War of Hearts || Reign || REWRITE

Chapter 11

May 26th 1562, Château de Fontainebleau, France

Francis and I watch as Maximilian disappears into the distance.

We had ridden with him early in the morning as far as Nemours, about three hours from the palace. We could not go farther, and there we said our goodbyes.

I had been unable to hold back my tears, and now, standing here beside Francis, watching Maximilian shrink to a barely visible speck, I am crying hard in Francis's arms.

The place on his chest where I lean is wet with my tears. Normally I would be ashamed, but now I do not care.

I feel Francis's worried gaze on me. "Bianca," he whispers softly into my hair.
"I will miss him so much, Francis. My heart hurts," I sob.

It truly feels as if my heart has been torn from my chest. Never in my life have I felt as miserable as I do today.

"I know, Bia, I know," he soothes. His arms tighten around me. Then he calls to his page, "The lady and I will walk part of the way. Follow us with the horses."

He lets me go and takes my hand.

We walk the first half hour in silence. It soothes me; slowly I calm, and my tears dry. Francis seems to welcome the quiet too. We walk hand in hand through the meadows back toward the palace, his retinue leading the horses a few meters behind us.

Then I break the silence. "You have been spending a lot of time with Mary lately."
I hear him sigh and glance up at him. He stares straight ahead. "My father compels me. He wants us married before the year's end. He is already arranging the marriage contract."

"Do you want to marry her?"

Francis thinks for a moment. "A marriage between us would make House Valois stronger than ever. Our heirs would have a claim to the English throne. The idea that a Valois king might rule France, Scotland, and England is extraordinary."

I giggle. "I asked if you want to marry her, not if France does."

He smiles faintly. "No, I do not want to marry Mary. My heart belongs to someone else," he says quietly.

A sharp pang runs through my chest. "Oh? Is that so? Tell me about this lady." I try to sound light, but his look tells me I have failed.

He shakes his head. "No, I will not. She is the woman of my dreams, but not of reality." He glances up at the sky, now turning gray. "Let us continue on horseback. I fear it will rain."

~

Back at the palace, Claudine helps me out of my riding habit and dresses me in a simple gown of blue silk. As she brushes my hair, the door opens.

"My lady Bianca, the Duke of Florence requests an audience," announces the footman.
"Let him in."

I take the brush from Claudine. "You may leave us. Thank you."
She curtsies and slips past my father as he enters.

I rise and curtsy. "Welcome, Father."
He smiles, walks toward me, and kisses my forehead.

Since Maximilian's investiture, our relationship has improved somewhat. Each day we have spent a little time together, walking or playing cards. We spoke only of simple things, like my education.

Father seats himself in the window and looks around the room. My quarters are large but not as luxurious as those of the queen or princesses: a canopy bed, a writing desk, a dressing table, a prayer nook, and a separate room with chests of clothes.

He picks up a book from the window seat. "Poetry. Do you have a preference for it?"

I shake my head. "As a woman at the French court I cannot read everything I wish. Sometimes I borrow military books from Francis or Maximilian, but always in secret," I admit.

He smiles faintly and sets the book down. Then his gaze turns serious. "Bianca, I will not stay in France much longer. In two days I return to Florence."

My heart skips a beat. I had known this moment would come, but not so soon.

"So," he continues, "make your choices wisely, daughter. This may be the last time I see you." I nod silently. "The queen has promised me she will find you a suitable husband. I have sent a sum to your accounts as your future dowry. Should you need anything, write to me, and I will do all I can." He studies me, my long loose hair.

"You are truly a beauty, my daughter. Protect yourself well." His eyes linger on my necklace—the gold medallion my mother once wore, its interwoven letters M and B for Maddalena Bandini. "I wish your mother could see how you have grown."

Sadness wells in me again. "I wish that too. I miss her every day. But it is God's will."

Father rises, and so do I. "This is farewell, my daughter."

Before I know what I am doing, I throw myself into his arms. He stiffens, then holds me tighter. "My dear Bia, my star in the dark sky," he whispers into my hair. "Oh, how I have missed you, my princess."

"Father," I whisper. How I have missed him.

I pull away and meet his gaze. I see a tear slide down his cheek; he wipes it quickly. The Duke of Florence must not weep.

"My daughter, I hope you will come bid me farewell the day after tomorrow," his voice rough.

I nod. "If that is your wish, Father." I curtsy. He smiles faintly, then leaves the room.

My father, once my hero, will leave me here for the second time.

But this time, it is my own choice.

And I am at peace with it.