“And what?” Edward menaced. “I am waiting.”

“I was waiting for a private audience, Ned, to report what little I know…”

Surprisingly agile for one in his cups and finally sensing the danger he was in, George sprang forward, rudely shoving Richard aside, and snatched the letter from Edward’s fingers. “If that letter is intended for me, then I should have it!”

Already wound tight as a silk thread on a spindle, Richard instinctively drew back his arm and punched George hard in the gut, emptying the air from his brother’s lungs. “May that be the last time you push me, George!” he warned.

Somehow still holding onto his goblet, George flung the remaining contents in Richard’s face. “You would betray me, would you, babykins?” he snarled, the slurring vanishing, “and the earl, who has done his best to make a runt into more than the puny prince you are? Good Christ, he has wasted his valuable time!”

“Take back your words or I will mar your pretty face so Isabel will shun you forever,” Richard shouted, advancing on his brother.

“Enough!” roared the king, his long arms spanning the gulf between the brothers and grasping each by the front of their pourpoints. He pulled them to within a nose of each other and hissed, “By God’s holy mercy, neither of you will consort further with my lord of Warwick. Do you understand? There will be no marriage between you and Isabel, George—not ever. And you, Richard, will henceforth remain at my side. As of this moment, your knightly training is at an end. I have need of both my brothers by my side and on my side.” He let them go and watched them step back and glare at each other. “We are a family. We are Yorks. We are our noble father’s sons. And we will behave as such. Just because I wear the crown today does not mean I will wear it tomorrow. There are rebellions in the air, traitors to be dealt with, and Lancastrians on our doorstep. Do I have your solemn oath that you will abide by my edicts.” Richard nodded. George looked sullen but reluctantly inclined his head. “No more consorting with Warwick unless it is to ride by his side in my royal train. No more love letters to the lovely Isabel. You best not have given your heart or—God help you—your promise, George, for you will not have her. And no more private time with the Nevilles, Richard. I have come to believe your patron and I cannot agree on policy, and I sense a parting of the ways. He must not take either of you with him.”

“Well said, Your Grace.” Hastings’ voice startled Richard, who had forgotten the chamberlain was even there. “Let us give a toast to York. A York!” and he passed some wine to Edward, who grunted.

George turned on his heel and letting the empty goblet fall to the floor, left the room.