The Boy King (Violent Delights Book 13)

Chapter 6: "It is not in the stars to hold our destiny but in ourselves"

Catherine of Valois

Humphrey refuses to meet with Edmund, which is very mature of him. And so I ask to meet with Humphrey and bring Edmund. Cardinal Beaufort is right, there is no logic in our methods here. But I don't feel like I'm the problem with that so I can't do anything.
"What is he doing here?" Humphrey asks, not looking up from his desk as Edmund and I step in.
"I needed to speak with you," Edmund says, boldly.
"No, you don't. I'm busy— out," Humphrey snaps his fingers.
"Please, this won't take long," I sigh.
"It already has," Humphrey says, still not looking up.
"I wish to marry her," Edmund says, a little tiredly.
"What?" Humphrey's head snaps up.
"We wish to marry. I know I'm under your care—," I begin.
"What?" Humphrey looks between us suspiciously.
"I wish to marry her. I ask no dowry. I have lands of my own," Edmund says, "I just need your permission."
"No," Humphrey says.
"What?" We both say.
"No. Is that not clear enough for you? No," Humphrey says.
"Why not? I wouldn't interfere with—it's nothing to do with you," Edmund says, "Choose your terms. We wish to marry."
"It's everything to do with me, no," Humphrey snarls.
"You wish me to rot in Windsor the rest of my life?" I ask.
"I suppose. You cannot marry him," Humphrey says, "I won't allow it."
"Why? Because we asked?" Edmund asks.
"Yes. But it was always going to be no."
"Please," I say, feeling my stomach drop. No. This has to work. This needs to work. How close are we again to the final plan that ends in sheep farming? I feel like we're getting close I really don't want to do that. I'm scared.  I don't know how to live anywhere else. What if Owen starts to hate me?
"It's okay—just—look Humphrey I'll take it to John and our uncle but I was trying to be civil. I'll marry her without your permission and have done," Edmund says, holding up a a hand to me as he sees I'm near tears.
"That would be treason. And I'd have you arrested then it would be a pleasure. The answer is no. My word on the matter is final," Humphrey says.
"Well then change your word or give me a solid reason why I cannot marry her? Again, you choose the terms."
"I said no. That is your solid reason."
"Humphrey, I'm pregnant," I sigh, putting a hand to my face to stop crying.
"What?" He looks at me with obvious horror. As he realizes it could be true.
"I'm pregnant. Please let me marry him," I say.
Humphrey starts breathing oddly and clutching his chest.
"Oh my god," I sigh.
"Is he dying? Because I don't want people saying we killed him, perhaps we should leave," Edmund offers.
"He's not dying he's fine, Humphrey, pull yourself together," I say, hand on his shoulder, "You have two illegitimate children who need you, so calm down. It's over now. I won't get less pregnant."
"Maybe, just never comfort people again?" Edmund says.
"What? I don't like him you're the one who didn't want him to die," I point out, as Humphrey continues breathing shallowly.

Humphrey, Duke of Gloucester

The idiots are arguing. And I can't breath. The entire room is spinning. And my chest is tightening. I can't breath. I can't breath.
This can't be happening.
I want to strangle them both.
I can't strangle them both.
Why did he leave me here like this?
I can't do it. I can't do it.
"Humphrey, pull yourself together," Catherine shoves my shoulder again.
"No," I gasp.
"No, you won't pull yourself together?" Edmund asks, primly.
"No, you can't marry her," I say, breathing heavily.
"She's having my child what would you have us do?" Edmund asks.
"I don't care. Just get out. Do what you will. Your home is at Windsor. Go hide in an abby and give birth. But I'll not allow you to marry," I say.
"Why?" Catherine asks, tears on her face.
"Because you asked it of me," I hiss.
"No. Why do you hate me so much? What did I ever do to you?" She asks.
"Nothing. You didn't do anything to me," I say, "I just loved my brother."
I never really thought of her. It was a political arrangement. Nothing more. And we all knew that. We all supposed we'd marry for politics someday. Hal had been supposed to marry the princess of France for years. So he just finally had. It meant nothing.
And I met her. And it meant nothing either. She was a little thing, delicate and quiet. She spoke only French and seemed to hate the crowds of court. That was to be expected. No, I didn't think about her at all until one night.
I was up late working. I was one of the few people Hal trusted to go over his precious tax schemes. In the past I never did it. But since Courtenay's death he'd grudgingly accept the help from me as he was consumed with every aspect of running both countries.
Hal banged into his office. His cheeks were nearly flushed, and he walked directly to the wine. That was unlike him, he'd drink wine but not usually to steady himself. It wasn't late for him to be up but he hadn't said he'd be down.
"You all right?" I asked, softly.
"What are you still doing up?" He asked, ignoring the question and going to his papers.
"You don't look all right is the reason I asked," I said.
He said nothing, just looked at the papers.
"Did something happen?" I asked. I knew him. He was my brother I knew his moods as well as my own. Perhaps better.
"Catherine. Stupid woman," he shook his head a little.
"She was never going to be him," I said. Which I was well aware it was a mistake by the time it left my mouth. But I also didn't expect my brother's hand to come that quickly, smacking me so solidly hard across the mouth that I actually stumbled and nearly fell to the floor.
"Want to try that again, Humphrey?" Hal asked, voice poisonous, rounding on me, daring me to say it again, or something like it.
I had some self preservation, "Not at all, no I do not. Nor am I going to justify it."
He walked away, no reason left to abuse me, going back to the wine.
"What happened?" I asked.
Silence.
"Look, I'm your brother I can occasionally watch my tongue—or simply turn it on others on your command," I said, wiping my blood from my lips. In the morning I'd be bruised across half my face from where he'd struck me. No one was surprised or even questioned it. "I know you didn't expect to—like the woman she's a piece of property. So what would be troubling you? You can't be cross at a parcel of land."
"I can actually. As can you we're Lancasters we can be cross at anything," he said.
"Hal," I sighed, still wiping blood from my face.
"She can't look at the scars," he said, almost softly. He never admitted to having the scars. "Not even now she—she turns her face away. She went to touch my face and her hand was shaking in disgust."
"Is it the scars do you know?" I asked. He went to great lengths to be overbearing and he'd spent years cultivating an image of terror.  He could make me start when he walked in the room. Not that it was performance. The strike to my mouth wasn't the first time he'd laid a hand on me, though it would be the last. He'd die not eighteen months later, no more chances to chastise me.
"It's the scars. Once at dinner, she'd not been eating, just shaking at my side, I asked her if she needed something to eat. She said she could not eat while looking at me," he said, not looking up, face flushed in anger.
"It's really not that—," I was going to say it's not that bad. But it was. Half his face was destroyed and we both knew it.
"I know how I look. Now we'll speak of it no more. It doesn't matter," he said.
But it did matter. She didn't have to love him. But she also didn't need to rebuke him for that. He hated the scarring, he always had. He refused to wear a mask or cover it, and he'd make people not look at him. But I watched him, I knew how he hated the change to his face. He'd never been handsome but he was close enough for his own purposes and it was his face, irrevocably mauled. He'd let no one kiss that ruined cheek, no one but Courtenay and that privilege died with him. No, the woman didn't have to like Hal. But to show repulse for that terrible war wound was cruel. She made him feel ugly. Her, the only woman he'd bothered to take and she let him know what a monster he seemed to her. And I would not forgive that.
"My answer is no. I care very little what you do," I say, leaning against the desk, breathing heavily, as I recover myself. "You cannot marry. If you wanted to be an honest woman you shouldn't have lain with him. Now get out."
Catherine sobs, quietly, hands to her face.
Edmund walks up and takes me by the front of the tunic, shoving me against the wall.
"What—this is treason—," I struggle but he's a much bigger man than I, and I'm well off the ground, he shakes me like a dog with a stick.
"Why would you ruin someone's life? For your own amusement? Is this entertaining enough to you?" Edmund asks.
"Don't," Catherine says, tears rolling down her cheeks.
"I'll have you dragged out, whoreson," I snarl.
"You're a coward. And you get some small pleasure from hurting other people? Why? You did the same to your wife, which is within your right to have a mistress. But now you deprive others of the same privilege? We've committed no sins you're not guilty of," he snarls.
"That's what you're missing. I really don't care. About other people," I say, trying to twist, "Never step foot in parliament again."
"I do not intend to while you are there, bitch," Edmund says, "Can't you begin to understand the fear you feel with my hands on your throat, is how you are forcing her to live? You hate her, fine, so let her go."
"She is in my protection. The king needs her—,"
"He doesn't," Catherine chokes, sobbing.
"I control her lands. She has nowhere to go, she remains in my control. Because I wish it. That is the power I have. And I will use it."
"Yes you will. And may you burn in hell for it," Edmund finally drops me. I lunge for my sword but Catherine takes it, along with Edmund's for good measure.
"Stop it, both of you. I'm fine, Edmund it's fine," Catherine says, strongly.
"You say that too much," Edmund says, looking at her with something like love.
"One day it will be true," she says, nodding a bit at him.
"So, that's settled, Edmund, leave before I have you escorted out. Catherine I'll arrange your carriage I assume you'll go back to Windsor after dining with your son tonight?" I ask, pleasantly.
"Yes," she says, tears pouring down her cheeks.
"Don't bother, Humphrey."
We all look over.  My uncle Beaufort is leaning in the doorway, goblet of wine in hand, clearly has been there for some time.
"What?" I ask.
"It's true, the good lady is under your control so her lands which her husband granted her, are not her own. And she cannot marry without your permission. However, last time I read English law, which was last night, she's not your prisoner. And as a free woman she can go where she wishes," my uncle says, calmly.
"And she has nowhere to go," I say, disgustedly.
"Lady Catherine, the Bishop of London has certain properties I grant him. You are more than welcome to come to stay as long as you like, with as many of your staff as you may require," he says, smiling a bit at her. "If it would please you I'll make the appropriate arrangements."
"Yes," she says, dumbfounded.
"No—you can't—," I begin.
"As I said she is not your prisoner. She's a free woman to go and do as she wishes. Now that requires means. But as the Dowager Queen, in ill health, she's more than welcome at any church property, and can be justifiably supported by church funds, should you choose to cut her allowance off as well, in your generosity for your brother's widow," my uncle purrs.
"My men can escort you there," Edmund nods, almost smiling.
"Checkmate, Humphrey. Come Lady Catherine, let me relieve you of one of those swords, you were quite correct they don't need them," my uncle says, smiling warmly.
"You mean it?" She asks, still stricken with shock.
"Yes, they don't need the swords at all, Edmund, come here right now. Let's leave the Lord Protector to his work, I'm sure he has other relatives to abuse," my uncle says.
"It's not abuse if it's within my rights," I say.
"And this is within mine as a Cardinal. You lost Humphrey. Better luck next time," he says.
"Fuck you," I snarl.
He winks, as he leaves.
Yes. Yes. Next time. Better luck next time all right. I'll show him. I'm going to audit every single one of his accounts. Every single action he took for the crown. How will he like being charged with treason?

Catherine of Valois

"You mean it?" I ask Cardinal Beaufort, as we step into the hall and Edmund tries and fails to take his sword from his uncle.
"Yes, my dear. Now, go get changed for the road," he says, "If it pleases you for the present, Hadham Palace is free, and you'd be quite comfortable."
"Yes—yes thank you," I say, catching my breath, "Why—?"
"For the same reason I loved your husband. You deserve to be safe, whatever that looks like, and our dear Lord Protector is something of a bully, just like his father. I didn't stand for that either," he says.
"Thank you," I say, I don't know how to say anything else. "Thank you both."
"Don't mention it, specifically don't mention the part where I throttled the Lord Protector. Now, let's get out of this house eh? I'll ride with you," Edmund laughs.
"Yes, yes let's go," I say. I want to fly from here so badly. And now I can. Am I truly becoming free?

Raoul de Gaoucourt

"Missoure."
"Madmoiselle."
Joan and I bow to each other, then laugh. We're both sweaty and covered in blood. But flushed with triumph.
"You gave them quite the run," I say, smiling.
"As did you, thank you for following my lead," she says.
"It was an honor. What's your next move?"
"Push on, forward, we have to. The city's not free yet. France isn't free," she says.
"We're on our way, go see your men," I say, bumping fists with her with more accuracy, "I'll brief Orleans then send him your way."
"Godspeed," she says, clearly playfully, looking in the direction of our uptight garrison commander.
"Orleans," I smile.
"Well, you look still alive, how's the girl?" He asks.
"Bottled lightening," I say, "Day's won."
"The battle, not the war," he says, "But I admit we're a sight closer. The english retreated."
"And we fight again, you're not stopping her," I say.
"I don't intend to," Orleans shakes his head, "You going with?"
"Till Orleans is free, then I return home, my child will be born soon," I say, "Then I'll return to the Dauphin's service."
"Why?" He laughs, looking at me, "Raoul, you know you won't live to see france free again. I probably won't even. Her generation, perhaps. Go home, see your wife. You've fought enough."
"It's never enough. Not until France is free. There's always another battle," I say, "We're not fighting to win. We're fighting because it's right. It is noble, it is just. It is what we do. Because even if we're not free in the end. At least we fought for it. We died for it. That alone is worth the struggle."
"I hope you're right," he says, watching as Joan addresses here weary men with gusto. 
"We will make it one day," I say, patting his shoulder, "God will see to it."

Henry, King of England

"Is my mother going to dine with me, Lady Butler?" I ask, coming into my lesson room with my books. If I get done with all my lessons she said I could draw some ceilings.
"No, I'm afraid she's leaving," she says.
"Oh. Why?" I ask, "Didn't she want to see me?"
"No, I'm sure she was busy, that's all," she says, coming over to me, "Do your lessons now."
"Do you think she didn't like me? I didn't talk too much did I?" I did talk a lot. And she probably didn't want to talk to me about ceilings. Nobody really likes to hear it anyway.
"No, no of course not, she's just busy that's all."
But that's what people say when they're trying to make you feel better. I wonder why mother doesn't like me? I wish she did. It makes me hurt inside I wish everything would just stop. Everything feels all messed up again. I can't even enjoy my ceilings drawings now. I feel tears slide down my cheeks. Now I've got to do all my lessons and I'm not going to enjoy my free time and my mother left. Why does everything hurt so much?