Tu Es Ma Lumière

12 - News

"Honestly," the Queen Mother of France scoffed, throwing her hands up in the air. Catherine paced around the table that the privy council stood around, leaning over it, whilst their King stood tall in his crimson grandeur. "you believe that the endorsement of grain and gold should go the east of Lyon instead of the west? Have you taken leave of your senses, man?" she asked a noble, who lowered his eyes in shame at the Queen Mother's wrath. "Or are you simply a fool?" she scoffed. The hazel eyes of Catherine de Medici swooped up to find the cerulean orbs of her eldest son, her King, who stood over the table, watching them all interact in silence. "Francis, you must see reason!" she begged. "There's many more people to sing our praises in the East, it's fruitful with the river d'lumes and the lands blessed with the blood of several cows." she shuddered at the irritatingly effective way of making the ground provide more food, brought about my the new Queen's influence from her homeland. "The east has far less of a population, they're so much less likely to be beneficial-"

"Yes, yes, I am very aware mother." Francis grumbled. The King had been anxious all meeting long. "The object is to not gain favour, but to make sure our subjects survive the winter, it's taken it's tole already." he huffed. It had been true. The King had only been on the throne for four months, and his first winter had been brutal to his land. They had relied heavily on the crops and vegetables of Scotland, who had long since found ways to make crops grow when the soil had frozen over. And with the anticipation of the birth of the long awaited heir to the throne just weeks away-

"Majesty! Majesty!" a poor runner page cried out, slamming his fist into the door in rapid succession. Inhaling sharply, Francis gestured for the door to be open.

The page stumbled into the room, raggedy and dishevelled. His hair was covered in snow and hat crooked. His clothing was askew and still was slightly covered in his cape. Catching his feet, the page quickly bowed lower and came into the room. The nobility mumbled to themselves, some watching the King's reaction, others watching the young man with sharp eyes.

"What is it?" Francis asked.

The young man took a few moments to answer. It was then that the King recognised this man, he was one of Mary's Scottish household, whom had been brought from her homeland just after they had travelled with the Earl of Moray to quell the rebellion against the long retired Marie de Guise. If he remembered correctly, the young man was a distant, bastard relative to the Queen.

The man took a few moments, most likely to think in French than Scottish Gaelic. After all, it hadn't been that long since the thirty men and women took up residence in France, not long enough to learn the langue let alone the customs.

"Majesty," he stood back up. "It-it's the Queen!" he gasped out, cheeks flushed from the cold.

"What about the Queen?" Catherine stepped forward, prowess clearly intimidating the young man. He stepped backwards as the former Queen of France stepped closer. "Speak!" she yelled. Mary had seemed so dear to her nowadays, the reason for the tenderness between former enemies being the conception of the heir to the throne that resided in his mother's womb. It had been hard for her to let the Queen retire to a chateaux in the countryside to continue the rest of the pregnancy after the seventh month. French court was simply too dangerous and exposed, and after the intimate attack by the Protestants in Mary's sixth month of pregnancy, she thought it best to leave the Court that held so much pain and try and focus upon the positive future she may be fortunate enough to receive.

Francis inclined his head, listening to the page's words.

"The-the Queen has entered her childbed, highness's." the young man said. Catherine inhaled sharply. "She is in the best care of the finest doctors and midwives in the land, yet asks that the King be by her side during the birth."