As they mounted the spiral staircase on the river entrance to the royal apartments, Richard was losing his confidence. He was unsure what the ceremony would entail. Remembering the night-long rituals of the Order of the Bath, he prayed he would not be stripped naked again in front of the court. His upper body was developing outwardly, but he still hated his spindly legs.

He was relieved to see the sunlit audience chamber was only half-filled, and then there was Edward striding towards him, a smile of welcome on his handsome face. Richard went down on his knees at once and snatched off his hat. He should have known better than to speak before the king did but he could not stop himself from saying: “God’s greeting, Your Grace.”

Edward ignored the lapse in protocol. Indeed, since becoming king, he had shocked some old-fashioned nobles by resting a royal hand on some lesser man’s arm, or even slapping a shoulder playfully. He was an amicable, friendly man, at ease with others and happiest in company. In only a few short months of kingship, he had earned the respect and devotion of many a hardened noble, and as well the commoners loved him, albeit for the blessed cessation of interminable warfare.

“My dear brother,” Ned said warmly, raising Richard to his feet. “You look every inch a duke today, I might say. Will,” he turned to his friend and confidante Hastings, “do you not think Richard will suit his new title?”

Hastings winked at Richard. “Every new inch,” he said, reminding Richard of their conversation in the forest.

At last, the stiff little boy relaxed his face into a smile. “You really think so, my lord?”

“Aye, lad, you are growing nicely,” Edward’s chamberlain replied.

“Let us start the proceedings, shall we?” Edward propelled his young brother towards the dais. Standing on the steps, the king held up his hand, and at once the court fell silent. He motioned Richard to stand a step below him, and it was only then that Richard saw his mother standing quietly watching him from behind the throne. He bowed his head quickly, and she smiled at him. Jesu, but she is the most beautiful woman in the world, Richard thought proudly. Regal, elegant, her thick blonde hair now hidden under a hennin, her fashionably plucked brow accentuating her large, bright blue eyes, she wore her forty-seven years easily. And, no one would doubt that Edward, Margaret, or George were her offspring. Only Richard resembled his smaller, darker father.

“Cousin, welcome!” Edward’s cheerful baritone carried down the hall to the figure now striding towards the dais. Richard Neville, earl of Warwick, was to read the proclamation announcing Richard as England’s newest duke.