Passive (Volume 2) - ON HOLD

1-Mary

*Mary*

20th Holly Moon, 435 AC, Royal Palace, King's City, Valoria

The ladies' gazes followed her wherever she went, shadowed closely by the all-too familiar whispers and giggles of condescension. They looked down on her because of her preference for plainer clothing; they scorned her for her family's shame; they ridiculed her for marrying a dwarf.

They would mock her even more if they knew she was a maiden still, even after three months of marriage.

Queen Elizabeth was holding court, and had invited every lady of any importance to help her plan the Solstice festivities, so Mary had been obligated to go. She had planted herself in a corner, while the other ladies flocked around the queens. She had brought with her a book of psalms, which she immersed herself in as she pretended to be unaware of the other women's judgements.

She almost succeeded, too.

"She acts like she's still some untouched virgin, when everyone knows she spreads her legs every night for her gargoyle of a husband." The lady who'd spoken stood with a gaggle of similar cronies, all of them staring openly at Mary from behind their ornate fans.

Mary blushed, ducking her head, hiding behind the little book in her hands. If only they knew. Jon said he didn't wish to hurt her, but, every night, as they lay beside each other, Mary still as untouched as the day she was born, her heart ached with shame. She was his wife, by his request, and yet it seemed he no longer wanted her.

"Lady Mary," the queen's voice cracked across the room. Mary looked up, sinking into a deep curtsey as she did. "Come here," Queen Elizabeth ordered. Mary straightened, squaring her shoulders, and swept past the gaggle of gossipers, all too aware of the smugness scrawled across their faces.

Elizabeth was perched on a backless, throne-like chair by the cavernous fireplace at one end of the room. She was clad in a wintergreen gown with red and gold embroideries, her red hair caught demurely in a golden hairnet, and covered with a sheer gold veil.

A small group of the most influential ladies at court were gathered around her, dressed to the height of fashion. Chief among them were the queen's ladies-in-waiting; Isadora Pender, splendid in a red a gold gown with embroideries that shimmered in the light every time she turned, the bodice so low Mary suspected that, if she bent over, her breasts would come tumbling out; and Maile Fairchild, modest and understated in a green gown with lighter green embroideries. Mary was surprised Maile was still at court–the rest of her family had declared for the Westover rebellion, yet Maile had remained loyal to Elizabeth.

Mary curtsied before the queen and her companions, keeping her eyes modestly downcast. "Lady Queen," she murmured respectfully, not rising from her curtsey. "How may I be of service?"

"Lady Mary," the queen said, and Mary rose. The queen indicated that one of the older ladies who sat with her should give Mary her place. "Should we serve turkey or goose at the feast?"

Mary thought about it for a moment, acutely aware that each had been suggested by a different lady, and to choose one over the other would be to risk offending one of them. So the queen was testing her, for some reason she couldn't guess.

She took a breath. "Neither," she said calmly.

"What?" Lady Isadora cried out. "But we've always served either goose or turkey."

"Silence, Lady Isadora. You've made your point already," Queen Elizabeth snapped. Then, to Mary, "If we don't serve goose or turkey, what should we serve?"