Chapter Ninety-Two: Life and Death

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12th of December 1535 - Château de Fontainebleau, France

"How are things with His Grace?" Marguerite of Navarre asked, her breakfast set out before her and she looked over the table to where the Duchess of Orleans was seated breaking her own morning fast. 

It had been a long time coming and Marguerite had put off this conversation for as long as she could, she had been distracted by affairs of the court and helping guide the Dauphin while he learned to govern the country. 

The arrangement between France and the duchy of Brittany had been regularized and the union between the two had been made permanent only a couple of years earlier. 

It was a good place for him to start learning governess and preparing him for the day that he would be King; he was fast learner and Marguerite was certain that France would be in good hands upon her brother's eventual passing. 

It allowed Marguerite's attention to shift to his younger brother and his wife, she was greatly concerned that in two years of marriage there was still no sign of a pregnancy for the Duchess of Orleans. 

"Things are very well with His Grace. He is most tender to me," Catherine lied lowering her eyes to slice through the sausage on her plate and trying her best to keep any emotion from her face lest she offend the Queen of Navarre. 

This was the last place that Catherine wished to be that morning, she would rather have spent the morning in the company of her trusted ladies than be sat here discussing her marriage with the Queen of Navarre. 

Marguerite raised an eyebrow at her, she didn't believe that for a second and she knew that her nephew was enamoured with his mistress; there was no unseeing the favour that Henri granted to Diane wherever the two of them were. 

It made her wondered if perhaps dismissing Diane from court was the thing to be done, similar actions had been taken with Anne de Pisseleu d'Heilly, Duchess of Étampes. 

Marguerite had taken deliberate actions to conceal her brother's chief maîtresse-en-titre who had been in King Francis's life since his return from captivity in 1526. 

The last thing that Marguerite wished to deal with was Elisabeth and Anne clashing before Francis was even here, it was important that the new Queen found her feet quickly and without distractions.

Elisabeth was a kind woman, she deserved such happiness but Marguerite knew that she was going to have to hold her head high when Francis returned and summoned his mistress back to court from her husband's estates. 

Marguerite opened her mouth to question Catherine more when the doors to her chambers swung open and one of the Queen's ladies hurries inside. 

"What is it?" Marguerite asked getting to her feet, it had been weeks since Elisabeth had entered her confinement and she prayed for good news. 

The House of Valois needed good news, it was important that no matter what happened that Elisabeth did her duty and further the Valois succession. 

"Her Majesty is in labour," the lady announced rather out of breath, she had come as soon as the midwife had bid her to do so; they were expecting the child to arrive swiftly and it was vital that the Queen of Navarre was there to witness the birth. 

Her announcement caused several attendants to gasp in excitement, it had been many years since the last royal birth for the House of Valois. 

Princess Margaret had been the last child born to King Francis and his first wife, twelve years prior and they had long since lost hope that there would be any more children for the King instead all attention had moved on to his married son. 

Catherine stared at the lady, a scowl forming on her face at yet another reminder that the Queen had succussed in doing what she could not. 

She prayed every day that God would grant her an heir for her husband, she did everything she could to seduce her husband into her bed but he only laughed in her face and spent his every moment with his mistress. 

Marguerite's heart pounded in her chest, she clutched at her skirts as she hurried from her chambers and down the halls towards the rooms where the Queen had been in confinement for this very moment.

Her ladies followed her eagerly, leaving behind the Duchess of Orleans who did not move from her seat instead opted to finish her breakfast rather than go and watch the sceptical that was about to occur. 

The short trip from her chambers to where Elisabeth was taking her confinement seemed longer than Marguerite had ever walked before; she burst into the chambers and hurried to Elisabeth's side. 

Taking her hand, she offered the Queen of France a reassuring smile before focusing on the many members of the household that had gathered to aid in the birth of the child and ensure that it was documented correctly. 

Elisabeth took several deep breaths, the pain that she felt was like nothing that she had never experience before and she wanted nothing more for it to end. 

Her chambers were a hive of activity, ladies hurrying about in an attempt to prepare for the impending birth of her child; prayers were being whispered and Elisabeth winced as another contraction ripped through her. 

A wet cloth was wiped across her face to cool her, her hair pulled back from her face and Elisabeth did not know how people did this multiple times; she cried out in pain as Marguerite offered her words of comfort. 

Princess Madeleine had come to offer whatever comfort that she could, the older daughter of her husband had been a great comfort to Elisabeth in her confinement. 

While her younger sister was still a bit too young to enter the chamber while Elisabeth laboured, she had been just as much of a presence and came daily to talk with Elisabeth about her lessons. 

The Dauphin was another visitor, they spoke on matters of state and while Elisabeth found her eldest stepson to be rather reserved, she was most pleased to see that he came to speak with her and discuss whatever literature he had been reading as of late. 

"That is, it Your Majesty push," the midwife instructed from her place between Elisabeth's legs, she continued to instruct and encourage the Queen as she continued to labour. 

The time seeming to slow down as the baby slowly made it's way into the world, a shrill cry coming from the child as he finally made his entrance. 

Holding the newborn infant in her arms, the midwife wiped the gunk off him before she slowly turned him over in her arms; a dark set of locks on the top of his head reminded her greatly of the King's own hair. 

"Your Majesty has been delivered of a very healthy baby boy," the midwife confirmed, cutting the umbilical cord before moving to hand the little prince over to his mother.

The room seemed almost silent at the news, Elisabeth couldn't stop the tears from falling as she held her son for the first time; she had given her husband a son, she had done her duty and she cared not what anyone else would think. 

"A Prince," Marguerite breathed in awe, she could not have asked for better news; she had prayed for this result and she knew that this could only be a sign that God was with them. 

The birth of Giuliano de' Medici had been but the being, they were destined to rise up against the Emperor and win; she was certain of that, she would have to write to her brother in haste to inform him of the joyous news. 

"Aubert, his name shall be Aubert," Elisabeth instructed, she had done a lot of thinking of what she would name her son, not wanting anyone to take that moment away from her. 

She had wanted an entirely french name for her child, there could be no better name for her firstborn and she knew that there could be no doubts to her loyalty to her new country. 

There had been no interest for her to name her child after one of her male relatives, it would not suit whatever future that her dear boy would have; he was a french prince. 

Third in line to the throne of France after his two older brothers since Charles had been struck from the line of succession because of Francis' plans to install him on the throne of Naples once the Kingdom had been taken. 

"Prince Aubert, the Duke of Anjou," Marguerite confirmed with a nod of her head, it had been long discussed with her brother what title he would grant the new prince and Francis knew that such a birth required a grand title that no one could dispute. 

She stood from her position, seated beside the Queen of France and she offered her sister-in-law a kind smile before dismissing herself so that she could inform the courts of the birth of Prince Aubert. 

There would be many waiting for the good news, letters that would need dispatching across the continent to bring the news to those who had been eagerly awaiting the birth of another Valois Prince.

***

12th of December 1535 - Convent of Las Descalzas Reales, Madrid, Spain

"Your Majesty," Francis Borgia called entering the chamber where Isabella of Portugal was conducting her meeting with the Duke of Alba, he had come to her straight away as she had instructed him to do. 

The winter months had only seemed to increase the spread of the contagion that had affected all of Spain, the country was struggling and Isabella had found herself spending days how best to help her country in its time of need. 

Isabella paused in her conversation, her hands trembling slightly at the sight of Francis and she feared why he might have come to her in this hour. 

She had instructed him to only disturb her if there was news about her husband, his care was of the almost importance to her and she visited Charles whenever she had the chance to do so. 

"The Emperor asks for you," Francis informed her, a little out of breath having run to her chambers with a small smile forming on his face as he stared at Isabella, he knew how much such news would mean to her. 

The last few weeks had been difficult, the royal physicians had tried everything in their power to aid Charles in his recovery but nothing seemed to work. 

Slowly those who remain at the palace had been forced to watch as their king wasted away, feeding him broth when they could but it did little to help as Charles remained feverish and the illness seemed to strip away his health. 

Isabella let out a breath, her hands shaking as she offered only a look towards the Duke of Alba before she turned on her heel and rushed to her husband's side. 

Her heart pounding in her chest as she made her way to him, her hopes souring at the news that Charles had finally awoken; she had longed for this moment and prayed at his bedside whenever she had the chance. 

The halls leading to Charles' chambers had never felt so long, Isabella swore that their rooms had never been so far apart before and when she at least entered the room she felt like she had run for days. 

There sitting up in bed supported by pillows with a weakened smile on his face was her beloved husband, he held out his hand to her signalling for her to approach him.

Ignoring the worried looks on the physicians faces, Isabella crossed the room without a moment of hesitation and took Charles' hand in her own; it was cold to the touch but she did not care as he weakly squeezed her hand. 

Pressing a kiss to his hand, Isabella closed her eyes as she savoured the feeling of him holding her hand in return. 

"Isabel," Charles whispered, his voice barely loud enough for her to hear as he took in her beauty; he had been truly blessed when he had married her. 

He only wished that he had not wasted so many years making it down the aisle, he should have married her when he had first gotten the chance; he should have never ditched their engagement all those years ago when he had sought out an alliance with the English. 

"My love," Isabella replied looking up at him in awe, she had prayed for this day and this moment; it had been her greatest fear that he would never wake again. 

She did not wish to be left alone in this retched world, she needed him by her side; she needed him to be well again so that they together could make things right. 

"I am so afraid," Charles whispered to her, his hand trembling slightly whether from weakness because of this sickness or for his fear of what was to come he did not know. 

His head rolled slightly to rest upon his shoulder so that he could continue to look at her, his chest making such a strange noise when he breathed that he knew that his time in this world was coming to an end. 

Isabella stared up at Charles, the fear in his eyes allowing the reality of what was to come to dawn on her; she could barely blink back the tears as she moved to sit beside him on the bed. 

A quick kiss to his lips as she brushed away the hair that was stuck to his forehead because of the sweat, her hand trembling as she did so. 

Charles watched her every move, everything he did seemed to pull the energy from him; it was tiring to even breath, yet he knew if he went to sleep then he would not get his chance to say goodbye. 

There was sound from the doorway to his bedchamber that pulled his attention from his wife to the three small figures standing there.

"Come closer, my children. Let your embrace be, my last joy in this world," Charles asked of them, he longed to see them clearly and he wished that he could have seen them grow up. 

Was this to be his punishment for his actions, his wars, his bloodshed in the name of bringing peace to the world. Isabella moved back away from him, her eyes moving over her children as they slowly approached the bed of their dying father. 

A hand slowly moving to wipe away the tears that had escaped, she swore to herself in that moment that she would not cry in front of Charles; she did not wish that to be his last memory of her in this world. 

First to approach the bed was Maria, she ducked down so that her father might weakly take her in his arms and press a kiss to the crown of her head. 

Then there was Joanna, she was carried over in her nurserymaid's arms and slowly lowered onto the bed so that Charles might also hold her and press a kiss to her head. 

The little girl cried when she was removed from her father, his eyes closing at the sounds and he prayed that there would be someone to tell his younger children of him. 

Finally, Philip approached the bed, his eyes cast down to the floor as he approached before he dared look to his father; taken aback by the ashen look of the man that had once been filled with so much life. 

"I place all my hope in you, my son. Be strong and look after your mother." Charles told him quietly, his eyes taking in every inch of Philip's face knowing that he would have a hard time ahead of him. 

This was not how he had ever planned for his son to take the throne, there was much left for him to teach him. 

Philip nodded his head before he was ushered away by his governess, the three children escorted back to the presence chamber while the priest came forward to offer Charles his last rights. 

Isabella was silent, her back to her husband as she tried to prepare herself for what was to come; she rested a hand on her bump knowing she could not act hysterically least she harmed the final piece of Charles that she had. 

"Leave us," Isabella ordered once the priest was finished, she turned back to the room and swiftly approached the bed not caring who saw her. 

Climbing onto the bed, Isabella was careful not to cause Charles any discomfort as she closed the distance between them and seated herself by his side facing him.

"It's impossible to escape this fate," Charles whispered brokenly, he struggled to form the words and he was glad that his final businesses of state had been taken care of.

 He had spoken with his most loyal ministers, he had instructed them of what was to come next and he had announced that Isabella was to be regent for their son in his minority. 

"I prayed to God so many times, I need more time," Charles told her, his voice cracking as he realised, he would not get to met the child in her belly. 

He longed for more time with her, more time with their children; there was so much he had still to do and he if he could then he would go back and do it all again. 

He struggled to raise his hand so that he could cup her beautiful face, his eyes closing for a moment as she held his hand against her cheek with her own. 

"I have to tell you something... if you remarry," Charles mumbled not wishing to think of such a thing, he was not foolish enough to ever think that she would not take another husband. 

He hoped that whatever man was lucky enough to call Isabella his wife would realise how truly blessed they were, she deserved to be cherished and he only wished he could have done so more. 

"Be quiet, there shall be no other my love... I shall only be yours. Do you think my love will die with you?" Isabella scolded him, she shook her head and gazed into his eyes not wishing to discuss such things with him. 

He was her life, her soulmate, her everything and she could not imagine ever replacing him. 

"I swear before God that I will never remarry and that nothing and nobody will be able to break my word, not even yourself," Isabella vowed knowing that she would never welcome another man into her heart. 

Charles would be taking it with him when he left this world until she was reunited with him in heaven, it would be in his safe keeping. 

Isabella leant forward and kissed Charles, her hands moving to cup his face and brush against his cold and clammy skin; she pulled back slightly to look at him. 

There was no denying that this sickness had ravaged him, it had taken so much away from him and now it would claim his life; it would take him away from her. 

Isabella closed her eyes for a moment to fight back the tears that she swore would not fall. 

"Embrace me. Let me feel. Your warmth," Charles pleaded with her, if these were to be his last moments then he longed to spend them in her arms. 

The wheezing in his chest only seemed to grow worse with each passing breath, he felt tired and just wanted to close his eyes. 

The chamber felt so cold now, he couldn't even feel the heat of the fire that was burning in his room; his covers doing little to beat back the coldness that was creeping in. 

"My life, my love," Isabella whispered moving to rest her head upon his chest, she closed her eyes as she did so; she held onto him not wishing to let go and lose him now. 

This was not how she thought their marriage would end, she had always assumed they would die surrounded by their children and grandchildren; peace was all that Isabella longed, she wanted all this fighting to stop. 

It would be a terrible blow to their lands, they were in a time of war and now they were to lose their King and Emperor; Isabella knew that her first action as regent would be to protect what she could of her son's main inheritance. 

The Alliance could have Italy and the domains there for all she cared, it had brought them nothing but grief and she could focus her attentions of raising her children, restoring a grieving country, and raising her children. 

"I love you so much, so much," Isabella told Charles, she held onto him as she spoke and she tightened her hold on him as she longed for nothing more than this to all be some bad dream. 

The silence of the room seemed to suffocate her, Isabella hated how quiet their court had been since he had taken ill; the place seemed as dead as how she would feel when Charles

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