The Rose of York: Crown of Destiny Read Free

that Louis was a deceitful man and given to intrigue, Louis of France had been instrumental in arranging Anne’s first marriage to Prince Edouard of Lancaster.
    A knock came at the door. It was the man-at-arms Richard had sent in search of Exeter. “Your Grace, the Duke of Exeter is nowhere to be found.”
    “Are you certain?”
    “Aye, my Lord. We’ve searched the entire ship. Even the latrine. There’s no sign of him, and his pallet has not been slept on.”
    “Very well.” Richard gave a nod of dismissal and waited until the cabin door had closed before turning to Edward. He found his brother watching him with a strange look in his blue eyes. Sudden realization struck him like lightning out of a clear sky. That was no dream he’d had the previous night! Murder had inspired it—or mingled with sleep to give his dream a hideous significance.
    “Harry’s dead, isn’t he?” Richard said.
    “Looks that way,” replied Edward, toying with his empty goblet.
    “What are you going to do about it?”
    “Do?” Edward returned his gaze to his brother. “What am I supposed to do?”
    “Find the murderers. Hang them.”
    Edward chuckled. “How unstatesmanly of you, Dickon. Don’t you know I need all the murderers I can get to help me kill the French?”
    Normally Edward’s jests made Richard grin in spite of himself, but not this time. “You mean you’re going to let St. Leger and his henchmen get away with this?”
    “You don’t know Harry was murdered. He might have fallen overboard. Or jumped.”
    The hint of amusement in Edward’s tone angered Richard. “Pushed, more likely! Had I been a few minutes earlier going to the deck last night, I would have caught St. Leger in the act!”
    “Perhaps, but you didn’t. That leaves nothing but conjecture—not enough for which to hang a man.”
    “How can you be so unconcerned, Edward? For Christ’s sake, a crime’s been committed! Your prime duty as King is to serve justice.”
    “Ah, my little brother,” sighed Edward, filling his goblet from a wine barrel in the corner, “you have always been overly concerned with the justice of the thing, haven’t you? Heaven knows why.” He downed a gulp and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Look at the practical side for once, Dickon. Harry’s no loss. He was a carved-in-stone Lancastrian. King Louis gave him succour those years of exile from England, and once we reached France he would have fled back into the Spider King’s embrace the first chance he found… Taking our secrets with him, no doubt.” He upended his cup.
    Richard watched his royal brother drain his wine. Once upon a time, Edward had cared about justice as much as he did. But ensnared in his evil Queen’s clutches, the golden, idealistic warrior-Prince had slowly degenerated into a King too fond of wine and women, concerned only with his ease—and the easy way out.
    “Take my advice, little brother. Forget the whole unsavoury business. Harry’s not worth it.”
    A rap came at the door. Edward’s bosom friend Hastings entered, a genial smile on his broad-carved face. Richard inclined his head in greeting, trying to suppress his distaste for the man. Hastings was one of Edward’s two debauched companions in his wantonness. The other was Edward’s own stepson—the Marquess of Dorset, the Queen’s son by her first marriage to Lancastrian knight Sir John Grey. With Edward’s indulgence, Dorset had remained behind in England, ostensibly for the sake of his duties, but common knowledge held that cowardice, not duty, kept him there.
    “Aha, Will, just the man I need to lighten my spirits! My little brother’s heavy talk of murder and hangings has left me parched. Fetch yourself some wine and fill my cup while you’re at it.”
    Richard realised that all further entreaties were useless. As he withdrew from the cabin, Edward called out, “Be happy for our sister, Dickon. She’s free to wed St. Leger now. See, it turned out for the