Daughter of Time

July 1554

Winchester Palace

The evening rain is beating down heavily against the windows, but the echoing sound is of my impatient footsteps on the wooden floor of the gallery, which seems to me, the loudest of noises.

My anxiety, excitement and eager anticipation have collided into overhyped pacing. I had initially baulked at the idea of marriage, but now I wish that I had not done so. If I had not been so indecisive, I would not be pacing the floors of the gallery at Winchester now like a woman possessed.

In a few moments, Prince Phillip will be here. After so many long days and nights, staring at the Titan masterpiece of a portrait that depicts him, I am finally soon to see him in the flesh.

I call for the looking glass, to inspect my appearance, making sure that all is perfect, for my first meeting with my husband. No effort, or money, has been spared to make this evening special for His Highness and I hope to be worthy of so great a Prince.

My gown of black velvet looks even darker than its original colour in the candlelight and would look very severe, if not for the under parchment, which is of frosted silver. The jewels I have been given by the Emperor and His Highness to commentate this happy event, are fastened proudly to my bodice. Whilst the jewels on my hood twinkle in the candlelight like multicoloured stars.
With the exception of my coronation gown, I do not think I have ever looked so regal, so Queen-like.
I am satisfied and wave it away. I only hope I am worthy of the Prince. After all, he is several years my junior. Famously handsome, pious and learned. He could have married any woman he wanted and I am sure there have been many who would have been only too glad to have him. I hope he will not be disappointed in me. 

I hear a noise from outside. It is the door from the gardens to the gallery. He is on his way!

My breath is suddenly shallow, my palms are clammy, and I cannot sit still. I resume my pacing of the floor, as the muffled sounds of footsteps coming up the stairs, which are agonizingly slow come closer from the door.

The footsteps become louder and clearer, I hurry to the door from the other side of the room. Steady my breath, fold my agitated hands at my front and force myself to remain still.

The gallery door swings open revealing Prince Phillip, and there he stands. My husband!

My god! He is the most handsome man I have ever seen. He is smaller than I thought he would be, but every bit as handsome. So handsome, far more so than his portrait depicted him. This paragon, this perfect example of manliness is to be my husband.
He is wearing the black velvet suit embroidered in silver that I had commissioned for him. We match!

My cheeks begin to feel very hot. I suddenly want him to see me, to look at me like a woman, not a Queen. Do I please him? Am I as attractive to him as he is for me? God forgive me for such thoughts. I am not yet his wife.

"His Highness, Prince Phillip of Spain, Archduke of Austria, Duke of Milan, Burgundy and Brabant, Count of Habsburg, Flanders and Tyrol".[

I step toward him, take his hand and kiss it. A heavy yet pleasant scent clings to him, a crisp mingling of dampened velvet, starched linen and shaving soap.

He sweeps his hat from his head, bows low and kisses me on the mouth. His soft lips pressed against mine.

I feel myself melting at his touch. As if my insides have turned to liquid. My stomach is in knots, my heart is pounding, and my breathing has become rapid and shallow once again.

I should welcome him. Greet him with some kind words but my voice fails me. I am so struck by him.

Thankfully the Prince is not so tongue-tied. "Your Majesty, it is my honour to present myself before you." He says, taking my hand and kissing it before sweeping into an elegant bow.