Thank you so much for the reviews and to everyone who is reading this story. Hope everyone enjoys this chapter.

Quick note-I have used italics when Henry and Roland are speaking in Breton.

'The King,' stuttered Lord Strange, almost choking on his wine as he reacted to the news, which he had just received, 'the King...Henry...my brother wishes to remarry,'

'Yes,' replied Roland, glancing anxiously at the door. He did not want to be there, no matter how much it pained him to see his mother suffer, he did not want to be revealing the King...his father's secrets, especially as any meeting with Lord Strange, could only lead to plots of regicide, 'I believe that is his plan, though he wishes it to remain a secret...until...until...the dispensation arrives from Rome,'

'Dispensation,' said Lord Strange, chewing over the words, suddenly intrigued by this servant's speech, 'why would my dear brother need a dispensation?'

'Because,' sighed Roland, shaking his head from side to side, 'because he wishes to marry the Dowager Princess of Wales,'

Lord Strange looked Roland up and down, trying to assess whether he was speaking the truth. Everyone, even the King's enemies, had seen how heartbroken their sovereign had been over the death of his White Rose. So to hear that he planned to marry so soon after her departure, was the last thing anyone-whether Lancaster or York-expected to hear. Of course, it could be a trick, for Lord Strange made no secret that he longed to see his half-brother deposed-a fact Henry was not oblivious too.

'Do you speak the truth?' muttered Lord Strange with an air of distrust, 'for if this is a trap, I should warn you, boy, that I will extract a revenge on you, which will have you begging for the devil himself to rescue you,'

'I wish I was, sir,' answered Roland. Since he was a boy, he had longed for his father's love and his mother's happiness, but Roland had always knew it had been a distant dream, it did not stop him from him wishing that he had never followed his father into the chapel, 'I saw them together,'

'Together?'

'Yes,' sighed Roland in reply, wondering how it had come to this, 'they were together in the chapel yesterday morning. His tongue deep in her throat and her in his. And from what I heard from the nursery, it was not the first time,'

'Oh Henry!' laughed Lord Strange, throwing back his head, 'my cold fish of a brother going weak at the knees over some warm blood senorita...well, it must have been some time since he was last between some soft, warm thighs; no wonder, he had some colour in his cheeks yesterday,'

Roland did not say anything, just eyed the door, hoping it was time to make his exit, but as he edged slowly towards it, one of Lord Strange's henchmen blocked his path.

'The thing is, Roland,' Lord Strange said, getting to his feet and approaching the young man, who had started to tremble in fear, 'as tantalising as this gossip is, I fail to understand, why you have felt the need to depart this knowledge to me?'

'Surely you can see,' answered Roland slowly. He was the son of a king, despite his low birth, so for him it was easily to figure out significance of his father putting a ring on the Infanta's finger, (and later a baby in her belly), 'the benefits of him marrying her? Any threats by certain persons to his crown, would be easily erased once he has the might of Spain on his side and a nursery full of babes with a claim to the thrones of Castile and Aragon,'

Lord Strange stopped in his approach as he thought on Roland's words. It was true, the Infanta as Queen of England would make any coup against Henry Tudor a more difficult to coordinate, let alone successful complete. At the moment, it had simply been a question of waiting for the right time to strike, but now things would have to move a lot more faster.

'Well,' he said after a long pause, then indicated for one of his men to place Roland into a chair, 'we shall have to find away to stop my beloved brother from getting her to the altar and you, Roland, are going to help me,'

Sitting in Greenwich library, Catalina paced the length of the chamber. She had not slept all night, not since her dismal of Maria over her accusations of wantonness. Alone in her chamber, Catalina had cried over the fallout and had prayed constantly over her fears. God had never abandoned her before, so now, as she believed herself being taken by sin, Catalina needed him more than ever but her prayers had so far failed to easy her mind.

Of all the times with the King, had she ever thought herself in love? Catalina had though on the way he made her body feel, but what of the heart? It beat to the point of explosion when she was with him, whether they were talking as they had been in the forest or in an embrace-but was it love? Or was it simply the passions of her body? Was Maria right, was she simply being seduced by the promises of the physical act-something which had been greatly amiss in her marriage.

'Morning, Princess,' called Henry, as he strolled into the chamber, startling Catalina, 'sorry, did I scare you?'

'I am sorry, Your Highness,' whispered Catalina, falling into a curtsy, which was worthy of a daughter of Isabella and Ferdinand as she let her eyes fall on the floor, 'I was deep in thought,'

'You are forgiven, Princess,' smiled Henry, placing his hands on Catalina's shoulders. It was only a gentle touch, but to Henry's surprise, it startled his bride, who jumped in his arms.

'Catalina,' he said softly, as he leaned forward to kiss her, only for her to pull away, 'what the hell as happened? If anyone has hurt you, I'll kill him with my bear hands,'

'No, no, Henry,' calmed the Infanta, taking hold of Henry's hand briefly, before pulling away reluctantly, 'no one has hurt me. Only I fear I have hurt myself,'

Henry examined her with a raised eyebrow, not sure what to make of her words. Last night she had seemed so self-assured and confident, but now she looked so small and fragile, her blue eyes, having turned so grey.

'Princess, you look tired,' replied Henry, putting her arms around her waist, 'you need to lie down and let me call a physician,'

'I do not need a physician,' answered Catalina mournfully, her body trembling, going almost limp in Henry's arms, 'only a confessor,'

'Confessor,' cried the King, pulling her to him, 'don't joke! If you are sick...'

'I am not sick in body,' said Catalina, trying to move, but found Henry's hold too strong, 'but in mind! Your Highness, I am plagued by lusts,'

Henry looked at her, puzzled at first by her words and their deepness-but then, he let out a loud laugh.

'Lusts!' he chuckled, 'lusts! Oh Princess, for someone so passionate, you are certainly innocent!'

Catalina flinched at his words, hurt by his reaction. She was concerned for the destiny of their immortal souls and all he could do was mock.

'This is not something to be laughed at, Henry!' she scowled, still trying to move from his arms, 'our place in Heaven is not something to be mocked,'

'Of course I mock,' replied Henry smiling, 'because these are foolish words-unless you are hiding things from me, Saint Katherine,'

'You are cruel, Henry,' sighed Catalina, disappointed as she finally found the strength to knock Henry's hands away, 'I had thought you changed...do you love me?'

'Don't be ridiculous,' snapped Henry, turning away from her and casting an eye along the many books-it had been awhile since he had cast his shrewd eye over the country's accounts, 'besides do you love me? Or is it the same kind of love, which you had for my son? The love, which you swore for duty sake, but when it came to it, it meant very little,'

Since last night, Catalina had felt her heart full of mournful sorrow but now, hearing her future husband's words made her blood boil. Her and Arthur were different, than her and Henry. She had not loved Arthur, who despite his education, had still been a boy, trained for the throne, but without any experience of love and life.

'How dare you!' she replied sharply, marching over to him and standing behind him, 'of all the low life things and to think I defended you,'

'Well I'm sorry to speak plainly, Princess,' retorted Henry, turning to face her, 'but as I've said, I'm not that clever, so I need to be blunt. Love was never a question over the last few days, so why does it matter now?'

'Because I need to know that our marriage will not be based on the sins of lusts,' said Catalina, her voice not wavering as she spoke, for she had called on God for strength, 'if this is to be God's will, I need to know it's based on something pure. I never lusted after Arthur and neither did we consummated our marriage, and if he had not died, then it would only have been done for the sake of duty. Yet with you, I crave things I never knew I desired. They leave me awake at night, tossing and turning, flustered with heat, so do not mock me, Henry'

Still with her back to him, Henry once again started to laugh, shaking his head from side to side.

'Oh I don't mock,' laughed Henry, turning around to face Catalina, 'far from it. Of all the things I thought you to be, I didn't realise you to be as pious as my mother-but granted, you have a conscious. You know, Elizabeth use to pay others to go to Walsingham whenever she was troubled,'

'But I would go myself,' she answered, biting on her lip. Catalina had always been fond of the late Queen. She had been so kind, when Arthur had died and so caring, when Catalina revealed there was no baby to make Elizabeth a grandmother, so she hated to make it sound as though she was speaking ill of her, 'I want to go to Our Lady myself,'

'Then I will allow,' said Henry, putting his arms around her, 'if you tell me why you came after me that evening?'

Catalina studied the King's face, not sure what to read from his expression. It was not one of mockery, nor was it one of hardness. It was the same expression he wore that night when they had first kissed-and Catalina slowly felt her troubles disappear.

'I followed you, Your Highness,' stuttered Catalina as she tried to look into his eyes, 'because as you yourself said, we are alike, you and I. We are both strangers on a foreign shore, placed here by God and we both have fears, though we deal with them in different ways...'

'Father,' interrupted the Princess Margaret, strolling into the chamber and up to her father, trying to block Catalina from his sight, 'may I speak with you?'

'Of course,' muttered Henry, turning briefly away from the Infanta to look at his oldest daughter. They had not spoken about what she had witnessed the other night, though his mother had reported to him about her rage at Catalina in front of little Mary, the following morning, 'as long as you mind your manners, daughter,'

'Yes, father,' smiled Margaret, in a grin, which mirrored her father's thin smile, 'but as these are matters of Kings, I feel that we should discuss them alone,'

Henry casted a sharp eye over his daughter, before turning his attention to the Infanta, who met his look, before falling into a curtsey, then starting to move towards the door.

'Whatever you wish to say to me, Margaret,' replied Henry, turning back to his daughter, 'you can say in front of Catalina,'

'Catalina,' said Margaret, as her mouth twisted itself into a bitter expression, 'I think father as these matters are of kings things, I think it is only right that they should be discussed privately between the King of England and the Queen of Scotland,'

'And as King of England, Margaret and more importantly as your father, I say you can say what you want to say to me, in front of Catalina,'

Margaret glared at her father, then turned to flash a glimpse of anger at the Infanta, who was slowly, coming back into the chamber. As her former sister-in-law tried to smile nervously at her, Margaret fought to control the urge to strike her father's concubine across the face.

'If I must, father,' she muttered as once again she moved herself in an attempt to block the Infanta from her father's gaze, 'as I am soon to depart for Scotland, I would like to take with me some of mother's jewellery and clothing, as I remind of the love we once all shared as a family,'

Catalina swallowed hard as she heard Margaret's words, which were clearly designed to hurt both her and Henry, but at the same time she fix her expression, to one of resolve.

'I already gave you my blessing, Margaret,' replied Henry, his voice shaking slightly as he spoke, 'you and Mary may divide your mother's belongings between you,'

'I know, father and I am grateful,' continued Margaret, her voice growing in confidence as she sensed a victory-her father was always soft with the mention of her mother, 'but I am speaking more of my mother's royal jewels and acquisitions,'

Henry nodded as he heard his daughter speak. He loved her so much, as a babe she had always been his favourite as she looked and acted just like him, but at this moment, as he realised the manipulative game she was playing, he felt that he should have disciplined her more.

'I see, Margaret, but you do understand that those things are owned by the country, for their Queen,'

'Yes,' echoed Margaret, determined not to fail in her mission, 'but England's Queen is now with the angels and it will be a long time, father, before Harry will descend the throne and his bride will be in need of them. So surely, father, you can see that it is only right that they be worn by a true Queen, instead of them being left to gather dust,'

'Only they won't be, Margaret,' sighed Henry, preparing for her reaction, 'as England's new Queen will be in need of them,'

Margaret's mouth fell open so wide that you could see deep into her red throat, as her father walked away from her and came to stand beside the Spanish Princess.

'Your concubine!,' she screamed at the top of her lungs, 'your mistress! You want to give my poor mother's belongings to your whore!'

'Margaret,' muttered Henry, his beady eyes narrowing as he took hold of Catalina's hand, 'you are making a fool of yourself,'

'The only fool round here is you!' raged Margaret, storming over to her father with her hands on hips and her eyes tightening, so that her face was a perfect picture of her father, 'marrying that dirty trollop, who wishes to call herself Queen, though she is not worthy of the title! My mother was a true queen, beautiful, pure and regal, who was loved by the people! You know father, the moment you put that ring on your harlot's finger, your people will turn against you, the way they turned against Ahab! No person, no matter how low, wants a Queen, who on her wedding night to her young prince was on all fours, whilst her father-in-law...'

'That's enough!' shouted Henry, so loud that Catalina, who was still holding his hand, swore that the windows glass started to shake, 'you want to be a Queen, but the whores in Southwark, would make a better Queen than you, Margaret! And you mention your mother, well let me tell you something, girl, that she would be ashamed of you, both as a fellow queen and especially as a daughter!'

'Ashamed of me!' answered back Margaret, her voice almost matching her father's in rage, 'ashamed of me!'

'Yes, ashamed of you! Your mother would never have dreamed of even thinking those words, let alone speaking them! A Queen has dignity and grace, something Catalina has but you lack!'

'All she has, is the grace to stick her tongue down the right man's throat!'

For a moment, Henry was silent as he kissed Catalina's hand, before letting go. His boots heavy on the stone floor, he walked over to the table and with a sigh, leaned on the finely caved edge. Exchanging glances, Margaret and Catalina wondered what he would do or say next, but then they did not have to wait long for an answer, as suddenly, Henry knocked a pile books crashing to the floor.

'You are my daughter, Margaret and I love you, but my God I am ashamed of you!' he shouted, but with more an air of disappointment at his daughter's behaviour than anger, 'I loved your mother but God took her from us. We need to survive, I need to survive! Live with your own little fantasies, Margaret and find that its a lonely life to led and that your time as Queen will not last! I will marry Catalina and she will be a greater Queen than you. And do you know why, Margaret? Because she is strong, graceful, beautiful, clever and acts with decorum, but more important, she is no brat, demanding her crown because she thinks she has some God given right to it! She knows the importance of being worthy of it. How you need to work at it. How you need to constantly prove that you are worthy of the love of your people and of God. Instead of stamping your well dressed foot, Margaret and acting like a greedy child, you might actually learn something from her!'

Margaret glanced at her father, her mouth once again open, not believing his words, before glaring at Catalina, the source of her father's betrayal. Catalina met her gaze, before breaking away to pray silently to God, her lips moving feverishly as whispered Pater Noster.

'I will learn nothing from that holy harlot,' murmured Margaret as she stomped towards the door.

'Then,' whispered Henry seriously, looking at his daughter as he shook his head, 'your time in the Highlands will not last long and it will end unhappy,'

Refusing to admit defeat or at least showing the signs of it, Margaret flung her head up in the air, as she marched towards the door, which she slammed shut behind her as she left with very little grace.

For a moment, neither Catalina nor Henry spoke. In fact Catalina just stared at the floor as Henry paced up and down, but as she listened to the echo of his footsteps and her the thoughts racing through her mind, she decided to break the silence.

'Do you really think that of me, Your Highness,' asked Catalina, breaking her gaze away from the floor and looking up at Henry from under her eyelids. Of all the things she expected the King to say about her, she had not expected him to defend her so passionately against his daughter's poisonous words. After all, Margaret was a Queen, despite her still lacking the crown, and Catalina was still merely a Princess, expected to do any Queens bidding. Despite her being his daughter, Henry was still meant to have accepted Margaret's word over her's, but he had not. The King had jumped to the defence of the mere foreign princess, the same Infanta, who earlier accused him of simply using her and letting her give into the wants of her body, 'or was it simply away of deceiving me?'

'One thing you must learn about me, Princess,' muttered Henry, glancing down at some papers placed on the desk, 'I enjoy control, but I don't play games, nor do I expect others to play them with me. When I say no Lord is to retain their own private army, I expect them to obey…not, like my dear brother George, to openly disobey me!'

'Then you should teach him a lesson,' replied Catalina, joining him by the desk and placing a hand on the paper, which Henry's eyes had fallen on, 'remind him of who is King,'

'Except in his eyes, any fool who walking around the streets claiming to be Richard of York has more right to crown then me,' Henry sighed, turning his back of the papers, before leaning against the desk and glancing out though the plan window, which looked out over the grounds of his palace and beyond its walls, his kingdom. How many out there, be they Lord or beggar, wished to see him gone? But then, how many times had they tried to depose him and yet, he was still here, 'yet as you said, Princess, God choose me that August day and I am still standing. Maybe one day, in the not too distant future, I will have more Tudor heirs stood with me,'

With a light laugh, Catalina went to stand beside him and rested her head against his shoulder, as she too looked out on the Kingdom God was giving her. Once again it was raining, but the Infanta did not sigh and curse the country the way some of her Spanish ladies did; in fact for the first time, she though how beautiful England truly was.

'I still wish to go to Walsingham,' she said, breaking away from the England, 'if of course, I have Your Highness permission?'

'You have my permission,' smiled Henry, turning towards her and placing his arms round her small waist, 'Thomas will escort you,'

'Thank you,' replied Catalina, feeling at peace as she leant forward and let him let him kiss her. Whilst at first she attempted to ignore the fire of her blood as she recalled all that had gone through her head since her confrontation with Maria, she soon forgot, as she let her tongue become buried deeper in Henry's mouth.

'Perhaps love and lust where part of the same workings,' she thought as she pushed her body closer to Henry's, as it once against started to itch with the need to feel another's against it. Her body had not just become hot amidst the many layers of fabric, but her heart was pounding uncontrollable against her rib cage. Surely that only occurred if the person you shared the embrace with, was the one your heart most desired? And what of the weeping, that occurred between your thighs? All night, before and after Maria banishment, the throbbing sensation had caused Catalina to toss and turn, whilst praying for some relief from the heavy craving, which she had started to associate with sin. But then, for a reason Catalina could not think of, as she felt Henry's grip tighten on her waist, the aching seemed to erupted across her body in pleasurable waves, causing her to let out a cry and cling tighter to him.

Roland watch as Catalina passed him in the corridor, with the young Princess Mary, the two of them singing in Spanish as they held hands, and felt a shedder run up and down his spin as she acknowledged him with a smile. In fact, on the other times when he had been in her presences, she had always been so kind and gracious, always asking how he was. She did not deserve to suffer any more than she already had-she had every right to be granted happiness.

Walking towards his father's study, Roland thought that even the King did not deserve the fate other's were plotting for him. He had hurt his mother and that in turn had broke Roland's heart, but Henry was not in the possession of all the information. Perhaps if Roland revealed to him, that he was the son he created, when he was the exiled Earl of Richmond, the King might find away to help mend Katarin broken heart and for them all to resume their lives without any more pain.

'Yes,' asked Henry, looking up from some papers and to Roland's relief, he saw he was smiling-thought, he had learnt never to take this as a sign that the King was happy.

'Your Highness,' answered Roland, trying to make his voice sound strong, 'My Lady the King's Mother requests your presence in the chapel,'

'Thank you,' Henry nodded, but to his surprise, Roland did not move and continued to hang about the doorway as if expecting more, 'is there anything else?'

'Your Highness, if I may be so bold,' Roland finally answered in Breton, deciding now was the best time to reveal his secret to Henry-no, knowing what Lord Strange was planning, this was the last chance he would have before all Hell would break lose, 'is there anything or anyone you miss from your time in Breton?'

Henry looked at his servant with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion. Glancing at Roland with his small, round eyes, Henry tried to figure out the motives behind this break with protocol. Yet at the same time, as Roland had spoke that ancient language, Henry had felt his heart flutter. Being King of England was Henry's destiny, but it was not truly home-wherever he went in Albion, home would always be that small haven, which laid across the sea.

'Much,' replied Henry, still not willing to give anything of himself away, 'but why you ask and why should I answer?'

'I know you are my King, Your Highness and I a mere servant, who has spoken out of turn,' gulped Roland, feeling Henry's stare, but on remembering why he was doing this, he found himself able to meet his father's eyes, 'but I, like you, am a stranger on this isle and for many nights, I long for home and the people I left behind. It is very a lonely existence and one that fills my heart with great sorrow. I know, Your Highness, that I have no right to ask or seek comfort from you, but it would be a great comfort to know, that someone, especially a King, understood this suffering,'

It was a suffering that Henry understood only too well and the loneliness that one endured alongside it. The heartbreak of seeing people and places in your dreams, which had at one point been a natural part of everyday life, was enough to crush even a heart of stone. No one understood this weight, not Elizabeth and neither did his mother. Uncle Jasper had understood his pain to an extent, after all it had been him who had raised him as a son in exile, but Uncle Jasper was a man use to living on his feet and listening to the call of the wind; he was a man who could call any place home if he had too, then move on to the next place without shedding a tear. The only one, who truly understood was Catalina, for she like him, could never return home.

'Yes, well, you are right there, Roland,' answered Henry with a surprising amount of warmth, which caused Roland to smile, 'my Uncle use to say that home was wherever there was a cooked meal and a warm bed waiting for you, though I could never understand that theory myself. Good food and a comfortable mattress are not enough, in my mind at least, to feel a man's heart with love,'

'Well, if that was the case, my heart would call England home, though my mother cannot understand why my stomach love English food,' smiled Roland, pausing for a moment as Henry laughed. Now was his chance to reveal the truth. He was not sure what reception he would get when he departed the news to the King of England that he was his long-lost son. Roland certainly did not expect him to throw his arms around him and greet him with love, but he was certain, that he would not be rejected, 'but I do not see how you can call a place home, if you are away from all you love. My mother and I left so many good friends behind and family, that we prayer for them every day. And I left my poor sweetheart weeping in the kitchens of the palace where we both worked,'

Henry got to his feet and walked towards the window. Something did not feel right, thought he did not detect any hint of malice from the lad, he felt he was sharing too much for it to be natural.

'Don't leave me, Harri,'

Looking out over the palace grounds, Henry shivered as he heard a voice from long ago, echo around his head. It had the same tear stained tint to it, which the speaker had had all those years ago. And she had cried, heartbreaking sobs into his arms within moments of those words leaving her red lips. He had not wanted to leave her either, but he had had no choice. He was the last hope of a Lancastrian cause, which had all but been slaughtered on the bloody fields of Towton. Jasper would have slung him over his shoulder and carried him all the way to the waiting ship, if Henry had said he wanted to stay-not to mention, the hell his mother would have unleashed if her son had demand to marry the kitchen girl.

Though it had no always been that way. Jasper had encouraged them, nudging Henry on, as he made lovesick eyes at the pretty girl, who had just placed the basket of freshly baked pastries in front of him. Even when he had caught the two of them in the stables, Jasper had just laughed and winked at his nephew. It was only later, when things at home and abroad became more serious, did his uncle's mood change.

But it had all been for the best. He had been crowned King, he had had good life with Elizabeth and the family they had created. Despite the pain and the heartache, it had all been for the best. He had found happiness and he was certain the dark haired girl with the coal black eyes had found her contentment with the husband, Jasper had found for her. She would have children by now-more children to add to the one he had left her with. He had missed them so much at first, but as the years had fallen by, the pain had become less and less. She, Katarin, had married a good man, who would look after her and give her the life, Henry knew he could never give her-despite the earlier pain, it had all turned out for the best.

'I miss watching the sunset on the rugged coast line,' said Henry with a smile, remembering the steps of his youth, 'I miss the green fields, which always seemed golden, regardless of the weather and I miss the castles, whose stone walls have absorbed every ounce of their ancient history. Your mother is correct, Roland, for you must be fool. English food and drink will never beat the sweet taste of Chouchen and galette. Even the air of Rennes will always be far superior to the stale, diseased filled air of London. As for the people, they are warm and friendly, not like the English, who constantly examine you as though you are a creature from Hell. I made many great friends there, people who would never dream of selling you for thirty pieces of silver, but I am fortunate that all those whom I have ever loved and continue to love live with me in this England,'

Roland felt his heart fall and the blood in his veins start to boil. 'all those whom I have ever loved and continue to love live with me in this England,' –he had completely forgotten about his mother and the child he fathered; in fact he had never loved them, his other family, which he had promised to return to someday, when his life in England was over. He had never expected the King to throw away his plan to marry the Dowager Princess and for Henry to suddenly introduce his oldest son to the rest of the court with pride in his eyes, but he had thought at least to hear that the two of them had once been loved. That his mother's unfaltering loyalty and love had not been wasted, that none of her heartache had been in complete vain, but it had all been for nothing. Her anger and want of vengeance had not been misplaced, they had been founded upon a great wrong-a wrong, that was going to be put right, thanks to Roland.

'Yes, Your Highness,' said Roland, trying to hide the anger unfolding behind his eyes, which he had inherited from his father, 'thank you, Your Highness...and I am sorry to have spoken out of turn,'

'Deuet mat oc't,' answered Henry, with a laugh and rare smile, that even those close to him did not see often, 'but if you ever tell anyone what I told you, I'll ring your neck myself,'

'Of course, Your Highness. If you will excuse me,' Roland replied with a nod of the head, trying to match his King's smile as he left with as much grace as he could manage. Gently, he shut the door behind him as he left, but just as he was about to close the heavy oak, he thought, that briefly he had seen his father look up after him, about to call him back. For a split second, Roland smiled, with the hope that his father was beckoning to him, as if he recalled a lost memory, though alas it was just a trick of the light and Henry's head was once again bent over a document.

'Or I will ring your neck, You Highness,' muttered Roland bitterly, as he returned to the palace's kitchens with the small bottle Lord Strange had given him.