Emmie and the Tudor Queen

by Natalie Murray

  It was just my luck that the moronic Duke of Norfolk was tucked away on a bench within a coterie of standing councilors, like he was the king holding court. Beneath the cloak of nightfall, the men didn’t appear to see me as I scaled a short hedge and landed within a tangle of rosemary in a strip of greenery that ran alongside the pathway. I felt bad for the well-tended garden, but I’d sooner bash my way through rose thorns than have those jerks question why I was fleeing the feast.

  The memory of Nick’s lips touching Lucinda’s plunged a stake into my heart and twisted it. Had she been playing me this entire time? God, had he? I squashed the unbearable thought and continued silently along the shadowy garden bed, attempting to sneak past the men without being noticed.

  “…His Majesty’s private inclinations,” one of them said.

  “The king’s marriage is no matter of privacy,” snapped the Duke of Norfolk. My satin heels stilled in the dirt, every inch of me listening. “King Nicholas’s decision to marry this featherbrained girl instead of a blood royal will lose him the affections of the people and give cause for civil war.”

  “I suspect the people may come to love her,” argued the first man. “She has some quality of allure.”

  Baron Wharton grunted. “This marriage is no more than a laughingstock. It does naught to further the realm and may even bring England’s standing to ruin.” Lord Wharton spoke robustly, and the others shushed him.

  “But to petition against your niece,” the first man said to Norfolk. “Surely you desire such a match?”

  The duke scoffed. “Half the silly girls in England may lay claim to be my niece. My brother was quite the ladies’ man.”

  Rambunctious laughter exploded, chased by more shushing.

  “Mistress Grace is no more than a nobleman’s daughter,” said Norfolk. “You can be certain that she is of little value to me.”

  Not even a nobleman’s daughter, idiot. Plus, it’s Lady Pembroke to you. I still wanted to snort at that name.

  “The girl has plainly poisoned His Majesty’s mind,” Wharton said. “He has a foolish devotion to her. She can have any pillock in England; she need not have our king.”

  Norfolk’s voice dropped. “Are we all in agreement that this marriage cannot move forward? We have need for swift action.”

  I expected some contention—especially from the guy who defended me at the start—but there were only murmurs of acceptance.

  A blast of trumpets nearly jolted me into a hedge. Sheathed swords swung from the men’s leather belts as they scampered away to the riverside banqueting house to guzzle the king’s expensive delicacies.

  Backstabbers. I huffed quietly to myself.

  We have need for swift action. What did that even mean?

  Surely nobody would dream of attacking the king, but it’d only take a single blow from one of those mighty swords to my heart—or Nick’s—to end our relationship for good. We couldn’t exactly marry if one of us was in the ground.

  I’d put the King of England in danger again by being here.

  Double damn and all the freaking bad words. I climbed back over the hedge and trudged up the path leading to the banqueting house, feeling the torchlights cast me back into the limelight. A guard buckled almost to his knees at the sight of me and called off his mini search party. It was obvious that Nick had already realized I was missing from the feast and had ordered the guards to find me or suffer the king’s wrath. The guard looked so relieved to see me that he made the sign of the cross. Jeez, I’d only been gone for ten minutes.

  The banqueting house smelled like a country fair, with rustic parcels of peaches, oranges, radishes, parsnips, carrots, and onions hanging from the candlelit eaves. The king sat on his throne beneath a canopy of odorless deep-purple daisies that wouldn’t bother his asthma, with Francis whispering into his ear. Nick’s hand gripped the back of my empty chair to his left, his body angled toward it. I untied my mask and braced myself as I approached the dais.

  “For the love of God,” Nick cried as I slid into my seat. Francis slumped forward with visible relief. He’d probably had to handle Nick’s panic over my disappearance.

  “To where did you vanish?” Nick huffed as Bridget scrambled onto the platform to help me with my dress like it was my bridal gown. There were too many faces in the stately chamber to find Lucinda Parker’s. “Why do you smell of rosemary?” Nick added, studying me.

  “I’m fine,” I snapped at the fussing Bridget, shame sending heat to my face. She bowed and returned to a table beside the angel’s wings sculpted from wheat fronds. There sat Alice and Lucinda, murmuring at each other through cheerful grins. My cheeks felt like they had turned to stone.

  “I just went for a walk,” I said to Nick, looking at the decorative floral crusts of the blackberry pies on a nearby table. Anywhere but at him.

  “Yes?” he prodded.

  “I saw…” My voice trembled. Nick’s hand had curled into a fist over the purple-and-gold table runner. A cook was shucking oysters before the king, each sticky clack unsettling my nerves.

  I saw Lucinda Parker kiss you.

  “I saw the Duke of Norfolk with some of the privy councilors, including Lord Wharton,” I said under my breath. “They were talking about our marriage, and Norfolk encouraged them to try to stop it.”

  Nick’s face twisted with disbelief as Francis hunched forward, also listening.

  “They said they were going to take swift action,” I continued. “There were five of them, and they’re all sitting with Norfolk now.” I subtly gestured toward the treasonous gang.

  Nick lurched forward and snatched the knife right out of the oyster chef’s hand.

  “Majesty,” Francis hissed, slamming his palm over Nick’s wrist. The cook scurried away to safety.

  “You are certain?” Nick asked me, his eyes flaming jewels of aquamarine.

  “One hundred percent.”

  “Majesty, it would do well to remain calm,” Francis cautioned, sliding the knife away from the king.

  Nick’s hands were now tight fists of white skin. “No man may question the pleasure of their sovereign king,” he said through his teeth. “All are bound by God to obey me.”

  Francis’s curls tipped in a gesture of submission. “My gracious lord, I caution you to consider the cause of such plotting between Norfolk and the councilmen before they increase in numbers.” He shot me an uneasy glance. “A king’s marriage should bring greater power and esteem to the realm. What case have you made for Lady Pembroke, who offers no such benefit?”

  Nick slammed his fist down so hard that the table shook. The musicians were trained to play loudly enough so guests couldn’t hear Nick’s conversations, but nervous faces peeked at the evidently furious king.

  “Any man who does not have his king’s welfare at heart will be summoned before me to explain himself—no matter his station,” he warned Francis in a steely tone.

  The earl returned an obedient nod. “You shall continue to find me your most true and faithful servant, Your Grace.”

  Humiliation scorched my cheeks over hearing Francis still overtly questioning our relationship, especially given how I’d just gone in to bat for him with Alice. No matter how much Nick and I loved each other, it would never be enough for Francis, who wanted his king to be politically secure above all things. But I truly believed that he genuinely loved Nick too much to ever cross a line the way Norfolk had and conspire to stop the marriage.

  Nick sat stewing over his wine cup before he smacked it across the table, sending red droplets flying like blood splatter. “I cannot even look at these faithless cod’s heads,” he snapped at Francis. “You will arrest every member of the Privy Council on the grounds of sedition. Interrogate them all and make ready a warrant of execution for those found guilty.”

  Francis’s face mirrored my own horror. “Majesty, the entire council? I beseech you—”

  “You dare question me!” Nick grabbed him by his ruffled collar and yanked him to his
feet.

  “Nick!” I chastised, and he squeezed the fabric with barely contained fury before releasing Francis.

  “No man shall ever speak on matters of my marriage!” Nick bellowed to the chamber of nobles, every face a white sheet. “Those who offend the will of their anointed king will find themselves on trial for high treason.” He thrust both hands beneath the dining table and shoved it forward, sending gold platters and cups clanging across the tiled floor.

  A moment of chilling silence followed before Nick grabbed my arm and marched me out beneath a procession of arches woven from wheat fronds.

  “Let go of me!” I cried when we were safely out of earshot. I was hot with rage at how Nick had treated me in public, not to mention the violent outburst that had Nicholas the Ironheart written all over it.

  He was already calmer and halted on the path, but I was just getting started. I continued my brisk pace toward the palace.

  “Lady Pembroke, I command you to stop,” he called after me. I didn’t break my stride. One of the guards stayed close to me, awkwardly passing by the king. I couldn’t care less what they thought of us.

  “Vexatious girl,” Nick huffed before he briskly caught up again. He dashed in front of me, pacing backward while I charged forward. “Christ, Emmie, I bid you to speak your ill feeling!”

  At that moment, I just couldn’t. Lucinda…Norfolk…Nick’s scary eruption and talk of executions…the relentless pressure to become a convincing Tudor queen overnight. Where do I even freaking start!

  “Blessed girl, I love you,” said Nick. He stopped still at my onrush, and I banged right into his sternum. I spun away to face the sundial, my stomach a hollow cave.

  I could hardly get the words out. “If you love me, then why did you sneak off into a private part of the garden with Lucinda Parker and let her kiss you?”

  Nick gasped. “Who said such things to you?”

  “I saw you!” I clenched away the urge to shove him with both hands. “To be honest, you both looked pretty cozy.” His silhouette wobbled through the tears threatening my eyes.

  He dismissed the comment with a shake of his head. “It was nothing of the sort. Mistress Parker’s daughter has taken ill—a private matter—and she bid me aside to ask for my assistance. As she is your lady, I granted it. Mistress Parker’s kiss was no more than a gesture of gratitude.”

  “A gesture of gratitude?” The words ripped through my bewildered laugh.

  He took my shoulders and swirled me to face him. “Do not make more of this than it is. Do you know that it is considered polite in this realm to kiss another man’s wife before first entering his home? You stake too much in a chaste kiss. Mistress Parker brought her lips to mine for scarcely a moment, did you not see?”

  “Just…please!” I waved my hands to shut him up. I didn’t want to imagine any more lip-locking than I’d already seen.

  Nick’s palms kneaded his forehead. “Christ, I would sooner see Mistress Parker banished from court than have you doubt my devotion to you.”

  “No.” My jaw hardened. “You know that she’s got a sick baby, and she needs the money.” The memory of Lucinda’s plight roused another thought. “She also said that you raised the people’s taxes to pay for my coronation…people now can’t afford medicine for their babies.”

  Nick crossed his arms. “And by what means do you expect me to pay for the crowning of your person, my lady? Have you found coin growing upon trees in this realm?”

  “Haven’t you got something like sixty palaces?” I countered, vindictively repeating what he’d once shared with me with such pride.

  He paced away from me before circling back with frustration. “I fear that you understand nothing. Not me, not mine intentions, not my wishes, not my kingdom, nor my decisions.”

  “That’s not true,” I said, seizing the chance to air what’d been plaguing my mind most of all. “But there is one thing I don’t get: why you would ask me to destroy a ring that’s literally the only way I could ever see my family again. I’d never ask that of you.”

  He expelled a heavy breath. “Emmie, it is not so much the ring as that I feel you have one foot in this thing and one foot out. This night alone proves this marriage to be a battle hard-won, it is true. I cannot turn any which way in this place without meeting a lord who believes he has the right to interfere in the subject of my marriage. But I am the king, and I will choose mine own wife. That choice is you, in spite of the falseness of my subjects and the losses I must endure. Is it not fair that I wish not to lose you, too?”

  My throat sealed shut. All this time, Nick had been sensing my trepidation about becoming queen and assuming that it was him that I was unsure about.

  “You won’t lose me,” I said, stepping closer to him. “You are the only reason I’m here. But if you need me to destroy the ring to prove it, then I’m not ready for that yet. So I’m sorry, but the answer to that is a hard ‘no’.”

  The grind of boots on gravel severed the cord of tension between us. Francis Beaumont bowed to the king from the shadows. “Your Grace, the members of the Privy Council have been seized, as you wish, and are being taken to the Tower.”

  Nick squared his shoulders. “You have pleased your king. Now, I instruct you not to draw Lady Pembroke into this matter any further. My lady has been burdened enough. You will lead the interrogation of the councilors and determine who is to be charged.”

  Francis offered a stiff, reluctant bow before leaving us alone. Nick shrugged off his velvety coat that smelled like freshly cut roses and draped it over me.

  “I don’t want those men to be killed because of me,” I said to him. “I’ve never been a fan of the death penalty.”

  His bottom lip disappeared between his teeth. “A king cannot appear weak, Emmie.”

  “No one heard their seditious words but me,” I argued. “If they’re found guilty, can’t you keep them locked up instead? You can’t behead them just because they don’t like me. It’ll sicken me with guilt. It’s not the way things are done where I’m from.”

  He took my chin between his thumb and forefinger and brought his lips close to mine. “How any man can think ill of you, I will never know,” he said, the heat of his breath tickling my skin. His hand slid down to rest on my shoulder. “If it shall please your heart, then I will pursue imprisonment for those convicted of speaking out against our marriage and forgo the scaffold. However, I cannot make the same pledge for those who are found to have plotted against your life or mine.”

  “That’s fair.” My fingers found his and held tight. “My only worry is what Norfolk knows about me. He could tell people that you asked him to lie about being my uncle.” I hushed my voice so the guards couldn’t hear, not that they’d ever speak out.

  Nick’s eyes shone brighter than the cabochon emeralds sewn into his doublet. “If that dimwit Norfolk would be so foolish as to make that claim, I will heartily refute it. You would have the word of a king to support you, my lady. There is none stronger than that.”

  The next week that passed was eerily quiet at court. Only six members of the king’s council had been cleared by Francis to return to work; the rest were embroiled in a trial that I wasn’t allowed to witness. Nick assured me that any punishments resulting from the matter would be imprisonment and not execution, but Alice thought that was a fairy story. While she painted on my makeup one morning after breakfast, we debated over how merciful King Nick really was. For every example Alice had of a violent beheading ordered by the king, I had zero rebuttal. My only choice was to trust that my boyfriend wouldn’t lie to my face—including about getting snuggly with his ex.

  At least Lucinda Parker had taken leave from court to visit her daughter, assuming that poor Ellie was still alive. While the thought of seeing Lucinda still turned my stomach, I’d simmered a little on the whole kiss thing. Alice told me she’d given plenty of men a peck on the lips without any hint of flirtation, and even Bridget thought it was common practice, despite her obsessio
ns with romantic passion.

  For now, my wedding and coronation were proceeding like nothing had happened with Norfolk and his treasonous tribe. Nick was full steam ahead on the marriage mission, and I sensed that he was trying to prove his affection for me more than ever after the Lucinda incident.

  The week after the Michelmas train wreck, the painter George Gower rode into court on king’s orders to compose my formal portrait.

  I was never gifted at sitting still for long periods, but posing for a taciturn artist was the break I needed from the pressures of my lessons. I didn’t have to pretend to speak Shakespearean to anyone, perform an oddball Renaissance dance, or play an instrument I’d never even heard of. Gower only needed me to sit deathly still, and it took all the mental space I had to keep my feet from falling asleep. I focused on a pretty fringed cushion in the chair behind him, my fingers clasping a single red rose. Nick had sent in a harpist to keep me entertained, and the glittery tune lulled me into a blissful meditation.

  Just before supper, the oak doors swung open, shocking me from my trance. “His Majesty the King!” cried a guard.

  “Your Grace, the portrait is not yet complete,” spluttered Gower in a deep bow.

  “I wish to see it not,” Nick replied, covering his eyes as he sidestepped the canvas to approach me.

  I blushed at him through a tangle of butterflies at the rare sight of him in casual black leather. He glided a scented hand down my cheek, turning my legs so weak that I could’ve sunk right into the woven matting.

  “My love, I come to share news, and I plainly could not wait,” he said, the playfulness in his voice divulging that the news was good. “I have made formal the preparations for our marriage rites. Before this, we shall leave Hampton Court on progress. The castle must be cleaned and replenished to make welcome the many men who will wish to behold the wedding of our most blessed queen.”