She was a pretty thing, this Lady Valencia, the bastard daughter of the Ambassador from Italy, dark and thin and coy, known widely for her reputation, which was quite a feat for an Italian woman, and he knew from the moment her father entered the castle that she was kept under lock and key, and that going near her would be in and of itself a risky move.
He also knew, the moment she entered the castle, that he would risk just about anything to be with her, regardless. He was not known as a scoundrel of a womanizer at the French Court for nothing, after all. Why have a reputation if he did not intend to make use of it?
He did not even get his chance to speak with her until the dance, in celebration of the treaty signed between the Ambassador and King Henry, and he hurried to her side the moment he found the chance.
He noticed her propped up against the wine table, fine wine that had been set out in honor of the foreign guests, a good, strong Italian vintage that Catherine claimed was the best Europe had to offer, and which Henry claimed tasted like cow piss, just behind her, so that anyone wanting some would have to get past her for it. A goblet of the fine vintage dangled enticingly from her long, thin fingers, and his legs started moving as if of their own accord.
The ball had been going on for only an hour or so by this point, but Bash was already willing to get as far away from it as possible; the ladies, tonight, were not interested in him or Francis (though he did notice how Natalia stuck to his brother so closely tonight), more intrigued by the young Italian nobles milling about, in desperate search of dance partners.
He did not speak to her at first, simply took a glass of wine for himself and brought it to his lips, tasting it for the first time. He grimaced; finding Henry's assessment of the stuff was much more correct than Catherine's.
"Enjoying the ball, my lord?" she asked then, glancing up at him over the rim of her cup, full lips pressed against it still.
He smiled. "We haven't had a celebration like this in a long time," he answered smoothly, setting the cup aside.
A smirk. "Well, of course not. There's no real reason to be celebrating unless an Italian is present, and I'm afraid Catherine de Medici no longer identifies herself as one of us," by the time she'd finished this statement, Lady Valencia's was starting to crack along the edges, but Bash decided to ignore that comment, not entirely sure what to make of it.
"As our countries are making good with each other, and forging...intimate bonds, I think it only right that we attempt to do the same, my lady," Bash smirked, having to speak loudly to be heard over the raucous Italian music filtering through the hall. "What do you think?"
"I think I can manage to find the time," Lady Valencia murmured into his ear, close enough that Bash could feel her breath against his cheek, and leaned into it almost imperceptibly, causing the lady in question to lose her balance, for only a moment, and lean even further into him.
Bash smiled, was just about to open his mouth to reply when the herald announced, "The English envoy, Lord Thomas Dunn."
Lady Valencia drew in a deep breath, glancing out of the corner of her eye at Bash. "Will your father the King condone this?" she demanded, though she didn't sound angry, only concerned. This new treaty with France, after all, made an enemy out of the English for Italy, considering the French alliance with Scotland, and the English Queen would only need an excuse to go to war over what she no doubt believed was the drawing up of lines against her.
Bash followed her gaze.
Seated on the throne, King Henry stiffened, Catherine looking almost murderous beside him, though Bash supposed only someone who knew her well enough would be able to recognize the expression behind the cool indifference she let off.
Thomas Dunn stepped into the hall a moment later, bowing his head curtly to the King and Queen. "Majesties," he murmured, and his voice sounded like gravel. "Her Majesty Queen Mary of England wishes to convey her respects to the Italian Ambassador, and I hope that you will give me the opportunity to do so in public, on her behalf, lest she be perceived to snub him."
The English envoy had been in France for only a week, and yet had somehow managed to personally anger Henry, Catherine, the Scottish ambassador, and half a dozen other members of the Court in that short time. The old English Queen (or bat, as Henry often referred to her when doing so would not cause an international incident,) had obviously instructed her envoy to treat this French King as she saw fit, considering their strained relationship with the Spanish as of late.
And there was something about the man which rubbed Bash the wrong way; the way he seemed to think he could walk around French Court as though he owned it, when, at best, he was merely an unwanted guest, and, at worst, an enemy. He'd been keeping an eye on the other man lately, without really trying to, and seeing him here, was...distressing, though Bash still couldn't quite put his finger on why, exactly, that was.
Thomas Dunn had not been invited to this gathering, because it was well enough to entertain treaties from two nations which did not always get along under the same roof, but to do so in the same room was a recipe for certain war, which, despite Henry's often warmongering words, Bash was reasonably certain he wished to avoid.
This was why Bash so hated politics. They got far too confusing.
He glanced at Francis, standing in the middle of the hall with one arm still wrapped a little too tightly around Lady Natalia's midsection; they had been dancing until the announcement, and now they stood still with all of the other dancers, waiting for the King's response. Even the music had stopped, the musicians glancing around rather nervously, as if wondering if they had been going on too long anyway.
No, Bash did not envy his brother the throne someday, if it meant he never had to deal with this sort of thing.
A beat.
After a long, tense moment, during which Bash was half-convinced Catherine would send for the Royal Guard and have Dunn escorted from the room, Henry gave the envoy a feral smile. "Lord Thomas. How...unexpected of you, to join us. Welcome."
Thomas Dunn dipped his head, paling a bit at the smile on Henry's face. "You are most generous, Majesty." And then he made his way over to the Italian Ambassador. "Lord Vincenzo. I extend the greetings of the Queen of England, and of Spain."
Lord Vincenzo nodded curtly, and then turned abruptly away.
Bash smirked, turning back to Lady Valencia. "I think they will be fine without us," he murmured, and Lady Valencia's eyes batted as she whispered, "Oh? Are you so sure? I do believe France, Italy, and England would fall if we were to absent ourselves." She batted her eyelashes. "Even be it only for a little while. We bastards are so significant to such things, after all."
He rolled his eyes. "Well..."
"Brother!" And suddenly Francis was standing just in front of him, blocking Bash's view of the servant's exit, which would be the perfect escape route for himself and Lady Valencia, but which would be rather noticeable if all four of them attempted to vacate through it. Natalia was beside him, clinging to him like glue, and Bash hardly spared her a glance.
He knew that Francis had not been entirely happy since Olivia had left the Court to avoid being shamed by one and all, and that Natalia was the first woman he'd come across since willing to sacrifice her dignity (and her safety, for the wrath of Catherine de Medici was not something to be taken lightly, if the Queen ever discovered them,) for the chance of becoming the Dauphin's mistress, should she please him.
She was pretty, Bash couldn't deny that, but he still couldn't stand her; the way she clung to Francis at every moment, not bothering to hide what they were in public (though none had actually hazarded a guess, beyond Bash, which he couldn't understand at all) the way she smiled; fake, the way she looked so star struck by Francis, as if she didn't know that he was only rebounding from a broken heart with her.
As if she didn't know that she wasn't the sort of girl with whom he could fall in love.
"Francis," he said, and hoped he didn't sound too disappointed by the interruption. "Lady Valencia, my brother, Francis."
Lady Valencia's lips twitched. "A pleasure." Her eyes raked up and down his form, assessing, and Bash felt something like jealousy rise up in him at the sight, making him wonder if she had done the same when she first saw him.
Francis nodded to her, looking distracted. "Have you seen Charles?"
Bash raised a brow. "I didn't know he was coming," he pointed out, thinking that their little brother would have done anything to be here, and Francis knew it, too. Nannies and guards would not be able to keep him away from a royal feast, after all, not after he'd overheard from one of the maids what really went on at them, after the children were sent away to sleep. And besides, he knew he would not truly face punishment for it. The guests always loved their second eldest prince, after all.
Francis shrugged. "Saw him earlier," he mumbled. "He didn't know it, but my mother had one of her ladies following him. I told him I'd take him out for a ride later, even though it'll be late, but I'm afraid that I'll be...riding...with other company." He snorted, glancing none-too-surreptitiously at Natalia, and Bash briefly wondered if Francis was already drunk.
Bash carefully withheld a sigh, hoping that Francis wasn't volunteering him for the job. As much as he loved his half-siblings, he would see Charles for years to come, and who knew if the Lady Valencia would ever return to France...
"Oh, Bash, I would absolutely love to meet your little brother. I hear he's adorable," Lady Valencia burst out then, and, had he not been still wishing to get more from her, Bash would have sent a rather fearsome glare her way.
Francis hid a smile behind his hand, reaching for a glass of wine off of the table behind Lady Valencia, as he'd evidently lost his last one, brushing rather closely by her, Bash couldn't help but think, as he took up an already poured glass, and brought the stuff to his lips.
They stood in an awkward silence for a moment, and Bash was just about to make his excuses and hope Lady Valencia knew what he was doing when, out of the corner of his eye, Bash saw Lord Dunn moving politely amongst the nobles, somehow managing not to anger any of them so far, though Bash could see that the man's smile was waxy and his eyes cold.
He had a cold feeling then, one telling him not to move, and so he didn't, and Lady Valencia glanced down at her wrist in alarm, where his fingers were clenching tightly enough to turn the skin white. He swallowed, loosening his grip.
Natalia stood on her toes, whispering something into Francis' ear that made him spew his drink, some of it landing on Lady Valencia's gown, staining it an awful shade of blood red, and then Francis was stammering apologies, and Valencia was looking halfway between offended and amused.
"It's all right, Your Highness," she said calmly, wiping out the red blot on her golden silk gown with a handkerchief, "just a dress, after all. And I shall soon be out of it, I'm sure."
And then Lord Dunn was moving obviously in their direction, and Bash, beyond a subtle glance to Francis, which his brother completely ignored in the face of his continued apologies and Lady Valencia's continued reassurances, could not even warn him before Thomas Dunn was behind the Dauphin, one hand reaching out to clasp Francis' shoulder so tightly it made him start, before turning around and forcing on a smile.
On the throne, Catherine stiffened, and Bash wondered if she had been watching Francis this closely the entire night, or if this had been brought on by the English envoy's arrival. She looked almost ready to stand and join them, but was stopped at the last moment, ear stolen by one of her ladies' maids. No doubt about Charles.
Bash was on his own in this one.
He knew that his worry was no less misplaced than Catherine's. Whatever the reasons for peace between their two countries, Francis would be a threat to England as long as he was affianced to Mary of Scots, and it would be foolhardy to leave him alone for a moment with the English envoy when, the last time anyone had been so foolish as to do so, Mary of Scots had almost been killed for it, and was now holed up in a nunnery.
The King's heir could not be hidden away in a nunnery, after all.
"Your Highness," the envoy dipped his head, as if he need not afford the Dauphin of France any more respect than what was almost familial, and gave Francis an almost leering grin. "I deeply regret that I have not been more able to make your acquaintance."
Francis gave him a tight smile. "I've been rather...preoccupied, my lord."
Lady Valencia's hand drifted boredly down Bash's arm, making the hairs on the back of his neck stick up, and he glanced over her, watching the way she licked her lips over the rim of her glass and wondering why the gods saw fit to torture anyone with such boring celebrations.
The only danger Francis was in from Lord Dunn, in front of a ball room of people, was dying of boredom, he quickly surmised.
Lord Dunn lifted an eyebrow, eyes flitting to Lady Natalia. "Ah, yes. I can...see that."
An awkwardness which was so much more than simply a lack of conversation lulled then, and lasted a beat too long before Lady Valencia spoke up.
"I believe you were going to introduce me to your little brother, Sebastian," she said, loudly, and Bash shot her a grateful look.
"Ah, yes, I do believe that was my intent. Francis." He dipped his head, and then, taking Lady Valencia's hand, quickly made his escape. She was almost running, in her desperation to leave the monotonous party and the Englishman, and it was almost a struggle to keep up with her, though Bash doubted that the excited pounding in his heart was due to that.
He glanced back one more time, just to make sure that Catherine could take control of the situation if anything got out of hand, and
Francis shot him a glare, and Bash could only grin in response, glad of his little chance at revenge, after Bash had ruined his first attempt to escape the festivities.
Catherine was sending Bash a glare then, too, and Bash was amused to see how they resembled each other, like that, hardly noticing the way Lord Dunn leaned forward to whisper something in the Dauphin's ear, something that made Francis pale, but he didn't pull away, not even as the English envoy moved to grab a pitcher, and refill both of their glasses.
"Well, come on then!" Lady Valencia half-shouted at him over the sound of the renewed flutes, and suddenly she was grabbing him by the wrist, pulling him toward that servants' door he'd thought only he had seen, earlier. He shook his head, deciding to let Francis fend for himself for once, and followed her.
They made it only as far as the hallway beyond the servants' exit before she plowed into him, pushing him up against the far wall and ignoring the incredulous servants who scurried past them, intent for the kitchens, no doubt to relay their newest round of gossip.
Bash could hardly bring himself to care, his lips crushed against Lady Valencia's open mouth, hands groping along the elaborate ties of her dress. She was fiery passionate, just as he'd imagined she'd be, and bold in a way that few French woman could boast.
When finally they came up for air, Lady Valencia grinned impishly at him.
"You didn't really think I wanted to meet your little brother, did you?" she purred. "Not when I'm already going to have my hands full with just one of you."
Bash smirked. "Not for a moment."
"Lady Valencia!" a loud voice cried out, sounding somewhere between scandalized and furious, and she sighed loudly at the sound, pulling away from Bash's embrace. Bash froze, his hand still on her waist, a thousand thoughts rushing through his mind. He was going to be killed for this, he knew it. Son of the King or not, he was going to die for 'defiling' a foreign ambassador's daughter.
'Defiling', indeed.
Bash turned just in time to see a large man, dressed all in black, stomping toward them. He blinked, fuzzily remembering the man as Valencia's bodyguard, introduced along with her when she arrived. "What the hell are you doing, my lady?"
Lady Valencia let out another long sigh, before turning to the bodyguard with a bright smile. "It's called kissing, Geoff, maybe you've heard of it before? I highly doubt you've ever experienced it yourself, after all."
The bodyguard, if possible, turned even more purple. "Wait until your father hears about this, my lady. He will not be pleased with you." The words were directed at her, though Bash had the distinct impression that the man was speaking to him.
She smiled sweetly, though Bash could see the ice behind her eyes. "Go ahead and tell him, darling."
The guard glared, and then turned on his heel, marching back into the ballroom, all of the while muttering something under his breath about "foolish little girls."
Bash shot Lady Valencia a worried look. "You sure this is all right?"
In answer, she lunged forward, smashing her lips against his own, teeth grinding against his tongue, and Bash lost all thought of worry, for a while.
They didn't return to the ball room for some time, until Lady Valencia pointed out that it might be wise to do so at some point during the festivities, lest her father have cause for concern, and Bash begrudgingly allowed himself to be dragged back into the ball room.
And then, of course, Lady Valencia's ever-faithful guard appeared, frowning at the Lady and muttering angrily under his breath, and she could only send Bash back one regretful look before she was dragged away, herself.
He sighed, going to stand against the far wall and subject himself to an evening of boredom, as Charles had no doubt been found and put back to bed, when a flash of blond hair caught his eye.
He had no idea why that was. No idea why he felt compelled to turn and look, even when he was reasonably sure he already knew who it was. But he did. '
And that was why Bash was the first to see it.
Francis was normal one moment, whispering something in Natalia's ear that made her blush, and Bash, from his vantage point, could only imagine what that was, and then lifting his goblet of wine to his lips, practically gulping it down.
And in the next, the goblet fell from his limp fingers, smashing against the stone floor loudly, the noise reverberating throughout the hall, causing heads to spin in his direction.
He stood still as a statue for a moment, eyes trailing down to the spilt wine on the tiled floor, a gob smacked expression on his face, and then everything happened all at once.
Francis started coughing, violent, unnatural coughing that seemed to bubble up from deep within him, and, when it erupted, it did so with blood, the stuff trickling darkly down the corners of his lips, his chin. He doubled over, the blood coming out of his mouth spewing on the marble flooring, eyes rolling up into his head.
Francis' legs buckled beneath his weight, and he went down, almost in slow motion, Bash fancied.
Bash ran forward, recovered from his shock long enough to realize that no one else had recovered from theirs just yet, and he barely managed to reach his brother in time before Francis would have cracked his head open on the marble flooring, sliding down on his knees to catch Francis' weight even as someone screamed out in horror and Francis began convulsing.
A beat.
And then the hall erupted into chaos.
"Francis!" he heard Catherine shouting, or, at least, he thought it was Catherine; he didn't dare look up. Francis' eyes were fluttering between consciousness and unconsciousness, and suddenly it wasn't just Catherine shouting, but the whole hall, people screaming words like, "poison," and "dead."
Bash refused to listen to the horrible words, refused to even give them a moment's credence, staring intently down at his brother as he wiped the blood from Francis' mouth and checked the pulse at his neck, slower than it should have been, he thought.
And then Nostradamus was beside him, prying Francis from Bash's unyielding fingers and turning the Dauphin on his side, and Bash stared in confusion as the man pulled out a bottle of sludgy liquid from his robes, pulling open Francis' lips and pouring the vile stuff into his mouth.
A beat.
Francis' eyes yanked open wide, and he let out a guttural noise of pain before twisting in Nostradamus' arms and vomiting onto the marble beneath them both, blood and bile mixing wretchedly, and several of the ladies of the court, including Natalia, though they were in no real danger, shied back with squeals of alarm as it happened.
It took Bash a moment to realize why, exactly, Nostradamus had just given Francis something to make him vomit.
Poison, they had been saying. Poison.
The word sounded so foreign to Bash's ears, so impossible.
"Arrest Lord Dunn!" someone was shouting, and it took Bash a moment to realize that it was Henry, standing not quite so far away as he'd thought. "For poisoning my son and heir!"
Lord Dunn glanced up from the back of the shocked crowd with a look of grim resignation on his face, rather than one of surprise, as the guards from outside in the corridor rushed forward to do Henry's bidding.
Bash did not even get the satisfaction of seeing the wretched Englishman dragged away, for Francis convulsed violently then, his entire body seizing horrifically before it went deathly still, and his attention was soon stolen by trying to get his brother to the safety of the infirmary, before it was too late.