“When I first saw you, I thought you were so beautiful that you couldn’t possibly love me. I never saw true beauty until that night.” He stroked her cheek with the back of his hand. “But I didn’t know you then. I didn’t know how clever you were, how courageous, how kindhearted, how true to yourself you always are. My lady. Jane. I would not wish any companion in the world but you.”
Her eyes were shining. “I love you, too.”
“You do?”
She smiled. “I do. But I have one question.”
“What is it, my lady?”
“Do you see the light through yonder window?”
G blinked, confused. “What?”
Jane took his face in her hands. “The sun is up,” she whispered. “See?”
“It can’t be the sun. I am still a man,” G said.
“The sun is up, and you are still a man,” Jane confirmed.
G closed his eyes, and for the first time in six years, eight months, and twenty-two days, he felt the sunlight on his skin. He breathed in its rays and absorbed its glow, and there rose a peace in his heart, the kind of calm that comes from the feeling of arriving home after a long journey. His curse was broken.
The two lovers embraced, while Edward and your narrators turned their heads to give the lovebirds their moment of blessed union.
“Ahem. Are you quite done?” Edward asked, when lips finally parted long enough for them to take a breath.
“Not quite.” G pressed one last soft kiss to Jane’s poetry-inspiring mouth. “Now we’re ready.”
“Good,” said Edward. “Because there’s still something I have to do.”
TWENTY-EIGHT
Edward
Edward threw open the door and strode into the throne room.
He’d done it. He’d gotten into the Tower, a nigh-impossible feat. He’d fought bravely and well. He’d dispatched the guards, confronted Dudley, even beaten Bash at swords. And now he was about to reclaim his crown. Everything had gone according to Jane’s plan. He was nearly there—he could practically taste his victory.
His first surprise was that the throne room was almost empty. He’d supposed it would be bustling with courtiers and members of the Privy Council there to advise Mary and show the queen their support during the attack on the city wall. But at best there were a dozen people present. Not exactly the boisterous crowd he’d been hoping to witness his glorious return.
Still, the room fell silent when he entered, all eyes turning to him, mouths opening in shock. Because even though he was streaked with sweat and stained with blood and not wearing any shoes, he was undoubtedly King Edward, back from the grave.
This was going to be good.
He turned to the steward stationed next to the door, whom he’d known since he was a young boy. “Announce me, Robert,” Edward commanded.
The man looked like he was seeing a ghost (which he kind of was) but he obeyed without question. “His Majesty Edward Tudor.”
Edward padded toward the throne to stand before Mary.
“You’re sitting in his chair,” piped up Jane from behind him.
Mary fidgeted with her handkerchief. “Oh, Eddie. I’m so glad to see you’re alive. My heart was simply broken when they told me you were dead.”
“How dare you,” Edward said to her, his voice so dark with fury that he didn’t sound like himself. “How dare you steal what is mine. You poisonous bunch-back’d toad!”
“Ooh, that’s a good one.” There was a rustle of paper behind him as Gifford wrote the line down.
His sister’s face paled. “Now, brother—”
“You have the audacity to call me brother after what you’ve done? I should have you drawn and quartered. Or would you prefer to be burned at the stake? Purified—isn’t that what you called it? Isn’t that what you had planned—a great burning of traitors?”
“It was Dudley’s doing,” Mary said softly. “He took your throne because he wanted it for his son. I simply took it back.”
Edward laughed, but it was not a merry sound. “Oh, am I supposed to thank you for keeping my chair warm?”
She stared at him mutely.
“No more lies, sister,” Edward said. “Let us speak plainly now, about what’s to be done.”
This would be the part where she’d beg for her life, he thought, where she’d cry and plead and grovel before him. He wondered if he could ever find it in his heart to forgive her.
Probably not.
But in this he was surprised again, because Mary did not beg. She stood up slowly, her back straight and unyielding before him. Still wearing his crown. “You’re only