Windsor Castle August 1172 Once Alais and Henry had gone, I made no pretense of joy among my own women. I stared out my window, as if waiting for Alais to come back, knowing that she would not. They had been gone over two weeks already, and her absence in the palace and at table was like a hole in my heart. I spoke to no one about my own loss, for that was my concern. Richard still was brooding, more than I thought he might. Always before, at the first sign of betrayal, Richard cursed the offender, then forgot his existence. Alais, in all ways, was different. Though Henry had run amok with his newfound lust, I knew that in the end he would see reason, as he always did. Even now, I wondered what the fair Rosamund thought of her erstwhile lover. No doubt she looked on all Henry’s other doxies as simply the lusts of a vital man. I knew that she would hear of Alais, and I hoped the knowledge pained her. For if Rosamund was my opposite in temperament, as so many people said, Alais was almost my equal in strength. No other woman in all of Christendom could say the same. She was the woman I had raised her to be. Only Alais was lit with that inner fire that rode above my own heart. Only she reminded me of myself when I was young, when my father had the teaching of me. It was the loss of Alais that burned like acid on my skin, but I did not accept that loss. She was mine, and forever. An affair with my husband would not change that. I wondered how long it would be until she knew it. Richard came to me from the tiltyard, his face newly washed, his red gold hair a mane around his shoulders. My women preened for him; Angeline even fawned, dropping into a low curtsy, hoping that she might be called on to succor him in his time of distress. Margaret paled at the sight of him. As I watched, I saw no spark between them. Perhaps, in his grief, he had turned her away. “Richard,” I said. “How fare you?” “The same, Mother. I imagine I will be the same for a long time to come.” I raised one hand, and my women left us without a word. Richard saw Marie Helene among them, and stared. She averted her eyes, afraid to look at him. He watched Marie Helene until she left the room. Only then did he turn once more to me. “Do you want her?” I asked. “I could have her in your bed by sundown.” He stared at me, almost as if my words came to his ears in a language he did not know. Then the light of understanding came back into his eyes, and I wished my words back. His pain was not dimmed by my offer but sharpened. “No, Mother. Do not trouble yourself on my account.” I came to his side and pressed the softness of my palm against his cheek. “Richard, there is news.” “From Aquitaine?” “No. From Deptford.” He flinched at the word, and stiffened under my hand, controlling himself with difficulty. He did not step away from me. I moved across the room to allow him to gather his thoughts. On my table a letter lay, its seal broken. “My spies have brought a letter that was meant for His Holiness the pope.” “Who wrote it?” he asked. “Your father. The king.” I watched my son for some sign of spleen, for some sign that his wits were not about him, that his fury would overwhelm his common sense. After the first moment, when his fist clenched almost against his will, I did not see it. Richard met my eyes, ready to hear the rest, his legendary temper dormant beneath the cool blue of his eyes. He had heard me name his father without cursing. Now I could tell him the rest. “Henry has written to the pope to ask for his support in casting me aside. The king would like me to retire to the nunnery at Fontevrault. As the abbess, of course.” My smile was bitter, in spite of my attempts at self-control. This blow did not come from Henry, for he would never have thought of divorcing me on his own. This came from Alais, a barb that struck home. I had yet to draw it out. “Kind of him, to make that small allowance, is it not?” I asked my son. Richard turned pale, but still, he did not speak. At first I thought him considering the merits of his father’s letter, as if Alais, a girl fresh from the convent and as young and green as spring grass, might actually be a viable alternative as queen. I saw, though, that Richard was merely stunned. He could not conceive of this level of betrayal in the woman he loved, the woman he loved almost as much as he loved me. He saw my strength in her. I had known that from the first. In Alais, Richard saw a woman of strength and fire, but strength tempered with compassion. Or so he had thought, before she spurned him. I began pacing, the letter to the pope in my hand. I could not contain my rage. It began to spill out in my voice, though I fought for control. “Would you like to know who Henry wishes to set in my place? Who he would crown as queen, as well as concubine?” He knew already, but stood still, his back straight, as I told him. “The Princess Alais.” I thought he would spit then, but he stood in my solar, not on a battlefield or a tiltyard, so he held himself in check. As I watched, his Plantagenet rage rose to consume all rational thought. I thought that he would not be able to hear me if I continued, but as I watched, he gained control of himself once more. If only he had shown this restraint before with Henry, if only he had been more discreet with his lovers, perhaps we might have avoided this. Perhaps we might have married him to Alais before she knew of his infidelity, and she would have been neutralized. But no one, not even I, had known what lurked beneath the surface of her convent leanings. Even I had not seen the depth of treachery Alais was capable of. Had she turned on anyone else but myself and my son, I would have been proud of her. Richard swallowed his spleen. I saw his reason win the battle for supremacy against his fury. He stood under the onslaught, and faced me. “My God, Mother. I never would have thought them capable of it.” My own bitterness rose, and I swallowed it, just as Richard had swallowed his anger. It was not a time for emotion. That time would come later, in the dark reaches of the night, when I was alone. I kept my voice even, my tone light, when I answered him. “Anyone is capable of anything, Richard, given time and opportunity.” He took this in, his blue eyes steady on mine. I saw that he did not believe me, but his mind had moved on already, looking for a way out of the mess his father had created out of lust and blind folly “We must write to Henry my brother at once,” Richard said. I smiled that his mind moved to the correct answer so quickly, and with no prompting from me. Though there was no rancor between Richard and my eldest son, there was no love between them, either. “I already have,” I said. He stared at me. “How long have you kept this news from me? How long have you known what the king planned to do?............