Prologue
Dorish Court 1529
Large, colorful skirts twirled with the precision that the ancient Euro-Asian dance called for. Musicians worked their instruments wearing bright smiles reflecting their hearts filled with joy. The court of the small yet prosperous kingdom was alive with cheer. For the first time in ten months, their beloved king, Maxwell Beckham, had called for a grand dinner, a dinner which was being held in the white winter castle’s great hall with gold furnishings and decorations filling the large space.
Finally, the ruler's period of mourning had passed. The man in his prime, once again, acted as such. Even with the joyous air surrounding them, every person remembered the reason such a great time of mourning had fallen upon them. Their queen was dead. Susan of Cleaves was a fair-skinned beauty with hair nearly as pale as snow. She was a kind young woman with a soft voice. Her eyes mirrored the sea. The late queen's thin, pink lips were always drawn into a smile never giving way to the hardships she faced as a royal.
Queen Susan was just a girl when she was sent from her German principality to marry King Maxwell. They were both the mere age of ten. They were still children. It was five years later when their marriage was consummated. Within the first year after consummation, the Royals had an heir just in time for them to inherit the throne. He was named Edvard. Within four years, the couple was childless once more. King Maxwell never stopped caring for Susan. He cherished her and comforted her after each failed childbearing until the winter of 1525. That was when he turned his eyes to Jane Carlton. She was the youngest daughter of a knight. Jane was everything the queen was not. She was a mere sixteen years in age, four years the king's junior, with hair dark as honey and shining like the sun. Her eyes were golden. Her lips were always a tempting pink that brought about fantasies for nearly every man of the court.
It was not long before Jane became the king’s mistress. For three years, he courted her and humbly gave her public acknowledgment. Eventually, she bore his child. The queen bore the king’s child once more as well. The kingdom was alive with expectation. All anxiously waited to see which child would be the firstborn. The queen went into the labor chamber first. It was a month before Easter. Queen Susan was shut away for many days before her nurse announced that she was delivering. Within an hour, the court cheered for the birth of their living prince. He was to be the heir to the Dorish throne. Celebrations were held each day of the week until it became known that the queen was not recovering from childbirth. The kind queen never left the labor chamber. She passed away in her sleep during the fourth night of confinement. As if fate had demanded it, the prince fell ill the night of her death, and he joined his mother not long after.
Jane's turn to deliver came shortly after the queen's. She suffered a worse fate. After many hours of trying to birth her child, the frightened girl was forced to endure the pain of the physician slicing into her belly and pulling her still daughter from the womb. Every person in the birthing chamber focused heavily on not allowing another of the king's children to pass. Their determination to save his daughter allowed Jane to bleed away frightened and alone. The king was heartbroken. No man had known such great loss in such a short time. He secluded himself from his subjects. Having lost both his wife, the woman he loved, and his children brought despair into his happy life. That darkness was ten months prior. The time of seclusion was no more. Now King Maxwell, still full of life with twenty-two years of age, sat on his golden, hand-crafted throne with a wide grin and bright eyes that were dark as the night sky. His short, muddy curls hung with happiness around his angular face. His prominent cheeks cratered dimples from his large smile. He was no longer the boy who lost it all. He was now the man who had much to gain.
“He seems to be almost himself.” The aging Duke of Leighton spoke to the cardinal. “To be true, the king seems better than himself.” Both men were dressed to show their position. The duke wore hose that was black with gray, tilted, thick lines, a dark gray jerkin, a doublet with small white beads sewn into it, and a black over-gown. Dark jewels in silver hung on his shoulders. His large and aged hands were adorned in many rings.
The cardinal was dressed in the standard red robe and cap of the clergy, but he wore many jewels as well. “Yes, I dare say Max is happy once more.” Cardinal Clifton agreed with a subtle nod of his gray head. “Perhaps the king will entertain proposals for a second wife soon. We need a queen. Max is still young. He is more than capable of producing heirs.” The cardinal spoke the words with hope. “There is a princess in Italy who recently gained her twelfth year. Her name is Ava di Vanco. I believe she would make a beautiful wife for our king.”
“I am sure His Majesty would like the pleasure of choosing what woman he marries. Although I am not certain he will begin to seek such an arrangement as of yet. He endured a great loss not long ago.” The duke, Charles Remington, continued to watch his ruler.
Cardinal Clifton frowned as his bushy eyebrows merged together on his wide forehead. His unpleasantly cold hands clasped over his protruded belly. “Hm, perhaps you are correct. Max needs to be reminded of what it is like to share his bed with a woman before he seeks a new queen.”
The duke agreed wholeheartedly. “Yes, we must gradually move him toward a new marriage. He needs an heir or else Doraland will fall to ruins from a civil war. England will swoop in to claim the land once more.”
“Our forefathers shed their blood and were victorious in taking our independence from the English tyranny. We would shame them if we were to fall into England’s rule once more.” Cardinal Clifton fussed. “As a man of the clergy, I can only stress the importance of having His Majesty take another wife. God will allow it since he so tragically lost his first.”
Charles placed a steadying hand on the holy man's shoulder. “Do not worry yourself about the king and any new vows he shall make. I will make it my personal crusade. In a year, there will be a living Queen of Doraland.” He vowed.
The cardinal nodded his consent. “I have no doubt that you will succeed, but how will you?” He questioned.
“I have my ways,” the duke spoke vaguely. His light eyes drifted across the hall where his only living daughter, still young in age, danced with his eldest son. She was a beauty taking after her mother with fair skin, a petite structure, blunt features, and hair as bright as fire. She could draw a man in with her innocent pearl eyes and hold him with her talon-like fingers. She was the light of Charles's world. Charles promised his late wife that he would secure a great future for their Chelsea. There was no greater future than being queen.
