Another Protestant. That was what Héléne saw when faced with one of the new courtiers sent to England in some plea to have them seen all-powerful. She, clearly, saw little worth in the sister of a Duke, but she had made worst connections when slipping through the webs of this isle’s court, and so broke the line of admittance with a wavering hand, her eyes set upon the Cleves girl with the accuracy sought when riding among the hunt. With the fleur-de-lys embroidered upon her skirts, she approached, her smile pleasant — coating the curiosity that dripped from her tongue, a mirage of her true thoughts and feelings making that pinch of the English court their own. “You are a picture, how sweet the German fashion! It is far the better than the persons we find ourselves in, for the Boleyn Queen had stolen our Hood to make her own, the mimics!” Héléne smiled, coaxing forth a friendly stance, before taking to her glass of wine as the Iberian decorations remained dotted around the room in some sort of last hurrah. “Lady Cleves, I am one of the ladies serving de Medici, la reine Serpent. I’m sure you’ve heard of her.”@sisiofcleves
