The Masque

Alice's hand brushed against Henry's, and she felt her face grow warm. She was thankful for the ivory mask that covered her face. The king gave her a nod and moved to the next maid, Anne, whose hand he grabbed unashamedly as he brought his other hand to her waist. Alice stepped away from the dance and glanced at Queen Katherine, who was sitting on the throne. Her smile was tense and her hands wrung in her lap. She looked weary. She had every right to be. Her husband was flirting openly with one of her maids, and if his prior actions were any indication, would soon take her to bed. Queen Katherine would act like she didn't notice her maid missing in the morning, or ask everyone to say a prayer for the missing lady's health at mass. She never said anything that would imply that she knew the truth, yet it was a sick weight in the air that they all knew.

Alice approached the Queen and bowed. Perhaps she would be looking for an excuse to leave the masque.

“He thinks that no one knows who he is, behind the mask.”

“I know, your highness.”

Queen Katherine gestured for Alice to sit, which she did, on the small chair beside her. It had been some time since Henry had come to visit the Queen in her chambers, yet she never failed to ask if he had spoken of her. Every night, she knelt beside her bed and prayed to God for Henry's health, this man who was whispering into Anne's dark locks. Alice looked away from Henry, and up at the Queen. Her eyes were damp. She dabbed her eyes with her lace handkerchief and glanced down at Alice.

“The flowers in England are much different than those in Spain. In twenty Springs that I have spent in this country, sometimes it still affects me.”

“A shame, your highness.”
“I think I shall take my leave now. Attend me, Miss Ducree?”

“Certainly, your highness.”