My Lady Jane(98)

“She didn’t, perhaps, mention how we might kill the beast?”

“No,” Edward said. “Her information was more the useless type.”

They traveled onward in silence for a while, until—

“Sire, you love Jane.” G hadn’t meant to blurt it out, but there it was.

“Of course I do. She’s family.”

“But you, Your Majesty, I think, love her love her.”

Edward didn’t protest, although he looked a little confused, possibly due to the phrasing.

G let the rest spill out. “And I know you arranged for our marriage at a time when you thought you would die, and now you’re not going to die, and if you want her for yourself, I will step aside. I will do the honorable thing.” His voice cracked in an embarrassing way at the end.

“Gifford,” the king said.

“Call me G,” G said.

The king ignored him. “Your wife loves you.”

G looked at the king and raised an eyebrow.

“She does. She leaves your favorite apples in the stables, even though she has to walk over a mile to get them. She brushes your mane, and is meticulous about picking the burrs out of your coat.”

“That’s all just logical horse maintenance.” G lowered his eyes. “She didn’t want me to be her king. She didn’t want me ruling by her side.”

“That was when she didn’t know who to trust. Believe me, Gifford, Jane loves you.”

G was silent for a moment, hoping it was true.

“At least, she loved you before you threw her in a cage.”

And there was that.

Edward was quiet for a moment and then sighed. G thought he might be about to confess something. Like how even though yes, Jane loved G (or so Edward claimed), that was just too bad because the king was in love with Jane, too, and now it was going to be G’s duty as a citizen of England to give her up to the king. For the sake of the country.

“What did you think of Gracie?” Edward said, while at the same time G blurted out, “You can’t have her!”

“Sorry, who?” G said.

“Gracie.”

“Oh. I like her.”

Edward pressed his lips together and nodded. “And that whole thing with Thomas Archer . . . You don’t suppose that there’s anything between them?”

“Jane said Gracie wouldn’t give up the knife.”

“No, I mean romantically.”

“Ah. Romantically. Well, Jane mentioned Archer was Gracie’s ex, so I suppose there used to be something romantic between them.”

Edward’s shoulders slumped.

G added, “As for whether it’s still there, I don’t know. But then, I wasn’t actually inside the tavern when they were in the same room.”

Edward sighed again. “I wish I knew what to say to her. Every time I try to tell her how I feel, I end up looking stupid.”

G literally sighed in relief. Praise the heavens above—Edward fancied Gracie! Of course he did! Gracie was very fetching, if you liked that kind of beauty. G preferred redheads, of course. Warm brown eyes. Soft skin. Bookish. Opinionated. But Gracie was lovely; yes, he could concede that.

G wanted to sing, he was so happy. And he knew just what Edward meant about looking stupid. “Yes, well, love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind, and therefore is winged Cupid painted blind,” he said.

“What?” Edward gazed at him blankly.

“I mean to say, the course of true love never did run smooth,” G clarified. That was good, he thought. He’d have to write that down later.

“Is that from a play?” Edward asked.

“No, it’s . . . um . . . just a thought I had.”

“Hmm. You’re a bit of a poet, aren’t you?” the king said.

G felt heat rise in his face. “I dabble.”

“I like poetry,” said the king. “And plays. I used to put on little theatricals at the palace. If we survive this, and if I get my crown back, and if there’s time, I’d like to open a theater someday.”

“If we survive this, you totally should,” G agreed.

They both tightened their grips on their swords and coughed in a manly way that meant that they weren’t scared of a silly old bear. “Do you know any poems about courage?” Edward asked after a moment.

G didn’t. He endeavored to make something up. “Um . . . cowards die many times before their deaths,” he said. “The valiant never taste of death but once. Screw your courage to the sticking-place, and we’ll not fail.”

“The sticking-place?”

G shrugged. “It’s the best I could do on such short notice.”

“That’s good,” commented Edward. “You should write that down.”

The map Archer had given them was easy to follow, and the journey was short, but G couldn’t figure out if it was really short or it only seemed short because he was dreading killing a giant bear. They had packed up weapons of all sorts: broadswords, battle-axes, a mace. Jane had even made them a “tincture” she’d told Edward would burn the bear’s eyes.

The map didn’t lead them to an exact location, just a valley near Rhyl in which the bear had most frequently been seen. Of course, that information was based on rumors and reports. As they got closer, G began hoping the reports were wrong, but soon realized they weren’t, because the ground was dotted with bear droppings. G knew they were bear droppings, because the only other animal capable of such sizable droppings in this part of the world was a horse, and G knew the droppings weren’t of a horse, because he was sort of an expert.