meant to do. I turned back, and the women standing by did not have the sense to catch me. They thought me truly one of their dogs by that time, and did not know until too late that I had slipped the leash.
My father still stood where I had left him. He sensed somehow, as I did, that more needed to be said, words that had been left unspoken. He was a good man, and a good king, but he was never one to speak before crowds. I saw that it was left to me to do it for him.
I met my father’s eyes and stood before him, seeing only him, while his courtiers paused at the door. They had thought to leave, the ceremony over, but I was not done with them. Not yet.
When I heard the courtiers turn back from the outer hall, I knelt slowly, solemnly, my eyes on my father’s. The room fell once more into a hush, until the only sound was the court ladies cooing like doves by the door, until the chamberlain’s harsh voice shushed them.
I raised the hem of my father’s robe, and kissed it. The men around him drew back, but stayed close enough that they might watch my impromptu performance as it unfolded. I did not look at them, but only at my father’s face. In that moment, I took my true oath, one that I kept for the rest of my life.
“My lord king,” I said. “It is for me to serve the throne of France. If you call on me to travel to the farthest reaches of the world, even into the outer darkness, I will go. If France needed me to marry the devil himself, I would do it. It will be my honor to marry King Henry’s son.”
I did not know which hell-spawn prince I was meant for, so I did not use a given name. I knew that King Henry had so many sons, when all God had seen fit to give us was my younger brother, Philippe Auguste, the child of my father’s third wife.
My father looked down at me with such pride that I thought he might weep. I saw in his face regret that he had not called me to him alone before my investiture as countess, before my marriage had been arranged. He saw for the first time that I was old enough to understand what my duty was. Tears filled his eyes as he stared down at me; then he blinked them away.
My father raised his hand once more to bless me, placing it on my veil where it rested on the crown of my head.
“Daughter, when spring comes, you will be sent to marry the Lord Richard, Prince of England, son of our esteemed vassal Henry, King of England and Duke of Normandy. You are the pride of my house, the flower of France. King Henry will welcome you, and honor you, as we honor you here.”
I did not speak again, for already I had said too much. A French princess lives her life in silence, as my mother had done before me. I was not naturally silent, but I was obedient. I knew that I would serve my father better now by holding my tongue.
I thought that he would dismiss me then, my duty acknowledged, all gossip of devils and their spawn cast aside. Instead, my father raised his hand from where it rested on my veil and, with a gesture, dismissed the courtiers around us, and King Henry’s vassal with them.
“Leave us,” my father said.
The room was cleared in a moment. The ladies who had brought me were the last to leave. They were scolded by my father’s chamberlain for letting me get away from them in the first place.
Once we were alone, my father sat down, not on his throne, but on a cushion on one of the dais’ shallow steps.
I realized that the cushion had been set there for me to kneel on. I had knelt early, not having been coached. The ceremony making me countess, and all that came after it, had been accomplished below the dais altogether.
My father gestured to me, and I went to him. He took my hand in his. His skin was like old vellum, soft and almost yellow. I prayed to God, standing there before him, that he would live long enough to see my brother grown and strong.
“Daughter,” he said. “What have you heard of the devil?”