Page 123 of The Court of Venus

I halted outside the king’s apartments, raising my candle. “The lord chancellor asked me to attend His Majesty.”

The guard’s grip on his blade slackened. How quickly loyalties shifted, how quickly he stepped aside to let me pass.

Wyatt Francis sat at the king’s bedside, nursing an entire jug of mulled wine. He glanced over at me as I set my candle on the table.

“Roland says you may go to supper,” I murmured. “I am to watch over the king.”

“He only sleeps and shits,” complained Wyatt. As if on cue, King Richard rolled over and scowled in his sleep.

I smiled, offering him no teeth. “I’ll manage.”

Wyatt sweated in his heavy coat and furs, his ruddy complexion not helped by the stuffiness of the king’s bedchamber. He fluffed himself, nodding, relieved to be out of the darkness of the sickroom. He had no love for Roland, or for me, but if Roland allowed him to stay at court, I sensed he was the kind of man to shut his mouth and be grateful.

He swept out the door. I closed it behind him.

Locked it.

My candle flickered eerily in the gloom. I sat on the edge of the king’s bed until he stirred. He blinked several times before I came into focus.

“Has Roland sent me a gift?” Stretching out his hand, he palmed my breast.

“Yes, I am here for you, Your Majesty. I am a gift.”

A swipe of his tongue across his lip. “I’ve always wondered what a Moonborn would taste like. It is a variety of magician I’ve never had.”

I traced the curve of his cheek.

“Sweet Roland,” the king said. “He always knows when I need cheering.”

“He does indeed. But first, I must tell you a story. Or rather, show you a story.” His palm fell away. I reached over to his bedside table and lit a second candle with the first. Our faces pulsed in the flickering light.

I took a deep breath—I was shaking. The king didn’t notice, but a sharper eye might have. “Four years ago, I was an apprentice to Prospero, here in the palace of Redhall.”

A hiss. “Prospero. Is he here?”

“All I had in the world was my master, the study of magic. But there were two boys in the palace with me, who became my friends. My only friends in the world. Well—” I broke off, eyes falling to my lap. “They perhaps didn’t see it like that. I wanted to be their friend far more than they wanted to be mine. But we were thrown together, all lonely in our own way.”

Three children, laughing. The two boys racing in front of the small, white-haired girl, carrying wooden play swords. She tripped on a root, tore open her knee, but that didn’t deter her. She kept running. “One of the boys was Roland, the lord chancellor. The second was your son, Prince Henry. Hal. Your son was better than us. He was not corrupted by hate or fear. Roland and I were jealous creatures back then, but Hal was good.” I took another breath. “He was good. And I loved him. I loved him far more than I loved myself. He tried to help me see that I was worth something. That was his gift, Your Majesty.”

I did not glance at him to ensure he was listening. This story was not for him—it was for me.

I twisted another memory through his mind. A boy and a girl, now fully grown, on the steps of a winding staircase, wrapped in each other. He had pinned her back against the stone, and she was laughing as he pecked her face with kisses. “Marry me,” a kiss to her nose, “marry me,” to her chin, until he fell to his knees on the step before her, burying his face in her skirt.

The girl glanced around, panicked. “Hal, get up.”

“Marry me, Bianca.” He smiled up at her, entirely calm.

She scraped a hand across his stubble. So tenderly, he closed his eyes. “If I were someone else, I would,” she said.

“No,” he insisted. “As you are.”

“What are you doing to me?” cried the king.

“Hush. These are only my memories, Your Majesty. Haven’t you ever imagined what it is like in someone else’s head besides your own? Where was I? Yes. You decided Hal would marry the princess of Bastian. Someone of noble birth, someone who could stand by his side and give him heirs. I was unsuitable in every way. I would never, ever carry his child in my belly.” I hung my head, tears clinging to my lashes. “Still, I loved him. I allowed myself that. For several months, we were happy. As happy as we could be given the differences in the way we thought. When we thought there might be eyes on us, I wore stolen faces so Prospero wouldn’t know.”

The girl’s face shifting in a mirror, her hair darkening to raven black, the boy leaning down to kiss her bare shoulder.

All the blood had drained from the king’s face, his eyes unfocused as he watched the scenes play inside his head.