The great coronation ceremony drew near, yet inside Westminster Palace, the boy who would be king was drowning in silk. Tom Canty, still wearing the guise of Prince Edward, sat before a mountain of state documents. Beside him stood the young Earl of Hertford, pointing urgently at a heavy, crimson-waxed parchment.
"Your Highness must affix the Great Seal of England here," Hertford instructed, his voice tense. "The execution of the Duke of Norfolk cannot proceed without it. Where did you put it?"
Tom bit his lower lip. The real Great Seal? He had used the heavy golden disk days ago to crack walnuts in his chamber, completely ignorant of its sacred purpose, and had since hidden it away.
"I... I cannot recall, my Lord," Tom stammered, pulling at his stiff satin collar. "My mind is clouded today."
Hertford sighed, exchanging a worried glance with the Lord St. John. "The madness strikes him again. Sire, without the seal, the kingdom is paralyzed. We cannot execute, we cannot tax, we cannot rule."
Tom looked out the high arched window. The thought of executing anyone made his stomach turn. In Offal Court, the only law was the law of the fist, but here, a stroke of a pen ended lives. "Then perhaps," Tom said quietly, finding a sudden spark of courage, "it is a blessing that the seal is lost. If we cannot rule with death today, we must rule with patience."
Hertford frowned. "A kingdom cannot be governed by sentimentality, Your Highness."
"It can be governed by mercy," Tom countered, his voice steadying. "Let the Duke live until my memory returns."
Miles away, in the shadow of a decaying barn on the road to London, the true Prince Edward was experiencing the raw edge of that very statecraft. He was bound at the wrists, surrounded by a fierce band of vagabonds and thieves led by the ruthless rogue, Hugo.
"Look at our little kingling!" Hugo mocked, thrusting a stolen, dirty sack into Edward's hands. "Go on, your 'Majesty.' Beg at the crossroads or feel the whip."
Edward held his chin high, his eyes flashing with royal fury despite the dirt caked on his cheeks. "I am Edward, Prince of Wales! I do not beg, nor do I steal from my own subjects. Untie me, or you shall swing from the gallows!"
The thieves roared with laughter, but a large, burly vagabond named Black Jack stepped forward, raising a heavy wooden cudgel. "I've had enough of his royal talk. Let's see if his blood runs red or blue!"
Before the club could fall, a familiar blade clashed against the wood. Miles Hendon stepped into the ring of thieves, his eyes blazing, shielding the boy with his body.
"Two against a child?" Miles spat, his sword dancing in the dim light. "You'll have to go through a soldier of the King first."
Hugo lunged, but Miles parried effortlessly, slashing Hugo’s sleeve and sending him stumbling into the mud. The rest of the gang hesitated, intimidated by the soldier's fierce stance.
"Come, lad," Miles muttered, cutting Edward’s bonds without breaking his gaze from the crowd. They backed out of the barn slowly, escaping into the pouring rain.
As they sheltered under a stone bridge, shivering and sharing a meager crust of bread, Edward looked at Miles. The soldier was bleeding from a shallow scratch on his arm.
"You risked your life for me again," Edward said, his voice unusually soft. "Yet you still believe I am mad."
Miles smiled faintly, wrapping his ragged cloak tighter around the boy’s shoulders. "Mad or sane, you are a brave lad. You speak of justice as if you truly believe in it. In this cruel world, that makes you rarer than any king."
Edward looked at his own bruised, muddy hands. "I used to think a king was a god who sat on a throne, untouched by the world. But I see now that a king is merely a servant. If I do not feel the cold my people feel, how can I know when they need a fire?"
Miles watched the boy, the skepticism in his eyes slowly giving way to a profound, unspoken respect. "If you ever do find your throne, little master, I think England will finally have a heart."
Power is a burden that tests the soul of both the ruler and the servant. True authority is not found in the symbols of majesty, like a Great Seal or a crown, but in the willingness to bear the suffering of the helpless. True leaders do not rule from above the storm; they stand in the rain alongside those they are sworn to protect.
