* ᴡᴏᴍᴀɴ / ᴡᴀʀ

Camille Du Belay Duchess of Anjou Mistress to the King Of France. ▲ ▲ ▲ "She was beautiful - stunning - the way a storm is when you wake up and see lightning streak across the sky.. and probably just as dangerous. ( Penned by Jay )

[camilledubelay]

@valoisrosalie​

     Manicured fingers lightly trailed across the colorful fabric that had been laid out before her by the seamstress. There was always a certain light that twinkled in her dark eyes at the very sight of soft fabrics. Camille loved the feeling of rich, French silk as it slipped across equally as soft fingertips like cool beads of water. There was so much potential for such extravagant material, and she quickly found herself imagining the many gowns and parasols she would have created with it. This particular silk came from her most recent shipment from France and it was likely to be her last until her country could once more stand on two feet. Much to her chagrin. Camille’s exorbitant spending and her affinity for the finer things in life needed to be tamed quickly. Tightened purse strings always managed to give her hives but it was becoming quite clear to her that she would need to be more mindful of her spending lest she plummet France further into debt. Besides, there were more important causes that required the attention of her francs. There were chateaus to manage, land to oversee, and servants that needed to be paid. There was not a single one of her endeavors that could be ignored or placed beneath a dress on the list of importance. 

     Retracting her hand from what literally felt like heaven on Earth, Camille sighed and flicked her wrist to tell the seamstress to remove the silk. “Store it in my chamber, I currently have no use for it.” For the first time in years it pained her to lie so bluntly. It was simply not right that she had to shirk her desires while other women were allowed to indulge their own. If only that silly little English Queen could make up her mind about supporting France, then Camille could return to spending freely. Summertide was now upon them but it was only a matter of time before Winter crept past English borders once more, forcing Camille to make arrangements for a new winter wardrobe. She hoped that the Valois would not be staying in this dreadful country for yet another Winter, but she knew that Charles would never leave until he received exactly what he came for.

     As the fabric was neatly rolled and packed into a trunk, Camille turned to find an unlikely figure standing at the doorway of the parlor room. Camille had not expected to see Alessandra’s youngest and least threatening child staring back at her but it was a welcomed change. Rosalie was perhaps the most tolerable of Charles’ children to be around, but that still did not mean the Duchess cared all that much for the girl. Rosalie was simply another headache that would be married off soon if the Lord was as kind as she thought him to be. Still, she sighed and smiled at the auburn haired princess and curtsied just low enough to show her false respect. “Your highness. I was just admiring some fabric that I had sent in from home. I was just about to have it sent back to my chambers but might I offer you a portion of it? Such lavish silk would look lovely against your skin and could potentially be used to commission a dress for your upcoming nuptial.”

[camilledubelay]

veronique delacour:

Veronique frowned. She already had dresses and some (modest) jewels. What she wanted was to live openly with Joseph, but for that she would need either an elevated standing at court or some other way of regaining her honor after losing it so joyfully for so long in her chosen profession.

“I– I know that,” she answered, ducking her head. “Forgive me, I spoke out of turn. Gowns and jewels I have. Perhaps with enough money I may buy my freedom. That is all I can hope for. Even so, I do not think I may be joined to my paramour publicly.”

Before Joseph, she had considered marrying one of her old and wealthy patrons, perhaps one day to inherit his money and set herself up on her own small estate. Now her options had dwindled. Marrying Joseph may in fact have been a mistake, a foolish error in both of their judgment.

“I will consider your offer most carefully,” Veronique assured her.

Camille could only smile as she became aware of the courtesan’s displeasure. It was becoming very clear to her that petty things such as jewels and diamonds would never be enough to sway her. Camille had won hearts with less, but now she would need to offer a much higher reward in order to fully cement her plans. There was one thing that the duchess could could offer her that just might be enough to win the woman’s support for good. It was costly and there was not a single doubt in her mind that vicious tongues would lash at her for making such a reckless decision. This was their first meeting and it was a ridiculous offer to make, but Camille would always trek the extra mile to procure whatever she wanted and that was what set her apart from her enemies. “There is something else that I could offer you. I cannot give you a title but I can raise your station.” She began, leaning forward off the back of her seat and locking her eyes on Veronique’s. “I am a rather unconventional woman, madam. My very place at the king’s side proves that more than words ever could. I was not born to power and riches like most noble women but I found my way to them on my own. At one point in my life I had nothing but a wooden basket and now I am one of the wealthiest women in France, my chateaus are palatial, and I share a bed with a king.”

    Proud shoulders dropped as she prepared herself to place her last offer on the table. If this did not appease the woman, then she would look elsewhere for help. There were certainly other brothels in England to pick through and find exactly what she wanted for half the price.“One of my ladies has recently become engaged and has requested to be sent back to France. Her absence leaves an opening in my company and I need as many loyal women in my service as possible. If you agree to my terms then I will send for a trusted instructor from France to travel to England so that you can be fashioned into a respectable lady in waiting. You would have a place in my inner circle and work as my eyes and ears around court. You will be paid and you will have a real place at court. There are hundreds of women who would do most anything to fill this position but I am offering it you. I see true potential in you, madam. You could reject my offer and waste away in a brothel until your beautiful hair turns white and your looks crumble, or you could stay in my company and allow me to launch you onto society so that you can have the man that you desire. I am offering you a chance to be someone greater than you are now.”

[camilledubelay]

                                                                         C H Â T E A U  d e  C A M I L L E

The Duchess’ favorite home is situated in the heart of the Loire Valley and is easily one of the most opulent properties on the strip. What started out as a small estate with a single hall has since doubled in both size and value. Camille personally oversaw the construction of the home and was finally happy with the end result after a little over two years. On site are the quarters for the maids and all those who maintain the household as well as the grounds. At the center of the property is a dining room which adjoins a grand ballroom lined with windows that pour in rich, golden light. Set in place is an underground passageway that is accessible through Camille’s personal chambers which leads to her carriages and stables in case of an emergency. The architectural beauty of the home is rivaled only by the nicely manicured gardens and hidden coves that adorn the grounds. It is here that the Duchess conducts her business deals and hosts lavish parties that have become quite notorious for their debauchery and decadence.

[winonariyder]

[trueloveisdelena]

[renaissancesuggestion]

advice for mistresses, concubines and courtesans

1. don’t open his missive, you know he only writes because he’s consumed too much wine

2. instruct your servants not to allow him entry, you’ll have to remove him from your villa again

3. do not agree to be on congenial terms, you know you’ll end up having congress again

and if you’re copulating, you’re not getting over him

[camilledubelay]

catherine of england:

Catherine did not mind Camille’s company. She knew that the French were going through a difficult time and that they relied on a relationship with England, especially if tensions continued to rise with Spain. Catherine wondered if the French needed England more than England needed France, as well as if it would be in her better interest to marry a man of English heritage to sway those that had a lack of faith in her. Catherine was a strong woman and having anyone doubt her was more infuriating than anything else. The blonde nodded. “Yes, it is quite nice to be closer to those that are a member of my family. From what I hear, Elizabeth is a formidable queen and it is nice to get to see her.” Her aunt was admirable woman and she would listen to her in some instances, but in the end Catherine would do what she believed was best for her country. 

“I agree that he did. My father was an incredibly intelligent man.” She replied with a smile. “I am only doing what I can to lead my country in a way that he can be proud of as he watches from heaven.” It was true. She was doing her best to make her father proud, as well as trying her hardest to prevent her own demise. In the court, even the queen had to tread with care. “I have yet to see a man vie for me, my lady. Even my betrothed doesn’t seem to be present.” She responded in a polite tone though it was simply to see how Camille felt when her country was lacking in their own support of her. “I am quite independent though, so it is not an issue.”

     Catherine’s devotion to England and to making her father proud was rather noble of her. A young girl at the head of a fully realized nation unsettled many sensitive stomachs, and it was likely that every one of her footsteps were made under the watchful eyes of those who truly desire her to be without power. Ruling a country would always be seen as a man’s responsibility and the lords of England will quickly find a way to shackle their queen to a husband. Catherine’s father had been incapable of producing a male heir which was a fact that caused many to snicker at his virility at French court. A man who cannot secure his family line with a male heir was not a man at all in the eyes of the world, but the king was forced to do what he could with what his wife had bore him. While Camille had no doubt that Catherine would do well in her position no matter her gender, it still did not suit French interests to see her rule alone. No, Catherine’s hand needed to remain promised to France to solidify a lasting alliance. A marriage between their two nations could promise that England’s wealth and status could aid France in her reconstruction, and that was a goal that Camille would never lose sight of.

     “I am sure that he is smiling down at you. I had not been given the pleasure to meet him before the Lord delivered him home, but tales of his courage and wisdom were always circulating through French court.” There went yet another lie falling from her lips just as easily as a puff of air. It was no secret that the French were never really fond of the cold English, but Camille felt rather nice for having reached her daily compliment quota. “I suppose that is largely due to your station. It intimidates them, your majesty. Believe me, men from the lowest to the highest of titles are thinking of ways to win your heart.” Catherine was right to point out that her betrothed had been spending more time away from her than he did at her side. Camille was a very small piece trying to self operate a large machine, but she could not do it alone. If Louis did not tend to their engagement in the way that a farmer does his crops, then her efforts would be virtually useless. Camille could not push Catherine into the arms of a man who was never present to recieve her. She quickly made a mental note to speak with Charles about the state of Catherine and Louis’ union. “That is a fair point. Prince Louis has been absent for some time now though for important reasons I am sure.”

     Catherine’s independence mattered very little to Camille since she was set on seeing her sided with the French. Although, if Camille were in Catherine’s position, she was unsure of how she would feel if her power was to be auctioned off to some foreign oaf. Women owned so little in this world that it was best to hold on to any ounce of power that came their way. “Independence is important. Too many people are dependent on something or someone.” Camille happened to be one of those people who were far too dependent on another. Much of her income came from the fertile lands that her chateaus sat upon, but her purse was filled by the hand of her lover. Without Charles she could surely slip back into poverty, but she would never allow that to happen.

[acxnitum]

so tell me, how does heaven taste?

[camilledubelay]

lisette malcolm:

Lisette felt her eyes narrow, that Scottish temper slipping away from her yet again. This time  however it was not fire spewing from the Countess’ blossom lips, but ice. “My dear don’t be ridiculous, you have more in common with my treacherous half-brother than I do. Leeching a country until it’s monarchy is crippled, forcing it’s true leaders to flee to a court that they would otherwise be unwelcome to.”, she said cooly, “You are the beast clawing away at France, strìopach, and no matter how many lavish gowns the King gives you, we can all still see the dirt under your nails.” 

She sighed then, answering simply, “I see.” Lisette turned from her then, having already received the clarity she’d asked for. Camille had very little in common with herself and very much in common with her mother, who the Countess knew never bore any real feelings towards Tristan’s father or her own. Like the woman in front of her, she always cared only for the power they gave her. 

“I gain nothing in your answer..”, she said plainly, finishing her thought in her head alone. 

..but I shall lose everything should someone ask me the same.

     There it is. That laugh was impossible to swallow, and it would have been a miracle had she managed to stifle it. Like a geyser It brutally erupted past red tinted lips and yet it still somehow managed to sound sweet and docile. She would always be the licentious whore who used her vampiric wiles to bleed a nation dry. No one ever dared to turn their gaze to the man who had granted her every wish no matter how extravagant. It was Charles who had become infatuated with her. It was Charles who doted on her so openly and scrubbed away the grime on her name to make room for a title. Only a fool would spit on a golden hand, but because she had not done so she would never hear the end of it. The Scottish King’s slave could bray her insults at Camille like a donkey however long she desired, but it would be an exercise in futility. The words of a slave was worth less than nothing. “I am sure that most would agree that it is better to be a well fed and fully clothed whore than a hostage with a blade hanging not too far above her head.” She started, closing in on the Countess with an unwavering gaze. The Countess could sling her ice, but Camille always dealt in flames. “You speak as if though I am ashamed of my upbringing. I do not hide from the truth in the way that you do, little lamb. I appreciate the dirt, but I know something that most have yet to learn. I know how to turn dirt into diamonds.”

    Pausing briefly, she decided that there was no better time to ask the questions that had been burning on her tongue for some months now. It was always such fun toying with the minds of the weak. “Tell me, what will be the next move for the Stewarts once they have overstayed their welcome at English court? Where will you turn when Catherine and her advisers grow tired of feeding and housing the vomit that Scotland has coughed up past its borders? What can a deposed, would-be king do without a pillow in which to rest his head upon? I suppose he could haul off to some other European court where the Lords and Ladies will snicker at him and he can continue to be the ornamental king that he is.” She teased, tilting her head off the side before re-establishing a connection through their eyes. “Most importantly, what will become of you once your life no longer means anything to your master? Catherine could turn myself and the Valois away at any moment, but we will at least have a country to return to.” Camille could quite clearly see that she was looking at a dead woman with no cards left to play while carried two full decks in each hand and a golden ace hidden up a silk sleeve. “You are on borrowed time, little lamb. If by some chance the Stewarts manage to emerge triumphant, I think that it would still be a joy to visit Edinburgh on the day of Princess Rosalie’s wedding and see your severed head resting on a spike.”

     The Countess claimed that her question stemmed only from curiosity, but Camille knew better than to believe that everyone did not have a motive. Do you love him? She replayed the question in her head and she silently recalled a rumor that graced keen eardrums some weeks ago. Camille was not quick to believe the whispers at first, but she certainly felt more confident about their accuracy after hearing the Countess’ question. Why would she care to know about the inner workings of a relationship between a king and his mistress? Had there truly been a secret dalliance between the deposed King of Scots and his prisoner? If so, then Camille was currently staring at both a slave and a hypocrite. “Let us not hide behind the truth, little lamb. Of course you gain something. There is someone that you love, non?”

[camilledubelay]

isabella of spain:

Isabella enjoyed walks to clear her head. It was always good to think about a strategy and then rethink about it to make sure that you were going about it the correct way. Of course, securing her betrothal to Tristan was a difficult terrain to navigate politically, socially, and privately. Sure, she could find options should it fall through. However, failing would mean that she would disappoint herself, her country, and worst of all… Her mother. Isabella had never disappointed her mother in her entire life and the young princess did not wish to begin doing so. Though she would not say it to anyone aside from her close friends and her mother, she did not feel threatened by her competition. She saw the redheaded princess as naive and ill-prepared to handle a king or a throne. 

She was not walking for long before the French king’s mistress was in front of her introducing herself. Her father and mother both had lovers outside of their relationship, but none were important to her. To her, a mistress was simply a good time for a royal that could not afford the luxury of love in their marriage. Good for the woman in front of her seeing a position that she could squeeze her way into in order to be given riches and affection. Maybe the woman was ambition enough to attempt to dethrone the queen and Isabella could not fault her for that. She would actually find some respect for her should taking the throne be successful. 

“My lady.” She bowed her head back. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I am princess Isabella of Spain.” Isabella still introduced herself, even though the woman clearly knew who she was. It was simply polite and Isabella wanted to be seen as polite even to the mistress of a country that had tensions with her own. You never knew who could be turned into an ally. 

     Another smile crept across her lips slowly in the same way that a black widow spins its web where the light is absent. The Spanish Princess was indeed a vision which was clearly a debt owed solely to her mother. Standing before Camille was a perfect representative of Spain’s vast wealth and accomplishments, but the Duchess expected nothing less from a nation whose coffers were filled to the brim with gold and rare gems. The girl would make a lovely little wife for some liege lord who would greatly benefit from her family’s gilded purse strings. If only the French had not despised the Spaniards, then perhaps the little rose’s hand would be promised to Louis and Camille would not have been forced to travel to this isle of freezing cold rain and bland food to woo a fickle queen. Unfortunately, their circumstances were different and she would have to suffer through the months in England with a permanent grin attached to her face.

     “The pleasure is all mine, your highness.” She answered, ebony lashes fluttering softly with each blink. While their stations and wealth were certainly not equal, their mannerisms and sickeningly sweet dialogue were nearly identical. It was all due to the universal guidelines that women were instructed to follow closely when in the company of someone else. Camille had rehearsed those rules and bit her tongue until it bled in order to transform herself into the ideal noble woman. She was now at the forefront of her very own duchy which meant that a duchess should speak and behave much differently than barefoot peasant girl. “I briefly had the chance to meet your lovely mother on her first few days here in England. I had not imagined that you would also make the journey only weeks later.” The arrival of one Spaniard merely raised a few red flags, but the arrival of a second one definitely cemented her suspicions that something was being planned. Camille was unsure of what was bubbling beneath the surface, but she would keep her eyes on them from a distance.

     No matter how she felt about the house of Trastámara, Camille would still treat them with the respect that was owed to them. Enemy or not, they were the rulers of a golden world, and they could potentially come in handy should she ever need them. It was doubtful that they would openly support her in dethroning the current French Queen, but it could not hurt to have friends in very high places. “A select number of my ladies and I are enjoying a reading from a poet who has been invited to court and I would love for you to join us should you have the time to spare.”

[camilledubelay]

lisette malcolm:

At her words, Lisette nearly picked up a nearby book and hurled it at the french mistress. There was something about Camille, that manipulative gaze and ever-present smirk, that reminded the Scottish Countess of her own mother. Perhaps that was what it meant to be a King’s mistress, to drain oneself of compassion in exchange for cunning. Still, as much as the comparison grated at Lisette, her grief was still enough that it held her back from clawing the woman’s eyes out right then and there. 

“Oi.”, she responded, her accent emerging in frustrations, “Don’t you have some wee bassas to pop out before the French King tires of you?” Her stance squared, knowing enough of french to know when she was being compared to a farm animal, and a docile one of that. But then, something interesting happened, she felt a sort of kinship with Camille. Should these rumors be true, a royal mistress may be the highest position Lisette ever occupies. 

The thought made her face pale, thinking it may only be a matter of time before she too fell into the same mold of her mother and Camille. “Do you love him?”, she said plainly, the words appearing on their own as she spoke them aloud. “The King of France, I mean.” 

     She almost laughed again, this time it was nearly bubbling past her lips before she could truly pull it back. Motherhood had always been a secret desire of hers, but it was not something she ever believed would a reality. Should her womb bear any fruit from the king, then they would be legitimate princes and princesses. The world would not snicker at her half royal offspring but would instead marvel at the true born children of Charles and Camille of France. She would never dare litter her body with bastards in a pathetic attempt to maintain her grip on Charles. There were other ways to show her usefulness to him besides bearing children. “Such a vicious bite you have, little lamb. Unfortunately there will be no children in my near future as Scotland has shown me what can become of a power hungry bastard. I would much rather my children be born into power and not have to claw away it like beasts of prey.” She would have already done so long enough for them.

     Her second question took her completely by surprise.Had Camille given the Countess any indication that the two of them were friends who spoke openly about their lives? Some women chattered about the romance in their lives, but Camille was never that friendly. Scaling her brown further up her forehead, she swiftly rolled her eyes and sighed. Clearly there was something bothering the girl, but Camille was certain that this was a conversation best had with someone closer to the Countess. Love was such a trivial thing that she preferred not to dabble in. Charles had her affection, her patience, and her support. She needn’t love him in order to provide him with those things. “Whether or not I love him has nothing to do with our relationship, and it is also none of your business.” If the Countess was a smart woman, she would be able to read between the lines to get her answer. Whatever it was that Camille felt for Charles, it certainly was not love. Surprisingly enough, she didn’t love him, but she hoped that he loved her enough to damn everyone else for her. “What is it that you gain by asking me this?”

[camilledubelay]

 @spanish-rose-with-thorns

     “Read it again, mon doux. Tell us once more of the two lovers who risked it all for a fleeting moment together.” She demanded sweetly, dark eyes resting comfortably on the young poet. A true lover of the arts and literature, she found herself spending the entire afternoon gathered with her four ladies in the garden listening to the young lad read his works from a leather-bound booklet. Camille loved the harp, the pianoforte, and all of the many portraits fashioned in her liking, but there was a special place in her life for poetry. There was nothing more pleasant than an afternoon in the sun while enjoying a wooden basket of wine and fruit and listening to the works of an artist with a heart too full for his own good. Perhaps it was true that women were drawn to poets, but Camille never allowed herself to become infatuated with them. They were vessels that told stories that were rarely true about people who were likely made up. The idea of hopeless romantics being pulled together by fate seemed like such a childish notion.

     Just as she and her ladies were settling in to hear the story for a second time, Camille caught sight of the Spanish princess just a few paces ahead. The Duchess had briefly become acquainted with the girl’s mother some weeks ago, but had yet to meet the Princess in person. Spain’s presence at court worried her for a number of reasons, one of them being the fact that she was entirely unsure of their intentions or how their attendance at court would impact French affairs. Suddenly, the idea of listening to the crooning of the young man seemed less interesting and meeting the Spanish Princess became more appealing. Rising from her spot on the crimson blanket, Camille smoothed out the wrinkles in her beaded skirt and began her strides over to the girl. She hadn’t thought to announce her departure from her inner circle though once they saw where her eyes wandered to then her intentions became clear to them.

     As she finally reached the point where Isabella stood, she immediately locked eyes with her and bowed her head in respect. Spain had to be handled with care considering the fact that their nation and France were currently at odds with one another. “Your highness.” She called out gently to the Princess before plastering her saccharine smile on her lips. “I hope I have not disturbed you, but it seems that the two of us have not been formally introduced. I am Camille du Belay, Duchesse d’Anjou.”

[camilledubelay]

lisette malcolm:

“Of course I’ve heard such rumblings..”, Lisette answered, snipping at the person who so carelessly asked about the rumors surrounding Tristan’s betrothal to Rosalie.

 She’d always dreamed to hear such things, that the french alliance was crumbling and the man she loved may not have to marry the copper-haired siren he was promised to so long ago. But these rumors had her avoiding Tristan as well as the rest of court. Dropping one princess for another? That betrothal, should it come to fruition, would be a different burden entirely to the political prisoner of the Scots. That would no longer be a marriage of obligation, one orchestrated long before Tristan had the power to refuse, but this… well, this would be a choice made by the King of Scotland. One Lisette still was unsure she could forgive. 

“I’ve heard nothing from the King about it, so I have nothing to report.”, the girl replied, trying to keep the pain from her eyes. “If you’re so very curious, perhaps you should ask his Majesty yourself.” 

     Camille always kept her feet dipped in the pond of courtly gossip. She had become something of a master at spinning stories to fit her own narrative no matter how outrageous they were. Any good woman with a decent head on her shoulders knew the benefits of being the whisper that guided forked tongues in the right direction. Camille and her ladies were never without a story falling from their lips, but this was one she somehow had not heard. Lady Marguerite was befriended and made one of Camille’s ladies specifically for her affinity for gossip, and yet she had not reported this to her mistress. To find that even the Scottish slave had become privy to such tales before herself was almost insulting. Although, it did intrigue her to see just how annoyed the little countess was with the questioning, and it led Camille to believe that it must have had something to do with the the little lamb being raised for slaughter. So she dropped her shoulders and released a silvery chuckle at hearing the woman’s frustration.

     “No, I wouldn’t imagine you would hear anything from him, petit agneau. I can see no reason for him to tell his prisoner anything other than to count the days until she meets the execution block.” She teased, making her way closer to the Countess with a permanent smirk laced across her lips. There was no pride in kicking a wounded lamb but she did so anyway for her own enjoyment. If she wanted the little Scot to pass along the information then she needed to be much nicer to her than she really wanted to. “I am only teasing, as I have not spoken with you since the coronation. I am still waiting on those cardinals to plot my downfall and I see your felled King has yet to put you to the sword so it seems that we are both treading upon the greener side of the grass these days.”

[dirigma]

In me burns the most Catholic of longings: to devour the divine.

a haiku for the holy eucharist (or: a haiku for a childhood on my knees)

[mademoiselleboullan]

[camilledubelay]

tomas duval:

Tomas studied her with some amusement. She had never looked so undone, and he liked it. Reason enough to keep her along, to revel in her misery. Pushing aside his pain, he leaned down and stripped a jacket off one of the bandits, shrugging it on over his own. It made him look like a bandit, something that fit him like a glove. The criminal still existed within him, and he’d never denied that to himself. He saw no shame in what he was, not unless he thought of Hettie. But with a different dark haired, pale woman in front of him, he locked those thoughts down where he locked the rest of his past. “Did I saw you would be walking with me?” He smirked. Her suggestions had merit, but he wouldn’t give her any satisfaction. “What use are you to me right now?” 

He turned to start walking, only a slight limp giving away that he was in any pain from his injury. He figured she’d just come along, since she didn’t have any choice. She was too smart to wait there for her death, unfortunately. He kept to the side of the path, wishing that these were the woods he knew so well. Closer to the Keep, he’d explored the area around them, but here, they were in places he didn’t know. He couldn’t be certain where the bandits had come from, so while navigating the woods came easily thanks to all the hunter had taught him, he would not take that risk. Not unless he found a reason to use the protection of the trees. 

A loose stone under his foot had him cursing in Arabic and French. He didn’t care what she thought of his behaviour, but he didn’t want her to see him as weak, so he simply kept walking. “You make an easy target in that dress.” He called out without looking behind him. Even with her hair falling out of its neat style, it was still clear that she was a wealthy woman, one that could easily be ransomed. Even if she wasn’t, a woman alone always had more to fear. If she’d been any other woman, Tomas would have felt more responsibility for her. She clearly didn’t know how to protect herself, screeching like an idiot when the bandit broke into the carriage. He grinned, remembering the sound. “You weren’t afraid, were you?” He called out again, clearly mocking her. 

     The reality of her use in this precarious situation weighed upon her chest like anvil. There were no lords present for her to talk circles around or even a court for that matter. Her real strengths were all but useless to her so long as she remained lost in this foreign country. Armed only with a blade and sniveling drunk, she wished to call upon every saint she could remember to deliver her from this catastrophe. The dog could not care less of what would become of her should they part ways on this journey, but she still needed him. Women whether they were noble or common born did not fare well alone in the woods or on the road. Camille’s best hope for survival was for her to shut her mouth and endure this trek alongside him and hope that the inn up ahead would have a horse for her to retreat on. “The choice is your own, however, returning to the castle alone would be your biggest mistake. Word will quickly reach Charles that my carriage was attacked and that I did not return with you. He would have your head taken sooner than I intended.” A part of her hoped that the threat was enough to keep him in check, though the other part of her knew that it would likely have the opposite effect.

    Camille followed closely behind him, her eyes directed forward while silent prayers looped into knots in her mind. Her chopines pinched her feet to the point where she began to wince almost every step. Her heels were fashioned specifically for slow strides across grand marble floors, not dirt roads riddled with stones and sharp pebbles. Every step made her long for the fur slippers and cushioned chairs that awaited her in chambers. Upon arriving at the castle she would demand that a scalding hot bath of flowery oils be drawn for her to bathe in and for one of her ladies to give her hair a good combing. Her dress, while beautifully made, was also a cause of her current discomfort. She wanted nothing more than to be rid of her corset and to slip into something far more comfortable. It was becoming apparent just how comfortable her life had become since she rose in station. What was once deemed normal for her seemed so far off and primitive now that she lived in luxury.

    A raised arm wiped away the beads of sweat from her temple as she continued to trudge behind him. Her eyes darted away from the open path ahead and fell on him as a string of curses fell from his lips. Some she understood, and others she did not. His were words were in poor taste, but she expected as much from him. Men like himself and her father would never be more than the dirt that surrounded them. Camille also noticed that he was walking with a slight limp but did not think to ask him if he were in any true pain. Real men knew how to take their pain in stride and never show it. He was a guard, and she figured that he should act like it. As he commented on her appearance she looked down at her bodice and sighed. For the first time in her life she wished that her dress was less extravagant. She symbolized everything that a bandit would gladly take advantage of. “There is nothing that can be done about it now. I can only close my cloak. I would never remove my skirts in your presence. Even if I were to go behind a tree to shed my skirts, you would no doubt abandon me.” His question at the end lit a fire in her eyes. She would admit her fear to anyone, especially not to a dog meant to serve. “That is neither here nor there. They are dead, and I am alive. I always survive.”

[camilledubelay]

anne of france:

“Just because they will be forgiven in the kingdom of heaven, doesn’t mean they should so blatantly go against what the lord teaches.” Anne said, annoyed that her father’s mistress deigned herself entitled to give her a lesson on religion when she was well aware of the lord’s teachings. “Forgive you for that attempt at a slight, Camille? but of course. It is very good that you are aware at least of the difference between a royal education and a farse of confidence that one may feel being the King’s mistress, gives her.” Anne had to do her best to suppress laughter when she gathered from Camille’s response that she thought herself religious and pious, and the princess found herself getting increasingly agitated at being alone with the woman in front of her for as long as their conversation had lasted. 

“My father may be enamoured by you for now, but I have no doubt that blood is thicker than water and soon enough he will tire of you as the people already have. What will you do then?” Anne asked, the prettiness and false kindness disappearing as she stood, holding on to the edge of one of the pews as her other hand rested atop the skirts of her gown. 

     Such anger that radiated from the Princess’ disposition. It was white hot but Camille always danced in the flames solely for her own amusement. She liked the way the red and orange licked at her ankles while supple flesh remained unburned. If only she had been a mirror, then perhaps the Princess could see just how silly she looked trying to tell a phoenix not to burn. Anne, her mother, and the rest of her siblings could choke on the ashes that her wings left behind. She would not stand down, nor would she retreat from Charles’ daughter. She was not built to submit to those too low for her to see. Camille’s fate had been decided long ago, and that was to sit as Charles’ consort and to have everything that she always knew should be hers. Alessandra found no easy foe in Camille, and neither would Anne. “That was no slight, your highness. Only an assumption that I have made. If have offended you then I humbly ask for your forgiveness.” Red stained lips fought the urge to curl into a smile. The way that the Princess spoke to her was as if she had a choice in who her father kept in his life.

     “In another world it would be possible.” She answered, coming from out behind the altar and stepping down the few stairs to approach where the Princess stood behind the pews. “In a perfect world, his Majesty would cast me down and take away all that he has given me. He would send me back to the dust where I came from and finally invite your mother back to his bed; a place where she has not been in quite some time though I am sure she would be grateful for the attention from him.” It was bold of her to speak of the Queen in such a way, but Camille held no respect for Anne’s mother and it was time that she was more vocal about it. Alessandra was merely an obstacle that she hoped to do away with in the very near future. Her patience with the aging queen and her eldest daughter was growing very thin, and she was unsure of just how long she felt like biting her tongue around them. “But we do not live in a perfect world. We live in this world where Charles is our king and I am his mistress. I provide him with something that your mother cannot, and that is not going to change. Your father has a habit of keeping the things and people that he likes close to him, and it seems as though he does not particularly like your mother anymore.”

     Manicured fingers draped themselves over the wooden ledge of the pew as leaned on it. Camille took a brief moment to admire the artwork that adorned the ceiling before focusing back on the Princess. “I believe the real question is what will your mother do when Charles no longer wishes to stomach her at his side? If one thing is for certain, it’s that her time as queen is coming to an end.“