Chapter Two:
The English Proposal
Paris, France
"Introducing Catherine Gray, Duchess of Somerset and her son Thomas Gray, First Earl of Essex," the servant announced, loud and clear, so that every member of the French Court to hear.
King Francois smiled as he watched the pair enter the room in a most gracious manner. A path was cleared that led straight to the bottom steps of his projected throne. Catherine and Thomas stopped there, standing beside one another, and bowed in union.
"Your majesty," Catherine greeted and then rose to meet his eyes. "My son Thomas and I come to you in the most courteous means we can deliver from his majesty, King Bartholomew of England."
"Yes," Francois nodded, "I am well aware." He then rose and took one step down. "Tell me dear Duchess of Somerset, have you or have you not accepted King Bartholomew's proposal of matrimony?" he asked, eyebrows rising.
"That I have, Sire," Catherine answered, sparing a small smile. She then bowed her head once more, taking a step towards him.
A pleased grin came to his lips and he extended his hand before her. From there she kissed his royal ring, stepped back, bowed once more, and rose.
He laughed from utter delight and raised both arms to address his people. "Attention, good people of France. I, your King Francois I, hereby affirm my highest approval of the marriage to come between King Bartholomew of England and her Grace, the Duchess of Somerset," Francois declared.
He then turned and took his golden and jeweled cup of wine and raised it. "May they be happy and good friends to France," Francois finished and then drank.
"Aye," the crowed agreed and then all drank. Cheers were then called out and the party resumed.
King Francois sat back down on his throne, but then raised his hand once more. "Your Lordship, come to me," he called to Thomas.
Thomas Gray looked momentarily to his mother and then went forth to the king. He bowed and kissed his ring. "Your majesty, my mother and I are most grateful for your approval of her upcoming nuptials," he expressed.
"I know you are," Francois smiled, "That is why I would like you to know that when you are both presented, I and other members of the French Court wish to be present. From there, a treaty to be signed between France and England in days that follow."
"Your majesty is most kind to extend such information to a mere Earl of England, such as myself," Thomas responded, releasing an awed breath.
Francois touched his shoulder though, and gave him a small shake. "Soon to be Prince of England, Thomas. I am a much younger King than that of England's. My alliance to someone in your position is just as important," he revealed, lowering his voice.
Thomas's eyes widened, but he quickly straightened himself out and nodded. "Yes, your Majesty, but you have not forgotten that I will not be King at the passing of his Majesty of England. Prince Charles—"
"I know of Prince Charles and his disgraceful behavior, ill-temperament, and shameful exploits. You must know I consider you a far better man in the eyes of God," Francois confided.
Thomas dropped to his knees and bowed his head once more. "Your majesty is far too kind," he breathed.
"That I am," Francois returned in a rather superior fashion. He then waited for Thomas to rise and leaned to whisper in his ear. "I shall also give you a very precious gift."
"What is more precious than his majesty's love?" Thomas asked, smiling. The king then motioned for him to take the free, but of course smaller seat by his throne. Thomas sat and appeared more natural.
"She," Francois motioned to the crowd, "is the most precious gift I can give. No one in my court holds more beauty and elegance."
Thomas turned forward and knew he could mistake her for no other. She was the Lady Blair Waldorf, the most beautiful woman in the French Court. And when she danced, she appeared even more gorgeous, as if instructed by angels.
Her dress, the deepest of reds, filled with air as she spun around. She made it seem as if the floor was a pool before her feet and she danced atop it. When she raised her hands, the water became fire, and anyone who came near would surely be burned. No other woman tried to dance beside her and no man offered his hand to join when she was in such passionate movements. Her hair appeared at first dark as knight, but when the candlelight shown upon it, hints of mahogany sparkled. She did not wear it up, like other maidens of court, but let it fall freely. She spun once more and opened her eyes. He wasn't sure what color to describe them as. Brown felt so ordinary. It didn't fit her. Instead they were dark hooks to the soul of every man.
Thomas recalled she had looked at him once. It was when he first arrived to the French Court. It couldn't have been memorable for her, but it was all he thought of. She merely glanced, but it was like she saw the weakness that lied within his heart. He was instantly infatuated. He watched her each night, desired her over all others, and loved her without ever having even spoken to her.
"The Lady Blair," Thomas breathed. His eyes could no longer stray from her form, not even to meet the king's. "Your majesty, you must know she has been the object of my affection upon my arrival to your Court."
Francois smiled, "Yes, I am aware. She is the object of every man's affection in my Court, even mine."
Thomas turned, some alerted, and looked to him. He shook his head. "His majesty could make her his mistress yet he gives her to me? I must admit, I do not understand," he whispered.
Francois turned back to look at Blair. He chuckled, "She rightfully declined several invitations to my bed. I love her, but I am married. And if she will not be my mistress then I must ensure her the most prestigious of a future I can." He turned serious now, some solemn.
"I am honored Your Majesty, that you think I hold such a future," Thomas complied, nodding his head.
"You will ask her mother for her hand in marriage. Once she has accepted you will report back to me and I shall make plans to present the Lady Blair to you. This will take place on the night France and England comes in union," Francois told him. He then smirked as if he was also seeking some form of vengeance. "What England once took away, I shall give back even better than before."
Thomas frowned, "What does his Majesty mean?" He looked to the King of France, but saw that his eyes were still intensely fixated on Blair.
"You know that of which happened to her father?" Francois asked. Thomas nodded in return. "And you know that it was by Royal English hands?"
"I only know what is formally known, your Majesty. I cannot make judgment," Thomas said quickly, feeling suddenly uncomfortable.
Francois turned to him with slanted eyes. "Well I can. If it not for a certain member of the Royal English family, she would be gladly a duchess by now," he stated in a vexed sounding voice.
"Forgive me, but could his Majesty not make her a duchess himself? He has the rightful power before God to do so," Thomas conceded, now looking between Francois and Blair continually.
"Why would I make her a duchess when she could be a princess?" Francois smirked and touched his shoulders. "You shall make her a princess in the marriage I have blessed."
"I would want nothing else. I just pray his Majesty has done this not with disdain in his heart for England, but with his love for the Lady Blair, and peace between our countries," Thomas proclaimed, but only just above a whisper.
"Fear not, Thomas. My intentions are completely honorable," Francois smirked. He then leaned back in his throne and looked upon Blair once more.
XOXOXOXOXO
Blair sighed as she walked down the pathway within the castle's courtyard. Her maid trailed behind her as means of a chaperone. She had been offered by several men to be escorted home, but refused. She had no interest in them. Sure they were handsome, most of them at least, but they still did not suit her. Her eyes appeared rather absentminded as she thought this over. What exactly did she want in a suitor?
"French of course," Blair whispered to herself. A smile came to her ruby lips and she laughed, shaking her head. "That is silly though. What other kind of man would I marry? An Englishman? Oh the horror."
"Did you say something, my Lady?" Dorota asked, walking up next to her. She looked to Blair, both loyal and obedient.
"No, Dorota. Now go on ahead and have the doors opened for me. It is rather cold now that the sun has said goodnight," Blair commanded. She wasn't harsh, but still strict and serious in manner.
"Yes, my Lady," Dorota replied. The maid then followed orders and proceeded in front of Blair to the servant's that stood in front of the Waldorf family's housing doors. After a few words were spared, they opened.
"Lady Blair," the two male servants greeted in union.
Blair only nodded in response and continued inside. She hoped to go straight to her room and lie down after a night of dancing, but something—or rather someone—stopped her. She came to a halt at the bottom of the stairs, turned to her right, and frowned at the site in their sitting area.
"Blair, will you not properly greet our guest? Surely you are aware of who this is," Eleanor seethed immediately. Her eyes instantly scolded her daughter for being so disrespectful to someone of greater rank.
"Sorry, Mother. I am so forgetful, but filled with remorse," Blair apologized. Her tone was cold, and posture rigid. She walked over to the other two people in the room and bowed before them. "Your Lordship."
Thomas smiled as Blair rose and fully met his eyes. Her beauty once again captivated him, so much that he only realized a little while after he had finally heard her voice. It did not disappoint either. To him, an Englishman, she sounded well educated and of proper birth. Her French accent was not at all thick. One would even suggest it a cross between English and French. It was alluring, but also restrained. He wanted to hear more of it on freer terms.
"My Lady," he breathed, returning the bow. Then he stepped forward and took her hand, raising it to his lips. He placed a kiss as delicately as possible as he could on her tiny, but perfect hand.
"Thank you," Blair bit. She instantly pulled her hand away from him and wiped it on her dress where he could not see. She did not want his lips on her. He was attractive, yes. But that did not matter. He was not what she wanted. He would never be what she wanted.
Thomas then turned from Blair to Eleanor. "Thank you so much for having me in your lovely home, Lady Eleanor. I am most gracious," he told her, actually sounding genuine.
Blair rolled her eyes and scoffed under her breath. Either he was truly mad or just an excellent liar. No one could enjoy her mother's company.
"No, I am. You are a blessing, my Lord," Eleanor replied. She then took his hand and kissed it, bowing before him as if he were royalty. Well technically he would be at some point when he returned to England.
Thomas nodded and turned to Blair once more. "I shall hope to see you again, Lady Blair," he told her.
"As do many other men, your Lordship," Blair replied. She only heard him laugh as if amused by her wit. Then from the corner of eye, she watched him leave. The moment he was gone, she turned to her mother with narrowed eyes.
"Why was he here? And what is going on? He has no right being in our house, but yet I am sure you invited him in!" Blair accused instantly. It could get her slapped, but she didn't care. She had always spoken out of line when her temper got going.
Eleanor was in too good of a mood to even return her annoyance for Blair's attitude. Instead she clapped her hands together and sat down on the bench by the fire. She laughed, "You have just been offered Thomas Gray, First Earl of Essex, and soon to be Prince of England's hand in marriage. I was so elated that I accepted at once!"
Blair almost choked on her breath, eyes widened, and she felt the need to vomit. She pushed that down and stormed over to her mother, shaking her head. "No! An Englishman? I would rather rightly die!" she screamed, not caring who heard it in the courtyard outside.
Her mother stood up quickly and grabbed her roughly, putting a hand over her mouth. "Quiet down, you stupid girl!" She lowered her voice to an urgent whisper. "And you have no choice in the matter, not that you should want one. He shall make you a Princess. You heard the announcement at Court tonight since I know you were there, dancing for every man to see," Eleanor seethed, implying her unhappiness about it.
Blair pulled away from her as if the words spouting from her mother's lips were burning her. She put her hands to her chest and shook her head. "Have you not forgotten it was the English whom killed my father, your husband?" she asked with a painful, but passionate tone.
"The only thing that killed Harold was his wrong doings to me, as a wife, and to God," Eleanor dismissed. She rolled her eyes and turned her back to Blair. She hated when her late husband was brought up.
Blair stared at her mother, appalled with disbelief. She shook her head with tears in her eyes. "I will not marry him!" she cried. Her voice was shrill, but strong.
Eleanor turned around and glared. "Yes, you will," she replied tersely.
"No, I won't!" Blair shouted. She then turned away before Eleanor could grab her and ran straight up the stairs. She stumbled into her bedroom, clutching her stomach, as tears streamed down her face.
"Oh Lady Blair," Dorota said, clearly pained by her distress. She quickly shut the doors and came over to the bed, which Blair had stumbled onto and buried her face into the pillows.
"I cannot marry him, Dorota! I cannot!" Blair sobbed. She then moved her head into her maid's lap and clutched onto Dorota like a child would. And the maid consoled her as a mother would, as a mother should.
XOXOXOXOXO
Hampton Court, Surrey
Chuck watched, from his outdoor throne under the tent, as another man in armor was dragged out of the dirt. He smirked and clapped his hands. It was a beautiful day in England for a jousting tournament.
"His Grace, Nathaniel Archibald, son of Duke Archibald!" the man announced, his voice carrying over the crowd as always.
Nate rode over on his horse, dressed in armor, and upright with pride. He smiled at all the beautiful, and some not beautiful, women who waved and tried to extend their handkerchiefs to him. He passed them all though and stopped his horse before the royal section.
"Your Majesty and your Highness," Nate greeted with a bow. As soon as Bart nodded in approval, he smirked at Chuck. He nodded his head to his friend's side, where Serena sat.
"Go forth, Nathaniel," Chuck encouraged. He felt his father giving him a questioning look from the side, but did not turn to answer. Instead he looked out into the crowd with a smirk and waited for his friend to—well Chuck liked to refer to it as starting the conquest.
Nate turned towards Serena and put on his most charming smile. He bowed to flatter her. "My Lady Van der Woodsen, would you do me the honor or letting me wear your—"
"Yes, of course!" Serena answered with great excitement in her voice. She stood up and tied it on the end of his jousting lance.
Everyone spared a small laugh, including Chuck, at her eagerness.
However Serena and Nate kept locked eyes. She nodded, "Do me well." Then she smiled at him again and returned to her seat.
"Of course, my Lady!" Nate called back to her as he rode off. He then got his horse into position and faced his opponent.
Chuck bit his knuckles as the announcer made clear whom Nathaniel would be facing. No one was better than Nate, not in his level at least, but still he felt nervous. Nate was one of the few people he cared about.
Each jouster took off and rode towards each other at full force. Within seconds, Nate's lance smashed into the other competitor's shield and he was pushed off his horse, crashing to the ground.
The girls all flinched, but Chuck cried out in congratulations. He hit his fist against his throne's arm and then clapped his hand. "Very good, Nathaniel!" he cheered. Every member of Court of course followed his actions instantly as Nate's family crest was hung to show he had won.
The crowd then silenced down as Jack rode up on his horse. He was ready to joust with someone. Lucky for Nate, he wasn't in his class because everyone Jack jousted ended up badly injured and sometimes dead.
"Looks like no man shall step up to joust his Grace, your Majesty," Howard, Duke Archibald and Nathaniel's father, mentioned to Bart in a low voice.
"Only one," Chuck said suddenly. He then stood and got his Uncle's attention, bowing. It was the mark of a challenge. The crowd cheered.
"Chuck, no. What are you doing?" Bart seethed. He tried to grab onto his son, but Chuck had already made his way down the stands and onto the dirt. The king watched with alert eyes as his son hurried over to men waiting with armor and a horse. Then he looked to a now smirking Jack.
"My Lords, the Prince has entered the match!" the announcer called out. He then motioned to Chuck who rode in on his horse with enough pride for all of England. The crowd cheered, some even standing up to commend him.
Bart leaned forward in his throne, his posture going rigid. He looked to Nate who exchanged a tense gaze and then turned to a friend beside him.
"Tell me why this feels unsettling," Nate demanded of Edmund and William. He looked from them back to Jack, and Nate who prepared to joust.
"Because," William sighed, "Not all of the English Court is as loyal as you, Nathaniel." He then lowered his voice. "Even members of the royal family it seems…"
"What is Chuck doing?" Edmund suddenly spoke up. The other two men looked to him in question and he motioned towards the Prince who now held up a ribbon. "He pulled that from his armor. No maiden here gave it to him."
"Good people of England know that this ribbon belonged to my mother—the true and only Queen of England!" Chuck shouted. The crowd roared in cheers, but Chuck only looked directly at his father. He winked with a smirk. Bart was not at all pleased.
Chuck then rode off and pulled down the front of his helmet. He waited for the announcer's call. The crowd fell silent. The horses kicked their feet against the dirt. "Ahh!" he screamed as he charged towards Jack.
But someone else had seen the malicious look in Jack's eyes. "Your Grace!" Nate shouted last minute.
Jack's head turned and so did his lance. It did not hit Chuck, but instead he was knocked clear off his horse and down in the dirt hard. His face smashed into the mud and he tasted the grime on his tongue.
The crowd cheered in approval and Chuck did a victory run on his horse.
Bart clapped, but gave a thankful nod to Nate who returned acknowledgement with a bow. And that was that, for them anyways.
Chuck came back on his horse to where Jack now tried to stand. He took out his handkerchief as a joke and offered. "Uncle, perhaps you'll be in need of this?" he laughed.
Jack glared at him and then snatched it from his hands. He threw it to the ground and stormed off, pushing servants out of the way even.
Chuck's laughter only increased. "Oh come on, Uncle! It was all in good fun!" he called after him. But Jack did not stop. Chuck brushed that off easily though, shaking his head, and returning to the Lords and Ladies who very much loved him.
XOXOXOXOXO
The nightly festivities had begun in the great hall at Hampton Court. The king had already retired, but the prince was present. Most preferred it that way. It was much more free. However, above the party Jack looked down. He glared at Chuck as the young prince lived the good life he was so unworthy of.
"Your Grace," the Duke Clouse greeted as he approached Jack. He bowed, even though the other man did not bother to join him, and then stood beside him to look down as well.
Jack was still for a few moments and then snapped. He grabbed the other man by the collar and pushed him up against the wall. "You assured me that the Prince of England would be dead and what do we have? Him alive and well!" Jack seethed.
"Your Grace, it is not my fault the little bastard decided to stay in and plow some Italian whores rather than get in his carriage," the Duke Clouse retorted, pushing Jack off of him. He then shook his head. "Besides, you should not be so verbal in Court about a crime greater than treason."
"No," Jack refuted. "This is my rightful crown, my rightful Court. It does not belong to someone who has no idea how to run it!" He wasn't yelling, but speaking in harsh whispers.
The Duke Clouse straightened himself out, but shook his head. "Well, we both have our own problems then." He looked to Jack. "After all, how would you feel if the King of England was fucking your wife?" he spat.
Jack only laughed at him with a cruel smirk. Everyone knew Lily was the king's mistress, but she was also a married woman. It was a joke; the Duke Clouse was a joke.
"You picked a family of whores. And it looks like your stepdaughter shall join the pack next," Jack mocked. He then motioned down to Serena who was giggling as Nate whispered in her ear. Then he left, calling, "Get it done!"
XOXOXOXOXO
"The Duke Clouse," the servant announced as he watched the man step over the threshold and then begin his walk down the hallway.
"Your Grace," a passing man, of lower class, greeted with a small bow. He quickly stepped out of the way of the seemingly upset Duke, not that he wouldn't be upset too, if his wife were the mistress of the King of England.
Richard opened his families' chambers, but paused immediately upon arrival. He frowned at the sound of heavy breathing and clashing bodies. To any man of experience, it was the obvious sound of a man penetrating a woman.
Slowly, he rounded the curtain. And the moment his eyes landed on the sight before him, he froze.
His stepdaughter, Serena, was bent over on the bed. She held tightly onto the sheets as she moaned in pure delight. Nathaniel, or Duke Archibald, stood over her as he thrust his hips back and forth. He infiltrated her again and again in swift, but forceful movements from behind.
"What the hell is going on here?" the Duke Clouse asked. His eyes widened and he took another step towards the now finishing couple.
Nate looked up at him with a self-satisfied grin. He nodded, "It is exactly what it looks like, your Grace. Surely you know, considering your wife knows the position all too well… but in his majesty's bed."
Serena glanced up between the men; happy they did not look to her. Then she quickly crawled across the bed and hurried to put her clothes on.
Richard took another, dangerous step towards Nate. He glared and shook his head in anger. "You little bastard, how dare you? First you violate my daughter in my home and then move next to insult me?" he seethed.
"Firstly, your Grace," Nate drawled mockingly, "I am no bastard. You must have me confused with the future child your wife is likely to produce by the King. And as for means of violation, I can honestly tell you she not only wanted it, but begged." He then chuckled and winked at the man across from him.
"Silence!" Duke Clouse screamed. He then raised his sword to Nate's neck, pushing the blade against the skin, but not yet cutting. "You took her honor," he accused in the lowest of voices.
"I assure you someone was there before me," Nate returned, looking to Serena. He then turned back and bent down as the other man continued to move his sword forward. Nate was lucky to be so flexible.
"I should kill you for this," Richard retorted. He gripped his sword tighter and his eyes narrowed even more.
Serena looked up then. Her smile fell and worry filled her features. "No—no, he is right. He took nothing," she spoke up.
Nate looked to her with a smirk, but then back up to the other man. "See, even your own step-daughter speaks to uphold my honor," he taunted.
"You have no honor. Now get out!" Duke Clouse shouted. He then pulled up his sword, but kept a firm hold in it as means of a threat.
Nate got up from the bed, completely nude, and without shame. He pulled on only his pants and then opened the door. There he saw the high servant, Daniel Humphrey, waiting for him. He chuckled to show pride for what he had done.
"Come Daniel," Nate called, patting him on the back, and then continuing down the hallway to take his leave.
Dan stared in though, eyes hooked on Serena. She looked right back at him. When he heard Nate shout once more, he bowed his head to her and hurried away. It was a strange encounter for both of them. And it ended with the closing of a door.
Serena then crossed her arms and turned to see her stepfather now glaring at her. She took a step away from him when he raised his sword. "I—I am not your daughter. You should feel no shame," she informed him.
"You're right. No true daughter of mine would have done this. You are nothing, but a whore—a whore just like your mother," Richard spat. He then backhanded her across the mouth as hard as he could.
Serena grabbed her bloodied mouth and quickly turned away from him. She squeezed her eyes shut and waited until she heard him leave. Then she released a rather loud cry of pain.
XOXOXOXOXO
"Your highness," the servant greeted and bowed as the other opened the door.
"Leave me alone," Chuck returned bluntly and breezed past them. He came into the empty meeting room and sat down at the end of the table. Once the doors were closed, he pulled a candlestick towards him for more light.
He ran his fingertips along the inner edge of his coat until he found the pocket. Then carefully he removed a most cherished item and placed it in the palm of his hand, bringing it closer to his face. It was an old, gold locket, encrusted with rubies on the front of it.
"Mother," Chuck breathed as he opened it. He stared down solemnly and longingly at one of the very few portraits he had left of the Late Queen. His own demons caused his heart to hang heavy with guilt. How could his father do this to her? How could he even try and replace her?
The doors suddenly opened and Chuck jumped. He was about to scream at the servants for being interrupted, but then saw who it was. Quickly, he stuffed the locket back into his pocket and stood.
"The King of England," the servant announced before closing the door.
"Father," Chuck acknowledged, bowing his head. He then sighed and sat down. "What is it you want with me, your Majesty? Shall I be punished for the stunt I pulled at our royal jousting games?" he asked.
Bart looked at Chuck for a few moments and then came over to him. He was about to put his hands on his shoulders, but then stopped and turned away. He shook his head. "Charles, this marriage is purely to secure a better Kingdom for when you reign," he explained, but with very little feeling. His exterior was cold and his voice somber as usual.
Chuck scoffed, "Please your Majesty, you owe me no explanation. You made that very clear when I arrived, back from the dead, not that you cared then either." He rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair. The classic Prince Charles attitude had returned as well, disrespectful as it was.
His father turned around and looked to him, brow furrowed. He came towards Chuck and took hold of his shoulders. "That is not true," Bart refused.
"Then tell me this, Father. Why do you treat me like you want me dead, cold in the ground just like your poor wife who died giving birth to me? Or is it with this new wife that you hope to forget about us both entirely?" Chuck questioned, putting a hand to his chest.
A sense of emotion came about in Bart's icy blue eyes. But then he pulled away from Chuck, looking pained. He refused to meet his son's eyes. "I could never forget about her…or you. I honor her each day by making sure her heir, my son, you, is alive and well," Bart told him.
Chuck stared into the wick, burning on the tip of the candle. He shook his head. "Only alive, father," he breathed. He knew Bart didn't hear him and Chuck didn't want him to.
"Well," Bart sighed, "I shall leave you to your will then." He started to remove himself from the room when the doors opened. Both he and Chuck looked to the servant in question. "What is it?" he asked.
"Your Majesty," the servant bowed, "the Duke Clouse insists upon an audience."
"Very well," Bart agreed. He then sat down, looking over to his son who rolled his eyes. He would never admit it aloud, but he felt quite the same. Still, he tried to appear attentive as the other man entered the room.
"Your Grace," Bart called out, locking eyes with Clouse.
The Duke Clouse rudely did not bow, but just entered and spoke. "Your Majesty, should be made aware that I have discovered the Duke Nathaniel Archibald in a most indecent state with my stepdaughter in her chambers," he informed the other man with a seething tone.
Chuck looked to both the Duke and his father from the corner of his eye. He then bit his knuckles and leaned back in his chair. He did not like where this conversation was going.
"He has brought shame to my family. I demand that your Majesty banish him from this court, along with any other punishment your Majesty deems fit," the Duke Clouse spat.
"There will be no punishment!" Chuck interrupted. He stood and banged his hands on the table, glaring at the other man. "Unless your stepdaughter accuses Nathaniel of rape! And does she so claim?" he questioned.
The Duke Clouse stared at Chuck and looked to Bart, but the king only turned away.
Chuck did not like being ignored, "Does your stepdaughter so claim that Nathaniel raped her? Answer me!" he bellowed.
"She doesn't need to! The offense is against me and against my family!" Clouse shouted back, banging a fist to his chest.
The prince scoffed in a mocking manner and shook his head. "Well as far as I know and see now, there has been no offense. Therefore is no need for any punishment," Chuck told him.
The Duke Clouse shook his head and moved towards Bart. "I request that his Majesty answer to these matters instead," he informed them, speaking over the prince.
"How dare you!" Chuck shouted. His dark eyes lit with a fire as the anger burned in his belly.
"Son," Bart said. He shook his head at Chuck and held up his hand. Then he turned back to face the duke. "Duke Clouse, you are out of order. My son, the Prince of England, is perfectly fit to rule on this matter. Apologize," he ordered.
The Duke Clouse had reached his boiling point. He scoffed, "I shall do nothing of the sort for an unruly prince or his affair having father of a king." It was a jab made directly at Bart for having an affair with his wife, Lily.
"You have just stepped over the line! Arrest him!" Chuck ordered. Immediately the servants came in and towards the duke.
"No!" Lily screamed, running into the room. She had been outside. She fell to her knees before Bart and shook her head. "He did not mean it, your Majesty."
Bart looked at Lily, to Chuck, the duke, and last the waiting servants. "Take him only to his chambers—" he started to order, but was interrupted.
"Correct me if I am wrong, your Majesty. But did you not say I had right to rule over this matter? Shall I not be King and make such decisions one day?" Chuck asked loudly, his hand forming a fist.
Bart stared at Chuck, deep into his eyes. He then looked away and spoke some sadly for Lily. "Take him to the tower of London and place him under arrest," he commanded, but his voice sounded hoarse.
The Duke Clouse instantly cried out in anger, but was dragged hastily from the room. The doors slammed shut.
Lily stood and smacked Bart in the chest. "How can you do this? How can you leave me with nothing? I have done everything for you!" she screamed in a shrill, panicked voice. Tears formed in her angry eyes.
Bart pulled away from her. He shook his head. "Not nothing. You shall return to the country, reside with your true family before the arrival of our coming new queen," he informed her. He didn't want to, but it wasn't right to keep his mistress when a new wife was arriving.
Lily's entire expression changed from anger to devastation. She cried out and dropped to her knees, touching his feet. "No! No please! Your Majesty, I beseech you to reconsider!" she pleaded.
"There shall be no reconsidering. You must know I am deeply sorry for the misfortunate that has befallen you. Excuse me," Bart dismissed, though looking tortured. He then fled from the room as quick as he could, away from the tragic woman on the ground, his former mistress.
Chuck looked down at Lily with some pity. He had never hated her, really. But he was used to it. So he shook his head and left without another word.
XOXOXOXOXO
Serena sat on her bed in her dimly lit chambers. She used one hand to hold a mirror as the other reached up to touch her cut and bruised face. Her stepfather's ring had done the most damage to the left side of her nose. She grimaced at the sight. He had ruined her beautiful face.
"Look at you."
She gasped and dropped the mirror, looking to the door. Her eyes widened for a moment, but quickly returned to normal. Still she sort of froze, reaming silent.
Nate smirked as he shut the door behind him. He then slowly walked towards the bed, kneeled down onto it, and crawled to where she sat. His hands reached up and he gently took her face in them.
"It's such a shame—what he's done to your gorgeous, little nose," he consoled, shaking his head. Nate then leaned forth and placed the softest of kisses on her cheek.
Serena closed her eyes and softly smiled. When she felt him pull back, she quickly opened them again and met his eyes.
"Now, where were we before we were so rudely interrupted?" Nate asked. Eyebrows rose and he wore grin that showed just how pleased with himself and his actions he still was.
She giggled, "Right about here." Serena then teasingly lifted her skirt up so that it bundled and revealed her thighs. She smiled when he set his hands upon them and pushed the material up further.
"Yes, I see," Nate rasped. He then rose and pushed his body in between her legs, making her lie down onto the pillows. His body was soon over hers and he kissed her lips feverishly.
"Oh Nate," Serena moaned. She already sounded out of breath and there were a huge bundle of knots twisted within her stomach. His hot skin burned against hers and she felt a shiver down her spine.
Nate leaned back up and reached to undo his belt. He smiled the moment he pulled it off and threw it to the ground. But as he began to tug down his pants the door of the room swung open.
Serena immediately sat up and pulled the covers around her bare chest. She looked to the door with alerted, fearful eyes. But that all went away when she saw it was only her mother. She even felt Nate calm as he sat down on her legs.
"Mother," Serena nodded with a formal tone, despite the very disgraceful position they had been found in. It wasn't like Lily could be one to judge anyways.
Lily looked them up and down and then shook her head. "Gather your things and a servant shall come to pack them. We must leave at once, for the country," she informed her daughter.
Serena's face immediately fell, but then twisted with anger. "No! I will not go!" she protested.
"Well," Lily heaved a sigh; "you have no choice, especially now with the decisions you have made." Her eyes and voice became suddenly critical.
"Decisions like those of my mother's," Serena retorted.
Lily only nodded calmly, accepting the insult. Then she bowed her head. "Think what you like, but you still must pack. Duke Archibald," she acknowledged. Then she turned on her heal and walked through the curtains to her own bedroom.
"I hate her," Serena spat. She shook her head in anger and turned forward again to see Nate was now dressing. She pouted.
He bent down and gave her a kiss on the cheek. Then he cupped her chin. "I wish I could find a way for you to stay," Nate told her.
Her face lit up and she grasped onto his shirt. "You could, with a marriage proposal," Serena suggested with great excitement. She then kissed his lips. "I do love you, Nate. I could make you happy."
Nate looked shocked at her reply. He was silent for a moment and then parted his lips to speak, but just as he did, the door opened yet again. The couple turned to see it revealed Chuck.
"Nathaniel, come," Chuck ordered. He appeared tired and anyone who wasn't an idiot knew better than to argue.
"Yes, your Majesty," Nate bowed. He then stood and looked to Serena once more. "I am sorry," he sighed.
Her blue eyes filled with tears and she shook her head. "But—but I love you," Serena cried.
Nate only looked at her in silence and then walked away.
Chuck watched his friend exit, then before leaving himself gave Serena a last look as well. With that he left and hurried to catch up to the speed Nate was walking.
"I shall be sad to see that one go," Nate voiced. His tone told he would not speak of it again.
Chuck merely nodded and replied, "Never get attached to a woman, Nathaniel."
XOXOXOXOXO
Paris, France
Blair watched, hiding behind a tree in one of the royal gardens, as all her belongings were loaded into several carriages. Present at the scene was her disgustingly happy mother. Eleanor was in her element, speaking with both Thomas and his mother Catherine about the upcoming nuptials. Blair felt her stomach turn and looked away from them to the sky. It was a grim day in France, the perfect setting for her heartbreaking departure.
"Lady Blair."
Blair gasped, jumping some, and turned to look behind her. The moment she saw who it was though she smiled and bowed. "Your Majesty, Francois I of France," she greeted properly.
Francois smirked and grabbed onto her hands, pulling her up and close to him. "Ma rose sans épine, à quel point j'en suis amoureux? Au point que je rêverai d'elle jusqu'au jour de ma mort," he proclaimed, his eyes locked on her.
(English Translation: "My rose without a thorn, how in love am I? So much that I shall dream about her, till the day I die.")
"You should not say such things, Your Majesty. Anyone from Court could pass by and see you," Blair returned though, a flattered grin held on her lips. She then went to pull away from him, but instead found her back lightly pushed against a tree. She giggled and allowed him to kiss her on the lips.
"Let them see whom I really love. She is so very beautiful that no one could blame me," Francois told her, shaking his head. He then brought a hand to her cheek and caressed it.
She blushed, but looked down and shook her head. "I am sure your wife, the Queen of France, could, your Majesty," Blair said softly.
"Let's not speak of her," he sighed. Then he tipped her chin up so that their eyes met again. Francois frowned and observed, "You have been crying."
"Yes," Blair nodded. She then looked away from him. "And well, I—I have something I must tell you. Even if it breaks both of our hearts."
Francois turned her cheek once more and pecked her lips. "Then tell me, Ma Chérie," he insisted though he didn't seem too troubled.
She pouted her lips and turned up the dramatics. "My mother is marrying me off to an English brute. You must put a stop to it, if you love me!" Blair pleaded, clutching onto his clothes.
Francois stared at her for a moment and then shook his head. "I will do nothing of the sort. I have arranged this marriage for you. Did young Thomas not tell you?" he asked, furrowing his brow.
Blair didn't care to answer that. Instead she pushed his chest. "How dare you betray me like this! You said you loved me!" she yelled. She then tried to move away from him, but he grabbed her and pulled her back.
Francois put a hand over her mouth and narrowed his eyes. "Silence. Someone will take notice to us." He then sighed and removed his hand. His soft exterior returned. "I am doing this for you, Blair," he swore.
She scoffed, "Well I do not want it. Free me of this—this disgraceful arrangement." The way each word rolled off her tongue about it showed more disdain than he had ever expected.
Francois ran a hand through his hair and bit his bottom lip. Then he grabbed onto her arms and looked to her desperately. "Fine. It is done. Just stay here and be my mistress instead. I would give you everything you wanted," he offered. He had backed down, but he didn't care. If he could have her then he would take her—as long as she agreed of course.
Blair pushed him away and shook her head. "How dare you insult me like this. I would now much rather take the other option," she spat. She then shook her head. "You are weak," she insulted.
He grabbed onto her and pushed her back up against the tree once more. "You could make any man weak," Francois seethed. He then kissed her strongly on the lips though she tried to get him off of her.
"Let me be," Blair mumbled against his lips. She then turned her cheek and refused to look at him. "I never want to see you again."
Francois held onto her tighter and shook his head. "Do not say that. Please take it back. You must know that I love you so much, and I would make you a Queen if I could," he whispered, kissing her cheek.
"You can," Blair insisted and turned to look at him. A strange passion came to her eyes, one wanting power, something better, greater than she was by title.
"I am married. I already have a Queen," Francois reminded her.
Blair pulled away from him again and pouted.
He smiled softly and took her face in his hands. "That is why I shall make you a princess instead. Do you not see what an honor I am bestowing on you?" he asked, eyebrows raised.
She turned to look at him with sadness in her eyes. Still she nodded with a sense of respect. "Yes, your Majesty. Thank you," Blair said softly.
"Thomas will make you a good husband. The boy is in love with you, Blair. He will treat you well; perhaps not even take a mistress until the later years of your marriage. I am most certain he will even let you visit me," Francois explained as he wrapped his arms around her from behind. His chin rested upon her shoulder.
Blair remained still. She didn't melt into his arms like usual. Instead she was cold and icy, much like her reputation told.
"I will present you to England and to Thomas as the true treasure of France you are. We will show them we have the prettiest beauties in all the world. You are the best gift I can give," Francois continued, sounding proud. "Tu es mon bien le plus précieux." (English Translation: basically means – "You are my rarest gem.")
She didn't respond, but just looked forward to her fate. Her eyes landed on Thomas, her mother, and his. They were all blissfully happy. But her heart, it hung heavy with nothing, but sorrow. If only her father were there. He would surely rescue her from all of it. But he wasn't. And she was going to marry into the family that took him away from her, son père bien-aimé. (English Translation: "her beloved father.")
Francois waited for her to say something, but when she did not he laughed breathlessly. "Well, will you not say something? Anything Blair," he requested.
She nodded, staring out at her beautiful France. "Oui, ne jamais tomber amoureuse," Blair proclaimed, but in the softest and most broken sounding of voices.
"What?" Francois asked with a frown, having not heard her.
"Never fall in love," Blair repeated, looking up, with much more determination. It was a vow, one she planned to never break, not for anyone.
XOXOXOXOXO
A/N: So how was Chapter 2? Is the story living up to it's potential. I certainly hope so. Also thank you so much to Rolling09 for being my translator. Lastly, there are pictures for this story (one of Blair from this chapter) that can be found on my Tumblr or my Deviantart. Both links are available on my profile.
Also I need to give a HUGE thanks to my beta VanillaLatte086. Seriously, she is the best beta I have ever had and in my opinion the best on FF! So many thanks to her!