hi all! apologies for the lack of updates - i am in the middle of exam season and therefore updates will be slow. i wouldn't recommend expecting updates or anything until mid june but if i find time to write then i will publish :)
thank you for staying with me and reading - i am so shocked at the response i have gotten for this book and i am so grateful. thank u so much for 3.7k. i hope you enjoy this chapter. let me know your thoughts!
word count; 1679
Alessandra
"You wouldn't dare." I spat, feeling the venom of the snake hiss out at my brother. "I am a dowager Queen and God knows I would have your head for marrying me to that.. that sycophant!"
Lorenzo's response was, thankfully, unhinged by an appearance that neither of us expected. Not hearing his indifference made me slightly more confident -- though I doubted it's longevity.
"What are you doing in here?" Mother asked, looking down at us both. She had entered the room without our knowing and had a frown upon her lips, curled downwards with a simple show of irritation with her children. "We have guests that need to be entertained, Lorenzo." She gestured towards the hall and I nodded, standing. Though she had not addressed me, I felt I had to take this oppurtuinity.
"Forgive me, Mother," I smiled weakly at her as I moved towards her. Her expression softened and I spoke again, "I simply wished to protest this proposed marriage."
I left with that, knowing Mother wouldn't allow Lorenzo to harass me again. I was, after all, her favourite -- or so I liked to believe. I'd been gone so long that, now, she found my company all the more refreshing. I was her eldest, after all.
As for Lorenzo? He.. he was a fool, in my belief. He was in way over his head with this matter and clearly believed me to be in his hand, like some harpy that he could control, to be moulded to whatever he wished. I, for one, would not go easily. Alas, no, it was neither in my husband's gift nor my brother's prerogative to steer me through the marriage market -- I would make my own choice, if it came to it. I refused to be sent to yet another country like some trophy, illuminating all those concerned as to the extent of the Medici wealth, Medici power. Perhaps in Florence. Perhaps over all Italy itself. But I had spent my years in French court; my brother's power was not global.
Thus, as I re-entered the chattering hall, I found my breath was unexpectedly rapid. I could feel the thin layer of sweat on my forehead: it had likely accumulated from the stress of Lorenzo and I's interaction. Nonetheless, I would stand my ground.
"You look like you've fought with a boar," Henry commented as he approached me, his lips curling into an all-too-familiar smirk. The French King never found a way to resist his sinful lusts: paticularly towards those he felt he could not have - those who presented a challenge. As his brother's widow, it was clear I was the greatest challenge he would face. My response was simple: I scoffed, sardonically arching my brow,
"And you are presumptious with your familiarity, brother,"
Nonetheless I avoided his gaze as he let out a low chuckle and shook his head, his response both witty and infuriating. "We both know I am anything but a brother to you, Alessandra," He spoke. "Unless you're fond of that paticular sin."
"I am neither fond of it nor do I appreciate your insinuation," I spoke, avoiding his stoic eyes. Perhaps it was out of fear that I did so -- fear that I would melt under his gaze. As much as I spoke about standing my ground, about the sheer, stubborn refusal to do what my siblings percieved as duty, I knew that my heart still burned to be with its companion. And, by God, Henry would be a good one. But I would not leave. Not now, no, I refused to break my promise; nor would I be sent off like a disgraced child. I was a dowager Queen, not a common harpy.
"Yet you blush, Alessandra,"
"It is hot in here, nothing more," I snapped at him once more. But as I spoke again, I felt meeting his gaze with a glare would be the only way to rebutt his advances. "Nothing less."
In hindsight, simply looking at him was the hardest test of my endurance. For how long could I go without looking at that face? His chiselled jaw, his high cheekbones - they'd filled my dreams throughout the years I was Queen. It was foolish -- it was adultery, and a sin, but by the Almighty himself I had relished in it. I had revelled in the knowledge that they were no one else's but mine, that he was mine to care for. It was different now, though. I was a widow and I could not be seen to endangering my reputation, especially with the tenous nature of Florence.
"It is not so long since there were other reasons you worked up a sweat..." He trailed off, conciously licking his lips with a swift movement. The flirtation was enough; I knew if any more occured that I would go weak at the knees and melt into his grasp. After all, he was a King, and I'd always been attracted to power. Though, admittedly, more so my own than that of a lesser man. But now he was King. It was different -- he was different.
"Where is your bethroed, Henry?" My tone became hostile to the divine man, my lips forming a staunch line that would only ever be seen on an old maid. "For I would think she was your priotity."
Henry used that moment to scan my expression for any show of emotion. I did not wish to outright admit it but I was jealous. If he had been the eldest child, I would've married him, not Francis. But even with my marriage, for years Henry had been wrapped around my finger, for years it had been him and I. Francis had little care for what I did as long as it was discreet. But I had not appreciated them enough. But it was only a moment that Henry took. His lips curled upwards, a smug smirk appearing on his expression as he glanced down at me. Henry's height had always been something of contention between us -- he found it hilarious, watching me from height as I frowned at him. I found it fustrating; it gave him power over my physical entity.
"Jealousy suits you," His softly spoken comment made the blood rush to my cheeks once more. It was not what he had said, but how he had done so, letting the words purr off his lips like they were meant for a lover, a wife, not his brother's widow.
I should have expected his subsequent actions; they were wholly predictable and he'd done it a thousand times before in the Palace halls. With a flick of the wrist, he snatched my hand and pulled me from the room, vivaciously pulling until, seconds later, we reached a small corner. Even the Lord himself knew we would be visible to some - there were no hideaways within the Medici Palazza. But Henry enjoyed it, the wild idea he may be caught with me in a secluded corner. He loved the adrenaline, the rush, the excitement.
You forget yourself," I said furiously, ripping my hand from his grasp. ""I am not yours to control, Henry, not now."
"But you could be," His smile softened as he spoke -- in a pleading manner -- "I could take you as my bride, renew the alliance, make you my Queen."
I wished for nothing more.
Becoming Henry's wife-- his Queen-- was perhaps the only thing I had wished for in France. Francis was a good man but we did not share that emotional intimacy, nor did we find solace in each other's presence. We were friends, we were husband and wife, but it went no further. We did our duty as was expected and that was that.
But, alas, I remained dutiful. I would not, ever, break that promise. How could I? I would become a hypocritical harpy who could not keep her legs closed; or at least, that's how I would feel. Perhaps it was foolish of me to think of it as such but Francis was a good man. I had promised him. I had vowed it. And I would remain dutiful to my husband, no matter his current.. status.
"My brother has already suggested it," I said with a sigh. His eyes lit up with hope and I felt cruel, knowing I would be taking that away from him. "But I shan't do it, Henry."
It was then his expression fell. He looked as if I had taken his heart and stamped upon it. But then, that softened emotion, that sadness, was replaced with something more. An anger.
"Why?" His short question snapped out at me with his fury.
"I..." I trailed off, unable to tell him of it. He knew I had promised Francis but.. well, he would not take that as an answer. Henry was a good man but he would not be held to a dead man's wish, even if it was his brother-- and his dead King. I knew it had to be permenant. I knew it had to be.. well, something no man, not even the Pope, could undo. I met his eyes as he repeated his question,
"Why, Alessandra?"
And with a sharp intake of breath, I conjured such a lie I felt the Angels in heaven would fury at my sin. "I am already married."