𝐋𝐞 𝐆𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐨𝐧 𝐑𝐨𝐢
Katherine would never complain about carriage rides again. She was sure of it.
“Bleghhh!”
The stench of stomach acid and vomit made the Princess tear up in horrified disgust. She was shaking, whether from the harsh cold of the March winds, the erratic rocking of the boat or from fear was lost to her. Her governess was with her, as well as two new ladies; Anne and Mary were their names. They were Catherine’s ladies before but they were hers now.
They were at sea for a day or two, slowed down due to a storm but they didn’t once consider turning around. They docked in Brittany and then began their four hour journey to Paris to be greeted by the court.
Katherine, fatigued from the ship, slept through it until they stopped at an inn for the Princess to change clothes. She had been sent the latest fashions from Paris before she left, so she changed into a french gown. It was a bright and vibrant blue with gold accents. Her ladies added her jewelry (gold necklace, bracelets and a tudor rose brooch).
“You look magnificent, your highness,” Mary complimented her as the reentered the carriage. “A true French-woman.”
“You’re too sweet Mary,” Katherine giggled. “Stop it, you’ll rot my teeth out of my mouth, then how will the French King marry me?”
“With a smile and heart content that he should marry the most beautiful Princess in Christingdom,” another one of her ladies (a gift from the French King along with the dresses) called Anthais, said.
“Just Christingdom?” Katherine asked with a cheeky smile. “Not the world?”
“I have not seen all of the world, your highness,” Anthais said. “And now I do not need to, the King will be enamoured with one look at you.”
“I take the KIng is not one for conversation, then?” Anne asked.
Anthais shrugged, “He is a young man, young men are filled with emotion, ambition, and insatiable libidos,” she smirked at Katherine, “he likes conversation, but he is more than okay with quiet company.”
Katherine blushed and Anthais pretended to fuss over her, cooing. “Oh, your highness, you are so red!”
“Stop teasing her,” Mary said, but the smile on her face betrayed any serious tone in her voice. “The Princess is innocent, she will not understand your jokes.”
Anne smirked, “By the color of her cheeks I have to assume she understands on some level.”
The rest of the ride to Paris was spent playing car games and getting to know each other a bit better. Anne and Mary were sisters, Mary being the older by two years, their father was Sir Thomas Boelyn. They used to be her sister's ladies when May (Tudor) was Queen of France and when Louis XII died they followed her back to England where they became Catherine’s ladies.
And now they were her’s.
Anthias, as previously mentioned, was a lady given to her by her fiance. She was the fourth daughter of a viscount who was apparently in good favor. She came from a wealthy family, and was engaged to a Duke.
“My mother is very proud of me,” was all the blond had to comment about the match. Not that the man was handsome or that she herself was excited to be married. “We are to be married sometime next year. Our wedding will be the first to be held at court after your own.”
They arrived with much fanfare, the townspeople were out and about celebrating with ale and wine supplied to them in honor of their new Queen. They cheered as the carriage passed, throwing flowers as they passed, Katherine managed to catch a few and she took a whiff.
A soft smile graced her face and for a second, surrounded by an adoring crowd music, wine, and the scent of fresh flowers, she felt at home.
They made it to the Royal Chateau de Fontainebleau, where the King had the court moved to after he was crowned. Outside the entrance was what looked like the entire court, all there to greet her. A normal person would have felt nervous, maybe a bit shy or anxious, but not Katherine.
She felt excited, excited to run out of the carriage and win over the hearts of each and everyone of these cold hearted bastards. To throw and attend amazing parties, wear all of the most fashionable gowns and just have fun.
Katherine didn’t realize up until now how much she truly wanted this for herself.
They exited the carriage and were announced one by one, in order of rank.
“Her Royal Highness, Princess Katherine d’Angleterre!”
“The Honourable Anthias de La Gueronniere. “
“Ladies Mary and Anne Boleyn.”
A pleasant smile graced Katherine’s face, she walked forward towards her new life with confidence, her ladies followed behind her and they met in the middle of the entrance trail with the Archbishop.
“Your highness,” he greeted kindly. “We are all pleased to see you. I assume the trip wasn’t too daunting.”
“Not at all,” Katherine replied. “Though, I will say I much prefer carriages to ships.”
The Archbishop chuckled and nodded, “Of course of course. The King will be here in just a moment.” The older man’s smile widened, “I’m sure you are excited to meet you fiance. The wedding preparations have already begun. All that is left is for you to meet.”
Oh, yeah, she was getting married in less than two weeks; how could that slip her mind. It was only the literal reason she was here in France, why she was brought back to court, and what she had spent the past five years of her life preparing for.
A marriage. To Le Garcon Roi; the boy king of France who rose a literal army at 15 to take his throne back. Who was ruthless in the way he ruled his court and a military genius who wished to make her his wife. Who asked for her hand.
.
.
.
.
.
.
How could that slip her mind?!
She steeled herself, despite her new unease, and nodded. Play the blushing child bride she was. “Yes. I have heard much about him but I would like to meet him in person.”
“His majesty! The King!”
Le Garcon Roi. The boy king of France was here. And for the first (but far from the last) time she felt ambushed at the appearance of her fiance. He was about 16, three years older than her, and tall. With curly dark hair, dark eyes, and pale skin. He looked like a ghost but....alive. Dressed in thick furs and deep blue fabric with a gold chain acting to keep his coat on his shoulders and a crown filled with Tanzanite and rubies.
He walked with confidence, like a king should walk, his head head and shoulders back. The way he shifted the weight to each foot with swagger had Katherine intimidated and served to remind her that she wasn’t yet queen.
His expression was carefully blank but his eyes were searching, analyzing her like a hawk scoping out it’s prey. In a way, Katherine supposed she was prey.
“Your highness,” he spoke, the octave of his voice startled her and she felt her heart skip a beat. Suddenly she had to fight to catch her breath as he step towards her, he took her hand and kissed it. She nervously returned the greeting as their eyes met. “It is good to see you. Welcome to Paris.”
The greeting, from an outsider's point of view, was lackluster. Painfully formal with an air of tension that everyone present decided to ignore. Of course it would be written down as much more romantic than it was, as that's how history tends to be written.
“I’m pleased to meet you as well.”