My Lady Jane(118)

“No,” a voice called out from the back of the room. An authoritative voice.

Bess.

Edward spun around to watch his other sister come up the aisle.

Bess’s gray eyes narrowed as she looked at Mary. “Edward is the rightful heir to the throne of England, because our father named him as his heir. The king can name whoever he wishes to succeed him.”

“But Father only named him because he was deceived by the foul E?ians into casting aside his good and virtuous wife.” Mary pressed. “And only because Edward was a boy.”

Bess smiled knowingly. “Wrong, sister. Father left his throne to Edward because he knew, even then, that Edward had the heart of a king. Father knew that Edward would be generous and thoughtful when it came to the welfare of his people, and wise in his decisions. Father knew that Edward would be the best choice for this country.”

Huh, Edward thought again, frowning. He might have been flattered at these words, but deep down he knew that they weren’t true. When he’d “ruled” before, he hadn’t given much thought at all to the well-being of his people. In truth, he’d known nothing about his people. And he certainly hadn’t been wise. He’d done what he was told, signed what they’d put before him, agreed to the course of action the men around him informed him was the correct one. He had been a puppet, a king in name only. And his father had chosen Edward solely because he’d been born a son and not a daughter.

Bess came to stand beside him. “Edward is the true king,” she said. “It’s Edward who will lead England to peace and prosperity. He will make England great.”

She turned to address Mary. “You would have led us all to ruin. You who conspired to kill your own brother and pilfer his crown. You who threaten to tear the very fabric of our nation in two. You’re a disgrace to the royal blood that runs through your veins.”

“Arrest her!” Mary shouted at the guards. “Off with her head!”

The guards didn’t move. They looked to Edward. He said nothing.

“The game is up, Mary,” Bess continued smoothly. “You’ve lost.”

“No!” The word echoed in the room. Then Mary let out a bellow of rage and barreled toward Bess with outstretched hands, as if she would choke the life from her sister.

But before she could reach Bess, a light flashed.

The onlookers gave a collective gasp.

Where Mary had been standing, there was now a chubby gray mule.

The first person to laugh was an elderly woman near the front of the room—a stranger to court, people would later remark, but a distinctive figure who gave everyone who played at card games a peculiar sense of déjà vu.

“Oh dear. What an ass!” the old lady cackled, and then everybody began to giggle while the old mule brayed and stood there looking generally miserable at the turn of events that had befallen her. (As narrators, we’d like to inform you now that Mary was never seen as a human again. She remained an ass, all the rest of her days. As asses typically do.)

Edward didn’t laugh at her with the others. He turned to the guards. “Take her away.”

A man—it was Peter Bannister, actually—slung a rope around the former queen’s neck and led her from the room.

Edward approached the throne. It was just a glorified chair, he thought. It wasn’t even that comfortable. Nevertheless, he sat down on it carefully and surveyed the room. Because that was what was expected of him.

The people quieted once more. Then slowly, in a rustle of fabric and a shuffle of shoes, they kneeled before Edward. “Long live King Edward,” they said in one voice. “Long live the king.”

A lump rose in his throat. He didn’t feel the way he’d expected to feel in this moment. He didn’t feel triumphant, or victorious, or righteously entitled to the throne. He felt much the way he did the first time he’d been told that he was king. A sinking in his stomach. A dread.

Bess bent to pick up the crown from where it had clattered to the floor when Mary had showed the world her true self. She walked slowly and purposefully to stand beside Edward. She smiled. Then she raised the crown above his head and . . .

Edward caught her wrist. “Wait.”

She froze. “Edward, what are you doing?”

“What Mary said is true,” he whispered. “I’m not the rightful ruler.”

“Of course you are,” she said.

“Why, because I’m a boy?”

“Did you not hear what I said before? About why Father chose you?”

He looked down at his feet and smiled wistfully. “You’re the generous one, sister. I never really considered the welfare of my people. I’m not wise. I’m just a boy.”

“You’ve never been just a boy,” she said.

“I don’t have the heart of a king, but you do,” he said earnestly.

She stared at him. “Me?”

“You’re the one who’s going to make England great.” He took the crown gently from her hands and stood. Jane and Gifford and Gran were all standing near the front, mouths open in shock—even Gran, who he’d always thought unshockable. He wished that Gracie were here. He’d been trying not to dwell too much on Gracie, as she was probably still fighting alongside his soldiers at the city wall, and he couldn’t afford to be distracted by the thought of what was happening with her. But he would have liked to have seen her face when he did what he was about to do.