Author's note: This chapter includes sex. You've been warned.

Chapter 13

Richard knew his lie had likely only bought him that one evening. It was possible that Edward would simply forget her again – his attention roved freely enough – but he doubted it. The King had been denied something, and that would make it him want it even more.

He thought that he truly hated his brother for the first time.

True, he had wished that Edward might be too dried up to sire any sons, but that was a calculation, not a desire to see him in pain. Now, he thought he might enjoy it if his brother's privy member simply fell off.

Edward certainly had no problem striking at his, after all.

He had called Katherine Bly away from conversation with him. He had seen them. He must have known Richard loved the girl, and – loved? He had foresworn love. And yet the word felt right, as if it had settled itself into his misshapen bones.

He loved her, then. And she had given some sign she might reciprocate. But what use would she have for him, after being touched by a tall, golden, perfect specimen of a man? Even if he swallowed his pride enough to withstand the taunts for taking his brother's leavings, there was no guarantee she would agree to be his love. It might seem too steep a drop, after climbing so high. He picked up the goblet of wine a servant had left on the table in his room and spied himself, his already twisted flesh distorted further in the curved silver. He slammed it down, not caring that the red liquid sloshed over.

He forced himself to breathe. Edward's privy member would not fall off. Nor could he strike it off. He could do nothing to harm the King. Yet, there were many people Edward loved – many people whose pain would hurt him –

Richard sat down at his chess board. The wine had pooled on it, as if the pieces had truly gone to war. He imagined the Queen's party and George's lined up at opposite ends of the board.

"Which pawn will fall first?" he muttered to himself.

00000000

Girls did not refuse the King. It was too obvious to even be called a rule. And so Kate's mind was whirring, grasping for anything that might convince the King he did not want to be with her, as he professed his undying devotion.

"Your Queen is my cousin," she said when he finally took a moment to breathe.

"Aye, and what of that?"

What of it, indeed? She felt like a fool – clearly he gave no thought to his Queen's feelings. "I am not worthy."

"Thy worth is in thy golden hair-" He went on, but Kate wasn't listening. He would not be deterred. She would have to yield. She had no choice –

Of course, she had a choice.

A poor one, but still a choice.

"Your Majesty honors me, but – I cannot."

"Thou canst do what I ask of thee."

"Then – I will not."

"Thou wilt not."

"Nay."

"Hast thou lost thy senses?"

"Mayhap. But I will not, and I never shall." She felt the color rising in her cheeks and fought the urge to strike him, to tell him that she was not his plaything, to say he could satisfy himself, for once.

"What, art thou a nun? Thou shouldst be a nun, if thou wilt not do what God gave women to do."

"If Your Majesty commands me to go to a convent, I shall."

"Go, then, thou foolish wench! Thou shalt never eat at Edward's table again!"

"As Your Majesty commands." She curtsied and backed away into the corridor, keeping her head bowed so he would not see the look on her face.

After he had slammed the door in her face and she had backed herself against the wall of the corridor, she crumpled to the floor. She would be sent off at first light, she was sure. Anne would tell her to beg the King for forgiveness, play to his vanity, give him anything and everything he wanted. She would not.

But what was she to do until sunrise? She had almost nothing to pack, and few people to bid farewell. Anne – and Gloucester.

She hesitated before knocking at his chambers. No proper lady did this. But what did it matter? She would be gone by morning, and the evening just a memory for them both. She knocked.

She thought she heard shuffling and grumbling on the other side, before it creaked open to reveal Gloucester in his night shirt. He stared at her, and she stared back, then realized it was probably incumbent upon her to offer some explanation. "I refused the King."

Gloucester opened the door and motioned toward the chair by the fire. She noticed there was only one in the room, but sat. He stood looking down at her.

"I leave for the convent on the morrow," she said. "And I – I thought you might wish to see me. I wished to see Your Grace."

"I cannot save thee, if the King has decided."

"I know that."

"And yet thou camest."

"I – may I speak plainly, Your Grace?"

"Please do."

"I may be wicked, but – I wish to know. What it's like. Before taking my vows."

"The King would have taught thee."

"I didn't want him."

"And thou dost want me?"

"Aye." She ducked her head. "I know I am wanton, and wicked, and-"

He leaned in and kissed her, pulling away almost before she realized what had happened. "Then come."

It occurred to her, suddenly, that she had no idea how men and women went about the act of love. The bull and the cows had given her some idea, as had the other ladies' jokes about the King and his lovers. But none of that seemed helpful in that moment.

Gloucester seemed to see her hesitation as he led her to the bed. She knew he would misunderstand, so she confessed her ignorance. "I know not what to do."

"Start by lying down."

Of course, he was a man in his maturity; he would know. She felt comforted by this. She laid down and waited for him to enter her. From what she had heard, it was likely to be painful, but brief.

He took his time, though, running his fingers through her hair, caressing her, undressing her. She wondered if he also had wanted this memory. He kept pushing her arms back when she tried to touch his clothed body, but her fingers kept searching for holds in his hair and on his back, seemingly of their own will. The shadows swallowed everything but his face above hers, shining in the candlelight. He was beautiful, and she wanted to tell him so, but she knew he would hear only mockery. So she let her body speak when he finally entered her, clinging to his back and looping her legs around his crooked hips. It was painful when her maidenhood parted. She was still sorry it was over so soon, perhaps more because of what it meant than because of the sensation itself. She would never experience this again, never know how it might change as two people grew to know each other's bodies.

When he got up for a sip of wine, she slipped from the bed and settled herself on the floor by the fire. She did not wish to leave and tried to will herself to savor each moment, but the impending separation drained them of their joy. She blinked back tears. No, this would not do. She had done what she had come to do, and she needed to go. In time, the mix of bitter and sweet in this moment would begin to shift in her favor, as her memories of Thomas and Joanna had.

She sensed him watching her as she got up and found her dress. She couldn't ask him to lace it up, so she gathered it up with her stockings and threw it over her arm. It would be scandalous, going out in only her shift and her shoes, but what did it matter? She turned to go.

"Katherine." She stopped. "Why such haste to leave?"

"I must prepare my things. It cannot be long until dawn."

"Stay."

"I cannot."

"Cannot or will not?"

She whipped her head to look at him. "Don't you know, Your Grace?"

"With thee, lady, I know nothing. Thou couldst always surprise me. From that first moment at Tewkesbury. I did not expect thee to say I should run thee through rather than send thee home with no help."

"No," Kate shook her head. "I suppose you did not."

"Then surprise me once again. Stay."

"Please, Your Grace. Do not prolong this. I have no choice."

"Would thou stay if thou didst? If thy fate were thine own to decide?"

"I would." It was true, and she could see no harm in saying so. He might pine for her for a time, but soon she would be forgotten. He would marry some nobler lady, and she would be nothing more than a fond, faded memory. "But that cannot be. My fate is to love you only with my prayers." She half-laughed. "If those carry any weight with God, you shall die a good old man."

"Nothing sadder than a pretty nun."

"There are many, many sadder things in the world." She straightened her spine and willed herself to be strong until she was alone. "God keep Your Grace."

She made it to the end of the hall before she curled up in a corner and wept. She let it come all at once, like a summer storm, and when her eyes were out of rain, she got up and walked back to the Queen's chambers. She would go with her head high. She would try to be a good nun. And she would never, ever let herself forget him.