncle says.
"I'm busy," I know I did that.
"You know you did that."
So he knows I know.
"Look I think she was cross with me over—everything," I mutter. And I don't need her praise. Even if I might enjoy it. I would like her to like me at least. Not just feel responsible for me.
"Just chat with her when you get the chance all right? I'm not going to say because she worries about you or because she's your mum, but because you'll feel better if you do, eh?" He says.
"I will," I'm probably going to avoid it a few more weeks to be honest.
"All right, now, let's go and get ready, receive the women, act pleasant, meet your future wife," he says, patting my shoulder, "You are King of England. We have already won. We just need to keep on winning."
"Yes, yes," I nod. How bad could this really go? I can be charming.
"M'lord, they're here, they're just arriving," Roland leans in the door. Roland is about ten years my junior, we got him Brittany. My uncle for whatever reason just parents any youth in a fifty mile radius of him, which amounts to I have a pack of young adult highly loyal guards. I like Roland enormously he's like a little brother.
"Do we think we should put on something different?" Roland asks, waving a hand at us generally.
"What's wrong with my clothes?" I ask.
"I was talking to both of you, actually," Roland says.
"No, we look fine, come on," my uncle says, handing me my cloak.
"That's what we're—okay," Roland nods.
"Come on, don't you want to get a look your future sister in law?" I ask him.
"I thought you were my mother?" Roland says, cheekily.
"Fine get a look at your new mother," I say, finally smiling. This will be fine. This is our home now. We've made it. And the girl is here, she'll want peace too. How badly could this go?