You Are My Light Part II

294 - Nursemaids and Nannies

"Your Majesty." Francis hears. He looks up, seeing the pageboy in the doorway.

"Pierre." The King of France acknowledges, putting the quill back into the near empty inkpot. He'll have to have his mother have a word with the staff. "What is it?"

"Majesty, Miss Juliette Ashton." He introduces. The young nursemaid with red hair and a white pinafore scurries in, her pale skin amplifying the freckles on her cheeks and nose.

"Majesty." The drops down to a deep curtsey and quickly comes back up, rushing over towards the King.

"Madam, what is it?" He asks the girl, one of the dozen nannies his mother has employed for the ever growing litter of the King and Queen.

"My King, it's the children. They are in utter dissaray. The Queen Mother is furious!"

"She is?" Francis is amused. "What have the ragamuffins done?" He asks, leaning back into the chair.

"My Lord, the children were painting in the nursery. But the Princesses Genèvieve, Vivienne, Isabella, and Aylee grew tired of the facade, and they began to throw the paint at each other! They-they all joined in, even the Baron de Velay, and the entire brood began to destroy each others' attire and the room. The Queen Mother tried to stop them, but now her face is purple, and it will not come off, no matter what she does! She is furious, my Lord!"

Francis barks out laughter, his chest rumbling with the sound. He pictures the scene, his mother colourful and irate, and the Prince and Princesses complete ragamuffins, colourful and exuberant and delighted. The Queen herself would be very amused by it all, but she's taken the Dauphin James and the newborn Princess Victoria to her trip to England to sort the peace treaty now that Elizabeth had declared herself baron and her monthly blood ran dry.

They had left when Mary had healed from the birth of Victoria Elizabeth Madeline. After they sorted the heirship of England now that Elizabeth Tudor could not produce a child, she and James would spend the summer in Scotland along with the Danish Princess Anne and the baby Victoria. Mary always fed their children from her own breast, so they could not have the baby stay in France with her father and siblings.

And when the danger was evaded, he and the children would spend the rest of the year in Scotland with her, Catherine taking temporary regency with Charles and his own Madeline at her side. The former Queen was delighted for a taste of power once more, and while Charles would never taste it with the amount of sons Mary had produced, he was looking forward to the challenge.

"Good Lord." Francis finally composes himself, getting up from his chair, his stomach still jumping with his amusement and attempts at composure. He snickers, walking over to the girl. "Show me the damage, Madame."

He follows her to the nursery, hearing the laughs of his children in the room and the fury of his mother as she continues to complain about her purple face.

"What did you little devils put in that paint? Why will it not come off?! Your mother's children, you all damn well are!"

Francis enters the room to see the colourful dissaray. His children are covered in paint splodges, with every colour available to them covering them in various degrees. The walls, the canvases, and the curtains, they're all covered in paint. Nursemaids and nannies flitter and try to clean them up with wet cloths and rags, and Catherine whines at the state of herself.

"Good God, how am I to meet the Sweedish ambassador looking like something you've created with a pencil? I swear, your mother will hear of it, and you will be denied Christmastide gifts until you all have children of your own!" The Medici former Queen cries out, rubbing her stained face with a rag. Her curls are less of a victim to the children, but it's nothing compared to her face.

The Princess Anne stands in her blue gown, stained with red, yellow, blue, and green. She's beaming with exuberance, every inch her mothers daughter with her smile, her large eyes, and dark curls. She holds a paintbrush in her fist, giggling in delight at her mischief.

The young Francis is in a silver satin suit, and it's completely destroyed with the blue, purple and brown. His face is smudged in the blue, and it matches the bright blue eyes they share. His own curls are saved from the destruction, but they're messy and unkempt with the battle of the Princes and Princesses. He and Jean-Philippè hide behind a large easel, the son of Lola Fleming grinning as he battles with his half siblings.

He hasn't seen his mother in months, for Lola had married the Lord Narcisse, the pair had been raising their two daughters in their small vineyard near Callais. Ever since he was nine, he had moved full time into the Royal nursery, even if he didn't have the pomp and pageantry that the Princes and Princesses had.

The Princes Henry and Edward are in a similar state, bright blonde hair messy and slightly tinged in green. It matches Edward's eyes, but the gold of Henry's is all Mary. A perfect mix of them both, with Mary's spitfire spirit and rebellious nature. They are covered in paint and delighted at the chaos, continuinging to wrestle with each other to get another handful of red onto the other one's face.

Aylee is somewhat the most unscathed from the paint war. Her pink gown is marred in red and yellow and green, and there's a splodge of blue on her nose. But she giggles and twirls a paintbrush, her hair stuck together with a little bit of red. But she's happy and it makes her father happy to see it.

Vivienne and Genèvieve are in purple, their dark blonde waves stuck together with purple and red, and they are giggling at the state of the other set of twins in the brood. The two girls stand side by side, their arms marred with paint splodges and skewed jewellery.

Tobias and Zachary are covered in green paint, cackling as they pelt Francis with handfulls of blue and yellow. The two boys, born less than a year apart, dark haired and golden eyed and every inch their mothers children. While the girl twins, Aylee and Francis had their fathers temperament, these two and Anne couldn't be more Mary of they tried. Stubborn and fearless and energetic and rebellious, the two boys laugh with joy as they continue the paint fight, much to the distress of the nannies, who squawk and squeal at them.

Isabella sits on the floor, carefully measuring how to get the most paint onto the twins from up above in her nanny's arms. Long dark curls and icy blue eyes, she is frighteningly intelligent for being so young, and proves it by getting Zachary right on top of his face, turning the young Prince yellow.

Aiden isn't much in the fight, but he giggles and claps his hands as much as a toddler could, chubby cheeks accentuating one green eye and one blue, showing off his two front teeth as his dark hair is combed through my the nursemaid who picks him up.

King Francis shakes his head, chuckling at the melay, and closes the door.

He has a letter to write to his wife.