Free To Be Queen by Christy English

to me that he was a virgin, as I was, and I felt a touch of foreboding. I dismissed it at once; was this not the marriage my father and I had labored for almost a decade to make?
    We did not speak alone, for Louis did not stay for the dancing. The churchmen he had brought with him stood after the fruit came out, and bowed low to me, making ready to leave.
    â€œWe look forward to seeing you again tomorrow, my lady duchess,” Louis said. I saw that his men had not even asked his permission to go. He had seen them rise, and trained to come when his churchmen called, he rose with them.
    Louis pressed his lips to my fingertips, and the warmth of his breath sent a shiver down my spine. His blue eyes met mine, and for a moment, I lost myself in them.
    Louis gave me a soft, sweet smile that made me long to reach out and touch his cheek. He lowered his voice so that only I could hear him. “Good night, Eleanor.”
    It was the first time he had used my given name. His Parisian accent mangled it almost beyond recognition, but his voice was soft, his breath hot on my skin. I thought that I might overlook such a flaw, even come to find it charming, in exchange for the crown he would soon place upon my head.
    The Parisians were gone from my hall almost as soon as Louis turned from me. How they moved so quickly, with their stiff, contained walks and their furtive glances at my people, I was not sure. My ladies and knights sighed with relief to see them gone, but a few of the Parisian churchmen still lingered. I raised my glass to them, and sent round the fruit once more, this time from my own table.
    Their leader, a monk named Francis, smiled and bowed from his seat below the dais. Though there were spies in my midst, I was well aware of them, as my father had taught me to be.
    The remembered loss of my father was like a blade driven into my side. It came upon me as an assassin might, and took my breath. Papa was not here to sit in triumph with me. It was his careful diplomacy as much as the duchy itself that had brought this alliance about. I missed my father more in that moment than I had since I first learned of his death.
    Petra heard me gasp, and pressed my hand under the table, careful not to look at me, since I had told her that we must both be cautious while the Parisians were about, careful never to reveal our true thoughts or feelings in public. Petra had shown more grace at subterfuge than I had hoped for. Perhaps we had sold her short by protecting her for so long. But it was done. I was duchess, and I would keep protecting her for as long as I drew breath.
    My pain passed, though the memory of it lingered like a pall over the rest of the evening. I stayed in the hall until the lamps burned down.
    My people were relieved to see me dance once more. They sang for me with pride, and I listened to their songs. We had heard little music since my father died. Tonight, my knights and ladies danced not just for the joy of my coming marriage but for joy in the simple freedom to move and sing once more.
    I was not as lighthearted as they, but I laughed at their bawdy jokes as if I were. It was almost midnight when Amaria and my women climbed the stairs to my rooms. Petra had been asleep long since, safe in her bower, with double guards to keep the Parisians at bay, if any gentlemen were to try her door.
    Amaria undid my braid until my bronze hair hung about my shoulders like a cloak. She began the long task of combing it out, as she did every night. She knew that such soothing motions helped me sleep.
    â€œThe young king is at prayer,” she said, almost idly.
    I blinked, and sat up straight. The cushion supporting my back fell to the wooden floor so that Amaria had to bend down to retrieve it. The rest of my ladies had been sent away already.
    â€œWhat? Where is Louis?”
    She blinked to see such emotion from me. She knew as well as I that our marriage was not for my pleasure, nor for his, but to secure the throne