The King's Damsel by Kate Emerson

on progress every summer, traveling to various parts of the kingdom to be seen by their subjects. They took with them their fools and musicians and their hosts provided other diversions along the way.
    Going on a progress was also a good way to avoid being in London and its environs during the months those heavily populated areas were most likely to be visited by outbreaks of the plague and other vile sicknesses.
    Langley was located a mile from Burford, right on the edge of Wychwood Forest. It was a beautiful spot, but when we first arrived there I had little interest in the scenery. Like the princess, I was eager for my first glimpse of King Henry VIII of England.
    His Grace was the tallest man I had ever seen. That was my initial impression. In the months I had been with the princess, I had myself shot up in height, but King Henry towered over me. Everyone around him seemed small and insignificant in comparison.
    The second thing I noticed about the king was the flash of jewels. Every article of his clothing glittered, calling attention to hisface and form. Above a richly ornamented doublet rose a striking countenance. He was clean-shaven, as were most of the men at court, which displayed a forceful chin. His hair was burnished copper. Although his complexion was fair for a man and his features were almost delicate, there was nothing feminine about him. He had the physique of an avid jouster, which he was. His arms and chest were well muscled and his legs strong. He exuded masculinity and good cheer and he seemed genuinely pleased to be reunited with his daughter.
    Princess Mary made her obeisance, her smile stretched wide. Had she been an ordinary girl and he just another father, I am sure she would have flung herself into his arms. Court protocol discouraged any such display.
    “By St. George, Mary!” King Henry exclaimed. “You have grown apace in your time away from us.”
    “Yes, Father. I have been very well cared for.”
    The king gave a booming laugh that echoed off the rafters of the great hall at Langley. “Well and good, my girl. Well and good.”
    Queen Catherine, who had gone almost unnoticed in her husband’s presence, now stepped forward to greet her daughter. Her Grace was some years older than the king. Repeated pregnancies had left her stooped and stout. What little I could see of her hair beneath an enormous gable headdress appeared to be a faded reddish gold shot through with gray. She was also extremely short. Princess Mary, for all that she was on the small and dainty side, already surpassed her mother in height.
    A bevy of the queen’s maids of honor hovered nearby. They were all younger and more physically attractive than Her Grace. Their presence made Queen Catherine seem even older and more worn out than she really was. Some of these young women appeared to be close to my own years, while others were clearly older, but almostall of them had pink and white complexions and a tendency toward plumpness.
    There was one exception, a slender woman whose skin was almost olive-hued. She had eyes so large and dark that they appeared to be black. These characteristics should have made her ugly, but she had an elegance about her, and an air of self-confidence. I found myself staring at her, studying the high cheekbones, the strong nose, and the wide mouth, all set into a long oval of a face. She was no beauty, but her countenance suggested a forceful personality that might well make up for her lack of conventional prettiness.
    When my wandering attention returned to Queen Catherine and Princess Mary, they had finished exchanging formal greetings and the princess had begun to tell her parents about her sojourn in the Marches of Wales. The queen listened with avid attention to every word, but His Grace soon grew bored.
    King Henry’s interest shifted to his daughter’s assembled ladies. He narrowed his blue-gray eyes when his gaze fixed on me. Disconcerted, I quickly sank into a curtsey, but I still