Read Online The Queen's Dwarf A Novel by Ella March Chase - Free Book Online
Authors: Ella March Chase
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Majesty is far too gracious to hurl things at a humble courtier who only wishes to please her,” Buckingham said in effortless French.
I wondered at Buckingham’s arrogance, not only letting the queen’s courtier know he had heard her spiteful comment but announcing it to the entire company, as well.
A haughty stranger intruded with a bit of a stammer, which made his French sound clumsier. “His Grace is my most loyal and generous subject. As the queen would know if a wise councillor could silence those forever criticizing His Grace in her presence.”
Madame Saint-Georges hastened to speak, her voice young in spite of its hauteur. “Your Majesty, I was saying only that it is demeaning for a queen to carry out a servant’s task.”
“The queen is the only one who can judge that,” Buckingham said. “I fling myself upon her mercy. Your Majesty,” he said, addressing the queen, his tone almost cozening. “Will you indulge me?” I held my breath, waiting for the blare of horns. It did not come.
The platter beneath me shifted again, then thudded and went still. I braced myself for just a heartbeat before I heard it—a fanfare.
I thrust my fist through the crust and launched myself upward, bursting through the pastry. A chorus of gasps erupted as I yanked my pennon upright and leapt onto the table, blinking gilt from my lashes. I waited for my vision to clear after the darkness of the pie, not wanting to knock over some serving piece or spill upon the queen. Yet Ware had stressed it was vital that I snare the queen’s attention.
As the last crumbs dropped from my face, I found myself staring into the face of the queen. Every detail burned into my memory with a clarity created by awe and fear. This dark-haired woman was the queen I was to spy upon. My future depended on learning every nuance of expression so I could wring out her secrets and spill them into Buckingham’s hands.
Could any emotion ever remain hidden in the queen’s face? She stared as if she expected me to whir like a clockwork marvel instead of draw breath. Her dark almond-shaped eyes were red from earlier tears, a wistfulness about her that I had not expected to find in a queen.
I felt a twinge of sympathy but fought it by bounding over the edge of the crust. I landed—blessedly—between the saltcellar and her gold-trimmed goblet. My boots, embroidered with dragons, fought for a hold on the linens, the staff that held my pennon aiding my balance as the satin flag unfurled over my head. Feeling jolted back into my foot, but I did not let the queen see the needlelike sensation sewing its way up my calf.
She laughed in surprise and delight, clapping more like a girl pretending to be a queen than the daughter of royalty and a king’s wife.
“Greetings from the fairy realm, most gracious Majesty,” I said in English, sweeping a bow so deep, I almost overset myself. “I have left my magical kingdom behind in quest of the most elusive prize any man mortal or fairy-born might win.” I pasted on an impish grin as the toadlike man behind her began to translate between us so naturally that it astonished me. He was no more intrusive than an echo.
“What reward do you seek?” she asked.
“Grant me one of your smiles, Queen of my heart.” I struck my breastplate with my fist. “I shall wage any battle for it, fight any foe.”
She tilted her head, listening to Sir Tobie. Her lips trembled. “I am in need of a champion.” Henrietta Maria’s gaze flicked to Buckingham. I saw the lady-in-waiting standing to her left level Buckingham a bitter glare.
Did the queen know what a formidable opponent she faced? The rubies crusting Buckingham’s doublet sparked red. For an instant, I thought of hell’s flames.
A melody swelled from the musician’s gallery, my signal to perform. But fear had wiped the intricate melding of dance and battle from my memory. Panic rose until I discerned a pipe trilling among the other instruments. I imagined the
I wondered at Buckingham’s arrogance, not only letting the queen’s courtier know he had heard her spiteful comment but announcing it to the entire company, as well.
A haughty stranger intruded with a bit of a stammer, which made his French sound clumsier. “His Grace is my most loyal and generous subject. As the queen would know if a wise councillor could silence those forever criticizing His Grace in her presence.”
Madame Saint-Georges hastened to speak, her voice young in spite of its hauteur. “Your Majesty, I was saying only that it is demeaning for a queen to carry out a servant’s task.”
“The queen is the only one who can judge that,” Buckingham said. “I fling myself upon her mercy. Your Majesty,” he said, addressing the queen, his tone almost cozening. “Will you indulge me?” I held my breath, waiting for the blare of horns. It did not come.
The platter beneath me shifted again, then thudded and went still. I braced myself for just a heartbeat before I heard it—a fanfare.
I thrust my fist through the crust and launched myself upward, bursting through the pastry. A chorus of gasps erupted as I yanked my pennon upright and leapt onto the table, blinking gilt from my lashes. I waited for my vision to clear after the darkness of the pie, not wanting to knock over some serving piece or spill upon the queen. Yet Ware had stressed it was vital that I snare the queen’s attention.
As the last crumbs dropped from my face, I found myself staring into the face of the queen. Every detail burned into my memory with a clarity created by awe and fear. This dark-haired woman was the queen I was to spy upon. My future depended on learning every nuance of expression so I could wring out her secrets and spill them into Buckingham’s hands.
Could any emotion ever remain hidden in the queen’s face? She stared as if she expected me to whir like a clockwork marvel instead of draw breath. Her dark almond-shaped eyes were red from earlier tears, a wistfulness about her that I had not expected to find in a queen.
I felt a twinge of sympathy but fought it by bounding over the edge of the crust. I landed—blessedly—between the saltcellar and her gold-trimmed goblet. My boots, embroidered with dragons, fought for a hold on the linens, the staff that held my pennon aiding my balance as the satin flag unfurled over my head. Feeling jolted back into my foot, but I did not let the queen see the needlelike sensation sewing its way up my calf.
She laughed in surprise and delight, clapping more like a girl pretending to be a queen than the daughter of royalty and a king’s wife.
“Greetings from the fairy realm, most gracious Majesty,” I said in English, sweeping a bow so deep, I almost overset myself. “I have left my magical kingdom behind in quest of the most elusive prize any man mortal or fairy-born might win.” I pasted on an impish grin as the toadlike man behind her began to translate between us so naturally that it astonished me. He was no more intrusive than an echo.
“What reward do you seek?” she asked.
“Grant me one of your smiles, Queen of my heart.” I struck my breastplate with my fist. “I shall wage any battle for it, fight any foe.”
She tilted her head, listening to Sir Tobie. Her lips trembled. “I am in need of a champion.” Henrietta Maria’s gaze flicked to Buckingham. I saw the lady-in-waiting standing to her left level Buckingham a bitter glare.
Did the queen know what a formidable opponent she faced? The rubies crusting Buckingham’s doublet sparked red. For an instant, I thought of hell’s flames.
A melody swelled from the musician’s gallery, my signal to perform. But fear had wiped the intricate melding of dance and battle from my memory. Panic rose until I discerned a pipe trilling among the other instruments. I imagined the
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