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DAYS LATER, ANNALISE AWOKE to Nostradamus shuffling about, pulling small vials from his shelves and setting them on his worktable. He had told the Princess she needn't stay in the infirmary a second night, but she insisted upon it. She seemed afraid to be alone, and with reason.
"And you are sure she's alright?" Mary's voice was quiet, she was under the impression that her sister was still asleep. Annalise had awoken a few minutes prior, though she did not have the energy to speak and chose to remain with her eyes closed on the chaise in the infirmary.
Nostradamus' feet shuffled against the stone floor as he turned to the Queen of Scots. "Physically, yes. Thankfully, her Highness was asleep for an entire day and the potions are taking their effect. Mentally, that is something only the Princess can determine."
The weight on the chaise shifted as Mary sat next to where her sister lay, stroking her hair gently. The night of the incident, the elder had wiped Annalise's face and changed her gowns, too wary to leave her with another servant who may not be who they seem. She must have missed a spot, the blood behind her ear was now oxidized and brown.
Mary grabbed a rag and soaked it in a bucket of water, droplets splashing as she wrung it out and brought it to Annalise's pale skin. "I worry for her, Nostradamus. That this might all be too much for her." The cold fabric left her skin, also leaving the Princess yearning for a bath. "This was never supposed to be her life."
"She is strong, and she is learning. If I may, you are an excellent teacher, Your Grace."
The Queen thanked him for the compliment. continuing to stroke her sister's hair as she dared to ask. "There isn't a chance you've had any visions, visions of Annalise?" Her voice was tentative. She felt as though she was treading dangerous grounds.
Nostradamus came around Anna's other side, setting a cup down at her bedside. "The stress is certainly not good for her, but no, I have had no visions." His firm, broad hand came over the Princess' shoulder, gently shaking her. "Princess, you must drink."
She finally allowed her eyes to open and shifted, her muscles groaning as she adjusted her position.
They both helped the Princess sit up as she took the delicate cup from the healer. "You know," Her voice was still hoarse. "The last time someone offered me tea, they tried to kill me," A small, forced chuckle passed her lips.
Annalise had worked up the strength to return to her room, where her servants had prepared a hot bath for her. As her toes dipped into the water she let out a sigh of relief, carefully lowering herself into the tub. Her muscled ached and throbbed, her skin burned slightly at the heat. She dipped her head, blowing bubbles from her nose as she scrubbed at her scalp. When she rose to the surface she rubbed her eyes, pushing her matted hair out of her face. Her arms wrapped around her legs, bruises of yellow and purple tainting her ivory skin. It had been marred, broken, battered. As her fingertips met the surface of her browbone, skimming over a small gash, she couldn't help but shed a few tears. This was not the life she'd wanted, living in fear.
She sat for a while as she and the water grew cold. She shivered in the position she'd held for an hour. The Princess had come to a decision, you see, that she would no longer allow herself to be so vulnerable, so easily subdued. Life at Court was too dangerous, and it would be foolish to continue believing someone would always come to save her when she needed it. From now on, she would be stronger. More cunning, less trusting. How did other royals approach handling these perils they so often faced?
It was time to take the matter of her engagement more seriously, from a political perspective. Should she and Francis marry, she would become Queen of France. Catherine would never be caught defenseless in her own chambers. She would always be one step ahead. She would be sure no one dared threaten her.
Greer and Kenna had come to her chambers, the former carefully detangling Annalise's hair while the latter lay in bed, petting a snoring Stirling. None of them had spoken much, the silence hanging in the air like an uncomfortable humidity. Anna and Greer made eye contact a handful of times in the vanity mirror, but neither of them had made any effort to fill the void. The Princess could feel everyone tiptoeing around her, holding her like a delicate teacup that may break. She hadn't realized that they had recognized the change in her disposition.
The two ladies met eyes, and the blonde spoke, "Has your sister mentioned anything about the latest prospect for alliance?" She inquired, offering a topic of discussion and a smile.
Annalise's eyes met her lap. "She'd mentioned it, but through all of the recent chaos, I've gone without the chance to speak to her about it again,"
A pause pulsed through the air as Greer combed through the Princess' soft curls. "There's a distant cousin of yours, Lord Darnley, who seems to be a promising match for Scotland. He's no Dauphin, but his claims lie with both the English and Scottish thrones."
The Princess summoned a clearly forced smile, nodding her head once slightly. "That is good for Mary, then." Greer had begun twisting her locks into braids around her head. Annalise raised a gentle hand, touching it to the blonde's and lowering it. "No braids today, please." She pulled her hair back, twisting it into a low bun. "Like this,"
Her dear friend pinned the bun into place, adorning her simple hairstyle with a small golden tiara. The sparkling metal complimented the gold trim on her dress, deep purple skirts pooling at her slipper-clad feet.
The same feet wandered down empty stone halls, fingertips trailing against the walls as she passed by them. Her thoughts trailed to the passages behind them and the ghosts that lurked within. It had been quite some time since her communication with Clarissa, she wondered if she'd hear from her again.
Annalise entered the library, an unexpected visitor thumbing through pages on the chaise by the hearth. "Bash," her fingertips found each other, twisting her rings against her fingers tentatively.
His lips pressed together in a thin line as he closed his book, gesturing for her to sit next to him. Hesitantly, she looked over her shoulder, they were alone. She followed his instruction, her eyes widening slightly when he took her hands in his.
"There is something I must tell you. Something you must hear from me and no one else." Clear blue eyes avoided hers, shifting from the ground to their hands clasped together.
A thumb grazed over his knuckles, his skin rough and calloused beneath hers. His shoulders relaxed. "Sebastian, what is it?" Her heartstrings tugged, her pulse quickened. Her voice was soft, but her tone urgent.
"I'm leaving the castle," He breathed out quickly, almost as if he were racing himself, speaking it into existence before he could decide otherwise.
The Princess' heart dropped. Thousands of thoughts raced through her mind at once. Had she done something? "You're leaving?" She repeated, almost unable to process his words. "Has something happened?"
Finally, Bash looked up at her, his eyes softening with anguish. "This has happened, Annalise." He gestured to her broken brow and her bruised knuckles. "Look what misfortune I have brought upon you, Princess. I have developed an affection for you that will only put us both in harm's way. I will not be responsible for your destruction."
A calloused hand came to her face, a feather-light touch caressing the unbruised side of her jaw.
She leaned into his hand and held one of her own against his, holding his touch in place. He was right. She had only been attacked because of the affection the bastard had held for her, but she would live through it again if only to keep the memory of that one kiss. "Please, don't go. Not because of me."
Her voice was barely above a whisper. Pleading, begging. His face turned to the side, and she reached for his chin, gently guiding him to meet her gaze. "Look at me. Please." He obeyed and she surveyed his expression, her soft small hand remaining on his cheek. "Tell me you want to go, honestly. That this is what you desire."
His jaw hardened as his eyes softened further. Despite himself, he wrapped his fingers around her wrist, pulling away from her touch. Within herself, she felt sadness and anger both, the pain of rejection bubbling inside her hotly.
With a lean forward, he pressed his lips to the side of her head, fighting himself from reaching for more. He only slightly failed, touching his forehead against hers gently. His hand still held her wrist, squeezing it gently. A warm, shaky breath fanned over her lips, a push and pull of passion pulsing between them.
"This is what I desire,"
He pulled away completely, standing before her with his eyes averted. A pit formed in the base of her stomach, a lump in her throat. She wanted to protest, to ask him to stay for her own selfish motivations. Some part of her believed that if she tried once more - if she touched her lips to his or whispered declarations of affection, that he would willingly sacrifice them both for a little more time together. But that would have been a cruel thing to do.
She summoned her strength, resisting the urge to show weakness. A queen did not need anyone, a queen did not supplicate.
"Alright," Delicate hands folded in her lap, eyes scanning over the woven rug beneath her shoes. "If that is what you wish, then go."
The Princess didn't need to look at him to picture the knit of his brows, the glassiness of his eyes. Maybe he had wanted her to stop him, to beg him to refrain from abandoning her, abandoning this feeling. But she did not, she only opened a book and avoided his gaze, skin burning under his watch.
"Goodbye, Annalise." Sebastian turned on his heel and approached the door, pausing a moment before he pushed the library doors open and stepped through.
As she heard them shut behind her she kicked off her shoes, pulling her knees close to her chest on the chaise. It had taken her a moment to realize she was crying, only doing so when a tear splattered on her book's page. Ink blotted together on the parchment, words seeping into one another in a haze of black and gray. A sob escaped her. Quickly, she brought a hand to her mouth, a fruitless attempt to quiet herself. Like a child, she cried, anger and sorrow and grief pouring from her eyes.
After a few uninhibited moments, she composed herself again.
In the gardens, she found Charles and his nurse, Alice. Annalise and Charles chased one another through the shrubs, giggling and dancing among the flowers. The Princess had taken her hair down, teaching the young Prince to twist them into the long braid she had plaited herself. They sat on the ground as Alice remained planted on a bench before them, telling them tales of princes and princesses in faraway lands.
It was a relief to feel like a child again, even for just a few moments.
"My mother says we are having a visitor today," Charles fiddled with a few rose petals in his lap after the last of the tales ended. "A man from Italy."
Annalise brought a hyacinth to her nose, taking in the sweet smell. She held it out to the boy and he smelt it as well, smiling. "Your mother was born in Italy, did you know that? I think she may be happy to meet with someone from her home country."
Charles nodded, gently taking the hyacinth from her hands and picking off the petals. He told her he'd always wanted to go to Italy, though he didn't know where Italy was.
Alice, who had gone into the castle to fetch Charles an apple, exited the doorway hurriedly. "Your Highness, the Dauphin has asked for you. It seems the Count has arrived early." The Princess quickly rose to her feet, standing still as the nurse plucked the flowers from her hair and adjusted her tiara.
Annalise thanked her and entered the castle, finding her way to Francis. He stood in the throne room, accompanied by Mary, his mother, and the Count.
He was a handsome man, Count Vincent of Naples, though short in stature. When his eyes fell upon the Princess, he perked up, outstretching a hand and pressing his lips to her knuckles. "Your Grace. Your beauty is heard of all across Europe, though no words of any language could do you justice. It is an honor."
With a humble smile, Anna curtsied and returned the compliment. "I could say the same of you, Count Vincent. Stories of your steadfastness and nobility have reached my ears many times throughout the years."
He smiled, a blush crossing over his high cheekbones, and turned to the Dauphin. With a jesting tone, he spoke."She is a vision, Dauphin, a blessing upon your family line. You must treat her well, or another may come to steal her away."
A servant approached with a tray of wine, the Count accepting a glass and holding it in the air. "All of Italy has heard of the gold goblets given to you by Pope Clement on your marriage. No doubt you keep them for more important guests."
Catherine, who stood next to Mary a few feet away, paled slightly as the Queen of Scots awkwardly smiled. Something about the Count left a bad taste in the Princess' mouth. Catherine had spoken to her of the history between Henry and Italy, it was likely the reason the King had left the castle earlier that day.
Annalise scrambled for something to say, anything to ease the tension or fill the awkward silence. She leaned an inch closer to the Count, raising her own glass in a demonstration. "I'll tell you that requested these myself, Your Excellency. I find that a clear glass leaves no room for distraction, allowing the drinker to gain a deeper appreciation for the wine being drunk."
She brought her cup to her lips, savoring the sip and closing her eyes. "It's sweet - and rich. An Italian, I presume?" Annalise turned to the Medici Queen, seeking her approval.
Catherine's shoulders relaxed with the tension and smiled greatly, holding her glass up and taking a sip. "Of course, Amore. Our Annalise is a connoisseur of sorts. She likes to take charge when it comes to wine, one of her many talents and passions."
"A talent that comes in handy, I should say. In moderation, of course." Francis smiled, his hand resting on the small of the Princess' back.
The Count smiled, seemingly fooled, and took a sip of his deep red drink. For a few moments they conversed about its characteristics, and the region of Italy it came from. Comfortable small talk ensued, Annalise continuously asking questions she knew the Count would be delighted to answer. Once they got on the topic of France, the tension rose up again quickly, like a thick cloud of humidity. Annalise choked on it as the Count spoke.
"I was on French soil less than a year ago, to negotiate for my son. He was taken prisoner, along with some other officers near the Italian border. Nothing to be ashamed of." He turned to Catherine shrugging indifferently. "War is costly. One's money must be recouped somehow, holding hostages for ransom is an old tradition."
Catherine forced a smile. "And did you secure your son's release?"
The Count finished the rest of his wine, running a polished hand through his gray-flecked hair. His thick mustache was lined with red stain. "Of course. Roberto was held for eight months. I bargained like any Italian would - shrewdly. I worked my way up through two colonels and a general. I negotiated with the King. One day, he was returned to me. For fifteen hundred ducats."
An uncomfortable silence pulsed throughout the room, Annalise and her sister met gazes, the elder's eyes widening slightly in silent communication. The younger's brows barely rose as the Count continued his speech.
"It is hard to appraise the value of a human life. But now I know my son's. Fifteen hundred ducats. I have France to thank for that clarity." He tipped his glass back once more, draining the very last drop from his glass. The more he spoke, the more uneasy he made Anna feel. She wanted him to leave.
Mary held her glass between them all, a diplomatic smile on her face in offering. She toasted to peace, bowing her head to the Count as Catherine followed, toasting to a lasting friendship. The Count, eager to have the last word it seemed, spoke once more.
"To clarity."