Tampered Beauty

Decoy

The snow crunched against the hundreds of cantering hooves. Metal clinked against one another and clothing rustled in motion. Belts clanked together and horses whinnied loudly as they ran through the feet of snow that blanketed the Navarrian field. The beat of the moving hooves echoed loudly, in a chaotic unison as the King and Queen of France made their way to the meeting point with the King of Spain.

Mary grit her teeth as the edge of the hill came to view. She looked over it longingly, finding no Spanish procession. She could find nothing of the sort that she was looking for. No irritating King, no hundreds of guards and mercenaries. Nothing but the pristine and imperfection-less, snow covered ground of Navarre.

She slowed her horse, settling to a stop as she waited for her enemy to arrive before her. Her horse, a white haired, blonde maned, blue eyed stallion was cloaked to the nines in an intricately woven, dark blue blanket with light blue fleur-de-lis' all over it. A childhood pet gifted to her by her father when he was upon his deathbed and heard of Queen Marie's successful childbirth to a premature girl. Askari -meaning noble warrior- had been a newborn foal at the time, and had proudly served his mistress as they grew up together. He had ridden with her in battle, and he was going to stand by her side and deliver her to her fate. He always had been there.

"Stop." Mary ordered. From beside her, Francis stopped on his raven haired, maned and eyed stallion, stopping beside his wife. He looked at her intently, donned in the finery of a King, yet protected by armour, no crown upon his head.

From behind them, the fifty seven guards stopped in quick succession, the more important members of their family coming to their side. James, Earl of Moray, at his sisters right, Baron Sebastian de Portiers' to his brothers' left.

They waited in silence for several minutes, still astride their horses. Mercenaries had galloped into the distance to try and search for word of the Spanish, yet came back empty handed.

"Imperial Majesty! Imperial Majesty!" a voice cried. The procession looked up and watched the young bastard niece of the Empress and Queen came galloping up towards her.

"Sara, do you have news?"

"Indeed, Majesty. The Spanish King's army is imminent. They come guarding him as we speak, sight of his procession was spotted just above the Arga river."

"That's not even fifteen miles away," Sebastian noted, his brow furrowed deeply. Teal green eyes were bright from the cold and wide from the worry he felt about his younger brother and his wife dealing with the frightfully unpredictable Phillip of Spain, when they were under the protection of a known enemy to the French throne.

"It is." Francis looked towards his wife, his movement slow, his own anxiety showing. He and James would be close to his wife in this meeting, but because both French blooded consorts were merely consorts to the regnant rulers that had the true issues -Elisabeth was still safely at home in French Court- neither could be there to see the conversation the two viper-like rulers. Sebastian would be traded as a hostage, as would Don Carlos, to keep the peace and the civility, but that may not be enough to completley settle the two opposing sides. 

"Well, have the horses resting and burn some fires. It seems we're going to be here for quite a while." Mary noted, slipping down from her horse, brushing her fingers over the roused black satin ball gown skirt that was covered in small diamond broaches in the crevices.

"Mary," Francis said, some hours later. From their settlement at the small, impromptu camp the French and British contingent had set up, the Spanish could finally be seen over the hill. They had stopped where they were -keeping the agreed to distance- and awaited the Empress' next move.