Power & The Price

It was fair for early March, so fair in fact that the first suitor Katherine had decided to invite, Francis of Langley, who hailed from the north of Otterdon Island, had decided to attend the joust that day without a cloak on.

The choice for Francis baffled Katherine’s advisors. He was handsome in that characteristic Otterdon way: narrow-faced, dark-haired, tall, with a dancerly figure of elongated grace, and this gentlemanly appearance was accented by a delightfully royal upbringing of music, art, literature and language. His sister Grace had played an important role in Katherine’s coronation by holding her cloak, and considering their frequent letters to one another, it appeared that Katherine may have at least found the Langley brood bearable.

However, it was unlikely that Katherine was interested in the way that the advisors were planning to advocate for him: his uncle Hugh Dacre, the Duke of Far Water, had been a pain in the ass of Katherine’s predecessor and was expected to be a pain in the ass to her.

Katherine knew little of the situation and had little interest in it. She was the Queen of Ilworth first and foremost, and despite her proclamations, spoke little of Otterdon Island, which lay off of the northwest coast from the larger isle of Ilworth. It had been three-hundred years since Otterdon Island came under Courtenay rule, but still, the people had not forgotten their old rulers. The children of the patriarch were called Prince and Princess of the North, and despite there being no land to their name, just the title alone warranted a bow or a curtsy.

Thus, Francis was the unexciting but likely most convenient match for the young queen. Francis was about the same age as her — he would turn twenty-one in the spring — and was willing to spend this time at Norbury Castle to see whether Katherine could tolerate him and whether the matter of dowry could be settled.

Neither of them paid much mind to the strategic aspects, or so it appeared. Katherine was genuinely disinterested, preferring the hunt, joust, lively dancing and borderline bawdy theatre, and Francis preferred to appeal to Katherine’s interests, rather than expect her to appeal to his. It was in such a fit of her fancy, that they ended up at a joust on the hunting grounds of Katherine’s own estate.

‘I’ve never seen a grandstand with a royal box,’ Francis told Katherine, giving her his hand so she could take the little steps to their superior seating.

Katherine flashed a grin. ‘No? I thought you lot were princes and princesses.’

Once she stood on the top step, she quickly relinquished her hold on his hand, and instead firmly grasped his to hoist him up with. Francis looked at her with a timid expression.

‘It’s been a long time since anyone in Ilworth has told me that,’ he said. ‘I believe your predecessor preferred Lord of the North.’

‘There’s a lot of things people have not said in Ilworth for a long time,’ she gloated. ‘And yet, here we are. Long live the queen, for example. Now nearly redundant in its use, but just two short months ago, unimaginable. I can prefer prince over lord and mean nothing by it, that’s the beauty of words.’

‘So I’m being flattered by falsehood?’ Francis asked.

Katherine sat down and took her time to study her suitor’s face carefully. ‘I wouldn’t say falsehood,’ she said. ‘It’s more terminology than anything. It’s in my best interests to inflate your titles, you know, if anything comes of this.’

The trumpets called the attention of the audience to the grounds, where a horse trotted on either side of the tilt, a knight on their back. The visors of their helmets were not yet closed, and it only took Katherine half a glance to see which of these two knights was her honorable champion from Dolcotshire.

It pleased her greatly to see him, taking the lance from the ground in which it had been staked. He looked the part even more so now the worst parts of his armour were steadily being replaced by the royal armourers. A full suit was in the works.

‘Did you place a bet?’ she asked Francis.

‘I did, actually,’ he said. ‘On the reigning champion.’

‘Hm,’ she said. ‘I placed one too — on the challenger. Though I have a bit of knowledge the likes of you don’t have. I know Henry personally.’

‘So I’ve been told,’ Francis said, and said no more, with the sort of knowing expression that Katherine was starting to get used to from him.

Instead of asking for clarification like she wanted, she instead settled down to watch. While they were talking, Henry had challenged the current champion, Thomas Clifton, and the latter had agreed to be challenged. At that moment, the pair of them raised their lances to the queen in a salute. Katherine smiled happily.

They began to charge, and an immense amount of sandy dirt was unearthed when the horses quickened into a gallop, on each one of them a charging knight with his lance extended, until they crossed one another, and the collision brought about a brilliant, splintering snap of Thomas’ lance against Henry’s armour.

She sighed when they passed one another and it became clear that while Henry’s lance was still in tact, Thomas’ had been beheaded. ‘One-nil,’ she said to Francis, leaning into him briefly. ‘Let’s see if you bet right.’

From the sheer frustration in her face, Francis already expected it to be the intelligent choice to leave Katherine be.

Lances were exchanged for new ones, and the lull in activity was being filled with some modest music. Servants were crossing the grandstand with refreshments, but neither Francis nor Katherine chose anything off of the platters or from the wooden carriers. Katherine realised that they had barely talked up until that point, at least not about anything but the thing right in front of them. Whether the remark he had made previously meant that he knew about her and Henry, she could not know for certain.

The truth was that she had chosen to explore Francis first, for he had been described as the solution to the problems at court. It was clear to her within a few activities, however, that she would not be pursuing the match herself.

The knights, now carrying a new lance each, spoke their last phrases to their squires before the latter scurried off. They charged again, this time more fiercely than the time before, and this time it was not Thomas who charged ahead, but Henry, who in the heat of the moment slipped the lance beneath Thomas’, which left him in the perfect position to push straight into the middle of his breastplate. When he came close enough, he gave a firm shove against the other end, and in an instant, unseated his rival.

‘Thank fucking God,’ Katherine murmured under her breath. ‘You’re too expensive to lose.’

Harcourt was reading hunched over his desk when Katherine entered with no announcement.

‘I need to talk to you,’ she said firmly, closing the door behind her.

‘Congratulations on your champion,’ he said instead, writing down a final signature. ‘He appears talented.’

Katherine sauntered in, her arms crossed over her stomach, beginning to understand the angle that Harcourt had.

‘I’m disinterested in your jousting review, we are not the city crier,’ she said, and sat down opposite him. ‘I am here to speak of matters of state. My suitor.’

Harcourt put away his paperwork and folded his hands in his lap. ‘Lady Katherine… how may I help you?’ he asked, his tone annoyed and somewhat sardonic.

‘I don’t think I can take much more of the Prince of the North,’ she said. ‘I’m willing to entertain another suitor. Upon my marriage to him, you can be certain that when I die, you will have to crown a bastard for I will not produce any children.’

He huffed with amusement. ‘I suggest you reconsider your statement. Considering your champion and your suitor have a similar colouring, we may be able to pass it off… my lady.’

Though her face was lightly painted, her neck turned a splotchy red as she unpacked the insinuation he had made.

She spat, ‘I’m not sleeping with Sir Henry.’

‘I wasn’t saying so,’ Harcourt said. ‘But it appears to me like it won’t be long until you are. The two of you are close. He seems to entice you. It’ll be convenient, Lady Katherine. Of course you are free to do what you wish; you are queen, after all.’

Katherine scraped her throat. ‘Indeed. Matters that concern my person are mine alone.’

Harcourt stood up demonstratively. ‘And you know what happens to young noblewomen with bastards,’ he said carelessly. ‘From experience. I would suggest that Your Majesty keep that in mind. Anyhow… I will see about prominent suitors, and let the Prince of the North down easy if you still wish.’

Katherine’s heart was pounding loudly in her chest. There was no way she was forfeiting her life for the convent again, no matter how enticing indeed she found Henry. ‘Why do you believe I may be interested in my knight?’ she asked.

He raised his brows. ‘Why else?’ he asked. ‘He wore your personal insignia at the joust today. Not the country’s.’

Katherine looked up at him with confusion. ‘I didn’t see that,’ she said genuinely.

As he walked past, Harcourt chuckled and quickly took her shoulder in his hand. ‘The plot thickens. Your Majesty… I feel called to remind you that you serve your people. Your country.’

Katherine turned her head. ‘I feel called to remind you that you serve me, Lord Overleigh.’

Sometimes reluctantly, Harcourt thought to himself.

Harcourt had to admit to himself that he had not heard a thing that his colleagues, Henry de Vere and Dorothy Abell, had said during their meeting. All he had heard were his own thoughts, mulling over the names and the faces and the words spoken, all until it culminated in a deafening soup that he had to rescue himself from by speaking it out loud.

While Dorothy was talking, moving goblets over the table to demonstrate potential trade routes, Harcourt blurted out, ‘I cannot deal with the queen anymore.’

He was afraid of the words the moment he spoke them. Dorothy and De Vere looked at him dumbfounded. He added, ‘We need someone to keep tabs on her. Someone she trusts. I cannot sit here while a knight has more influence over a goddamned country than the royal court does.’

Harcourt lay his chin in his hand and awaited their reactions. Neither seemed particularly distraught.

‘We can,’ Dorothy said at last, and shrugged. ‘That’s not a problem. We can find someone. There’s no need to panic right out of the gate.’

‘And we need to secure the favour of the Otterdons,’ he added. ‘She won’t humour Francis.’

De Vere shot up. ‘Invite Lady Grace,’ he decided. ‘Lady Katherine is short on ladies-in-waiting after all.’

It was a good idea, Harcourt realised, but the fact that he was the only one who appeared to be concerned, made his blood boil. He had always been the prudent one, and yet only after everything had gone wrong did people agree to see how right he had been all along. No longer would he tolerate such behaviour.

‘Do any of you care at all?’ he asked. ‘Court has become worse than the satirical pamphlets suggest it is.’

Dorothy pursed her lips as if she decided not to speak her mind. Luckily, Harcourt could nearly read it after decades of cooperation.

He knew what was on Dorothy’s mind. What do you think we should do, then? And she knew his answer. Harcourt’s eldest daughter with Lettice of Courtenay — Philippa — had been fifth in line for the throne. Intelligent, charismatic, bold, chaste, and with the characteristic Courtenay look that had been lost on Katherine. Whereas Katherine was small, narrowly built, with reddish hair and slate-colored eyes, a very Ginefort look after her mother’s heritage, Philippa proudly bore the marks of a sturdy Courtenay woman: golden blonde hair, brilliant blue eyes, and a distinctly royal presence in her upright posture and long, shapely limbs. What Harcourt wanted was a different queen, but he would be too cowardly to express it, and much less so act upon it. The fact that he was left to serve this queen, as father to one of the most promising competitors, made Katherine’s inconsiderate and callous behaviour even more irritating.

‘Is it really so bad that Lady Katherine finds comfort in the only person from Dolcotshire that she can openly speak to?’ Dorothy asked. ‘From what I heard, she had saved his life once.’

Harcourt tapped his hand on the table. ‘Dorothy,’ he said sternly. ‘They’re copulating.’

She chuckled from the ridiculousness of it all and sought De Vere’s eyes. ‘An administrator,’ she decided, ‘Someone like Lord William from your wife’s court. Keeps a registry of al those going in and coming out. I imagine it’ll keep us occupied with matter of state while the administrator tends to the lady’s more mundane needs.’

Will. ‘Well, I won’t stand for it if this administrator is so close to Lady Katherine as Lord William is to my wife,’ he said crankily. Then, as if struck by lightning, he added, ‘You know… perhaps Lord William himself can be asked for the position.’

‘Won’t your lady wife mind?’ De Vere asked.

‘No,’ Harcourt said quickly. ‘In fact, I think it’ll be great for Lettice too. A bold new wind both in Gartham and in Norbury Lake, not just one or the other. Change… change can be good sometimes.’

‘And what of Prince Francis?’ Dorothy asked. ‘Who do we replace him with?’

‘Nobody,’ De Vere said. ‘They will come to us bearing chests of gold. You underestimate how many eligible young nobleman, often princes, are interested in meeting the young queen. Let them come to us.’

Dorothy added, ‘Let’s work on Lady Katherine trusting us before we proceed to trick her into a marriage we all know she will despise. If she trusts us, she won’t mistrust our suggestions — really, demands, and with a bit of luck, she’ll go through with them believing that she could have said no.’

‘Well said,’ Harcourt agreed, took a swig, and began to think about the graceful letter he was to write to Will, to finally remove the handsome devil from his wife’s side.