June 18th, 1613
The court of the King of Francia was a marvel to behold, the envy of many other kingdoms in Meringia. It was the home of the first, the oldest, the noblest line of kings in the land, and though Francia's fortunes might have waned a little in the preceding century, it still maintained a place of high honor among the ruling monarchs of the wider realms. Presided over by King Christian and his queen, Romola of Pasai, it was a haven for the artistic, the war-like, the diplomatic, and the purely decorative, gathering to itself the widest variety of courtly men and women it could boast. Yet each of them maintained their place at court purely on the whim of the king, and the king did have his favorites, who drew not only praise but enmity from their peers.
One such among them was the talk of the castle at Martel, the capital city on the coast ....the son of a commoner, raised high above his natural position by virtue of his friendship with both the king and the king's nephew. Not merely content with making this man a Defender of the Realm and Commander of his Northern Defenses, that very day King Christian had elevated his favorite, Charles Beauforte, to the nobility, investing him with the rank, title, and lands of His Grace, the Duke of Lonnare. The ceremony was a simple one, and though even the Chancellor himself had raised objections, the king was not to be gainsaid. Thus, at the first sitting of court and council that bright morning, a new duke was invested and presented to his new peers.
There were plenty among the crowding people who approved, and indeed, rejoiced at a friend's elevation, not least of which was the king's own nephew, Lord William Marillier, who stood in line for a dukedom of his own when his father eventually died. But today there was no envy in the man as he sought out his friend amid the mingling masses of silks and velvets that clad the chattering court, slapping Charles heavily on the back with a laugh. "Oh, forgive me, Your Grace," he chuckled, turning the hearty greeting into a fulsome bow. "You outrank me now, of course."
As befitted a man of newly noble rank, Charles had held his head high through the ceremony, proud of his new title and his place among the King's court, favorites and otherwise. He was wise enough to know the title had not been given without some expectation from the King regarding the duties of his newest-appointed Duke, but Charles believed himself fit for the task and the duties that awaited him. Looking splendidly handsome and noble in his own layers of silk and velvet, he turned a charming smile upon his friend who in all truth outranked him by blood, if not by title, but who was an equal in all other ways. "Only for a time, Will. You'll catch up soon enough, I'm sure. And let's not forget that my title was fortuitously given, while yours is rightly earned."
"Rightly earned by my mother, in her marriage bed," Will laughed, old enough and wise enough now not to mind so much that he had been born to the rank he would one day hold where his friend had earned it for himself. "When she still kept to it, anyway." He paused to offer a courteous nod to a young woman across the hall from them, lowering his voice to add for Charles' ears only, "A hundred sovereigns says you can't bed Marguerite Tamworth before I do." Marguerite, oblivious to the bet being made on her honor, inclined her head in answer, and returned to her conversation.
Charles withheld the snicker that threatened to slip past his lips, careful not to laugh too much at his friend's joke, lest someone presume he was insulting the lady in question, his closest friend's mother and a Duchess in her own right. As a commoner, he had to tread far more carefully than the others at court, but having spent the majority of his twenty-five short years in the King's household, he had nearly mastered the art of diplomacy. He slanted a glance at the young woman in question and offered a nod her way to acknowledge her presence. She was pretty, but he wasn't sure he wanted to add her to his list of conquests, especially if she was someone William had his eye on. It was, however, hard to decline a direct challenge, and despite being friends, there had always been a healthy rivalry between them. "You are the elder," Charles pointed out. "However, I am now titled. Which of us do you think she'd prefer?"
"She's young enough to think she could gain something by it," Will commented mildly. "My mistress or your wife. Wait until you hear the laugh, though - I pity the man who has to listen to that every day of his life." He grinned at Charles, knowing his remark about his own mother's philandering was a little difficult not to laugh at. The king's sister was still a handsome woman, but it had been her passions that had got her banished from court in the first place. Not that she had been unfaithful to her husband, William's father, until after her surviving legitimate children were both old enough to be out of danger, of course - she was passionate, not stupid. And speaking of his family ...."I hear the king plans to send you to collect a rich widow and bring her court," he nodded to Charles, wondering if that news had made its way to the new Duke of Lonnare yet.
"Wife!" Charles echoed, chuckling amicably, lowering his voice for his friend's ears only. "You'd see me titled and betrothed in the same day, Will. Why don't you just put a sword through my heart and kill me where I stand?" He smiled politely at the woman across the room, no warmth or promise in it, as he considered Will's words. Charles turned his gaze back to his friend, one brow lifting sharply at this bit of news. From the expression on his face, it was obvious he had not heard this particular bit of gossip as yet. "And to what ends does the King wish to accomplish by that?"
William snorted with laughter at the muttered response. The day Charles Beaufort married would be a day marked by the mourning of most of the women at court, and not a few servants, too. And even married, there was no guarantee the man would be faithful. After all, most of them weren't. "I'll only kill you if you give me cause, you know that," he chuckled in answer, thumping his friend's shoulder once again as he deliberately turned his back on the Chancellor walking by. Cardinal Bereth was no friend of the Marillier family, and he had made it abundantly clear. "No, the king is calling his family back to him to celebrate my youngest cousin's birthday. I have to collect my own wife and children, and Father has to track Mother down to bring her back in some kind of dignified style. So I hear that you have been elected to escort my sister back to court. Bereth should have told you by now."
The court of the King of Francia was a marvel to behold, the envy of many other kingdoms in Meringia. It was the home of the first, the oldest, the noblest line of kings in the land, and though Francia's fortunes might have waned a little in the preceding century, it still maintained a place of high honor among the ruling monarchs of the wider realms. Presided over by King Christian and his queen, Romola of Pasai, it was a haven for the artistic, the war-like, the diplomatic, and the purely decorative, gathering to itself the widest variety of courtly men and women it could boast. Yet each of them maintained their place at court purely on the whim of the king, and the king did have his favorites, who drew not only praise but enmity from their peers.
One such among them was the talk of the castle at Martel, the capital city on the coast ....the son of a commoner, raised high above his natural position by virtue of his friendship with both the king and the king's nephew. Not merely content with making this man a Defender of the Realm and Commander of his Northern Defenses, that very day King Christian had elevated his favorite, Charles Beauforte, to the nobility, investing him with the rank, title, and lands of His Grace, the Duke of Lonnare. The ceremony was a simple one, and though even the Chancellor himself had raised objections, the king was not to be gainsaid. Thus, at the first sitting of court and council that bright morning, a new duke was invested and presented to his new peers.
There were plenty among the crowding people who approved, and indeed, rejoiced at a friend's elevation, not least of which was the king's own nephew, Lord William Marillier, who stood in line for a dukedom of his own when his father eventually died. But today there was no envy in the man as he sought out his friend amid the mingling masses of silks and velvets that clad the chattering court, slapping Charles heavily on the back with a laugh. "Oh, forgive me, Your Grace," he chuckled, turning the hearty greeting into a fulsome bow. "You outrank me now, of course."
As befitted a man of newly noble rank, Charles had held his head high through the ceremony, proud of his new title and his place among the King's court, favorites and otherwise. He was wise enough to know the title had not been given without some expectation from the King regarding the duties of his newest-appointed Duke, but Charles believed himself fit for the task and the duties that awaited him. Looking splendidly handsome and noble in his own layers of silk and velvet, he turned a charming smile upon his friend who in all truth outranked him by blood, if not by title, but who was an equal in all other ways. "Only for a time, Will. You'll catch up soon enough, I'm sure. And let's not forget that my title was fortuitously given, while yours is rightly earned."
"Rightly earned by my mother, in her marriage bed," Will laughed, old enough and wise enough now not to mind so much that he had been born to the rank he would one day hold where his friend had earned it for himself. "When she still kept to it, anyway." He paused to offer a courteous nod to a young woman across the hall from them, lowering his voice to add for Charles' ears only, "A hundred sovereigns says you can't bed Marguerite Tamworth before I do." Marguerite, oblivious to the bet being made on her honor, inclined her head in answer, and returned to her conversation.
Charles withheld the snicker that threatened to slip past his lips, careful not to laugh too much at his friend's joke, lest someone presume he was insulting the lady in question, his closest friend's mother and a Duchess in her own right. As a commoner, he had to tread far more carefully than the others at court, but having spent the majority of his twenty-five short years in the King's household, he had nearly mastered the art of diplomacy. He slanted a glance at the young woman in question and offered a nod her way to acknowledge her presence. She was pretty, but he wasn't sure he wanted to add her to his list of conquests, especially if she was someone William had his eye on. It was, however, hard to decline a direct challenge, and despite being friends, there had always been a healthy rivalry between them. "You are the elder," Charles pointed out. "However, I am now titled. Which of us do you think she'd prefer?"
"She's young enough to think she could gain something by it," Will commented mildly. "My mistress or your wife. Wait until you hear the laugh, though - I pity the man who has to listen to that every day of his life." He grinned at Charles, knowing his remark about his own mother's philandering was a little difficult not to laugh at. The king's sister was still a handsome woman, but it had been her passions that had got her banished from court in the first place. Not that she had been unfaithful to her husband, William's father, until after her surviving legitimate children were both old enough to be out of danger, of course - she was passionate, not stupid. And speaking of his family ...."I hear the king plans to send you to collect a rich widow and bring her court," he nodded to Charles, wondering if that news had made its way to the new Duke of Lonnare yet.
"Wife!" Charles echoed, chuckling amicably, lowering his voice for his friend's ears only. "You'd see me titled and betrothed in the same day, Will. Why don't you just put a sword through my heart and kill me where I stand?" He smiled politely at the woman across the room, no warmth or promise in it, as he considered Will's words. Charles turned his gaze back to his friend, one brow lifting sharply at this bit of news. From the expression on his face, it was obvious he had not heard this particular bit of gossip as yet. "And to what ends does the King wish to accomplish by that?"
William snorted with laughter at the muttered response. The day Charles Beaufort married would be a day marked by the mourning of most of the women at court, and not a few servants, too. And even married, there was no guarantee the man would be faithful. After all, most of them weren't. "I'll only kill you if you give me cause, you know that," he chuckled in answer, thumping his friend's shoulder once again as he deliberately turned his back on the Chancellor walking by. Cardinal Bereth was no friend of the Marillier family, and he had made it abundantly clear. "No, the king is calling his family back to him to celebrate my youngest cousin's birthday. I have to collect my own wife and children, and Father has to track Mother down to bring her back in some kind of dignified style. So I hear that you have been elected to escort my sister back to court. Bereth should have told you by now."