An Accidental Queen

Chapter 10

THE PALACE COURTYARD was eerily quiet. My ears strained to hear the echo of footsteps overhead and the scampering of rodents as they scoured the castle for measly crumbs, accompanied by the occasional shout of servants.

Even though we had been ceremoniously welcomed by both the peasants of Paris and the knights guarding the royal family's abode, no one in the King's company aside from Francis of Aragon had yet graced us with their presence.

At my side, Martine was busy examining our new residence, her eyes wide beneath her linen wimple. Indeed, the courtyard was a most enchanting place. Above us loomed the chapel, sunlight filtering through coloured glass windows to draw delicate patterns on our faces. Pointed spires twisted up to part the clouds as if the hands of God. The rushing river and cool winds gave the open space an air of natural serenity despite the grand architecture surrounding it.

"Perhaps the King is not aware of our presence," Francis remarked, embarrassment brightening his pale cheeks. "I... had thought he would send someone here to meet us."

It could not be so, for the whole of Paris had celebrated our arrival with boisterous song and dance—a sound I could still hear from behind the walls of the castle. The entire world seemed to know of our arrival.

Perhaps the King was preoccupied with diplomatic matters or had been forced to ride off to address some threat in the kingdom. Or perhaps he cared little to welcome the daughter of a minor nobleman into his royal household. Long before Lady Adeliza's death, I heard whispers that the King had long wanted his son to marry a Spanish princess, desiring to forge an alliance with Spain. He had only allowed a betrothal between the dauphin and Lady Adeliza because of the Count's promise to replenish the royal coffers—and the Spanish King's hasty decision to marry his daughter to a wealthy Venetian prince.

I caught a reflection of myself in a puddle of muddy rainwater pooling at my feet. I stepped back to avoid wetting my slippers, then craned my neck to gaze at myself. Even though I by then knew that the royal blood of the Count flowed through my veins, I appeared small and uncertain—hardly noble enough to rival the prominence of an elegant princess. My dark hair fell in thick spools over the hood of my robe, uniting with the veneer of dust and sweat coating my face to create a dishevelled appearance.

Would the dauphin see me like this? I trembled at the thought. Both Fleurine and Martine had impressed upon me the utmost importance of maintaining a flawless presentation. A woman could as easily wield her beauty as man wielded his sword in combat. But I was not as beautiful as the true Lady Adeliza had been. If I were to use any of my attributes to exact my will, it would have to be something else.

"Dear Francis, you have arrived at last," a girlish voice predated the appearance of a thin woman, her slender neck dripping with rubies and sapphires.

She swept forward to us whilst maintaining her regal posture, the pale train of her gown kissing the floor. When she came near I realized she could not be any older than I, though her youth had been disguised by ornate finery and jewels.

After the nobleman had exchanged pleasantries with the mysterious woman, her gaze drifted to me. "So, you are the sweet Lady Adeliza. Since you are to marry my brother, you will be my sister as well. Come, so that I may show you the apartment they have prepared for you."

It was then that I realized I was in the presence of Blanche of France, the sixteen-year-old daughter of the King and younger sister of the dauphin. She was betrothed to the King of England, though I knew not when she would be married. She possessed bright blue eyes and pale brown curls that sought to escape her gold-laced crispinette. From the portrait Francis had given me, I thought she looked fairly similar to her older brother.