Francis huffed into the lip of his cup. “Ask me not about the fancies of Mistress Grey. The lady has refused to speak with me since your disappearance from court.” My tight grip on the cup slackened. At least Francis was still crushing hard on Alice. There was hope for them yet.
We watched the king swallowed up by a cluster of fawning men.
“I must rescue His Majesty from this weariness,” said Francis, dumping his cup onto a server’s tray.
“Are you upset about Nick and me?” I cut in before he could step away. “About our betrothal?”
His coal eyes pinched at the corners. “I take pleasure in anything His Majesty desires.”
“Francis,” I urged. Maybe it was too much wine making me so insistent, but I didn’t care about the formalities or protocols of the court; I cared about Nick, Alice, and Francis. They were my people here, in a place where I had no family. I needed at least one of them to be real with me. “You said earlier that this was all a surprise,” I added, a little shakily. “But I’m starting to get the feeling that none of it is a good surprise.”
His lips pressed together. “Mistress Grace, it pleases me without end to see His Majesty merry, and the affection between you is plainly genuine.” Once he’d rattled off the expected statement of loyalty, he dropped his voice. “A marriage, however? That will come at a cost higher than you can imagine. England is closer to peace than she has ever been, and our good king does not hunger for war. I wish not to see our realm come to ruin.”
“To ruin?” It was hard not to let my offense show. “That’s the last thing I want.”
Nick knocked past Francis to gently hook my arm in his, drawing the room’s attention with his natural magnetism. Was Francis right to be concerned? Had Nick really made a terrible mistake in choosing me over Henriette of France?
“My dear love,” the king called loudly. The eyes of nearby gentlemen nearly popped from their sockets. “It will please you to see your uncle, the Duke of Norfolk, has presently arrived from his duties in Sussex for this most joyous occasion. His Grace received word only this morning.”
A colossal man stepped through the throng in a navy coat trimmed with black ribbons and dotted with seed pearls. His sausage-sized fingers clutched a hat sprouting an ostrich feather.
The duke dropped into a bow and kissed my hand. “My dear lady and precious niece. It pleasures me beyond measure to look upon you again.”
I felt like I’d walked into a Shakespeare play, except I’d forgotten my lines. When had Nick had the time to convince the Duke of Norfolk to continue this fabrication about being my uncle? But if Norfolk was as thrown about the sudden engagement as everyone else, he didn’t let it show. Courtiers tipped their heads at the duke like he was the King of England himself, and he was legitimizing me to every one of them. I could’ve freaking hugged the old upper cruster. When the duke rose back to his imposing height, a thick gold chain swung from his chest.
“Will you lodge at court awhile, my lord?” Nick said to him.
“Naturally, with His Majesty’s permission.”
“On condition that you wash in haste; you smell like a horse’s chamber pot,” Nick quipped.
Laughter echoed through the hall, Norfolk’s loudest of all.
The duke offered me a gloved hand. “A stroll in the courtyard, madam? All these haughty gentlemen…you must be in need of some air.”
Nick winked at me, sending butterflies to my stomach, before turning into a circle of waiting courtiers that I knew bored him to tears.
I smiled shyly at Norfolk, mentally latching onto him after his endorsement of me. He boldly took my hand, steering me out of the Great Hall and down a stone staircase that led to a drafty gatehouse. A sword swung from his hip as we strolled outside into the clock courtyard, where a smattering of drunken courtiers lay slumped on benches. I paced away from the stomach-churning stench of barf at the base of the wall.
The evening air felt slightly warmer with Norfolk around, like he really was my only family here. His face was attractive for an older man and sharply angled like it was carved from marble. I hadn’t seen my dad in months, but the thought of him still pierced my chest.
“I appreciate you riding all this way to meet me, Lord Norfolk,” I said, hoping that was the right way to address him.
“I bid you to call me Uncle Harry.”
I knew that Norfolk’s real name was Henry Howard and that most Henrys here were called ‘Harry’ for short. He gazed up at the astronomical clock that presided over the courtyard. My eyes followed his, blown away by the giant disc of gold that was tinted cherry-pink by the last hour of daylight.
“I have no true niece, you know,” Norfolk said to me. “Well, until now, I suppose. I will speak plainly; I had not supposed that King Nicholas would marry for pleasure. After the despair it brought to King Harry…to the Queens Mary and Elizabeth. However, I suppose that foolish desire is in the king’s blood.”
My fingers curled, starting to feel the cold. “It’s not foolish desire,” I said in a small voice. “Nick and I have already been through a lot together, and this is the right thing.”
Norfolk grunted. “How would a girl know any measure of what is right for a king?”
We still faced the clock, the waning light masking the crease of disappointment that crept into my skin. Please, no. Not you too, Norfolk.
“I don’t pretend to be anything I’m not,” I finally said, the hypocrisy of that statement shaming me in my period gown. “But I love the king, and I know he loves me. We just want to be together and make each other happy.”
A bark of laughter burst from Norfolk’s throat. Before I could form a response, he took a lofty step inside the gatehouse beneath the clock tower. “Have you yet laid your eyes on this?” he called, aiming a thick finger at the stone ceiling.
I steadied myself and gathered my skirts to follow him, gazing up. Among the intricate stone carvings in the vaulting was the image of a crowned falcon.
“The falcon was the royal badge of Queen Anne Boleyn,” Norfolk explained, like he was narrating a documentary for the history channel. “When King Henry had Queen Anne executed for treason and adultery, he neglected to have the badge removed.”
I’d read up on the Tudors lately. Anne Boleyn wasn’t a royal princess like Henry’s first wife, Katherine of Aragon, but Henry the Eighth had married her out of genuine, passionate love. When he tired of her and met Jane Seymour, however, he had Anne’s head hacked off with a sword.
A burning torch in the wall morphed Norfolk’s striking face into that of a monster’s.
“The necks of foolish girls in love are highly desirable, Mistress Grace. You would be wise to take good care of yours.”
He made a small bow and left me there, frozen solid beneath the relic of a besotted young queen who’d gambled her life on the heart of a Tudor king…and lost her head for it.
3
I hurried back upstairs and into the warmth of the Great Hall, but Nick’s calming face was absent from the thinning crowd of courtiers. There was also no sign of Alice Grey, who must’ve called it a night. I asked after the king, and a guard ushered me into the Presence Chamber. Aside from the guards, Nick and Francis were the only men in the room, and were speaking intently beside the canopy of estate.