Daughters of the King (Completed)

02 | Future Husband

"Your people die of hunger as the cultivation of the soil is not producing enough food... Instead of taking money from these poor people, one should give alms and feed them." — Archbishop Fenelon in an anonymous letter to Louis XIV

1663, Paris, France

Lorraine

"PLEASE DO NOT make me leave!" I protest like a petulant child as my mother helps me ready myself for my upcoming voyage—rather, my journey to a foreign land I will never return from.

Maman brushes my hair through with her soft fingers, and smooths the creases from the rough bodice of my pale grey gown, so I am at least somewhat presentable. Then she holds my shoulders with her hands as she appraises me, the blue in her gaze brightening with moisture. "We have discussed this many times now, ma fille. We cannot go knocking at the Palais-Royal and tell the king that you have changed your mind."

Her attempt at humour does not comfort me in the slightest.

Twisting my hands together, I offer another futile protest. "I am sure the king would not make me go by force. If they did not miss my presence on the dock, perhaps I could stay here."

The luminous blue eyes of my maman confront me with a sad grimace. I am left swimming in despair as she marches over to the other side of our one-room apartment, fitting a frayed felt bonnet over her silver-blonde hair. She checks her reflection in a cracked pane of the window, pursing her full lips as she does so.

"When did I become so old?" She muses, twisting a grey strand of hair between her fingers and squinting at it with lighthearted despair.

"You are not old, Maman." I laugh, amused by her candid observation despite my anguish. "Le Révérend Père says that silver hair is a sign of wisdom."

"Then before long, I should be the wisest woman in all of Paris." Maman chuckles, bending to sweep up a basket.

From Maman, I am gifted with a vision of who I will become when I am her age. Out of all my siblings, I am said to look the most like her, with my thick blonde hair, curved nose and cornflower-blue eyes. However, she is now stout from years of childbearing, whereas my slight form still shows the immaturity of youth. She was a great beauty in our quarter of the city and sought after by many attractive suitors. Papa boasts often about having won her hand.

Besides our likeness, Maman and I also share a remarkable closeness. I have always enjoyed following her as she does her chores and work, mimicking her movements and steps when I was a child. Even now, as a young woman about to be married, I do not enjoy the prospect of leaving the comfort of her side.

"Please, Maman. Do not make me leave. I beg of you. I will never again quarrel or disobey if you allow me to stay. I will marry any man you want, I will even assist Papa in the carpentry shop if I must!" My voice warbles like a bird then fragments into a desperate sob.

Maman pauses her tidying for a moment to face me—an uncommon occurrence since she rarely ceases her work. Cupping my cheek, she wipes my tears away with her weathered fingers. "You must think of me as an unfeeling mother now, but once you find your happiness in the New World, you will be grateful."

"I already have my happiness here." I murmur. "Why must I go searching for it somewhere else?"

Maman ignores my question. She returns to her task of sweeping the room, though the floor is already spotless.

"Please, do not make this journey more difficult than it must be, my sweet Lorraine Leblanc." She advises after a moment, though tears deluge her cheeks when she whirls around to face me. Sidling her stare to my younger siblings, she claps her calloused palms together. "Now. My dear children. Which one of you will wake your father so that we might bring Lorraine to the king's vessel together?"