Bonjour, One and All! Well, all I can say is how deeply sorry I am that this has taken so long to update! I lost this chapter from my hard-drive! Fortunately, I had printed the rough draft out on paper, so I've finally transcribed it, and edited a bit to make it better. I hate transcribing! Okay without further nonsense, here's the translations. Again a big merci to M.L. Zhang for the French corrections.

Translations:

La Roi Chevalier- The King Knight

demoiselle d'honneur- An unmarried Lady-in-Waiting

Dame d'honneur- A married Lady-in-Waiting

Ma chèrie- My sweetheart (feminine form)

The King, known throughout the world as Le Roi Chevalier, cursed his son within his heart for the countless scenes he'd instigated in front of his mother. 'The whelp has no courtesy, nor decency of behavior even towards his own mother!' he thought with fury burning in his veins. He took a moment to gaze at his wife. His heart stung, seeing the tears drying on her pale cheeks. 'That retched boy! He hasn't even one drop of chivalry in his blood!' Francis internally fumed. He sighed, slowly approaching his wife's seat at the table. "There, there, my Dear. Don't upset yourself so greatly. Of course, now that we know who the girl is we will restore her to her proper rank, and we will deal with that Barroness. The child will come to court and remain with you as a demoiselle d'honneur, and then a Dame d'honneur after she marries some nice young man. She will have wealth, prestige, and she will be a peeress of the realm, just below the Princes of the blood. You will see, ma chèrie, all will turn out for the best. Now, you must cheer yourself before you become ill."

The Queen made no answer to her husband. She knew that in his own unique way, he loved her as much as he could. His mother had raised him to believe himself nearly equal to Almighty God. Nature had given him beauty, intelligence, pride, and vanity in copious amounts. She knew him better than he knew himself, and she understood that he honestly didn't wish to hurt anyone. He simply couldn't care enough to let them interfere with his own desires. 'Even at his worst, he's a better man than any other king in Christendom,' her heart whispered. She'd loved him all her life, she'd become his bride at fifteen, carried seven children by him, and she'd lost all but two. Henri and Marguerite were the only living proof she had been a good and devoted wife. She knew what history would likely say about her after her death: she had been a quiet, pious, charitable, broodmare. All while her husband had ushered in unbridled pleasure and hedonism with the Renaissance of France. 'Well, they'll be right,' she silently acknowledged. However, they'd never write about this day. This very day, she would choose the next Queen Consort of France.

Rising from her chair with her customary elegance and grace, she seemed to float across the floor until she knelt before the throne of France. She spoke in a calm, clear, and determined voice. "Your Majesty, your humble maidservant Marie of France requests an audience, and pleads for your mercy and justice!"

Those words caused her husband to choke on his breath. There she knelt, not addressing him as the Queen of France, nor as his lawful wife. She called on him as the lowliest of his subjects. He rushed to her and reached down to help her rise up in her heavy jewel encrusted silks. "Now, now, there's no reason for this, Marie. I give you my word the child will be cared for," he cried out in dismay.

The Queen pulled away, refusing his assistance and remaining on her knees. "My Lord, I beg of you. Hear my cries for mercy and justice!" she repeated, her voice still calm, still warm, but firm.

Francis heard a faint humming in his ears, and his heart pounded as fiercely as if he were in battle. The sight of his wife, a born Princess of France, his queen, kneeling before his empty throne made his blood run cold. Very cautiously, and with great reservation, he stepped up onto the dais and sat on his seat of gilded wood and velvet. "Madame," he answered in a grave and even tone. "What is your plea to Us?"

Marie kept her eyes on her wedding ring, glittering from a beam of sunlight, coming in from the high west window. Every word, every gesture, and every note of her voice had to convince her husband of her willingness to put her life on the line for Henri and Danielle's wedding. He needed performance to convince him of a persons' sincerity whether they were or not. She allowed herself one deep breath to relax her throat and began to speak. "My Lord, will remember that when I was a maid of fifteen, my father, the late King declared I should be wed to you, then the Dauphin. Mere words could never become sufficient to express my joy, for Almighty God seemed to answer those earnest prayers of mine that I had been offering to him since my earliest years. Even though my honored mother, the late Queen Anne objected to our betrothal, I never once gave way to doubt. I knew deep in my soul that Almighty God, in his infinite love, mercy, and wisdom had chosen you to be my husband. Since the day we said our vows, I have done all I could to do to prove myself a loyal, supportive, virtuous wife, and all that a Queen of France should be. I can only throw myself on your infinite mercy and kindness in the face of my failure!" A tear fell from her downcast eyes, hitting carved emerald in the center of her sacred ring, but her voice stayed even.

The King grew pale and his fists clenched. "Madame!" he cried out. "What are these words? How can you speak them? The entire world knows of your superlative virtues. It rightly proclaims you as the most virtuous and righteous of Queens! No king has ever had a purer, more loyal, or better Queen than Us!" he assured with desperation filling his voice, and completely unable to comprehend why the one person he depended on for any sort of goodness within himself could speak like this.

At this, Marie looked up into the flashing, dark eyes of the only man who could ever own her heart. "Oh my King, I thank you for your magnanimous praise. Yet, my conscience will not allow me to accept it as truth. I have borne you seven children: The first two, my beloved little girls, died before they could become women. My son, the former Dauphin, your pride and joy, did not grow into youthful vigor and health. Our little Queen Madeline, proved to be too frail to withstand the harsh climate of Scotland, even bolstered by her passion for her lord the King of Scots. Then my youngest son, little Charles, your most beloved of companions, due to the folly and recklessness of youth left us in death. I have always possessed a weak and sickly constitution, while you, my most loving Lord, are the picture of robust and perfect health. My King, the loss of these five most precious children to early death can only be blamed on myself."

The king shook his head violently at these words, wanting to hear no more. "No! This cannot be so!" he objected. "If there is any reason for the loss of our children then it is because God has turned his attention on Us! In Our youth and hubris, We callously made foolish errors that cost the lives of thousands of Frenchmen, as well as the loss of Our Italian birthright. Because of this, We have been justly reprimanded by The Almighty for Our Arrogance."

For a moment, Marie forgot to breathe. To hear her husband admit to any failing startled her. Kings never admitted being wrong, even if millions died from the consequences of their actions. She felt a tender warmth build up in her breast, but she knew that to let go now would doom Henri and Danielle to a life of misery. "My Lord, I cannot believe such a thing! However, even if it were a terrible truth that would not absolve me from my sins. Of the children I have born you, all those for whom you had a special fondness for are gone. Even our little Marguerite, now stays with our beloved sister the Queen of Navarre, because the sight of her reminds you too much of Madeline. Your only living son and heir is a boy you cannot stand the sight of!" her voice broke slightly on the last sentence and she paused to maintain her composer. "My Lord, night and day my hours are tormented by these facts. I must receive your mercy before my heart shatters beyond repair, and I join my dead children in the tomb. How can I face the judgement of Almighty God, because the only two remaining children that I bore to my husband bring him nothing but misery?"

"Enough of this, Madame! We will hear no more!" Frances pleaded, bolting up from his throne. "We adore Marguerite, but you and I agreed that the summer in Navarre would benefit her, along with the Queen's instruction in manners and music. Yes, it is painful to look into her eyes and see Our white lily Madeline staring back, but time has helped heal that wound. As for Henri, he has always been your son. We will probably never come to terms with him, because he will not forgive Us for Spain, and we cannot understand his rude and sullen ways. In any case, none of the conflict that We have had with any of Our children is your fault!"

The Queen sensing that victory or utter defeat lay within the next moments, played her one final card. "Would, My Lord risk my immortal soul by denying my sin? As you said, Henri has always been my son! If he is selfish, rude, reckless, and bitter, it is because I failed him not only as a mother, but as a Queen of France. How can I face judgement knowing that I could not or did not reach my son's heart? How can I atone for not only giving you a troublesome son, but my people an unworthy King? My Lord, do not leave me to face my condemnation. I shall surely be damned to hell for all eternity! My Lord, I beg of you, save me, and save France!"

Francis stood trembling and pale before his kneeling wife. The thought of this most gracious and Christian of women burning in eternal torment could not even form in his mind. However, he knew that she wouldn't have spoken to him like this if she had any doubt. Gently, he lifted off the floor and kissed her forehead, wiping her tears with his linen handkerchief. "I am yours to command, my Queen," he answered, kissing the palm of her open hand.

A gentle smile spread over Marie's lips. "If you consider me worthy of your great mercy, please meet with Danielle before you agree to a marriage with the Pope's niece. Surely, you have seen how Henri has changed in these last few weeks. He's been going out of his way being more gracious to your ministers, even the reports from: harvest records, tax collection invoices, and even reports about plague outbreaks throughout the country going back for the past five years. Dear Helene tells me that he stays up late at night with a pen and sheets of parchment, writing notes and scribbling sketches. While we awaited the Spanish delegation for the wedding, he locked himself away with Leonardo, and although neither would tell me what they were doing, I know they weren't drinking their sorrows away. She's changed him, Francis!" Marie insisted, squeezing his strong hands. "I realize that her existence means this court will become a firestorm because of the Bourbons, but she could also be a way to heal old wounds and right old wrongs. Besides, if she is restored to all she is entitled to, she could bring our country a greater dowry and more political power than Catherine."

"The child cannot bring Us Italy, Francis countered with a frown. He paused, breathing a deep sigh. "My dear, I do not deny that this girl has had a profound effect on the boy. I also want her to stay near him. However, choosing the next Queen of France cannot be just a simple matter of love. Even a vast fortune and a realignment of the house of Bourbon cannot equal retaking Italy!" he countered.

"My beloved," Marie soothed, kissing his cheek. "I want Italy just as badly as you! I want it so much it sings in my blood. I want it to avenge your capture, and my broken sons. I want it more than my heart to beat, or my lungs to breath. However, we cannot trust the Holy Father to keep his word, and deep inside your heart you know this."

Francis shook his head and released his wife's hands. "I can't give up just yet, but I will meet this girl and give her the chance to prove to me that she is worthy of becoming Queen of France. That is all I can promise you, my Queen."

Marie felt her heartbeat slowly start to return to its normal rhythm, and gave her husband a reassuring smile. "I would never ask you for anything you cannot give."