Mary of France (ON HOLD)

Chapter Three - Queen over Heart

The coronation had ended and I felt the same as it had started. Although now, I am the Queen of France. Before I can return to my bed chambers, a familiar voice echoes behind me. "Mary!"

I turn to see whom he be. My goodness, it was my childhood friend Charles Brandon, the first Duke of Suffolk. "Charles?" I ran over towards him and held his hands tight in mine. "What are you doing back in court?" I probed. My he was like fine wine, he gets better with age.

"Your brother Henry invited me. He could use a friend right now, ever since that mistress ran off last autumn. What was her name, Scarlett?" Charles probed.

"Oh yes, Scarlett the slave girl," I rolled my eyes, "his love for her was poison to the kingdom. Imagine that, a King confessing himself to a stable woman? I'm glad she's gone so my brother, the King of England can focus back on his wife."

Charles smirked, "Oh sweet, innocent Lady Mary. I think he's filling his time with distractions. Blondes, brunettes and redheads too."

"Well as long as he's discreet, and he stays away from the virtues of my ladies-in-waiting." I chuckled. Ladies-in-waiting weren't often known for their virtue.

"I wouldn't speak too soon, my Lady. He's been eyeing off one of your ladies already. Lady Anne Boleyn." Charles spoke, taking a vast sip of wine.

I turn behind me to my ladies and see Anne Boleyn's smile rise far into her cheeks.

"Well," I began, straightening out my dress, "Good thing we're off to France then."

"Yes," Charles said, "it will be sad to see you go." His eyes falling to the ground, as he tightened his grip on my hands. His familiar touch ignited swarms of butterflies within me.

Charles and I grew up alongside each other. He was my brother's closest friend and only given title and land because of that relationship. I had always thought about him, often in ways I a lady should not. Charles was ruggedly handsome, tall and dark. He was on the mind of most ladies in England, especially the noble women with sleeping husbands at home.

"It will be sad to leave England," I said, lowering my gaze to a fraying thread on my dress I had been fiddling with all night, "Could you imagine me as queen? Could you imagine my face painted across the halls." I giggled, trying to lighten the mood.

He chuckled along with me, "Seeing your face every day would be a blessing." His lips smiled against the palm of my hand. "Farewell my lady, I mean... your highness."

My heart halted as his silhouette grew further away from me. How could my brother Henry VIII bring him here at this time, he knew of my adoration for Charles in my adolescent years. Why hurt me so?

In my bedchambers, my maids undress me down to nothing more than my pale undergarment. As I sit at my mirrored vanity, they comb my curls into soft waves. A sudden, gentle knock at my door interrupts my peaceful state. "Who is it?" I sing. My heart skips a beat; what if it was Charles, wishing to take me away from this perdition... or on the other hand, what if it were the devil himbouncingLouis.

"Lady Joan Guildford, my lady."

Disappointment stroke. "Very well."

Lady Joan waltzed into my dorm, her almost black curls bounce against her shoulders. "You are now the Queen of France," she beamed, holding my shoulders firm as I sit staring at my reflection.

I abruptly stood, crossing my arms against my chest. "Ah yes. Married to a man I despise and Queen of a country in which I hold no interest for."

Lady Joan let out a hefty sigh, "Your majesty, Queens don't -"

"Don't what Joan?" I interrupted, "don't have a say? It's the sixteenth-century. Why do our tongues continue to be silenced?"

She disregards my comment, "I'm sure you and your King will lead France to its greatness."

"My King," I whisper as I crawl towards my bed stand. My head falls into my hands as a sob escapes me.

Joan hurried towards me. "Political and arranged marriages are not always preferable, I understand. Your father and mother's marriage was arranged, and I was told their marriage was a happy one."

"Our marriages are not the same, Joan. My husband is almost older than my father would have been."

Joan wiped my tears with her handkerchief, whilst changing the subject. "I see Charles has returned to court, I warn you, Lady Mary, as your dearest friend, do not hold on to foolish romantic expectations. It will only make your acceptance of this marriage a more arduous task." She kissed my forehead and headed for my bedchamber doors.

"The beginning of marriage always seems promising, and mine seems everything but. The trick us women fall into is believing our King's love and respect us as equals, we must never go on that way. We must be stoic, we must be resilient, we must be more than Queens, yet women of speech." I trembled. 

 My words seemed to fall on deaf ears. "You leave for French court in the morning. If I learned anything in France, it was to keep a dagger on you at all times. Enemies lie within the walls."