She ignores my request and munches on another one. “It seems a shame to waste them.”
“It really does, Your Majesty,” says Lady Wessex. Lady Wessex is in her mid-thirties and is never not scowling. She’s also the only lady-in-waiting who doesn’t suck up to me, and I like her tremendously for it. “And why must we all have food and cloth covering our faces whenshedoesn’t?”
The group turns to look at Lady Rochford, who is perched on a chair in the corner with her arms crossed. “I’m special,” she says, straight-faced.
I sit myself up from my reclining position to address the room while repositioning Theo, who’s sitting comfortably on my lap. “Okay. I admit that maybe the self-care concept is a stretch in the current sociopolitical climate, but I really just want us all to get to know each other.”
“In what way?” Bessie asks.
I give Theo’s coat a pet as my fingers begin to fidget. “I think it would be beneficial for everyone if we could connect more. From what I’ve observed, it seems that most of us are a bit suspicious of each other, and it would be great for our mental health if we could support each other and let our guards down when we’re together.”
“When you say ‘mental health’...” Lady Wessex asks, trailing off at the end.
“I mean how we’re feeling in our minds. Our psychological, emotional, and social well-being. No one should neglect their mental health.”
The room breaks out into laughter, and it takes a good twenty seconds until they settle.
“How about this?” I try. “Let’s do a group exercise.”
“Anne of Cleves didn’t make us do group exercises,” Lady Wessex complains. She’s referring Henry’s fourth queen (the one before me), whom he was married to for six months before he had the marriage annulled. It was a political match, but Henry immediately deemed the twenty-four-year-old Anne too “unattractive” for him. Clearly his self-awareness waved bye-bye and hit the Hampton Court road a long time ago. Anne was given a settlement and then referred to as the king’s sister.
Some people are just born lucky.
“So, we’re going to play a game called Stand Up, Sit Down. Everybody, stand up.” I hop up from my place on the floor, setting Theo down beside me. Slowly but surely, the rest of the ladies do the same. “In this game, one of us talks about a challenging experience we’ve faced, and then whoever has had the same experience sits down, too. I’ll go first. I sometimes experience depressive episodes.”
I sit down, and everyone does the same.
“See, this is great. Lady Wessex, when is one of the times that you’ve felt depressed?”
“This game is inspiring a depressive episode as we speak.”
A number of the women try to hide their laughs. “Okay, well, I’m glad you’re speaking your truth. It’s your turn now. Everyone up.”
Lady Wessex takes an exhausted breath. “Fine. I sometimes worry very deeply about my son, so much so that I make myself sick over it.” She sits down, and half the ladies do the same.
“Thank you for sharing that, Lady Wessex. Do we have any volunteers to go next?”
One of my younger maids, Margaret Sutton, speaks up. “I will. I have trouble sleeping at night for fear of being killed by an angry mob.” She sits down, though no one else does.
“Thank you for sharing that, Margaret,” I tell her. “May I ask why you have that fear?”
“On account that I watched as my entire family was killed by an angry mob.”
William and Bartholomew stop playing. The room falls wholly silent.
“I feel like I should have been prepared for that possibility. I’m very sorry for your loss, Margaret, and, if you're comfortable with it, I would be happy to unpack that with you privately in the very near future.” She stands back up with a nod, and I slowly look out at the rest of the group. “Would anyone else like to go?”
Elizabeth Norworth steps forward. She’s one of my oldest maids of honor and is also one of the quietest. “I will, Your Majesty. When I displeased my father last year, I was forced to fast for a week to show my repentance and obedience.”
Every woman in the room sits down, apart from me.
What the actual fuck?
Every woman in this room has been starved as a form of punishment at some point in their lives.
“I’m sorry you all had to go through that,” I tell them.
“It is not just that,” Elizabeth goes on to say. “What happened was, the fasting made my insides hurt so wretchedly that even now, whenever I see food, I hide a bit of it in my garters. Especially cheese. Most of the court thinks I emit a retching smell, but I don’t. It is just the hidden cheese.”
