Snow fell in gentle flurries outside the leaded glass windows of Greenwich Palace's private dining chamber. Queen Jane Grey watched the white flakes dance against the darkening sky, her mind wandering far beyond the palace walls to Whitehaven's experimental gardens where Bobby had shown her medicinal herbs thriving in specially constructed glass houses despite winter's grip.
"Your Majesty?"
Jane blinked, the memory dissolving as she returned her attention to the man seated across from her. Guilford Dudley, son of the Duke of Northumberland and her betrothed, watched her with barely concealed irritation behind his practiced smile.
"Forgive me," Jane said, straightening in her seat. "My thoughts wandered momentarily."
"To matters of state, no doubt," Guilford replied with the indulgent tone one might use with a child. "Though I was asking your opinion on my new doublet. The tailor used gold thread imported from Venice."
Jane's gaze moved to the garment in question—an ostentatious creation that seemed designed to shout Guilford's importance rather than quietly assert it. The doublet featured intricate gold embroidery across midnight blue velvet, with far more pearls than taste would dictate appropriate for a man not yet crowned. It was the latest in a series of increasingly regal attire he'd commissioned, each edging closer to outright royal regalia despite his technically subordinate position.
"It's very... elaborate," Jane offered diplomatically. "The craftsmanship appears excellent."
Guilford preened at what he perceived as a compliment. "I've commissioned six more in different colors. A king must maintain appearances, after all."
Jane felt a familiar tightness forming behind her temples—the beginning of the headaches that frequently plagued her after extended time in Guilford's company.
"You are not yet king, Guilford," she reminded him gently. "Nor will you be king after our marriage. You would be king consort, a different position entirely."
His expression darkened immediately. "A mere technicality. Once we're married, we'll rule together as equals. That's the natural order—a wife submits to her husband's authority, as Scripture dictates."
Jane suppressed a sigh. This conversation had repeated with increasing frequency since her coronation. Where once she might have found Guilford's scholarly references charming—evidence of the humanist education that had initially drawn her to him—she now recognized them as superficial ornaments hastily applied to mask a profound intellectual vacancy.
*Where Bobby would build an entire philosophical framework from a single classical reference, Guilford merely deploys quotes like decorative baubles, neither understanding nor engaging with their deeper meaning.*
"Even Scripture admits exceptions for divinely appointed rulers," Jane countered. "Deborah judged Israel without submitting to any husband's authority. Elizabeth of Hungary ruled in her own right."
Guilford waved his hand dismissively. "Those were exceptional circumstances without proper male leadership available. God clearly intends the natural order to be maintained when possible."
Jane took a measured sip of wine to avoid responding immediately. When she had first met Guilford at fifteen months ago, his confidence had seemed refreshing—a pleasant contrast to the timid scholarly companions of her childhood. Now, at fifteen, having experienced genuine intellectual engagement with Bobby Kestrel, she recognized Guilford's certainty as mere arrogance built atop intellectual shallowness.
"Perhaps," she suggested carefully, "we might find a suitable compromise that honors both our positions. I've been considering creating you Duke of Clarence after our marriage—a prestigious title with significant estates and authority."
Guilford's face flushed dark red, the reaction so immediate and visceral that Jane instinctively leaned away from him.
"Duke of Clarence?" he sputtered, wine sloshing dangerously close to the rim of his goblet as he gestured emphatically. "I am to be King of England, not some provincial noble! My father has secured this path for me—for us—at considerable personal risk."
"Your father secured my position as Queen," Jane corrected firmly, drawing on the royal composure she'd cultivated over eight months of rule. "The succession amendment named me specifically, not you, regardless of its legitimacy."
The last part slipped out before she could stop herself. The succession amendment's authenticity remained officially unquestioned, though Bobby had confirmed her private suspicions months ago. She watched Guilford carefully, but he seemed to have missed the implication, too absorbed in his own offense.
"This is that foreign merchant's influence!" Guilford slammed his goblet down, sending wine splashing onto the fine tablecloth. "Baron Kestrel—or Viscount now, isn't he? Climbing ever higher through your favor. What counsel has he been whispering in your ear against me? Against my father?"
Jane maintained outward calm despite her racing heart. "Lord Kestrel offers economic and diplomatic counsel, nothing more. This decision reflects the legal reality of English succession law, not any advisor's influence."
"Legal reality," Guilford mimicked with surprising venom. "You speak like him now. Cold, calculating. Is that what happens during your frequent 'retreats' to Whitehaven? Has he turned you against me while claiming to serve England's interests?"
Jane felt heat rising in her cheeks at the implied accusation, anger mingling with something deeper—an uncomfortable awareness of her own feelings for Bobby that she worked diligently to conceal from the court.
"Lord Kestrel maintains appropriate formal distance and provides valuable counsel on matters beyond court expertise," she replied, her voice deliberately measured. "You would do well to remember that you address your Queen, not merely your betrothed."
Guilford's eyes widened at her tone—the flash of genuine royal authority breaking through her typically scholarly demeanor. For a moment, something like fear flickered across his features before being replaced by calculated contrition.
"Forgive me, Your Majesty," he said, his voice suddenly honey-sweet. "My passion for England's future—our future together—sometimes overwhelms propriety. I spoke from love, not disrespect."
Jane recognized the abrupt change for what it was—the same manipulative pattern she'd observed with increasing clarity since her coronation. Guilford alternated between petulant demands and honeyed charm depending on which seemed likeliest to advance his ambitions in any given moment.
"Of course," she acknowledged with diplomatic grace that belied her internal weariness. "Passion for England's welfare is admirable, though best expressed through measured counsel rather than heated declarations."
A servant appeared with the evening's final course—sugared almonds and candied fruits arranged in delicate patterns alongside small pastries filled with almond cream. Jane noticed how Guilford's expression immediately brightened at the sight, his offense temporarily forgotten in favor of sweet indulgence.
"Ah, the marchpane tarts," he exclaimed with childish enthusiasm that momentarily revealed the boy still beneath the man's ambitions. "You remembered my preference."
"You've mentioned your fondness for them often enough," Jane replied, allowing a small genuine smile at this rare moment of unguarded pleasure. Despite everything, she sometimes glimpsed the person Guilford might have become under different guidance—perhaps not the scholarly partner she'd initially imagined, but someone with simple joys uncomplicated by ruthless ambition.
As she watched him eagerly select the largest pastry, Jane found herself wondering what Guilford might have been without his father's influence. Would he have developed genuine interests beyond power and status? Might he have found happiness in some pursuit better suited to his temperament than kingship?
Bobby speaks of worlds where people choose their paths freely, following natural inclinations rather than predetermined roles. Perhaps in such a world, Guilford might find contentment beyond this desperate grasping at a crown he's neither equipped nor suited to wear.
The thought brought unexpected compassion. Guilford, for all his insufferable qualities, was as much shaped by circumstance as she was—molded and manipulated toward purposes serving others' ambitions rather than his own potential flourishing.
Her momentary sympathy evaporated when Guilford, having demolished two pastries in quick succession, returned to his previous theme with remarkable persistence.
"About my coronation," he began, brushing sugar from his lips. "Once we're married, I believe Westminster would be most appropriate, following tradition. My father suggests June would provide suitable weather for the procession."
Jane set down her own barely-touched pastry. "Guilford, there will be no separate coronation. I was crowned as England's sovereign last July. You would be king consort, not king regnant—a distinction with significant legal implications."
"Legal implications," Guilford repeated dismissively. "Laws can be changed by those with sufficient vision and authority. My father—"
"Your father serves at my pleasure as Lord President of the Council," Jane interrupted with uncharacteristic sharpness. "He does not dictate succession law or coronation procedures to England's anointed queen."
The statement contained more bravado than truth, and both knew it. Despite eight months as nominal sovereign, Jane's actual authority remained heavily circumscribed by Northumberland's control of the Privy Council and key administrative functions. Yet something in her tone—perhaps the growing certainty Bobby had helped cultivate in her—gave Guilford momentary pause.
He recovered quickly, reverting to the conciliatory approach that often followed his setbacks. "Of course, Your Majesty. I merely wish to ensure England perceives proper respect for its male leadership. The people expect a king, not merely a consort."
"The people expect stability and competent governance," Jane countered, drawing on Bobby's insights regarding genuine popular concerns beyond court intrigues. "Titles matter less than practical improvements in their daily circumstances."
Guilford looked genuinely confused by this perspective, as though the notion that common subjects might care about something beyond royal pageantry had never occurred to him.
"But they must have someone to revere," he insisted. "Someone who embodies England's strength and majesty. A queen alone cannot provide that symbol—it contradicts natural order."
Jane thought of how Bobby had described future societies where women led nations without question, where capability rather than gender determined leadership. Such concepts remained almost impossible to articulate within Tudor England's rigid framework, yet she found herself increasingly impatient with these artificial constraints.
"I believe I've had sufficient discussion for tonight," Jane said finally, setting aside her napkin with deliberate care. "There are some scholarly texts I wish to review before retiring."
Guilford's expression shifted to one of exaggerated disappointment. "Must you always retreat to your books? We're to be married in three months' time. Shouldn't we spend these evenings becoming better acquainted?"
"We've known each other for nearly two years, Guilford. I believe we're sufficiently acquainted for formal alliance."
"Formal alliance," he repeated, his tone suddenly cooling. "Is that how you view our impending marriage? A mere political arrangement?"
Jane realized her error immediately. While she had long since privately acknowledged the purely political nature of their betrothal, openly framing it as such violated the romantic pretense Guilford insisted on maintaining—at least when it served his purposes.
"Marriage between royalty always serves dual purposes," she attempted to correct diplomatically. "Both personal connection and dynastic alliance."
"Personal connection." Guilford leaned forward, his eyes suddenly intent in a way that made Jane instinctively tense. "That's what I wish to cultivate tonight, Your Majesty. May I accompany you to the library? I'd enjoy sharing in your scholarly pursuits."
The request surprised Jane given Guilford's typically dismissive attitude toward her intellectual interests. His sudden enthusiasm struck her as suspicious, yet refusing without clear justification would appear petty and potentially create unnecessary conflict with Northumberland through his son's complaints.
"If you wish," she conceded cautiously. "Though I warn you, my planned reading involves theological commentaries on natural law that many find rather dry."
"Nothing you find interesting could possibly be dry," Guilford replied with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Besides, a husband should understand his wife's mind, shouldn't he?"
Jane rose from the table, formally signaling the meal's conclusion. Her ladies-in-waiting immediately moved to attend her, but Guilford waved them back with an authoritative gesture that made Jane bristle despite her outward composure.
"We require no additional company," he declared in his increasingly habitual royal plural. "The Queen and I wish private conversation."
Jane noticed her senior lady, Margaret, exchange a quick glance with Captain Phillips, the guard Bobby had personally assigned to her household. Something wordless passed between them before Margaret executed a perfect curtsy.
"As Your Highness wishes," she said with appropriate deference that nonetheless contained subtle emphasis on Guilford's technically correct but lesser honorific. "We shall await Her Majesty in her chambers when she wishes to retire."
Jane followed Guilford from the dining chamber, maintaining the precise half-step behind him that protocol dictated despite her superior rank—a small concession to his pride that seemed worth the peace it purchased. Captain Phillips fell into step several paces behind them, his presence a reassuring constant that Bobby had insisted upon despite Northumberland's initial objections.
The palace library occupied a modest chamber overlooking the Thames, its collection significantly enhanced since Jane's ascension through deliberate acquisition policy. Where her predecessor Edward had focused primarily on religious texts supporting Protestant reformation, Jane had expanded the collection to include classical philosophy, natural science, and even carefully selected humanist works that occasionally raised Cranmer's ecclesiastical eyebrows.
Most precious among these volumes were those Bobby had personally selected, each containing small handwritten inscriptions on the final page that only Jane ever saw—private messages ranging from scholarly observations to personal encouragements that she treasured beyond their considerable monetary value.
"So many books," Guilford observed as they entered the chamber, his tone suggesting he found the collection excessive rather than impressive. "Have you actually read all these?"
"Most," Jane acknowledged, moving directly to the section containing theological commentaries. "Though some more thoroughly than others, naturally."
Guilford wandered aimlessly among the shelves while Jane selected the volume she'd been studying—a comparative analysis of natural law concepts across Augustine, Aquinas, and contemporary Protestant theologians. She settled at the reading desk, arranging the lamp to provide optimal illumination against the winter evening's early darkness.
"What possible use is all this?" Guilford suddenly asked, gesturing broadly toward the shelves surrounding them. "History, philosophy, theology—endless debates about matters already settled by proper authority. What practical purpose does such study serve?"
Jane looked up from her text, genuinely surprised by the directness of his dismissal. "Understanding complex ideas helps develop sound judgment for governance. How can one lead justly without comprehending justice's philosophical foundations?"
Guilford snorted inelegantly. "Justice is whatever the king declares it to be. Philosophy merely complicates what God and natural order have simplified."
Jane thought of Bobby's explanation regarding historical cultural relativism—how concepts of justice evolved across civilizations and eras rather than existing as eternal constants. Such ideas remained dangerous to express openly in Tudor England, yet they had fundamentally reshaped her understanding of governance.
"Even kings benefit from wisdom accumulated through centuries of careful thought," she suggested diplomatically. "Scripture itself praises Solomon for seeking wisdom above power or wealth."
"Solomon was granted divine wisdom directly," Guilford countered, his tone increasingly dismissive. "He didn't waste years poring over dusty commentaries debating obvious truths."
Jane suppressed a sigh, recognizing the fundamental incompatibility between their worldviews that no careful diplomacy could ultimately bridge. Where she saw intricate complexity requiring humble, patient exploration, Guilford perceived only uncomplicated certainties requiring confident assertion.
She returned her attention to her book, hoping Guilford might lose interest if she stopped engaging his increasingly circular arguments. For several blessed minutes, he continued wandering aimlessly among the shelves, occasionally pulling out volumes only to immediately return them with evident disinterest.
The silence, however, proved short-lived.
"You're fifteen now," Guilford observed abruptly, his tone shifting to something that immediately put Jane on alert despite its superficial casualness.
"Since October, yes," she acknowledged cautiously, not looking up from her text.
Guilford moved closer, positioning himself behind her chair in a way that made the hairs on the back of Jane's neck rise instinctively.
"A suitable age for marriage in nobles," he continued. "Many consummate their unions at fifteen, sometimes younger when political necessity demands it."
Jane's fingers tightened imperceptibly on her book's edges. "Our marriage remains scheduled for May, as previously arranged. There's no need to rush proper preparations."
"Preparations, certainly," Guilford agreed, his hands coming to rest on the back of her chair, uncomfortably close to her shoulders. "But perhaps certain... aspects... might be explored before formal ceremony. To ensure compatibility."
Jane carefully closed her book, using the movement to shift her chair slightly forward, away from his looming presence.
"I was not aware you harbored concerns regarding our compatibility," she replied with deliberate misunderstanding. "The arrangements have been confirmed by both families and the Privy Council. All legal requirements have been satisfied."
Guilford moved around to face her, leaning against the reading desk with casual possession that forced Jane to look up at him.
"I speak not of legal requirements, but natural ones," he said, his voice lowering to what he clearly imagined was seductive intimacy. "A man and woman should know certain things about one another before binding themselves permanently. Things beyond conversation or political alliance."
Jane felt heat rising in her cheeks—partly embarrassment at his crude implication, partly anger at his presumption.
"Such knowledge properly awaits marriage," she stated firmly, rising from her chair to establish more appropriate distance. "As both Christian teaching and royal protocol make abundantly clear."
"Protocol," Guilford scoffed, reaching for her hand before she could step fully away. "We will rule England together. Who would dare question what passes between us in private?"
His fingers closed around her wrist with surprising strength, the grip tight enough that Jane felt immediate discomfort radiating up her arm.
"Guilford," she said with careful control, "you're hurting me. Please release my hand."
Instead of complying, he tugged her closer, his other arm attempting to encircle her waist. "There's no need for such formality between us, Jane. We're practically married already. A preview of our marital relations would hardly scandalize anyone who matters."
Jane tried to extract herself without creating obvious struggle, acutely aware of the political complications that would arise from openly rejecting Northumberland's son despite his increasingly inappropriate behavior.
"This is neither the time nor place for such discussions," she insisted, managing to keep her voice steady despite growing alarm. "If you cannot maintain proper decorum, I will have to insist you leave."
Guilford's grip tightened further, his expression darkening with the same petulant anger she'd observed increasingly frequently since her coronation.
"You didn't object to Kestrel's improper attentions during your Whitehaven visits," he hissed, voice low but venomous. "The court whispers about your 'scholarly retreats' with your favorite advisor. Do you think people don't notice how you look at him?"
Jane felt cold fear replacing her initial alarm. If such rumors had reached Guilford, they had certainly reached his father—a far more dangerous proposition given Northumberland's tenuous hold on power through her reign.
"Lord Kestrel maintains perfect propriety as my economic advisor," she replied with careful dignity despite the painful grip on her wrist. "Any suggestion otherwise represents malicious court gossip without foundation."
"Without foundation," Guilford mimicked with unpleasant emphasis. "Perhaps I should insist on accompanying you to Whitehaven next time. See for myself what 'economic advice' requires such frequent private consultation."
His fingers dug deeper into her wrist, the pressure now genuinely painful as Jane tried again to extract herself without obvious struggle.
"You're hurting me," she repeated more firmly. "Release me immediately."
"Not until you promise me what you've likely already given Kestrel," Guilford insisted, attempting to pull her closer still. "I will not be made a fool while my betrothed entertains a commoner recently elevated to nobility."
The accusation burned through Jane's carefully maintained composure. "I have given Lord Kestrel nothing inappropriate," she stated with genuine royal authority breaking through her scholarly demeanor. "And you presume too much in your accusations and your manner."
"I presume what is rightfully mine as future king," Guilford countered, his free hand moving to grasp her shoulder in a way that would leave bruises later. "And I—"
"Your Highness."
The cool, clear voice cut through Guilford's increasingly heated demands. Jane turned her head to see Margaret standing in the library doorway, her posture perfectly formal despite the unusual timing of her appearance.
"Forgive the interruption," Margaret continued smoothly, "but Her Majesty has received an urgent communication from Archbishop Cranmer requiring immediate attention."
Guilford's grip loosened slightly in surprise, though he didn't fully release Jane's wrist. "We are engaged in private discussion," he snapped. "The Archbishop's matters can wait until morning."
Margaret's expression remained perfectly respectful despite the subtle shift in her posture that placed her more directly in the doorway.
"His Grace specifically indicated the matter pertains to Your Highness's position regarding certain ceremonial arrangements," she replied with diplomatic precision. "He felt Your Highness would wish to ensure proper preparations reflect appropriate status and dignity."
The transparent appeal to Guilford's vanity and preoccupation with status worked precisely as intended. His grip slackened entirely as his attention shifted to this new potential avenue for advancing his position.
"Ceremonial arrangements?" he repeated, interest immediately piqued. "Of what nature?"
"I believe it concerns coronation procedures and formal titles," Margaret answered with carefully constructed vagueness that nonetheless contained exactly the bait needed. "His Grace awaits in the Small Council Chamber with the relevant precedents for Your Highness's consultation."
Guilford straightened his already impeccable doublet, immediately distracted by this apparent opportunity to advance his royal ambitions.
"You should have mentioned this immediately rather than interrupting with unnecessary dramatics," he declared with the automatic condescension he typically directed toward female attendants. "Her Majesty's theological readings can certainly wait when matters of state ceremony require attention."
Jane rubbed her wrist discreetly as Guilford stepped away, the relief of his released grip nearly overwhelming in its immediacy.
"Perhaps we should both attend the Archbishop," she suggested, not entirely trusting this convenient interruption despite her gratitude for it.
"No need," Guilford replied with transparent eagerness to handle the matter independently. "These ceremonial details require masculine perspective. I shall report any necessary decisions once they're properly settled."
He strode toward the door with the practiced regal bearing he'd been cultivating since her coronation, pausing briefly to address Margaret with condescending magnanimity.
"You've shown commendable attention to important matters," he acknowledged with the tone of a king graciously addressing a particularly clever peasant. "See that Her Majesty retires appropriately once she concludes her scholarly pursuits. A queen requires proper rest to maintain suitable appearance."
Margaret executed a perfect curtsy, her expression revealing nothing beyond appropriate deference. "Of course, Your Highness. The Queen's welfare remains our highest priority."
Only after Guilford's footsteps faded down the corridor did Margaret's formal posture relax slightly. She moved swiftly to Jane's side, concern replacing her diplomatic mask.
"Your Majesty, are you injured? I tried to arrive sooner, but the timing required careful management to avoid creating larger incident."
Jane shook her head, still cradling her wrist. "Nothing serious. You intervened before matters escalated beyond recovery." She glanced toward the door with sudden suspicion. "I assume there is no actual meeting with Cranmer?"
Margaret allowed herself a small, tight smile. "His Grace retired to his chambers an hour ago with a medicinal tonic for his joints. Captain Phillips will ensure Lord Dudley finds appropriate explanation for the misunderstanding without creating diplomatic incident."
Jane sank back into her chair, the adrenaline of the confrontation leaving her suddenly exhausted. "Thank you, Margaret. Your timing proved most fortunate."
"Not fortune but vigilance, Your Majesty." Margaret knelt beside the chair, gently taking Jane's wrist for careful examination. "Captain Phillips and I maintain awareness of potential situations requiring discreet intervention."
The statement contained clear implication that such vigilance had been specifically arranged—almost certainly by Bobby, whose careful staffing selections had gradually replaced Northumberland's creatures throughout her personal household.
"The bruising will fade by morning," Margaret observed professionally, her fingers gently probing the reddened skin where Guilford's grip had left evident marks. "I have a salve that will speed healing and prevent discoloration becoming visible."
Jane looked down at the angry red impressions, physical evidence of the increasingly dangerous game unfolding around her. "He grows bolder in his demands and his methods," she observed quietly. "Tonight represented significant escalation beyond previous patterns."
Margaret nodded, her expression revealing carefully controlled anger beneath her professional demeanor. "Such behavior typically progresses rather than diminishes once certain boundaries are tested. His father's increasing military difficulties against Lady Mary likely create additional pressure toward securing his position through consummated marriage."
The clinical assessment belied the deeply personal danger it represented. Jane had heard similar evaluations during Privy Council discussions regarding foreign threats, but never expected to hear her own betrothal discussed in such terms—as strategic military target rather than personal relationship.
"I believe I would like to retire now," Jane said, sudden weariness washing over her. "The library no longer holds appeal this evening."
Margaret assisted her with practiced efficiency, gathering the theological text Jane had been studying while summoning additional ladies from their discreet positions in adjacent chambers. The small procession moved through Greenwich's corridors toward the royal apartments, Captain Phillips materializing at appropriate distance to provide security without overtly highlighting the Queen's potentially vulnerable position.
In her chambers, Jane allowed her ladies to perform the nightly rituals of undressing and preparing for bed with unusual passivity. Typically she maintained active conversation during these proceedings, discussing diplomatic dispatches or theological questions to maximize productive use of even these routine moments. Tonight, however, she remained silent, her thoughts circling dangerously between Guilford's escalating behavior and Bobby's absence.
*Three weeks since his last visit. The longest we've been apart since my coronation.*
She knew his elevation to Viscount had created additional responsibilities requiring personal attention at his various estates. Yet she couldn't help wondering if there might be other reasons for his prolonged absence—perhaps growing awareness of the dangerous rumors Guilford had referenced, or worse, diminished interest in her scholarly companionship compared to other relationships he maintained.
As her ladies completed their evening duties, Margaret approached with a small ceramic jar containing a greenish salve that smelled faintly of lavender and something more medicinal beneath.
"This will prevent visible bruising by morning," she explained quietly, applying the substance to Jane's wrist with gentle efficiency. "The discomfort should fade within hours rather than days."
Jane watched the careful application, reminded again of Bobby's extraordinary attention to detail in selecting her household staff. Margaret had appeared mysteriously among her ladies just two months after coronation, her credentials impeccable despite no previous connection to court circles. Her medical knowledge extended far beyond typical ladies' herbal remedies, suggesting training Jane suspected few women in England currently received through conventional channels.
"Were you in time to prevent me from making catastrophic error with Guilford," Jane asked quietly when the others had withdrawn to appropriate distance, "or merely to prevent him from making such error with me?"
Margaret's hands paused briefly in their ministrations, her eyes meeting Jane's with unexpected directness given their respective positions.
"Both, Your Majesty," she answered with simple honesty. "Lord Dudley's behavior would have created serious complications regardless which direction the encounter progressed. Your own potential reactions, while entirely justified, might have created equally problematic political consequences."
Jane nodded, appreciating the frankness. "I considered striking him," she admitted in barely audible whisper. "When his grip tightened that final time. The impulse was... surprisingly powerful."
"Understandable but potentially disastrous," Margaret acknowledged, resuming her careful treatment of the injured wrist. "Violence against Northumberland's son, however justified, would provide the very pretext certain Court factions seek regarding your suitability for continued rule."
The assessment mirrored Bobby's frequent warnings about court factions seeking any evidence of "feminine emotional instability" to undermine her authority. Jane had initially found such concerns somewhat patronizing, but eight months navigating Tudor court politics had demonstrated their accuracy with depressing regularity.
"Does Lord Kestrel know about tonight?" Jane asked as Margaret finished wrapping a light protective bandage around her wrist—ostensibly to keep the salve from staining bedclothes, though Jane suspected it served additional healing purpose beyond this practical explanation.
"Captain Phillips will ensure appropriate information reaches appropriate channels," Margaret replied with diplomatic vagueness that nonetheless contained clear confirmation. "Though discretion will be maintained regarding certain details to prevent unnecessary complications."
Jane understood the implicit message—Bobby would learn of Guilford's behavior but without details that might provoke more direct intervention. The careful balance maintained her dignity while preventing potentially dangerous escalation between Kestrel and Northumberland through his son.
"Please ensure Captain Phillips understands I don't wish Lord Kestrel disturbed by this minor incident," Jane instructed with careful emphasis. "His current responsibilities require full attention without distraction from palace matters that have been successfully resolved."
Margaret's expression revealed nothing beyond appropriate acceptance of royal instruction, though Jane suspected her carefully worded request would receive equally careful interpretation regarding what information actually reached Bobby despite her stated preference.
"As Your Majesty wishes," Margaret acknowledged, stepping back with a perfect curtsy that concluded the evening's formal attendance. "Will there be anything else before you retire?"
Jane glanced toward the small reading desk where several leather-bound volumes awaited her attention—nightly scholarly ritual she maintained even after exhausting days of state business.
"No, thank you, Margaret. I believe I'll read privately for a short time before sleeping."
Once alone, Jane moved to the reading desk with its carefully arranged volumes. Her fingers automatically sought the newest addition—a slender volume of Greek philosophical commentaries on Aristotle's Politics that had appeared mysteriously among her personal collection during her last visit to Whitehaven. Like all books Bobby personally selected for her, it contained a small handwritten inscription on the final blank page, visible only when held at specific angle to the light—a security measure he had implemented without explanation but which Jane recognized as protection against prying eyes.
"The ideal ruler governs through wisdom rather than force, guiding rather than commanding. You exemplify this principle beyond what Aristotle might have imagined possible in one so young. Your natural philosophical temperament would have delighted the ancient Academy had fate placed you in Athens rather than Tudor England. I count each conversation with you among my greatest privileges, regardless of titles or circumstances. —R.K."
Jane traced the elegant script with gentle fingers, a single tear escaping before she could command her composure. Bobby's words—unlike Guilford's hollow compliments or the court's formal flatteries—addressed her actual qualities rather than her position or appearance. He saw her mind, her philosophical nature, her genuine scholarly passion, treating these as valuable intrinsic qualities rather than inconvenient feminine peculiarities to be tolerated until she fulfilled her reproductive purpose.
She closed the book carefully, holding it against her chest for a moment before returning it to its place among her most treasured possessions. The contrast between her two worlds had never felt more stark—the gilded cage of Greenwich with its suffocating protocols and dangerous political undercurrents versus Whitehaven's intellectual freedom and genuine recognition of her capabilities beyond merely dynastic utility.
As Jane prepared for sleep, her mind drifted again to Bobby's prolonged absence. Three weeks since his last visit to court, nearly a month since her last retreat to Whitehaven. Though couriers maintained regular communication regarding economic matters requiring royal attention, the formal dispatches contained none of the intellectual engagement that sustained her through increasingly difficult court navigation.
*Does he tire of explaining complex concepts to a girl not yet sixteen, however precocious? Has he found more stimulating intellectual companionship elsewhere? Perhaps with Princess Elizabeth, whose mind everyone acknowledges as formidable despite her technically diminished status?*
The thought created unexpected pain beyond merely scholarly disappointment. Jane had become increasingly aware that her feelings for Bobby extended dangerously beyond appropriate appreciation for intellectual mentorship or even friendship. There were moments during their Whitehaven conversations when something shifted between them—brief intervals where scholarly discussion transformed into something more personally intimate despite maintained formal propriety.
She had noticed how his expression sometimes softened when she made particularly insightful observations, pride and something warmer mingling in his gaze. She found herself selecting topics she knew would engage his passions, deliberately steering conversations toward areas where his typically sardonic demeanor gave way to genuine enthusiasm—rare glimpses behind the careful mask he maintained in court settings.
"I cannot have your complete heart despite my wishes otherwise." The words she had spoken during their garden conversation months ago returned with painful clarity. She had meant them then as philosophical observation regarding his evident connection to something—or someone—beyond their immediate reality. Now they carried additional weight as she confronted her growing attachment to a man she could never properly claim regardless of her technical authority as England's queen.
Jane extinguished the bedside candle, darkness enveloping the royal chamber as she settled against silk-covered pillows. Sleep proved elusive despite physical exhaustion, her mind refusing to settle as it cycled between practical concerns regarding Guilford's escalating behavior and deeper melancholy regarding Bobby's absence.
When she finally drifted toward uneasy slumber, her last conscious thought was simple wish that transcended royal authority despite the crown weighing ever heavier upon her fifteen-year-old brow:
*Let him return soon. Just once more, let me exist as myself rather than merely England's queen or Northumberland's puppet or Guilford's unwilling prize. Let me be Jane again, if only for a few precious hours in his presence.*