Snippet #1467080

That was not a proper curtsy, Henry thought as his daughter swept into the room, but he was too preoccupied with other thoughts to reprimand her. Beside him, the conversations of his wife and children were muted, distant. How would Lionel fare in the tournament? There was much riding on his victory - not the throne itself, no, but the symbolism of it. He was sure of his eldest's skill, but, always, like a tiny seed in the back of his mind, were the what ifs. What if Lionel were to fall? A cold, tight band seemed to tighten and squeeze around his heart. He had no wish to bury a child. Yet he could not deny that Raban ... I am a king before I am a father; a struggle that Henry had endured for years.

"The daughter of Greyhardt may be beautiful," Henry said, not caring what conversation he might have interrupted, "but I am sure she does not compare to our daughter."

The king turned his dark eyes to Adelaide. Praise never came easily from his lips, and it was almost always tempered with more expectations to fulfill.

"You have many suitors, and all of their hearts breaking for just a glance from those pretty eyes."

So much like my mother's eyes.

Hopefully, Adelaide had begun to grow past her rebelliousness. It seemed that all of his children had problems with their station in life (and in the succession.) He attributed it to their youth. Years ago, when he had been fifteen and young enough to know all that he needed of life, he had resented and feared his father. Age had wizened him and would that it have such an effect on these.