Like Fire and Powder (Violent Delights Book 17)

Chapter 13: the engagement according to Henry Tudor

"I think Elizabeth has been upset," I say, walking into my uncles' office.
"Oh. Since we admitted direct guilt for the death of her closest male relatives?" He asks, calmly.
"You're not funny."
"It's a statement of fact, look you always knew this would be hard. Give her time, she's a good woman for accepting what she has about us—," he says, gesturing between us as he turns over some papers. I'm choosing not to worry about that I'll just be surprised when someone dies.
"What about us?" I ask.
"Well we're a little weird I have been trying to find a way to tell you," he asks.
"Why didn't you tell her what Richard said?" I ask, because I want to bother him because he might be right we might be a bit weird.
"She didn't ask," he says, "Anyway I wasn't there. You're the one who saw him speak."
"He was praying. Praying as he died, the words were Latin," I say, quietly, "I don't know what they were. I assume you do by now. I think he was praying I don't. I see that moment every night in my dreams. And yet—it gets no clearer."
"I don't, the men never said," he says. But he could be lying. If he thinks it will protect me he'd lie.
I sigh.
"Look it wouldn't help would it? She asked, you asked for the truth, she got her answer. For all the good it does anyone," he shakes his head.
"It has to count for something," I say.
"As you will. Did you need something else?" He asks, turning over another paper and checking it.
"No, first, what are your dark dealings?" I ask, gesturing to the desk, "I'm getting concerned?"
"It's well. You know you like to be surprised. And not having to lie unnecessarily to parliament," he says, "What did you need?"
"Elizabeth has been upset, I'm trying to cheer her up," I sigh, collapsing in a chair, "But not in a—'here, I or my uncle murdered most of your male relatives, here's a flower' sort of way, but like an actual normal sort of way? I don't know."
"No flowers in season as it's December. Bring her a puppy," my uncle recommends.
"Why?" I ask.
"Kids like dogs."
"She's not a kid."
"You're a kid," he grunts, turning a paper over to make notations.
"I can't just walk into her chambers 'I know a week ago I confessed to being complicit in the murder of your brothers, here's a puppy'."
"If you have enough confidence you can."
"Uncle."
"Well. Time doesn't heal anything at all but it does soften the blow a bit, doesn't it? She knew they were dead and we likely knew how. Give her a moment," my uncle says.
"I just generally want to show I'm nice and not a—routine murderer," I sigh, "I don't know."
"Ask your mother. She's a girl. Also a kid," muttering the last bit.
"Everyone younger than you is not a child."
"Actually all of you are. I lightly admit she is not but I've had her since she was a child so she remains one, interesting system I made up," he says.
"I don't know. I'm going to probably do nothing and—continue being weird," I say, "I do have to go and buy her ring though, for the wedding. Thought I'd ride into London and do that. Then we'll set the final date for the wedding."
"There's sweating sickness you will not."
"I will. I do what I like I'm king. I'd not get near anyone I won't get ill," I say.
"I'm not worried about you getting ill. I'm worried about your feverish self being mistaken for a sweating sickness victim and stoned or quarantined. I've spent half my life convincing people you weren't the harbinger of the Black Death, I'm not dealing with this you have people to get things for you now, no," he says.
"Now I know how Edward felt, locked up a palace all the time," I say, tipping my head back, "One of our last nights in Paris, I smuggled him out to walk around, Uncle Harry knew did he ever tell you we'd done it?"
"Almost immediately after finding out as I understand," he says, not looking up, and moving a couple more papers.
"Figured he did," I say, snatching a paper before he can stop me.
"That's not yours," he says.
"Everything belongs to me I'm king and very obnoxious—uncle," I sigh, when I read it, "You're not digging up every single drowning victim washed ashore on the English coast, in the last ten years. Now who's catching plague?"
"I am, actually," he says, taking the paper back, "I will find him."
"Uncle, I'm not against finding him, I'm saying there is nothing left, the body—any body you dig up from these graves? It's going to be nothing but bones," I say, gently.
"And I would know his bones. I would know him if he were burnt to ash, even if I didn't know my own name. I would know him," he says, stubbornly.
I sigh, "I take it you've got one over there for the French coast as well?"
"I might. Not that it's your concern."
"He's my Harry too," I say, gently, "I'll send people to go dig these up. Then." So you can look at bones. If that would make you feel better. I know nothing will make him feel better.
"I'm handling it."
"Are you handling it by going personally in disguise with a group of spies probably including Roland?"
Silence.
"Getting sweating sickness traveling half way across England?"
"I won't actually get ill—"
"I'll send people. It's fine. Seriously. I want to," I say, leaning on the desk, "I just—,"
"What?" He asks.
"Nothing," I say. He's stubborn. Nothing I say will convince him to quit looking. That Harry would know it was useless  and say that it was okay to go on.
"Right so, was it a no to the puppy for your girl then?" He asks.
"My girl—yes it's a no to a puppy that's ridiculous. We are smarter than that. We will come up with something better than a puppy," I say, stretching.
"And it's a yes to you sending someone to London to commission or buy a ring, as is the normal thing? Because you have issues with the breathing and the face swelling up as it is as well as being incredibly busy, and you are king now and there is no reason for me to smuggle you into the middle of a city just to buy a ring?" He asks.
"Agreed," I say. This is going to end with him smuggling me into London to buy a ring.
That's technically his fault though.
I plan to leave the next day, as I originally did. Roland and David are more than bored and ready to accompany me, and I enlist the other men to lie about where I am, specifically to court and my mother, not specifically to Elizabeth who can know I'm in London if she actually asks after me.
I dress in my regular clothes, travel clothes, and leave my chambers by the back stair.
And walk directly into my uncle.
"Don't DO that!" I cry, pushing his chest.
"All right, your first reaction to finding a murderer looking person looking in a stairwell should be your dagger, boy, NOT crying out and coughing a little bit," he says.
"Why??? The murderer looking person is ALWAYS you. It has never not been you."
"Well one day it might not be, come on then."
"So you're coming?"
"I was never not coming."