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If Lancaster starts up again about how lucky Henry is because he has two strong boys already and a third almost certainly on the way, Richard will scream. Not because he’s got something against Henry’s children – in fact, he’s rather looking forward to getting to meet them. He’s fond of children, they’re uncomplicated and innocent. They’re more interested in colours, play and things that shine than anything else. They just want to touch his crown, they don’t want to claim it as their own and say how they should be king and how much of a better job they’ll do. They don’t look him and Anne and say, oh, when are you going to have children? and if they do, they don’t then turn and whisper about whether or not they have sex, which of them is barren, whether Richard even could have sex, how poor Anne is, having to be wed to such a man and whether they can blame this all on that horrid creature, Robert de Vere.God. And he still – still can’t look at Henry without wanting to punch his smug mouth. And now both Henry and Mary have left them, running off without a single explanation as to where they were going.
They’re going to betray you. Lancaster will leave in a moment, then someone will come and put a dagger in your back.
He shakes himself, keeps pacing. This is – Anne would say that he’s being irrational, that it’s even his fears but something else entirely that’s leading him this way. She’d be right. She normally is. But – what if she wouldn’t be? This time? What if he’s being entirely rational, that Lancaster is finally, finally making a move on the crown, after all these years of waiting? Perhaps this is why Henry stopped Gloucester when he did, refused to let it go too far. Lancaster was in Castile, unable to take the throne.Richard cannot relax his guard. He knows what happens to deposed kings. He knows how the Duke of Gloucester wants to kill him. No one will call it murder. Some will laugh and say it was only what was deserved. He will not die like that, he will not—‘Hug?’There’s a sharp tug on his robes. Richard stops, looks down. There is a small boy – only a couple of years old, to look at him – standing there. A hand fisted in the silk of Richard’s robe, an arm reaching up desperately.‘Hug!’Richard stares. His heart begins to slow. He reaches down and plucks up the child. He doesn’t truly know how to hold children. He had been the youngest, and for the most part, the only child of his parents. No one had ever sat him down amongst cushions and placed a child in his arms. He and Anne have never – and before, he was too young or too regal to be handed a child like a sack of grain.But the child’s body is warm against his chest and he settles, small cheek pressing against Richard’s heart, and Richard tightens his grip so the boy won’t fall.The boy is dressed in the mimicry of nobles, though the hem of his robe is torn and dirtied, a scrap left behind on a rosebush.‘So,’ Richard says, aware his uncle is staring at him. ‘Which one are you? Harry or Thomas?’The boy’s face dimples in a smile. ‘Hally!’Ah. Harry, then. Now that Richard thinks of it, Thomas is probably too young to be walking or talking yet.‘I am very pleased to meet you, Harry.’The boy’s nose crinkles. ‘Hally!’Well, who is Richard to argue with the child over his name? And maybe the boy has a point – there are a lot of Harrys, not many Hallys. Though, perhaps, there is a better alternative.‘Hally, then. Or, maybe, Hal?’The boy’s face screws up, then he nods. A lot. ‘Yes. Hal! Hal, Hal, Hal…’Richard grins. Hal it is then.Hal tugs at his gown. ‘What’s… what’s your name?’Richard laughs and names himself. Hal repeats him clumsily, but enthusiastically. Richard hugs him close, then risks a glance at Lancaster. Lancaster’s jaw works for a moment, as if debating if he should speak or not. His mouth opens and Richard turns away, burying his nose in the soft hair of Hal’s head.‘I am sorry, your grace, the child’s behaviour is abhorrent – he’s usually—’Richard ignores Lancaster, walking with Hal to the other end of the garden. He points out the roses, plucks a green leaf from the oak and gives it to Hal to hold. It feels good, to have something that is not himself or his duties and failings to focus on. Something simple. It is a delight, just to show the garden to someone who seems never to have seen one before, who stares at a leaf and does not think anything but green.Richard settles on the grass, crossing his legs beneath himself and Hal reaches out to touch the grass, patting it with his hand curiously. The air is thick with the scent of roses, there is a fat bee buzzing over one red bloom. He and Hal watch it avidly, Richard’s hand ready to restrain if need be. He doesn’t want to introduce the child to bee stings after all.The sun is warm on his back, it lulls him. Hal tumbles out of his lap and it hurts, a little, that the boy no longer wants his company. But Hal pulls himself around, looking up at Richard with dark eyes, and then his eyes light on the crown on Richard’s brow. Richard goes still, but Hal only stares, mouth dropping open in awe.Richard takes it off, holding it out to Hal. The boy reaches out, stroking a finger over sun-warmed gold.‘Careful,’ Richard says. ‘It is heavy.’Hal looks up at him. ‘Pretty,’ he says, as if correcting. His nose wrinkles. ‘Shiny.’‘All that as well.’Hal runs his fingers against the crown, leaning forward to lick it. He pulls back, not looking too happy about the taste. Richard laughs.‘It is for wearing, not eating,’ he says. He raises it up and holds it above his head. ‘Although, it would be convenient to be able to eat it…’Hal giggles, clapping his hands. Richard’s not entirely sure he understands everything Richard is saying, but it is enough to amuse such a precious child.‘Here, cousin,’ Richard says. ‘You try it.’He lowers the crown onto Hal’s head, careful to keep hold of it so Hal doesn’t have to bear the full weight of it. It is too big for the boy, would slip down past his head to rest on his shoulders if Richard let it go.‘There. You make a fine prince.’Hal giggles, but he seems rather confused by it all. Richard takes back the crown, sets it on his own head. He reaches his hand out to Hal, smiling when the boy puts his hand in his at once. He stands up and Hal tugs at his hand again.‘Carry?’‘Of course,’ Richard says, bending to lift the child into his arms. He walks slowly back to Lancaster, Hal’s sleepy head back against his heart. The child yawns, closing his eyes. In the distance, Henry is returning, storming towards them. It doesn’t matter. Richard feels as though he can weather whatever storm this visit will bring. After all, Henry can’t be too loud with disapproval for fear of waking his son from his nap.