Bastard King ♤ Sebastian DePoiters [ON HOLD]

I ♠ Welcome, Queen Adeline

The carriage pulls up along the cobblestone road and comes to a stop. The loud hooves of the horses cease, as does the slight squeak caused by the turning of the wheels. I hear the sound of nobles conversing outside the carriage. Queen Mary arrived here about a week ago. That is why the British were able to focus their efforts to Alvaka, because they had tried to poison Mary and were sure they would have Scotland secured.

The highly embroidered wooden door opens and a hand is extended for Isobelle, one of my three ladies. She accepts and is helped out of the carriage, followed by my other ladies and myself. The fresh air fills my nose and brings a smile to my face. Its not quite as cold here, seeing as France is much further South. The air is sweet.

There are lines of nobles along side the pathway to the castle entrance. It is grand. The musicians hold long trumpets with a fancy bow tied around the slimmer end. The royal family awaits down the line of the musicians. The king eyes my ladies, almost with a hungry look in his eyes. He is drinking them in. Savoring it. Undoubtably, undressing them with his eyes. I shudder, feeling the sudden need to protect them. Queen Catherine stands tall, perfect posture. She smiles brightly, seemingly at nothing, making me wonder if it is genuine. Prince Francis stands beside his fiancée, Queen Mary. Beside them stand three other men. Well, one man, two boys. My eyebrows furrow in confusion. I was under the impression there was two other sons.

"Isobelle." I ask, getting her attention.

"Yes, My Grace." She bows her head.

"Who is the third boy beside Queen Mary?" I ask.

"Prince Charles, Prince Henry III, and I am not sure of the last one. A cousin, perhaps?" Isobelle says.

"Oh. Thank you, Isobelle."

I lead my ladies down the pathway, the nobles and musicians and what not bow as we walk past. We make our way to the royals and curtsey before them.

"Adeline, you are a queen in your own right. No need for you to bow." Catherine reminds. I halfsmile at her in apology.

"Adeline," the King says "I'm sure your ladies would like to see their room. I'll have a servant lead them up and we all can talk in the castle."

"Henry please. Any conversation can wait until tomorrow. These girls have had a long journey. Let them rest." Catherine scolds.

"Nonsense. We shall finish the conversation in the throne room." The king insists.

The trumpets sound and King Henry leads the group up to the throne room. The Queen follows King Henry and the crown prince follows her. The rest of the princes follow Francis and as do Queen Mary and her ladies. I lead my ladies with me. My ladies break away with Mary's and they show them to their room.

Henry throws the doors open with power and glory. He revals in the fact he owns it. He owns it all. And something tells me he wont waste a second of reminding us all. He owns all of France. Even the people.

The castle is concrete yet stunning. There are marble tiles in the flooring that gleam in the plentiful sunlight let in throught the mosaic windows. The stairwells at the end of the castle are spotless. The old paintings on the walls are Italian and obviously handed down from Catherine's blood line, the Medicis. She was not born into royalty, but she has wealth.

I watch the family closely as we walk. King Henry carries himself as the most valuable man in the room, and he is. Queen Catherine walks with grace and eloquence, a practice she has mastered, much like her plastered on fake smiles. Queen Mary talks with Francis. The two are poised yet humbled. Unlike the King, the two do not believe they are God on Earth. The oldest of the other sons, whose name I still do not know is a whole different story. His posture tells me he spent his life in the French Court. Quite possibly born here. He carries himself in a carefree manner. Reckless. Seemingly intoxicated if it werent for his focused and intensity in his light eyes. I cannot figure him out.