The Forgotten Princess (Forgotten Royals)

Chapter Six

Light dazzled the Great Hall, chasing away the shadows of winter. The brightness was almost too much for me, and I fought the urge to melt back into the shadows. Surrounded by the greatest nobles in the realm, I felt like nothing. Furs and jewels, with women wearing the finest headdresses I had ever seen while I was once again in my simple white gown. I squared my shoulders and refused to run away. My circumstances might be difficult, but I was just as important as anyone there. The Lancaster royal family wouldn't win.

I wasn't going to flee in humiliation.

I had never intended to attend the Twelfth Night feast and had never been allowed to celebrate in earlier years. Curiosity always burned inside of me about it, but Mama has said that celebration was a bit riotous for someone my age. I had been certain once I turned seventeen, my mother would relent and I would finally understand the secret smiles women gave the next day.

Now Mama's reluctance made sense as a man who smelled like he bathed in wine lurched at me. I went as still as helpless prey, unsure if I should scream for assistance or if I would doom my cause by insulting a possible friend of the king. Then his eyes widened, recognizing me as the Mortimer girl. If I was still important, he would have apologized to me right away. Instead, he stared as if trying to decide whether I was worth it until his drinking got the best of him. He turned, vomiting right on the floor of the Great Hall, so close that it almost splattered my pure white dress. Grateful for an excuse to hasten away, I picked up my skirt and bolted through the crowd.

A shaky breath escaped me. All I wanted was to retreat to my room, but Prince Hal insisted on my attendance.

"You can't leave before getting your Twelfth Night present," he had said with such sincerity that I ignored my instincts and Catrin's warnings.

His hopeful words lured me like a siren's song, but now that I found myself in the middle of the revelers, I feared this was another game. More people would see how low the Mortimers had fallen. When I was seated, no gentleman chose to sit beside me. No one spoke to me and familiar, friendly faces looked through me as if I were nothing. A ghost of a princess who had never lived at all.

Not that I could blame them for it. Life at court was a perilous game. Bishops could lose their head for the wrong move. Only a complete fool would choose to speak with a Mortimer.

"Lady Anne, you look beautiful."

I took a sideways glance as Richard approached. Though relieved to have an ally during this wild night, I refused to show any helplessness. "You are surrounded by some of the most beautiful women in the kingdom, my lord. How could you notice me?"

He bowed and sat beside me. "I notice no one else."

The likely truth was no other lady would give him time. I couldn't imagine what other reason he would waste his time on a girl who could offer him nothing.

"Liar," I said, but shot him a cheeky grin. "Surely someone has caught your eye, my lord? The Earl of Westmorland's daughter? Or perhaps the newly widowed Constance Holland?"

Envy stirred as I glanced at Constance. Her husband had been executed as a traitor in the summer, but she would never have to suffer. She was the king's niece and the queen of the night. Eighteen and with a marriage that had never been consummated, no shadow of treason hung over her. The granddaughter of the fairest woman ever born in England, she inherited Joan of Kent's ethereal beauty. She sparkled in jewels and men flocked around her.

Richard let out a bark of laughter as if I had said something very amusing.

"What?" I asked, a little disconcerted by his reaction. "Who wouldn't want her? One of the most beautiful maidens in the land, and she has her uncle's favor. If I were a man, I'd try."