Katherine Tudor was supposed to be stillborn. A dead daughter of Elizabeth of York whom would die days before her mother.
That is no longer the case. Instead she became Queen of France at 13. The wife of Le Garcon Roi; the boy king. The Queen Mother...
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Katherine and Eugene wore matching colors, Eugene’s were darker but still a bright green. The cohesiveness of their ensemble was intentional in a way that Katherine found manipulative rather than romantic and thoughtful.
The nobles all bowed once they saw them, standing behind their seats and waiting for the royal couple to sit before following. Protocol was followed loosely at Eugene’s court, but dinner was upheld with tradition no matter what. It was more for Claude and Katherine’s comfort than for his own.
They sat down, Katherine of Eugene’s right, his sisters on her left. On Eugene’s left were Paul of Rohan (Eugene’s childhood friend) and Micheal de Bourbon, Prince of Navarre (his frenemy since childhood).
“His majesty! King Eugene I! And her Royal Highness, Katherine d'Angleterre!”
The nobles applauded and were silenced by Eugene raising a hand.
“I have an announcement,” he started as he stood up from the head of the table. He offered his hand to Katherine, and she took it happily. “I present to you, my wife. But come next week : she will be your Queen!”
There was more applause and cheers as nobles turned their heads to face their Queen. Katherine had been living in France for two years now, but she wasn’t quite Queen yet.
But, upon the king’s decree, she would be soon.
Preparations for the coronation came swiftly, most of it was being handled by Claude and Jean-Paul. There wasn’t much for Katherine to do, other than tour around Paris and look charitable, something that came easy to her.
Anthias, Anne, and Mary accompanied her on this tour. Francoise opted to stay at court with her family, apparently her father was scheming again to marry her off now. Her older sisters were already married off, making her the last bachelorette her father had to marry off.
“I wish I could,” Francoise said as she looked longingly out the window, “but I cannot. My father would kill me.”
Katherine sighed at the memory of the conversation, she wished Francoise was here but she understood one's duty to family. She enjoyed the tour anyhow, smiling at the crowds as her ladies tossed gold coins, chocolates, and flower petals.
The last place they stopped was at a church. The name Katherine forgot in favor of memorizing the detailed painting on the ceiling and the intricate designs on the tile floor.
“It is marvelous,” she said to herself as she walked, her heels echoing through the open space,
They didn’t stay long, just long enough to witness a noble’s child be baptized. “It’s an honor,” the father of the babe said as he bowed to her,”thank you for coming, your highness.”
Now they were journeying back to court, to change clothes and travel to the Royal Cathedral where the coronation would be held. Her ladies (excluding Francoise) dressed in white and blue gowns with diamond necklaces and earrings, their hair hidden under french hoods (something they didn’t wear often).
Katherine was dressed in a blue satin dress with gold brocade designs on the fabric. Around her neck was a specially commissioned gold necklace with blue topaz, on her ears were a matching set of earrings. She wore two golden rings, her wedding band and a Tudor ring given to her by her sister Mary. It was gifted to her when she was eleven for Christmas, an apology for not being able to see her in person, Katherine never wore it.
Instead she kept it in her jewelry box, hidden amongst her collection of rings she had. But today, she decided to wear it. For courage, though, it didn’t offer much comfort.
Why was she so nervous? She wasn’t this anxious on her wedding day nor when she lost her maidenhead. She didn't get anxious like this, to where her heart stuttered and her breath felt far too thin. Her head was full of cotton and made up scenarios that ruined her joy.
She sighed to herself, suddenly realizing that she was already walking down the aisle, for a moment she felt a sense of deja vu. Tedious familiarity, she had done this before. Walked these same steps before, in the same shoes with the same rings on her fingers.
At this she calms herself, straightened her back and continued to walk as if nothing was wrong before. She ignores the looks, some adoring, some impassive, a few laced with jealousy.
