You Are My Light Part II

287 - Rain

"What a repulsive little hovel." the Queen Mother of France hisses, running a small fingertip over the damp oak she rests her shoulder and back upon, little Hercules and Margret resting their heads in slumber upon her purple skirts. "Can they really not build a bloody shelter better than this?" she titters, but the King and Queen pay her no mind anymore. They both know Catherine only acted so whenever she was stressed, or fearful, or panicked or felt a loss of control. Which, let us all be honest, all can be appropriate in times such as this.

"Mother, shh." the King of France states, picking his head up from Mary's shoulder, making her look up from her spot resting her head onto his. They're cold, the fire still not yet large enough to warm and dry those within the cramped chalet, despite he and Sebastian's best efforts in stoking the fire. "You must keep quiet, the children are sleeping." he states softly. She gives him a look, eyeing Mary as she holds little baby James closer to her, wrapping the blanket around him tighter as the baby sleeps in unease, his small brow crooked even as he sleeps. The Queen pays her no mind, simply strokes the baby's hair back from his face and tries to cover him from the damp seeping from the rain, the loud sounds coming from outside their temporary humble abode. It's horribly cramped, the entire thing is hardly built to last, the fireplace is small and there's not even a bed, just a hard, cold stone floor that begins to sop with the amount of mud traipsed in by the horses and the other occupants of the small chalet. 

There's so many people inside. Francis, Mary and James as well as Catherine, Margret, Hercules and little Henry and Charles. Lola, Kenna and Greer join, as well as young Jean and Sebastian. How did this happen, you may ask? One moment, they're dining in front of a roaring flame, a spread big enough for twenty in front of them as the violins strum away, and the next, the guards begin to shriek and the castle's walls begin to breech. Fearful for the King and the Queen's safety, they're lead down into the stables and sat upon a few horses, and ushered away as the enemy forces begin to hack at the walls.

They didn't know what was happening now, the last thing they'd seen had been the flames and the blade as the castle begun to retaliate through the foreign invaders who would soon face the wrath of the King once daybreak had risen and the blood had dried.

Catherine huffs, and tightens her cloak around the sleeping children in her lap. The mealy had been so frantic that nobody had any supplies, let alone a blanket for the unsettled children of royal blood, even Lola's royal little bastard. They were so young, she wonders if Henri and Charles remember the last siege by the Italian Count with an old vendetta against their father. It hadn't been that bad, the boys were just locked up in their eldest brothers' chambers with a few toys and sevents bringing them in food and drink. This is different, they're older now, and the two had been forced from their home and into the cold and darkness.

It was only thanks to Sebastian's stills as a navigator did they find precious shelter from the storm outside, as much as a damp hovel as this was, after riding in the snow for hours after hours. It was too cold, the children needed rest and warmth. Food could wait until morn, they had had supper before all had left anyhow.

It had been difficult, riding in a snowstorm, but with children who refused to settle and remain still on horseback? Almost impossible, alas, thankfully, they were here, safe, protected by a couple inches of soggy wood and a mediocre fire.

"Are you cold?" Francis asks his wife, watching as she removes another layer of her skirts to lay the sea of brocade over the baby laying on her chest. He's not sleeping, thankfully just laying against her skin. As soon as they had gotten out of eyeshot of the castle, Kenna had loosened she and Lola's bodices to lay the babies onto their individual mothers' chests, warmed by their skin and clothes. The baby remained there ever since.

His little puffs of air against her breast are warm, and his dark hair is soft. His mother is just thankful he is alive, for surely, he would have been a target as his father had been. She glances at his half brother, and then at his uncles and aunt. When would those bastards have stopped?

"No, I'm okay." Her legs are bloody cold, but it doesn't matter. What matters is the baby. "I just wish I had a blanket to lay over him, my cape isn't enough, it's too cold to survive out here for long." Mary states. From her time in the nunnery, when winters kiss took the lives of girls until their skins were blue, and refused to grow crop, leading to all in the little hovel in itself looking like the skeletons they would bury on the daily. It was a horrid time, such a horrid time.

"So long as we find you water to drink, he should be alright for a few days." Catherine interjects, pushing herself into conversation between husband and wife. "Both of you." she states, throwing a glance at Lola, who folds into herself more in the corner. "But you the most, our Prince cannot go without." she looks at Mary again. "Is he alright?"

"For the moment, I hope he'll sleep soon, poor thing must be exhausted."

"Keep breathing deeply, and don't move quickly, he'll relax when you do."

"How can I relax when people are dying for our name, when our home is being invaded, and we've been scuttled out like gutter rats?" she hisses.

"There's no point in thinking such things, Mary. We'll find out what's happened at dawn, perhaps get Kenna and Sebastian to ride out to the castle to see if that bastard has been slain, or if we need to find our way to Spain and Leeza. But for now, we should sleep."