Page 39 of The Court of Venus

Roland stepped forward. “What do you ask of His Majesty?”

The king whipped his head around. “Shut up. Ask? Ask!” Laughter shook his body. “Prospero does not ask. Prospero knows all. Prospero has no questions, for he is master.” Suddenly, he blinked in confusion. “I am rid of you. I killed you.”

“Roland signed the order,” I corrected.

“Roland,” the king murmured, leaning close. “Yes. Do you suppose we ought to rid ourselves of darling Roland, too? Hal will tell us to spare him, but he’s too forgiving, I think. Too lenient.”

Time was compressing again for him. Who was dead in the king’s eyes—who was alive? Was everyone at court already dead and just didn’t know it?

The king reached for my ring again. “Don’t you think Roland has done me harm, Prospero?”

Behind him, Roland readjusted his grip on his sword, his jaw tight.

“Not in the least,” I said.

The king waved me off impatiently. Then suddenly, he pressed his hand to my windpipe, squeezing it with all his strength.

The sword clattered to the ground as Roland leapt forward, but I had already pushed into the king’s mind to calm him. He sat back against the bed, blinking rapidly, his eyes foggy, unfocused.

“Shhh.” I rubbed his arm. “All is well.”

The king chuckled. His smile spread eerily as he shook his head. “Liar. My son is dead. You said I would have another. You promised me, Prospero.”

A caress of my cheek, as fond as a lover, and then his fingers stabbed into my mouth. When I tried to pull back, he grasped my chin tight. I flailed. “Let us see your lying tongue, Prospero. Show it to me. Come on now, stick it out. That’s it.” He raised his voice in pitch. “‘Marry her. So sweet and penitent. Her family has many sons. See how she looks up at you in such wonder? See her devotion?’”

Roland tore Richard’s hands away from me and pinned them behind his back, the king still chuckling to himself. When his hands were released, he clasped them together in mock prayer and raised his eyes to the ceiling.

There was only one wife he could be referring to. “Eleanor.”

The king wavered. “Speak her name, I care not. But plot together, whisper together—death. Come to me again, and Roland shall tear through your ghostly form, he’ll stab at smoke, he’ll behead even where there is no head. Then you’ll be twice dead. Now get out. Get out.”

“Eleanor Guildford—”

“Guildfords! Snakes, all of them. My little wife is a Guildford. Another serpent in my bed.”

“But what about Eleanor?”

“I thought Prospero knows all,” the king spat.

“That’s enough.” Roland swept me toward the door by the elbow. “Wait for me in the hall.”

I shook him off. “What did Eleanor and I do, Your Majesty?”

Richard’s eyes darkened with rage. “What did you fail to do?”

“We couldn’t give you the son you were promised. Is that right?”

He cackled. “Wrong!”

“Enough with the riddles, Richard. I’ve come to ask you why you sent me to the Tomb. Why, after our years of friendship. Why, after my love for you. After everything I gave in your service.”

The king’s face twisted as he struggled to respond. Perhaps there was no true answer. It was as Prospero had once said: little stabs. Moments where the king looked over his shoulder and saw Prospero clasp the wrong hand. The barren nursery. The broken promises.

There was some pattern on the ground I couldn’t yet see; I’d have to fly high above it as a bird to understand its true shape.

“What did I promise you?” I insisted. “Do you remember? Was it a son, or something else?”

The king hesitated, backing away from me on the bed, covering his face with his sheets. “I am rid of you,” he repeated over and over. Then he raised his voice again in mockery. “‘Soon I will have it for you, Richard. Very soon. You’ll have it in no time at all. The kingdom will be safe. The kingdom will endure.’” He barked a laugh. “So you are a liar and a fool. Now get out, get out! I’ve banished you from my court, and no one will dare say the name Prospero ever again.” His pitch rose to a whine. “Roland, make him get out.”