I wake with the dawn the next morning. I cannot remember a time when I felt more excited, not even as a child. I dress, barely paying attention in my rush, until I realize that I will be bathing and dressing the queen this morning. Something about that thought makes me apply just a touch extra of color to my cheeks and lips before I depart to meet Margaery. We step inside the queen's bedchambers, and I experience once again the all-too-familiar loss of breath when my eyes settle on her majesty.
She lays, reposed, against the white sheets, her hair fanned out all around her, catching the morning rays of sun. I could be content to look forever, but Margaery has already moved to open the curtains, and I must step quickly to catch up with her. Over the next few hours, I learn all of the morning rituals currently performed by Margaery. The drawing back of the curtains, unlocking the door for the maids who set the fire and prepare the bath, which salts and oils the queen prefers in her bath, and what amounts, undressing the queen…what the skin on the queen's back looks like - an expanse of cream dotted here and there by flecks of nutmeg freckles.
My mouth waters, and I try my best to focus on the task at hand. I am only marginally successful, but I pick it up. Soon the queen is bathed and redressed with makeup applied and hair pinned just so. This is the Catherine I am familiar with. But the Catherine I saw this morning…she is who I want to know.
—
I take to my new station very quickly. For all the amount of closeness the queen allows me, compared with her other ladies, she remains very distant at first, and I don't dare press my luck. She has so few people in her life, maybe she truly prefers the solitude. But I wonder at the lack of visits from the king. Even with two mistresses, it is odd that he finds no time for his wife. Even so, Catherine waits to retire until well past 10pm each night. She makes no move to call for him, but I think she is waiting for him. It pains me to see how alone she is.
I do my best to unobtrusively fill the void, and bit by bit she allows me more space in her day. I begin each of her days with a friendly face, I make sure she has ample amount of food brought to her throughout the day, I read to her each afternoon, and almost every evening after the other ladies retire. While there is still little to no verbal communication, I will take what I can get.
This morning we are preparing a lavish feast for the king's 50th name day. Catherine has spared no detail in making this what is sure to be the most talked about event of the season. I am happy to see the queen out of her chambers, and doing something that brings such joy to her face, but that joy is short lived. The king walks by her, Diane on his arm, without so much as a glance. Nobels stare at her, mocking behind their fans, and she looks so lost. I wonder, as we return to her rooms, what it must feel like to always be fighting such an uphill battle.
That evening, as we sit by the fire, I reading aloud to her and she lost in thought, I hear a slight sniffle. I look up, and am immediately aware that the queen is fighting to control herself. I battle for a moment against letting her know I've seen, but then the situation starts to worsen, and I do the only thing I can do. I complain about the heat and ash from the fire, move over to her and give her my handkerchief - Our hands touch, and there is an electric shock and a moment, removed from time, where my fingertips squeeze hers. And she allows it. - and then move to prod the logs. I can tell she is grateful…her shocked but heart warmed expression follows me as I return to my chair. I look up at her briefly, give her a gentle smile, and am about to return to my book when I realize she is still staring.
I pluck up my courage, and decide I have had enough of reading other's words in her presence. I want to speak my own. "Your majesty," I begin softly. "If I may be so bold, I wanted to thank you for taking me on as your First Lady. It is an honor I never could have dreamed of, and one that I hope someday to be worthy of." A small smile graces her features and she continues to stare, before before looking quickly to the side. I am just beginning to wonder what I've done wrong, when I had a startling realization. The queen has become a solitary creature - when is the last time anyone had a conversation with her?
I cast about for something to say, and my eyes settle on a small tapestry in the corner of the room. It lingers there momentarily, until I feel her gaze on me again. I look back and smile. "It is a beautiful tapestry, your majesty." Startled, she follows my gaze, until she sees it, her expression softens. "Yes. My mother gave it to me on the day of my engagement to Henry. A small piece of home to bring with me to a foreign land." She breaks off, and almost looks sad. "Might I ask what it was like? Growing up in Italy?"
She looks back at me, studying me like I am a puzzle. "And what tales of my childhood would have any interest to you?" she asks. Before I can stop myself, the words tumble out of my mouth - "Your majesty, there isn't a thing about you that wouldn't interest me." She stops short, and a feeling of dread fills my stomach. "Apologies, my queen. I spoke no lie, but I fear I have overstepped." She shakes her head slowly. "No, my dear. I suppose I have grown unaccustomed to being found interesting." I bow my head a bit, waiting for her decision. "I suppose I will consent to tell you a few stories, if you will tell me some of your own. I have grown accustomed to your voice." She falters. "It helps." I smile, and nod.
We start out slowly, fumbling through questions and answers - she asks almost as many as I do, and tells me fantastical stories of her youth. I notice how she shies away from a few key dates, and echoes of the rumors I've heard in the servant's halls about a childhood trauma surface in my mind. But I push them down. It is not my place, nor is it my business to be curious about such things. We stay up late into the night, the firelight bouncing off her face, making her seem like a golden goddess. Sometime after midnight she gets lost in old memories, and I insist that she get some rest. I help her to bed, standing watch over her until she's fast asleep before returning to my own bedchamber, now located right next to Margaery's.
—
From then on, it is me whom she calls on for everything. I am almost always at her side from dawn until dusk, and even meet the king, although not by her design. I have felt his eyes on me for over a week, and have spent much of my time evading him, when he walks in on our reading hour, unannounced. Catherine looks surprised, but a I can see a small glimmer of hope in her eyes. It almost destroys me. That Henry can treat her so, and she can still find a way to love him…he could never deserve her, not if he lived a thousand lifetimes.
His majesty, however, pays his wife no mind, and instead introduces himself to me - I'm sure with the intent of gaining a bedwarmer at least for that night. I can see Catherine, out of the corner of my eye, turn away resignedly. I smile kindly at the King, and steer the conversation toward the novel I am reading aloud to her majesty, asking him what his thoughts are on Chaucer. An older text, I say, but most amusing. Both royals look startled, but I continue in earnest until he loses interest and the matter is dropped. Somehow, I know I've made the right decision, for Catherine seems to pull me even closer to her.
—
The next morning, I notice a tension in my queen's gaze, desire is close to brimming in her eyes as she looks at her husband over breakfast. I stand in the corner, as is my place, and am shocked when Catherine opens her mouth to speak to her husband. "I was pleased by your visit last night, Henry. I had hoped you would stay a bit longer." The king laughed. "And do what?" Catherine recoiled, as if slapped. Henry studied her momentarily, then grabbed a turkey leg and said "We are far past such things, Catherine." My beautiful queen stayed silent for the rest of her meal.
That night I am roused from my sleep by a cry in the dark. I am tying up my robe when I hear it again, and begin racing towards the queen's chambers. I throw open the side doors, and see her, bathed in a shallow shaft of moonlight, bolt upright in her bed, gasping for breath. I rush to her side, and, forgetting myself, kneel on her bed and gently take her face in my hands. "Your majesty." I say, but she stares past me. I try again and again to no avail, and finally breathe out "Catherine." She looks at me, tears dripping down her face, sweat plastering her hair to her forehead. "I'm - I'm sorry." She gasps. I shake my head. "No. No apologies." I rub the back of her hands. "You're fine now. It was just a dream." She nods, staring down at our hands. I wonder, briefly, if I should pull mine away, but I don't.
Instead, I begin to trace delicate patterns on the back of her hands. After a few moments her breathing normalizes, but we both sit, locked in time, staring at her hands in mine for many minutes. She shivers, and I come back to reality. "Might I draw you a bath, your majesty?" She nods.
I stand, slowly letting go of her hands, and cross to draw water and heat a bath. Minutes later I return to collect her. We walk together to the bathing room, and I may just have imagined it, but it feels as though she leans on me a bit. I undress her from her night gown, ashamed at where my thoughts turn, unbidden. Instead, I concentrate on helping her in, and making sure she's comfortable. I rinse off her back, and she leans forward onto herself. As I move to wash her hair she leans back, her entire front floating elegantly in the water, her eyes closed. I allow myself a half a moment to revere her, before moving onto her breasts. Suddenly her eyes flutter and she moans softly. As quick as it comes it's gone, and her eyes widen, and her face flushes with embarrassment.
"Apologies, my queen, I did not intend to -" and just like that she's crying. "Oh no, no your majesty, please -" she shakes her head, eyes squeezed shut. "Your majesty, please -" she reaches out, quick as lightening, and grabs one of my hands with hers, bringing it up to her forehead. I play with the soft hairs at the crown of her head while she tries to calm down. Suddenly, without any warning she offers "Henry hasn't touched me in years." I swallow and stay silent, not sure how my words could help her. "It's just that…and after…I couldn't ever…" she sighs and inhales. "I'm not stone." she says, her voice breaking.
I place a hand under her chin, and lift it up. "I understand." I say, softly, doing my best not to frighten her off. Maintaining eye contact I stand, removing my outer robe to free my arms of the ridiculous sleeves. I kneel before her once more, placing my arm on the side of the tub. "With your majesty's permission?" She swallows hard, but nods, and I dip my fingers into the water.