Though Artemis and Hera were quite possibly the worst of enemies when placed upon that Ancient Realm, Elizabeth refused to stay in character come the meeting of mother and daughter. In her white hunting regalia, the crescent moon diadem balanced atop her head, Elizabeth dropped to a curtsy for her Lady Mother before taking the back of her hand to kiss — leaving much of the court as a participating audience whilst they applauded and cheered to the mother and daughter, to the Dowager and the Princess. As the room erupted with merriment, Elizabeth took her mother’s arm before guiding her away from the hurrah of her step-father, the ever boastful Thomas Wyatt, in favour of a more solemn route. For though she had felt some absolution to her heart break in the past week or so, Elizabeth still felt the ache — a phantom pain that throbbed in her chest — that tightened around her lungs and pushed at the spot behind her ears.
The royal physician had advised more exercise and perhaps to think of a husband, but Elizabeth had simply wished him away — for she went hunting, dancing, shooting and walking as much as any man would. But she would never yet entertain the idea of courtship, or indeed engagement, even if it seemed vital come the prospective union to be made between France and Spain. “My Lady Mother, though I am not amused, it seems that Zeus has been made faithful by the touch of Hera this eve, surely this is one for legend?” She announced, before they found themselves some inch of privacy, her hand closing around Anne’s. “I wish you had seen me mother, for I do believe I was the best Regent of either sex… It was almost hard for me to give up, to relinquish to your son,” Elizabeth muttered, as if testing the waters, as if provoking the bear with a single notion. “As you would have been, if you had ever been given such a chance.” @semperanneboleyn