Princess Mary, a rebellious, golden child of the Tudor family, at the age of eighteen is forced into an arranged marriage with King Louis of France - an aggressively jealous main in his late fifties.
When troubles arise, Mary is cornered and throu...
As I hurry through the shady halls towards my chambers, my governess, Lady Joan Guildford stops me. "Mary, child, you have yet to be dressed," she stammered, examining my garment from head to toe. "It is your coronation, to be fashionably late is not acceptable."
Joan was my dearest friend, and somewhat mother figure. She was someone I needed greatly ever since my mother, Queen Elizabeth of York, passed away when I was only four years of age. Growing up without the love of a mother was heavy, but at least I had the love of England.
"Why the urgency?" I probed, "We've already wed, the King's judgement and decision will not falter this time... there is no escaping now."
Joan paused. "Mary," she began.
"No. I am eighteen, I know where I stand. I am the age to wed, fertile and healthy - a valuable asset to any alliance."
"You are more than an alliance dear child. They can see that -"
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"Really? To whom may you be referring? The King of England? My brother who forced me into the arms of an exhausted man, or my 52-year-old husband whom I loathe entirely," I paused and regained myself. "I will be ready soon, Lady Joan." I hissed before slamming my chamber doors.
It was the hour of six and I knew I could not confine myself to my dormitory any longer. I release my glorious, silken curls from my tightly slicked bun that unwound down to my waist. My beautifully embroidered violet gown swung gently below my ankles. I was wearing the colour of royalty and I was ready to attend my coronation, ready to leave the safety of England to be the new Queen of France... well, as ready as a stoic queen could be.
As my ladies-in-waiting lead me towards the ballroom, King Louis headed towards me. His coat was blood red, licked in golden embroidery. His eyes trailed my body as though I was a natural spring, and he was a man dying of thirst. "Tonight you dress like a woman, and tonight I will make you one." He forcefully shoved me against his sunken chest.
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"Tonight I will become France's Queen, not yours," I spoke before swiftly gliding away.
He chased behind me, "I apologize, my lady. I let my desire for you cloud my mannerism." He held out his arm and I wrapped mine around his.
King Louis led me into the dining hall. Oh, it was dressed marvellously. Feasts that could feed one hundred men, candles that dangled against every spot of darkness on the wall, rugs woven to perfection hiding the ebony, rigid ground.
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The guards announced me as though I was the Lord himself. Such pride, such excitement. The roaring men who had consumed far too much wine almost distracted me from the jealous glares of their wives.
"You have been on the lips of all the men tonight," King Louis begun, "a Paradise, they called you. Tall, slender, grey-eyed masterpiece who possess' an extreme pallor." His eyes focusing on the crimson tinge of my cheeks. "My flattery makes you uncomfortable?" He probed.
"Quite." I murmured.
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"Well, you are the most beautiful woman in Europe. I'm sure this kindness is not unexpected." He spoke whilst attending his attention towards the nobles.
I was shy to respond and held my gaze towards the fixtures on the wall.
King Louis became stagnant in his steps as he turned towards me, "Would you be so kind as to allow me to immerse my pondering eyes to your soft, hazel locks?"
I beamed. "You may, although you are not the only one." I jested whilst I continued towards my ladies in waiting.
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His eyes shot towards the men that held their gaze on their new Queen.
Before my ladies and I gathered, I turned towards him, "My Lord, keep in mind that I do not want a husband who honours me as a queen if he does not respect me as a woman."
The King of France paused. Before his thoughts became known, I vanished amongst the crowd.
