The blueness was like a shimmering mosaic. It was pretty. Kenna couldn't deny that…but she was confused.
"What's this?" she asked, looking at Bash.
"A wedding ring," said Bash, almost apologetically. "It's modest I know. It belonged to my grandmother."
"Oh."
Kenna looked at the ring; from its rusty band to the mesmerising blue jewel.
"I thought Dianne de Portie came from money."
Stupid. Stupid. Stop saying the first thing that comes to your head. She continued to berate herself, but it was too late, the worlds had already tumbled from her untameable mouth.
Bash sighed heavily. "Well, if you don't want it –"
"I didn't say that!"
Kenna hesitated. Her eyes flickered from Bash to the ring, and her voice softened, "it's…just…why?"
"We're married," said Bash simply. "We can't be unmarried. I thought we agreed to at least try."
Kenna almost laughed at the defeated sound of his voice. It wasn't funny – no one thought more so than herself, but it had been so long since she found anything funny, so she turned her threatening laughter into a sarcastic smile.
"How romantic," she said, rolling her eyes.
She felt herself turning her heart inside out – so that the hostile, unreceptive Kenna was on the outside, but truly, beneath layers of hurt, the serene, open Kenna was on the inside, waiting for someone to knock down her walls.
Kenna slipped the ring onto her finger. It was a perfect fit and a strange sensation swept over her as she looked down at it. "There," she whispered to the ring, "Let's try."
Finally, when she looked up, Bash was staring at her peculiarly. His lips twitched into a small smile. Butterflies fluttered in the pit of Kenna's stomach and she didn't know why.
"There's a promising start," he said.
But promising starts never stayed promising. A few hours later, Kenna found herself in an awkward and unpleasant situation. She had been sitting in the foyer talking to Greer, when King Henry came over and dismissed Greer like she was nothing but an irksome fly.
Whispers flooded through the foyer. Exchanges about King Henry and his whore.
"I get headaches," said Henry eventually.
So? Thought Kenna bitterly. I get headaches every day. Headaches every time I'm in the presence of his majesty. She had the urge to tell him that, but then she remembered he was the King and she was no one of any significance. She was just a bug squashed at the bottom of his royal boot.
"I'm so sorry," she said volubly.
He sat down beside her, before laying his head on her lap. Kenna froze. Every nerve quivered with fear. She sat like a statue, rigid and still.
All of a sudden, the foyer turned into a giant beehive – a buzzing of sniggers and whispers seemed to hang in the air as people gossiped about Kenna. The famous whore. Kenna tried to ignore them, but each whisper felt like a twisting dagger to her heart.
"You're touch," croaked Henry. His thick fingers curled around her wrist and he dragged her hand to his forehead and sighed. "You're touch is so soothing," he murmured.
The whispered grew louder. Kenna wanted to run away, run away to a place where nobody knew her. She wanted to run to be emancipated. Emancipated from her association to Henry, from her marriage to Bash, from the constant rumours at court, but she couldn't…women at court could sink below hell for emancipation…it wasn't real…nothing was real…
Kenna's fingers trailed over the lines of Henry's forehead and she imagined her nails were knives…and then suddenly, he was there, across the foyer. They locked eyes, and Kenna tried to put many unsaid things into that exchange and maybe Bash understood them, because he swallowed thickly, before walking forward. He didn't look around. If he did, he'd probably slaughter half the people in the room for their rude whispers. He saw Kenna sitting on the couch, with Henry sprawled across her lap like a drunken man. He saw her fear. The way her eyes widened, rimmed with beautiful long eyelashes. He knew what he needed to do. That was all. Nothing else mattered. He needed to help his wife.
"Father," he said, striding forward with confidence.
"Mmm?" said Henry absently.
"Father." Bash knelt down at Kenna's feet, like a man begging for forgiveness, but the words were for his father. "I think Queen Penelope's getting jealous. You know how women are."
Henry sighed and pushed himself off Kenna roughly. Bash saw her flinch. He had the urge to grab her hand, to comfort her in a way he didn't know how.
"It's a burden sometimes," sighed Henry as he got up and walked away.
Bash and Kenna stared at each other for a long time.
He's going to yell at me for being with Henry again, thought Kenna. She looked at him, waiting for him to explode…waiting for him to whisper about her just like the whole castle did…but he didn't.
Slowly, he stood up and held out his hand. All Kenna could think of was the last time, she had grabbed his hand was when she was lying half-naked in her bed. Their bed. Before Kenna realised it, Bash's hand reached out – his fingers caked with dirt and his knuckles swollen from fencing with Francis – and he took tight hold of her hand, lacing his fingers through hers. Kenna returned the pressure and allowed him to lead her up and away from the foyer.
"I wasn't expecting to see you here," she said honestly.
"Because Mary's not here?" enquired Bash. Bash knew he had guessed right by the look on Kenna's face and he added hastily, "I didn't come looking for Mary. I was worried about you."
"Why?"
"Because you're not safe in this castle and I will always defend you, because you're my wife."
You are my wife. You are my wife. The words echoed and rattled around in Kenna's brain. He doesn't love me. She looked into his eyes. But he doesn't hate me either. He's trying, and maybe I'm trying too.
For the first time in a week, Kenna smiled.
