I come from a long line of merchants and traders. My grandfather had a knack for knowing people and knowing how to give them what they want. My father, however, was a merchant of little talent, which led to my family's debts. Those debts, mixed with a large dose of infatuation for my lord king that started the first time I saw him perched on his throne presiding over court, are what led me to start a love affair with the king and suggest he take me on as an official mistress. Being a mistress would put me in a position of comfort, where I could send money home to my mother and father to pay their debts. And I'd be able to live an easier life.
As I said, my father was not the most cunning trader, but my grandfather... he was a force to be reckoned with, and he passed on some of his knowledge to me. "Arabela," he would tell me, "people don't know what they want. If a merchant tries to cater to what people say they want, he'll spend his life dealing with people complaining that what they got didn't really make them happy. A good trader doesn't just try and give someone what they need, they create that need in the first place. Do you understand?"
It was hard to explain all of that to a little girl, but he persisted. I think he saw that my father had failed to understand the intricacies of the business, and wanted someone in the family to keep the skills alive. So grandpa tried to teach me what he could, when he could.
"Make them want what you have," he told me. "Make them need it... then take it away. Wait for them to get desperate so that they come to you. If you do really well, you can even make them think that the whole thing was their idea. Once they need what you provide and you've proven that you can give it to them or take it away whenever you want... that's when you've got them hooked."
So the first thing I had done with the king was make him want me. He'd seen me a few times around the castle, fluttering my eyelashes and looking shyly away. Then he saw me in his room, vulnerable and beautiful, and he wanted me. I let him have me, have a taste.
Almost a month we'd carried on in secret, managing to sneak time for lovemaking no more than a handful of times. Then I had suggested, in an offhand way, that he take me on as a mistress. I told him to forget about it, that surely it could never work, and I left the thought at the back of his mind to simmer. The next step was the hardest, and it would have made my grandfather proud... if not for the extramarital sex thing.
I walked away.
For three weeks, I stayed away from his majesty. I made sure to get to his chambers just a little earlier, so my job could be done before he got out of his bath. I wanted him to miss me, to worry that he might lose me, to feel desperate. One time he managed to catch sight of me, but there were too many other servants around for him to be willing to make a public show, so he settled for giving me a longing look that I returned. And so it went.
If things went well, he would tell his wife, Queen Rosalyn, that he would be taking on a mistress in an official capacity. And if I was very, very lucky, she wouldn't murder him on the spot. If things went poorly, he would simply find another young, seemingly naive woman and start again fresh.
But I had him hooked.
For three weeks I waited, nervous, hoping my gambit would pay off. I was scared of losing everything I'd built up. Not just my job, not just my chance at a comfortable life, but him.
The realization that I wanted the king, not just for his power and position and what he could give me, but as a person... that was scarier than any threats the queen had previously made to me. And so I performed my duty, tending to the queen and the king's bedchambers, washing sheets and making beds and tidying to the royal satisfaction.
Another period came and went, telling me that our last bout of fucking hadn't resulted in the child I was hoping for. If all of the clever planning failed, carrying a royal bastard would have gotten me a piece of the good life in and of itself.
Then, almost two months after the first time the king and I had touched, I was pulling silk sheets over the queen's bed when she approached. She seemed to like doing that, waiting for me to be busy so she could make me drop everything to attend to her. I think it was a way of her reminding me who had the power: she was queen, rich and powerful, and I was just a servant who cleaned her room.
I left the sheet half-on and half-off the bed, and dipped into a low curtsey before her highness. I had deliberated on how I would act when... if this moment came. Ultimately, courtesy and grace won out for me.
"Your highness," I greeted the queen. I had been using the term majesty for her before, out of respect, but technically she was just 'highness' while the king was 'majesty'. It was, after all, his family that had been ruling Amella for generations.
"Arabela." She had obviously given up on the game of pretending to not know my name. "I believe we had a chat, some few weeks ago, no?"
"Yes, your highness. You told me to act with... discretion."
"And do you think you have been?" Her voice was tight, sharp. It reminded me of a string of metal, pulled taught but still strong enough to cut through flesh.
"I haven't seen his royal majesty in weeks. That seems quite discreet."
"Was the mistress situation his idea or yours?"
"I'm not sure I follow, your highness," I told her through lowered lashes, staring down at the floor. I was getting bolder, but not so bold that I was going to directly challenge her.
"No, I'm just sure you don't," she said, then sighed and turned. She regarded herself in the mirror, watching her own face as she spoke. "Just so you know, I've given him my blessing."
"You..." I stuttered, trying to make my brain catch up as she switched from subtly threatening to suddenly gracious. "You have?"
"I thought you didn't know what I was talking about," she smirked, and I saw her watching me intently through the reflection. "If you want to survive, you'll need to be just a bit smoother than that, dear.
As an official mistress, you're going to be part of the court. All the gossip, the back-biting, the two-faced liars... you're going to be in the middle of all of it, and they won't be as kind to you as I have."
"Thank you," I told her, meaning it. "Why... why did you agree?"
"Partly for convenience," she admitted. "Since taking up with you, there have been fewer nights of him stumbling into my bedroom half-drunk and taking a poke at me." I winced, and something in her face looked triumphant, as if seeing the discomfort I felt at hearing about the less pleasant side of King Edward made her feel vindicated. "And because if I didn't agree he would just keep on sneaking around anyway, getting less and less careful over time until it was common knowledge that he was sleeping with this girl or that one behind my back. I'd rather it just be out in the open."
I nodded, and her eyes fixed on mine through the reflection of the mirror. "But let me make one thing clear." She enunciated each syllable carefully, and I almost shivered at her intensity. "I am still his wife. It was my relationship that the priest blessed, my family's agreement with his that helped solidify his power. If there are ever any offspring, and I will continue to periodically make use of him to that end, it is my children that will sit upon the throne. Is that clear?"
"Yes, your highness," I said, lowering my eyes again. Truthfully, I hadn't ever believed a child of mine would ever sit on the throne. But if I got pregnant and she never did... I pushed the thought out of my mind for the moment.
