Uneasy Lies the Crown by N. Gemini Sasson

son’s arm, almost twisting it as Gruffydd strained to free himself.
    “A temper? Like father, like son.” Grey snorted as he reined his horse around. “So easily provoked.” He pricked his horse’s flanks with his spurs and started up the hill.
    Gruffydd tore from his father’s hold and plunged after him. His dagger glinted before him in the gilded shafts of September sun. He might have beaten Grey’s struggling mount to the top of the rise, but his feet slipped beneath him and he tumbled down the same slippery path the stag had succumbed to. The cool, mocking waters of the stream swallowed him whole.
    At the top of the rise, Grey dallied long enough to drive the blow deeper. “Looks as though you need to put a leash on that pup, Glyndwr. Were he not so impulsive he might be dangerous—even with only his milk teeth.” His laughter trailed behind him through the green glen like the tinkling bells on a jester’s cap.
    Slowly, Gruffydd lifted himself up. Water poured from the tip of his nose and the clean point of his still clenched dagger. When Grey was out of sight he pushed the last of the water from his face and met his father’s gaze.
    “The child’s not mine,” Gruffydd said. “I swear it.”
    “I know.” Owain came to him and held out his hand. “A better day will be ours, son. That I swear.”
     

13
     
    Tower of London, England — Late September, 1399
     
    In the gloom of his Tower cell, Richard II, the last Plantagenet King of England, nudged a heavy quill across unforgiving parchment.
    ‘ Richard Di Rex .’
    A battalion of lawyers peered victoriously over his shoulder. Before the table, a handful of lords, some of whom had once sworn their undying loyalty to him, looked on, their hands clasped behind their backs.
    As Richard drew the quill into the last letter, he faltered, letting the ink pool. It was Adam of Usk, the only man who had befriended him during his imprisonment, who took mercy and lifted the damning implement from Richard’s trembling hands. An eager lawyer with a prominently hooked nose snatched the abdication from the table, sprinkled sawdust on it and then blew upon the ink to dry it before rolling it securely and passing it to his assistant.
    “King no longer,” Richard uttered.
    “You are free of your woes,” Adam said softly above him.
    The lawyers swept up the remaining documents on which Richard had ceded every right and power to Henry of Bolingbroke and rushed out the door. The others followed him.
    “Freedom? Is that what Henry has granted me?” Richard, staring at an empty palm, nodded weakly at the irony. “The truth has never been so clear to me... or the world so dark.” His hand stretched toward the pale light trailing down from his window, as if to touch something that only he could see. “Or God so near.”
    Richard closed his eyes and brought his forehead to clasped hands. Moments later, he felt Adam’s comforting touch on his head. He looked up.
    Adam gazed at him, pity plain in his eyes. “God is everywhere. In all our hearts.”
    Grasping at the splintered edge of the table, Richard pushed back his uncushioned chair and stood, swaying slightly. He fixed his eyes on the door through which his fate had fled. A fly that stubbornly denied the coming season settled on the bridge of his slender nose and yet he took no notice. Adam swooshed his hand at it and Richard blinked, then staggered toward his bed—a narrow array of planks littered with molding straw, shoved against the damp stone wall. There were several richly adorned chambers throughout the various towers where prisoners had been housed luxuriously, but Henry had not afforded his cousin even the most meager of comforts. Richard was not a prisoner of state to be ransomed for profit, but a declared traitor to the realm, a violator of the Magna Carta—the very things he had been groomed from birth to champion.
    Richard was not halfway across the room before his knees failed him. He crumpled to