He was dead at last.
Two seemingly endless and endlessly horrendous years of marriage brought to a halt in a few short hours. A hunting accident. Dogs under hoof and a head thick with drink. Just how he would have wished it.
Even in passing he had few kind words for his reluctant wife, never knowing that though she preferred not to share the marriage bed, or much of his company he had, none the less, saved her from this.
This.
Standing in a smelly throng of silks, sashes and batting eyelashes, all trying to catch the eye of the King. Her feet were cold, her gown heavy, the wine was watered and her father's manservant kept pushing her closer, and closer to each and every eligible lordling within sight.
She sighed and her eyes wandered, they found themselves on the Young King and the Old Queen.
A bittersweet story, that.
The Queen, heir-less and now beyond child bearing age, had lost her beloved Husband and to preserve the dynasty, made to marry the last surviving member of the Old King's bloodline. Her nephew. What awkward pillow talk that must have made. Still, at such an age, the lady had yet to lose her looks. Statuesque in stature with a strong-willed, smooth brow and indeed a winning smile. Great gusto still flew from her lungs when she sang, and an accomplished artist and musician as well. When the poor Queen emerged from mourning, her natural gregarious humour had cooled some, but her smile rarely left her face these days.
The Queen looked comfortable enough with her new partner. A pleasant looking marriage. See how he speaks close and without a dismissive air. He looks at her face and smiles. To truly please your mate just by being near, a wonderful thing and a lovely fate this poor lady, poked and prodded by the skeletal elbows of the pretty maids all around her, could never envision for herself.
A fantasy.
See how they whisper like they conspire some amusing scheme, see how he offers his hand with care to help her from her seat, down the stairs, and in her direction?
Oh lord.
Her direction.
Two years since she'd been in royal company, could she remember how to curtsy? The intent was clear, all but her Father's man sank away, leaving this woman standing like an awkward column in the middle of the room.
"Lady Ellena I believe." The Queen sighed. Gently observing the confusion of the younger woman before her.
Lady Ellena gracefully sank low, "Majesty"
"Rise, child. I find I am in need of some fresh, young and pretty minds in my midst. Would you join me here at court and leave your Father's stuffy house a while?"
Ellena's voice betrayed the excitement she felt at the idea of leaving said house.
"My Queen it would give me great pleasure to accompany you." With a chuckle, the Queen spoke as she turned to her husband,
"Then I will have your chambers prepared, it may take a few days. For now I leave you to the court and my King. I find myself weary and wish to retire."
"Shall I follow, my Queen?" He taunted with a surprisingly lecherous look.
"Tosh! Silly boy, chase the skirts and leave me to my slumber!"
With a kiss on his cheek the Queen strolled towards the main doors, speaking with many of those she passed.
Lady Ellena was still stunned by the Queen's offer, and only roused from her reverie when she realized she had been led to the centre of the floor and on the arm of the King as the minstrels began a new tune.
