Ma Petit Princesse (aph Marie Antoinette fic)

The Marriage of l'Autrichenne

-2 days later-

Bells rung out early on the morning of May 16th, 1770, waking the rather tired, hungover Francis. Days upon days of sleeping in a carriage would give anyone a back ache, but a 926 year old? Forget about it. Francis moaned and groaned as he rose out of bed, walking over to the wash basin in the corner of the room by the window and soaking his face, toweling off, then turning back  to his luxurious-looking bed where the sleeping form of a woman lay. She stirred slightly, then turned over towards the window, where the early morning light shone upon her face, making her freckled nose wrinkle and her brown eyes open. Francis ran his own fingers through his hair and let out a long sigh before turning back to the window, letting the golden rays of the sun wash over him. After a while he heard a legato, purring, Italian-accented voice whisper, "Good morning, Francis."

Francis closed his eyes, rubbing his throbbing temples and turned on his heel to the woman who lay in his bed. "Lady Abbatelli, why on Earth are you still here?"

"What ever do you mean, Francis?" She smirked, taking the sheets off of her and walking across the room, stark nude, to retrieve the articles of clothing so carelessly discarded the previous night and beginning to redress. "I was never here."

"Of course you weren't," Francis chuckled, crossing the room, a sultry look on his face. "I've only ever interacted with you at court."

Francis helped the noblewoman back into her dress, helping her tie the laces on  her corset and other such things. When she'd finished, Francis pulled her back into an embrace, her back against his chest, resting his chin upon her olive tinted shoulders and dark chocolate hair.

"Tatiana," he growled, kissing her neck. "You don't have to leave so soon. Come back to bed with me.  We can always dress you a second time."

 The Italian woman sighed, moving her neck in a way that could allow Francis better access to it. As his kisses became deeper, rougher, her breathing became labored and she began making little noises within an instant; she quickly ended it, however, moving her face closer to his, so much that their noses touched. 

"No," Tatiana gasped, trying to catch her breath. "Not until tonight, mi amore. After the wedding reception, you can do whatever you want, but as for now, we both must... we both must prepare for the ceremony."

Francis nodded, but still leaned in for a long passionate kiss. She wrapped her golden arms around his neck, entangling her dark fingers with his messy blonde hair. Francis pulled the Lady closer-well, as close as he could with her large hoopskirt. Within a few moments it ended, and with one last longing look, Tatiana tip-toed out of Francis' room, as quickly as she'd came.

Francis' eyes lingered on the door for a while, then, with his head still filled with the idea of his lover, began to prepare for the day. 

_____________________

"...and 900 francs for the Du Barry's new shoes, Your Highness," Francis read aloud, pacing the room with the pamphlet as the King sat upon a red velvet bench whispering sweet nothings to his mistress as she made small giggles and 'ooh!'s. He rubbed her sides erotically and laughed uproar-ously as the woman made crude gestures and ditzed about, nearly knocking over a coffee cup with her bare foot. Francis sighed exasperatedly. "Your Highness?"

"Yes, Bonnefoy, yes, I heard," King Louis groaned, waving his hand submissively. "Stamp it."

"Yes, your Grace," Francis nodded, taking the candle away from the table's centerpiece, dripping some dark wax over the corner of the paper, then running a cork and iron seal over it.

"What do you think of that, Madame Du Barry?" the King chuckled deeply. "New shoes. Isn't that lovely?"

"Oh, as lovely as can be," tittered the airy-headed woman, running her long white fingers through her long black hair.