A/N: my plots are my own!! they might not go with the tv show but this is how i envisioned my book. enjoy, vote and comment!
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NOSTRADAMUS GENTLY PLACED his hands upon on Bash's forehead and checked if his temperature had risen or not from when he visited previously. Though not entirely bright with life, Nostradamus' eyes glistened with a hopefulness I hadn't seen before. My eyes widened, awaiting any hopeful news on Bash's recovery.
Nostradamus modded, and then turned with a gracious smile, "Good news. The fever is broken."
Francis and I both released a gentle sigh of relief, and I clenched my eyes shut, thanking the Gods above me for helping Bash to pull through. They continued to talk amongst one another, but their voices were drowned out by my loud thoughts. I kept my eyes shut, and thought of how relieved I was that Bash was going to live, yet my thoughts kept circling back to the potential marriage between Francis and I. I was destined to be trapped with the constant chaos surrounding French court, and there was simply no solace. Never any solace.
We hadn't been unfamiliar with one another or each other's bodies, but Bash would be heartbroken at the notion of me marrying someone else, especially his brother. I had been the medicine to soothe Francis' aching heart when Olivia had left him so broken. Mangled, demolished in his entirety. My love and just had rejuvenated him, awakened him to the world he would, one day, have to rule. Still, nothing would feel more like regret than allowing the dauphin of France to take my virtue. It was my sole reason for writing such a letter at the festival. Letting go of my boat on the water was the closest thing to solace I shall ever know.
We had known this day would come. Who could have known it would be so soon?
"It's Tomas, isn't it? Lola told me about your inquiries," I heard Bash speak, and I snapped back into reality, clearing my throat, "Rosa? Are you listening?"
I blinked upon resurfacing to reality, my head bowing low as I muttered, "Lola did? There's no definitive evidence to suggest he might not be who he says he is. I've heard rumours, but nothing specific."
"Don't you think even rumours could help sway opinions?" Francis retorted, his eyebrows raised high on his smooth forehead.
"There's... a particular custom used in many prominent countries. A... whipping boy," I explained, uncomfortable at discussing such a notion with my... lovers. "I've heard such speculations from my constituents, and... witnessed in Italy such practices as a child. Perhaps, Tomas is in possession of a whipping boy. Power often brings the burden of rage."
"That's just perfect. I can't let Mary—"
"But you can, and you must," we heard Tomas' voice boom as he entered the room, leaving a chill crawling along my spine, "Princess Rosalia, it is a shame to see you whispering amongst the snakes when you are so close to being Queen." Slowly, he turned to Francis, a scowl on his face sharp face as he taunted, "You've been asking questions about me. Did you think I wouldn't know?"
