Between 1635-1648, France was sucked into The Thirty Years War, that the Cardinal was, rightly, so keen to avoid. France was practically besieged on all sides, as The Spanish, Portuguese, and the mighty Hapsburg Empire jockeyed for position and territory. Great swathes of land were laid waste in parts of Germany, the Netherlands, and the Holy Roman Empire. Catholic fought Catholic, as well as Protestant and vice versa. The toll in famine and disease alone is incalculable. He tried diplomacy and negotiation and his policy of war diversion eventually paid dividends for France, even after his death. He was considered an able and competent statesman at the time.

CHAPTER THREE.

I AM YOURS.

Cardinal Richelieu was pursuing a vigorous foreign policy objective against the powerful Hapsburg Empire. His meetings with dignitaries and ambassadors, sought to rein their might and secure a strong position for his beloved France, as war threatened to engulf them all. With the increasing pressure and strain he was under, he began to suffer from debilitating headaches, and his sleep was frequently disturbed with disquieting dreams.
Minette was summoned to his chambers less often.
Constantly kept in a state of want, she yearned for him ceaselessly. His tactic of demanding submissiveness and his practice of denial, only served to make her crave his company more.
To outsiders, she had become his creature; meek and subservient, ever eager to please him. A lap dog. But her position was tenuous and she needed to keep it, if that was what it took, then so be it, she could not afford to be proud. She was naturally pious, honest and showed humility. When he was at his most cruel or angry, she was quiet, demure, modest and reserved. She did not shout or rant, as others had previously, she did not pout or sulk, but was calm and still, timid and yet resolute.
He sometimes wondered what it would take to break her apparent devotion. Never had he known a mistress quite like her.
She was on her knees to him now, her bright, open face shining up at him, as he sat, head buried in his hands.
"Are you tired, my Lord?"
"I have a headache, that will not cease." He sighed.
"If you will permit, perhaps I can help alleviate your pain." She replied.
He looked down at her, her face was kind, concerned, keen.
"What can you do? The physicians cannot help me..."
"Will you allow me to try?" Her hands rested on his thighs, just above the knees, as she moved closer.
"There's nothing..."
"Please, Armand, let me try." She was seldom permitted to use his name, but there were occasions, when she did, out of bravado, and he did not admonish her.
Taking his hands in her own, he allowed her to raise him and lead him to the plush covered chaise longue in the corner of his chamber. Once seated, she levered off his boots carefully and set them aside. She removed his zucchetto and her little fingers began to release the fastenings of his heavy tunic.
"What are you d...?"
"Peace! You need to be comfortable."
He acquiesced reluctantly.
She eased his shoulders free of the jerkin, leaving him in his black undershirt. Taking his legs, she turned him sideways, feet up onto the seat and sat next to him, so she could then gently pull him back, his head in her lap.
He seemed nervous, fidgety, reluctant to turn himself over to her hands, the feeling was alien to him. From her pocket, Minette took a small glass vial. Immediately, he sat up, eyes wide.
"What's this? Poison!" He exclaimed.
She uncorked the tiny bottle and held it, first to her own nose, then to his...he sniffed it suspiciously.
"It's oil of lavender," she smiled, as, relieved and satisfied it could do him no harm, he laid his head down again.
Placing a drop or two of the oil on each of his temples, she began to massage gently. Her hands then moving through the curls of his hair and into his scalp, across his forehead, eyebrows and the bridge of his prominent nose. Finally working down to the tension in his neck and shoulders. His eyelids fluttered and closed, and he let out a deep sigh.
Gradually his face relaxed, mouth slightly open.
"Breathe the scent deeply, in through your nose and out through your mouth." She said softly, as her fingers continued to circle.
The rhythm of his chest slowed, rising and falling easily, for some twenty minutes or more. Eventually he opened his eyes, the scent of lavender filling his nostrils still. He felt as if waking from a deep sleep. He gazed into her face, above him, and pulled her down into a kiss. Her fingers caressed his cheek and chin, her other hand sliding under his shirt, untucking it from his breeches.
He sat up then, arousal clear to see, he turned, pulling her round and under him, his own hand stroking up between her thighs.
This time he was not rough, or forced, but sensual, and passionate, and when he took her, it was not purely for his own pleasure, but for hers too. Her reward for easing his pain, was to be allowed to come, and when the feeling pulsed through her, she drew him closer, holding him tight...

"I am yours!" She whispered, "yours and yours alone."

For the first time, they spent the whole night together. Usually she was dismissed to her own residence when he had finished toying with her. Tonight, she curled, naked at his side. Sleep would not come for him, however, his mind fretting over affairs of state.
"What is it, Armand, what ails you?"
"My meeting tomorrow with the Spanish ambassador, I am worried my beloved France will be forced into war. A war we cannot win, it will prove to be our downfall, our ruination."
"I need to be clear in my mind as to my bargaining ploy, I am playing a dangerous game, with one hand tied behind my back."
His long fingers pinched the bridge of his nose, and his furrowed brow, his eyes screwed tight with searing pain.
Minette sat up, and drawing a robe around her, slid out of the bed, taking his hand in hers,
"Come...pray with me," She said, "we will ask God for guidance. His strength will fortify you and show you the way." She lit the candles and the sensor. An aroma of sandalwood pervaded the room.
Richelieu was impressed with her piety, and knelt at the altar beside her, praying for succour in his hour of need. Beseeching God to intercede, to grant him the power of mind to speak as an arbitrator between factions and negotiate for the future of the land he loved.
As he rose, he felt Minette's tiny hand close around his own.
"Amen." She said.

Before dawn, she left him. Returning in the carriage to her own cold bed. He no longer locked her in chastity, but she never touched herself, no matter how much she ached. Only he could touch her, only he could make her feel the intensity of emotion she needed. She was his. Body and soul.
He could control her, deny her, not even allow her to speak sometimes. Make her kneel, make her crawl; he could be cruel, on the one hand, threatening to beat her, or kind on the other, with a caress, but it only made her love him more.
To him, she was just another mistress, a pawn in the game, a plaything, at least that's what she thought, but lately, he seemed softer.
She was no longer frightened of him, but she was frightened for him, his stance against the Hapsbergs made him many powerful enemies, there had been failed attempts on his life before, there might be again.

He would frequently send for her now, whenever the pain in his head became too much to bear. Only she seemed to be able to ease his suffering.
Her patience and stoicism were balm to him, healing and restorative. Her compliance to his every whim, without complaint, enduring everything he could throw at her; his moods, his desires, his anger, his love, were astonishing to him.
He could no longer imagine not being able to send for her, and have her come to him.
She had broken him in.

I originally intended this to be four episodes (or chapters) but it's growing...and I now have six...so I'll make no more predictions until I know I'm finished. But the ending is written and still stands!