Free The Autumn Throne by Elizabeth Chadwick

him with contempt. ‘It would not be a fuss over nothing if the item belonged to you; indeed you would be the first to complain. Why do something like this? It benefits no one, it’s not funny. You should have grown out of such pranks by now.’
    John shrugged again. ‘Very well, I am sorry,’ he said in a way that suggested he was anything but. ‘I didn’t mean to cause harm. It was in jest.’
    ‘You did mean it.’ Belle continued to be aggrieved. ‘I’ll never forgive you.’
    John curled his lip. ‘You think I care?’
    ‘Peace!’ Jeoffrey bellowed. ‘You should care, because one day you will need friends and allies. What will you do when all turn against you because of what you have done to them in the past?’
    John set his lips and Jeoffrey dug one hand through his hair in exasperation. ‘I’m warning all of you to stay out of the King’s way and mend your behaviour. He’s just received bad news and his mood is vile.’
    John immediately pricked up his ears. ‘What sort of bad news?’
    Jeoffrey lowered his hand. ‘Rosamund de Clifford has died in childbirth and the baby with her.’
    ‘Good.’ John’s smile was sharp. ‘She got what she deserved. She was a whore like all the others. He will soon forget her, he always does. There will be another one in his bed before Christmas.’
    ‘Do not let our father hear you say that or you will not sit down for a week.’ Jeoffrey shook his head in baffled disgust. ‘Why are you so full of poison?’
    Johnlowered his eyes, disengaging from the contact, and fell silent.
    ‘Just watch your step,’ Jeoffrey warned. ‘And stay out of trouble if it’s within you to do that.’
    Belle knew it wasn’t within John at all. She hated him, but at the same time, that look in his eyes, a dagger gleam between narrowed lids, gave her a frisson of horrified attraction. She found it very exciting, the way he walked so close to the edge.
    Henry sat before the hearth in his chamber, his head bowed and his body racked with painful spasms. He could not believe that Rosamund had left him; that their last farewell had been final. It was a wound so deep he could not deal with it. Indeed, he could not face it at all, because he was a king, and if he broke under the weight of his grief, then so did the Crown.
    He had been alone for several hours. The one person he might have allowed access to this room was Hamelin and he was in Sicily seeing Joanna safely married. He had gone out riding earlier to try and outrun his grief but had only succeeded in half killing his horse. Why had God not taken Alienor instead? That would have been justice.
    A string of women had frequented his bed, some for longer than others, but he had only ever had two proper mistresses and both were in the grave. It felt like betrayal. He would never give of himself to anyone again. As powerful as he was, he could not control death, and when people died they took pieces of him with them into the grave, leaving him with raw wounds that would never heal.
    The door creaked open and he turned ready to do battle, but was surprised by the sight of his youngest son tip-toeing into the room. ‘What do you want?’ he demanded.
    John hesitated. ‘Nothing, Papa. I left my knife on the stool.’ He pointed to a leather sheath gleaming in the edge of the firelight.
    Henry pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘You disturb me for this, boy?’
    ‘Iwanted to see how you were,’ John added disarmingly.
    ‘You can see how I am.’ He looked at his son in the dim light of candles that were burning down to their stubs because no one had come to replenish them. John was like a wary, half-feral cat, padding softly in the shadows, ears pricked. If John was asking how he was, it was for his own purpose, but Henry could not be bothered to know what it might be. ‘Let me give you some advice,’ he said. ‘Harden yourself. The world is a harsh place. Trust no one, especially those who smile on you because one day they will