The Young King

Chapter 1

"All hail King James of the house of Stuart-Valois-Anguleme, first and sixth of his name by the grace of God, King of England, Scotland, Ireland and Wales, Dauphin of France, Duke of Edinburgh, Lorraine and Estouteville, Prince of Denmark."

The herald cried; heads bowed as the powerful young man came into the throne room. He was trialled by two dozen personal guards and several servants, two nobles, his personal squire and secretary. The young, strong King walked confidently through the parted sea of French courtiers, head held high. Confidence borderlined arrogance as a black stubble lined chin rose more, locking eyes with his father.

"Father," James' voice was loud and firm as he stepped in line with the larger French throne. Said father grinned and stood from his throne, walking over towards his heir.

"James, I have missed you, son." King Francis said, voice almost the same as his sons'. The Dauphin of France and King of Scotland and England lowered his head a little, his father doing the same.

This young, seventeen year old King was every inch the King his mother was. He looked just like her. Black hair and enchanting, golden-green eyes. Her impressive height and the long dead King Henry's imposing stature. He may have looked more like his father than anybody else in the face, but he had his dead mother's lips and high cheekbones, the same eye shape and the same enchanting, soothing yet fear imposing aura. He was dressed to the nines. In regal reds and glittering golds, there was no doubt who this man was, and the man he would become. He was the eldest son of the greatest monarchs in living memory, after all.

He was not their only child, however. King Francis and Queen Mary had quite the impressive number of children to their repertoire. He was the eldest, as previously stated, after three miscarriages and two stillbirths suffered by the dead Queen and ageing King. But, as he grew and more and more heirs were birthed and lost, he had always loved, adored and protected his younger sisters and brothers. Younger, being the most notable word.

The second eldest of the litter of King Francis and Queen Mary was a daughter, Princess Anne. He and his sister had always taken to and after their mother more than their father. Anne was the long dead Queen's doppelganger, in looks and personality. She had her eyes and her hair, the fierce Scottish personality and a essence of duty that always trumped the fearlessness and rebelliousness whenever necessary. The two had been inseparable as children, the same being said for them as they entered their time. Although, their relationship had been a tad strained as of yet. Nothing the two had done, it was simply royal business. He was the King of England and Scotland, Wales and Ireland. He was going to be King of France. She was the future Queen of Spain, after all.

The third, another son. Prince Francis of Scotland and France, the one who captured all their hearts. A son who had taken after his father more than his mother. Blue eyed and blonde haired, he was smitten with his mother, he acted as his father once did. Never going a day without contact from the siren Queen, adoring her above almost all else. The young Prince had captured the hearts of French and Scottish courts. He was dressed in blues and whites and blacks and greens, deep reds and gentle purples, adoring the outside and horses, almost always taking his lessons in the light of sun, rather than the candle of night. He was sweet and kind and playful and compassionate and every inch the echo of the young King's childhood. Every inch the King's son with the young Queens sweet, wild spirit. At fifteen, he was dutiful in his country and his courting of the young Princess of Italy. Their marriage would be imminent.

The next children, a set of twins, barely eleven months after the birth after the Prince's birth. Two boys. The Prince's Edward and Henry were a marvel to the French Court. Their mothers eyes shone brightly as they looked upon the world, their father's hair clinging to their shoulders. Intelligent beyond compare, mischievous and sweet. They relied and trusted each other more than anybody else. There was a telepathic link between the duo, a trust and reliance and love deeper than what anybody could explain. Their father's clothing style and their mother's resourcefulness, a bond unlike any other in living memory. At fourteen, neither were wed, but both had long been betrothed to Princesses of the Blood. Edward was betrothed to the thirteen year old Princess Annaliece of Italy, whilst Henry was rather smitten with his own Princess of Romania. Juliette and he would be quite happy together. But their imminent weddings would never take away their mischievousness and the bond the duo shared.