The Life Of A Queen

Chapter 2

She was left alone in her chambers. Her betrothed is more than content being with his bastard elder half brother all the time, so, she was alone. It didn't bother her much, she was all too used to being alone. But, she didn't realise how lonely the foreign soil made her feel.

So, just like all the other girls in the court, she sits down quietly, not messing her skirt or hair, making sure her crown wasn't crooked, learning about the place which should be called home. It felt morally wrong. She was brave and fearless, taking on the English again and again and again, but now she was forced to worry if her crown and dress were crooked? It seemed rediculous, but she was left with no choice but to sit still and look pretty. Learn things about this new foreign soil and so much more that she was sure was unnessecary and rediculous. How to rule and how to eventually rule the foreign soil. She craved her homeland. The people who didn't want her dead, the music, the mountains, the celebrations and the songs, how loyal and dutiful one neighbor was to another. How unified the three countries were. Anything not to be locked away, alone, in foreign soil.

When she was truly alone and could hear no guards patrolling the hallways, she opened her trunk and retrieved the large rolled up maps and all her toy soldiers on horseback. Four books on each corner held the map down in the middle of her floor and her soldiers went all over her native homeland and her two other countries who were under her command, the rest on the soil of the country that wanted to bathe in her blood and the one she would undoutebly rule one day. Hour after hour, she moved the toy soldiers around in silence, her eyes sparkling at the slight connection she felt with her homeland and her people.

Most days when she trained herself for the country that relied on her, she felt the King and Queen of France's presence behind her. The door was open and they stood together in silence. She didn't turn and bow, and neither did they. They just watched the daughter of the great King James be how she was. Fearless and brave. Neither had lay eyes on the long dead King, but saw his blood and features in his only legitimate heir. It seemed like his spirit inhabited his child and she was doing his work.

And then, they leave.

Everybody does.

She observes the court, picking up on a lot of different things. She sees how the King continuously is adulterous, she sees how the Queen puts up with it and ends lives without a second thought. She sees the two faced courtiers and how stubborn the privy council is, endlessly trying to undermine the king for their own selfish wants. She sees the deliciously innocent and nieve children, and the little queen sees the difference in the elder boys.

The legitimate isn't acknowledged by his father, but doted on by his mother. The bastard is loved by his mother and adored by his father, because the bastard held the blood of the woman the king loved. The legitimate one, along with his sister, held the blood of the Italians, the woman the King needed, but clearly didn't love in the way that the mistress was. There might have been past mutual affection, but that wasn't there now. All the queen was there for was to spring out heirs by the dozen. It made the little queen shudder. Catherine was going to be her future self. Used for nothing but heirs, expected to sit around and look pretty for the courtiers and forced to allow the king to have mistresses by the dozen, their children suffering with the lack of love by their father.

She can sympathyse with the legitimate blonde. Her mother didn't acknowledge her, no tearful goodbye on the boat, just a goodbye, and her back turned, before she made her way to the docks. She couldn't remember when the last time her mother had told her she loved her, or kissed her cheek in praise or wrapped her arms around her.

If that had ever happened, that is.

Her father was long dead, murdered by the people whom wanted her head on a spike, to bathe in her gaelic blood and take her countries from those who were fiercley loyal to her. The endless attempts to end her life, by poison and by blade, had became normal to the little girl, almost as if she didn't know anything different. The endless attemots to steal her from her kingdom and steal her virtue from her were the same. Completley normal and unsurprising. As were many other things. The pain. The numbness. The events that had left her utterly broken.

There is a picnic soon after, celebrating her arrival. She can't not appear, it wouldn't be proper, according to a stubborn French governess who lacked the capability to smile or have patience, so, her black gown clings to the bright green grass as she's lead by the hand of a governess, leading her to the children and the King and Queen. The children talk, laugh and play. She silently retrieves a bow that had been left on the floor. Four arrows on top of it. She touches the string. It's farmiliar. She'd killed eight men with a bow and arrow. Eleven with a blade. All tried to kill her. She had to adapt to keep her reign and her blood. This was the only way for her to be slightly safe. She remembered all the times with the Lord of Bothwell as they shot their bows and swung their blades. She remembered all those failed coups and all those men dead at her feet. It sounded a nightmare, but the girl knew no different.

Death didn't scare her. Neither did being alone. If anything, it was expected. She'd learned to shoot her bows and swing her blades which kept her body safe, and she'd learned to never get close to any person, for nobody is a constant and all will leave eventually. This protected her heart. If she didn't let anybody in, nobody could leave. She wouldn't be sad over the absence, so she wouldn't be weak and give the English or any who wanted her head the oppertunity to strike.

"Do you know how to use it?" a voice asked. She jumped and looked up, seeing the King standing tall over her, the bastard brother standing in front of him, a hand on his childs' shoulder.

"Yes, majesty," she bowed submissivley, like a good regnant and future consort. Her voice was quiet, void of emotion. Broken. That seemed to impress her fellow regnant.

"Show us," he said, moving himself and his child back a few steps. The bastard brother looked intently at her, green eyes sparkling as she bent to pick up the first bow.

"Now Henry, the little Queen surely wouldn't know how to use a bow. It's not proper. Little girls don't use weapons." the Queen said. The little queen bowed submissivley, feeling the legitimate blonde's eyes on her as she raised the bow and attached the arrow, pointing at the target.

"It seems this one does, Catherine," Henry said, watching as the child took aim, before releasing and watching as it hit square centre.

"Very good," the king seemed astomished. She felt something tug at her lips. A smile? When was the last time she'd done that? Was this praise?

"Try again, little dear." she nodded once, picking up another arrow and aiming for a few seconds, before letting go. She watched, biting back a smile as it was sent in the exact same place, splitting the first in half.

"Very good," he bent slightly to her level. The girl was tall. "You have a very good shot, majesty. Where did you learn that?" he asked, smiling.

Her heart raced. Should she lie and say begginers luck? No, lying to the king would cost her her head. Should she tell the truth and risk embarrasement?

"The Lord of Bothwell taught me, Majesty." she bowed her head a little. "He thought it would come in handy should I find myself alone and in danger."

"Did the Lord of Bothwell teach you anything else?"

"How to use a sword, Majesty. For the same reason." she said quietly.

"Well, you must show us what the lord has taught you, little Queen." he held out a hand for her to take. "Come," she gently placed her hand in his and allowed herself to be lead away, still feeling the young dauphin's eyes on her.