naked in that garden

It was no mystery to Richard that one wing of the Boleyn family stood apart from the rest, the proverbial black sheep. The situation was a peculiar one, but he knew better than to question the judgment made by either his father or his crowned cousin, and so he had, for the most part, not much lingered on the situation of the Careys. Despite all, they were still family, and in Richard's estimation, the Boleyns were better united than apart.

It was the sentiment that ushered him to Lady Cavendish's side as the evening wore on, offering her a fresh glass of wine alongside a smile. "You make quite a talented Eurydice," he commented. "If only you had a happier story to tell." His words laced with double meaning, Richard faced her. "It is good to see you at court, dear cousin. I imagine your child must keep you quite occupied."

her lips quirked into a shy smile as her cousin, viscount rochford, approached her with a glass of wine. she took it, bowing her head in a grateful nod. "i thank you, my lord, for both the wine and your gracious compliment. you make a fine achilles," said rose, bringing the glass to her lips and taking a sip.

after two years in the tower of london reflecting on the double-sided nature of those she called family, rose carey was no longer naïve enough to miss the dual meaning of the viscount's words. rose knew very well that she would have to earn her family's forgiveness, and of course, they would never be outright rude to her; but it still stung. she swallowed, schooling her features into complacence. 

"yes, my edward keeps me quite busy. he has just recently reached his first birthday and has learnt to take a few steps without falling. we- i," she caught herself, smiling apologetically, "am rather pleased with him. but, cousin-" rose tilted her head to look at him, "what of you? how fares your time at court?"

it was a marvel to be able to attend an event such as this with his wife. to be able to dance with her, to pair his costume with hers, all without fear or reserve. only a handful of years ago such public affection would have been out of the question, and yet here they were, hand in hand, walking to the dance floor.

they were dressed not as gods but as the doomed lovers orpheus and eurydice. it had been rose’s idea and art had laughed to hear it, for there was a beautiful sort of irony it. for had they not been damned to hell and yet returned from it? he had risen where orpheus had fell. and if rose had any say in the matter he was sure they would keep rising.

their concerns could be put aside for the evening. they had triumphed. they were dancing at the heart of the king’s court and none could cast them down for it.

but rose couldn't help but fall in love with the spectacle of court again. sharing it with the man she loved, dressed as the lovers? that made it even sweeter. she smiled at him, small, yet genuine, and let him lead her to the dance floor.

"do i?" rose hummed, her smile curving into a smirk, "even as a mere nymph, rather than a true goddess? careful, husband," she lowered her voice, leaning in close to his ear, "to some ears, that may sound of heresy."