mother’s execution order. The English nobles awaited their new king as spring drove away winter’s chill. The English court lowered themselves before the new king and queen.
Helena Knyvett moved through the court, taking care with her steps. She had learned at a young age to control her every action. Each of her hands was resting perfectly on the front of her skirts to display her long fingers. Her chin was level and her expression smooth, no hint of disagreement. It was necessary to stop often in order to give deference to the nobles she passed. No matter, there was no place that she needed to be; in truth, her purpose was to represent her family among the other nobles of England. Her purpose was to mingle among them while being poised, educated, and well bred. Greeting them and making a favorable impression was the entire point of the costly silk damask gown she wore. The corset was stiff and the sleeves tight as fashion dictated, but all of that was something she was expected to shoulder without a single frown to mar her makeup. She needed to present the correct image so that a powerful man might offer for her. Her poise and ability to conduct herself well among other powerful people was what she would bring to a husband. Marriage was about a union between those of blue blood and those who understood how to gain the eye of other nobles.
At least that was what she had been told since childhood. It had been instilled in her every moment of her youth. Her purpose was to further her family. She was to represent her father, always considering what her actions might do for him.
In truth she was quite tired of the games played at court—the whispered schemes and plotting that didn’t match the endless respect and greeting done in the middle of the great halls. But in the dark corners, nobles talked about one another in anything but kind terms.
“It took you long enough.”
Edmund Knyvett enjoyed court. Helena curtsied to her brother. He rolled his eyes and his lip lifted into a sneer that didn’t look good against his velvet doublet and silk sleeves. The only son and heir to the earldom of Kenton, Edmund was lavishly attired and he stood poised on one foot with the other barely touching the ground. It was a courtly pose, one that was considered sophisticated.
“Enough, Helena; if I want polished manners I don’t need to spend time with you to see them.”
She bored her brother. Her sibling preferred his friends and consorts to family. He often used her as an alibi for his lustful meetings. She would not lie for him but no one ever asked her. Edmund was her father’s heir. One day he would be an earl. The court surrounding them dare not risk making an enemy of him. As long as there was a believable story, they chose not to question it. Besides, as his sister, if he suffered the ill will of the powerful men around them, so would she.
Such was court. Full of rumors and intrigue. She had no friends here—only the fear of performing poorly enough to earn the scorn of her brother. Edmund did not suffer silently. Her brother ensured that she understood everything she did that did not meet his standards.
“I came as soon as I received word that you summoned me.”
“Yes, yes. That doesn’t matter.” Edmund began walking. Nobles made way for him quickly and with a slight lowering of their heads. They reached the end of the great hall and passed through to the inner rooms of the palace. Once they left the larger receiving hall there was privacy if you spoke in low tones.
“It is time to place you closer to the throne.” Edmund paused, looking through an arched opening in the wall. Queen Anne was in the private garden with two of her children. The new queen was still enchanted by the palace, excitement sparkling in her eyes.
“Have I been offered a place?” She hoped not. Gaining any position among the new queen’s ladies would trap her at court while her family interrogated her for every detail she overheard.
“No, but I plan to change that.” Edmund looked across the garden toward one of the queen’s maids of honor. “That one with the golden red hair. Raelin McKorey. Rumor has it half of Scotland thinks she’s a witch due to some nasty business with a laird getting impaled on a royal