#1 The Marriage is Consummated
Queen Anne had always been the type of woman to hold herself at a distance. Her mother had taught her that stoicism and silence were the makings of a good wife, and duty was before dignity. Sweetness, softness, and even beauty would not keep your husband half as contented as would the absence of give. But after a week of her “honeymoon”, she was aware her pliancy had not had the intended effect. As the ambassador had so inelegantly put it, marriage was mostly about creating heirs. The process was messy and uncomfortable, but necessary. Except…so far, it hadn’t been.
The King was perfectly gallant in his behaviour towards her. He asked her polite questions about her day, considering they spent most of it apart. She’d try and answer without sounding too awkwardly provincial, considering her most frequent activities included sewing for the poor and taking lessons on her new realm. Then they’d share a short kiss, and sleep beneath blankets she considered far too light for the freezing winter.
No sex.
The girl she had been a few months ago would have gone red at the sound of that word – or at least an equivalent in a language she’d known. But after her careful discussions on the ship to England, she was at least aware of the mechanics. Of what a man should do, and what she should expect. None of what had been said matched the chaste winter nights she’d been experiencing.
Her marriage wasn’t real until the act had been done. Consummation was pivotal to maintaining not just her status, but the alliance she represented. So tonight, unlike other nights, she had prepared herself to force the matter.
She had learned the King liked oranges before leaving her brother’s court, so she’d requested some mini pies made from orange preserves to be in her rooms for when he arrived. A decanter of his favourite wine beside them. Sweet perfumes all over the sheets and her night gown. All designed to make him agreeable. Anne sat by the fire and waited.
“What a lovely vision!” he said, startling her. Unlike herself, the King had not dressed for the act of seduction. Having undressed in the room adjoining, he had not even fixed his hair or beard before arriving to meet her. Instead, the smell of his ulcer wafted through the air as he grabbed a pie and sat across from her by the fire.
“Thank you…your…majesty. All fo…for you”
She hated how her English was so stilted. He smiled politely and bit into his treat, looking past her at the new tapestries she’d had put up. No more terrifying scenes of war on the walls. Anne had swapped them over for knights and ladies, flowers in the forest, and one of Adam and Eve that she hoped might inflame passions.
“Did you have the walls changed?” he asked.
“Yes. I did not…not like the others…other ones. Too…dark,” she waved over to the walls, “so these are better.”
Another polite smile. More enthusiastic chewing. A glance at the bed, as if he was not going to talk anymore.
Too much.
“Maybe it would be better,” she stood up, “if I switched to French.”
That startled him. She was less awkward in this language.
Walking over to the King, she took the pastry from his hand and placed it back on the table. Pulling the cap from her head and shaking out her heavy head of hair, Anne moved to sit on the bed.
“Your French is very good.” he said, clearly confused by the sudden switch.
“Come,” she patted beside her “and sit.”
He did, strangely obedient. Once settled, she continued,
“I wonder if it would be best to ask what we both want from this marriage?”
“I just want you to be happy.”
She shrugged, and put her hand on his arm.
“I want you to be happy to. I need you to be happy.”
It was clumsy. A juvenile attempt at seduction from a woman who knew basically nothing about the whole ordeal. But in that moment, aware that this was not just a Princess but a warm, breathing body beside him, the King finally followed through on his marriage vows. When Anne lay there, she felt strangely fulfilled. It hadn’t been particularly pleasant, or unpleasant, but she felt a triumph in her stomach. Nobody could say she wasn’t his wife anymore.
The King was perfectly gallant in his behaviour towards her. He asked her polite questions about her day, considering they spent most of it apart. She’d try and answer without sounding too awkwardly provincial, considering her most frequent activities included sewing for the poor and taking lessons on her new realm. Then they’d share a short kiss, and sleep beneath blankets she considered far too light for the freezing winter.
No sex.
The girl she had been a few months ago would have gone red at the sound of that word – or at least an equivalent in a language she’d known. But after her careful discussions on the ship to England, she was at least aware of the mechanics. Of what a man should do, and what she should expect. None of what had been said matched the chaste winter nights she’d been experiencing.
Her marriage wasn’t real until the act had been done. Consummation was pivotal to maintaining not just her status, but the alliance she represented. So tonight, unlike other nights, she had prepared herself to force the matter.
She had learned the King liked oranges before leaving her brother’s court, so she’d requested some mini pies made from orange preserves to be in her rooms for when he arrived. A decanter of his favourite wine beside them. Sweet perfumes all over the sheets and her night gown. All designed to make him agreeable. Anne sat by the fire and waited.
“What a lovely vision!” he said, startling her. Unlike herself, the King had not dressed for the act of seduction. Having undressed in the room adjoining, he had not even fixed his hair or beard before arriving to meet her. Instead, the smell of his ulcer wafted through the air as he grabbed a pie and sat across from her by the fire.
“Thank you…your…majesty. All fo…for you”
She hated how her English was so stilted. He smiled politely and bit into his treat, looking past her at the new tapestries she’d had put up. No more terrifying scenes of war on the walls. Anne had swapped them over for knights and ladies, flowers in the forest, and one of Adam and Eve that she hoped might inflame passions.
“Did you have the walls changed?” he asked.
“Yes. I did not…not like the others…other ones. Too…dark,” she waved over to the walls, “so these are better.”
Another polite smile. More enthusiastic chewing. A glance at the bed, as if he was not going to talk anymore.
Too much.
“Maybe it would be better,” she stood up, “if I switched to French.”
That startled him. She was less awkward in this language.
Walking over to the King, she took the pastry from his hand and placed it back on the table. Pulling the cap from her head and shaking out her heavy head of hair, Anne moved to sit on the bed.
“Your French is very good.” he said, clearly confused by the sudden switch.
“Come,” she patted beside her “and sit.”
He did, strangely obedient. Once settled, she continued,
“I wonder if it would be best to ask what we both want from this marriage?”
“I just want you to be happy.”
She shrugged, and put her hand on his arm.
“I want you to be happy to. I need you to be happy.”
It was clumsy. A juvenile attempt at seduction from a woman who knew basically nothing about the whole ordeal. But in that moment, aware that this was not just a Princess but a warm, breathing body beside him, the King finally followed through on his marriage vows. When Anne lay there, she felt strangely fulfilled. It hadn’t been particularly pleasant, or unpleasant, but she felt a triumph in her stomach. Nobody could say she wasn’t his wife anymore.