I will no longer be judged by the standards of others. I will judge myself. I will not live by someone else's rules. I will make my own.

I lean forward, pressing my lips to his, and it breaks me open. His hand leaves my face and traces notes up my arms, strikes chords on my throat and up into my hair. His mouth forms lyrics that expose my soul.The kiss is like a song played only once. And forever.

Thomas closes the gap between us and kisses me. Hard. This is not wet and sloppy like his playful kisses. Or dry and desperate like Percy's. Or teasing like the king's.No. This kiss is eloquent and alive and speaks direcetly to my soul. My heart ruptures, and the spliters freeze and tumble all around us with the musical sound of broken glass.

Hand in hand, we climb the processional stair, rising in the celebratory uproar of a capricious court. As we enter the palace, we are blinded by the ascent from sunshine into darkness.

I rise early that morning and dress in green and brown, my skirst the same colour as the forest floor. I include a cap copied from one of the duchess's, but set farther back from my face. She may be a bitch, but she does have style.

The walls loom, grey as the rain outside. LIke the sky of England itself. Everything seems colourless and humbled, despite the layers of velvets and tapestries, the peacock plumage of courtiers and ladies. Greenwich Palace feels like my father's disappointment made tangible.

Nobody can go back to how it was. The dust bowl dried us all up bitter as seeds and spat us out all over the land and none of us yet has taken root.

Love isn't making others into the people we imagine they should be. It's about letting people be themselves

Blaming the woman for the loss of a child is like blaming the soldier for the loss of his life in battle.