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Cordelia does not sleep as the warship carries her across the waves to her new home. It is a long journey, made worse by an approaching storm.
And yet, Cordelia does not sleep. In fits and starts, she closes her eyes only to open them mere minutes later, haunted by the memory of her father’s beloved face uttering his dispense of paternal care. No, he is not her father anymore. He has made that quite clear.
He has only Regan and Goneril now. She should pity him, in memory of the cunning smirks of her once-sisters. But she cannot find it in her heart to forgive him one inch, to allow one shred of tenderness to reach him when he has shown her none.
Dear Cordelia, dutiful Cordelia, demure Cordelia. Dead Cordelia.
She is dead to Lear now. She does not exist.
It had been so easy for him. Cordelia had thought she was speaking the truth, living within the principles that Fath-Lear had always set for them. A daughter must be honest to her parents, faithful and loving. Good girls do not lie and trick and steal. Cordelia was a good daughter.
And Lear threw her away like she was nothing, as if all those years of minding him and spending time with him and truly loving him meant nothing compared to her sisters honeyed words.
Well. She hopes he’s happy now, living with Goneril and Regan, no power or kingship left to himself. He had hoped to spend his days living with Cordelia, his every whim indulged, his burdens lifted yet the trappings of power all his to enjoy. She wonders how Goneril and Regan will react to that. She imagines those hundred knights of his will not last long.
Cordelia has wept. Has cried and suffered in her cabin alone, barely eating as she tried frantically to atone to an invisible father.
No more. She is a princess, a daughter of Britain if nothing else, and she will soon be Queen of all France. Does she love Sebastien? Not yet. Could she see herself loving him? In time perhaps.
He has been the consummate gentleman while courting her, far better than the Duke of Burgundy. He saw through her father’s rage and declared that he could not imagine her committing a sin so grave as to warrant disownment. France is a rich country, but the dowry of a princess and a third of Britain’s lands would have been a fine prize indeed. Yet, Sebastien had followed through with his suit irrespective of her status.
So yes, she could see herself falling in love with him one day. He is undeniably handsome and has so far been the kind of man one could only expect in fairytales. But Cordelia is wiser now. She refuses to fall for deeds and words said in public, only to be turned upon behind closed doors. Pretty actions to win her over are all well and good, but now that he has her as his future lady-wife, she will be interested to see how his demeanour changes. She will not be fooled again.
Perhaps Lear will ask for her help, when the tune changes and he realises that Goneril and Regan wanted only the power. He is stubborn though, proud. It will likely be Kent. She knows he was banished as well as she was, but she had often privately thought that Kent should may well take the Fool’s cap and be done with it. He will have already donned some clever disguise or talked his way back into Lear’s service. He is far too loyal for his own good.
But Cordelia is finished. She is finished weeping, finished begging for scraps of love, finished with her cruel sisters and her loveless father, finished with being the dutiful daughter.
Queens do not answer to foolish old men, who have naught but the clothes on their back left to them.
So she cleans her face, dons one of the few outfits that she was able to save before leaving, and steps out on deck to seek her future lord-husband.
He stands by the bow, deep in discussion with the captain. She steps delicately around the damp patches of wood where the youngest boys have been cleaning the ship and makes her way to Sebastien, head held high. She is to be Queen, she reminds herself, as crew members step out of her way, bowing to her as subjects of her new kingdom.
“Ah, Lady Cordelia! The Captain tells me we are but a day from making landfall. We shall be ensconced in our palace within the next three days.” Sebastien tells her as she curtsies gracefully.
“Wonderful news, your Majesty. I look forward to seeing my new home.” She says, straightening just as elegantly.
“You may of course call me Sebastien, my lady. We are to be wed as soon as my mother gets a hold of us.” He tells her and Cordelia must stifle an unladylike laugh before it can escape.
“I have heard the Dowager Queen is a formidable woman. I look forward to making her acquaintance.” Cordelia says, smiling prettily.
The Dowager Queen will be her greatest ally in court if she can get on her good side. It’s best to compliment her now, when she’s not present, but rumours will spread from the ports about the new Queen’s admiration of the old. If she flatters the Dowager Queen too much in her presence, she will be seen as a vapid fool, sucking up to her new mother in law to gain advantages.
Better to be pleased to meet her and heed her advice, but quietly allow her claimed love to spread through the country to reach the Dowager’s ears. Cordelia has certainly learned recently that love is a weapon in every monarch’s arsenal and she must no longer be cautious to use it.
This is her life now. Lear does not control her any longer, and she must be prepared to learn as much as possible about this new court and how to use it to her advantage the way her sisters do.
Cordelia, daughter of Lear, is dead. Long live the Queen.