Morning Glory-Francis (Reign)

Chapter Sixty-Four

The next morning, I donned a rather modest gown, appropriate for mass with the Pope. When Francis and I woke, I was once again taken aback by the beauty of the city. Now the streets were alive with morning market business, and a church bell tolled in the distance.

Cardinal Oliviero gave me a strange look at breakfast, stern, yet smug. I felt slightly uneasy, but ignored the feeling, determined to enjoy my wedding tour.

After breakfast, Francis and I were led to a cathedral where Pope Paul was waiting. The church was beautiful, and the private mass went by as quickly as it could. The two of us lingered for a few minutes after the Pope left, saying a few extra prayers for our future family.

"Don't worry, Morning Glory," Francis whispered into our joined hands. We stood face to face, at the end of the aisle, just how we did on our wedding day. He could easily tell I had been worried about children, especially since our conversation the night before. "We have all the time in the world. I'm more than content to have you." He bent down to be at eye level with me. "You, alone."

A sweet kiss was pressed against my forehead, as I pulled our clasped hands to my own lips. The moment however, was cut short by the large doors being pulled open with a creak. The two of us looked towards the intruder, and stress flashed through me, fully destroying my brief moment of peace, when I recognized the figure as Cardinal Oliviero.

"Ah, Tsaritsa." He said, in mock surprise. "Just who I was looking to see." Francis and I exchanged a look, as he approached. "Dauphin," Oliviero dropped a short bow. "The Pope wishes to see you both."

"Why?" Francis asked, pulling me closer to him. "He was just with us."

"I'm afraid his Holiness wishes to discuss something a bit more political." He paused, looking around the grand cathedral. "Perhaps in a more appropriate location."

"We will be there in a moment." Francis's voice was stern. I think Oliviero could tell because he nodded once, dropped one more bow and made a quick exit.

"What could he want?" I whispered anxiously to Francis, once the door slammed shut.

"I'm not sure." His voice was tense. "Whatever it is, we will work through it together." Francis squeezed my waist once before the two of us set off in a determined march towards the Pope's receiving chambers.

We were let in almost immediately as we arrived. The Pope was waiting for us at his desk, and he gestured for the two of us to sit down.

"You know I am always delighted to have guests here at the Vatican." He began, looking at each of us thoughtfully. "But I cannot ignore the thoughts of my peers."

"What seems to be the problem, Your Holiness?" I asked, straightforward, wanting to get to the issue.

"I'm sure Cardinal Oliviero has expressed his concern over the Huguenots who have been living in France, and the Protestants, who have been allowed to join Russian society without converting."

"Of course."

"Well, several of my other colleagues have expressed similar concerns-that if they are not made to follow the Catholic Church, our international standing will be made into somewhat of a farce."

"We can assure you," Francis glanced at me, "that the Catholic Church will remain strong in both of our countries." He paused for a moment. "Both the Valois line and the Vavora family have been loyal Catholics from the beginning."

"I am well aware of that, Dauphin." The Pope stood from his seat and walked around the desk to stand next to us. "However it doesn't change the fact that there are many people here in the Vatican who are calling you and your wife, heretics." He hissed.

Francis reached slightly behind him and grabbed me, pulling me closer to him. Everyone knew what happened to heretics who were brought to the Vatican. And it was not exactly the end I was hoping for.

"Your wife's immediate popularity from her ascension to the throne of Russia started more whispers than I care to admit that she had everyone under a spell." The Pope's tone was turning from a persuasion to a warning. I knew he had realized he wouldn't be able to sway me to persecute the Protestants, and I appreciated the concern he was showing. "People whisper about your abilities to charm men, like the Crown Princes of Poland and Sweden," he now addressed me, "No one wants to believe they gave up their crowns so easily. But at the same time, no one wants to see a woman gain so much power."

"I am not a witch." I whispered, pressing myself even closer into Francis's side. Visions, nightmares, flashed through my head of mobs coming to burn me alive. Destroyed by rebels just like my parents. But what if my family wouldn't be as lucky as I was last time. Thoughts of Francis and our future children, deemed spawn of the devil, drowned in a lake or set fire along side me. "I am not a witch." I whispered again.

"I have had no reason to question the loyalties of either of you," Pope Paul said quietly. "However, there is only so much I can do about the rest of my colleagues. I bid both of you tread carefully. I'm not sure how much support I could rally from Catholic troops should you need military support."

Francis nodded, agreeing, while I stood numbly by his side.

"No one should harm you while you are here, but still I suggest the two of you and your party not linger for more than a few days. I'm not sure how long your welcome will last."

The two of us bowed our heads, recognizing our dismissal. Quickly, we left the office and made a quick pace back to our own chambers. Once in the relative safety of our room, I slumped onto a chaise, and closed my eyes.

They only opened when I felt Francis's weight settle beside me. He handed me a glass of wine, which I eagerly accepted. Still, I only took a few sips out of the goblet, before setting it aside on the table, and curling against Francis's chest.

"I love you." I whispered into the fabric of his shirt. A tender kiss was pressed into my hair as a response, and his arm tightened around my waist.