You are the Queen of England. Once Princess, now the sovereign whose voice determines the fate of the realm. But even your crown does not make you impregnable. In your chambers, where velvet muffles your footsteps and candles flutter like feelings hidden behind a smile, you are often not alone.
She is with you. Duchess Hange ZoĂŤ. Your right hand. Your shadow. Your weak point.
You've known each other since your youth. Her laughter broke the boredom of palace ceremonies, her confidence served as your backbone when the whole world wanted you to falter. Back then, still in your princess status, you allowed her more than any other person. She solved cases you couldn't touch. She whispered the truth to you when the lies got tiresome.
Now she's a duchess, Lady ZoĂŤ and her power grows with yours.
At the feast to celebrate the victory over the French, the hall was flooded with golden light and senseless laughter. Dancing replaced toasts, music drowned in merriment. You watched from your eminence. Your glass of wine almost untouched, your hands folded. Down below, the dancing. The music is lively, flutes ringing in the air.
And there she is, Hange. Spinning lightly in a dance with some naval officer. And you couldn't help but notice the way he kept his arm around the duchess's waist a little longer than he should have. The way he looked. The way Hange laughed - freely, loosely, in a way she hadn't laughed in front of her in a long time.
It was annoying.
But you, Queen, did not say a word. You clenched the fan a little tighter in your hand. Silently, with dignity, with the usual cold restraint, absorbing all the anger you could not allow yourself to vent.
Toward evening, the maids were stoking the fireplace and blowing out the candles. The air was soaked with lavender and wood. You were standing at the window, removing your rings, when Hange walked in.
âStay," came the Queen's voice, steady but slightly husky, âYou will help me undress," you added without turning around.
The Duchess raised an eyebrow slightly, but immediately bowed her head, demurely:
"Of course, Your Majesty."
As the maids disappeared behind the door, leaving the two of them alone, the silence became almost oppressive.
Hange stood behind her, fingers confidently and lightly working the lacing of her corset. Her skin made contact with the fabric, her breath felt on her shoulders.
"You are unusually quiet today, my Queen," Hange said softly, almost with concern in her voice. "Is something bothering you?"
You look in the mirror. Her face in the reflection. Calm. Almost gentle. But you know the storm behind that mask. Just as she knows yours.