A Queen's War

England Is Not For Me

As I walk past orchids and lilac I can't help but reminisce in how ironic my situation is. Here I am, in the very land my sister died in, where I was born, walking around the flowers that she died talking about. She called them "Heavenly Lightful" flowers in her final moments.

Mama tells me that she was smiling and whispered gibberish and that was the only thing they could and understand.

She died of pneumonia and not even a day after her death I was born. Again I say, ironic.

I pick up the side of my white gown and run lightly to the golden gate leading to another section of my beloved garden.

This section held roses of every shade, shape ,and thorn size. Truly, this was my only pleasure in England. The country was terribly dull and void with the King so desperate for a son and constant need of entertainment. Like toddler, really. But he was handsome. Not in a very phenomenal way, but more average than anything.

Easy to love I guess with many benefits that keep his many shoes and mistresses pleased.

I don't understand why everyone gawks at him so. Maybe its because his is King. Maybe England is lacking in good taste of men. It wouldn't surprise me since what they call an "English Flower" is little compared to a "Ottoman Rose".

I would know, I've traveled to just about every nation in Europe at least twice.  But out of all those nations and customs, I find England boorish and quite lame.

My father beloved he can find me a match here but I don't believe for a second he will. I am intimidating to most men. I am a beautiful and tall woman yes, but I am also blunt and well educated. Not a very good candidate for an obedient and humble wife.

As much as Papa tries to seem stern about the matter I know he has doubts. He probably wishes Barbra was still alive so he might control her and marry her rich. While I might die an old maid. I feel almost ashamed that I find joy that his attention for now is on my two younger sisters.

Poor Maria and Joyce, Papa wants them to become mistresses in Germany and Spain.  A dreadful and honestly quite disgraceful fate for the two young girls. Papa wants to wait until they are both sixteen so now he is " training" them to be the perfect bed warmers. He wants his own children, his defenseless daughters, to become home wreakers and break other girls marriages.

But if it keeps his eyes away from me I'll have no objections to the fait of my sisters. The little terrors weren't careful to protect their virginity anyway. There weren't many more options. This was a mercy!

Roses were so much like young girls. Ripe and lovely, so much so you forget all about the thorns and prick yourself.  But once out of their prime they shrivel into ugly contorted figures, turn grey and thin, and you can see every single threatening thorn.

   Just like woman.

I feel that roses bring me peace of mind. For they are so vibrant and romantic. I am not to touched, however, when they are given to me as gifts. I find it pathetic and ironic and I only find pleasure in irony on my terms.

I look up from my beloved beauty's to see the silhouette of a man. He was tall and wore jewels fit for royalty. My older cousin told me that the King would be visiting our household, but I hoped it wouldn't be so soon.

What is with Martha anyway? She has a husband in Spain, he'll be back soon, and what will he be greeted with? Gossip that his wife has slept with the King, opening her legs like a common whore! That will not end well for her, even if she gives him a son, which I strongly doubt. Martha hasn't the guts to hold a child for longer than three months. I blame her obsession with corsets and her husband's rampages.

This has been the cause of many of her miscarriages and from her nine year marriage, she has only one child. A daughter named Amelia who lives in Rome as a nun. Honestly, the only pride Martha has to hold to from her marriage. No sons.

I look to who I presumed to be the king bored. There wasn't much special about him. I've hear rumors that in his presents you could sense God, that there was a halo over his red head. But I saw no such thing. All I could see was a cocky English man, in jewels and velvet. Not very interesting at all.

Sadly he saw me and without hesitation walked right over to me in long, confidant strides. Most women would find a man taking charge attractive. Sometimes I find it much to expected for my taste. 

The closer he got to me the less the sun shadowed his features. Which I still can't deicide if I hate or find plain. Maybe a mixture of both. Honestly, my dog keeps his face better shaved than this man.

He had a strong jaw, with a long, pale, nose that held a noticeable bridge. He had patches of reddish brown hair with a head full of it. He wore his hair short to keep neat and ward off illness. Practical. But not very charming in my opinion.

He looked strong though, with a healthy athletic body. I can guess why so many married women find him attractive. But in my book it takes much more than a healthy King to make me stray my path.

His face doesn't hide the fact that he is unfaithful, it dose not hide the fact that all he cares about is an heir. It doesn't change that he is still married to Catherine and yet runs around with a proustite's  sister and is tearing apart the country for her.

His looks on the outside don't make him anymore appealing to me than an old, shriveled up rose bush in English summer.

I look at this man in front of me and feel nothing towards him. What was there to feel other than disappointment in Martha? Nothing. I should not be talking to this man.

"Why hello, you must be Princess Cassandra of Greece," he says to me in a deep voice.

If I were a sniveling fool I'd might feel weak in the knees. I bow to him but do not wait for him to tell me to rise.

"Yes, you are correct your majesty. May I inquire why you have decided to visit my dear beloved cousin at such a time?"

He looked at me perplexed. Did he not know that Martha was a bastard of the Duke? She was an aristocrat but her husband came to England for better retirement.

Or did he simply believe that I'd say something sweet and lame like all his whores? Whatever he thought it didn't matter.

"Your cousin invited me over a fortnight ago. She wished to have...company, in her husband's absence," I guess he said this to be subtle. But I hate subtle responses from Kings.

Say what you wish to say or don't open your God forsaken mouth you over sized man baby! Ugh. Its frustrating in the most ways!

"Haven't the slightest idea of what you whish to imply. My cousin has my company does she not?" I say looking him dead in the eye.

They say eyes are the window to the soul, I wonder what mine look like to a man like him.

He looked nervous. Hmmhm, how unexpectedly pleasing. Bashfulness in my presence is a given. Not many men can withstand my icy stare for longer than a minute.

He didn't look away though, expected.

"Well, she wanted a uh. How am I supposed to explain this to a young maiden without tainting her innocence." He looked so uncomfortable. Heh. How sweet.

I don't know if he was being genuine or not though. He is a King, what does he care about a maiden's virtue?

I huff out a laugh trying to hold the rest in and smile a toothy grin.Like the cat that ate the canary. I've been told my smiles can be both charming and frightening. An asset that I have long acquired from my Grandfather.

"I believe I understand now. Do not worry, Martha has no ambitious intent either. She just likes having a warm bed."

With that I bowed once more and left in a elegant twirl. I put a little more effort than necessary to turn fully around to add to my theatric exit. I've always been the ice Queen of flare wherever I went.

I guess not even England's dull environment can change that.