17th of April 1535 - Château de Fontainebleau, France

Crumbling up the letter in her hands, the Duchess of Orleans stared up at the ceiling as she tried to swallow back the tears that threatened to fall. 

Her cousin had been safely delivered of her third child, a healthy baby boy; a son that would inherit his father's lands and titles when he passed from this life. 

In four years of marriage, Clarice had managed to do her duty to her husband while Catherine had nothing to show for her marriage to the Duke. 

Despite the witches promises that she would give her husband children, that three of her sons would be Kings; there was no sign that Henri had any desire to share her bed. 

Anger bitterly swirled within her and Catherine could not contain the rage that she felt at the knowledge that her husband preferred his mistress to her. 

In the two years that she had been married to Henri, Catherine had felt increasingly alone and she knew that people judged her for having no children to add to the royal nursery. 

The one duty that was expected of her and she could not do it if her husband would not come to her bed, she heard the whispers that her marriage would be annulled if she continued to fail. 

Reaching for the vase that was seated beside her, Catherine did not hesitate for a moment before she grabbed a hold of it and chucked it across the room at the wall. 

The sound of it smashing making the ladies that were attending to her jump, they all turned to stare at the Duchess of Orleans as if she had lost her mind. 

Paying them no mind, Catherine walked over to the fire place and tossed the letter into the flames; she knew it was her destiny to sit upon the throne of France beside Henri. 

It would be her blood that secured the French succession, the witch had told her that three of her sons would be Kings and she knew in her heart of hearts that was true. 

France, Navarre, and Naples... they would be the domains that she secured with her children and she was sure of that; she could imagine no other way that three sons of hers could become Kings all at once.

The doors to Catherine's chambers opened and the lady hurried inside before dropping into a low curtsy before the Duchess, her eyes lowering for a second before moving to stand straight and waiting to deliver her message. 

"What is it?" Catherine barked not in the mood to deal with the court, she needed to come up with a way to bring her own husband into her bed; as if that wasn't embarrassing enough. 

This was not what Clement had promised her when he had told her of his plans to marry her into the French royal family, into a position higher than Clarice could ever dream of holding. 

Her husband was a blood prince, he was second in line behind his brother to the throne while Clarice had been married off to a man who should have been nothing more than a grubby courter licking the boots of the King. 

"Your Grace. The Queen of Navarre has sent me to collect you, it seems the carriage carrying the new Queen is arriving," the lady stated warily, her eyes catching on the smashed vase in the corner and the looks from the Duchess's ladies that told her that she had come at a bad time. 

However, when Marguerite of Navarre tasked you with something then you did it; the woman was all put regent in the absence of the King with the Dauphin learning the ropes of ruling from her. 

Catherine clenched her teeth, she had been furious to learn that the King had remarried; surely, he had enough children to secure his line without marrying some minor lady from Hesse. 

She could not even point Hesse out on a map nor did she care to learn with the new Queen was from, all that she knew was that the woman now held the title that would one day be hers. 

Catherine nodded her head before waving her hand to dismiss the lady, who would not doubt scurry back to Marguerite to report her actions; she had noticed that the Valois Queen had been keeping a close eye on her. 

Catherine cared not what Marguerite thought of her, none of it would matter when she brought in the Gold Age for France just like Anne Boleyn had done for England.

***

Climbing from the carriage that had carried her across France, Elisabeth of Hesse was glad to stretch her legs after the long journey although she would not deny she was disappointed to leave Italy especially after such a short time with her husband. 

Things did still remain awkward between her and Francis, she would not deny that he had been rather distracted with the war effort and installing young Charles in Milan. 

Elisabeth could not help but smile at Charles, he was a very charming child and she had enjoyed speaking with him when she had gotten the chance and had promised to write to him often. 

Her ladies smoothed out her dress before Elisabeth made her way towards the gathering on the steps of the palace that had come to welcome her to her new court. 

Trying not to allow her nerves to show, Elisabeth held her head high and allowed her eyes to scan the crowd that seemed to judge her with every step that she took towards the palace. 

"Welcome to the French Court, Your Majesty," Marguerite of Navarre greeted kindly, her dark eyes taking in the woman that her brother had married and now would rule at his side. 

There would be no denying that his choice in bride was an odd one, considering his original plan to marry a French woman this time but alas things were changeable during times of war and they had needed strengthening the alliance. 

The court around her bowed to their new Queen and Marguerite took the moment to assess Elisabeth; from the fine French style dress that Elisabeth was wearing, to the jewellery that complemented her outfit. 

There was no denying that a lot of thought had gone into her first appearance to the French court, she looked the part of a Queen and Marguerite could only hope that she was prepared for her new role as well as she dressed. 

"I am most pleased to be here and to finally met my new sister," Elisabeth replied kindly, her french might not have been perfect but she had spent a lot of time practicing with Prince Charles before she had left Milan. 

She was certain that her accent would stand out amongst the french but there was little that she could do about that, there was only so much that she could do to make herself appear french.

"May I introduce the Dauphin," Marguerite stated signalling for Francis' eldest son to come forward and greet his new stepmother from where he had been standing with his younger siblings watching the Queen arrive. 

Francis was very much like his father, he was a very handsome young man and the pride of France especially after everything that they had suffered at the hands of the Emperor. 

However, there was no denying that he had been affected by his time as a prisoner to the Emperor; he wore black like the Spaniards did now and was more bookish, preferring reading to soldiering. 

Marguerite did worry for her eldest nephew, his sombre, solitary tastes were not of the boy that he had once been and she knew that any bride they found for him would have a hard time with him. 

Although there was no denying that they would have an easier marriage than Henri and Catherine's; Marguerite knew that something would have to be done with Henri preferring his mistress's bed to his martial one. 

"Your Majesty," Francis stated with a bow, his eyes lowering for a moment before he straightened up and looked at his new stepmother. 

Elisabeth was a very lovely woman, Francis was sure that she would make his father much happier than Eleanor of Austria. 

He could only hope that she was prepared for the snake pit that was court, he did not envy her especially considering the fact that she was from a heretic country. 

Although Elisabeth was Catholic raised, she was in a Catholic country and there was certain expectations that she would now have to live up to. 

"You are most handsome, certainly like your father ya," Elisabeth complimented him kindly, she smiled at him and she swore that at her words a slight blush appeared on his cheeks. 

He was rather pale in complexion but she was sure that her eyes detected a slight pinkness to his cheeks and ears that she found rather sweet. 

Looking past her eldest stepson, Elisabeth took in the other children who stared at her curiously; most of them seemed pleased to see her, but her gaze stopped on the one unfriendly face with dark eyes that seemed to stare directly into her soul and all she could feel was hatred from her gaze.