status: closed to @lancastrie
Margaret had mostly kept herself to herself since arriving in the Kingdom of France, behind closed doors she had concentrated on intricate embroidery between practising her languages — devout in her studies, for if she was to be presented before the other gilded courts it would not be that second daughter of England to scorn the disappointment of her father and her cherished country. Draped in emerald green, her mother’s hair concealed beneath a henin of precious linen, Margaret thought to turn over what laid in wait for both herself, her parents and the future of England, twisting the fates of the crown within her hand before going to her father’s side, entering his quarters with little fanfare as she often did, her head bowed before a kiss was pressed to each cheek. “Father,” she called, falling back, her hands held then against her bodice as candlelight danced against those cold walls. “I wondered if it is a good time… to ask what it is you want of me in this fair country…And if there is anything I may do in your name,” She asked, dropping then to her knees, taking his bejewelled hand into her own as she kissed his royal ring.