THE INDULGED

elisabeth de valois princess of france Written by Bonnie for bloodydayshq

[princessedevalois]

THE INDULGED

Elisabeth de Valois, Princess of France

written by Bonnie for bloodydayshq

DOSSIER | NAVIGATION

[goldsilked]

‘There is no such a thing as ‘too much’ for Queen Catherine.’  The lady grinned foxily in Elisabeth’s direction, confident that she’d seen more of the Queen in her lifetime than Catherine’s own daughter.  Royal children, she found, were more neglected than otherwise; their mother’s queenly breasts too dignified to wean them, their hands too jewel-laden to soothe them as they wept and wailed.  There was always great roar in the nursery when Caterina, a remote figure to her youngest children, descended upon them in a perfumed cloud, lavishing her children with fabulous gifts, a precious moment of her regal time.  Then, all too soon, the Queen would swish her damask skirts and evaporate, leaving only her fragrance – returning to her lady’s sides to scheme and plot – a scaled, kaleidoscopic serpent curled upon the throne.  Madeleine’s eyes twinkled with admiration as she thought of her royal mistress, the woman who’d rescued her from obscurity and a life of devotion under her stepmothers’ thumb.  ‘Nonsense, Princess.  Wear them all – we mustn’t be modest.’

Modesty was akin to ungodliness, after all, in the eyes of Madeleine de Limeuil – a woman who waltzed the tightrope between gaudy and gorgeous.  ‘How much do you wish to know?’  She hummed, fingering one of the ruby-brooches resting in the Queen’s magnificent coffret.  They looked to be pilfered from the Vatican, so intense and regal were they; as though they were relics, rather than mere jewels to adorn one’s décolletage, holy and sacred.  How she wished to wear nothing but jewels, to butter her skin with gems and nothing else! ‘I think there are two sides to Felipe, as with every man.  One is pious and devout and eager to surmount the throne.  The other is forged of pure hedonism, with bastard sons across the continent.’  She feigned a blush, drooping her head in mock-humility.  She averted her eyes from Elisabeth, repressing a simpering smirk.  No – their dispositions far from gelled, but Madeleine knew that Elisabeth might one day find her slipperiness useful. 

‘Forgive me.  My language is too coarse, Princess.  What I mean to say is that there is every chance that the Infante expects a bride as fecund as he.  You do love children, do you not?  It’s a match made in heaven, I think.’

[princessedevalois]

"I suppose that must be true," she agreed, well aware of her mother's inclinations toward finery. Elisabeth had, admittedly, inherited some of it, if the gowns she wore were anything to go by. She reached into the box, plucking out a long string of pearls. "Perhaps if I were to match this with one of the pendants..." She mused, almost more to herself than to Madeleine. "I am not trying to be too modest. I simply wish to have an... elegant touch."

There was no denying that Madeleine was far more worldly a woman than she, experienced in the ways of things that Elisabeth had only ever heard tell of, and so she listened intently to the woman's words, her own blush only deepening. "I have heard tell that he has sons," she said after a moment, almost cautious with her words. "...Such is the way of men, it seems. At least those of royal blood. They have ladies for their pleasure as well as their dynasties." The matter was certainly an open one in the French court, Elisabeth well aware of the power that the lady of Poitiers had held over her own father while he lived. She endeavored not to think of it too deeply, instead focusing her attention on clasping the pearls around her own neck.

"There is nothing to forgive," she entreated, even as she still blushed. "You may speak openly with me. I asked after your thoughts after all. And you are right that I am fond of children. My own dear little siblings among them." She sighed then, brow furrowed. "Has my mother heard anything from home of late? How do they all fare?"

[bridgctparr]

& @princessedevalois

"You are a vision!" There seemed no other appropriate way to greet the Princess of France that evening; after bobbing a hasty curtsy, Bridget reached to take both of Elisabeth's hands in hers, giving them a gentle squeeze. "This shade of blue complements you perfectly, Your Highness. I would not be surprised if you received several proposals of marriage this evening." The princess was dressed rather demurely in comparison with the other ladies; Bridget herself had thought her attire to be rather risque, though even she could not compete with the fashions of Caterina de Medici's ladies. Among them, Elisabeth stood out like the jewel she was, commanding attention and indulgent looks while also upholding her virtuous image as one of the most eligible princesses in Europe. "Have you ever seen so wonderful a display, Elisabeth?" Bridget continued to chirp, her eyes dashing about the room to take everything in.

[princessedevalois]

Elisabeth could hardly help but smile, preening under Birdie's fawning affection. "Do you think so? I am terribly happy with how it came out. The needlework is so elegant." She gestured to her skirt, the fine silk threads that had been so carefully crafted by her mother's team of seamstresses. She could hardly deny that she took pride in her appearance this evening, her hair worn loose in fitting with the festive theme. "And you are simply stunning. I think red suits you well." Squeezing Birdie's hands, she beamed, a bit girlish. "It brings out the blush in your cheeks."

Stepping aside, she looked to her friend with a tender smile before gazing around them. "I know. It is quite remarkable - and such fun. I have scarcely enjoyed myself so much since I arrived here." The weight of anxiety which had hovered over her in the wake of the rumors about the late King's bastard son had turned court into a sour place, but the return of the King and his courtiers had breathed fresh air into the palace. "Will the goddess of persuasion be persuaded to dance with an old friend?"

[princessedevalois]

Elisabeth de Valois as Andromeda

Despite the theme, Elisabeth arrives not as a goddess but as something truer to form: a princess of legend. Inspired by Andromeda's legacy as the namesake of a constellation, Elisabeth wears a gown of deep, dark blue fabric, decorated with stars and constellations of silver thread. Accentuated with silver jewelry, her most notable accessory is the vibrant silver tiara of diamonds and sapphires adorning her dark hair. She, fittingly, finds that the evening's Perseus is none other than Philip of Spain, leading the princess to suspect that the encouragement from her family to pursue Andromeda's theme was intentional.

[princessedevalois]

HOUSE OF VALOIS-ANGOULEME | Family Tree

(feat. @scotsq)

Notable connected families: Guise, Medici, Stuart Family motto: - Family symbols: Three golden fleurs-de-lis on a blue field

[princessedevalois]

@felipaed , hampton court , iberian banquet

Moments spent with the principe had been few and far between in the previous weeks, and most recently he had been gone from court altogether. Elisabeth had only just learned why that was the case, the grand reception revealing the arrival of the Spanish king and queen a welcome surprise as opposed to the rumours of illness and danger which had previously swirled.

Elisabeth bowed her head as she encountered the prince, who seemed to stand at the heart of the celebration, his family reunited. "I am very glad that you are returned to court, your highness," she said warmly, her Spanish still somewhat rusty as she smoothed her skirts of red brocade. "I wondered where you had gone, but I am glad to see you tonight in good spirits." After a moment, Elisabeth flushed, offering a slight smile. "If I may be honest, I found that this court has seemed quite a different place without your presence. I have enjoyed each opportunity we have had to speak."

[unconqucred]

upon  her  counterpart's  reassurance,  sibella  allowed  her  shoulders  to  slump  forward  in  the  princess'  presence.  her  mother  would  condemn  the  action  if  she  heard  of  it.  sibella  didn't  consider  it  unbelievable  that  she'd  spit  on  the  gesture—  that  is,  if  she  did  spit.  such  a  thing  would  be  called  unladylike,  unwomanly,  more  befitting  a  man  or  a  dog  and  a  convoluted  list  of  other  things  the  duchess  of  northumberland  deemed  below  a  noblewoman.  and  yet,  sibella  allowed  herself  to  slacken.  "there  are  not  enough  of  those,"  sibella  muses,  a  rare  smile  appearing  on  her  face.  "friendly  ears.  if  i  may  speak  honestly,  i  do  not  think  i  could  stomach  a  glass  of  wine.  the  inner  parts  of  me  feel  like  a  ravenous  seastorm.  but  if  the  invitation  elsewhere  is  welcome  if  it  still  stands.  i  would  rather  no  one  else  see  me  like  this."

[princessedevalois]

It was evident how some weight seemed to be released from Sibella's shoulders, however slight, and Elisabeth felt some comfort at that, nodding at her words. "Yes, I think that many are bent to their own ends," she mused, gesturing to her ladies so that they all might start moving toward Elisabeth's apartments. "No wine, then. But I hope I can provide you some peace." Looking to Sibella as she walked, she turned to speaking in French, a chance taken to help relieve some stress of being overheard. "Would you like to speak about it, my lady? Or would a distraction suit you better tonight? Whatever you may need - I will ensure it is provided."

[goldsilked]

@princessedevalois

It was a marvel that a woman borne of such menacing creatures, weaned on such irresistible poison, proved rather mild.  Sweet, in the way of fresh crème: frothy and light and frivolous.  Hers was a disposition that, in any event, Madeleine de Limeuil mused would prove conducive to marriage –– birthing a union that would, as Caterina de Medici so desperately craved, bind France to the European mainland, and permit her to install her daughter as the consort of a rich and powerful dynasty.  Drawn, like a moth to the flame, to the dewy warmth of Elisabeth’s lair by her mistress’ closest advisor at the French court – Monsieur de Gonnord – Madeleine graced her knuckles against Elisabeth’s oak door, a trained rap sounding before the Princess’ melodious command to enter pealed out, in the way of birdsong over the lavender lowlands of Avignon.

Mistress de Limeuil was grateful for Elisabeth’s swift command.  The beggarly English King had lifted not a finger to provide comfortable lodgings for Queen Catherine’s ladies, sparing only the slightest expense – their quarters were like traitor's cells, with only slit windows chiseled into the forbidding stone walls, which to brush up against was like to caress a spectre traipsing in the night, allowing light to leak into the gloomy spaces.  But now bathed in the aqueous amber-glow of Elisabeth’s hearth, Madeleine dipped into a bow before the Princess, rising after several beats of silence, whittled with the crackling of the fire, had elapsed –– her movements decidedly feline.

‘From your mother, princesse,’  Madeleine entreated, stretching her arms out to place a gold, jewel-encrusted coffret, containing a wealth of royal gemstones, upon the surface of Elisabeth’s vanity; its glinting reflection, even as she glided away, flashed onto her wrists. As the Princess’ eyes watered over the sumptuous array of jewels, reposing on a bed of dimpled velvet cushions, Madeleine murmured,  ‘I hear that the Spanish infante is quite fond of rubies. Imagine, Elisabeth, if through you France and Spain could wield an invincible alliance… the jewels of all the world would be yours to possess.  I think you would be an even greater queen than Mary of Spain, and certainly a good deal more charming.’ Purring, Madeleine flicked her gaze to Elisabeth, wondering if her boastful buttering had done the trick, as she sampled a pair of emerald earrings against the Princess’ golden skin.

[princessedevalois]

Madeleine de Limeuil had been a constant presence in her mother's retinue for some time now, but nonetheless Elisabeth still had not decided what to make of her. She had never shown anything but kindness, and yet Elisabeth knew her mother well enough to be aware that someone in her company was never likely to be fully innocent. Still, she felt more comfortable in the presence of the French courtiers who had accompanied them than in that of the English who were still foreign to her.

She smiled softly at the elder woman's arrival and nodded warmly, her curious gaze turning open the jewels that she had brought. "Are these of her own collection? She must know I have more than enough to suffice." Despite her modest words, however, Elisabeth picked up a brooch inlaid with pearls, admiring it as it glistened in the fire's light.

"Her Majesty is certainly severe," Elisabeth agreed, her cheeks darkened with a hint of a flush. "I hope you are right. It is quite something to think of, is it not? Myself as a Queen. And the Spanish prince, he is..." She trailed off for a moment, setting the brooch down in the box once again to study her own reflection as Madeleine held up the emeralds. "He is quite charming, that much is certain." She turned slightly to face Madeleine, curiosity showing in her eyes. "What else have you heard of him? I know you must have heard a great deal of what my mother has said."

[kismctt]

the youngest dudley had been sent away yet again after helping the princess get ready in the morning, nothing but a cold shoulder as the other ladies tittered as kismet quickly left the rooms. her head ducked as she hesitated in the hallway, for there was no amy to comfort her nor a robin to distract her currently, both far away in dover. for a moment, kismet felt adrift in a sea of emotions that threatened to overwhelm and drown her beneath them, tears pricked incessantly at the corners of her eyes and she knew that she could not cry within this corridor. swiftly, kismet had headed for the gardens, as if the harsh wintery air may save her from further ridicule for being caught crying like a child. graciously, they were empty and she was able to sit herself on a bench, thick tears rolling down her cheeks as the woman quietly sobbed. 

kismet wiped her nose with the inside seam of her sleeve, making note to remember to wash it deeply later so that it may not stain and remind her of this tiny bit of weakness. the call of her name had her hastening to wipe her flushed, ruined cheeks before she raised her head to catch a glimpse of princess elizabeth, the french woman who'd she seen in passing a few times previously. kismet could not help but feel foolish, with teary eyes, and a trembling lip that she steadied with a tight smile. " please, i may ask for your forgiveness for disturbing your walk with my presence, my lady." her voice remained steady, as kismet rose from her seat, swiping discretely at her eyes once more. " i shall keep you company, it is much too cold to be walking alone, my lady. if you were to slip, no one shall find you before you injured yourself," she teased ever lightly. 

[princessedevalois]

After a moment's observation, the tell-tale signs of recently-shed tears bore themselves out on Kismet's face, softening Elisabeth's own expression. Of course she didn't know the reason, but found herself sympathetic in the face of the lady's puffy, tearful eyes and flushed cheeks.

"Not at all," she assured, her own voice gentle. "I am only a guest here. I simply needed some fresh air to cleanse my mind and spirit, but it is no fault that you were taking advantage of the same." Taking a step closer to the lady, she nodded, her smile tender. "I am never truly alone," she said, head inclined toward her attendants. "But you are quite right. We will walk together, then." Falling into step beside Kismet, she considered what she might say, knowing well that it would be impolite to inquire into the cause of her tears. "You must forgive me if I make some mistake, for even after some time here I am still getting to know the people. You attend the Princess Elizabeth, is that true? I imagine she must be very busy just now."

[scotsq]

𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐒: Closed started for @princessedevalois​​​ 𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: Mary’s chambers at Hampton court. 𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐄: November of 1559

The Queen sits in almost total silence save for the occasional panting from her Scottish Greyhound, Atlas who rests on a purple cushion at her slipper covered feet. The good lady Seton has prepared her mistress for bed early tonight so that she might spend the hours alone and collect her thoughts before meeting with her uncles in the morning to discuss the rapid decline of her dear Francis’ health. Her bath of oils and scented rose water did quite a bit to alleviate the stresses of the day that pertained to the matters of Scotland, but now there is an even GREATER issue settling within her mind; one that she would much rather ignore. 

The last thing that the Queen should like to think upon is her husbands fate which no child of God could ever dare to predict. Letters from the King’s office at Chambord which were intercepted by her mother-in-law and later delivered to the consort’s chambers detail a sickening account of her husband’s conditions that worsen with each passing day. Mary knows that he wails for her, she is certain of it. Her stomach tightens at the thought of him agonizing over his pain without her, Caterina, or Elisabeth there to offer him some form of comfort. It pained her to leave his side to make the journey to England, but she did so to show the power players on the world stage that their reign as King and Queen of France and Scotland is stronger than ever. Desperately, she needs the world to believe it so that she herself might also see some truth in it.

Only after staring at the missive in her hands regarding the most recent update on Francis’ condition does Mary decide that she will cease to fret over her sweet princeling’s suffering this night. Instead, her restless mind drifts to the holy mess of the happenings at the Tudor court. Today marks a week that England’s sovereign along with chief members of his family have been away from the court — their absence inspiring a litany of venomous RUMOURS in place of the truth. The twitterings of the French retinue suggests that the King and his lady mother are both abed with the pox. As a gentlewoman of the utmost grace and diplomacy, several letters were written at her behest by her secretary’s hand to be sent to William’s office wishing him good health and requesting an audience with His Majesty upon his return. Despite their differences in faith and Mary’s hotly disputed blood claim to his throne, she does not wish him any ill will. With her own husband’s health waning as it is, Mary believes it to be in poor taste to mock the health of another anointed prince even if she does think him to be somewhat detestable and nothing more than a PRETENDER to the throne.

As the Queen rises from her cushioned chair to make her way over to her desk, her attention is immediately claimed by the entry of her page who bows before her. 

“Your Majesty. Her Highness, the Princess Elisabeth is requesting entry.” A slight nod of her frizzy auburn head is enough to grant her beloved sister-in-law access to her apartments. It was at times like this when Mary needed Elisabeth the most to help calm her nerves and distract her from the horrors that her mind could conjure. 

“Lis, my sweet one” Mary begins, her arms that were previously folded to keep her ermine fur robe close to her chest now opening to greet her sister with a hug as she approaches. When it comes to Elisabeth, Mary knows that she needn’t behave like the queen of anything. There is no room for protocol when one is so near to the heart. “Was it not a mistake to accept England’s invitation? They treat us to an execution in our early days and now we are meant to speculate on the whereabouts of our hosts.” Mary adds, the flames of frustration flickering wildly in her blue eyes. “Tell me, have you any news regarding the Tudor king? I was told that he and the Dowager are not long for this world. I suppose we shall see in time if this tale has merit.”  

[princessedevalois]

Elisabeth was well acquainted with Mary's position, both of them strangers in a foreign court and kept at such distance from Francis whose ailments did not seem to improve. It was enough to give anyone bouts of anxiety, even without the gossip that spread over the Tudor court in waves. That did its part to add to the torrent, and Elisabeth found herself restless, in need of a companion who could understand what plagued her.

They had been friends for so long, raised almost like sisters in each other's arms, that Elisabeth felt no need to carry the formality which she had borne for so much of her life. She welcomed the Queen's embrace, squeezing her forearm even as they separated.

"I cannot help but think you must be right," she agreed, taking a deep breath. "Days have been so heavy of late. I feel tired and yet I cannot sleep." With a sigh, she turned to sit in a chair near the fire, beside the one Mary had just vacated. "I have heard no news of the King, but I do pray he is well, and his lady mother. Things have been difficult enough without a threat of illness." Her dark brows furrowed as she looked to Mary. "I have also not seen the prince or princess of Spain. I know my mother is frustrated by it all. She has been so irritable, I feel some distance from her is best."

[thunyielding]

Elizabeth was often meant to greet visitors into the rooms assigned as a place to meet an audience, among the walls were tapestries of mythological scenes — unicorns prancing with golden hairs, women dancing for the beginning of spring and hunters on the chase for the legend of white bucks. But, this was no time for ceremony, for most had been taken before a grand witness of faces both pertaining to the history books and just to sweep the floors. This meeting had been planned for some time, however, to be meant as intimate and special to fuse a long-lasting friendship between the crowns of England and France that her father had never quite come to terms with, even with her mother on the throne. Having mastered various languages from a young age, she instructed her men and women to talk only French in the eye of the other Princess, to welcome her into the rooms with freshly drawn wine and sweet treats to savour upon the tip of one’s tongue. She would not miss her homeland, but instead indulge in what England had to offer.

Out of all of the brides that were lined up for her brother’s reign, it was the Princess who commanded Elizabeth’s attention. For though she was a daughter of an English Queen, she knew very well that dynastic marriages were the only way how one could surely solidify longlasting alliances across the seas and land borders that struck fear in the people who lived upon such violent lands. Scotland, with its long lasting fealty to France, would be forced to play kind to the Englishmen who lived so near by, and in turn her Spanish cousins would have to submit to the range of its neighbours, promising a peace and silencing Elizabeth’s half-sister’s claims of legitimacy.

So, she smiled eagerly upon the arrival of her namesake, the difference cast only by a single letter, bowing her head with a gratitude that coloured a welcoming expression. “I must thank you greatly, let the musician practise a little from it whilst we talk, there I would long to enjoy it,” she announced, wavering a man to take the book to the one who remained by the side tuning an expensive lute, before turning her back to them all to engross the French Princess to her side, where they could sit beside an alcove that looked over the gardens that glittered with dew-laid grasses and the final bursts of late-Summer blossom. “As have I,” she announced, focusing the dark, unnerving gaze upon the other, her hands folded into her lap. “How do you find it? Have you had a chance to meet his Majesty in person? Or have you been forced to stay but a pace behind him at all times? We cannot have that, no, I would see to arranging something quite spectacular… We, the daughters of Kings and twins but for not a single letter in thy alphabet, must aid one another in all one can do so.”

[princessedevalois]

"It is my pleasure entirely," she answered. "Music flourishes well in France, and my family have always been great patrons of artists." Though she was well-informed of Elizabeth's skills in French, she was almost surprised by how well she spoke, evidently well-taught in the sound of the language. It went some way to putting the French princess at ease.

Elisabeth was pleased to follow the Princess to the alcove beside her window, taking her opportunity to look over the gardens that were riding a balance between summer and autumn, lingering on an edge. She felt quite a similar feeling, as if she were in a liminal space of her life, meant to move on to a new season. Yet like the petals and leaves, she did all she could to cling on for just a bit longer.

When her eyes returned to Elizabeth, she smiled softly. "I have met him formally, but I am afraid we have not had much time to speak. I understand he has much to do. Your court is so very busy. In that, it is terribly familiar." She huffed a soft laugh, settling on the cushion beneath them. "It would be my greatest wish to aid you in return, however I may. I like to think that we may understand each other in a way few others can." For a moment she paused, thoughtful. "I understand that my brother's Queen is a relation of yours, and if you would like to speak with her, I would be happy to facilitate should you desire it. We are great friends, Mary and I."

[greengableslover]

BRIDGERTON (2020 - )

[princessedevalois]

@kismctt, hampton court gardens

The season was turning cold, weeks dragging on, and Elisabeth could not help but feel unhappy. She had hoped that any dealings would be completed, and that she would be returned to France by now, but instead found herself remaining at the English court, which seemed upended in confusion. The princess, for her part, felt unnerved by the uncertainty which seemed to grip the courtiers. Some had vanished from her sight several days since, and there was no denying that she felt as though she were kept in the dark, something hidden from her.

The air was brisk and yet she felt compelled to walk the gardens, despite the waning life of its blooms, if only for some change in scenery. She had not anticipated to encounter anyone else, but found herself confronted with a noble lady who she recognized, after a few moments' pause, as one of the Princess Elizabeth's ladies whom she had met when invited to visit the royal chambers. "Lady Dudley, is it not?" Her tone was warm, a genuineness to it. "Forgive me, I expected the gardens to be well-abandoned. But even on a chilled day such as this, at least there is sun, so I suppose any opportunity to lay claim to it must be taken." She paused, unable to gauge if she had disturbed Kismet in the midst of something. "Would you like to join me as I walk? Or would you prefer to remain without company?"

[princessedevalois]

Elisabeth de Valois, Princess of France: an aesthetic.

[history-of-fashion]

1550 François Clouet - Françoise Brézé, Duchess of Bouillon

(Private collection)

[bridgctparr]

It was interesting to hear Elisabeth speak those words, though Bridget assumed there had to be at least a handful of royals before her who felt the same. To be born royal was both a blessing and a curse; one would likely wont for nothing, have endless resources at their disposal, be set up for a life of charm and excess...yet the pressures and burden of royal blood carried their own curses. Particularly in her girlhood, Bridget had entertained the fantasy of having been born a princess, regaled and adored by all simply due to the circumstances of her birth; however, those thoughts quickly subsided when she learned the ways of the world. Lady Parr was not willing to trade the liberties she was able to enjoy for the pressure of a crown or alliance to another world power. "It is I who is lucky to be counted among your friends, Your Highness," Bridget flattered, nudging the princess slightly with her elbow. "And I promise to always be honest with you. If your hair falls flat or your gown does not suit you, I shall be sure to inform you right away!" Her eyes twinkled with with mirth, her statements made in half-jest.

"Has a match been proposed?" she inquired, ever searching for gossip and intriguing bit of information to not only analyze herself, but discuss at length with her brother. "Is there a handsome prince you have your eye on?" Elisabeth was such a kind soul, Bridget hoped that, for her sake, a marriage deemed appropriate by her mother might also prove pleasing.

[princessedevalois]

Elisabeth smiled at Bridget's flattery and playful words, nodding. "I expect nothing less. You know how I appreciate your frankness. It refreshes me." So often, she was accustomed to many treading carefully around her, treating her as if she were made of glass or hoping to flatter their way into her grace. There was no such compunction with Bridget; the Lady Parr was unabashedly herself in a way that she could not help but appreciate.

"My mother entertains the idea of a match," she mused, not sure how much she ought to divulge. "But that is no surprise. She is always hoping for something grand for me. And I understand there is much promise here." She had a flush to her cheeks as she spoke, following Birdie's strides across the palace grounds. "What of you, dear lady? Has any man had success in capturing your heart? I should imagine any who did would be nothing short of extraordinary." Her eyes were bright, her curiosity genuine. "I trust you are no less discerning than you were when I knew you."

[bridgctparr]

"When I arrived home from France, I shut myself within my rooms and slept for what felt like days," Bridget confessed with a girlish giggle. "My father was not pleased, but he knows how my temper flares when I am fatigued." Bridget was not one who easily dealt with a mild inconvenience such as long days of travel; hunger and lack of sleep particularly perturbed her. "And why would one not be kind and gracious to the beautiful Princess of France? Why if you are anything less than adored in this court, others shall know of my displeasure."

Taking Elisabeth's hand with the confidence of a child claiming another as a playmate, Bridget led the princess out of the stables. "I shall not be scolded by Her Grace your mother for socializing in a barn," she explained as they set down a path towards the gardens, a more acceptable spot for young ladies to converse. Bridget was not easily intimidated, but Catherine de Medici was not a woman to be trifled with. She did remember the Scots queen, whom she had not yet seen on English soil, but had graced the court of France for some years before her marriage. "Yes, and how fares your sister-in-law?" Bridget towards Elisabeth, lowering her voice. "Surely she has grown more lively with the years, yes?"

[princessedevalois]

"For that I can hardly blame you," Elisabeth nodded, amused as Bridget's confession. "The journey is not as long as it seems, but all the same, it is tiring. To say nothing of the pageantry which comes after. There are times I wish that I might just be an ordinary woman, if only so that every step I take is not some great ordeal." She knew nothing of life beyond the walls of a palace, but the sentiment was genuine in a certain respect, a hope for less fanfare. "I know I can always count on you to be my protector," she assured. "The kindness is expected, of course, but no less appreciated. I know times are difficult, so it is a comfort to be treated as a friend."

They walked together, Elisabeth content to take slow measured steps with Bridget as her ladies trailed behind. "My mother has given me blessing to do as I might please. I think that she hopes this journey will allow me to become more comfortable when the time comes for me to leave France, and so she wants me to make the most of it." Looking to Bridget, Elisabeth nodded. "She is well. I think that she worries about the King, but there is nothing to be done." She hesitated. "I believe she must be nervous. How could she not?"