Keeper of the Realm (Violent Delights Book 2)

Chapter 1 - December 1340

Edward of Woodstock, Keeper of the realm

I press my face against the stone floor, the parchment cool beneath my fingers as I lie clutching my mother's letter. I'm trying to recall her face not get distracted. It gets harder and harder. So why do I still hear her voice in my head? At the most in opportune times as well. I prefer my own but I can't find it lately. I must be in here somewhere. There I got distracted again. It does less and less good to imagine that my mother's here. And recall what comfort I wanted. Put it all aside someday that will get to come out. But that's farther and farther away.
"It's been like, a really long time."
"Give him another minute."
"No like he was like that when I got here and I got here before you."
"I'm well, why wouldn't I be?" I ask, sitting up, slowly, my mother's letting my grasp. My two best friends are standing looking down at me critically. It's just past dawn. I rub my face with my knuckle, no tears.
"You don't look it," Simon raises an eyebrow.
"Not—really no," Bernard says.
"My mother's letter," I say, tapping the paper, "It is worse than the last."
"Worse than you calling parliament to tell them to give you money?" Simon asks.
"Money I know fully well they don't have? In—oh three hours, go on you two Simon your cousin will be here go," I say, I don't want them in trouble they're not meant to be up here. They're allowed anyplace by the very specific and near painful rule that my friends may come about. Because my mother thought it was important to have other boys to play with because I'd just play with Joan. So they're allowed about anywhere but they'll get told off if they're getting in the way when I'm meant to be working.
"Good morning, Lord Edward," William, my manservant, comes in, bearing a basin. A couple of staff follow him with hot water. "Bernard, Simon, don't you have chores? Before you get underfoot. Best be off."
"I'll be all right," I say, "Get the dogs if Parliament's done early maybe we can run the spaniels."
"Okay!" Bernard takes Simon's hand to tug him off. Simon is still frowning at me.
"Do you want me to wait?" Simon asks. He means wait outside parliament. Boys can loiter about like that and not be noticed he'll come and chat to me or bring me food.
"No, I"ll be grand," I say, going back to flop on my bed, which is a mess from when I rolled out of it. I smile and then Simon finally relents and lets Bernard tug him away.
"Come along, Edward," William says, tolerantly, as I crawl farther up the big bed.
"Just a minute!" I say, tucking my mother's letter between the mattress and the headboard. They won't see that when they make the bed. Shouldn't anyway. And I should burn it like she said to but sometimes I'm bad and want to read it again. Her hand is as close to her voice as I'll get. And I still want that for some reason. Lock all that away. It doesn't matter just now. I can't think of it just now.
"Coming!" I say, picking up one of my bunnies which was sleeping on the bed. A rather large hare that Bernard helped me smuggle into the my room last night to pet. I carry it over as I come to wash up. I'm not supposed to have them in my bed.
William smiles a little, still holding a towel, "Come along now. Put the hare down, it is meant to be outside."
"I know, I know, sorry," I set down the bunny next to my wolfhound pup, Tiberius, a leggy black pup that follows me loyally, and usually sleeps at my door. A present last Christmas from Henry of Lancaster, while he didn't come up he had someone bring the puppy.
"I see we have the usual number of pets this morning," Aimee says, coming in with a tray of oil and brushes.
"My mother just doesn't want them in my bed," I say, weakly, my mother's against them being in my room but the bed is the main thing.
"Aye and they both were more than like," Elizabeth says, pouring water into the basin. Elizabeth is my nurse, or was when I was little.
"Not so much," I say, as William takes off my shirt, "Can Guillermo take me and Bernard and Simon out with the spaniels this afternoon? Please? Not actually hunting but running the dogs?"
"No telling when parliament will let out," Elizabeth says, "But yes I'll tell him."
"Thank you," I say, beaming, as two of the nurses scrub my back with warm, wet clothes.
"What were you doing rolling in the mud?" William asks, watching with disappointment.
"No," I fell, that's different.
"Didn't know we lost him after dark, oh well," Aimee says, tipping my head down so they can rub my neck. I laugh, as she pinches my cheek unnecessarily.
"Neither did I that's the problem," Elizabeth says.
"Only bad as his father at that age," Aimee says, tipping my head back up because I was standing obediently.
I ignore the reference to my father, intentionally so. He's been gone so long now. I sometimes wonder if he even wants to come back to England. And I don't care about that but I care that I'm still here. I'm still here.
"I'm sparring this afternoon when parliament gets done I don't care when it is, I haven't in three days," I beg.
"Aye and you'll catch up on all your lessons," Elizabeth says.
Argument is futile. Because I'm ahead in all my lessons, I figured that out. Took some time. Then I finally overheard Walter my schoolmaster talking with some of the other men. I'm ahead of other boys my age. But it doesn't matter. I'm the prince.
"Told you outlawing minstrels while he dresses wouldn't cut down on wiggling," Aimee says, shaking my shoulders to get me to stand still. I laugh and she taps my nose. She grew up sort of with my father but she's a few years older than him. She's always been here, she'd hold me even at public things, or hold my hand if my mother couldn't. Then she really minded my little sisters a lot. I think she wanted to go with everyone else. But I never asked. It's not as though I want to know the answer.
Elizabeth puts her hands through my hair, rubbing oil through it, "Almost time to cut this again."
"Just about," William says. My mother insists my hair is short and neat. Her rules. My father's is longer but I don't look like him. I'm dark like her. So I have always had it cut short to make me look a bit more like him so it's not so obvious I've got her thick black curls. I don't care. How could I?
"Hands," Aimee says, kneeling to examine my finger nails, I hold out my hands for her as she scrubs gently to make sure there isn't any dirt. I do pet the animals. A lot. And occasionally climb out my window to make it down the stables. I used to be able to get out of my window and down to Joan's room with a entire cake in my arms. Now she's gone. I wrote to her about that but only so she'd know they read my letters and we were not at all meant to be eating an entire cake at midnight and making ourselves sick. It was fun and it didn't break any rules and interfere with being prince so it was technically all right. So long as my mother doesn't find out. Like ever. Maybe when I'm like fifty she can know maybe then. I should write to Joan again, with the next messages. I wonder if she'll reply. She probably has new friends now. But I asked her, and I want to know, how she always knows which smiles are false and which ones are real. Always. Even across a crowded room she can tell and I'd like to know how, or better yet why. Nobody else can. I've learnt to fool my mother. She's proud of me for that.
"Head up, there's that smile. They'll love you," Elizabeth says, brushing my hair, not overly gently, "They already do."
"I'm just a prop to them—the Archbishop will do all the talking I just—have to sit there looking like someone they might want in charge someday," I sigh.
"Which is important, the people need their prince," Elizabeth says, rubbing oil into my back and shoulders, "Does that hurt?"
"Not really," I say, as she checks an old bruise. I fell off my pony, well it was only a bit of a tumble, a week ago last time I got any chance to ride.
"You're in the green today, I should think," William says, selecting a green velvet tunic.
"Blue, please? Or black?" I like it better.
"Black is far too expensive, your mother sent strict instructions, and the blue isn't rich enough," William explains, "Your pearl broach goes with this well."
"Okay," I say, it's better than purple I don't really like my purple cape even if it's the nicest thing I have. "I'd sooner the blue though."
"You'd sooner be covered in dust with your dogs, and sword in your hand," Aimee corrects, helping me step into the pants.
"Well yes clearly," I smirk, because of course I would.
"Arms," William, says, tapping my shoulder.
I hold my arms out to my sides nicely so he can slip the tunic on. The cool fabric slides pleasurably over my skin. I finger the soft ermine fur cuffs gently, I love the down fuzz but I can't play with my clothes it'll get them dirty, and I can't fuss like that in front of people.
"Getting taller everyday, we're going to need another fitting next week," William says, carefully doing up the buttons. The tunic is snug around my chest, it's meant to be, but this we had adjusted a few weeks ago and the sleeves are nearly too short.
"You'll need a new suit for the New Year," Elizabeth says, encouragingly.
"Hold still," William pins on the broach, then moves to put on my gold girdle.
"Can I wear a dagger? Even a little one?" I ask.
"No," all of them at once.
I mutter, "My father carries a knife."
"He's not meant to—here," Aimee fusses with my hair again.
"You are a duke, and a respected member of Parliament, you must look the part," William says, finishing with the girdle, cinching it rather tight then fixing the rumpled tunic under it so it lays neatly.
"Hands," Elizabeth says, holding out hers.
I hold my hands out forward, letting William slide a gold ring on my left index finger, and ruby ring on my left thumb. The only fingers they fit we have only so many small rings. I'm very good and don't lose them or fiddle with them at all so I get to wear them. Before my little sisters were too little. I guess they might not be now.
"Sit down," Aimee directs.
I obey, so that she and Elizabeth can slide on and buckle my nicest leather boots, with gold buckles.
"Aimee will you come?" I ask, tapping my fingers together. It's how my mother taught me to fidget without messing up my clothes or jewels. I can play with my fingers but only a little if no one can really see I can't be seen to be playing that's not grown up.
"I'll wait outside, you can have sweet meats for luncheon eh?" She asks, smiling but I can tell it's for me.
"You look sad today," I say, unable to hug her because they're back to fussing with my hair.
"I'm well, I promise," Aimee says, squeezing my knee.
"Done, record time without that wiggling," Elizabeth says, finishing with adjusting my broach.
"You'll change this afternoon before your lessons," William reminds me.
"Thank you," I say, politely, like my father does, a quick smile like his when he thanks the staff. Or he did anyway, I learnt it from him. I don't know him now except his letters.
I pat my dog careful not to let the puppy slobber on my clothes, while William tusks disapprovingly. At the door, Guillame and Walter are waiting for me, both are already dressed though Walter probably shan't come to Parliament. Guiallme will, he's my escort while my parents are gone.
"You look fine, prince," Walter says, holding the door as I walk into my parlor. Food is being laid out. Even a cup of wine, a treat since I get to go to parliament. That and dried fish and cheese, and some white bread. I sit down at the table, thanking the staff quickly with my same winning smile.
"Who's opening Parliament?" Guiallme asks.
"Stratford, at my father's command," I say, calmly, picking up the cup of ale and ignoring the wine. Guiallme watches with something like disapproval. I'm old enough to drink wine like a noble not a commoner.
"What do you think of that?" Guiallme asks.
"I serve my father, and it is his command and appointed council," I say, trying the cheese. My puppy noses my arm. I pet its head but don't fed it scraps like I normally would. They're watching to make sure I eat.
"What is your father requesting from parliament?" Guiallme asks.
"Three hundred and fifty thousand crowns," I reply, immediately.
"And what will you do with your properties?"
"My men will assess the appropriate taxes to be levied," I answer.
"What men?" He asks.
"Accountants they know that," I say, examination the fish.
"Assume they know they know nothing. Your statements cannot be misconstrued. Nor can you dodge any questions. You are a duke and will vote as one," Guillame says.
"Why do you say you will asses the taxes and not just place them? Your father requires it," Walter asks.
"I have a duty to my people I cannot tax them beyond their worth I bear the burden of the debt,"I say, resisting the urge to slip the bite of fish to the dog.
"Very good," Walter nods a bit. High praise from him my schoolmaster is typically laconic.
"I was well taught and I have fine council," I say, smiling.
"None of your wit. No one wishes a child to have half your cheek. Save it for my cousin," Walter says.
"Best I get it out then," I say, taking a small bite of cheese.
"Eat your food, we don't have time for you to play with it," Guiallme says, sternly. I've clearly eaten nothing.
"I'm not hungry,"I say.
"Eat it anyway, you need the strength, your mother left strict instructions not to let you skip your meals," Guiallme says.
I stuff the cheese into my mouth and swallow as quickly as possible, pulling a face.
"And the herring. And since you don't like good food put in front of you, this afternoon you will go through the lists of your tenants, how many of them live in poverty, how much they eat a day," Walter says.
"Fifty five thousand in the Ducy of Cornwall half of that is twenty seven thousand about will be living hand to mouth as laborers or tenants, their diet will consist mostly of local fish, eel, perhaps sheep if they're lucky, rabbits, deer if they're hunting on royal lands that I'm not allowed to hunt on but I'm not supposed to talk about that, vegetables, and brown bread. None of that gives me an appetite," I say, folding my arms.
"Aye that's the cheek we're getting out," Guiallme says.
"Your royal father will let you hunt on his lands when you've proven yourself responsible, and old enough," Walter says, "Finish your wine."
"I don't want it."
"You need to become used to it you're a prince you will drink it at meals," Guiallme instructs, "Now, what are you going to say to Parliament "
"After I open I'll say nothing, I let my council speak," I say, resignedly, stuffing the herring in my mouth. I have to drink the wine next.
"I take it you received additional instructions from the queen," Walter prompts.
"Yes," I nearly growl.
"What did she say?" , Guilllame asks.
"She said no to my plan," I say, quietly. My plan was that I ask parliament to recall her and my siblings home. That I wish my mother here, and my sisters, and that I beg parliament give me the funds to recall them, my father will handle the war, but I wish my mother home. As keeper of the realm that's within my rights to ask.
"What did she say?" Walter asks.
"She said no," I look away, I'm sure she wrote to them too, I know she did. But I don't have to tell them what it said. She said no. That's all that matters now think of everything else later. There's too much to feel and too many thoughts. I can't do it. So lock it all away.
"And what are you to do?" Guillame prompts.
"Go along with Stratford who must ask Parliament for the loan, I have to open so I have to thank everyone for coming, that whole bit," I say, rubbing my face with one hand.
"None of that."
I sigh, putting my hand down, "I thank them for coming. I look somber, but not weak or shy. If they talk to me I talk pleasantly but I can promise or offer nothing. I also can't look like I've been told not to say anything. Avoid the question by asking them questions. Ask after their families by name if I know it, and if not then generally how they've been. Mostly I don't talk to them much at all."
"it will likely take till mid afternoon, recess for supper then your lessons," Guiallme says.
"I'm not behind though," I heard him talking. With other tutors, boys my age aren't as fluent as I am in Latin or Italian. And he was saying something about sums.
"You'll finish your lessons your tutors will wait," Walter says.
"If we're finished early I wish to take the dogs out," I say, firmly, they can deny me but sometimes I like to test it.
"You likely won't finish early," Walter says, gently, "Finish your wine."
i drink it down in one gulp, wincing a little at the taste.
"You can sip it. You know that," Guiallme says.
"Sorry," I say, quietly. I don't want to disappoint them but I know that I'm in an ill humor today.
Parliament will be opened here, since I'm here and I have to do it. Well, Startford as Chancellor can call a session but I'm Keeper of the Realm, not him, so I and my council must at least open. It's far from my favorite chore it's usually deadly dull to listen to them argue. Probably would be more entertaining if I could dream of speaking, let alone speaking for myself and not the crown. I'm the crown prince, I can't remember a time when I didn't know what that meant.
Everyone is already seated when I enter. They bow appropriately, I don't smile like I usually would, but I do meet their eyes with a steady stare. They can't think I'm afraid, or weak. I keep my clothes neat and only fuss with them to fix my tunic a bit when I take my seat. It may be my parliament but I'm not doing any of the talking. And while they expected nothing less, I can feel their eyes on me, as ever. Will I be tall as my father? I'm still dark like my mother. Will this boy make a good king? I've heard people whisper it it's easy to read it upon their faces. I'm the man their sons will go to war with. I'm the one who will always be here, for the rest of their lives more than likely. My father is currently at war, they've not seen him in two years either. But they do see me so I must be a reassuring, quiet presence. Studious, but not bookish, tough, but not cruel, powerful, but not overbearing, regal, but not arrogant. A terribly fine line and a battle of opposing images I doubt if I'll ever fully win. Because nothing I ever, ever, do will be good enough for the world. If I go to war like my father I don't care for home. If I stay home then I'm a coward. If I'm cunning like my mother then I'm a manipulator. If I'm gentle natured like my grandfather then I'm an easy target. If the people love me then I'm not pleasing the nobles and if the nobles love me then I'm ignoring my people. I know. I'm good at games I have nothing against them. But this is one where there is no clear ending. And nothing i ever do will be good enough. Because if I want my mother home then I'm weak, and if I pretend I don't care then I'm cold.
Stratford reads my father's letter to Parliament. Not me. Then they debate over money. I follow most of it. Most of it I knew from my lessons, which is to say, Walter putting me through my paces. Which is to say, I know it won't work. Parliament can't loan money, if they currently have no money.
Members of Parliement, like me, are as a rule land rich, cash poor. I'm a wealthy duke, but if I'm to lend money, I have to add a tax to my people to raise it, a process which takes weeks if not months at best. And most of us myself included don't have that manner of ready cash. I have money coming in, but I have balanced my own books. It goes out as quickly as it comes in. By the time my staff are paid, including people like Aimee and Walter who watch over me, and my own living expenses, like my clothes and horses, and pets, then I have armor, supplies like quill and parchment, books, keeping up my houses, moving me between houses as needed to open Parliament or the like, all that done, I have relatively little petty cash month to month. Sure it's plenty to pay the odd messanger or physician or pay for New Year's presents or the like—but it's not enough to lend hundreds of thousands of crowns with no hope of return. I'm getting grants from the crown, which has no money, to be Keeper of the Realm already, to offset the costs associated with the duties like my clerks, messengers, and the like.
Which is to say, I know for a fact the earls are no better off than I am, and my parliament while they may wish to help, and likely do, simply cannot raise that amount in one session, if at all.
Hours wear by before we take a recess. I go to walk among them and mingle. Not necessary but my mother taught me well to cultivate a nice, approachable image. This is a good way to do that, and fairly easy. They all like a look that I'm nice and strong and healthy.
There is one earl I don't mind chatting with, as a rule they are just getting a look at me. But Henry of Lancaster is a family friend. Actual friend, his son is my father's age and is at war with him. He is typically quite kind to me, he's the one who sent me my dog at New Years.
"My lord, the prince is approaching," his son in law, a Thomas, says, holding the old earl's arm.
"Ah yes, I knew your footsteps, my boy," Henry of Lancaster smiles, his eyes are a foggy white, and his head at an odd angle.
"My lord," I smile.
"Come, walk with me," Henry of Lancaster lays a hand on my shoulder, he needs a guide to get about.
"Let's step outside," I agree, putting a hand over his. I've guided him before, he's been blind all my life. I've been to his keeps a few times, not so much lately though. His son is usually here in fact with my father.
We walk out to a terrace, it's raining so I stay beneath the covered walkway, staring out at the garden.
"You've grown Ned," he says, hand firm on my shoulder. He calls me Ned like my family does. Lancasters make no secret of being an extension of the royal family, it's a well earned privilege. They help us. A lot.
"I have this is a new tunic since last time—just here," I say, stopping, "Is this a clandestine chat?"
"Call it an advisory one. I take it you know that Parlaiment will never grant your parents that money?"
"Yes," I say.
"Does your mother know that?"
"Yes."
"Does you father know that?"
"No, well, he says they must which they must," I say, looking up at him, even though he can't tell, "But he's low on moves."
"He'll find a way, he simply must play to his strengths. I've told him as much," he says, head tipped out at the rain.
"Why did he go when he had no proper escape?" I ask, quietly.
He laughs, "Your father's not like you or I. Since his birth he's been wild, chaotic. My wife swore it was to do with being born under the scorpion, he'll not be tamed, or ruled. But he also will not be stopped once he's set his mind on something. It's no fault, it simply must be dealt with, and at times controlled. If he does not bend he will break, and your mother is clever enough to see that."
"It would do you good to have him stuck there and me on the throne. I listen to you more, even if I can't do anything," I say.
"Correct which is what they must think, they fear my power now, one day they will fear yours," he says.
"I don't like making people afraid."
"But I dare say you're good at it this chat was your idea, you sought me out and brought me where we could not be overheard. You knew it was a good move," he says, approvingly.
"My mother's taught me well."
"So she did," he moves his hand gently to pat my hair, I tip my head into it, letting him. I know the other earls don't like him. Because he's powerful. Of course. But I also know why I like him. He cares for my parents. And he's not treated me ill even if he could. He doesn't delight in tormenting those who can't fight back. Like so many of them do.
"You'd best move along. Your minders won't like my taking all of your time, little prince. Write to me if you have need of something," he says, squeezing my shoulder.
"I will, thank you," I say, hoping I don't have to take him up on it. Last New year, along with the puppy, I got the very exciting present of being given the cypher for the Lancaster clan's primary code, I'm sure they have others. My parents of course have taught me how to decode their letters should they need to get me sensitive information, but I was quite honored to be an honorary member of the Lancasters, if only through sharing their actually very complicated code. I don't really intend to need it but I'm extremely fond of second, third, and fifth plans.
And things don't seem to be going our way.
Parliament drags on. By the time afternoon comes they've settled nothing. They ask for more time to consider my father's plea for money. Rational, but my council has cautioned me that there is no actual money to be had. There is nothing to give, so there's little decision that can be made. I know my mother likely padded the request by perhaps fifty thousand crowns. I also know that we'll be short by far more than that. We'll come up with two hundred thousand if we're lucky, nowhere near the requested three hundred and fifty.
Parliament over I'm whisked away to change my clothes before even eating. I'm used to this and follow obediently, several staff come to help me change. I thank them all in turn, with a quick smile or wink, as they help undress me and bring out fresh clothes,
"William, please tell Stratford I will speak with him after I'm finished changing," I say.
"Very good, my lord."
Walter arrives in time to catch the end of it. He's more concerned with the delay in my lessons than anything. Guiallme hears it but says nothing, just finishing directing my change of outfit. Now a much, much simpler dark green and black velvet tunic, all matching and neat of course but it's something I can do lessons in. I can go outside and train on the sword in this. Not go riding or run the dogs, but I gave up any hope of doing that hours ago.
Bemused is a word I'd use to describe Stratford when he has to meet with the nine year old Keeper of the Realm. Joke is on him, I feel ancient, all the time. Like I've already been here and done all of this and I'm not up to it again.
Condescending is another word. It's not typical for a grown man to have to answer to a boy, he should answer to my father perhaps get questions from my staff. I don't demand things as a rule I'm the good prince, the good brother, the good son. So my own staff if I'm of the mind to see someone, will grant it. They don't generally have cause to say no.
"My prince there is no new word yet," he says.
I didn't ask you that. I didn't ask that question don't answer it. But I'm not my mother. I don't say that. Her voice still plays in my head though. Two years on.
"You're my father's new chancellor," I say, graciously, doing that innocent near smile that is mostly enjoyed by my tutors.
"Yes, he's just appointed me," Stratford says, as if I didn't know that. I did.
"So I wished to ask your opinion on what Parliament will return with," I say, clasping my hands, "I'm curious."
"I couldn't say yet. We have of course no word," he repeats I don't like him. My mother would hate him.
"I understand. But surely you have a guess after hearing them deliberate?" I press, "I'd be curious."
"it's unlikely they will grant the loan, our dukes are short of money. But they will do what they can. Per your father's instructions you'll be informed of any outcome," he says.
Per my mother's instructions. "Yes. I will. So you do not believe that the loan will be granted?" I press.
"It is—unlikely. But we do not know yet," he says.
It's impossible. I know that much.
"Tell me Statford what is your plan then?" I ask.
"I will write to your father with any word," he says.
"What is your plan if they do not grant the loan? How would you aid your king my father?" I ask, staring directly at him.
"I will follow his commands," Stratford says, "We know nothing yet, do not keep yourself from your lessons prince. We'll know nothing today."
He wants this conversation over. He shouldn't get to end it. But he doesn't need to know me yet. I'm better keeping a few moves to myself I have no cause to through my weight around. Kindness is more effective than force. And my power is limited mostly by him I don't need to test it. He doesn't need to know yet.
"Of course, I thank you for your time," I smile sweetly and dip my head. Then I leave with my men. Guiallme is staring daggers at me. Walter isn't much more pleased.
"Here I thought you were hoping for letters from your mother," Walter says, dryly, as soon as we've gotten. clear into the hall.
"Spies bring those," I scoff.
"I do need a 'why', prince," Guiallme says, "Your father's directing him."
"Yes he's useful as a puppet, little else," I say, "He's content to do my father's bidding but he's got no ambition to actually get them home as he's quiet happy to be chancellor with a boy-prince in between him and control of parliament."
"Very low opinion of a man you've barely met," Walter says.
"But I'm right," I mutter.
"Your father will manage his wars, and if the loan, or most of it, is granted, then perhaps your mother may return," Guiallme says.
"My mothers not coming," I scoff.
"What?" He frowns. He knows fully well just yesterday I was hopeful and in fact planning to beg parliament for her return at least.
"Nothing. As you said it's not my concern now. I have my lessons," I say, forcing anger aside. It does no good new and my tutors don't deserve my ill humor.
I barely make it locking up the anger. That door refuses to stay shut in my head. I'm doing my best. But it's nearly impossible to keep locked away. I make it through my lessons forcing smiles at my tutors, apologizing for my lateness, and doling out quick smiles. It's not their fault. It's not my staff's fault they live here too and they work very hard to care for me they deserve nothing but my good humor. In fact there is only one place I let it out.
"Easy there Edward don't want to—break me actually—," Chanos leaps back from my blows, blocking them only just in time before both of our wooden swords inevitably snap, sending splinters across the snowy grass.
I cry out in annoyance, going at him with the broken end of my sword. He catches in one hand.
"As I said, spitfire, take a breath or ten that's your ninth sword," Chanos says, very calmly given the circumstances. One of my personal knights and my chosen sparring partner. He's the devil with sword, and even better with strategy. He's ten years my senior but has not once been offended to have to tutor me in swordplay, debating philosophy and poetry with me while we do it.
"And I'll break another bring me steel, Courtenay," I snarl.
"Absolutely not you'd gut him in this humor, and I need him, who else would I have intellectual but meaningless conversations with?" Courtenay, another one of my knights, leans on the wall, supposed to be distributing swords but is very clearly practicing making a coin disappear in his hand. He's older than Chanos and I think my father, so well older than I but also one of my favorite sparring partners because he's usually here, avoiding real work as I understand. He almost never stops talking and will argue about anything. But unlike most of the other knights is irreverent enough to call me by my name and has no issue knocking the crown prince over and braking a wooden sword on him. His son is only a few years older than me. He's going to be an earl someday probably so I can't play too much with him as it's playing favorites but he and I get on.
"Why are you in an Edward mood eh?" Chanos asks, twisting the sword out of my hands.
"Everything that's ever happened to me," I breath, trying to wrestle the broken sword from Chanos. The lean man easily gets me in a headlock. I throw us both to the ground.
"Reasonable honestly. I was going to make a crack about life not actually being so bad when you're nine as compared to—the rest—but you're you so I'd suspect it's quite awful. Would you like me to kill someone for you? Because Chanos has no self control and I'm quite bored and I'd love to kill someone for you," Courtenay says, watching us wrestling on the ground in the mud and snow and doing nothing to help Chanos. That's significant because Chanos is saying:
"You know you could help me? Like it's within your capacity to do things you can do one helpful thing a month and—fuck me to hell and back he just bit me—Jesus's loving mother Courtenay can you not do your one good deed of the year and drag him off of me?" He's saying that and variations there of, the entire time.
"I need no one killed. Except possibly myself. I fear though I'd wake up in another life and be a prince again. I'd like to be crueler next time. I'd be less painful," I growl, out of breath, crushed beneath Chanos as I crawl for a sword piece.
"Hm, well offer stands I'm really bored and you've the keys to the Tower—,"
"I wouldn't let you out! Not for any crime that's not fair that's illegal I must uphold the law—ow—," I wince as Chanos slams us into the ground.
"HE BIT ME AGAIN—seriously Courtenay I'm actually asking you nicely here—ooh Christ—,"
"Do you yield?" I finally got a splinter of sword in my hand and have it to Chanos' throat, as I try to hold him in a headlock.
"I—dread the day you grow into the moves you think you can make—," Chanos throws me off, and halfway across the yard honestly, just pitches me off so he can crawl to his feet.
I try to bolt back for a piece of the sword but he catches me by the back of the neck like a kitten. I twist but I'm being suspended off the ground.
"Yield," Chanos sighs.
I flip fully up, letting him support me by the neck, and kicking him directly in the belly. He's surprised enough to loosen his grip and I dart free. Before I can get to the end of my sword though he fully tackles me to the ground, crushing me beneath himself.
"Why does every fight between you wind up rolling about in the mud trying to kill each other?" Courtenay asks, completely calmly.
"We don't give up," I groan, trying to crawl out from under my friend. It's not working.
"No, no, I'm normal when you're not about, no," Chanos says, securing an arm around my neck, "Do I need to choke a prince of bloody england or do you yield?"
"I yield," I groan, face down in the mud.
"What's this then? He might give you steel he's got no impulse control," Chanos pants, sitting up.
"My bloody day. And things I'm not thinking about that I still feel the anger of," I sigh, sitting up,.
"Understandable if you want to hit something with a metal sword Chanos is literally right there, he looks fine. He looks happy in fact. It'd be good for him I'm his friend I should know," Courtenay says, picking up one of the steel practice swords.
"Really?" I ask, hopefully. They're in charge of my sword lessons because they decided it, and despite appearances and his general demeanor Courtenay is very good with the sword. They're not actually like legally in charge of the lessons but they show up when I want to practice and teach me as they put it how to stay alive.
"I'll kill you," Chanos breaths, "Have you even LOOKED at him?"
"I know you're not threatening my sweet life in front of royalty, aye there you go Edward, go hit Chanos with that let him teach you how to block a man with a sword when you're unarmed," Chanos says, handing me a helmet and a steel sword.
"One of these days Courtenay," Chanos breaths. They get on they assure me this is how they get on. Death threats every few minutes and sabotaging each other. it's not very logical I don't think but I'm well so long as they are happy.
"Show me Chanos, please," I say, nicely because that does sound fun now he's said it.
"I mean yes—? That's not a drill he just made it up because he likes abusing me—," Chanos mutters.
"Yeah, I do," Courtenay says, completely happy, definitely eating something.
"All right come at me—half speed hell Ed—yeah there we are—Right so if a man comes at you with a sword you've got to either find a shield—assuming I have none, get that sword—," Chanos ducks my blow. I immediately redirect and nearly clip him in the arm, "You are actually trying to hit me???"
"Yes," I nod, happily, "Was that not good?"
"Don't make the precious angel sad, John," Courtenay calls, clearly so amused.
"It was fine," he breaths, "Yeah, all right again, bit slower—so if you've got no shield nothing then your best bet is to get his sword and so—," he catches my sword with his right hand, "Off hand, catch it, try to take it from me—,"
I twist, annoyed, trying to tug the sword free. I cannot. I growl in frustration.
"If that were a sharpened weapon then my hand would be cut open, but a cut hand is better than, actually dying and your gloves might at least save your fingers," Chanos twists, and in one swift tug frees the sword from my grip and catches the hilt with his other hand."
I feel myself actually smiling, "My turn."
"Go on, try to do the same—yeah bit closer down, watch my other hand if I have a dagger—excellent," Chanos says, as I try to tug it from him.
"I'm not strong enough," I sigh.
"You will be," he says, smiling as well now, "twist up—so it's going into my wrist then I've got no grip—there you are—,"
"Should we be preserving him? I mean I like him yes but by doing this we are preserving him and if —God—wanted him to die in a field in France someplace like his sire wants to should we be thwarting god's will? I've sent too many people to hell to wind up there," Courtenay says.
"If I kissed him it'd likely shut him up but I'm already doing humanity a service not murdering him every hour," Chanos says.
"I'm well dying in France. I don't mind. I'm looking forward to it really, and besides I can now I have a little brother," I say, trying to twist the sword from his hand again.
He just drops it, "What?"
"Come again, there," Courtenay says, leaning over the wall.
"Just that now I'm not the only prince anymore, my parents have Lionel as well now and he's healthy so it's fine I don't have to stay alive."
"YES YOU DO!!!!!" In unison, which is the first thing I think they've agreed on which I should probably pay attention to.
"Why—would that enter—your too clever, hound dog, head?" Courtenay asks, hands over his face.
"It's the first thing I thought of when I got word I had a brother. I don't necessarily have to do this forever I don't really like it; it's been two years I can't imagine being king I'd have to do more things," I explain, "It's just being prince."
"It—completely isn't," Chanos says, "Hugh help me here—will you get your hands off your eyes?"
"No. If I look at its big brown eyes I'll get more attached to it than I already am it's less stressful for me to go through life hating all of you non-Hughs equally I can't be getting attached to anything least of all a member of the royal family it's exhausting and would hinder most of my life goals of dying rich no," Hugh breaths.
"That's it precisely we'll go to war someday someone else can keep the throne, and then potentially I'll die and no one will be attached to me so it's all fine," I say.
"Fuck that's it—no, you are not dying at war —not so you can be prince but so that we can go to Jerusalem, and marry well, and have scandalous affairs with very beautiful...people—,"
"He's fucking nine John."
"—and prevent him from dying rich, and own a lot of dogs and other soft pets you like, and loads of other things we come up with while drunk, and your dying would spoil all of that because it's going to be bloody brilliant, all right?" Chanos says, hands on his hips.
"I don't get to do a lot of fun things though," I say.
"We'll put you in disguise. Or fake your death we'll completely do that he thinks about committing treason every week," Chanos says.
"You'd get in trouble. And my parents can't worry I couldn't do that," I say, quickly, "Or Joan she says I need to be watched at all times I don't know why."
"I do," Chanos breaths.
"Yeah we'd do it so nobody would know I do half my life so no one knows it's fine," Courtenay says, "Get a couple of my kids have a grand time."
"You're that—suppose you would be—you've not had fun at all lately have you?" Chanos asks.
I shrug a little bit, "I'm just busy all the time. And I worry about what everyone thinks. And doing the right thing. All the time. I'm tired. And like I said it was a long day in Parliament I hate Parliament and I'll be king one day."
"Your father's king he's not doing parliament he's having you do it," Courtenay says, "You can have other people do it."
"But then I'd feel bad because I hate it! Go back to the part where you kidnap me but no one is worried," I sigh.
"Sure, what like now—?" Courtenay asks.
"Stop helping, now, right now stop helping—yeah it's boring, when you've got a lot of chores and you've got loads, more than some adults—but why don't we try to make sure you have fun as well? Let's come up with something you'd enjoy doing, for Advent eh? Maybe there's a joust on we'd be more than happy to smuggle you to," Chanos says.
"I couldn't have anyone worry," I say, slowly, because I would like to see a joust.
"Are you joking? He'll make something up no one would even know we're gone," Chanos says.
"I'm not very comfortable telling lies," Courtenay says, completely seriously..
We are all silent for a moment before bursting out laughing.
"I get your point," I say, trying to stop.
"Fuck I needed that—yeah see? We'll tell 'em we took you hunting or summit," Chanos says.
"We're not allowed to hunt on royal lands though," I say.
"What?" Courtenay chokes, "Were we—not supposed to be doing that?"
"I mean I don't care and it's sort of my land so by extension yes but in a more legal sense no, I've not got permission," I say.
"Would it have stopped you if you had known that?" Chanos asks, hand on hip.
"Hmm--no, still like to know when I'm committing a small crime all right, good to fucking know," Courtenay says.
"Right so I can't do it," I say.
"Well we'll think of another excuse. Or we'll get permission and offer to escort you and get some of the other men? If you'd like to go to a joust. Or hunting—NOT on royal lands Jesus Christ Hugh I'm selling you to the French their government will collapse and they'll return you within a week," Chanos says, massaging his forehead.
"I didn't even know that one was a crime," Courtenay says.
"As a prince of England I'll ignore the grammatical implication that there are more," I say.
"Shh," Courtenay winks.
"Maybe the Earl of Lancaster will let us hunt on his land? If you asked he's got loads man's blind it's not like he's hunting," Chanos says.
"I'm not supposed to ask any favors if I've not cleared it with my parents," I say.
"Well our collective intelligence will think of something diverting enough for the holidays eh?" Chanos says.
"Circling back briefly to the actual prince and a knight of said prince not being allowed to hunt on royal lands?" Courtenay raises a hand, "I swear no one told me that."
"Yeah it's implied, you can't hunt on royal land. Just like you can't collect funds for a church when you're not a priest and never plan on giving it to a priest, nor can you charge other people to hunt on land that isn't yours, nor can you report that your tenants gave you less than they did to avoid paying taxes. Blanket statements nothing to do with reality or things I know you've done this week," Chanos says.
"Okay I'll take that as hypothetical don't get arrested—I need someone to spar with. And I can't get you out for things you've definitely done," I say.
"No one is going to catch me," Courtenay says, examining dirt under his nails.
"Comforting as hell. Not like they'd keep him in somewhere," Chanos says.
"No they'd ask us to come get him," I say.
"You're both very funny and hurtful."
Chanos and I look at each other then roll our eyes.
My sparring session nearly cheered me up. But supper soon puts me back in my previous mood. I have to change for supper and wash before it. Mostly I eat with my household but they insist I eat everything. There was no time after Parliament to go and chat with Bernard and Simon, who aren't allowed to roam about for the most part. My mother was strict about letting my friends hang about to play but she's not here and someone probably shooed them off. As I'm being sent to supper I see Hugh and Eddie, the Courtenay boys, bouncing and making a series of rapid but utterly meaningless hand gestures and nodding happily. I wave a little but I have no idea what they mean. It could definitely be nothing they're very excitable. They're like Lancasters, but without the self control or fear of natural consequences. Obviously that makes them great friends but I'm not to play favorites and only playing with them it looks like I'm favoring the family.
Supper is meat pie as it's not a fast day. I don't even want to eat it, but my household eats with me Aimee is worried about me and I don't want her worrying for me. I can tell when she is.
"Parliament was long, I think my face is frozen from looking pleasant," I tell her with a quick smirk.
"Well you can glare all you like now," she says, pinching my cheeks. I laugh for her. Of course I'm faking. I want to scream. But she worries about me I have to smile.
"I'm sorry you didn't get out with the dogs today," she says.
"It's all right. Perhaps later in the week," I say, even though I'm suffocating. I force myself to take a sip of wine. I want to throw up.
"You sure you're okay?" She asks, hand on my shoulder.
"I'm well," I lie, because I have to. What else am I supposed to do when nothing feels okay? I don't even know what would make anything all right.
Supper seems to last an age. I slip morsels to my puppy, and eat as much as I can stomach. My mother's letter keeps turning over in my mind. I can't get rid of it. And I so badly want to. So so badly.
I pretend to say my evening prayers properly. The saints know what I want. I ask often enough. It never seems to come true. I've given up praying for my family to come back or for my life to be something other than it is. Now I just pray that the next life I get, whatever that is, heaven or hell, I can be someone else. I'm tired of being this.
I go back up to my room, begging a couple of my rabbits to pet.
"Not in the bed," Elizabeth brings them as I requested.
"Okay," I say, putting my jewels around the rabbit's necks as William undresses me.
"Hands," he takes off my rings. Aimee sets down clean night things.
"Arms out," William says, taking off my tunic. I'm bruised from the sparring. He tsks disapprovingly, and begins to put ointment on it.
"Head up," Elizabeth says, brushing my hair.
"Sorry," I say, I was staring down at my dog who was lying by the door.
"There you are," she says, putting oil in my curls. My mother told them how. My hair is like hers, most of the staff do it wrong I heard her lecturing them on making sure I had enough oil in my hair so it'd lay properly, the same with Izzy hers is longer.
"Better, I'll put more on in the morning, sleep on your back," William says, finishing with the ointment.
"Arms up," Elizabeth says, tapping my shoulder.
I hold up my arms for her to drop a new tunic over my head.
"Goodnight, Lord Edward."
"Goodnight Lord Edward."
"Goodnight Lord Edward."
"Goodnight Lord Edward."
They all bid me goodnight, then William retreats. He'll be in the next room. When I was little Aimee or one of my other nurses would be in the next room too, or when I was very little my room. I still remember when my mother would keep me in her own bed. And my father would eventually be there and and for a night she'd cuddle me in between them, my face in her sweet smelling hair. Then they'd be gone. Or busy. And I'd be alone wondering when I'd next get to fall asleep in her arms. I hate sleeping alone. I don't like being alone.
Yet I am.
I fetch my mother's letter from it's hiding place. Undisturbed. And in Latin of course I must be clever. I open it carefully, kneeling on the stone floor. I don't want to spoil my bed with these thoughts of misery. I feel tears dripping down my cheeks.
I offered to beg that she and my siblings come home. that I'd ask parliament as I wished my mother home. That I'd do anything but at least have her return trade someone for payment of the debt to return her. Off hand Courtenay or someone like that who'd do it to get the royal favor. But I'd do anything.
And her answer? No.
Do as your father asks. He is a managing our return. And I am with child, and cannot make the journey till after the child comes, next spring. Do not speak of this as no one else knows. But so you know i could not return even if I were able. Trust in myself and your father and play your role. I have no doubt you can do it.
She's having another baby. Another. I already have a brother I've not met. I can't do it. It all hurts too much. And everything feels like it's my fault.
Before they left my mother had a baby. A little brother for me. So I wouldn't be the only prince. And my mother let me hold him. She placed the tiny child in my arms.
"You'll be a good brother, Ned. He doesn't know what it's like to be a prince. He'll need you," she said, a hand through my hair, as she put an arm around us both.
"I'll take such good care of him. I swear it. I'll be the best brother," I said, earnestly. I meant it.
"You know your role isn't easy. But I know you can do it. You have a good heart," she said, gently, "He's as precious as you are to me. I need you, to guide him, and watch over him. Your father and I don't even know what it's like for you, and the world will try to tear you apart. But you'll always have each other. You always must have each other."
"I promise, I'll always take care of him," I said, looking down at the sleeping infant.
He died not a week later.
In his sleep. I can still hear my mother sobbing for him, as she held his limp body. My father held her up as she wept so bitterly. Aimee took Izzy and I from the room.
Then they were gone. They left me. and had another brother but I don't get to meet him. I don't get to be around to protect him he won't know me. Now she's having another baby. Another brother or sister I don't get to meet it's my job how am I supposed to protect them if they're so far away? It's like it's my fault. It's like because I failed somehow. Like I'm not good enough.
I lie down on the stone floor, weeping bitterly.
No matter what Parliament returns. My mother will not come home to me. They're having a life there without me in it. And I'm so alone. I hate being so alone.