“Agony?” She sounded doubtful.
He cupped her face in his hands. “Poison was less painful, believe me. I nearly strangled Gran that day you carved me the wooden fox at Helmsley. Please put me out of my misery.”
She laughed again, nervously. “All right, then. It’s only a kiss.”
Only a kiss, he told himself.
A kiss. Nothing more.
And then he could surrender to being a grown-up and being a king and doing all the things that were expected of him.
She shivered and wet her bottom lip with her teeth, and Edward thought he would burst into flames. He leaned closer to her. Fell into those green, green . . . pools of beautiful eyes. He prayed he wouldn’t mess this up. It felt important, as big as winning his country back. Bigger. His eyes closed.
“Wait,” Gracie said. “Sire.”
“Dammit,” he breathed. “Call me Edward.”
“I can’t,” she said, her voice wavering. “I know you want me to. But I can’t forget who you are. You will always be the king.”
The words were like cold water splashing him. He opened his eyes and drew himself away from her abruptly. “All right. I understand.”
“I like you. I do. But I can’t—”
He rubbed his hand down the front of his face. “I should go.”
She frowned. “Sire . . .”
“Dammit!” The word burst out of him. Light flared. He was a kestrel. He was flying away. He gave a great cry that pierced the still night air, and then he flew higher, and faster, until Gracie was a speck he could leave behind.
“So. You have all you asked for,” Bess said, much later.
“Right,” he said sarcastically. He leaned against the rail of the fine French ship that was carrying them back to England. The sun was rising. The wind ruffled his hair.
“What’s the matter with you?” Bess wanted to know.
“Nothing. Yes. I have my army.” He was watching Jane and Gifford, who were standing close farther up the bow, spending their few minutes together, that precious and brief window of time before Gifford would change into a horse. How easy it was for them. How simple.
“It’s the strangest army to ever walk this earth,” Bess said with that quiet, almost smug smile of hers. “Made up of Frenchmen and Scots and thousands of E?ians rallying behind you, brother. We’re going to win, Edward. If we play our cards right.”
“And then I’ll be the King of England again,” he said.
“You never stopped being the king, in my opinion. But now you’ll get to truly rule,” she continued. “You’ll be able to right all of the wrongs of this country. It was true, all that you said to Archer. You can see to it that E?ians and Verities live side by side in peace. You can change the way things are done, rein in the wild spending and live modestly, see that there’s gold in our coffers again, restructure the taxes to take the burden from the common people, ease their suffering, yet still see to the needs of the nobles. You could be a better king than Father. Wise and just and even-tempered.”
“Better than Father?” He could not conceive of such a thing.
“Yes. England can be prosperous once again. I long to see that day,” his sister said passionately.
He stared off into the horizon, lost in thought. He’d spent the better part of the night flying, and thinking while he flew. It had been the first time he hadn’t lost himself to the bird joy. He supposed that was something of an accomplishment.
“Did you know,” he said after a moment, “that Mary Queen of Scots is a mouse?”
“Of course.”
He glanced up at her, startled. “You knew that? How is it that you know absolutely everything?”
“I’m a cat,” she confessed. “She smelled tasty.”
That drew a startled laugh out from him. “Kestrels eat mice, too.” He remembered the one mouse he’d killed, the night he first became a bird. He wanted to fly again, to stretch his wings.
“We’ll have to practice restraint, if we encounter her again,” Bess remarked.
“We will,” he said softly.
Bess was scrutinizing his face. “What’s troubling you, Edward? Are you afraid? Of this battle to come?”
“No,” he said without hesitation. His hand curled into a fist on the railing. He looked up at her, his gray eyes fierce and shining. “I am ready to fight.”
But it occurred to Edward, not for the first time since our story began, that he had been a poor excuse for a king before. That he did not deserve to be king now. That someone else (anyone else, really, except for Mary) might be better suited for the job.
TWENTY-SIX
Jane
The E?ian encampment was quiet save for the crackle of campfires and the muted voices of soldiers, who were huddled in groups around the fires, discussing tactics or telling stories they’d never told anyone else, but needed to be told. In case they died in the morning.