Winter's Consort

Chapter Four

"At least this king does not have two younger brothers to questions his right to rule." Dame Grey said to try and ease Elizabeth's nerves as she tied the ribbons around her plait. She placed her daughters headdress on her head as gently as she could. It was most handsome and outlined Elizabeth's jaw to make her cheek bones appear so sharp as the razors her father had once used to shave.

"No," Elizabeth sighed, "only half the English nobility." Her mother chuckled at her words and finished neatening her headdress.

"That is indeed true, but once he is seen to be ready to marry you, that fraction shall be a great deal smaller." Dame Grey said as if to convince herself. For a moment they both shared a look of both fear, excitement and joy. They were walking on untested ground. Nobody knew who this new king truly was, what he adored and what he disliked, how he liked his women to behave. So Elizabeth mother's had given her one simple order; to behave as if she were the most pious girl in all Europe. Keep her head down and her mouth shut, and when speaking add her love of god and the church into the conversation whenever possible. That was how his mother liked girls, quiet, humble, and pious so no doubt that girl would please the king.

"Am I ready, mother? Truly?" Elizabeth asked as she faced the door into the hall. "Mother?" Dame Grey said nothing and just took hold of her hand. To reassure Elizabeth she gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

Henry Tudor would soon be sat by Elizbeth at the head of the table and surely his mother not so far from them. Keeping a watchful eye incase he was overcome by lust at the sight of her. Elizabeth would have taken it as a compliment, she thought her beautiful enough to lure her son into lust, but it was not that; she thought her mother was a whore and thought Elizabeth was the same. Or at least feared it since she had not, to her knowledge, acted in any way to give such an impression.

Cecily came to them, as did Elizabeth's youngest sisters. They like how grand thier mother has made our hall, it was like a smaller version of that in which they feasted when their father was king.

"Annie, fetch the little ones over here." Dame Grey ordered Anne with a radiant smile. Anne skipped across the room as her mother had commanded and brought both Catherine and Bridget to her. Once they were before thier mother they looked up at her wide-eyed, they could probably not remember the last time she had cause to dress so regally. "Now, what do we do when we see the king?" Dame Grey asked straightening Bridget's dress.

The two fell into a curtesy and chorused: "Your grace." Their mother clapped them and laughed.

"Well done my girls." Dame Grey said proudly before lifting Bridget onto her waist. She kissed Bridget's cheek and ran her hands through her long golden hair. "Well done." She said again into Bridget's hair. Then she placed Bridget down and did the same thing she has just done with Catherine.

Then they were both stood, one to either side of mother, when the manservant charged through the large door: "His Grace, King Henry Tudor." He stated.

Cecily and Anne fell back behind Elizabeth and their mother. They all stood a little taller in that moment. It was their first time meeting this new king, they had to make a good impression or it would have been their last.

"Bring him in." Dame Grey commanded once she saw her daugthers all stood correctly. She seemed proud of them all, if only for that moment, she was proud of all five of her remaining daughters.

Elizabeth glanced at her and her mother smiled warmly as if to say, "all will be well", and Elizabeth felt her hand squeeze her own. Then he came in.

He was not so bold, so grand, or so handsome as Elizabeth had expected him to be. Then again after seeing his mother Elizabeth did not know what she had truly expected. She supposed what she had envisioned on hearing of a man who won his throne in battle, was a tall, sturdy man much like her father. A golden haired giant with a welcoming grin and a loving face. But Henry Tudor was not repulsive, and he was tall, just not so tall as Elizabeth had imagined, and he was slender too not so much muscle as she would have thought a warrior would have carried. His eyes, she recognised them from Lady Margaret, a smooth light blue. And his hair, that was dark and fell straight about his shoulders. With a long nose and straight features Elizabeth thought he was far older than his years stated more a man nearing forty than twenty-eight.