flowers so lifelike they might have been blooms dipped in liquid metal. She smiled when she saw how my gaze lingered upon it.
“It was a wedding gift from my mother,” she said. “I planned to pass it on to my own daughter one day.”
Many maids would have offered false comfort, reassuring their mistress that her prayers for a child would be answered in time. But Queen Lenore valued my honesty. I had no words to lift her melancholy, so I simply took the necklace and placed it gently on her dressing table. Then I released her thick, rich hair from its pins and ribbons. The fashion at court in those years was for hair to be braided and tied in elaborate arrays, but Queen Lenore looked most beautiful when her dark locks hung simply around her face and over her shoulders. Seen like this, without jewelry, she could have been a maid of eighteen rather than a woman who had already passed her thirtieth birthday.
I brushed her hair until it shone, sending both her and me into a trance with the rhythm of the strokes. The knowledge that I was able to release the queen from her cares for these few moments brought a rush of satisfaction, and I smiled at her reflection in the mirror even as her image smiled back at me. The sound of a door opening jolted us both from our reverie, and we turned to see the king walking in, alone. He held up his hand as his wife rose to greet him.
“Sit, sit,” he urged.
She walked to the bed, where the king took a place next to her. His hand lingered a moment on her hair. He must love her still, I thought, if he could touch her so. But his face betrayed no tenderness; he watched Queen Lenore as if she were any other subject come to make a plea before him. I wondered if I should leave the room but did not want to draw attention to myself by asking. In truth, I did not want to go; I was desperately curious to know what Prince Bowen’s return portended for all of us. If power was the true currency at court, as my aunt had warned, then I must know whose hands would command our fates. I slid into the corner behind the dressing table, where my figure would be partly obscured by shadows.
“Forgive me for retiring early,” Queen Lenore said. “I am too tired to join in the revelry.”
“It’s all as it was years ago,” the king said. “Bowen preening before the blushing young ladies as Aunt Millicent scowls with disapproval. You’ve seen it a thousand times before.”
They smiled at each other, understanding flashing between them. I was accustomed to seeing them in public, presenting the united front of rulers joined by marriage. But this was the first time I had heard them speaking a private language of shared memories. It did not seem right that I overhear such a conversation, but they appeared unmindful of my presence. Raised in privilege, both had been surrounded by servants and attendants since birth, never knowing what it was to be truly alone.
“Bowen told me you summoned him,” Queen Lenore said. “I had not known that his visit was your doing.”
The king shrugged. “I’ve told you often enough our situation is precarious. And now Marl deRauley has been heard questioning the line of succession.”
I had not heard the name before, but from the king’s tone this mysterious figure carried some weight in the kingdom.
“Such talk must be stopped, and soon,” the king continued.
“How?”
“Bowen must be acknowledged as my heir.”
Queen Lenore’s fingers picked at the embroidery in her skirt, even as the rest of her body remained still.
“I know he is a man of many vices,” the king said wearily, the weight of the decision evident in his grave expression. “I wish better for my subjects. Still, he is my brother. We have no choice.”
Queen Lenore nodded slowly but her expression did not change. This could not have come as a surprise. I felt a pang of compassion for her plight, knowing that her own failure to conceive a child had brought Prince Bowen to the
“It was a wedding gift from my mother,” she said. “I planned to pass it on to my own daughter one day.”
Many maids would have offered false comfort, reassuring their mistress that her prayers for a child would be answered in time. But Queen Lenore valued my honesty. I had no words to lift her melancholy, so I simply took the necklace and placed it gently on her dressing table. Then I released her thick, rich hair from its pins and ribbons. The fashion at court in those years was for hair to be braided and tied in elaborate arrays, but Queen Lenore looked most beautiful when her dark locks hung simply around her face and over her shoulders. Seen like this, without jewelry, she could have been a maid of eighteen rather than a woman who had already passed her thirtieth birthday.
I brushed her hair until it shone, sending both her and me into a trance with the rhythm of the strokes. The knowledge that I was able to release the queen from her cares for these few moments brought a rush of satisfaction, and I smiled at her reflection in the mirror even as her image smiled back at me. The sound of a door opening jolted us both from our reverie, and we turned to see the king walking in, alone. He held up his hand as his wife rose to greet him.
“Sit, sit,” he urged.
She walked to the bed, where the king took a place next to her. His hand lingered a moment on her hair. He must love her still, I thought, if he could touch her so. But his face betrayed no tenderness; he watched Queen Lenore as if she were any other subject come to make a plea before him. I wondered if I should leave the room but did not want to draw attention to myself by asking. In truth, I did not want to go; I was desperately curious to know what Prince Bowen’s return portended for all of us. If power was the true currency at court, as my aunt had warned, then I must know whose hands would command our fates. I slid into the corner behind the dressing table, where my figure would be partly obscured by shadows.
“Forgive me for retiring early,” Queen Lenore said. “I am too tired to join in the revelry.”
“It’s all as it was years ago,” the king said. “Bowen preening before the blushing young ladies as Aunt Millicent scowls with disapproval. You’ve seen it a thousand times before.”
They smiled at each other, understanding flashing between them. I was accustomed to seeing them in public, presenting the united front of rulers joined by marriage. But this was the first time I had heard them speaking a private language of shared memories. It did not seem right that I overhear such a conversation, but they appeared unmindful of my presence. Raised in privilege, both had been surrounded by servants and attendants since birth, never knowing what it was to be truly alone.
“Bowen told me you summoned him,” Queen Lenore said. “I had not known that his visit was your doing.”
The king shrugged. “I’ve told you often enough our situation is precarious. And now Marl deRauley has been heard questioning the line of succession.”
I had not heard the name before, but from the king’s tone this mysterious figure carried some weight in the kingdom.
“Such talk must be stopped, and soon,” the king continued.
“How?”
“Bowen must be acknowledged as my heir.”
Queen Lenore’s fingers picked at the embroidery in her skirt, even as the rest of her body remained still.
“I know he is a man of many vices,” the king said wearily, the weight of the decision evident in his grave expression. “I wish better for my subjects. Still, he is my brother. We have no choice.”
Queen Lenore nodded slowly but her expression did not change. This could not have come as a surprise. I felt a pang of compassion for her plight, knowing that her own failure to conceive a child had brought Prince Bowen to the
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