I’m not a fool. I don’t think that he has fallen in love with my fair prettiness, though he is kind enough to tell me that I am like a little alabaster statue, my skin so clear and my hair as fair as an angel’s. He tells me they would kneel to my beauty in Spain, that I look like a painting of an angel in stained glass, luminously beautiful. I enjoy all this, of course, but I know very well that it is not my looks—even if they are the very best at court—that interest him. Of course it is my royal kinship, my proximity to the throne. And if the Spanish ambassador takes an interest in me, does that mean the heir of Spain—the King Consort of England himself—is also taking an interest in me? Concealing his attraction to me by an empty flirtation with Elizabeth? Am I, in fact, being groomed for the throne by the papists, just as Jane was pushed there by the reformers? Do the Spanish hope that when the queen dies they can declare me as their heir, and Philip will marry me, and rule through me?

I don’t ask the Spanish ambassador this directly; I am too clever for that. Of course I understand how these games of power are to be played. And he says nothing directly, except that I am admired by King Philip, and do I have a kindness for Spain? Am I a determined reformer like my poor sister or do I incline to the true Church?

I look down modestly, and I smile at my feet and say that no one could help but admire King Philip. I say nothing in the least heretical or even argumentative, but I swear to myself that I will be no one’s puppet. Nobody will ever order me again. If anyone is thinking of pushing me onto the throne, just as they pushed my sister, they will find that I am queenly in my own right; they will find that if they put the crown on my head, I will keep it, and my head as well. No one is going to tempt me into a usurpation that cannot be maintained. Nobody is going to tempt me to insist on my inheritance. I will be a careful wise servant of my own interests. I will not risk anything for my faith. If God wants me on the throne of England, then He will have to make the effort Himself.

But I listen carefully when the Spanish ambassador goes beyond flattery to plotting. If the Spanish persuade Queen Mary to name me as heir, and then support me, I am certain to succeed.

“And, despite your sister’s faith, do you incline naturally to the old religion?” Count de Feria asks me, sweet as the marmalade that he spoons onto my plate.