An Accidental Queen

Chapter 15

WE SET OUT FOR ENGLAND—a place I had only ever heard of in battle stories and chansons—before the sun bathed the castle in amber and gold the next morning.

A cloud of crows darkened the morning skies as we departed the castle in a succession of carriages as if God was warning us about the impending catastrophe. Their constant screeching thundered around us.

The ominous atmosphere reflected the invisible fear growing in each of us.

Martine had told me England was a place of great barbarianism and violence. The English were thought to be less civilized than the French, envying us for our fertile lands and generous monarch.

They acted like beasts in battle and in their homes, without consideration for the laws of God. Martine had explained their supposed savagery as a result of the Vikings who had conquered them—a group that had failed to capture our impenetrable kingdom.

After we boarded the rickety wooden vessel meant to carry us above the waves, my husband paced our cabin with increasing anxiety. It was not customary for royal families to escort a young princess to her wedding.

Moreover, Charles Augustus had not written ahead to explain his presence, nor had he received any invitation. To neglect to inform the English monarch about his arrival could be perceived as grave wrongdoing.

"I fear he will think I am mad." My husband groaned, as one of his courtiers—a pleasant young man named Clement of Anjou—helped him remove his mantle. "And to worsen matters, Papa demands I seek funds to replenish our royal coffers. How can I justify such a brash question?"

It wasn't often Charles approached me with political matters. More commonly, he was flanked by Pierre d'Évreux and other overbearing courtiers, all of whom thirsted for the position of his closest advisor.

I closed my eyes, trying to remember the endless political lessons Martine had been giving me in the past few weeks. While I was generally interested in the political matters that occupied my husband, my advisor always seemed to make even the most fascinating subjects tiresome.

"Perhaps you can approach the subject while the King is in the throes of merriment?" Clement suggested carefully.

I could tell young Clement wanted to become a close advisor to Charles but did not possess the age or position his rival, Pierre d'Évreux, boasted. I hoped desperately Clement would succeed, especially if it meant dethroning the devious clergyman.

"Yes," Charles said, though the crease in his forehead suggested he was not entirely convinced.

At that moment, the ship convulsed and I fell to the hard, wooden floor. The vessel continued to lurch forward, making one of my ladies cry out in panic.

"My lady, are you unwell?" Charles lowered himself to the ground, pushing past the swarm of courtiers who clustered around us.

He awkwardly touched his hand to my forehead, not knowing how else to comfort me.

I balked away, forcing his hands from me.

I remembered Fleurine's gentle touch against my face, consoling me after I had fallen in the fields beyond the manor. She had asked one of the old laundresses to make a warm poultice for me and given me mulled wine to soothe the ache in my head.

"Do not fear, ma chère," she had stopped my tears with her fingers. As I clung to her warm, soft frame, I had never felt more like her daughter.

When the violent rocking of the ship pulled me back to consciousness, I was dismayed to see not my dear companion, but a swarm of courtiers and my stone-faced husband.