Free The Queen's Dwarf A Novel by Ella March Chase

raised alongside his father’s dogs, and when we first met, he smelled of the kennel.” A dimple appeared at the corner of her knowing smile.
    “Well, he will never be so lowly again! Jeffrey will have the finest of everything.” The queen clasped her hands. “What fun it will be to order things up—tiny chairs and miniature tables!”
    The duke laughed. “Even his chamber pot must be small, lest he fall in.”
    The royal party returned to their seats, taking me with them. While the duchess dealt with her sour-faced mother-in-law and guests picked bits off of spun-sugar castles, Buckingham and the queen discussed roles to cast me in: devil’s imps and cherubs and pygmy kings. It was as if they were playing with a rag poppet.
    I forced myself to swallow the bits Her Majesty fed me from her marrowbone pie. When she saw my amazement, she struggled in halting English to explain its mysterious tastes. With the help of her more fluent ladies and the stout man behind her, she described layers of artichokes and dates, sweet potatoes and sea holly roots, and marrow sweetened with sugar. More courses followed—swans roasted, then dressed in their feathers; sea creatures the queen told me were called “porpoise” but which sailors once believed were mermaids; sturgeon, flaking off thin bones.
    Horror at the waste filled me as the guests sent full platters back to the kitchen. If I’d been closer to home, I could have made a pouch of my pennon and smuggled delicacies to the shambles so my family could share my feast.
    My eyelids grew heavy as the hours passed. My face ached from hardening it into a smile.
    It was nearly three in the morning when the duke signaled another fanfare. Sincerity dripped from his face as he addressed the queen. “Majesty, I have one more tribute offer: a tableau in your honor.”
    Music poured forth, so exquisite, I was sure nothing human could make such sounds. Layered beneath, I heard the grinding of gears, the creak of ropes. How dare the fools interrupt the magic sound? Against the painted sky, the clouds shivered into motion, but this time I watched with the guests.
    The clouds reached the floor and parted to reveal what looked to be statues frozen in different poses. Ermine swathed royal forms, crowns glinting on brows. Leopards and French lilies embroidered every scrap of cloth.
    I could not guess who the figures were meant to be, but the queen gave a tiny cry. Her eyes grew bright with tears. “My father! My mother! So like life, they might speak.”
    As if by magic, the statues began to move—and I realized they were dancers made up to look the part. The other guests exclaimed over the spectacle in a mixture of French and English, Buckingham’s words lost to them in the rising tide of music and voices.
    “You were a babe when your father died, so you have never experienced the love between father and child. A bond I cherish, being a father myself.” The duke smiled. “I look forward to the time when I share that role with my dearest friend and his kingdom.”
    Henrietta Maria blushed. “It is my fondest hope to provide an heir.”
    Buckingham’s voice dropped lower still. “It is difficult to conceive when a husband is forbidden his wife’s bed by priests who guard the door.”
    I saw the king’s gaze darken, but he was looking at the queen, not the man who had spoken so bluntly.
    Henrietta Maria evaded the king’s glare, something in her expression reminding me of Ann when she was trying to avoid a bitter tonic. “Even a queen has no power to circumvent holy days. I do not forget that my greatest duty is to become mother of a prince.”
    “A very Protestant prince when he is born.” Buckingham pressed his fingertips together. “A soul girded to wage war against Rome.”
    And France? The question hung in the air, unspoken.
    “Since the age of Solomon, wars have come,” Buckingham said. “Fate demands men choose sides. We must crush the enemy or be crushed ourselves.”
    I