MEDICI

ONE

July heat was about the same in France as it was in Italy. Catherine looked out through the carriage window as they approached the Chateau de Fontainebleau. It was larger than she imagined. She nearly poked her head out the window to gaze at the flower beds, decorated with organized rows of irises and lilies respectively. Yet, the cherry blossom trees and flowers on them couldn't even compare to the magnolia trees back in Florence.

She missed Rome now more than ever. As she saw the french flags waving in the courtyard, the lawn, atop the towers, she just thought about the Roman columns, marble steps, and above all, the Roman flag. The architecture rivaled no other.

The gravel stopped crunching under the wheels as the carriage halted at the front of the palace. "Catherine," Francesco chided her as the footman set out the step. "Remember. You bow to no one other than God himself. You do not serve a french king."

She nodded, eyes glued to the cloth on the bench across from her as the footman opened the coach door. He outstretched his hand and she took it, finally turning her eyes to the assembly of nobility that resided at court. In front of the lawn, in the center of the main path, was King Francis I, whose wife stood at his left, Francis and Henry on his right. His other three children stood behind the entourage. Catherine turned her head to the left as the carriages following hers stopped in turn.

She fixed her eyes on Henry. Pope Clement himself told her that he would be a prize match. Underneath all her money was common blood. When her finely made shoes touched the tiny stones underfoot, she looked down at herself and quickly but elegantly smoothed her dark green dress, showing no wrinkles despite the long carriage ride. Looking back up at the royals, she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

The door to the carriage behind hers creaked open and four other young ladies stepped out. They spoke quietly amongst themselves until they reached within five feet of Catherine, to which they bowed.

"Lady Catherine," they all curtsied to her. Lady Adriana met her eyes. "Safe travels, my lady?"

Catherine nodded. "Safe, if not a bit dull. Italy towers in comparison to french lands."

Lady Cadenza nodded immediately. "Oh, I couldn't agree more, Your Grace. Our roses are much lovelier."

"Yes." She turned to the other two girls. "And were your trips safe as well?"

Ladies Nicole and Geovana nodded in turn. "Yes, my lady."

"Shouldn't we go greet the king? And his accompaniment?" Cadenza looked down the drive. Catherine herself turned and looked at how they were waiting for her move.

"I suppose we should then, ladies." She began moving forward and Francesco moved to her side, the other four falling into step beside her. She kept her chin lifted with grace and poise, just like the pope had taught her after all that fear back in the convent. Francesco gestured for her to stop ten feet away from the royal family and the eyes of every noble pressed into her body. Catherine dipped her head and sunk into a low curtsy. "Your Grace."

"Catherine de Medici." Francis I gestured for her to stand. "Welcome to France."

"An honor, Your Majesty." She looked around the lawn. "You have lovely flowers this time of year. And such a blue sky."

"I'm sure you're accustomed to Italian plants. Those in France rival no others."

Although she shouldn't disagree more, she still dipped her head in false agreement. "Of course, Your Majesty."

"And I'm quite impressed with your french, madam. It could use some work, but as could my Italian."

She smiled at him. "Thank you, Your Grace."