A/N: Woooo new story YEAH

Other notes just involving musings on my own works and findings will be included below.

XXX

Madeleine Williams-Bonnefoy considered herself lucky to be here. Francis' ball was opulent as always; the most stunning show anyone as wealthy as he could produce in all of France. She'd had a new dress made and tailored for herself just that morning. A hefty cost, no doubt, but her cousin from Europe was generous like that.

Or . . . so she hoped. Francis hadn't seen the dress yet, so he wouldn't know about all of the personal customizations that she'd added to it until they stepped into the Manor's dining hall.

But she didn't think he would mind. The man spoiled her, that much was true, and she didn't think that he would deny her such simple pleasures like a dress and a ballroom dance.

Lord Francis Bonnefoy entered the room she was waiting in, and his eyes were filled with wonder. The servants bowed as he descended the steps, with all of the grace and charm Madeleine knew him for. He made straight for his relative and embraced her. Madeline giggled at the familiar greeting he gave, his tight embrace and the kisses on her cheeks. He stepped back and took her in, silent yet oddly appreciatory.

"Gorgeous dress, mon cheri."

Madeleine knew it. She prided herself on her excellent fashion taste that she fancied had nothing to do with her French roots and had everything to do that she spent the bulk of her days bored and utterly, completely alone. She had developed an affinity for all things style and all things progressive ever since coming to join her relative in France about six months ago, and it showed in the amount of detail she had given her custom. The lavender dress scooped down low, revealing a side of her that was daring yet capable at the same time. Madeleine thought it matched her eyes. The dressmaker had thought so.

"Je vous remercie, mon douce. Marguerite helped me pick it."

"She is magnificent, non?" He held out his arm to her, and she took it in turn. "I am glad you were able to make it."

"My bedroom is right upstairs."

"You know what I mean, mon cheri. "

"Well, in that case," said Madeline. "I am well."

Francis pecked her cheek once more. His stubble tickled her skin. "In that case, I am the happiest man in the world."

"Anything for you, Francis."

This made Francis smile, of course. He was too easily flattered, she thought, but it was one of the things that made him all the more dear to her.

The two made their way down the hallway of the first floor, towards the ballroom floor. Though the doors were closed, Madeleine could still hear the music pouring through. Francis hovered over her ear. "So, what do you say?" he asked flirtatiously. She gave him a questioning glance. "Will tonight be the night you find a man that will lift you off your feet?"

She smacked him playfully. "Stop that!"

"Miracles can happen, ma douce fille. All you have to do is open your heart for the chance to strike."

"Miracles are not for everyone. Just think of all of the men and women our Lord Christ did not heal while he was on earth."

"Think of all people that he did. All you have to do," he paused, "is believe."

"I'm serious," said Madeleine, but she was smiling now. It didn't last long, however. "I just don't think there is any use in expecting something that can not be."

Hands poised on the door handles, the butlers almost made move to open them before France held up one hand. "Just a couple of minutes," he told them.

Madeleine knew what he would say to her before he could even open his mouth. "Francis, I am fine—"

"I know you are fine. Did I say you were not?" His head dipped, trying to catch her eyes with his. "It is simply . . . I feel as though you have given up hope."

She stayed silent. His words were not false.

Francis picked up her chin with a hand of his own. Their eyes met. "Can you try for me? Just for tonight?"

Madeleine looked at him mournfully. How could she, when she barely knew any of the younger men out there? When the butlers opened the doors for them they would fall into the same routine that they always did, no matter what Francis promised. They would have their dance, same as they always would, and then they would part. Madeleine would fraternize with the older nobles, and Francis would flirt with the younger crowd. Then she would excuse herself and retire, while Francis would drink and partake of all the night's Bacchian pursuits.

She did not resent Francis for this. She knew that that was just the way it worked, the way it had been since before she had arrived to live with him. So why did she ever expect something different?

There was a reason why she had come to expect less. It was because all of those efforts usually came down to nothing. If she were some virgin trapped in some Greek play, she would be the Oracle and he the Adonis-type archetype. Because she knew the future, knew how this night's tag-team would end up looking like; Francis joking with the younger gentry, and her talking with their parents' old business and trade partners in return. Always in the background; the shadow to his light.

But it wasn't his fault, she knew. Because there was no way he could know exactly what it was like.

Being her.

So she gave him a small smile. "Dance with me?"

He was still concerned, she knew, though the emotion was momentarily was overshadowed with warmth and brotherly affection.

"Of course."

And so they danced.

XXX

"They don't know how fortunate they really are."

Antonio Hernandez Carriedo turned swiftly to his companion. He was relatively surprised that she was on speaking terms with him, since she hadn't spoken a word to him this whole evening. Lovina didn't look at him, staring straight ahead, her usual imperious face softening to something more wistful. There was envy there as she watched the noblemen and women twirl and laugh with their partners, but mostly sadness. It was the most reflective Antonio had ever seen her; the ball itself being a reminder of all that she had lost.

"Lovi," Antonio said softly, "you are very fortunate to be here."

He could see her visibly struggling to restrain herself, her response strained; "I do not need you to tell me the full sum of my providence." Her fingers clenched beside her. "I do not deserve this."

Antonio wasn't sure why, but right then and there he wished she would let him put his arms around her.

Instead, he said, "God never gives us more than what we can handle. He knows our future, and all of the adversities that manifest in our path are only there to make us stronger."

"Toni?"

"Yes?"

"Do me a favor and don't open your mouth for the rest of the night, 'kay?"

Antonio shut his mouth.

The two stood in silence for the most of the night, not talking to each other and only opening their mouths when spoken to or inquiring something of one of Francis' guests. It was something that made Antonio antsy and suited Lovina just fine.

He supposed it made some amount of sense that she had an issue with their Heavenly Father at the moment.

But he was sure it would pass.

XXX

Francis felt bad.

After dancing the first song of the night with his cousin, he left her to go flirt with some of the noblewomen.

He wished her the best, and tried to encourage her before he left to do the same. Despite her good humor, part of him felt as though she had lost hope in some way. And there was in no way that she should be doing so. Especially when she was a cousin of his. She had held up this far, hadn't she?

And no matter how much she tried to qualify it, staying in bed all day with her fashion magazines and her gossip columns were in no way helping matters. He wanted her to be happy. . .

But he was running out of time.

XXX

Enzo Henrique Carriedo was tired of seeing rich people get so drunk that the bad decisions that they made became accepted as the norm.

You would think that the upper crust would know to present themselves a bit better than they were doing now, he thought.

Not so.

The wealthy of this land are a disgrace, thought Enzo as he wide-stepped a puddle of throw-up in the manorhouse hallway. 'Tonio had told him to fetch more wineglasses, and it seemed as though the deeper he went into the manorhouse, the more of its secrets he saw some to light.

He had thought the world was better than this.

But he supposed her shouldn't be surprised. Enzo's employer, Lord Francis Bonnefoy, was as wicked as they came. He felt sympathy towards any lady or duchess whose décolletage had caught Lord Bonnefoy's attention. As far as he'd been able to tell, no particularly woman had been able to escape his master's charm. He could only see it as a shame that none of them knew what his master was really after.

For Lord Bonnefoy incited the chase, but he never intended to be there in the long run. Many thought the lord was a complicated man, but this couldn't be far from the truth. Anyone who truly knew him knew that his pleasures were fairly simple, if you thought about it; a warm body by his side; each night, someone different.

He was used to such sins, though he had only been around Lord Bonnefoy's fetishes for the better part of three months. Enzo's life from before had seen no end to such pleasures; that much was true.

But he was better now. Well, trying to be, at least. He had come back to God and had given up the life of thievery and promiscuity in hope for mercy and forgiveness.

And God just might think he'd deserve that chance for redemption.

There was no end to the temptation, however—especially in the manorhouse of Lord Francis Bonnefoy.

XXX

Francis Bonnefoy was a womanizer, and he knew it.

As a matter of fact, he was certain a lot of people counted on it. It was precisely the reason they even bothered showing up at all. Because no matter how much they inwardly looked down on him, people first and foremost loved to be entertained, and there wasn't any place else that they could do that outside of the Bonnefoy manor house.

Bonnefoy Manor was a circus show, always awake and filled with scandal and deceit. No one ever was free from its sin, no matter how hard they might try. In the end, no one ended up quite as blameless as when they entered there, and this fact thrilled Lord Bonnefoy to absolutely no end. He had spent months redesigning the place after his father had died, so that none of the old money that had stood in honor of the man's great name would stand to be recognized. Five years later, the place was brightly lit and fashionably colored, all of its solemn ambiance and muted colors a thing of the past.

Now, Francis was free.

At the opening of his new madhouse, Lord Francis hosted the rich and the popular from far and wide. He especially hosted young women—if you gather his meaning. It wasn't until the Englishman had shown up that he had been able to do what he wanted to freely, since he knew that someone had to tend to the guests, and it sure as hell wouldn't be him. No, he had more . . . carnal matters to tend to.

The trail of broken hearts only grew larger over the years, and yet still the rich of the country couldn't help but come back time and time again. Even after all this time, there wasn't an end to the daytime visits; from reputatable lords who wished to have some part of his wealth, to the young women who demanded they be recompensed for their loss of honor. But really, Francis would always think; if they hadn't spread their legs, then none of this would've happened!

He often made his intentions quite clear before he went any further. He never forced himself; anyone who said otherwise was still hurt by his leaving him. But the man was a perpetual bachelor and virile as hell. He figured that he just could not help himself but partake of all that life had to offer.

That was one thing that differentiated he from his father. He chose to enjoy life and all of it's gifts; his father had simply chosen to reject them. Which didn't make any sense, really. They were rich, so why deny what had been given to them by God himself?

(Some might say that God gave him those gifts to do good will unto others. But he wasn't a Protestant, not like he knew his English partner to be. So basically felt as though all of those beliefs were downright ridiculous and really just inconvenient.)

One day, he thought, he'd settle down, choosing from one of his young -and hopefully, fertile- lovers to bestow him an heir. He'd let her live with him, too, for all it was worth, and might even be loyal.

But the night was filled with all sorts of delights that did not warrant to be ignored. For pleasure-his pleasure-was his birth right.

Madeleine knew-of course she did! His dear, sweet cousin wasn't as innocent as she first appeared, and was a hell of a lot more clever than people gave her credit for. Days after arriving she had walked in on him while sticking it to some curvy duchess, one Violet or Veronique or some shit like that. He thought that she would have departed the Manor at once, would have condemned him for being so contrary to being the sweet boy that she had known from so long ago.

But she hadn't. No, she had accepted him, accepted him beyond anything that he'd done. It was love, pure and simple, and it wasn't until that jarring and mildly horrifying moment in the hallway after the fact had Francis realized that how much he had needed a love like that.

That didn't mean he would stop, however. No, not until he was old and crippled!

(And even then he'd like to have a mistress or three to warm his bed; it was how he imagined the end of his, to die next to the one who wet your cock with her mouth, much like the Old Testament David in the Holy Bible itself.)

But it did give him a moment of clarity, however. He was not as blind to her struggles as she might assume. It was only that he didn't know how to help her, not really. Not in the way that was important.

So he moved on, like he did with most things he didn't know how to deal with.

By his fourth glass of wine he was out hunting. A sea of gazes trailed after him in the way that he was used to as he looked for his next target. Some of those gazes were wistful; some of them, downright wrathful.

Francis found time and time again he could not care less.

For he was confident that his true intentions with the women he slept with would never get out, not if a woman wanted her reputation and her chances to be his wife in the (somewhat) near future to be ruined.

Unfortunately, all of those who had attended the ball he had already been with. And he so craved something new that night.

And then he spotted her.

XXX

A/N: Lame AF cliffhanger, I know. I'm not going to post chapters longer than this.

This story's main character will technically be Lili Zwingli. The story will revolve around her, and will be focusing on her budding sexuality and her experiences with the world. I will not be focusing on her, however. Because, really, when's the last time you've read a fanfiction solely in Lili's POV the entire time?

I'm not very sure which character will garner the most page-time with this story, because I'm kind of just popcorning around. All in all, though, it's a Love Story, one with triumphs and victories in its pursuit.

Main pairings: South Italy/Spain (more sex here than anything), France/Lichtenstein (ish), England/Portugal (BJs for the most part), America/Canada.

There will be lots of sex.

There will be lots of cursing.

There will be lots of references to religion.

But they will be used in a . . . tasteful manner.

(Take that as you will.)

Enzo Henrique Carriedo is the name I've chosen for Portugal.

Tell me what you think.

Hope to see you in "Prologue, Part 2".