James is glaring at him again. He's not subtle about it, either, but Mary supposes she cannot expect a five year old to be subtle in anything. Realistically speaking, there's nothing to be irritated about. Their countries are healthy, her little boy has a new sibling every year that passes, and both parents are healthy and strong. But there had always been one thing that James has never, ever accustomed to, even if he has never known anything else. And that is the constant presence of Jean-Philippe de Valois-Angoulème, the six year old bastardly baron de Velay.
The boy is sitting atop his fathers' shoulders, a crooked crown on his head and a small wooden sword in his hand. He swings it wildly, smashing it against the sword held by his cousin, Guillaume-Luc de Valois. The son of Sebastian sat atop his own fathers shoulders, and luckily for the four year old little boy, the child did not inherit his father's bastardy. No, the eldest son of Sebastian and Kenna was a strong and wild boy, every inch his father's son as he grins wildly and swung hard against his cousins sword. Both King and Baron jumping from direction to direction from underneath their sons as if fencing, laughing in the cool chill of the harvest festival wherein all the court celebrated another bountiful harvest.
The air is still warm, but there is a chill on the breeze that promises of incoming winter. That's why the Queen of France sits upon a makeshift throne not unlike the ones the previous King sat upon on his last day on this earth, she carries too much precious cargo to be traipsing around the gardens, her children remaining close, and why she could see how upset James was getting.
It was not as if Francis treats his bstard better than his true born heir. Or that he is a bad father to James, Annelise, François, Henry, Edward, Vivienne, Genèvieve or baby Jacob, nor the little swell that only thr children, Catherine and her ladies know about. On the contrary, he's brilliant with them, devoted in ways his own father had never been with him or any of his Medici children. He plays soldiers with his boys, teaches them all swordplay and horse riding, he lets his girls put their rouge upon his lips and cheeks and twirls them all around at the varying balls, but it's times like this that the ache appears in the Duke of Rothsay and Anjou's heart.
Icy blue eyes stare at the bastard boy of France, and he glares with such ferociocity that Mary remembers the same malice in her own little eyes when she saw an Englishman. She chest to comfort him, but she cannot. His father has caused this wound, his father must mend it.
James climbs up to his feet and walks over to where his mother sits. He rests his head on her shoulder, black curls tangling with her own as he leans his weight upon her.
"I want him gone, Mama." James Phillip Edward Henriève de Valois-Angoulème-Stuart whispers. "Gone far far away so that I never see him take Papa again." James leans his face into the warmth of his mother's neck, smelling the rosewater and honey perfume she wears.
"I know, my darling. It's a battle I have fought with your Papa for years. Perhaps your Papa would let you play if you told him you would like to? Or ask your Once Charles to let you up on his shoulders so you may play with both boys?"
James sighs and looks over at his father, uncle, cousin and half brother. "He does not look at me, Mama."
Mary aches for her precious first baby, and presses yer lips together as she brings him closer.
"Then you must stay here with me and your siblings. Perhaps Galloway and Fife will let you play with the."
James pulls away to see the two shelty dogs perk up at their names. He smiles widely, rushing over.
Mary smiles at him.
His mother's son, indeed.
YOU ARE READING
You Are My Light Part II
Historical Fiction-Reign Oneshots/Taking Requests- The world can be dark, Mary, and uncertain and cruel. The only thing that matters is that we face it together. No matter what happens, you are my light. Part 2! -Read TEML first!-
