Doña Elvira spread the valance out on the table, resolutely ignoring the sounds coming through the walls from the next room. Another three handspans should do it, she decided, and then she'd begin on the edging.

A piece of crockery suddenly smashed itself against the tiles.

They'd been at it every morning and every afternoon for the last week. Oh, they never slept together, the Prince and Princess; they were segregated at night just as the English king had ordered. But he hadn't said a word about the middle of the day, had he?

Elvira had no intention of stepping in no matter what that Welshman expected. Arthur and Katherine were young, they were married in the sight of God, and they had both survived (and by the skin of their teeth!) the most virulent fever any of them had ever seen. In her opinion they had every right to live their lives as they saw fit, and what better way than in the arms of one's wedded spouse?

That said, she wasn't particularly happy at being forced to listen to them. She would have stuck wool in her ears – there was certainly enough of it in Shropshire – but she was a grandee's daughter and she had her dignity to think of.

Doña Lina stuck her head in the doorway, her voice so low it barely carried. "Are they…"

She nodded. "Shouldn't be too long…" and they both turned to stare at the bedroom door.

"I'll have the boy bring up refreshments," Lina said. "El Rey won't be happy."

But she shook her head. "The moment he holds his grandson in his arms – God willing – Henry Tudor will be the happiest man on Earth."

"What IS this? How…"

Queen Elizabeth looked up from her embroidery as her lord husband's voice carried through to her sitting room.

"I cannot believe these lazy, careless…you tell me what I'm supposed to do, Angharad. God forbid anyone listen to me. It's not as if I'm the King of England or anything…"

Henry suddenly burst through the door, his heavily pregnant wolfhound close at his heels and a crumpled letter clutched in one hand. "Liz, I cannot believe the effrontery of your son."

She rose to her feet and curtseyed as her ladies wisely scattered. "My son, Your Grace?"

"Yes, your son. He's gone and – well, here," he muttered, thrusting the letter at her. "Just read the mess he's got himself into!"

She took the balled-up sheets and spread them out her desk as Henry began to pace back and forth, the bitch close behind him at every step. "I told them not to do it. I told that Basque battleaxe to keep them apart at night. Now what am I supposed to do?"

"Prepare the confinement chambers, I would think," Elizabeth said, looking up with a smile.

His face was purple. "I told them not to indulge."

"Of course you did."

"They were both sick – they almost died!"

"That they were."

"But they—"

She took his arm as he passed by. "Henry, slow down; Angharad's starting to pant."

"I didn't want her to indulge either; who knows which mutt she found to…"

She laughed. "Now come on; you had her bred."

He flopped down in a chair, taking one of her hands in his and bestowing a kiss on it. "I know – and before you say a word, I'm well aware the situation at Ludlow is my own damn fault as well. I'm the one who put a handsome young man and a beautiful young woman together in a romantic faraway castle with nothing to do and expected them to amuse themselves with chess and primero. I've been old and in love for so long that I simply forgot what it was like to be young and in love."

"They still should have listened."

"Would we have listened at sixteen?" he asked. "I don't think I'd listen now, not if I was with you."

She kissed the tip of his nose. "Insufferable man."

"And yet you still suffer me."

The herald's voice suddenly rang out in the corridor. "Make way! Make way for the King's Mother's Grace!"

They broke apart with a groan of disappointment as Margaret Beaufort entered the room. "Mother, what brings you here this morning?" Henry ground out, pushing himself to his feet.

She nodded at the letter. "Is the Princess with child?"

Not for the first time Elizabeth marvelled at her mother-in-law's prescience - or perhaps her network of spies. "She is; the midwives say that with God's grace she'll deliver in April."

"Thank the Blessed Virgin," she said, crossing herself before turning a baleful eye on her son. "They were very wise to ignore you. If...yes?"

The groom at the door bowed. "Your Grace, the Spanish ambassador has arrived."

Henry didn't bother to conceal a sigh of relief. "I've been waiting for him for two weeks. If you'll excuse me, my Queen, Mother."

They watched him all but sprint out of the chamber, Angharad in trail; once he was out of sight Margaret chuckled. "Does he realize how much of a fool he was?"

"He does. Do you wish to read the letter, Madam?"

"Thank you." She picked it up and took it to her usual chair by the window, holding it close to her eyes as Elizabeth took up her work again; a few minutes later she looked up. "Has Your Grace chanced to look at the third page yet?"

She shook her head. "I didn't get that far before Henry started panicking. Why?"

"It seems your son is no longer the meek little boy," she said. "His chamberlain attempted to remonstrate with him for having disobeyed the spirit of the King's instructions – spirit, mind you – and he told him to, and I quote, 'go to the Devil'. He further told Sir Hubert that he was now a married man and would consult the laws of God and man in his dealings with his lady wife and not, and I quote again, 'meddling, officious old men'." She sent Elizabeth a sly grin. "Bit of a spark there, thank God; he'll need it. Who's going to tell Harry?"

"I suppose I'll have to, but he won't like it. He's still convinced he should be King; if it's a boy he'll be devastated. Do you think my lord husband will send him into the Church?"

"I don't know, to be honest. It might be for the best…" but she shook her head as tears sprang to her eyes. "Would Your Grace pardon me? I would pray for a while."

"Of course," she said as they both rose. "When do you leave for Collyweston?"

"Tomorrow morning," she said, pausing in the doorway. "I think I'll write Katherine a letter before I leave. I'm proud of that girl; very proud indeed."

Arthur checked the position of the afternoon sun for the tenth time in as many minutes, his fingers drumming a nervous tattoo against his leg. He'd sent most of his gentlemen away for the day, his nerves far too tightly wound at the moment to tolerate their crude jokes and boastful back-slapping – but how long was this supposed to take? Months of waiting, weeks of prayers, and now—

He spun as the door opened behind him. "Any news?"

"Nothing yet, Your Grace," Gruffydd ap Rhys said. "The ladies say it's going quickly enough."

His jaw hit the floor. "Quickly? Dammit, Griff; it's been three hours!"

"And you can thank God on your knees you're still waiting; first births are safer if they're a bit slow." He nodded in the direction of the chessboard. "Listen, why don't Your Grace have a seat and we'll have us a game."

They played in silence as the sun sunk toward the horizon, neither of them bothering with more than the most basic strategy. "So have you picked a name, sir?" Gruffydd asked as he moved his remaining bishop.

"Mary if it's a girl, otherwise…" and he sighed. "We aren't naming him Henry, that's for certain; I don't want my brother to think I'm honouring him. After the tantrum he staged in January I don't want to encourage him, and even Father understood that, thank God."

He gave Arthur a searching gaze. "What's wrong with the lad anyway?"

He considered taking Griff's rook but instead settled for the king's pawn. "Conceit, mainly. He can't stand the idea of anyone outranking him except our parents. He didn't mind Margaret marrying into Scotland but when he realized that as Queen she had the right to enter the dining hall before him he went white with rage and screamed for half an hour."

Their eyes met. "You don't like him."

"I don't trust him. Kate is the one who doesn't like him; he makes her skin crawl."

"Lass has good instincts. Check."

He examined the board as the grooms arrived to light the candles. "And checkmate in three moves," he said, conceding the game. "Let's go upstairs and see if there's news."

The royal confinement chambers at Ludlow were located on the second floor, a good ten minute walk from his study; Arthur swore his knees were growing weaker with every step he took toward where Kate was bringing their child into the world. He had confidence in her, he truly did; it was himself he doubted. "If anything happens to me, Griff," he said in the stairwell, "do what you can to protect them."

He shot Arthur a look. "I give Your Grace my solemn word. Do you think he'd try something?"

"As quickly as you could say 'Richard Plantagenet'."

Five minutes later they were at the doors to the confinement chambers. "Everything's progressing just as the midwives expect," Arthur's aunt Cecily said as a scream rang out behind her. "The Princess is doing very well."

"Well?!" Arthur cried. "But—"

She took his hands in hers. "Attie, dear, please don't fret," she cooed, using his mother's pet name for him. "This is all perfectly normal. Sir Gruffydd, there's a room across the corridor that's been made ready; why don't you take the Prince there. I'll be there as soon as—" and she glanced over her shoulder as another scream rent the air, "—as soon as there's news."

He let himself be carried across to the room she'd indicated. "That was Kate," he said. "She was screaming."

"That she was, sir. Birthing's no walk in the park, is it? Here: sit and take a cup."

He gulped his wine nervously, barely bothering to taste it. "The Spartans considered childbirth as honourable as war, I once read," he said as he held out his goblet for more. "A woman who died birthing a live infant – male or female – was accorded the same respect as a man who died in victorious battle."

"That I didn't know, but it's not something you need to bother yourself about. She'll be fine; she's strong and a good age for it as well."

They retreated into an uneasy silence, Arthur picking at the ham and bread one of the grooms had brought up for them at one point, but it wasn't until the crescent moon was almost flush with the horizon that the door opened again to admit Aunt Cecily. "Yes?"

She beamed at him. "Your Grace, the Princess has given birth to a healthy baby boy. Mother and son are very well indeed."

"Mother and—" He broke down in tears, dropping to his knees as relief flooded through him. "I have a – Kate's all right? She isn't…"

"The Princess and the Prince are both as right as rain," she said, holding out her hand. "Come see."

Kate smiled shyly up at him as he entered her bedchamber, her face still flush from her exertions. "I was so worried," he said as he crouched by her bed and caressed her cheek gently. "Thank God you made it."

"Thank God for our son as well," she said, nodding to where one of the midwives was carrying in a tiny bundle.

He rose again and, taking the precious child – his child – their child – from her, brought him back to Kate, pushing aside the corner of the blanket so they could see his face.

"My boy," she all but whispered. "He's perfect, and the very picture of your grandfather the old King."

They shared a smile. "Edward, then." He bent down and kissed the downy skin, smiling against his forehead as the boy wiggled in his grasp. "Blessed Virgin, I beg you, spread your sheltering hand over mother and child."

"And father," Kate added. "May I, Arthur?"

He settled the baby into her arms, grinning as his wide, pale blue eyes searched her face. "He knows his mother."

"And father," she repeated, meeting his eyes. "Thank you."

He shook his head. "No, thank you."

He could have stayed with them to the end of time, but Kate's eyes soon started to droop and Edward – Ted? No, Ned – began to cry for the wet nurse. "I have a son, Griff," he said as he emerged from the chambers. "A perfect, healthy son; we named him Edward."

"Congratulations, Your Grace. Will you need someone to take the news to the King?"

"Would you mind?"

"It would be a great honour."

He returned to his bedchamber in a daze after sending Gruffydd off with thanks. I'm a father; I have a son…

…and Henry will never be King.

Thank God.