Morning Glory-Francis (Reign)

Chapter Seventy-One

It felt like I was getting married again, and I guess, in a way I was. Marrying Russia, and Anya's people. Only this time, the roles had been reversed. Anya stood up at the front of the church, with the Pope, waiting for me to join her, while I stood outside the main chamber, waiting to be called in.

People had flooded the basilica, dressed their best. My parents weren't here, though Mother had sent a letter of apology for not attending. Outside, there were even more people, those who were not high enough in court to be granted entry to such a high profile event as this.

My head felt bare compared to the lavish shirt I was wearing. My hair had been brushed and smoothed down in preparation for a crown to be set upon it, but I didn't have the crown I wore in France as the Dauphin. Now that I thought about it though, I would never wear that one again. My highest rank now would be the Tsar, and I would bear that title first before the Dauphin, at least until I was made the King of France.

All of the sudden, before I had really prepared myself, the doors to the basilica were pulled open by guards standing inside, and everyone turned back to look at me. At the front of the church, Anya was sitting in her throne, an empty one sitting next to it. Waiting for me.

Pope Paul stood their as well, an attendant standing beside him, holding a pillow on which sat the Tsar's crown. It was similar to the one that was on Anya's head, but different too. Anya had told me that it was strange wearing the crown she had watched her mother wear her whole life, and I wondered if it would be strange for her to see me wearing her father's crown. The more I thought about it, the weirder it seemed to me as well.

The music lowered until it was only playing softly from the organ high above in the basilica as I started walked down the aisle. A hush fell over the people who were watching, and I could feel every eye in the room focused on me-scrutinizing me.

I'd like to think that over the last few days I had made a good impression on the Russian people. Anya and I had spent the day before touring the city. We stopped and walked through several busy streets of Moscow. It was easy to see that her people adored her. Children ran up to her in the street and gave her flowers, and their parents stopped in their tracks to bow.

Anya took it all with a smile, thanking every child, and nodding in return to every person. She would make a wonderful mother when we had children. I'd be lying if I said wasn't getting slightest bit concerned about the fact that Anya had yet to conceive a child.

Once we returned to Fontainebleau, I was sure my mother would be more ready than ever to give Anya some sort of potion to help her gain a child, but at the same time I couldn't help but worry that the injury she had sustained in the war had impaired her ability to conceive. She had assured me that the doctors who treated her were sure it wouldn't, but I still wondered.

All the negative thoughts and worries in my head melted away when I reached the apse. Anya stood from her seat and moved to stand next to the Pope who began reciting a passage from the Bible.

My eyes glanced up from the floor where they were focused and I smiled at Anya. She was looking at me as well, a smile on her face. I could tell she was happy, and this would quell at least some of her own concerns. I knew she was worried about a baby as well, in case that Aleks died and she'd be left without an heir.

But now that I was crowned Tsar, if that did happen, then hopefully the Russian people would be more accepting of one of my brothers as a Tsar. They'd have to be, or they'd be without a ruler. Chaos would ensue.

The crown was set heavily on my head. Slowly, I stood and looked Pope Paul directly in the eye. He nodded to me once, before I turned around to face the audience.

"Presenting, His Royal Majesty, the Tsar Francis!" Anya stepped forward and stood next to me, as the crowds erupted into applause. I couldn't stop the smile from creeping onto my face. In unison the two of us turned around, sweeping our dramatic capes behind us before sitting down in our thrones. Anya fanned out her skirts, the hem of it brushing against my leg, almost comfortingly.

I glanced to my left and saw Anya glancing at me again, smiling as well. The Pope was making his procession out of the basilica, and in a few minutes, the people in the audience would form a line up to where I was sitting with my wife to meet their new Tsar.

It was nothing short of overwhelming, but I did my best to remember each person I spoke to. The first few were easy. Aleks, who joined us standing next to his sister, Anfisa, Feliks and Darek. Then Elisaveta and Natasha. A couple of nobles who I had met over the last few days.

Each of them bowed to me and Anya before expressing some form of congratulations. A few of them managed to slip in a request of some sort. Those bothered me. Several brought gifts of "good will." Fresh flowers, a fine cut of meat, jewels.

I was exhausted by the time the queue had reached its end and I could tell that Anya was too. But as soon as we were about to get up and retire until tonight's banquet, a general approached and bowed.

"Yes?" Anya look annoyed.

"Would Your Majesties like to greet the crowds outside? They are calling for their Tsar and Tsaritsa?" He asked, bowing his head. Anya and I looked at each other, but I didn't say anything. It seemed like a good idea, but I wanted to give Anya the prerogative.

"Let them in." Anya said with a sigh and a wave of her hand.