Lady Rochford looks at me, for the first time seeming unsure of herself. “You shouldn’t have baited him like that,” she says.
I walk deeper inside the room, stopping to stand in front of the mirror. “He’s the least of my worries.”
Lady Rochford’s reflection shakes her head. “He shouldn’t be. I’ve seen firsthand what he can do. And he is ruthless when it comes to his own survival.”
I’m sure that she’s right. She often is. But the only way out of this is through it, and I have to keep pushing until the end.
“You also mustn’t underestimate the king,” she goes on. “You have yet to fully see his fangs, but I assure you that they bite.”
“I know,” I answer, turning around to catch her gaze. “But my fangs can bite, too.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Sitting in my audience chamber the following morning, I’ve had it set up so that there’s a table in the middle of the room. I’m at the head, and around me are Lady Rochford, Bessie, Cecily, Bartholomew, William, Lady Barrow, and Lady Wessex. Everyone is tense, sporadically squirming in their seats. The wheels of gossip are always in motion at the palace, and I’m sure the news of the king’s irate early arrival has spread like wildfire.
“Thank you all for being here,” I say, making my voice loud enough to be heard by everyone present. “Now, please raise your hand if you have ever been personally victimized by Henry VIII.”
I raise my own hand up in the air, and slowly but surely, so does everyone. I let them linger there for a moment until I fold my hands onto the table, taking a cleansing breath.
“I’ve gathered us together today because out of everyone here at court, you seven are who I trust the most. You’re my friends and confidants... and now you’re my privy council.”
Glances shift around at my words. Lady Barrow inches a little closer to the table. “Your Majesty, queens don’t have privy councils.”
“Well, they should.” She sits back at my response, her face disguising a little smile as I go on. “I’m going to speak honestly. Now that the king is back at court, it’s safe to say that he’s very unhappy with me.”
“How unhappy?” Lady Barrow asks, leaning forward. “Lovers’ quarrel unhappy or getting sent to the Tower unhappy?”
I take a beat. “Probably closer to the Tower one.”
Lady Wessex rubs her face with her hands. “So this isn’t so much a privy council as it is a death council.”
“I don’t see it that way,” I tell her. “I asked you all to come here because I want to know what you think.”
“What does it matter what we think?” she counters.
My shoulders slump a degree as I look back at her. “Do you hear yourself right now? You are smart, you are mean, and you are undeniably fun. Do you honestly believe that what you think doesn’t matter?”
She goes to pour herself a glass of wine from the center of the table, but Lady Barrow stays her hand.
“What exactly do you anticipate the charges to be?” Bessie asks. Her eyes hold the same focus as when she’s trying to solve a medical issue. Clear, methodical, unafraid.
“All I know at this point is that the king is highly displeased with me. He doesn’t approve of how I’ve conducted myself while he’s been away. He believes my ladies-in-waiting and I have been promiscuous and that I’ve taken measures to stop you all from having children.”
Lady Wessex and Lady Barrow catch each other’s eyes, and I keep speaking so no one notices it. “There’s also a strong possibility of an adultery charge.”
“Obviously,” Bartholomew replies.
“Was it that obvious?” I ask.
His expression hovers between yes and no. “Well, it’s more obvious now that you somewhat just confirmed it. Who was it? Was it Culpepper?”
“That’s who I’d pick,” Cecily adds.
William nods. “I would initially resist but ultimately pick him as well.”
“Isn’t it irritating how deeply attractive people are drawn to each other?” Lady Wessex asks. “It’s gluttonous, if you think about it.”
Lady Barrow claps her hands to get everyone’s attention before turning to me. “We’re going off topic. What physical proof do they have against you?”
