Eudora's first week as queen was a crash course in impossible expectations. Each morning began at dawn with Lady Beatrice and the Dowager Countess drilling her in court protocol. How to hold a teacup during audiences. Which nobles took precedence over others. The proper forms of address for everyone from dukes to distant cousins of distant cousins.
"Your Majesty must never turn your back on the throne room," the Countess intoned for what felt like the hundredth time. "You must always walk backward when exiting, maintaining eye contact with,"
"With respect, Lady Pembroke," Eudora interrupted carefully, "if I walk backward in these skirts, I'll trip over my own feet and embarrass the crown far more than turning my back would."
The Countess's lips thinned, but Lady Beatrice hid a smile behind her hand.
"Perhaps we might compromise," Lady Beatrice suggested diplomatically. "A graceful turn that appears natural rather than the full backward walk?"
It was these small victories that kept Eudora sane. Each day brought new challenges, new rules that seemed designed to strip away anything recognizably human. She couldn't laugh too loudly, couldn't show too much emotion, couldn't express opinions on matters of policy. She was to be decorative, dignified, and utterly bland.
The only bright spots were the letters from her family and the unexpected moments with Walter.
They dined together each evening, a requirement of maintaining appearances, but what had started as stilted formality was gradually becoming something more comfortable. Walter would ask about her day, and Eudora found herself confessing her frustrations with court life.
"They want me to be a pretty statue," she said one evening over roasted pheasant. "Smile, wave, say nothing of substance. I'm going mad with it."
Walter set down his fork, his dark eyes thoughtful. "What would you prefer to do?"
"I don't know," Eudora admitted. "Something useful. Something that matters. My mother always said idle hands were the devil's workshop, and I've never been idle a day in my life until now."
"What did you do? Before?"
"Everything," Eudora said with a slight laugh. "Helped with the farm work, took in sewing for extra money, taught reading to the village children on Sundays. Nothing grand, but it felt purposeful."
Walter was quiet for a long moment, studying her across the candlelit table. Then he said, "There are charity organizations under the crown's patronage. The Hospital for Foundling Children, the Society for the Relief of Poor Widows, the Orphan's Fund. They're meant to be overseen by the queen, but my mother," His voice caught slightly. "She was ill for so long before her death, they've operated without royal guidance for years. Perhaps you might take an interest?"
Eudora's heart lifted. "Truly? I could actually do something?"
"You're the queen," Walter said with that almost-smile she was learning to recognize. "You can do considerably more than something, if you set your mind to it."
It was the first conversation that felt truly equal, two people discussing possibilities rather than king and subject. As they continued talking, planning how Eudora might approach the various charitable boards, she found herself watching Walter with new eyes.
When he spoke of his vision for the kingdom,of improving conditions for workers, modernizing antiquated laws, bringing England into a new era,his entire demeanor changed. The stern mask fell away, replaced by genuine passion and idealism. This was the man beneath the crown, she realized. Someone who cared deeply but had learned to hide it behind duty and decorum.
"Why do you do that?" she asked suddenly.
Walter looked up from his wine. "Do what?"
"Hide yourself. I see you with the courtiers,all frowns and cold formality. But when it's just us, you're different. Warmer. Almost..." She searched for the right word. "Human."
Walter's expression shuttered immediately, and Eudora regretted her boldness. But then, slowly, he relaxed again.
"My father taught me that a king must never show weakness," he said quietly. "That emotion is vulnerability, and vulnerability invites challenge. From the time I could walk, I was trained to bury what I felt, to present only strength and certainty." He met her eyes. "It's a lonely way to live."
"It sounds exhausting," Eudora said softly.
"It is." Walter reached across the table, his fingers brushing hers in a tentative touch. "But with you, I find I don't want to hide. Is that strange?"
"No," Eudora whispered, her heart beating faster at the contact. "I think it might be the sanest thing either of us has said since we met."
His hand closed fully around hers, warm and strong, and for a long moment, they simply sat there, connected by that simple touch. Then Walter cleared his throat and withdrew, though his eyes remained on hers.
"There's a state ball next week," he said. "We'll be expected to open the dancing. Have you learned the steps?"
Eudora groaned. "Lady Beatrice has tried to teach me, but I keep mixing up the quadrille and the waltz. I'm hopeless at it."
"Perhaps you need a better teacher," Walter said, rising from his seat. He offered his hand. "Dance with me."
"Now? Here?" Eudora looked around the private dining room.
"Why not? No audience, no pressure. Just practice."
Hesitantly, Eudora placed her hand in his and allowed him to lead her to the center of the room. Walter hummed a waltz tune, surprisingly melodic, and began to lead her through the steps.
At first, Eudora stumbled, self-conscious and tense. But Walter was patient, counting the rhythm, guiding her movements with gentle pressure. Gradually, she relaxed, letting her body follow his lead.
"You're thinking too much," he murmured. "Feel the music. Trust me to guide you."
Eudora looked up into his dark eyes and found herself following his advice. She stopped worrying about the steps and simply moved with him, and suddenly it clicked. They were dancing, truly dancing, moving together as though they'd done this a hundred times before.
"There," Walter said, his voice pleased. "You're a natural. You just needed to stop fighting it."
They continued to dance, Walter's humming the only sound besides the soft swish of Eudora's skirts. His hand at her waist was warm, his other hand holding hers with a firm but gentle grip. They moved together through the candlelit room, and Eudora felt something shift between them,an intimacy that had nothing to do with physical desire and everything to do with trust.
When the improvised song ended, they stood still, neither quite willing to break apart. Walter's thumb brushed across Eudora's hand, that gesture she was coming to recognize as uniquely his.
"Thank you," she said softly. "For being patient with me. Not just with dancing, but with everything."
"You're adjusting to an impossible situation with remarkable grace," Walter replied. "If anything, I should be thanking you. For trying. For not running back to Ashford screaming." A hint of humor colored his voice.
"The week's not over yet," Eudora teased, and was rewarded with a genuine laugh.
It was the first time she'd heard him truly laugh, and the sound of it,warm and unguarded,made her smile in response. For a moment, they weren't king and queen, but simply a man and woman learning to navigate the strange dance of their arranged marriage.
The moment was broken by a knock at the door. Walter's private secretary entered with an apologetic bow.
"Your Majesty, forgive the interruption, but there's an urgent dispatch from the northern provinces. The textile workers are threatening to strike."
Just like that, the mask returned. Walter's expression hardened, his shoulders straightening with the weight of duty. But before he turned away, he looked at Eudora and said, "Tomorrow evening? Same time?"
"I'd like that," Eudora replied.
After Walter left to deal with the crisis, Eudora returned to her apartments feeling lighter than she had since arriving at the palace. It wasn't love,not yet,but it was the beginning of something. Understanding, perhaps. Companionship. A tentative friendship between two people trying to make the best of an impossible situation.
Lady Beatrice was waiting to help her prepare for bed, and as she brushed out Eudora's hair, she said carefully, "You're doing well, Your Majesty. Better than anyone expected."
"Am I?" Eudora asked. "I feel like I'm stumbling through a play where everyone knows their lines except me."
"Perhaps," Lady Beatrice allowed. "But you're learning quickly. And more importantly, His Majesty seems... different with you."
Eudora met her eyes in the mirror. "Different how?"
"Happier," Lady Beatrice said simply. "I've served at this court for years, and I've never seen him smile the way he does when he looks at you. Whatever you're doing, keep doing it."
After Lady Beatrice left, Eudora stood at her window, looking out over the moonlit gardens. Somewhere in the palace, Walter was dealing with worker unrest, shouldering burdens she couldn't begin to imagine. But tomorrow evening, they would dance again, and perhaps share another glimpse of who they really were beneath their crowns.
It was a small thing, but it felt significant. Like a seed planted in good soil, given time and patience, it might grow into something neither of them had dared to hope for.