Violent Ends (Violent Delights Book 19)

Chapter 6: the Death according to Henry, King of England

"Did you think of me?"
"No. Not a bit," I said, turning around. I had not seen him since he returned. They were back in London for a few days and finally had come to Kenilworth to present the French letters to my council. I had seen my uncle but not him.
"I didn't think so," Richard said, slowly smiling.
I took his hand and drew him from the hall. No one was watching. Eyes always on me but in that quiet hall. Quite alone. I'm sure as he planned.
I held him by the wrist and tugged him into the shadows.
"Paris was awful. I hated it," he said, light reflecting in those cool blue eyes, just standing close enough to me that he had to look up, daring to meet my gaze.
"Why?" I asked, knotting my fingers in his hair.
"You weren't there. I don't like any land that Harry's not the king of," he said, tipping his face closer to mine.
"Then I'll have to conquer the world, so you can enjoy every part of it," I said, tightening my grip on him. I didn't dream that one day I'd have to let him go. It was always him that was to remain when I was gone.
"Yes, we'll get on that," he said, kissing my cheek quickly. I trapped his face against mine for a moment, closing my eyes. "If we can't conquer it. We'll set it on fire."
"Yes," I said, then I kissed his cheek very quickly, "And when I die you make them tell my story."
"I'll commission it. Dragons may be involved, it'll be grand you'll love it. Because you don't die. You go on for the ages," he whispered, "You had better."
"Count upon it," I said, "Come, we're not alone here. Speak with me tonight."
"Of course," he tipped his head, hand brushing mine, fingers interlacing for just a moment. I felt heat in my face and rubbed it away as I stepped back out into the hall. No one had seen. Always looking. I couldn't let them know. The world can't know you care about anything. But someone found out. The angels found out I cared for him and they took him from me.
And I am dying. I am fighting but I can't win. My own body betraying me, far worse than any battle wound I've ever encountered. Since Meaux I've been strangely weak. Pains in my chest, now so fierce I cannot stand. I can take no food or drink. My throat is raw with pain, and I can see every bone in my hands. I'm turning back to dust as I live.
And I do not want to be here. I fight for consciousness or at least comforting dreams. Times when I was strong. When the world was ours for the taking. Back when I did truly believe we'd go on forever.
"Ride with me."
"They can't know," Richard said, softly.
"I am king, this is my castle, ride with me," I said, but I knew he was right. The rumors already persisted. I had no wife and mistress. His silver tongue abated that with clever tales of my piousness and chastity. And I'd long since framed Scrope as the object of my affections. "It's past midnight. Ride on my horse, then two aren't gone. No one will know."
Someone must have known because now he's gone. He's not here.
But he obeyed, mounting the charger behind me, arms around my waist, head resting unnecessarily on my shoulder.
We road out towards the marsh, "No one goes this way. My mare is steady she's calm enough to pass the streams but the others aren't."
"She is steady," he said, but his face was pleasurably pressed into my neck.
"She's trained for jousting, she knows how to halt if her rider falls, and not trample him," I explained, "I make John take her when he jousts he's forever getting dehorsed but if the horse isn't accustomed to it it's not safe."
"There's no way a horse can be careful if you fall—oh of course—," Richard said, so resigned as of course I rolled us both off the horse and to the spongy ground of the marsh. My mare naturally stopped and lowered her head, fully used to such treatment.
I rolled us both safely to the ground, laughing, because Richard was so startled and ultimately disappointed.
"You knew I was going to do that," I laughed, arms still around him even though they didn't need to be.
"I realized when I said it, yes—that hurt," he laughed, as well, not at all bothering to get up or move from my arms.
"You're just soft, be glad you're not a knight," I said, tucking a hand through his hair to brush dirt and moss from it.
"Oh I am—are we actually alone?" He sighed, a bit, looking up at the stars.
"Yes, for a bit. They'll go looking for me soon, morning mass comes early when you don't sleep through it," I said.
"I don't know how you stand it sometimes. When I was a boy, I always, had to disappear. There's a comfort in being where no one can find you."
"The world can't find us tonight," I said.  But it would in the morning. Back to games. I sat up, annoyed, "You can go home you know. You don't have to come to France with me. Nobody would miss you."
"I am home," he said, sitting up and putting a hand gently on my chest, "You tell me to go and I'll leave. But I will be by your side as long as you'll have me. You know it. You just like hearing me say it again."
I said nothing.
"So it's a good thing I don't mind telling you that you're everything, and I want nothing more than to watch you rule the world," he said, kissing my lips very quickly. I put a hand on the back of his neck and tugged him closer, kissing the lines on his neck, then his shoulder. I could feel him shaking in the cold.
"Shh," I said, rubbing his back, "I don't want you to leave me. You can. I'll be all right. But I don't want you to."
"I shall not. And for the record, I would not be all right without you. Your game is mine. I play it for you I don't know how to exist for myself anymore is that not terrible?"
"I am always well alone. But I'm glad you're here," I said, frowning at him, in the dark, "I might love you. That's terrible as well."
"Not really. The love I have for you is not changing, or leaving. Even if you tell me to stay in England, it's still there," he pressed a fist to my chest, "And when you die my heart goes with you. You are beautiful, to me. And always shall be."
I clasped my hand over his. Willing myself to believe his words. I wanted to, so badly. It was intoxicating how much I wanted it to be true.
But he left me.
It was not true. He was gone and there was an empty place in my chest where his affection should have lain. He lied. He took it with him.
"I can't feel you," I whisper, clutching my skeletal hand to my chest. Why not now? Now of all times? How dare I not feel him here beside me? "Come back."
"My lord?" Warwick is standing there. Red eyed like all of them.
"Have you been drinking? What time is it?" I ask, trying to sit up. There is work to be done. I'm so hot. I want to rip off all the sheets. Tear off my own skin I'm so hot. Pain drives through my belly, then chest, like a wedge, and my legs feel as though they are being crushed.
"No, no I've not been drinking—it's nearly supper. I couldn't eat," he says, "You told me before you slept you wanted to speak to me?"
"Yes. Instructions for my son's care, here, I wanted to make sure you had no questions," I say, trying to focus. I must. He needs lessons and care and to be minded. He'll attend parliament of course that will be pleasant but he must have other amusements. My line of chargers will do him well but he may wish some time for hunting. I'm not saying any of this aloud. "You —did you read it—?"
"Yes, I read it, it's all well, we'll take care of your son. Your brothers finally left for supper, not a half a hour ago, shall I fetch them?" He asks, gently.
"Yes, I want to make sure John understands my predictions for the french rebels, and the next sieges, I had the next two years planned but—," but I'm not going to be here. In five years I thought France would be finished. Then I'd return home and finalize Scotland and take my son to Ireland. He'd enjoy that as I did. Then of course Jerusalem. I had plans. This isn't meant to happen.
"Yes of course, I will. I'll bring them back, any other, papers?" He asks, looking at my shaking hands.
"I need a new quill and, bring two of my clerks back," I say, leaning back on the pillows, "I've written my last words but perhaps I should look over them once more."
"My lord, you have not two hours life left in your body," my surgeon says, gravely.
A confessor comes. I can hear them reading my last rites. A crucifix pressed to my chest.
The pain is so intense. I want to thrash from the fever. But I can't move for the pain. It is torture. Slow and steady torture like nothing I have ever felt. I want to be free but there is so much left to do. Worlds to conquer. If I rest then perhaps I will be well. At least well enough to finalize some of the arrangements for my funeral. And my accounts I don't think Humphrey followed the Hereford taxes I was explaining. Yes, I should sleep, but I can't sleep my skin pricks and burns. I want to sob in agony yet my throat is too dry even speaking is painful. The room is mostly dark why is it so dark they should light more candles.
Then a terrible cold, hauntingly familiar voice, "Well. It seems we're alone now."