A/N: Hello everyone! I though this story up while watching The Other Boleyn Girl. I LOVE that movie, and the era seems so fascinating to me, so I decided why not make a story in that time frame. I'll make it more lighthearted, of course, and not as accurate, since I'm not exactly a expert in the subject, but I'll try my best. Hope you like it!

Prologue:

The Royal Castle, England…

Francesca Elizabeth Susanna Northwood, Princess and succeeding Queen to the English Throne pouted as she folded her hands over her middle, while looking at her Father and Mother, King and Queen of England. They were the most powerful people in the world, and Francie had always felt proud of her parents. However, pride was not the sentiment she was feeling toward her beautiful parents. Ellen Cybil and William Nathanial Northwood looked at her expectantly, there cool and perfect faces set in a picture of patience. Ellen was blond and blue eyed, her hair the color of honey and set in a bun under her English hood, while her slender frame was wrapped in a exquisite violet gown, the color custom to woman of superior power. She sat in her throne with her head high, her back erect, and her heavily ringed fingers folded on her lap. Her Father however, sat reclined on his huge velvet chair, his feet extended before him, a tender smile now overtaking his face as he looked a Francesca. He was tall, very muscular, a warrior in his own time, and ladies' man before his devotion to her Mother had overtaken him after Francesca's birth. It wasn't custom for a King to bed only his wife, for he could have any woman he desired at the snap of his fingers, but the only woman he desired was her mother. William was handsome with brown hair and gray eyes, and as Francesca tapped her little slipper-clad feet on the grown, her Father stood up and walked toward her.

He looked down at her with tenderness before leaning down, bending at the knees so his eyes were level with hers. She never let the dissatisfaction leave her face as her father took her small shoulders in his big hands, the warmth of them seeping through the thick layers of her gown and under attire. She looked up at him as he straightened and pulled on her braided chestnut colored hair.

" Father, you know why I have come to you--" She was cut of by his father's large hand covering her mouth.

" Francesca, we have discussed this, and discussed this, and the answer to your question, Miss, will always be the same. Now don't try my patience and go sit at you Mothers feet and finish embroidering the gown you've started." He turned abruptly, his calm voice never rising, his tender gaze never wavering. That's why he was a most loved King. He was so merciful.

" But, My Lord, If you could just let me speak. Please, Father."

" No. Enough. Do as I tell you." He clapped his hands and the court entered trough the huge double doors of the castle. " Let's have some music, yes?" He walked to the large table where his closest companions sat and played cards, while she sat at the feet of her beautiful Mother. She didn't realize that she was crying until her Mother took her small chin in her palm and wiped away a big tear with a gentle finger. The Queen stood, and her Lady in waiting arranged the long train of her dress as she followed. Ellen shook her head and ushered the lady away as they reached the door to the Queen's rooms. Francesca's mother took her child's cold hand in hers and pulled her to the huge bed, where her parents slept every night.

Francesca was shaking with her broken sobs, and her Mother pulled her into her lab, their skirts, Francesca's a pretty light blue velvet, her mother dark purple, made a halo around them. Ellen cooed and stroked her daughter's head while rocking back and forth.

" My dear Child. Shh. There, there. Shh. All is well. Quiet now, My Love."

" Please, Mother. Please, oh please, My Lady. Please don't let it happen. I'm not ready for it. Please." Francesca lifted her head off her Mother's shoulder, and sobbed some more when she saw the sympathetic look on her Mother's Face. She wouldn't do anything either. She couldn't. It had to be done. As if reading her mind, the Queen spoke up.

" Forgive me, My Sweet, for the grief you must go through, but it has to be done. We have to be assured that the country has a King in case your Father is harmed, Lord forbid such thing from occurring."

" But Mother," Francesca wiped her nose with the back of her hand in an un-lady like fashion. " Father is healthy and strong. He might live for the next hundred years. Why can't I wait to find a man I'm in love with to marry. I do not want to marry without love, Mother. I want to have what you and Father have. Why can't I wait?" Her soft voice rose to heartbroken wail.

" Because, Darling, you are fifteen already. We should have married you two years ago, as the custom mandates, but we decided to wait. We cannot any longer. Not if you want to be married to an unsuitable or disgusting old man?" Francesca shook her head, her fragile shoulders bowing in defeat.

" But don't worry, My dear Child, you'll love. You Just have to wait for it."

" How can that be when I'm marrying no other than Edward Anthony Masen Cullen, Prince and Heir to the Throne of France, and no other than the biggest womanizer on earth?" Francesca started crying harder. " I'll never love, and I'll never be loved!"

She buried her head once again in her Mother's fragrant neck, and clung to her. There was nothing she could do. She would have to marry the cheating bastard. Her fantasy of an ideal life vanished, replaced by the image of a cool and indifferent husband like Edward, Prince of France.

She wept harder.

The Royal Castle, France.

Edward Anthony Masen Cullen looked at his gold cup, the last drop of the delicious red wine disappearing after he tipped it to his lips.

" You should stop drinking," Murmured his brother-in-law Jasper Whitlock hale. Emmett Emanuel Cullen, his cousin, nodded, while looking at him sympathetically.

" No, I want to drink some more. Just a little…" Edwards words were a little slurred. He reached for the pitcher of wine when the door to his chambers flew open and in came the wives of his companions. Alice Mary Cullen Hale, his younger sister, had married Jasper, and Jasper's twin sister, Rosalie Rebecca Hale Cullen had married his cousin, Emmett. They curtsied, and walked to sit on the laps of their husbands. This would have been scandalous had they done it in court, but in Edward's rooms they did as they pleased.

The women looked at him with pity. He stood and paced away. He was the Prince and Heir to the French, and now English Kingdom. There wasn't a single thing that should prompt pity from people. No, not one thing.

" Not all of us are lucky enough to find the right person in time, Edward."

He whirled at the sound of his sister's soft voice. He stumbled toward her on unsteady feet.

" I don't care for the right person," he lied. " I value my freedom to much." Rosalie, the most outspoken of the group, snorted loudly.

" Forgive me, Sir, but I don't believe you have freedom as it is. You are a Prince, and will be a King one day. You have duties." She looked up at him with her lovely baby blue eyes intently. " Of course, if by freedom you mean bedding anything with a gown, then, Sire, you already have your freedom." She looked at Emmett, immediately dismissing him.

" Oh, you hush." He walked to the table, picked up the wine and walked cautiously to his bed, flopping down on the thick mat of the best feathers and animal skin in the kingdom. Some red wine spilled on to his silk shirt as he moved, but he paid no mind to it. Edward didn't resent his parent's decision on the matter of his arranged marriage to Princess Francesca Elizabeth Susanna Northwood of England. He knew it was his duty to his country, but he still resented the fact that it ruined his life plan. He sighed and drank the dry wine. He didn't even know his intended bride. That would make for a romantic Wedding and Wedding night. He shuddered. He would not think about that. Not right now. He would let the wine overwhelm him, and imagine himself just like he was right now. Free and happy. He fell asleep imagining what his bride would look like. But later, he would realize that his imagination had fallen short, for his bride was unimaginably perfect.