Arthur may have been wrong about a lot of things, but he was right that Matthew needed companionship his own age. As bad as the fighting between Arthur and himself had been, Francis had to admit it was unfair to keep Matthew and Alfred separated. There were no other children in the area, so Matthew's only friends were the squirrels and raccoons and ring-necked geese that populated the area. And, of course, his best friend was his papa - a papa who (however begrudgingly) knew the right thing to do. Grumbling, Francis pulled a new sheet of paper from the stack on his desk. He looked out the window to see little Matthew playing outside, and he silently cursed Arthur once more. With a freshly dipped quill in his hand, he began to write.
Cher Arthur,
J'accepte ton idée
He scratched it out. He had forgotten to whom he was writing, apparently. Taking another piece of blank paper, Francis reminded himself that switching languages was no sign of submission. It was merely an acknowledgement of his own superior mentality. He was, after all, perfectly fluent in English, whereas Arthur's French was rather lacking.
Oh, but when Arthur did speak French... or, at least, try to. His grammar was on the right side of acceptable and his pronunciation wasn't always embarrassing. And somehow, it sounded utterly magical - this strange voice, high and reserved, lilting around Francis' language.
Better times.
Francis dipped his quill once more and laid the ink across the page.
Dear Arthur,
After careful consideration, I have decided to accept your proposal. Matthew and I will prepare the accommodations for you and Alfred. As I'm sure you remember, Matthew's birthday is the first of July, so please do not be late.
Regards,
Monseigneur Francis Bonnefoy,
Representative of The Kingdom of France
The ink dried faster than Francis had expected. He folded the letter neatly, placed it in an envelope, and marked it with his seal. As soon as he handed off the letter to be delivered, he hoped that he had made the right decision.