Page 41 of Six Wild Crowns

Seymour thanks him, and curtseys again, and as he returns her to the castle he says, “One more thing, Lady Seymour. From now on, you may call me Henry.”

“Henry.” She lets the name swirl around her mouth as she detaches herself from him. Her guards follow her into the palace. That wasn’t so bad. He’s a good man. A kind and generous man. But then, so are all powerful men when they are pleased.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Boleyn

They’re in bed when Henry tells her the news. “You’re going to be angry with me,” he says, kissing his way down her stomach. “So I’m going to make it up to you.”

She hasn’t been sleeping well – her hips hurt, and there’s a patch of skin on her ribs that won’t stop itching, no matter how much meadowsweet paste she rubs on it. She sits up – she can no longer lie flat on her back without discomfort – and opens her legs for him. She lets herself admire the war-toned muscles of his arms. Then she closes her eyes and lets the bliss flow over her.

“Tell me,” she says.

He pauses in his attentions. “Wolsey is brokering a trade deal with Quisto.”

She says nothing. She had expected something like this ever since she saw the pamphlet. Henry had comforted her, of course, but she knew that he couldn’t possibly ally with Capetia with such rumours circulating. It hurts that he isn’t willing to stand by her unequivocally, but she must remember that he’s a king, not merely a husband. He must play the game.

And she, after all, is playing her own game. She has not told him about her discovery of thesunscína. She was going to, but whenshe returned from the folly, she could only remember the way he had looked at Lady Seymour on that turret.

“Will you return to the war in Alpich?” she asks, eyes still closed, trying to enjoy his ministrations but needing to know everything.

“Yes. And I’m going to take an armada up to Thawodest.”

A mostly barren set of islands far north of Elben, the kingdom of Thawodest sits between the independent and insular nation of Pkolack and the far reaches of Quisto’s empire. She has to admit that second to her plan to pincer Quisto between Lothair and Capetia, this is an excellent move. As with Lothair, taking Thawodest will expand the Elbenese empire and send a warning to Quisto without allowing them to claim that Henry is being aggressive towards them.

“Does Aragon know yet?”

“I’ve sent Cromwell to inform her.”

Boleyn smiles. So Henry isn’t so disloyal that he’s going to give Aragon the satisfaction of telling her himself. Henry props himself up. “How close are you?” he asks.

She draws him into her arms. “That felt wonderful, but I don’t think it’s going to happen,” she says.

Henry kisses her then grins. “That will never do.”

He slips two fingers inside her and works with concentration until she comes. She feels obliged to return the favour.

“You are blessed, sister,” Mary murmurs, as Boleyn waves Henry off later that day. He must return to High Hall for the Quisto negotiations, and to prepare for the invasion of Thawodest. Boleyn rests a hand on Mary’s arm. She cannot tell Mary that she doesn’t feel blessed, because at least Henry is healthier than ever, not festering in a plague-ridden coffin like Mary’s love.

Lady Seymour is part of the retinue that follows them inside. Boleyn doesn’t think he looked much at her before he left – all his attention was for Boleyn and her swollen stomach. But she has seen the two of them walking together through the grounds of Brynd, picking the flowers that Boleyn ordered planted.

She has underestimated Seymour. Most women who’ve tried to throw themselves at Henry since he and Boleyn married have flirted and played hard to get and been a little irritable, but none of them can do it the way Boleyn does. Seymour is using her own strengths. Maybe it’s time Boleyn started treating her like a rival. Maybe she needs to get to know her better.

“I feel like going to the font,” Boleyn announces, as soon as they reach her antechamber. Syndony gestures to the servants, who immediately leave the room to prepare a convoy. The Font of Cernunnos, sometimes known as the Royal Font, is nearly a day’s journey from Brynd, on the border of Hyde’s territory. It is reputed to contain healing properties. Only the royal family is permitted to go there, and Boleyn has never been.

“I think I’ll take an attendant,” she says, her eyes skimming those in the room. Rochford and Mary exchange smug glances, believing that one of them will be picked.

“Lady Seymour, perhaps you would be kind enough to join me?”

Seymour, hiding in the corner as usual, can’t conceal her shock.

“Me?”

“Certainly. It’s the least I can do for Queen Aragon’s gift. I hear you’ve been injured lately. Perhaps the waters of the font can help.”

Seymour flinches. “Thank you. I’m honoured.”

George whispers, “Behave, Boleyn. Don’t tease her too much.”

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