Tampered Beauty

Radiant

They walk through the hallways of the French Court, confident and stature, demure and superior as they looked upon the people under their care. Everybody stops and stares at the quartet as they make their way through them stone walls. Nobody murmurs for a good few moments, taking the time to absorb their King and Queen's beauty and superiority.

Donned in golden silk and ivory satin, pearls adorning every possible inch in delicate embellishments, the King and Queen walked in front of their people and their court. Their shoulders were back, their chins rose, eyes set. Not a hair was out of place, not a jewel nor a pearl. They were dressed to the nines, in complete unison, dressed to match. 

She was on his arm, confidently walking through the sea of courtiers in France for the first time in years. Eyes set and sparkling and golden, she walked with a demure smile, a far surer beauty than the French Court remembered. It didn't take a simple mind to know that the Queen's beauty would only grow as she matured.

Good God, Court whispers as the King and Queen of France walked slowly through it. Is the King hard of sight? They ask amongst themselves. His mistress looks like that and his wife looks like that? They ask, noticing the obvious differences in looks between the Queen of France and the rumoured maîtresse-en-titre whom trailed in the simplest cloths behind them, her hands bound at the womb, eyes cast to the sparkling stone flooring of the French throne room.

Look at the Princes, others whisper as the enchanting King and Queen walked past them. I spy the Valois grace. They say. How wonderful the Dauphin looks, how healthy the Prince. Ladies observe, looking at the dark haired Dauphin -who was being held securely, resting upon the King's hip- and the golden haired baby whom lay sleeping in the Queen's arms, the most perfect picture of contentment. 

The Queen mother smiled wide at the back of her son, her face beaming with pride, dark golden caped gown trailing behind her as she walked slowly in her sons procession. Her hands clasped around her chest and heart as she smiled wide at them. Of course, she was displeased to walk behind the newly unwed Flemming female and her own bastard child, but so long as she was trusted by her son and his wife for the time being, she would put up with the neusence of Lola for now.

Behind her, the Baron de Portiers, along with the Baroness. Young Lady Meredith clung to her father's loose black leather doublet, red and purple floral dress hanging loosely over her slumbering frame, covered almost completley by a fur cape. The Baroness looked completley exhausted in her travels on her husband's side. A fur held her newborn baby. She little clump whimpered in small mewls, the mother rubbing small circles upon her baby's back.

Before an avalanche of guards, the Duke Bayard and Lady Castleroy lingered together, walking a few inches apart. The Lady held one hand of her children in each one of hers, not looking at the young man she had been so very fond of not that long ago. Things had ended badly with them when the Dauphin was unborn, the slight awkwardness melted just after Princess Claude died. Her only daughter held her father close, copper curls poking out of her pink cape, settled in his arms. But still, the comfortableness between the duo hadn't completley gone away after all this time.

The King lead the Queen up the stairs, their eight week old young colt not making a sound as he slept, and sat her gently upon her great, golden throne. The Dauphin settled at his mother's feet, smiling wide up at his father as he moved towards his larger throne, settling himself and watching with glee as his nobility and staff bowed before him in unison, cloths rustling and and heels clipping as their owners dove and rose in slow succession.

"My loyal subjects," Francis began, his great voice booming and dripping in Kingly pride. "it gives me great pleasure to see you all here tonight, to celebrate the safe return of your Queen, Dauphin and I, and to welcome your new Prince to his country, Prince Lucian Robert Francois of France and the United Kingdom of Great Britain." Francis paused. "We must celebrate these joyous occasions with apt attention, so there will be a ball in honour of my son and my families' safe return from my wife's country." he finished. Court bowed, murmuring 'Long live the King' as the aforementioned King and Master waved a hand, telling them all to leave him to his privy council.