An Accidental Queen

Chapter 14

SEVERAL WEEKS AFTER Charles and I had wed, Cecile of Burgundy invited me to visit her chambers. 

Though I would rather remain hidden away in my own chambers, Martine insisted my presence was a political necessity. 

I had successfully avoided meeting the King or any of his family in the days following our wedding, desperate to avoid questions about the wedding night or my new marriage. Instead, I sat upon pillows surrounded by my ladies, listening to music and stories from visiting troubadours, allowing my thoughts to be transported faraway. 

Charles had spent the days away from the castle, hunting with his companions and drinking wine, only to return far past twilight. His father had coaxed him to apologize for his behaviour yet again, but he had not done so willingly. When he had finished his short apology, he had awkwardly taken me into his arms and consummated our marriage.

A wave of nausea coursed through me as I remembered the night and those that followed. We did not love each other. I suspected Charles only visited my chambers because his father commanded him to and he knew an heir was required from our union. My husband was not violent or cruel, but the resigned duty in his eyes was equally unsettling. 

In those lonely days, I often wondered whether my life would have been different with Gerard and whether I could have grown to love him. I remembered the soft look of affection in his eyes when he spoke to me, and ached with sadness. 

When the sun poured through the spired windows, dispelling the mists of the previous night, and fishing boats cast their reflections upon the Seine, I readied myself for an event that seemed as precarious as an ill-fated war. 

Extracting myself from the comfortable warmth of my feathered bed, I threw a robe about my shoulders.

My ladies drew a warm bath sprinkled with rose petals and honey: a concoction they said was used to maintain the softest complexion and delay the onset of wrinkles brought by old age, though my complexion was still youthful. 

After washing thoroughly and applying ointments to my exposed skin, they apparelled me in a simple gown of taffeta, embroidered only with small emeralds across the sweeping sleeves and the bodice. The neckline was high and modest, revealing far less than the gowns of my ladies. 

Jeanne, a fashionable, widowed noblewoman in her thirties with the most experience out of my gaggle of female attendants, appraised me with disapproving wood-brown eyes when I emerged from behind a curtain. Her darkened lips separated as she contemplated chastising my choice in gowns but closed again when she noticed Martine's look of fond admiration.

It wasn't until I wavered at the mouth of Cecile's extensive chambers that I regretted my modest attire. 

Swathes of intricate carpets and tapestries cradled the Queen's canopied bed—each illustrating epic scenes. Atop the large cedar table and chairs in the middle of the adjoining chamber lived silver vases loaded with sweetmeats and sugar plums. Vermilion pillows of different bright colours covered the foot of Cecile's silk-canopied bed.

Cecile rose to receive me, her long dress carving a path of scarlet and sapphires behind her as she sashayed across the room. She seemed to relish in the attention awarded to her as she exhibited her towering figure and impeccable posture. The scents of perfume and incense flooded my senses as she greeted me with a ceremonial kiss.

Without speaking, she beckoned me to one of the window seats overlooking the Seine while she languished upon an elevated armchair, her emerald-gold eyes thick with judgement as she scrutinized my gown and features. One of her ladies offered me a sizeable goblet of wine.

"How I have waited for this day when my husband's new daughter visits me at last," Cecile said. Her voice was far higher than I had expected, similar to morning birdsong. I could understand why King Philip was so enchanted by her.