Windsor Castle February 1173 I prayed to God for Richard’s safety, standing there steeped in sin, my father’s rosary in my hand. I thought of all I must be shriven for, but I turned that thought aside. There was more to do before there was less. There was a piper to be paid, and I would pay him. Eleanor and I stood alone in Richard’s rooms. His men had fled with him, down the hidden corridor. I thought I saw her reach for me. Then Henry was there, and I saw nothing else. His eyes fell on me, and his men-at-arms stopped short behind him. He stared at me, at the betrayal he had not expected, from the last person on earth he expected it from. For I had warned Richard of his coming, and now Henry’s rebellious son had once more slipped his grasp. I saw the bitterness rise in his eyes, the same bitterness he had always turned on Richard. Now, for the first time, Henry turned that bitterness on me. “Alais.” He said nothing else. I saw that he would never forgive me. I had betrayed him to the son he hated most. Nothing, not even our unborn child, would succor that. I moved toward him and stood before him, in case he ordered his men to take me up, as he would have ordered them to take up Richard. The pain on his face cut me, but I stood firm under it, for I deserved it. Henry raised one hand, his gray gaze boring into mine. I saw his rage build behind his eyes, a great wall of red that swept his reason from him, until there was nothing left but his fury. I did not move even then, but waited for his hand to fall on me. Eleanor stepped between us. “Henry,” she said. His eyes did not leave mine, but his hand did not come down to strike me. “She feared for his life, Henry. You forget, she is only fifteen years old.” Henry’s face contorted with rage. I thought he would spit at her, but he did not; his eyes never left mine. He did not speak, but turned and left me there, standing in Richard’s rooms. He did not say a word, but stalked away. His men followed him like dogs, their pikes in their hands. “What have I done?” “What you had to do,” Eleanor said. My knees buckled. I would have fallen had she not caught my arm. Eleanor held me up until she could get me to a chair. Marie Helene came in then, looking stricken. She came to me at once, and took my other hand. Eleanor had not let me go. “My lady, the king is calling up his men to ride after Prince Richard,” she reported. I felt my stomach tighten as a wave of pain washed over me. I gasped under it, as if I had been swept up in a tide. Eleanor squeezed my hand and looked into my eyes. “He will not catch them, Alais. They have gone by barge to my keep in Oxford. They will be safe there, until they can go down to the coast. Henry will not have them. They have slipped his net. Thanks to you.” I felt light-headed, and I could not answer her. Eleanor knelt beside me, and pressed her lips to my hand. “Thank you, Alais. Thank you for saving my son.” Pain in my abdomen struck me then, taking my breath away. Eleanor saw something in my face that she recognized, for she stood at once. “Marie Helene, call my chamberlain. Have him take the princess to her rooms.” My waiting woman moved to obey as the dull ache in my abdomen receded. I had felt dull pains off and on all day, but had thought nothing of them. As Eleanor watched me, I realized that these pains were something else altogether. Eleanor’s man lifted me in his arms. He tried not to jolt me, and I was grateful for his help. I was suddenly very tired, and I knew that I had a long night ahead of me. Her chamberlain brought me back to my rooms, and set me not on my bed but on a chair, as Eleanor directed him. As I thanked him, I saw the certain knowledge on Eleanor’s face: my child was coming two months early. Another pain came then, stronger than the last, and in the midst of that fire, Henry, Richard, the court, and my place in it faded as if they had never been. As my agony gripped me, all thought of the loss of Henry vanished. I released my grip on the chair and knelt on the floor of my room, my pain taking me as Henry once had done. I knew that I was truly in the hand of God. Eleanor called for a midwife, and for a birthing chair. Both were brought at once, though the keep was buzzing like a kicked wasp’s nest. All had heard of my betrayal of the king. No woman wanted to tend me in the midst of my disgrace, but one came, for she feared the queen. Henry left Windsor, riding out to his hunting lodge at Wood-stock, which was within striking distance of Oxford. I had lost him, and forever. Amaria whispered this news to Eleanor, but I heard what she said. When the queen turned back to me, she did not speak of Henry or of Richard, but nodded to the midwife, as if my birthing was the most important business to befall her that day. “Alais, between us, you will do well. God knows I’ve borne Henry enough children. I ought to know by now how it is done.” I took heart at her matter-of-fact tone, and felt my fear recede. Eleanor gripped my hand and helped me stand, so that Marie Helene could strip my silk gown off me. I wore only my shift, so Marie Helene then built up the fires in the braziers, and brought them closer so that I would be warm. Eleanor would not leave my side. She spoke to me of the doings of her women, and of the foolishness they had gotten up to in the presence of her minstrel, Bertrand. Her soothing voice took me back to that ............