Tampered Beauty

Expostulation

Baron Sebastian de Portiers really had no idea why he still stood where he did. He knew he should never have turned the dozen corners and corridors, knew he should turn around, but couldn't bring himself to turn and leave now that he had reached these familiar chambers.

They were his, when he was a child. Diane's old chambers just down the hall. They had lived in much simpler when the long dead Henry hadn't been King, but the heir. Before Francis was born, he had lived in the nicer chambers. But, of course, the Crown Prince came before the Bastard.

Didn't Francis understand that?

The King of France had left the chambers around an hour previously. That, for some reason, was his que to start walking, when word had reached that the King had finally retired for the night. Lola, his rumoured mistress, had left hours ago, unable to stay with her child with the judging looks from nannies and nursemaids. She claimed she needed rest, but Bash knew better. He could recognise the look of resentment anywhere, from a foolish courtier to the man who had sired her bastard child and forced her to stay, where everybody knew she'd have a better life elsewhere.

She, and the child.

Bash could understand that reason better than Lola did. Often, he imagined what his life would have been like if his mother hadn't been who she was, was able to run away and give him a better life, not one drowning in jealousy and betrayal of royal life.

Bash frowned, seeing the fact that there were no nursemaids with the young boy, nobody observing him as he slept. He was the King's eldest son, after all. Bastard or not.

The nursery was quite dim, no candles, just a small spark in the hearth, bright enough for warmth and light, but dim enough to be put out should it get out of hand. The windows were clamped shut, the royal family undoubtedly not wanting the child to freeze to death.

There, in the middle of the room, was the cot. Jean Valois, the young, bastard son of France, baron of Velay, lay in the cot. He was the subject of so much controversy, the reason why the Empress and Queen had packed up and took her household and son with her. And yet, he slept so soundlessly, warm in a knitted white blanket Lola had made, face the picture of peace and serenity, as if he cared of nothing in the world.

Francis' son. Francis and Lola's son.

In complete honesty, he had no idea why Francis had claimed him. It was obvious why King Henry had kept him. Diane was his mistress and -still to have a child with Catherine- he wanted a child of his own. Something that was his and only his, an inarguable feat. A child who belonged to the mistress he loved, not to the wife he hated.

Bash was aware that Henry loved him. Loved him a million times more than he had ever claimed to love Francis or any of his other legitimate children. They had much in common, and although he was starting to turn out like Henry just before Mary came to court -both times- Francis would forever be more like his mother than his father.

No matter what people thought, including his own wife or Francis', Lola was not Francis' mistress. And Francis did not love her. Francis still and forever would love Mary. He just didn't know how to prove it to her, after hurting her so many times. No matter his reasons for claiming and keeping Jean, Bash didn't think one of them was to hurt his wife.

Mary, the now far away Empress and Queen, would wake up every day until she met her maker, with the stone cold knowledge that -although she had birthed Francis' legitimate son- she had not birthed his first son. Catherine had lived the same way, with the knowledge that although she gave birth to five of Henry's sons, she had not given him his first son, nor child. And, if Mary didn't grow to resent Jean, like Catherine had resented him all of his life, then Mary would quite confidently be the strongest woman Bash had ever met.