Memories of Ghosts

Eleven: The Virgin Queen

**I edited the hell out of this chapter, bros. My mind kept changing and I kept second guessing England's character/reactions and the amount of research I spent on Medieval hunting was probably unnecessary (writing is flippin' hard). Nevertheless, here it is and I hope you guys enjoy it.

Now if you excuse me, I need to go and straighten my cramped fingers and curved spine from leaning over my laptop too long.**

29 January 1559

Elizabeth had been Queen of England for two weeks and, for Arthur at least, each day grew heavier with awkwardness and ambiguity.

It had nothing to do with her reign, however. She immediately went to work by assembling her Privy Council and Privy Chamber and addressing the issue of religion. She surprised him with her hardworking nature and peaceful intentions; it was a trait that the rest of her family failed to possess. She also plainly stated from the beginning to her council members that she was to stay single in the international marriage market. He would sometimes hear the businessmen snicker quietly behind their fists before discussing amongst themselves which king or duke would suit her best.

Normally, Arthur would agree with Elizabeth's men and try to convince her to marry a proper suitor and to birth an heir who was to eventually become the next ruler of the country. But after their little "talk" outside the palace walls, he didn't know which side he was on.

He kind of expected Elizabeth to show some indication of embarrassment or shyness (like himself) whenever they saw each other at court, but instead, she kept her face impassive as if nothing happened between them. She spoke to him like what they were supposed to be: business partners. Her speech was sophisticated and her responses were clever—just like always—and usually Arthur was too, but whenever she asked him a question or addressed him in some way, he would stutter out some form of a passable answer and feel his cheeks heat up instantly.

This is humiliating, he thought to himself as he swiftly walked down one of the grand halls of Hampton Court. I must speak privately with her so as to erase this cursed blush off my face.

It was a Thursday and around eight in the early morning—this was the day and time when Elizabeth should be preparing to go out to hunt for a while before attending a meeting with the Privy Council. With his sword hanging from his hip and his deep green cloak flowing behind him as his footsteps picked up speed, he gripped Elizabeth's velvet cloak in his arms. On the previous night, he was lucky enough to pluck it from where she abandoned it on a low chair in one of her private chambers. He knew she would need it for hunting purposes and would be in a frantic search for it.

This was his way for getting her to speak with him—alone.

He made it to a grand wooden door that led to the back of the palace, where she would have to go in order to get to the stables that kept all the horses, hunting gear, and other necessities. He planted himself next to it and waited patiently for Elizabeth to show up. It took some time and he would nod or bow slightly to any passing maids or workers of the castle. Eventually he heard the accomplishing sound of Elizabeth whining, "Where the bloody hell is my robe?"

He couldn't help but to smirk to himself.

She came hurrying down a nearby staircase, gathering her dress in her fists and stomping her laced-up boots on every step. Her curly hair was brought up into a tight bun on the back of her head and her pale face was set into a frustrated scowl. She looked around her wildly.

"I swear on my father's grave I left it by—" Her eyes landed on Arthur and she noticed her cape in his hands. She breathed in relief and made her way over to him, her boots clicking in the wide hallway like drops of water in a cave.