Elinora the Great

1.

Henry

I stood gingerly, still in my ridiculous official uniform, as Elinora glided across the master suite, surreptitiously checking every space visible. After what seemed like hours, she finally turned to face me, fingers tracing the frills of her dress.

If I didn't know better, I would've said that she looked nervous.

She cleared her throat. "I hope you are comfortable in these new quarters. If there is any way I can offer assistance, please do not hesitate to inform me. Um..." She looked at me, her face almost apologetic, before becoming a blank mask again. "Have a good night."

And with that, Elinora spun and exited the room, leaving me with the sinking feeling of...loss.

...

I didn't see Elinora for four days. With nothing better to do, I had wondered around the castle with Oslo, exploring the grandeur of the palace that easily rivaled Versailles, traipsed around the gardens, and of course, read. No matter what I did, nothing seemed to be able to distract me from the hollowness and disappointment at Elinora's absence. Of course, I had not expected a welcoming hearth, but...we had been joined under the eyes of God and the law, and if nothing else, her amicable company would have been appreciated.

After I finally caved and requested Oslo to seek out information on the Queen's whereabouts, he'd come back a sour face and grouchily said that Elinora had apparently left more than three morns ago to survey the countryside of Cornwall.

I saw it as a method to distance herself from me.

...

It happened two weeks after the wedding.

I was sparring with Oslo in the courtyard.

I'd always been an average swordsman. While my brother mastered his weaponry, I'd preferred the sanctuary of literature. That fact had cost me.

The seven men appeared out of nowhere, in simple leather armour and wielding gleaming swords. I immediately recognised the leader of the group. Alfred Blaxton, heir to the dukedom of Kent, a valued military strategist in his own right, and...infamous beloved of Elinora.

Just the sight of him made every muscle in my body tense with a strange adherence to violence.

Beside him was the newly-made Earl of Devon, whose bushy eyebrows became even more predominant as they arched in a mocking fashion. "Well, well. If it isn't his Highness the Prince Consort. But my eyes must deceive me. He can hold a sword?"

Alfred's eyes were alight with disdain as he looked towards me. "Holding a sword and being able to use one are two very different things."

I felt that cauldron of fury simmering inside, but remained sane enough to place a calming hand on Oslo's shoulder, who was about to surge forward and start a fight.

"I can use a sword as well as I can hold one, General Blaxton, perhaps even better."

The Earl sniggered. "Oooh, would you look at that. The Frenchman speaks English. How lovely."

Before I could respond, Alfred smiled cruelly, and said "Of course he does. How else has he been able to hold on to the Queen?"

I gritted my teeth from releasing vulgar words to showcase exactly how well I knew the English language. "Was there a reason for this interruption, gentleman?"

Alfred bowed mockingly. "Yes, my lord. I was wondering if I could offer my services as a sparring partner, seeing as how yours may not be to your capability."

It was a challenge. That was as clear as day. But what did I care about defending my position next to a woman who wanted everything but to be my wife?

Too much. That was the only answer.

I lifted my chin. "Only if you are not afraid of losing, General."

His eyes glittered with cruelty and malice. "Oh, Your Highness. I do not consider that a possibility."

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