Katherine Tudor was supposed to be stillborn. A dead daughter of Elizabeth of York whom would die days before her mother.
That is no longer the case. Instead she became Queen of France at 13. The wife of Le Garcon Roi; the boy king. The Queen Mother...
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𝓑𝓪𝓽𝓪𝓵𝓵𝓲𝓮 𝓭𝓮𝓼 𝓡𝓸𝔂𝓪𝓵𝓼 𝓟𝓪𝓻𝓽 𝓞𝓷𝓮
“We should dance,” Margaret announced as she noticed her younger counter-part stiffened. The young queen looked uncomfortable and she couldn’t stand to see it.
“Oh, sure,” Katherine agreed in surprise and allowed herself to be dragged off of her throne and onto the ballroom floor. She giggled at the familiarity of being dragged to dance, it reminded her of her birthday a few months ago.
“Music! I want something to dance to!” Margaret exclaimed, and the musicians began to play dancing music. It was upbeat and fun, perfect to lift Katherine’s spirits.
She quickly took to the music, movements like liquid, as she spun around with multiple partners and leapt with them into the air only to fall gracefully back onto the floor. Margaret watched for a moment before following her lead. They giggled and laughed, circling between the wine table and dancing. Katherine must’ve gotten drunk because she didn’t remember making it to her chambers that night, and yet there she was in bed that morning.
That, and her husband was currently brooding in the corner of her room and fucking glarring at her.
“I see you are awake,” he observed in a miffed voice. “There's a hangover cure in the receiving room,” he informed her as he took a seat next to her bed. “You won’t be getting it until we’re finished speaking.”
Hesitant, and a little on edge, Katherine lifted herself up on her elbows and met her husband’s eyes. “By all means,” she said.
Eugene nodded, “You were drunk.”
“So I was, my apologies, husband.”
His face betrayed no emotion, he was strangely calm looking, but Katherine was aware of the anger swirling behind his dark eyes. She saw the way his jaw subtly clenched, how he kept opening and closing his fist as if he were strangling something. She wondered for a moment if he wished to strangle her.
She was so in her head that she flinched at the sound of Eugene's voice. When he spoke it was like always, calm and cool. He had premeditated this conversation, she could tell by the word choice and the way they were executed.
“What’s wrong with you.”
It wasn’t a question, so Katherine didn’t speak up.
“What the fuck is wrong with you.” Eugene’s eyes narrowed as he continued. “You were irresponsible to get black out drunk. You were lucky that Queen Margaret didn’t notice and that your ladies were discreet. You’re a goddamn reck and I’m embarrassed to see just how you can get. So, I reiterate : what the hell is wrong with you, you fucking idiot?”
She couldn’t just sit there quietly and listen to this despicable unsympathetic man rip into her actions. Her cheeks flushed in embarrassment and her stomach twisted with nerves.
