War of Hearts || Reign || REWRITE

Chapter 1

May 5th 1562, Château de Louvre, Paris

The salon of Queen Catherine de' Medici, consort of King Henri the Third of France, is, as always, filled with her ladies-in-waiting and maidens of honor.

In the center of the room the queen sits upon a throne-like chair. Beside her, on a velvet-covered stool, is her first lady and confidante, Claude de Clermont-Tonnerre, Dame de Dampierre.

I sit in the window seat with my embroidery. My thoughts ought to rest on the work in my hands—the Valois crest I have been stitching for nearly my whole life—but instead they drift to Florence, Italy.

This morning my maid brought me a letter from my father. The last time I heard from him was at the end of January, when he wished me a happy new year and asked after my health. But this time the letter holds no such greetings. It brings only bad news—bad news for him, at least. My stepmother, Eleonora of Toledo, has died after a long illness of swamp fever. My half-brothers Giovanni and Garzia fell to the same sickness: Giovanni two weeks before his younger brother Garzia and their mother.

I have always hated my stepmother. It was her fault that I grew up in France, far from my brothers, my sisters, and my father. Her hatred of my mother and her obsession with pure blood persuaded him to leave me here.

My father often ignored Eleonora whenever she complained of my presence. Why he chose one day to heed her words has always been a mystery to me.

When my mother became pregnant by my father, she was still a maiden in Eleonora's service. My mother, Maddalena Bandini, was only seventeen, from a lesser noble family. She was known at court for her lively spirit, her brown-green eyes, and the longest dark hair one could imagine. She was counted among the beauties of the Florentine court.

Eleonora herself was with child, my elder sister Lucrezia, when my parents began their affair. Shortly after Lucrezia's birth my mother conceived, and in 1546 I was born in my father's palace.

Perhaps out of love for my mother, my father acknowledged me, much to Eleonora's fury. She dismissed my mother from her service, but still my mother remained his mistress for five years. When he tired of her, she returned to her family home, and I was left with my father and siblings.

It took Eleonora seven long years to persuade him to send me away. When my father traveled to the French court, she seized her chance. She whispered that France would shape me into a proper bride, though she never suggested sending her own daughter. Under the eye of our distant kinswoman Catherine de' Medici, I would grow into a refined young lady, ready to be married off to the highest noble bidder.

For reasons I never understood, he agreed. Without my mother's consent, I was sent to France.

And now, nine years later, here I sit: a favorite of the queen, a confidante of the royal children.

"What are you thinking of?" Princess Elisabeth's voice draws me from my thoughts. She sits beside me in the window seat with her own embroidery, watching me curiously.

I smile at her. "Nothing important, I was daydreaming," I lie, taking up the needle again.

After so many years at the French court I know the three golden fleurs-de-lis on the blue shield as well as I know the red balls on the golden Medici coat of arms. I hold my embroidery up for her to see.

"This is for you," I tell her. "So that in Spain you may always show that you are a Valois princess."

Elisabeth's face brightens with gratitude. "You are so kind, Bia. Your needlework is always so delicate. You are a natural talent."