A Dusting of Syn

London, England
July, 1467

“Your majesty.” Keran, seventh son of the Duke of Bristol, bowed low before his king. “You sent for me?”

King Edward IV of England looked up at the man standing next to him. It was not often he had to look up to a man. At six-foot two inches tall, most men looked up to see their king. Yet, Keran of Bristol topped him by a good three inches.

“How fare you these days?” The king grabbed an arrow from a quiver and loaded his bow. He eyed the target and let the arrow fly, hitting the bull’s-eye dead center.

“Very nice shot, your majesty, and I am fine. Thank you for asking.”

“Still landless?” The king smiled, and expected to see a frown on the older man’s face. Instead, Keran laughed.

“Indeed. Unless someone starts killing off my brothers, I fear I might stay so, majesty. As the youngest son of a Duke, I get the leavings of the others, and by the time my father had given to the six elder sons, I am afraid there was nothing left for me.”

“Hence the reason you have never married.” Again, he expected the man to bristle. Instead, he just grinned. Edward let loose another arrow.

“I have looked, majesty, believe me. But so far, I have not found a suitable wife.”

“It is a good thing that you have a king for a friend, then.”

Edward watched Keran’s shoulders stiffen for the first time, then drop back into a relaxed posture.

“Indeed? Have you found a wife for me?”

“I have, and lands to go with her.”

This time the interest in Keran’s eyes was genuine. “I am at your service, your Majesty.”