Elizabeth: The Golden Age by TASHA ALEXANDER

brought her to this low station. It was unforgivable. There were times when Mary thought there could be a peaceful resolution to her troubles, but she was beginning to believe that less and less.
    When Paulet left her, she knelt on the hard floor and pressed her hands together, offering first a prayer of thanks for the friends who were helping her and, second, one that God would speed the resolution of her plans. She did not pray for mercy for her cousin. Elizabeth would have to take care of herself.
     
    Chapter 6
    Darkness poured through the leaded-glass windows of the Privy Chamber, but the queen was enraptured and would stand no interruption as her new favorite regaled her with stories of his adventures. Raleigh was animated, his eyes sweeping the room as he spoke, but his attention lingered on two women: Elizabeth and Bess, though every time he looked too long at the latter, he abruptly turned away and focused on the queen. It had taken Elizabeth fewer than ten minutes to notice this, but it did not trouble her. Bess knew her place. No harm could come from letting her flirt.
    As the hour grew late, she heard a few mumbled complaints among courtiers wondering when they would be allowed to eat. This, of course, served only to make her delay even longer, but she did not see how they could mind. Raleigh’s story was entrancing, his personality magnetic. A meal could wait.
    “It begins with a journey. You must cross an ocean. Can you imagine—can you feel—what it is to cross an ocean?” He paused as his audience nodded, enthralled. “For weeks there is nothing but the horizon. All round you. Perfect and empty. Your ship is small—tiny—a speck in such immensity. You live with fear, in the grip of fear—fear of storms, fear of sickness on board, fear of the immensity. What if you never escape? How can you escape? There’s nowhere to go. So you must drive your fear down, deep into your belly, and study your charts, and watch your compass, and pray for a fair wind—and hope.” His gaze locked onto the queen’s. “Pure naked fragile hope, when all your senses scream at you, Lost! Lost! Imagine it. Day after day, staring west, the rising sun on your back, the setting sun in your eyes, hoping, hoping—” S
    ir Christopher Hatton slowly crossed to Elizabeth. “Majesty, the court is waiting.”
    “Let them wait, Lids.”
    “I think—”
    “They can wait.” Her voice was sharp with irritation and she considered that Lids, her old favorite, might be jealous of his replacement. Her tone was all softness as she turned back to her explorer. “Go on, Mr. Raleigh. You were hoping.”
    Hatton looked as if he would say something else, but she shot a glare at him and he bowed and left, a frown on his face.
    Raleigh continued, looking straight at Elizabeth. He seemed as undaunted by her steady stare as she was by his, and noticing this brought a pleasant sensation to her chest and a smile that stretched her face and crinkled her eyes. “At first it’s no more than a haze on the horizon, the ghost of a haze, the pure line corrupted,” he said. “But clouds do that, and storms. So you watch, you watch.”
    She could have listened to him for an eternity. His voice was mesmerizing. But eventually, she too became hungry. “I think, Mr. Raleigh, we will have to eat.” She took his hand— a hand stronger and more calloused than any she’d felt—and led him to supper, ignoring the rules of precedence.
    The meal, which had been ready for more than an hour, had suffered from waiting. Not knowing when the queen and her party would arrive, the servants had not sent the food back to the kitchens, and as a result, the soup was cold, the meat’s sauces had congealed.
    “I can’t remember when I’ve had such a satisfying meal,” Raleigh said.
    “You’re the only one not complaining about everything being cold.” Elizabeth motioned for more wine.
    “Your courtiers have not lived aboard a ship. They know not how bad food