I once had the world at my feet.

I still remember the day I arrived from Paris, the glitter of it on me like the phosphorescence fireflies leave behind on your fingers. Having been absent from England for so long, I was eager to rejoin the court. Even in France I’d heard about the king turning against his wife for her repeated miscarriages. Every month she promised him an heir, and every month her courses would come, and her hopes, his hopes, and the hopes of a kingdom were dashed.

I arrived in the midst of this unstable time as the newest member of the king’s court. I quickly became the favorite. I could’ve had any man at court. Of that much I am certain. But when the king turned his dark gaze on me, I knew I was his. Maybe he would even crown me.

Now I sit in the tower awaiting the roll of the drums, the sign that my time has come. They say he has turned his dark gaze on someone new. The intrigue will begin again, as if I never existed. My time is over. Another’s will begin.

It was always ever thus.