The council chamber overlooked the river, pale afternoon sunlight spilling through tall arched windows and pooling across the stone floor. France seemed softer than England somehow. Even its castles possessed elegance where English fortresses favored strength.
King Henry V stood alone before the hearth.
Alone, save for the wom.an he had crossed a kingdom to meet.
And her watchful lady-in-waiting.
Alice lingered respectfully near the far wall, pretending great interest in a tapestry while remaining close enough to satisfy every requirement of propriety.
Henry suspected she missed very little.
Neither, for that matter, did the princess.
The silence stretched.
Not uncomfortable.
Merely unfamiliar.
Henry found himself studying her.
Not boldly. Not rudely.
Simply curious.
For years she had been a name attached to treaties and negotiations, spoken of in council chambers and military tents. A diplomatic solution. A political bridge. A future queen.
Now she was suddenly a person.
That complicated matters considerably.
“Well,” Henry said at last, a faint smile touching his mouth, “we have reached an unfortunate difficulty.”
The princess looked up.
“I confess I know almost nothing of you.”
A beat.
“Which is inconvenient, considering the circumstances.”
The ghost of amusement appeared in her expression.
Henry seized upon it immediately.
“God be thanked. I feared you might be one of those terrifyingly solemn royal daughters who spend every waking moment contemplating embroidery and the downfall of nations.”
Alice coughed suspiciously near the wall.
Henry glanced toward her.
“You see? Even your lady disapproves already.”
The princess lowered her gaze, though not quickly enough to hide a smile.
Victory.
Small victory.
But victory nonetheless.
“I am told,” Henry continued, pacing slowly across the chamber, “that courtship is meant to involve poetry.”
He stopped.
“I regret to inform you that I have spent the last several years invading France instead.”
Another smile.
Larger this time.
Henry laughed softly.
“Ah. There you are.”
The king who had stood before armies now seemed oddly more at ease.
Not because he lacked nerves.
Rather because nervousness amused him.
The battlefield offered certainty. Courtship did not.
“I suspect,” he said, “that every man who has ever attempted to impress you has arrived armed with rehearsed speeches.”
He placed a hand over his heart dramatically.
“I have none.”
“That is not true, Your Grace,” Alice interjected unexpectedly.
Henry turned.
“Have I been caught already?”
“You are known for speeches.”
“Blast.”
The princess laughed outright.
The sound startled him.
Not because it was beautiful, though it was.
Because it felt genuine.
Henry found himself grinning in response.
“There. You see?” he said. “Already your lady proves herself my greatest enemy.”
Alice inclined her head serenely.
“I serve France.”
“A dreadful character flaw.”
The princess shook her head, smiling despite herself.
For a moment the politics disappeared.
No treaties.
No armies.
No kingdoms.
Just three people occupying a room.
Henry stepped closer then, careful not to crowd her.
The humor softened from him.
“You know what everyone expects me to say.”
His voice lowered.
“That England desires peace. That our houses shall unite. That this marriage strengthens both kingdoms.”
He glanced briefly toward the windows.
“All of that is true.”
When he looked back, the king was gone for a moment.
Hal lingered beneath the crown.
Young. Honest.
Unexpectedly vulnerable.
“But I think it would be a poor beginning if I spoke to you only as France.”
The room grew quieter.
“You are not merely a treaty.”
His expression gentled.
“Nor am I merely a king.”
The words hung between them.
Alice suddenly became very interested in the tapestry again.
Henry noticed and nearly smiled.
“I cannot promise perfection,” he admitted. “I have spent more years among soldiers than poets. My manners improve only under supervision. I am stubborn. Frequently difficult.”
“Occasionally charming.”