#twatw

There is a feast to welcome her that night. Given her role in the proceedings Lily should rightly be at the king's table, beside her future husband — her mind skips, like a skittish colt, over this thought — or amongst the swirling dancers. But there are consequences to having been plucked from an isolated country manor and dropped in the middle of court. The dances are unfamiliar; she knew by the way Mary had sucked in a breath while helping her dress that her clothing is out of fashion too.

She has so much to learn. She's sore all over from the journey and her feet ache in her slippers and her head pounds from the weight of her hood but she can't afford to focus on any of that. She has too much to learn.

"The women," she prompts Mary in a low voice.

They are taking a turn beyond the perimeter of the dancers, occasionally making a show of greeting courtiers. Their faces slide out of Lily's memory like warm butter, as desperately as she tries to keep hold of them.

"If any of the ladies wish they were queen in your stead, they know better than to show it so easily," Mary replies, her dark eyes scanning the court restlessly. "Save Lady Yaxley, because her family is too well entrenched for her to fear how it looks."

Lily swallows a wry smile; would that she knew such confidence. "Her father..."

"Lord Yaxley has sat on the council for as long as she's been alive." There's a quiet rebuke in Mary's gaze. "As long as any of us have been."

"Oh. Right. I'll remember now," she assures her lady-in-waiting, swallowing a flash of defensiveness. Mary is right. She shouldn't have needed to ask. "Might she have? Been queen?"

They pause to greet a woman and her young daughters. Both girls have such bright, awed expressions, as if they cannot believe they are allowed to be here so late, amongst all the activity, face to face with a strange new queen. Lily wonders what she looks like to them.

"I doubt it," says Mary once they're out of earshot. "But..."

"But?"

She doesn't answer. She's watching the dancers, where the king has finally been coaxed to join a lively number by a small, dark-skinned woman Lily has already met.

"Lady Meadowes," Lily murmurs, hardly daring to let the name shape her lips.

"She doesn't want him," Mary says. "Neither for position, nor for love."

A frown. "How can you be sure?"

That is not to say that they look like lovers. They look like old friends. There is a comfort to the king now that he does not have around her — though she cannot fault either him or Lady Dorcas for that, given that she, Lily, has known him less than a day. Again her exhaustion gives way to utter helplessness. She has so much to learn.

"She's quite open about it," replies Mary blithely. "I would suspect she protests too much, but — she is popular at court, her family is well-liked, and she has known the king for years. If she wanted to marry him, she would be married to him."

"And so...?"

"She may bear you no ill will. But others may on her behalf."

She considers this in silence. Lady Dorcas was unfailingly polite to her earlier in the day; it might do to be wary of her still, for a time, but Mary's is a point well made. Lily thinks she can safely say this is one of her lady companions who is unlikely to despise her.