Chapter Text
The sprawling acreage of the Hale estate was arguably the most impressive layout in the entire land. Its main house was not a remarkable structure, old and draped in a healthy layer of ivy, but the gardens rivaled those of the royal palace. Lady Sybil took great pride in the upkeep of her land, having grown up with little to her name. Her father had worked long and hard to secure her marriage to Lord Hale, and her family had nearly gone penniless acquiring a dowry just barely large enough to spark the interest of the Hales. Not once did she dream of taking for granted what her parents had strived to achieve. And her own daughter would do even better than she, marry even higher than an Earl. Sybil had her sights set on the Duke of Pope, whose son was a mere ten years ahead of young Mellie’s tender age of thirteen. The Duke’s daughter was the perfect age for her son, as well, securing a beneficial union for the family. It was only a matter of when; when the Duke would approve, and how far were Sibyl and her husband willing to go.
As if summoned by the mere thought of his name, Lord Thomas approached Sybil so silently she was unaware of his presence until a calloused hand came to rest on her shoulder. Through the large bedroom window, they watched Mellie and Henry bound through the low garden with the Duke’s young daughter.
“Henry is quickly approaching an age where it would be inappropriate for him to remain unmarred,” Thomas announced, his tone nonchalant, as if he did not intend for Sibyl to heed whatever command he had prepared next. “The girl, when will we have her father’s permission?”
Lady Sibyl clucked lightly and continued watching the children play. “She’s just a child, barely even ten. You must be patient, my Lord. The Duke will never agree to marry his daughter so young, nor so easily. She must be courted, her heart won. He adores the young girl, and if she is unhappy with the union, he won’t allow it.”
“Preposterous.” The Lord’s disdain was as heavy as the hand he had resting on his wife. “She’s his child. He would do well to give the girl some discipline. Look how wantonly she plays – I can nearly see her underthings from here. Mellie shouldn’t be exposed to such behavior. I’m trying to raise her to be a proper lady.”
“Do you suggest my daughter is not a lady? No matter. I would rather she learn to think for herself than to spend her life taking orders from a man not nearly as smart as she.”
“You would do well not to speak so, Sibyl. Now, rise up and properly greet your husband who brings you such good news.”
Skirt in hand, Sibyl rose from her chair and turned to face her husband. “Accept my apologies, You Lordship.” She leaned forward, pressing her still lips to the roughened skin of her husband’s cheek. “What news do you bring for me today?”
Thomas clapped once, his face lighting up. “My dear uncle Cyrus, the cardinal and our king’s most trusted advisor, has gotten us an invitation to court this summer. Mellie shall be trained amongst the highest names in the land, and become a lady in waiting to our beloved queen.”
“Court, so soon? She’s practically engaged to the Pope boy. That betrothal is all but complete, should we not see it through before we leave?”
“Forget the Pope boy,” Thomas bellowed, practically giddy. “This is a much better opportunity for our dear daughter. With the proper training and the right timing, Mellie could be the next queen.”
“What do you suggest?” Sibyl gasped. “You intend for her to bed the king, take Katherine’s throne like she did to the poor child before her? My daughter will not be one in a long line of queens to a disgraceful king.”
“Bite your tongue, my sweet wife. Our king is a righteous and holy man. Mellie, however, is not intended for him. Our intentions are for the son; Fitzgerald Grant III. Only heir to the throne, thanks to the first queen, God rest her soul. His father won’t be around forever, as mighty as he is.”
Queen – her daughter the queen. The notion sounded absurd to Sibyl’s ears but she knew that if anyone could pull it off, it was Mellie. Though young, she already showed promise and leadership – qualities not often appreciated in women but sought after in a queen. And with her upbringing, Mellie had the option to lead; unlike her mother, who had married well above her status and was doomed to a life of answering to her husband’s demands. Mellie was well bred, and beautiful. Sibyl turned to the window to catch a glimpse of the young girl. From that angle, she could see the back of Mellie’s head, her dark hair in a long braid down to her waist. Facing her stood the Pope girl, who hung onto Mellie's every word. Their daughter was born to lead.
Yes, if anyone was going to be their next queen, certainly it had to be Mellie. If only for the simple fact that she could not be the king.
“Summon your maidens and have Mellie brought inside at once,” Thomas called, pulling Sybil from her thoughts. “We leave for Mayfield before summer.”
* * *
“I know; we shall play high court,” Mellie announced to her playmates, staring down at them from her perch on the wall that bordered the garden. “I will be the queen and you, Olivia, my dearest lady in waiting.” Her voice took on a hint of contempt as she addressed the sullen looking teenage boy. “Henry, you can be the jester. You wouldn’t even need makeup, my funny looking brother.” She flashed a proud smile to Olivia, who giggled behind her hand.
“That’s good then, I won’t have to use yours. You need as much as you can get,” he shot back, his own face lighting up as Mellie’s smirk turned into a petulant frown. “I don’t want to play your childish games anyway. I’m nearly a grown man.”
“High court,” Mellie trilled, “is not a game. It is preparation, my infantile brother, for my future. While you're stuck here, I'll be helping to rule these lands from my very own palace.” Henry only stuck his tongue out in response.
Olivia frowned and spoke up finally, her tiny frame a contradiction to the strong voice that sprang forth. “You’re really going to court, then? But that’s so far away.”
“Oh, Livi dear, you shouldn't worry.” With her hands braced on the wall, Mellie pushed herself off and sprang down to the ground, landing in a far from graceful cloud of dust. She put a comforting hand on the young girl’s shoulder. “It will only be a matter of time before I am crowned queen, and then my first order shall be to summon you to Mayfield as my lady in waiting. And my second order shall be for someone to send us a carriage filled to the brim with candies and jewels from the most exotic lands, and we’ll wear different dresses every day with low collars and flirt with the knights at lavish dinners from our hunts,” Mellie declared dramatically, and Olivia stared at her in joyous awe.
“You’ll abuse your power, then, and have yourself hanged before you even get breasts to show off,” Henry quipped.
“Oh, shut up Henry,” Mellie raged. “You know nothing about queens or breasts, so keep your indecent comments to yourself.”
“I know plenty.” The look on Henry’s face before he continued was one of immense pride. “More than you two little girls. I’ve even seen them.”
“I bet it was that dreadful Basset girl,” Mellie muttered to Olivia, who giggled once more. “Shameless whores, the lot of them. How could you be off ogling other girls’ assets when you’re already betrothed?” Mellie asked him, purposefully dragging her eyes to Olivia, who caught the gesture and gasped.
“Me? I- I don’t think so.”
“Mel,” Henry snapped. “That was a secret, you dense girl. She’s not old enough yet.”
“She’s plenty old enough to know what's intended for her future,” Mellie retorted.
“Don’t talk about me like I’m not right here,” Olivia shouted, bottom lip poking out. “I don’t want to be married to Henry, anyway. I won't do it.”
“S’not up to you, is it?” he replied, already losing interest in the topic at hand. “I’m going to ride, then. Mellie, you had better get back home. Mother said you need to be fitted or something of the sort.” With that, he was off towards the stable at a steady sprint.
Olivia, her playful demeanor all but vanished, took a seat on a stone bench beneath a row of shady fruit trees. After a beat, Mellie joined her, sitting so their knees knocked together, and said, “You know, no matter how far I travel and no matter my title, you will always be my dearest friend.”
Olivia sniffed and raised her head, meeting Mellie’s expectant eyes and warm smile. “Promise you won’t forget me when you meet the girls at court?”
“Promise. None of them will be as smart or as fun or as beautiful as you, sweet Livi. And I will send for you as soon as I can. It shouldn't take long. According to Father, I'll be queen in no time at all.” Mellie leaned towards her friend and whispered conspiratorially, “And don’t let Henry bully you. If you don’t want to marry him, your future queen will make it so.”
“Thank you, Mellie,” Olivia whispered, trying to smile through her melancholy. She wrinkled her nose. “Boys are dirty and annoying. I’d rather marry you than your brother.”
Mellie laughed good-naturedly. “I can’t marry you and be queen. But if I weren’t trying to marry the prince, you would be my first choice.” She closed the small gap between them and gave Olivia a quick, gentle peck. “I’m going to be the queen.” Beaming, Mellie rose from the bench and gathered her skirts from her feet, running tirelessly in the direction of the house. Olivia watched until her friend disappeared through the door leading to the kitchen before standing to her own feet and slowly making her way to the trail that led to her own estate.
* * *
By day, Mellie spent her time at court with the rest of the ladies-in-waiting, a raucous group of young girls who were well versed in Latin and singing and batting their eyelashes; childish things that Mellie took little joy in. Four years at court and still she felt no closer to being queen than the day she had arrived. Her orders from her father were simple – stay close to the queen, keep her eyes away from men and her name out of the mouths of others. Occasionally, it was dreadfully boring not to be able to flirt and gossip like the rest of the girls but Mellie realized that her future as queen was at stake here. Oftentimes they would see the young prince riding through the fields or practicing archery, and he would wink at them before attempting some dangerous trick that had all of the girls erupting into giggles – all except Mellie, who made sure to look unimpressed whenever the prince glanced at her.
Once, he stopped her in the hall on the way to breakfast and pulled her aside, dipping into a small alcove so they had to squeeze quite close together. “Your name is Lady Hale, is it not?”
She nodded and cast her eyes downward, giving him a demure smile. “You know your court well, my prince. An admirable quality.”
“I take great care to know the names of beautiful women,” he told her proudly, puffing out his chest. “I see you as you serve our queen, but you’re not like the other girls. Did you not enjoy my display?”
“I suppose they are quite well done, Your Highness, but there are so many archers at court. I myself prefer a man who enjoys the arts.”
“Then you would love the painting I most recently acquired. A masterpiece. Perhaps you will come to my chambers and see it? I would be honored to have your company.”
“Oh no, Your Highness, I’m afraid not,” Mellie whispered, turning her head to check for any bystanders. The crowd of nobles was steadily moving towards the dining room, away from their hiding place. “It would be terribly inappropriate, and, as you said, I'm not like the other girls. But...if you happen to visit Her Majesty's chambers, perhaps we'll see each other.” In the distance, Mellie could hear the dining room door swinging shut. "Oh, no, if I'm late for dinner, Her Majesty will be quite upset. Especially if I miss prayers." She bent her knees in a practiced curtsy and, for the first time, looked up at Fitz through the curtain of her eyelashes. "Your Highness." Then she turned and scurried off to join the rest of the young women, who eyed her flushed cheeks suspiciously.
That same night, a pageboy was sent to the queen’s chambers to retrieve Mellie for an audience with her father. When she arrived to the room, which was sequestered off to a far corner of the palace, she found him sitting at a large desk, looking rather pleased. Lady Sibyl stood off to one side and gave her daughter an encouraging nod as she slowly made her way across the room. Surprisingly, the cardinal was there as well. Cyrus leered at her appreciatively from where he stood at Lord Thomas’s shoulder, as if assessing a slab of meat at the market.
Mellie curtsied to the men. “Father, Your Eminence. To what do I owe this honor?”
“She’s well mannered, and very attractive,” Cyrus muttered to her father. “Well done, Thomas.” Mellie tried to mask her frown at not being directly addressed and watched her father expectantly for some indication as to why she had been summoned, careful not to let her gaze drift to her great uncle. He had always treated her with disdain – he treated most women that way. In her time at court, Mellie had discovered that most men were not as gracious towards women as the ones back home. Even since they had arrived, her father had seemed to become a bit worse in the matter.
“She represents the family well, and the queen often commends me for raising such a well-spoken young lady,” her father beamed proudly. Mellie bit her tongue, not bothering to mention that the queen had said these words to her mother.
“Pardon my inquiries, Father, but why have you had me summoned?” Mellie questioned, careful to keep her voice from faltering.
Cyrus sneered, “But have you not taught her to keep her mouth shut when men are speaking, Thomas? Shut it, girl.”
Mellie tried to appear unperturbed by Cyrus’s attitude. Her mother had often told her to never let men intimidate her, and to speak her mind when necessary. A few times the men at court had shot her dirty looks for giving her opinion on political matters or to comment on the day's hunt. Once they realized she actually knew what she was talking about, however, they welcomed her comments, and some of the younger men even sought her out when they needed someone to settle a debate. She was confident of her own abilities to captivate others in conversation, especially men, who were easily distracted by her beauty and youthfulness as well. Never had she been so rudely told to stop speaking, not even by her Father.
A sharp reply was poised on the tip of Mellie's tongue when she felt a hand on her shoulder and noticed her mother had come to stand beside her.
“Gentlemen, have you called her here to appraise her like cattle, or have you news to tell?” Sybil questioned tersely. Cyrus turned his narrowed eyes upon her, which she ignored, having eyes only for her husband. “My Lord?”
“Of course. Mellie, Cyrus tells me that you’ve had contact with the prince. Is this true?”
A blush bloomed on Mellie’s cheeks. “He wanted to speak to me, but I felt it was inappropriate so I excused myself rather quickly. I didn’t feel it was a noteworthy conversation, sir.”
“What did he wish to speak of?” Thomas asked excitedly.
Cyrus interceded, “What difference does it make? Whatever she’s said, it has the caught the attentions of the Most High, Most Powerful and Excellent Prince.”
Upon hearing this, Mellie perked up visibly. “Really? I was sure I had hurt his feelings when I denied his invitation.”
“Quite the opposite, my dear,” Sybil murmured so only her daughter could hear. “Men are simple creatures who only want what they cannot have.”
“Enough of that then,” Cyrus boomed, clearly annoyed that he was being left out of something. “Girl, continue what it is you’ve been doing. You must remain chaste and pure, but show your interest nonetheless. Accept his gifts, but only small ones; nothing too extravagant. And most importantly, say nothing of this to the vexatious little girls with whom you are rooming.”
Mellie wanted to shoot back that she was not a gossip but another light squeeze from her mother silenced her. “Of course, sir. It would be my pleasure.”
The men dismissed her without another word, turning to converse among themselves, and Lady Sybil gently guided Mellie out of the room. Once they were safely in the hallway, the door tightly shut behind them, Sybil steered Mellie aside and scanned the hall to make sure they were alone.
“Mellie, my dear, I know that you are looking forward to becoming queen but you must understand what this means,” she whispered. “Don’t argue with me now, please. Just listen. You intend to become queen so as to have your own power but these men, they have very different plans. You mustn’t let them get their hands too deep in your relationship with the prince. Tell them what happens, but not everything. Keep the most important information to yourself. That is how you will succeed in life; by learning that it is not just what you know, but what you know that others do not. Do you understand me?”
Mellie's eyes widened and for the first time since her father had told her she would be queen someday, she felt nervous and afraid. She didn't understand, not fully, but she knew her mother would always protect her, so she finally answered, “Yes, Mother, I understand.”
Sybil kissed her daughter’s forehead. “Good. Remember, just because men are more dominant and hold more power does not make them better or smarter. It only means we must work harder. Now, back to your room you go. You shouldn't look tired at Mass.”
* * *
With her brother away protecting the border, her best friend at court, and her future husband quickly securing his status as a known womanizer, Olivia began to spend a fair amount of time reading. Her governess was constantly giving her biblical excerpts and short historical passages to peruse but she enjoyed pieces that most people found inappropriate for the sixteen year old daughter of a notable Duke. Philosophy, law, ancient epics that she snuck out of her father's office when no one was looking. The women clucked disapprovingly at her and when they thought she wasn’t listening - of course they never thought she was listening, not with her head in a book, but she always was - whispered behind their hands that girls just should not grow up without mothers.
But it’s not my fault! she wanted to shout. An unfortunate and unexpected event, her mother’s death; the hay fever that had swept through the region and briefly afflicted the entire Pope clan took only one life that year. Olivia had only been four when her teary-eyed father had told her the news. She had met Mellie later that same day, and the older girl had kindly offered that they both share her mother.
Thinking of Mellie did Olivia no good. Every time she pictured her friend, she saw the spirited thirteen year old girl who had promised her a spot at court all those years ago. Now, Mellie was probably much more mature and too old for such childish games and fantasies. For some time, the older girl had written letters, pages and pages long describing every person she encountered and every outfit she wore. From what Olivia understood, the prince was handsome and a sweet-talker, but rather cocky. Men, Mellie had explained masterfully in one letter, think the world of themselves – each and every one of them. And while they are busy competing amongst each other, we women take charge.
Olivia had taken the information very seriously. When her father traveled, she took the opportunity to lead the estate herself. Though her brother was to receive the title of Duke and inherit the land, she liked the pretend that she was first in line to uphold her father’s legacy. She would be stern and take no nonsense, but righteous and just. Anyone who was loyal to her would want for nothing.
“Foolish girl,” her governess mumbled when she shared this. “Leaders can’t be just – that’s when they are overthrown. You show a weakness and everyone will be at your throat, vying for your title.”
“But if I am just, they should have no reason to want to overthrow me,” Olivia retorted smartly, folding her legs underneath her. The governess swatted her feet until she sat properly. “And my first order shall be to remove all the rules dictating how a 'lady' should behave,” she'd grumbled in response.
When the time came, however, no orders were made. No rules were removed. The estate went into a complete standstill for weeks on end. A solemn faced man – the Earl of something or other, Olivia presumed – was shown to her, holding his hat in his fidgeting hands while she watched impatiently. He bowed to her. “Your Grace.”
“I beg your pardon, sir?” she questioned, the confusion apparent on her face at being addressed with such formality.
The man cleared his throat. “My apologies,” he continued. “I am Lord Welles, a dear friend of your father’s. I bring grave news from the border. There was an attack, our men were unprepared and caught off guard. Only a few made it out alive. Your father and brother, I’m afraid, did not.” He bowed again. “I am here to inform you that you will acquire the title of Duchess. I am honored to be able to share that news with you, however saddened I am by the death of your family. Your father was a great man, and I had only met your brother briefly, but he was a brave soldier and a skilled strategist.”
Tears stung the corners of Olivia’s eyes but she refused to let them fall, instead standing up a bit straighter and raising her chin. “Thank you, Lord Welles, for delivering this news to me. And for your kind words of my family in this time of grief. Do you have any other information for me?”
“There is one more thing. A message from Mayfield." He plucked a note from his breast pocket and passed it to her. "Our beloved king was gravely injured in the attacks, and the doctors do not believe he will make it through the winter. As such, His Royal Highness, the Most High and Excellent Prince Fitzgerald Thomas Grant III shall be crowned king anon. Your presence has been requested at the wedding, and the intent is that you will stay on and serve on the court of our new queen.”
“The queen,” Olivia said quickly, “who shall acquire the title?”
“Lady Mellie Hale. The family lived just south of here; I believe you can see the estate from your land, Your Grace.”
Olivia nodded sharply. “Thank you," she said again, her tone curt. The Earl bowed once more before hastily taking his leave, clearly a bit disturbed at her lack of emotion. Olivia turned to the maids who had slowed their cleaning to a standstill in order to eavesdrop. “You’re all dismissed, the lot of you. Out.”
Heads bowed, the girls scampered away in a single file line, the last one pulling the door shut behind her. When their light footsteps receded down the hall, Olivia picked up a pillow from the couch, one she had attempted to embroider herself with crooked stitches, and buried her face in it. The fabric was heavy and quickly soaked in tears, but it did little to muffle her sobs. The book she had been reading that day was pushed to the floor with a loud thump, the pages fluttering closed as it hit the floor.