Edward looked intently at his youngest brother, surprised by the cold assurance of his tone. Richard had always been passionate about justice and the law, Edward knew, but now he could see why the Lord of the North commanded such respect. Richard might be smaller in stature, but he now stood shoulder to shoulder with Edward, and the king was glad of such support.

“I will review the trial transcripts once more, and then I will sign the death warrant.”

“Will you not see him first, Ned?” Richard asked. “I am in no mind to go, but ’tis my duty, and Father would have wished it.”

“I went,” Edward said, dully. “It was a waste of time. George was pathetic and I had to leave. May God have mercy on his soul. And on mine.”

And on mine, Richard thought. Please, Lord, on mine.

With rheumy eyes that Richard could not tell were from weeping or from wine, George gazed at his detestable younger brother. “Come to gloat, babykins?” he sneered. “Good little Dickon come to say farewell? Always did want to do the right thing, didn’t you? Always seeking approval, aren’t you?” He lurched at Richard, who neatly stepped aside and watched as George tripped on an uneven flagstone in the Tower room and landed on his knees.

Richard smirked. “Always in your cups, aren’t you?” he mimicked, letting George clumsily right himself. He was shocked how callous he had become and that he cared not now whether his brother lived or died. “Always thought you could charm your way out of trouble, didn’t you? I doubt you can charm you way out of here, my dear George. You have given Edward no choice.” George slumped onto the bed—one too luxurious by far for someone supposedly in prison for treason, Richard thought. “You are right, I have come here out of duty,” he continued. “You lost my respect many years ago when you treated Anne so abominably. I was hoping, perhaps, I might eke an apology out of you on behalf of my wife. Anne does not know how to hate—as I do—and she deserves your respect in this.”

George guffawed. “’Tis you who owe me an apology, Master Crookback, for stealing my wife’s inheritance….” But Richard had unsheathed his dagger and had it at George’s throat before he could finish his sentence.

“Call me ‘crookback’ one more time, and I swear I will spare the executioner his work,” Richard snarled, angling the point of his knife under George’s bearded chin. “Now apologize, you adder-tongued, two-faced coxcomb.”

George spat in Richard’s face. “There’s your apology, my lord. Go and ball yourself.”

“Guard!” Richard shouted, wiping the spittle from his cheek. “May God have mercy on your lily-livered soul, Brother,” he said under his breath, locking eyes with George’s sapphire ones. Richard saw no remorse in George’s, and George found no forgiveness in Richard’s.