Royal Inheritance Read Online Free Page A

boat to the water stairs Father indicated.
    A liveried sergeant porter inspected us before we were allowed to pass into the king’s privy garden. He knew Father on sight but he gave me an odd look. I paid him no mind. I was too entranced by my surroundings.
    March is not the most beautiful time of year in any garden, but the topiary work and the greenery in the raised beds were very fine. There were gardeners busy everywhere I looked. Some were planting. Others were digging a large, deep hole.
    “That will be a pond for the swans,” Father said. “When it is finished it will be bounded by hedges secured to latticework.”
    Overlooking the gardens were galleries. Through their large windows I glimpsed courtiers walking back and forth for exercise. I was too far away to make out their faces. It did not occur to me until much later that they could see me as well as I could see them.
    We walked along the graveled paths, in no apparent hurry to enter the palace. I wondered at that, and plied Father with questions, but he just shook his head and counseled patience.
    The sound of the workmen’s shovels digging into sodden earth seemed loud in the silence that fell between us. In the distance I heard a boatman shout, “Eastward, ho!” And then, without warning, came a strange racket, half bark and half bay. It filled the air, heralding the appearance of a pack of dogs.
    They burst out of the shrubbery only a few feet in front of me, tumbling one over another in eager play. I would have been terrified had they been deerhounds, or even terriers, but these dogs belonged to a breed I had never seen before. They were tiny, the largest no more than five inches in height at the shoulder. I counted eight in all.
    First one pup, then another, caught sight of me and bounded my way. Then two veered off and began to tussle with each other. The first one bit the second’s ear. Then that pup went for the first dog’s tail. A third, the smallest of the lot, his fur a motley white, red, lemon, and orange-brown, lost interest in me and raced back to join the fun. All three rolled off the graveled path and into the hole the men had been digging.
    “Oh, no! They will be hurt!” Alarmed, I ran toward the place where they’d disappeared, trailed by the remaining dogs.
    The runt reappeared first, now colored an all-over brown. As I reached him, he gave himself a vigorous shake, spattering my skirt with mud. I could not help myself. I burst out laughing and reached down to lift his warm, filthy, wriggling little body into my arms. Ecstatic at this show of affection, he licked my face.
    And so it was, for the second time in my life, that I remained oblivious to the presence of the king, accompanied by a band of his retainers, until His Grace stood not a foot away from me.
    King Henry cleared his throat.
    I looked up and froze. Dumbstruck, I clutched the small dog closer to my bosom. I had the mad idea that I must protect him from the king.
    “Your Majesty,” Father said, bowing low. “May I present my youngest daughter, Audrey Malte.”
    I continued to stare at the king, taking in his appearance bit by bit. He was so very splendid to look at that I did not think to curtsey until Father caught my forearm and jerked me downward.
    In full sunlight, King Henry the Eighth dazzled the eye. The jewels set into his doublet and his plumed cap reflected the brightness of the day. The rings he wore on every finger glittered, too. And yet, had he been clad in the roughest, undecorated homespun, he’d still have awed onlookers with his magnificence.
    Taller by a head than any man in his company, he was broad of shoulder and chest and sturdy of leg. No jewel could outshine the radiance of his nimbus of bright red-gold hair. Its brilliant shade was mirrored in his full beard. Only his eyes lacked gemlike qualities, being a muted blue-gray, but he had an intense and penetrating gaze.
    He was also smiling.
    “Rise, Audrey,” the king commanded. Then he