Denys sat under the elm tree at the edge of the palace grounds, Chera grazing at her side. After munching on an apple, she began a missive to the Archbishop of Canterbury, telling him of her possible connection to Malmesbury. “Your Excellency, I solicit your help in finding out more…” she wrote as the words flowed easily, her penmanship steady and confident. Oh, to finally take action and trace her origins, after all those years of hushed whispers.
At the sound of thumping hooves, she looked up, expecting a royal page to accompany her back to court. But her breath caught and held as the rider came closer. The streak of white played through his windblown hair, puddling round his shoulders as he halted his mount.
“I am otherwise engaged at the moment, my lord,” she stated. Her fist gripped
