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word count; 1708
Alessandra
It felt as if my heart would burst from my chest as I heard that name. I swallowed and felt my knees tremble. It wasn't fear. It wasn't excitement. It was sheer trepidation. I knew not what I would say to him. I knew not what I would feel around him.
"Are you feeling well, Alessandra? You've gone pale." Francesco commented, snatching my thoughts away from me. I smiled weakly and met his eyes,
"Yes, I... I must return home for our guest." I admitted, feeling my palms begin to sweat. I could hardly think straight, knowing that what would occur when I reached the steps of my home would be tantamount, politically and socially.
Francesco smiled,
"Allow me to escort you." I breathed a sigh of relief at his words; I would not spend the entire carriage ride home worrying about Henry.
Thus, as Francesco escorted me home, I distracted myself with menial conversation. He proclaimed I could visit the gardens whenever I wished and I was thankful for it; there was little doubt in my mind that it would be a sanctuary in the coming weeks.
"Forgive me, Alessandra, but..." Francesco began, with as much anxiety in his voice as in his expression.
"What is it?" I asked, smiling softly at him. He smiled back, almost immediately, and spoke again, this time with a calmer tone.
"Is this man.. do you find him.." He stuttered before sighing and speaking again. "Do you fear him?"
"No, no," I shook my head. "Why? Do you think he will hurt me?"
"No, I, you just look so... You look as if you'd rather be anywhere else but here."
I giggled lightly, shaking my head. "No, I..." I trailed off, feeling my heart weaken. "I love him, Francesco," I admitted with a whisper. "And I can't have him. And now he shows up in Florence and I cannot bear it. I can't bear to see him with her."
He looked pleased that I would make such an admittance to him but I remained somewhat skeptical. I was vulnerable to him. Though he was Lorenzo's ally and my friend, I was not as trusting as my siblings. After all, we'd had wholly different experiences of life.
It was not until I turned sixteen that I realised the true extent of my husband's nature. Alas, we had only been married a few years but the truth was kept hidden from me by his servants, by his courtiers, by his confidantes.
But Francis had been having his little secrets for years. Before he ever knew my name. And he would continue to do so, even as they become common knowledge to his wife.
"You would treat me in such a manner?" I asked, infuriated by his actions. It was a dark night and the candlelight flickered, enlightening the room like God himself. "You would humiliate me before the whole of France?"
He had no response. Of course, he didn't -- he couldn't justify it. Not to me. Not to his wife.
Francis' family justified it for the simple acceptance of it; they thought it was normal. It was ingrained in their heads.
"I may not be of royal birth," I spoke, my body tense. "I may not be what your Mother would've wanted me to be. But I am your wife, whether she likes it or not. You chose this marriage. You negotiated it. I do not deserve to be, well, humiliated!"
Francis sighed. "I didn't agree to give them up when we married, Alessandra. You know that."
"You made a vow before God!" My voice began to rise as he issued his denials. "Marriage is a sacrament -- a binding sacrament!"
"Not for men like me," His voice rose too, mirroring my own. He rose from his seat and stood stiffly. "I am a King."
"That is not a justifiable excuse," I scoffed. Frowning, his response was cold.
"Chosen-- anointed by God himself. I will do as I wish, Alessandra, and you will not intercede."
I sighed, eyeing him. I was too tired for another argument, for yet another time that he would bring up, again and again, to taunt me with during future arguments.
"Is there no way around this?"
He shook his head, standing firm in his position. "You forget your place," He said. "And I do not think that wise."
He'd pull the heritage card as soon as he could. Francis found it wholly useful when I disagreed with his actions, claiming that I had not the education for this position and that I should remember he was the King. All I had was because of him, not my family nor the money that I had brought with me from Florence.
He was a kind man overall but he was a King. He blamed it all upon his position, and Francis could be vicious when we disagreed.
In truth, I couldn't understand him at first. I knew Francis was a King and it was to be expected, or so I was told, but it was a sin. Against God. Against me -- his Queen. He was breaking the sanctity of our marriage and humiliating me before his entire Court, even if it wasn't his intention. And I just stood by. We argued about it, yes, but I knew deep down I'd never change his mind. It was how he'd been raised. To be a King. And with that came the utter deference that infuriated me so. His Mother, Caterina, claimed it was simply to be accepted. Thus, I did. It allowed Henry to worm his way into my heart, though, he was already there in spirit.
His Mother never failed to remind me that Francis was kinder than his Father. He didn't parade his mistresses around or give them extravagant gifts; the extent of his rewarding was a bracelet or a necklace. He saved the Palaces for his wife. But I was foolish, naive, and it hurt. It hurt to know that they were taking my place so very easily.
But it was normal for them. To the Court. And thus, it was accepted. I may have become a Frenchwoman, but I was a Florentine through and through. If I ever had a second marriage, I would not be treated in the same way, simply because my husband would be of my own choosing. I would not be pushed about into marriage by anyone, not my brothers nor my Mother.
Francesco exited the carriage as it halted by the Medici hope and put his hand out, gesturing for me to take it. I did as he hoped, knowing I would need all the support I could get. I was wrong to be skeptical, I knew it, but I couldn't shake off the feeling of vulnerability. Perhaps it was France that had moulded me in such a way, or perhaps it was simply my nature. I doubted I'd ever know it's true origin.
"Alessandra," Henry's thick French voice halted me in my steps. For a moment, I was frozen. It was one of the times in my life where I simply wished to say nothing, to disappear — an anomaly at best.
"Henry," His name was all I could whisper, feeling unable to force my lips into a friendly smile. As he approached me, I realised he had not changed in appearance. It had not been long but I expected the tall brunette to look older. More Kingly, if such a thing could occur.
Henry's eyes flicked to Francesco and his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. It was obvious what he was thinking. The jealousy that flickered in his eyes as his jaw began to clench told all who saw it precisely what he was thinking. That I was with him. With the Pazzi. He couldn't have been more wrong, but I allowed his eyes to linger on Francesco for a few seconds longer. It was wrong of me, yes, but I found gratification in knowing he felt as I had done. The jealousy. The fury. But I was a hypocrite and I knew it all too well.
"Francesco, if you would escort me inside," I spoke, prompting a small smile to tug at his lips. It was obvious what I was doing, choosing Francesco to escort me instead of Henry. But I couldn't look at Henry, I couldn't speak to him. To do so would risk re-opening my heart for something that could never, ever happen.
"It would be my pleasure," the Pazzi smiled, gesturing forward. Henry of France was utterly furious with me, I could see as much. His jaw clenched and his body tense were both signs of aggravation.
I stepped past the Frenchman and into my home, hearing both men step behind me. It was somewhat ironic, given the society we lived in, but it was gratuitous all the same.
"I see you've been reunited with His Majesty," Lorenzo spoke as I approached him, a beaming smile across his face. "No doubt you have a lot to catch up on."
"Perhaps," I responded, spying Lorenzo's mischievous grin. He was planning something. I just couldn't work out what. "Where is Bianca?"
"I'm here!" She called out, approaching us with her usual, face-wide smile.
"Have you met Henry of France?" Lorenzo asked, glancing at the King. He stood in the corner of the room, chatting away with our Mother. Bianca giggled like a giddy teenager,
"He's handsome, isn't he?"
"Bianca, you're a married woman," I spoke, arching a brow. "Guglielmo would disapprove."
"I can shop all I like, I just simply can't purchase anything. You know that sister," Bianca teased. I chuckled lightly,
"I shan't answer that, thank you," I teased. Glancing to Francesco, I smiled, "Thank you for escorting me, Francesco. It was a kindness; I'm indebted to you."
"No, no, no," He shook his head, a smile curling his lips up. "It was nothing."
"I rather disagree," I said, a small smirk protruding on my expression. "It was a kindness," I repeated. As I looked back to my brother, Lorenzo's eyes flickered with mischevy once more. His lips parted and spoke words I should've expected,
"You should stay for dinner, Francesco," He said, smirking a little. "Join my sister. I'm sure she'd be thankful for your company."
Lorenzo de' Medici: Politician, statesman, matchmaker.