He was dying, he thought numbly. Sooner than expected, apparently. Soup was of no consequence.
“Sire,” the nurse prodded.
“Leave me,” he muttered, and when she did not move away quickly enough, he barked, “Leave me!” and Pet raised her head and bared her teeth at the old woman.
Mistress Penne bustled away. Edward soothed Pet by resting his hand on the smooth space at the crown of her head and stroking. Her tail thumped again. He closed his eyes.
Behind his eyelids he replayed Jane’s wedding. He remembered her standing in her wedding gown, all gold and silver and jewels, her red hair shining. He recalled the way Gifford’s gaze had swept over Jane as they had approached him, the flicker of surprise and definite male interest in his eyes before he’d forced his expression back into perfect blankness.
When Edward had seen that flicker, he’d felt hope for Jane. That maybe this would be more than a marriage of convenience. That maybe she’d find love.
He thought, I will never find love.
He remembered the touch of Jane’s small, cool hand in the crook of his arm as he’d walked with her.
He thought, I will never feel a woman’s touch.
He remembered the way Jane’s cheeks had flushed when Gifford had tilted her face up to be kissed.
He sighed. Pet scooched up on the bed and licked his chin. He pushed her head away, but resumed stroking her behind the ear.
His last moment with Jane had been at the end of the night, when Lord Dudley had announced that it was time for the young couple to “turn in,” as he’d phrased it, and Jane had come to him to say good-bye. He’d known by the gleam in her dark eyes and the ramrod straight way that she was holding herself that she was both furious and terrified at what came next.
The consummation.
“Jane,” he’d leaned to whisper in her ear. “Don’t fret. You’ll be all right.”
“He’s drunk,” she’d hissed. “So now we can add ‘inebriant’ to the list of his charms. A boozer. A lush. A tippler. A souse.”
“You will find something to like about him,” he’d answered, and kissed her cheek. “Be happy, cousin. For me.”
Then Gifford had led her away. To their bedchamber.
Edward thought, I am never going to consummate anything. I’m going to die a virgin.
And he’d felt more sorry for himself than ever.
The floor beside his bed creaked, and he opened his eyes. Master Boubou was hovering over him, and behind him Edward could make out the outline of Lord Dudley’s nose.
The doctor took Edward’s hand and felt for a pulse at his wrist, then frowned.
“So it’s good news, is it?” Edward smiled at his own joke and was immediately overtaken by coughing.
“I’m afraid not, Your Majesty,” said Boubou, when the coughs subsided. “You appear to have taken a turn for the worst. Your heart is very weak. Perhaps the wedding was simply too much exertion.”
Edward resolved that he would never, ever, no matter how bad things got, regret being there for Jane at her wedding. “So what’s to be done about it?”
“I’ve brought a tonic.” Boubou helped Edward to sit up as Lord Dudley handed him a goblet of a dark liquid that tasted as bad as it smelled, like rotted leaves with a touch of fennel. But almost immediately after the tonic touched his tongue, he felt slightly better, clearer of mind, less exhausted.
“I should probably bleed you at some point,” Boubou continued delicately after Edward had dutifully downed the tonic.
Edward tried not to cringe. He’d been bled once before, when he’d first become ill. He thought that if anything, the bleeding had only made him feel weaker. Plus it was unsettling watching his blood drain into a bowl.
“No,” he said. “No bleeding.”
Boubou didn’t argue, but the doctor didn’t seem to be afraid of him any longer, which Edward found disappointing.
Lord Dudley shuffled forward hefting a writing tray, which he placed carefully across Edward’s lap. Then he produced a large parchment scroll and unrolled it on the tray.
Revised Decree on the Line of Succession, the scroll read, followed by a lot of very fine print that swam before Edward’s eyes.
“What is this?” Edward asked.
“Your royal will, Your Highness,” the duke said, motioning for Boubou to bring him a quill and a pot of ink. “We discussed how you would name Jane Grey’s male heir as your successor. Remember?”
Edward had a vague recollection of this.
“But considering this most recent turn in your health,” Dudley continued, “I