The Poisoned Chalice by Jo Cameron-Symes
They sat around the table, poised, as if to see who was brave enough, who would take the first sip. Richard audibly swallowed, Gwendolynn coughed, Arthur flinched. There was an art in waiting and it seemed like they were all keen to be the victor of it. A chill wind blew through the ramparts and William shivered. He knew that he should be king by right and that none of these so-called contenders had any right to the throne, unlike him, the nephew of reigning monarch, Edward. Edward, who too, sat at the table, ailing fast, willing the victor to have courage and take a sip from the gold etched chalice in the centre of the table. The chalice filled with wine so sweet that it made angels weep, or so Gwendolynn claimed, though William was certain it was poisoned. Edward was meant to have procured and poured the sweet wine himself into the vessel but as he was so ill, he entrusted Gwendolynn to perform the task, a task that she was happy to fulfill. “Now it is time,” Gwendo...