He liked it.

And how did I feel? Edward made me feel desired. For the first time in all my seventeen years he made me feel valued, beautiful, even when I knew I was neither. I clung to him, drowning in his embrace.

“How did our lives cross, Alice?” he asked when passion had ebbed.

Your loving wife had something to do with it.

I shook my head.

“We keep this between us,” he murmured, “and Wykeham, who’s to be trusted.”

“Yes.”

Wykeham will damn me rather than you!

And so it was begun: this strange ménage a trois, with the Queen a silent partner who neither needed nor wanted to know more than she did, and Edward unaware of his wife’s complicity. I would keep the secrets of both. And when his hands explored and his body possessed, we tacitly agreed to keep the Queen distant from the room and the bed. We did not speak of her. Enough time tomorrow to allow guilt to creep in. For now the fluid strength of his body, the slide of heated skin against heated skin, occupied all my thoughts.

At the end Edward fell asleep, the fingers of one hand interlaced with mine, but I lay awake, considering the responses of my body. What was love? Love, I suspected, was whatever Edward felt toward Philippa. Perhaps he loved me too in his way, unless it was merely lust. But did I love Edward? Perhaps I fell in love with him a little, if admiration and respect and loyalty amounted to love. My belly clenched with longing when he kissed me, when his hands stroked down my breast to the dip of my waist. I was overwhelmed by his glamour, that this was the King of England who wanted me enough to throw caution to the winds and own me.

Perhaps that was love after all.

Later—how many hours later, for time had no meaning—Wykeham escorted me back to the antechamber in the Queen’s rooms. It was the same journey, in reverse, but even more spiked with his loathing of what had been done. He was beyond censure. He bowed and left me at the door, not even opening it for me, the bow an empty gesture that denied any courtesy.

I had forfeited all his approval. I suspect he thought I had forfeited my soul.

A page returned me to my room, where the damsels slept on in ignorance.

A new day and early sunshine filtered into the room as if it were an ordinary day. I washed my hands and face from the ewer of cold water, flinching from the chill. A day like any other day, and yet not so. I dressed hurriedly before my two companions were astir, with the ready excuse that the Queen might need me if she was still in pain, to give her the strength to attend Mass in her chapel.

What would I say to her? I knew only that I must see her, to learn what she might find to say to me in the cold light of day. Last night was a time of tension and high drama, when we had both allowed emotion to rule. Today might be a time for regret. The Queen might consider my dismissal a just punishment for what I had done, and, in truth, I could not blame her. I must know. I hurried to her rooms, only to be informed by her tire-woman that she had risen even earlier than I—was that a bad sign or good?—and was already at prayer. I slipped into the chapel. No priest was there, but the Queen knelt before the altar, clasping the altar rail to steady herself. I sank to my knees just within the entrance. I would wait. It seemed to me that the fair face of the statue of the Holy Virgin was particularly austere.

“Alice…”

The Queen’s private devotions were complete. I stood, moving quickly toward the altar to help her to her feet.

“Well?” Her eyes were bright and aware. The pain was less this morning.

“It is done, Majesty.”

“It was…satisfactory?”

“Yes.”

How few words, so inconsequential in themselves, to encompass so momentous an act. Any deliberate eavesdropper would have abandoned us for meatier gossip.

“He will…he will send for you again?”

“Yes, my lady.”

“Good. We will not speak of this again.”

A strange relief trickled through my blood, that this three-stranded interweaving might not be impossible, if I had the skill to keep the secrets of both and remain true to each. Perhaps I could be loyal to both Philippa and Edward, betraying neither, harming neither.…But still the claws of treachery fastened in my flesh. I felt the rip of them as the Queen turned her gaze away from her husband’s whore.

When the door opened, disturbing the air so that the candles wavered wildly, we both looked ’round, expecting a priest. And in a heartbeat the serene, ageless atmosphere of the chapel became heated with fury. It was written on her face, in every gesture. She barely waited to approach us before her voice rang out. For here was Isabella.

“God’s Wounds! How could you…!”

She covered the distance with long strides, kicking aside her skirts. I thought her attack was for me, but Isabella swept past me as if I were detritus beneath her feet and pounced on her mother.

“Why are you here with her? Do you know what she’s done? Wykeham will not talk—at least he’s loyal and will keep his mouth shut about this family’s affairs—but he was seen last night—with her! And do you know where he took her?” She all but spit the words, her beautiful face contorted. “She has betrayed you. Your little gutter sweepings, rescued from nonentity and squalor, spent last night in the King’s rooms! In his bed, I presume! And here you are, all but holding her hands!”

“Isabella…!” the Queen remonstrated, to no avail.

“You didn’t even know, did you? Don’t touch her! She is a vile serpent!” And Isabella struck out at me, making contact with her hand against my shoulder with a forceful blow, so surprising me that I lost my balance and fell against the altar rail. “You will dismiss her. Do you hear me? And if you will not, I’ll arrange it myself!”

“I hear you, Isabella.” The Queen sighed.

“Look at her!” Isabella turned on me and snarled as I dragged myself upright. Prudently I stepped away as the Princess’s fingers curled into claws. “You have dressed her and polished her until she’s halfway presentable. And what has she done? Warmed your husband’s bed. As for the King…! Is no man honorable? After all you have given him—the respect, the children. I despise him! But I despise you more, little Alice from the gutter!”

“Isabella! You will be silent!” If I had thought Philippa’s dignity a thing of amazement last night, today she was glorious in facing her furious daughter. “I know exactly…”

“She has cheated you! She has turned the gold of your generosity into dross! She should be flogged!” Isabella advanced on me once more.

“I have not cheated.” I would not retreat again, even at the risk of Isabella’s ire, but my fear was lively.

The Queen in timely manner grasped her daughter’s sleeve. “Isabella!”

“You’re not going to make excuses for her, are you?”

“No. I am going to make them for myself.”

“I don’t understand you.”

“Then curb your passions, and listen. I know exactly what passed between my husband and Alice. Listen to me, my daughter. Forget your sense of ill usage and injustice. This is the reality.” The Queen waited until Isabella had regained at least a semblance of calm. “What do you think? Am I capable of fulfilling my duty to your father?”

“Your duty…?” Isabella looked as if she would rather not discuss it. “I don’t see…”

“Yes, you do see it. Every day you see it. You are not a fool, Isabella. I am incapable of turning back the sheets on my bed for your father. That is the brutal truth.”

“That’s not…”

“If you were going to say something so foolish as ‘that’s not important,’ you’re no daughter of mine. It is always important. Your father is the man he ever was. Do I condemn him to a lifetime of abstinence because I cannot…cannot…” She brushed aside the words she could not speak. “Do you understand me, Isabella?”

“Yes!” Isabella’s fair skin was flushed.

“And if I cannot give him what he needs…”

“You would procure a mistress for your own husband?” Isabella’s disbelief was as strong as mine had been. That gentle, loving Philippa should give her blessing to her husband’s lover. “Why not let him take a palace whore? There are enough of them willing to lift their skirts.…”

“No. Before God, Isabella! You try my patience. If it has to be, I would rather it be someone I know and trust.…”

How I detested this! In that moment I saw the truth. There was nothing new to learn of the Queen’s motives here in this confrontation between Queen and Princess. Had she not bared her soul to me, in all its agony, the previous night? Yet hearing her state the words again made my blood chill. In spite of my loyalty to the Queen I was forced to acknowledge that I was being used. Snarled over like a bone between two royal curs. It was like the creation of an entirely new tapestry, stitched with clever fingers to reveal the whole before my eyes. Better for the King to sleep with an unimportant domicella than with a highborn titled lady who would use her position to sneer at the Queen’s failure as she crowed over her success in bedding the King.

Degradation lapped over me, bitter as the leaves of hyssop. I might have sympathy with the Queen’s motives, but the role that had been created for me was a wretched one. I was a creature, a pawn, to be moved around the chessboard at the whim of the player. And what a skilled player the Queen was. How long, before her eye fell on me, had she been plotting this deep scenario to preserve the Plantagenets from dangerous scandal?

“Could you not find a more acceptable bedmate than this?” Isabella continued to rage, stabbing her finger at me.

Nor, I realized, my blood now humming with my own brand of anger, did I appreciate this exchange of opinion that stormed over me as if I were invisible. I was not the same powerless woman that I had been yesterday.