D' Arc || The King

Chapter II

When the sun was just making its ascent up into the sky, slowly burning away the cool mist that blanketed the path, people around France were beginning to drag themselves from their beds. But Isabel was already wide away, granted she probably looked like a walking corpse, but she had to be in town by noon and that was about three miles away.

Isabel sighed and looked up at the sky as she walked down the wide dirt path, her shawl wrapped around herself. She hummed a random tune that popped into her head as she kicked a pebble across the dirt while she walked. Around were rolling green fields with trees lining the path, other than that there wasn't much around of interest to look at. She was regretting not bringing the family horse, but her brother needed it more than she did. Isabel didn't mind walking, but riding was a little more interesting than staring at the ground.

There was the sound of galloping horses and she spun around, her eyes catching sight of England's standards. Panic rose in her throat. Girls were already in danger when they ran into a man, but a lone girl didn't stand a chance against battle-hardened men who were probably hyped up on adrenaline and bloodlust. She slipped a hand into her basket, gripping the handle of her dagger, as the column of men slowed and stopped in front of her. Isabel was ready to throw the blade at the person at the head of the army as he pulled his helmet off.

"Your Grace," Isabel yelped in surprise, ignoring the warm nervousness that coiled at the bottom of her stomach. The corners of his lips quirked up and she could help the small smile that tugged at her lips as she looked up at him. "Will you not bow to your king?" Someone demanded and the moment was broken as outrage boiled up inside of Isabel.

"He is English and I am French. He will never be my king," She snapped, narrowing her eyes at the armored man. "The only king I will ever except is the one who has French blood running through his veins, not a conqueror or a usurper."

The man's eyes widened and he looked at Henry. "She is too bold!" Henry chuckled and began to speak, but she cut him off still dressing the armored man. "Et tu devrais te faire pousser des boules."

Now the whole front of the army was staring at her and Isabel lifted her chin, trying to shove down her embarrassment. Her brother had always said she had a sharp tongue and that it would eventually get her in trouble. Instead of taking offense though, a small laugh slipped through Henry's lips. "We'll rest here," he declared, not taking his eyes off of Isabel.

"But Your-" The man stopped when he saw the look that his king gave him. "Alright, but we must move soon." Henry nodded before dismounting and Isabel looked up at him. He was tall and she felt like an ant even when the top of her head reached a little past his nose.

"Walk with me."

Isabel hesitated before giving in as he took her hand. She did not flinch away, but neither did she squeeze his hand. Her hand remained limp and undecided in his own. It was up to Henry on what would happen next.

A part of Isabel's mind registered the warmth of Henry's hand through the leather of his glove as a few men trailed after them. He took it off and took her hand again before placing it on his arm. Isabel flushed at her lack of manners, but also at the feel of skin against skin. The graze of his fingers against her own and the brush of calluses that Isabel was all too familiar with. It felt like trails of fire burned away at her body, racing up her arm and to her heart.

"What's your name?" He asked and she arched an eyebrow. Well, how would they start a conversation? One of them was royalty and the other a peasant. "Isabel. Isabel d' Arc. You don't need to introduce yourself, everyone knows who you are, even the lowest of the low know about Henry the Fifth." He smiled wryly before saying, "My reputation precedes me." Isabel held back a frown and tilted her head questioningly. "Don't you want to be remembered by history?"

"I am a king. Every eye in England has been watching me since I was a child."

At his words, Isabel felt a shiver creep up her back. "I would never want myself or my children to go through the stress of wearing the crown." He looked down at her. "You want children? At this time?" She laughed and glanced up at him. "Not at the moment, but maybe..." she trailed off and could help the smile that crossed her face. "One of my cousins has the sweetest children in the world. I want a family like that."

"Do you have any family?" Her smile fell and Henry wished he could take back his words. "My brother, Jacques. I don't know who my mother was. My father is dead because of you all," Isabel's voice turned sour and she looked down at her hands. "He was part of the Harfleur garrison."

They stopped walking and Henry turned to look at her. "I'm sorry for your loss," he said truthfully and she just shook her head and straightened. "He did his duty to his country. You of all people should understand that, Your Grace."

"I do," he said stiffly. "And now families will be ripped apart, our lands burned, our people rapped and murdered and I will disappear," Isabel murmured, trying to keep the sadness out of her voice.

"Perhaps, but who says that has to happen? When might we see each other again?" Henry asked and Isabel stared up at him as he grabbed her hand. She looked down at her hand in his armored one. It looked so small, but it felt right. "France is a large place, Your Grace." She said, gently pulling her hand away from his grasp. "But if God is on either of our sides we might meet again. Try to find Orleans, you might find me there."

"Orleans," he mused and she brushed her hair away from her face. "As you can tell, I have a long walk back to my home so I must go." She turned on her heel, preparing to walk away, but Henry called out, "My army is traveling, may I escort you to the nearest town. It is a long way and a dangerous road."

Isabel turned and looked at him tilting her head to the side. "I have no horse to ride on."

"You can ride with me."

She stared at him as a man who had been following them six paces back protested. "Your Grace, that is too dangerous! She-" "Is no threat." Henry said calmly, cutting him off and Isabel smirked. "What can a little girl like me do? Stab your king's eyes out with air?" Henry chuckled and offered her his hand and she hesitated. Her brother would not like it if he found out that she was even looking at the King of England, her country's greatest enemy at the moment. But he wasn't here and what could go wrong?

"Alright, fine." She placed her hand in his and he led her to his warhorse. He grabbed her waist and she sucked in a breath in surprise as he lifted her onto the animal before climbing up himself. He reached forward and grabbed the reins, his chest pressing against her back. "Enfer sanglant," She muttered under her breath.

"What?"

"Nothing." She said quickly as he backed up, trapping her between himself, the horse, and his arms as he gripped the reins. He made a clicking noise with his tongue and the horse began to trot forward.

Isabel rocked easily with the movement of the horse as it clopped down the path. "So you're from the country?" Henry inquired and she nodded.

"My family owns almost 50 acres of land, hopefully, more in the future if we can expand our home. I never imagined the King of England would let me ride with him," she said, changing the subject away from her family. "I might not know your mother, but I bet that's where you get your beauty, almost an English rose." She let out a snort as she crossed her arms. "Is that supposed to flatter me?"

"Maybe." He said and she laughed. "You English men have never had silver tongues." "Have the French always had sharp ones?" He questioned

"Only when pigs don't grow wings and fly."

Authors Note:

Here are the loose translations of my crapy French.

"Et tu devrais te faire pousser des boules." - "And you should grow balls."

"Enfer sanglant." - "Bloody hell."