Author's note: There's a reference in here to something that might be triggering if you're recovering from bulimia. Edward's behavior was interpreted by his contemporaries as extreme gluttony (and we have no way of knowing if he was experiencing an eating disorder), but I wanted to flag it so nobody feels blindsided.

Chapter 8

Christmas 1472 to Epiphany 1473

It was a cheerless Yuletide, and everyone was doing their utmost to pretend that it was not so.

The court had been plunged into mourning two weeks before, when the royal couple's fifth child, the princess Margaret, died suddenly. Kate hadn't really known little Meg – her primary duties still revolved around Prince Edward – but her heart ached for the Queen, whose body was still healing from birthing a child who had only left her cradle to go to the grave. It seemed obscene to go on with the Christmas celebrations as if nothing had happened, but it was the King's will that it be so. And the King's will must be done, so the Queen and her ladies had to prepare to beautify the celebrations.

"'Tis an unlucky season for the House of York," the dowager duchess observed as they dressed for church on Christmas Eve, but no one else dared raised an objection.

Kate was glad of her low station as they sat through the Mass. It meant she was near the back, and no one would be watching her if she let her tears flow. Not only for the Queen and Princess Meg. She had her own private grief, which she could not share with anyone, not while the court was mourning someone far greater.

She had known even before she read the letter, when she saw it was written in Joanna's unsteady hand. Thomas had taught Joanna enough reading and writing to get by, but she hadn't taken to a pen naturally. "Your uncle's sufring is finnished," the letter said. Kate tried to think of it in those terms – Thomas had been suffering, that was beyond doubt – but it didn't fill the aching chasm that opened when she thought of how she would never see him again, or even read another letter from him. So she wept through the service, even as she tried to find comfort in the Babe of Bethlehem who had destroyed the power of the grave.

Only Anne Neville seemed to notice. "Thou must put on a better face," she chided softly as they walked back from the chapel. "That is the way of court."

"How do you manage it?" Kate asked. Anne looked taken aback. Her griefs were a subject that must never be mentioned, because to do so would give worth to the traitors she'd been unfortunate enough to love. Kate took her hand from her cloak and squeezed Anne's, to show she meant no harm. "I admire your strength, as a woman."

Anne shook her head, perhaps at the idea of herself as strong. "We all do what we must," she said finally.

00000000

If he could have worked his will, Richard would have been at home in his castle in the north, wrapped in furs and contemplating how to send a signal to the quarrelsome Scots that they need not even think of an armed expedition that spring.

As it was, Edward had demanded that his brothers be at his side as he gave a celebration to show all the world that England's king was secure on his throne, and had the riches to entertain like no other. Richard had always found such displays tiresome, but might have been able to feign joy if it weren't for the princess' death. Richard had no particular feelings about little Meg, but the juxtaposition had left the courtiers navigating a delicate balance. The King had insisted that the pomp go on as planned, and the Woodville woman was doing her best to play the gay queen, but her smiles never reached her eyes. And so he and everyone else had to pretend to grieve for a child they hadn't known, while also feigning delight at interminable feasts and garish amusements.

Edward feasted with all his customary abandon, even making himself ill so he could keep eating, which continued to baffle Richard. But the King wasn't in a truly celebratory mood. Nothing seemed quite to his liking, and he was harsh with the servants and entertainers when they fell short in their impossible task.

Still, even the things that seem to last forever never do, and the twelfth night arrived. The king cake was dispatched, and one of the beans landed in the piece given to Katherine Bly, making her queen for the evening. Richard thought he saw her try to push the bean onto Anne Neville's plate, but Anne would have none of it. Of course, the queen was forced to preside over the evening with whichever man received the other bean, whether he was a bore or a lecher.

Richard never cared for cake, and picked at his as everyone finished their pieces. No man found the other bean, and the King was in an ill humor. The Queen's brother, the Earl of Rivers, tried to save the evening by having the one-night queen choose her consort.

"What sayest thou, Katherine?" Rivers asked, the wine coming through in his speech. "Which man dost thou think most handsome, best to rule the Twelfth Night by thy side?"

"Of course, the King is the most handsome, but he already possesses a Queen," she responded, and the court laughed.

"Then what about the Duke of Clarence?" Rivers offered.

"Quite handsome, though not as handsome as the King. But, regrettably, also married." That was the right choice, Richard thought. George had hated getting the bean last year, when his duties kept him from draining his cup as often as he wished. And the court laughed again.

"The Duke of Gloucester, then? Is he handsome enough for thee?"

The court was absolutely silent. Even the scuffling of the servants' shoes stopped. No one ever discussed his looks, not to his face. Richard felt himself turning red, but tried his best to appear indifferent to whatever the girl said.

"Yes, Your Lordship," she began slowly. "He does have fine features. Fine eyes, especially." She looked down, flushing crimson.

"Gloucester, thou hast made the poor girl blush," Edward interjected. "Methinks that must make thee the king of the Twelfth Night."

Richard suppressed a scowl. The king and queen were expected to start the evening with a dance, and there was nothing he dreaded more than everyone watching as he tried to make his mismatched legs work together enough to stay in rhythm.

"With my consort's permission, of course," Kate began, "my first act as queen is to decree that all join us for the first dance of the twelfth night."

With so many on the floor, the only option was to line up the lords and ladies for a dance that was more a choreographed walk. Richard raised his eyebrows at Kate as the men moved toward the ladies. She nodded, almost imperceptibly.

They only had to get through two dances before the second bean appeared, in the hands of five-year-old Princess Mary, who was standing on the chair where Richard had sat. Kate quickly made a show of kneeling before the child. "The true queen of the Twelfth Night has revealed herself."

Mary, like her father, rejoiced in attention, allowing Richard to quietly fade into the background. No one noticed when, hours into the feast, he finally slipped out of the banquet hall for a bit of air. Kate joined him, silently.

"I beg Your Grace's pardon. I did not intend-"

"Of course thou didst not."

"Rivers meant no harm." Richard scowled. True, the man was drunk, but he and the Queen's party were always happy to twist a knife in his hump. "And the bean was in Your Grace's piece, so perhaps it was fated."

He snorted. "Fate made thou my queen?"

"I never said that. I would not presume to speak thus."

"And yet thou presumed to opine on my fair features." He tried to keep the edge out of his voice, but didn't entirely succeed. He knew he should be grateful that she hadn't cried or fainted at the idea of being yoked to him for an evening, but seeing her redden at her lie that he was handsome still rankled.

"I could see no way not to answer, Your Grace."

"Thou hast lied better."

"I did not lie. I grant you I spoke less than the full truth. Your Grace does have fair features. It was your eyes that made it difficult to answer."

"And what fault dost thou find with mine eyes?"

"I felt they were cutting me to pieces at that moment. It frightened me. They aren't always frightening, though. But how was I to explain that to Rivers?"

"How, indeed." His wounded pride was somewhat salved. "Now tell me, Kate, who is in debt to whom now?"

"Your Grace?"

"I helped thy uncle and did not inform the Queen of thy – activities. Thou spared me a turn as the court's spectacle. And Tewkesbury-"

"I think Your Grace and I simply found our interests aligned at Tewkesbury."

"Quite. And what are thine interests now, Kate?"

She looked away, blinking back tears. Richard studied her carefully. They did not appear to be counterfeit. "I beg Your Grace's pardon. My interest was to honor my dear uncle. Now he is gone, and I know not-"

Richard nodded gravely. "We all mourn something in the deep winter, do we not? Perhaps it is meet that we do, on the dark nights. But spring will come again."

She nodded and wiped her eyes, giving him a watery smile. They stood in companionable silence for a few moments, until she could put on a smile for the rest of the court. Richard lingered outside a bit longer, watching the moon and thinking. He had succeeded in making himself an ally in the Woodville circle, without a doubt. But the satisfaction of gaining another pawn in the game of court was different from what he felt at that moment.

When was the last time he had truly tried to comfort someone, let alone succeeded? Before his father and Edmund died, most likely. No one had come to him for comfort after the brothers had sworn their revenge, and there were few who he believed deserved to receive it, if he'd had any to give. Katherine Bly, however, was different. She deserved compassion, and perhaps something more. He pushed the thought aside. She had been willing to dance near him as a mock consort. That was as much like love as Princess Mary's cake-fueled reign was like majesty.