Free From the Indie Side by Indie Side Publishing Page B

his
sleeve and passed it to her. The words on the front were gibberish,
but she did not have to break the wax seal to know who sent it.
    The advisor informed her anyway. “A message
from your uncle.”
    Fear made her hand tremble. Her uncle had
seemed so bent upon revenge for her father’s death, but then he
betrayed her and forged this marriage contract. What cruel command
did he send now? She bravely held out the message for the advisor
to take back, her heart pounding. “You shall have to bring up this
matter with the king.”
    He merely bowed. “Nay, it falls to you , my queen, to bring up such matters with His Royal
Highness. Remind him that his duty did not end with the end of his
Queen Mary. So many lives depend upon it.” His voice dripped with
insinuation before he backed away and left.
    She stared at the advisor until he turned the
corner and was gone. How she hated him. How she hated her uncle.
How her loathing burned.
    She strode into her room and threw her
uncle’s note onto her dressing table, unread, not wanting to know
the words it contained.
    She stared at herself in the glass, gripping
the gilt edges of the mirror. Could she turn this king? Could she
melt his heart of stone to look upon her when she herself wanted it
even less? Could she sway this king to save her own life?
    She thought she caught a reflection of
something out of the corner of her eye, but when she glanced back,
there was nothing there.
    Ah! she thought. Her mind would give her any
distraction to keep her from this decision. But the distractions
were imaginary. Nothing could forestall this forever.
    She looked back at the note and breathed
deeply. She would see it was done. Whether she touched King
Stephen’s heart or merely his loins, she would bind him to her and
do what was demanded.
    But how? she wondered.
    If she was to know this man, know this enemy,
she must discover his secrets, she decided. Where did he go each
night when he dismissed all his guard and threatened death to any
that might follow him? Surely he would not condemn his new bride if
she was to see where he crept? What if there was some other secret
he held and these pinings for a dead queen were nothing but a ruse?
What if there was some secret she could use to gain his confidence,
or to hold as power over him until he granted her the required
child?
    She decided this must be her course of
action.
    That evening, when her toilet was done, she
turned to her ladies and said, “Begone. The king visits me tonight
and I’ll not have you here.”
    They curtseyed deeply and stepped backward
out of the room. When they were gone, Joanna did not wait. She
grabbed a shawl to cover her nightdress and protect her from the
cold. She pushed aside the tapestry to a hidden door in the wall, a
door kept secret for those nights her husband might come, or she
might need to escape and fly.
    Swiftly, she ran down the hallway, her black
hair streaming behind her, her lamp flickering in her hand until
she was outside the king’s chambers. There, she blew out her flame
and waited for him to emerge.
    When he did, his face looked so ragged and
worn that humanity and compassion would urge her to rush to his
side in comfort, to reach out to him as her lord and master and
ease the burden he carried.
    But she did not. The threat to her life if
she did not capture his heart stilled her lips.
    Instead, she waited until darkness swallowed
her, then she skulked in the shadows, following the bobbing light
of his candle. He glanced neither right nor left, but walked
swiftly as if on a mission. He did not even pause to see if there
was someone matching his steps.
    He stopped before a door and withdrew the key
from his belt. Carefully, he fitted it into the lock, pausing a
moment with his hands leaning against the planks, his eyes closed
in exhaustion, before he pushed it open and entered.
    Joanna ran behind him, placing her hand upon
the door as he shut it so that the latch did not catch. Then