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FRANCE, 1557.
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THE SKY BROKE out into rivers of pink as the sun rose, the gentle breeze settled onto my bare skin and made me shiver, but it was the best feeling. The French air was the most magnificent air; consistently fresh, and warm, however repugnant in certain parts of the city. I sat quietly on the balcony of my chambers, observing as the glistening, blazing sun began to slowly rise before me; my softened lips curving to a small, delicate smile.
Nature had always been a particular comfort of mine, ever since I had been a mere, curious child; and on a day as particularly controversial as that one, I felt the necessity to draw myself closer to nature. The dreaded day had approached – the day when Mary, Queen of Scots, joined us at the French court.
Mary, Queen of Scots had been hidden away at a convent for her own – albeit unobtainable – safety since age 9, as the English had devised covert plots to assassinate the child. All in the name of ensure there was no risk to the English throne. To solidify a dynasty that the assailant would need to pry from crooked fingers riddled with rigor mortis. Mary had been engaged to Francis de Valois II since her childhood, and was so elegantly waiting for her return to French court — where she would finally take his hand, and be safe from all threats — or so she thought.
My own fate hadn't been far from Mary's. My own life had been melted within the hands of greedy kings. Princess Rosalia Habsburg to marry Prince Charles, King Henry II and Queen Catherine de Medici's younger son. A mere child had been my destiny. Innocent, barely pushing past the boundaries of babyhood. I had been nearing the older portion of my teenagehood; partaking in none other than my own fantasies and joy.
My father, Holy Roman Emperor and King of Italy and Germany, had landed me off to French court during the Italian Wars between King Henry and Italy, in effort to form an alliance. An alliance formed from fraying rope, splitting at the edges with each second that rolled by. The splitting would only continue, decaying slowly with each mistake all those around Father seemed to make. His mistakes had been invisible.
I was the pawn. Between two powerful countries stood a powerful woman. They just hadn't quite known it yet.
Father had been foolish enough to declare his dear daughter his regent. I stood taller then he had ever known, for his consistent absence and frivolous galavanting around the dusty corners of the globe meant all politics landed solely within my lap. My bastard brother had no place in court, and tragedy riddled our family; bearing anchors on our shoulders at the unmistakable void in the place of male heirs. Instead, Father was cursed with a daughter.
