Tu Es Ma Lumière

190 - Hatred

Side Note - Mary didn't miscarry, just a scare after the fight with Lola.

/

"Mary, Francis? Kenna says that you're talking about Jean's-" the former Lady Menteur pauses, holding the red velvet curtain behind her as she sets eyes on several of the most powerful people in France sitting around a moderately large table. They look at her, words falling silent as the King of France's rumoured mistress stares at all of them. The King of France, the Queen, The Queen Mother, the Baron of Beauvais and a few other nobles that she didn't recognise. "What is this?" she asks. "Kenna tells me that you're talking about Jean's placement, as his mother, shouldn't I be included in these talks? I'm his mother." Lola repeats.

She sees Mary sag in her chair after the Queen sets eyes on her. She's dressed in black, her face is paler than usual. She looks sickly, exhausted, appearing to want for nothing more than her bed at this moment. Her eyes close for a moment, head slowly tilting towards her former Lady in waiting. "Lola, this doesn't concern you." she says slowly. The former wife of Lord Julien blinks slowly as she sees Catherine place a hand onto  Mary's own. The Queens share a look, one that she doesn't understand for the life of her. She aches to understand what they say with their eyes.

"It has everything to do with me. You talk of my child, my child. I am his mother, this concerns me." she says, her eyes flicking from Mary, to her mother in law, to her husband. "What has been said?" the former Lady of Fleming asks, folding her arms around her, letting the curtain fall closed behind her.

"Listen to what your Queen says, silly girl." Catherine tuts. "This doesn't concern you, your part has been played. We speak of the King's son. Now, leave us. We're not yet finished with matters such as this." the former Queen of France says, setting her eyes on the mother of Francis' first child. She glances at Mary, watching as the Queen of France places a  hand gently onto her abdomen. She looks to be in discomfort. Francis notices it, too, and his face changes as the blue eyes he wears -the ones that the court ladies swoon over to this day- catch the picture of the two women who will bare his children.

"Lola, leave. Now. This is none of your concern. Don't women like you belong in the bedchamber or the passageways? Leave us, now." Francis states strongly, his jaw clenching at the memory of his mother ripping the sword from his hand, the very same former Lady trembling just a few feet away from him. Thank the Lord that the child lived, curse the Lord that the harlot also breathed the same air.

"This is entirely my concern-" she cuts in.

"Damn you, girl!" the King suddenly bellows, pushing the pieces of parchment and quills from the table in his sudden anger. Lola jumps backwards in surprise, but the others in the room barely react. "Damn you to hell for the things you've done! It is time that that tounge of yours realises its proper place, it's time that the mind that you hold which informs you of the most stupid actions realises the body that you hold and the blood that runs through your veins! It is at my mercy that you live in my castle, that you eat my food and drink my wine! In return, you obey my every word! I am the King! You will obey me! If I tell you to leave, you turn around and you leave! You live on borrowed time for the things you say and the actions you do!" he bellows. "It is at your Queen and I's mercy that your lungs draw breath. Believe me, others have lost their heads for far less treason. Leave us now."

This time, Lola doesn't disobey.