Chapter 2 – Ties Breaking, Ties Binding: Cecily woke early on the morning of her wedding, even before she would be called to begin preparing. She was alone in the bed, at her own insistence, and even her Lady Governess – or duenna, as such a woman was called here – Lady Anne Herbert, had not been able to dissuade her. Cecily knew that a maid was asleep on a pallet outside her chamber door in case she needed some service in the night, but she did not require one, not truly.
There was a window seat in her bedchamber, her favorite thing about the room already. She crossed to it, bare feet silent on the rushes that covered the stone floor, and sat down, drawing her knees to her chest underneath her nightdress. Her plaited dark hair fell over one shoulder and in the pale light of the rising sun, anyone who saw her would have thought she looked like a lost little girl, not a princess on her wedding day.
Cecily felt lost. But there was something that both her stepmother, forever gone from her homeland, and her mother, who had been raised far from home, had told her. That she could look at the sky, the sun, moon, and stars, and know that their light shone on her home and family as well. It wasn't the comfort now that it had seemed then, but... It was something, she supposed. And more than she would have if she disdained the idea.
So Cecily spent her last hours as an English princess watching the sun rise over Spain, and telling herself that the same sun rose over Whitehall, and Ludlow, and Eltham too. Those were the homes of her family, and it did help a little to think of it. She still sat up when Lady Herbert came bustling in.
Anne Herbert was the younger sister to Cecily's second godmother, the Countess of Surrey, Kate Howard. Kate was her mother's chief lady, and Anne had certainly picked up the same skill for efficient running of a household; even Cecily was bewildered by the speed with which she found herself in a metal tub of hot water, the heat of it flushing her pale skin. A maidservant took up her hair and rubbed it with black silk coated in a sweet-smelling oil – apparently it was to bring shine and color to her hair.
Dressing took longer than usual of course, as she was laced into an elaborate dress of silvery-blue silk. The bodice was all silver thread, and shimmered faintly. The skirts whispered quietly around her as she moved, and the silver-lace mantilla she wore – on Katherine's advice – looked beautiful over her black hair. Her necklace and earrings were sapphires set in silver, a gift from her father and mother from last Christmas. She had insisted on wearing them rather than something new.
Staring at her in the mirror was a Spanish princess, she could not deny it. A Spanish princess who was about to become the queen-in-waiting, the highest lady in the land since the Emperor's wife was long dead. It might not be her wish, but there was no escaping facts. At least she spoke the language. It would make things easier for her than it often was for princesses far from home, who did not speak the tongue of their new land.
It would be easier. Even if she had to endure that arrogant young man as her husband. She would have to learn to live with him, she supposed. There were worse things – at least she couldn't see him being like her ancestor Henry II, who had locked away his wife Eleanor of Aquitaine for long years. Cecily knew Queen Eleanor had plotted against her husband, and of course Cecily herself would never be such a fool, but the point stood.
She would be better off than her sister Mary's grandmother, who had spent her childhood on a knife's edge. Or Katherine, forced to wait in growing poverty for seven years to see if she would be widow or wife in England, or Cecily's own mother, who had nearly been murdered to satisfy the ambition of her unnoticed rival. No matter what irritations she faced, it would be better for her than that.
With that thought in mind, Cecily lifted her chin and flashed the mirror a winning smile that only a princess of Tudor and Boleyn blood, raised with the added influence of a woman born and bred to royalty, could manage. And she walked from the room to be married, no one but perhaps her two relations Missy and Kitty aware of how much of it was a mere performance for the eyes that would be forever on her.
"I don't see the problem," Luis de Requenses said dryly as he watched Philip pace his office. "I mean, honestly, Your Highness, she's a lovely girl and it's not as though she would be the first you've bedded." He was one of the only people allowed to speak so bluntly to the Prince, and though he was careful not to abuse that, he did know when to use it.
Philip rolled his eyes. "She's lovely, but she's an utter harpy under it, Luis! I never wanted to marry her, I hated her from the moment I saw her, so why should that change?"
"Perhaps because you were seven years old and she four when you first met, and you don't really know if either of you still have the qualities that made you hate each other so much?" Luis asked, his voice mild as he pointed out something that had seemed obvious to him.
"Her blood is not good enough for mine. Her grandfather was a mere knight until his daughter caught Henry of England's eye, and she's not even the Queen. Only a handmaid promoted for having a son, little better than a mistress if one is being honest."
"She's the descendant of the Plantagenets through her father, and they've been the royal family of England for centuries, one branch of them or another. Really, though, you don't have a choice about marrying her; surely the two of you can come to some kind of truce so that your union isn't a misery." That was the sensible approach to marriage, after all. Almost no one got to choose their spouse, so it was up to the couple in question to find ways to cope with the situation and keep their lives from being miserable.
Philip scowled and probably would have flung himself into his chair were he not too aware of his royal dignity – and his wedding clothes, which were part of that, Luis noted dryly – to act entirely like a petulant child. "You're just determined to make me the wrong one here, aren't you?"
"No, of course not," Luis said cautiously. "I want you to be happy, Your Highness. You and I have often been as brothers, and so I want to see you have a pleasant marriage. I think you can make that happen if you try to. I just want to help."
The smile his old friend gave him was wry, and Luis relaxed. Philip was generally easy to get along with, and he appreciated his friends. It made life easier for those around him. The prince shook his head, and then said, "Well. Perhaps you have a point, Luis. I can certainly think of worse methods of coping with this... situation."
Standing in front of the priest as the Latin words echoed in her ears, Cecily felt as though she were being cast adrift. This was it. She was being bound to Philip, yes, but more she was being bound to Spain. She no longer belonged to England, and it felt so wrong. Still, she kept the polite, distant smile she'd learned as a small child firmly on her face. It was easy, almost too easy, to do so.
She said all the words she was supposed to say, felt Philip slide a ring onto her finger before doing the same for him, and lifted her face for a brief, cool kiss as the ceremony ended. She did it all feeling strangely numb. Was she supposed to be happy? Her father had taken his consorts for love, even though in Katherine's case it had also brought him an alliance. Mary was the same, and Kate, who had been almost an honorary aunt to her, had also had the good fortune to marry for love. Even Missy's mother, her Aunt Mary, had managed that! Of course they had been happy in their marriages. But she was not so fortunate.
At the wedding feast, Philip invited her and her ladies to perform an English dance for the court, a hint of mockery well-hidden in his eyes. It was, Cecily thought, almost a blessing that he had done so, as it shook her from her state of vague detachment. He'd spoken in Latin, obviously not realizing that she spoke Spanish. Which made sense; their formal letters had always been in Latin as well.
"As my lord commands," she said in perfect Spanish. Her accent was, perhaps, a bit dated, as it was modeled on Katherine's, but it was still a Spanish accent. Her French was nearly as good, thanks to her mother, but right now that was irrelevant. She had the joy of seeing Philip's eyes widen slightly in shock, and the feel that she had won a point from him. Yet she couldn't help but notice that when he lost that arrogant look, even for a moment, he looked at least as handsome any of the attractive young men she'd surreptitiously admired back home, and better-looking than some. It was a disconcerting thought, and she shoved it aside as she walked out into the space that had been cleared for her and her ladies.
She partnered with Missy, of course, and they danced as they had so many times in their childhood together, learning the steps carefully. There was an understanding between them, that everyone else in Cecily's household was aware of. Cecily was the princess, so of course she always went first. But regardless of age or rank, Missy was always second, always the one at Cecily's side. That was true even in something as trivial as a dance in front of the courtiers who populated her new home.
But later that night, it wasn't Missy that Cecily wished to speak to alone. It was Kitty. Technically, she should be asking Lady Herbert about this, not Kitty, but she couldn't see herself speaking to her Lady Governess about this. She and her mother had discussed it a little, enough so that Cecily was aware of the particulars, but...
"Can it be enjoyable for women too, lying with a man?" she asked, feeling her cheeks heat up as she did so. Kitty raised her eyebrows, clearly surprised that Cecily would ask, but then she smiled mischievously.
"Oh, it can be great fun. But I thought you didn't like him."
"I don't. But I have no desire to be miserable either, and the more about this marriage that is pleasant, the more tolerable it will be. So, I wondered..."
Kitty tilted her head, surveying Cecily the way she had so many times before, to give a verdict on some new article of clothing or piece of jewelry. Kitty had a sense of style that could rival Cecily's own mother's, so her cousin's advice had often been invaluable. "Well, you're a princess, not a younger son's youngest daughter, as I am, so you have to behave yourself far more than I did! Still..." She reached forward and unplaited Cecily's hair, brushing out until it fell in shiny dark waves around her face. "You don't want to look like a girl. And smile at him, make him feel welcome. They've given you wine, that should help you both to be more friendly!"
There were other bits of advice, things that made Cecily's cheeks burn and she couldn't help but wonder if Kitty had learned all of this after her marriage. Some of it she was sure she would never put to use, but it was better to have too much knowledge than not enough. She was sure of that.
She was glad when she was left alone, though, relieved at least that she didn't have to go through what her aunt Margaret had in Portugal. She'd overheard something about it once, the marriage being consummated in front of half the court, which was just horrible to think about. But all she had to do was wait in the dim silence of her new bedchamber. Not a bad alternative, all in all.
Philip had been shocked by Cecily's strong grasp of Spanish, but he'd also been stunned by how her clear pleasure in the dance, among her ladies, changed her. She looked almost like a girl he would want to take to bed, when she was smiling and cheerful. Perhaps Luis had been right.
He finally shook off his laughing friends at the bedchamber door, entering the room to find Cecily sitting on the edge of the bed, dark hair loose around her face. She stood up when he came in, watching him warily. He supposed he appeared similarly watchful, but then, what did either of them expect?
He took up a goblet of wine and then handed the second to her before he drained his own. She sipped hers before setting it on the table, lifting her chin and crossing the room until she stood before him. "I know how this goes," she said calmly. "If there's a reason you're waiting..."
"You'd best not know too well," Philip shot back, and Cecily's eyes narrowed. He saw her hand jerk up slightly, as if she meant to slap him, but she stopped herself.
"Of course not," she said silkily, slanting him a look which reminded him that she was the daughter of a woman who had risen to the second-highest place a woman could reach, on the strength of being irresistible. He still hated her, for the stubbornness that clearly hadn't faded in the intervening years, but... Luis was right, she was attractive.
Stepping forward, he took her wrist to pull her closer, and she went without fighting him, to his surprise. That was when he saw the challenge in her eyes and understood; this was to be one more battle between them, but this one, at least, could be pleasant if they allowed it.
A/N: Yeah... I have no excuses for how long this took, unless you count the Inception fandom basically kidnapping my inspiration.