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It was longer than Elizabeth would have liked before she had a chance to be private with Henry – that was always the way, though, with the King and Queen. They were not private people now, and never would be. If they were, she could, on seeing him return safe from battle, run to embrace her lord, as a lesser ranked woman might. The Queen, however, could not admit to anyone that she had allowed herself to fear that God might desert the King and he might lose.
He greeted her with a kiss, but he was distant again. She wasn’t sure why as yet, but she felt by instinct that one betrayal led him to fear another. She would understand him better as time went on, she would make sure of that.
“Your grace was much missed,” she said, with one of her elusive smiles, not talking about politics or battles. Everyone else had, all day. Talking over the victory, the cost, and whether or not the King was really going to install the impostor in the kitchens, which of course he was. Elizabeth knew that was something her Father and Uncle would never have done, but Henry was not like them, in ways both good and bad.
He turned; his attention caught, watching her closely. “Oh, and by whom, madam? We have been away only a short while.”
“I missed your grace,” she said, and gave him a wider smile. “I am very happy to see you return, my lord. Could you doubt it?”
He probably could, but she saw the amusement in his face in return, and he caught at her hand again tightly, and this time did not release her. She wished he could tell her all the things that troubled him, the things that probably should not trouble a King (in his mind at least), but he couldn’t – yet. He put a hand to her face, looking at her again, as if committing her features to memory and said, with that teasing note in his voice, “There are times when you do amaze me, Bess. Truly.”
She smiled again, and let him speak not in words: she could comfort him in other ways, and later, in his sleep, she caught something of his fears and regrets, the numbers of lives lost, the enemies destroyed that he would rather have had remain loyal and alive. Elizabeth was far happier than he was to think traitors should be punished. She was, after all, both her mother and her father’s daughter, and they would not have stopped to regret their enemies’ passing. She pretended of course that she did not hear such things from him, that she kissed him out of a nightmare merely by chance, or for her need, not his, but it was something that she could do, and she alone.
“You shall have your coronation soon now,” he said, later. “That will please you, will it not?”
She thanked him, but she laughed, unable to help it.
“Bess?”
It had once seemed so important to her, and her mother had always seen it as such a slight that she should wait, but she had known why. Now, it seemed amusing that it should come when she had ceased to care very much about it, compared to the other things she had won. “I have everything I want,” she told him, smiling at him. “Now that my lord is returned.”
She saw something close down in him, like shutters, because he couldn’t entirely accept that yet, not without further assurance.
“Truly, my lord,” she said, still smiling. Oh, she would be glad to have the coronation; it would silence criticisms and she would take pleasure in it, but she meant it: he was returned safe, and was with her, and no one would take Arthur away from her by force. There would be more children soon, too, she felt confident of it.
He relaxed a little, but said again, wonderingly, “Sometimes you do amaze me, Bess.”