War of Hearts || Reign || REWRITE

Chapter 8

May 13th 1562, Château de Fontainebleau, France

The next day I sit in the window seat of Mary's chambers. A book lies open across my lap, but I barely glance at the words. My gaze drifts outside, to the vast gardens below, while I half-listen to Mary's voice filling the room.

She recounts to her ladies the joy she had yesterday with Francis, Maximilian, Claude, and the others. Her cheeks flush pink as she even mentions the archery, as though it were some scandalous adventure. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. For her, something as innocent as shooting arrows beside men is shocking. If she knew the things I have done with them, she would surely faint. If she heard what some of the other ladies amuse themselves with, I fear she might die on the spot.

The doors of Mary's salon open, and a footman enters.
"Your Majesty." He bows deeply. "Her Majesty Queen Catherine requests the presence of Lady Bianca."

I rise from the window and step forward. "Majesty, if you will excuse me."
Mary nods kindly. "Of course, Bianca."

I follow the footman through the corridors to Catherine's apartments in the opposite wing of the palace. He announces me, and I enter her salon. It is quieter than usual. Charlotte de Sauve sits beside Catherine, reading softly from a book. Another lies closed across Catherine's lap. At the sight of me, she lifts her hand, and Charlotte falls silent.

I curtsy deeply, rising again with a smile. "Good afternoon, Your Majesty, my aunt."

Catherine returns my smile faintly. "Bianca, sit." She gestures to the couch across from her. I fold my hands neatly in my lap as I take my place.

"You have now served several days as maid of honor to the Queen of Scots," she says, her voice sharp. "Tell me. What have you observed? What must I be concerned about?"

Her gaze fixes on me like a blade, demanding truth. Lying has never even crossed my mind in her presence.

"So far, nothing alarming, Aunt. Mary does not rule Scotland herself. Since her mother's death, her half-brother James, Earl of Murray, along with the Earls of Argyll and Arran, govern in her stead. She has never ruled, she knows nothing of politics. If Francis becomes her husband, I believe he will hold the true power, even though they will reign together in name."

I pause, then add carefully, "The queen is also deeply devout. She follows the words of the Bible closely and seems intent on obeying her husband in all things."

I think of our mornings: Mary insists we attend Mass in her private chapel before breakfast, even before the daily service in the royal chapel. I was raised in the faith, but two hours on my knees before I have eaten is more than I can endure. Yet she seems tireless, kneeling longer even after the prayers have ended.

Catherine's lips curve briefly. "Well done, Bianca. My spies tell me you are slowly drawing her into court life, and that last night you even took her among the young men. Before long she will trust you entirely."

I incline my head. "I would never disappoint you, Majesty. I owe my whole existence to you."

Her smile fades. "Speaking of that, your father has written to me." She turns to Charlotte. "Bring me the letter from the Duke of Florence."

Charlotte rises, disappears into the bedchamber, and returns with an opened letter. She hands it to me. My fingers tremble as I unfold it and read:

Your Majesty, most noble Queen of France,

I pray for the health of you and your family, and wish upon you the peace and blessings God may bestow. I write to tell you that I shall soon travel to France, with the desire to strengthen my ties with the French court and to bring my daughter home to Florence. Bianca, my daughter whom you have so graciously raised in my stead, is now of marriageable age. It is my wish to see her wed within an Italian house.