If one was to try and explain the dynamic that fostered the space between the Princess and her Ladies-in-Waiting, they would only stumble at the first hurdle. What remained was the loss and gain of various powers, favouritisms showered upon during certain moods or days of the week — girls played against one another for entertainment’s sake before she grew bored enough to once more become the centre of attention. In one moment, she thought to love Kismet Dudley and Marguerite Welles as her own beloved sisters, but with the turn of the moon all cherished emotion crumbled to frustration and annoyance.
No one, Elizabeth thought, could ever understand the precarious and difficult position she was in. To love, was to give way to a weakness unfathomable to a Princess and heir of England. It did not help that Meg was known among the many courtiers as beautiful and eligible for any great match. It didn’t help either that Kismet was the beloved younger sister of Elizabeth’s own great love, Robert, and had her own slick admirers to boast of. Elizabeth, whom had grown up to understand that she was the fairest, the most intelligent and gilded treasure of court, only thought herself to garner such opinion — and so, she kept them close, twisting her hands around their throats before either could question what their Lady was up to.
With the end of September approaching, Elizabeth had asked her girls to follow her out onto the garden for some last bursts of warm sunshine, picking at her skirts to free the movement of satin kept toes as she lead them out into the sprawling space, of which remained with a few trailing groups still merry from the previous celebrations. Choosing a tree to sit beneath that ached with picked remnants of English apples, Elizabeth arranged her skirts promptly, her head turning one way and then the other in some wasted hope to spot her most cherished Robin, before settling with the fact that he was not close enough to seek. Putting a hand to both of her ladies, she sighed and flared her nostrils with the same manner adopted by her father when bored with what life had offered him. “Are we to continue our needle work out of doors? Have we no joy to muster in terms of news? Say, there must be some harmonious gossip to enjoy on these sweet September noons?” @kismctt @ladymegwelles