maitresse-en-titre

She remained stoic, holding her hands together, clutching herself from raising a hand to the whore from Polignac. She wondered what a man such as the King saw in her — perhaps it was her mere beauty, for that could not be questioned. But charm and grace, as with many things, would fade. And soon she would be left with a poisonous tongue, with no allies and only the evidence of a child to secure her future. With a grumble rumbling behind her lips, Lucrezia slowly closed her lids, only revealing the deep and ravenous hue of her gaze once her thoughts had been pushed back into line.

Anyone can have a son, she spat at herself ,as she watched the other propose herself. But only Alexandrina wore the crown, and sat by Philip as his equal. This woman, born to produce, would only be a womb.

“Why, bien sûr. You could never steal her crown, ma dame. You are but a Count’s daughter… are you not? Royal blood pumps through my mistress, but you already know that,” Lucrezia answered, watching the Madame de Polignac before beginning her steps — pausing them before the watchful eye of the Queen Mother’s portrait. “And your child, any child that would come from your womb, would never become King or Queen… They are but evidence that the King can reproduce. That is all. But I did not come here to fight, or argue, or even to look upon you with malice. I thought we could find a simmer of harmony — a hint of it at least. For your child.“

——

her countenance remained the same — she had practiced remaining placid at all times at court — though her voice grew tighter, nearly imperceptible to those who did not know her exceptionally well. “one only has to look at who wears queen lianor’s old crown in england to know that it is not an impossibility if i so desired it,” she remarked, her tone somewhat petulant. in truth, marguerite knew that she did not answer to a lady-in-waiting, especially one from a country that had no land to call its own. “and i believe you would find that i’m quite popular at court. my father’s wealth can make even the most conceited individual overlook a bloodline.”

her lips thinned. “if the queen does her duty and gives the king a son, of course my louis will know only the sumptuousness that his father bestows upon him. but if she does not . . . ” marguerite allowed her words to slow, leaving her meaning handing unsaid in the space between them even as her eyes looked at the portrait on the wall. lips twitched and her eyes narrowed as she turned back at lucrezia, her back straight as can be. “what form of harmony might you be suggesting?” she inquired, rather curious that the woman had sought her out at all. “i know social niceties and courtesy; and you do not seem so insipid to approach me for something akin to friendship.”

marguerite hummed as she moved toward another painting, this one a still life that she found rather boring for its lack of opulence. “have you approached me of your own free will?” she inquired, curious as to whether or not the queen had sent her lady-in-waiting to test the waters. “i do not like to be manipulated, lucrezia. you understand that, do you not?”

STATUS: closed to @margueritedepolignac​ LOCATION: Louvre Palace, interior TIMESTAMP: February 1459, mid-morning

Alexandrina, Queen of France, had demanded that both Lucrezia and herself would love the King’s bastard son and mistress… but how was one meant to do such if they had never been taught how to? She felt no need, no desire and evidently no trust for the King’s maitresse-en-titre — and so was left with little more than an equally spent politeness and hesitant warmth. 

Meeting her amongst the Louvre Palace, Lucrezia held her head high and exchanged pleasantries before looking past the Comte de Polignac’s daughter, to instead gesture them onwards — down a maze of corridors to meet the eyes of various Kings and Queens, painted by the French masters. “I thought it best we meet and… find some common ground, my lady — you see, with the summit, we are to spend more time together.”

of all the people marguerite might have passed time with, the queen’s most trusted lady-in-waiting was hardly one of them. she felt no love from the aragonese woman, though she had never expected to either. in truth, marguerite was perfectly content to ignore lucrezia when their paths crossed, though she was not so gauche as to deny the meeting. still, she wondered who this meeting was truly for, and words left her mouth as they traversed through the corridors. “if it is the queen who wishes to find common ground, she can speak to me herself,” marguerite commented. “i am the mother of the king’s only son; i will not secure good will through intermediaries.”

she turned. “unless your desire is to foster good will between the two of us.” head tilted to the side and marguerite offered a thin-lipped smile. “i will speak plainly, lucrezia — i have no desire to steal your beloved queen’s crown; who would want such responsibility when they already live in such luxury?”

The baby was not fussy, which worked to both his and his mother’s advantage. Blanche did not exactly have the warmest feeling toward them, given they were the very presence of ungodly union before God’s eyes. Thus, when the bastard boy was sitting up right on his own and toying with Blanche’s sleeves most innocently, Blanche allowed a little bit of sentiments to grip their annoying paws on her heart. After all the boy was the blood of Ferrant’s blood, she told herself. 

The honesty in the Maîtresse-en-titre’s words was not what Blanche had expected. Did all mothers not want the best for their children? Sometimes a mother’s love would be amplified by her ambition and women like Marguerite, who were so close to tasting the sweet nectar of ultimate glory and power, could bring down dynasties. Yet the young woman before her came off entirely devoid of the serpent venom (or at least, not in front of her). It certainly made Blanche more receiving of the logic behind her words. “It is true that if the Queen fails to give Philip a child, Louis would need to be prepared. However, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. God works miracles every day and who knows, we might hear good news from the Queen soon.

“That being said, you cannot fault me for doubting your intention at court. Your popularity and wit is powerful asset should you decide to use them and cause chaos among the French court. That… and Philip’s love. I have survived a plague, wars, and two kings already. I would hate to go down my grave when the court is in disarray.”

marguerite took great pride in watching her son interact with his great-grandmother. she knew well that her place at court was secure due in part to louis as well as her father’s own wealth; and yet she was not unaware of how precarious her position could become if she was not careful. that the queen mother was even meeting louis seemed nearly miraculous and marguerite did not take it for granted, even if she privately believed it was his due as philip’s son.

her lips pressed together carefully and she inclined her head in deference. in truth, marguerite was not certain if she wished for queen alexandrina to give the king a child or not. she had little desire for the responsibility that came with queenship, but marguerite worried — perhaps irrationally so — that philip would tire of her, would tire of louis, if he was given legitimate heirs. ( oh, she knew he would take care of them financially; between chenonceau and her monthly allowance, the two would never want. )

“of course not, your majesty,” she responded carefully, her lips quirked at the corners. “i have little desire for such responsibility. and while i will ensure that louis’ interests are protected, i support philip’s rule. there is no sense in causing disarray now, especially not with the world gathering in paris.” marguerite ran her hand over her son’s head. “my father is well-connected, queen mother. and i have influence over philip that none can claim. i would rather we be friends than enemies.”

open starter                                                                                                                      location: marché aux fleurs                                                                                            timestamp: february,1459

For a second, Tatiana wondered how he mother’s siberian lillies would be faring back at the Bezukhov State’s gardens. She had left Russia with a blanket of fresh snow covering all fields and meadows, and no sign of life sprouting from the earth. She had always enjoyed the particular beauty of it, the silence and peace of her homeland’s winter, Russia’s most loyal protector. Something similar had to expect her in France, she supposed then, perhaps not with the same frigid intensity of Moscow, but definitely not a climate that allowed so many plants to grow so comfortably. It wasn’t unpleasant, though, to have her suspicions disproved; if anything the difference was embraced.

The fragrant perfumes and kaleidoscopic views of the parisian flower market were an experience of its own, one that the princess had been curious about since first hearing of them. Tatiana had always loved flowers, roses and peonies being her favorites, but she knew they were a luxury to grow back home. In France, though, it seemed they were easier to come by. “Beautiful, are they not?” she spoke, approaching the person by the nearest stand. “A marvel, it is, what the very ground we stand on can provide us with.”

——

though it was only february, the winter gardens in france still produced copious amounts of flora, though marguerite would tell any who might listen how she preferred the summer gardens at chenonceau, with the tulips that bloomed so beautifully and the water lilies that were always visible from the sprawling château’s windows and parapets. today, however, she had gone to the flower market, wishing to pick out some fresh blooms for her apartments as well as for her son’s nursery. lips curved as she noticed quite a plethora of options and as she reached toward an amaryllis bloom she heard a voice behind her.

her head turned and a soft smile rose upon her face. “i am impressed at what my countrymen can grow even in the coldest of weather,” she remarked carefully, her back straight as she noticed the woman she was speaking to was from the empire of russia. “you should see what will bloom in only a couple more months. i have always been so fond of the irises.” lips twitched and marguerite’s tone grew curious. “do you have a favorite?” she inquired.

the cold in paris permeated even the strongest of walls, though it was a coldness that marguerite de polignac was familiar with and she walked through the walls of the convent with a fur stole wrapped around her shoulders as she held the hand of her son. the pride and joy of the young woman’s life, louis toddled along the stone floors, entirely unaware of his station in life or the way that others might view him or use him for their own means. it was a blessing, marguerite thought, to be so blissfully ignorant. ( he would grow out of it soon enough )

she reached the doors of the courtyard when she saw another woman — one whose visage was more familiar than most. marguerite offered curtsy for the tsarina of russia. “louis,” she murmured as she leaned down to speak to her son, for what little the eighteen-month-old would understand it. “offer a short bow for your aunt my darling.”

The Queen of the Old looked upward, facing God’s direction, as she momentarily prayed for strength. She had thought this visit would be easy. But the boy’s innocence as well as his resemblance to Philip and thus, Ferrant, was challenging her cold exterior. That and his pure and angelic gurgles and giggles. Blanche blamed her motherly instinct for such a weakness. Yet that was nothing compared to his babbling and success in calling her mamé. Blanche’s left brow arched up in pleasant surprise - yet her other features remained stoic and icy. 

At the offer, Blanche was more inclined to decline. Bastards had no place here, let alone in the arms of the king’s grandmother. Her visit alone already doubled the value of his existence; what would a little embrace say? But the genuineness of the de Polignac woman and her son’s innocence did make it easier to turn the other cheek to the bastardy status of the baby. The Queen Mother moved the cane from beside her legs and then dropped it into the trusty hand of one of her ladies. “Get us some tea,” she commanded before taking a seat. “It is best I sit down. Don’t want to drop the little one on his head.”

She explained measuredly before holding out her hand to receive Philip’s child. Her arms were weak but still strong enough to hold the little thing as he fussed a little in protest of having to leave his mother’s arms. “Yes, so I have heard. Philip was close to his half brother when he grew up. We French are some of the most tolerant toward child borne out of wedlocks and even then, we can be like nasty felines crawling their eyes out given the right circumstances. Some other countries… well, mistresses and their children are not as kindly received.”

——

if marguerite’s brow furrowed while the queen mother looked upward, it had smoothed by the time their eyes met once more. she had been surprised, somewhat, that blanche had even agreed to this meeting, more so that she had allowed marguerite to be in her presence. royal bastards, marguerite had found, were often tolerated when the king had bestowed his favor upon them; but though she was popular at court, due in part to father’s money and her own charms, it was another to be received by such a woman as blanche d’anjou.

lips curved into a genuine smile — closer to a grin than she would ever admit — as blanche sat down, and marguerite carefully handed louis to the other woman. at eighteen months of age, he was sitting up on his own, often toddling about, but he seemed content to perch on his great-grandmother’s lap, almost as if he was waiting for her to bestow affection upon him. “he’s very resilient,” she said quietly, hands clasped in front of her as they splayed over her abdomen. “and quite bright. he cannot speak sentences yet, but has a few words memorized. louis took his first steps at ten months. we were quite proud.”

“they worry about my intentions,” she said frankly. “about what louis’ might come to be. i understand.” marguerite’s words were honest, though perhaps somewhat reserved. In her time of collusion with the duke of étamps, marguerite had learned much about what occurred at court, had learned just who could be manipulated and how; these skills were none she would risk attempting on the queen mother. “i have no interest in supplanting a woman with so much responsibility.” her lips quirked and her eyes met blanche’s carefully. “but if the queen is unable to give philip an heir . . .” she paused momentarily. “i would prefer that louis is not unprepared. he will not be ignorant or uneducated.”

– 

                her chin dipped in a subtle greeting to the other woman, curious eyes quick to flicker over her form in an attempt to place her likeness; in failure to do so, petra surmised that they simply had not met, for she never forgot a face. a smile tugged at the corners of her lips as she turned back toward her son.  ❛  it truly is. ❜  glancing around, she noted the layer of snow clinging to bare branches and the blanket of untrodden whiteness where the overjoyed children had yet to roam ––– she also noted how it seemed to thicken as it fell from the heavens. the woman’s question momentarily went unanswered as petra stepped forward, ❛ marianna, bring julius inside now, it is getting colder. ❜ the boys nanny obeyed with a curtsey before taking the child’s hand in her own and hurrying inside; petra watched them leave before turning back to the woman.  

❛ apologies, julius shall be five come the autumn. ❜  it was remarkable how quickly they grew, yet that was a little adage she kept to herself, though should the woman be a mother herself, she would certainly understand the sentiment.  ❛  i do not believe we have before ––– petra von erbach, duchess of sessa. ❜ it may not have been customary to introduce oneself, but she found it necessary in such an instance. 

——

as the snow thickened and fell, marguerite felt a small shiver running through her. the fur on her cloak kept her quite warm, though the momentary feeling of snow against warm skin was a sensation that she would never tire of. her fingers brushed some of the dusting off of her skirts, which were made of much milder fabric than a winter in france might have called for. ( she was used to being seen and had not changed her wardrobe to account for the excess of events, or the excess of individuals she might meet, for the sanctification. )

“he is a beautiful child,” marguerite offered, her words genuine. as a mother, she found that affection flowed much more easily than it ever had before and she inclined her head once more as the woman introduced herself. and though the other woman did not ask, marguerite considered how best to introduce herself. she was not ashamed of her position, or of her child, and yet she worried that this woman would be offended by her very existence as many others were. “i am marguerite de polignac,” she responded carefully. “mother to king philip’s son.” she could not help but allow her lips to curve upwards at the last part of her introduction, a doting mother even in spirit.

––– 𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒏 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒆𝒓 . 

location :  hotel  saint - pol,  the  courtyard.

time / date :  midday,  february .

            petra had been to france once in her life and that was merely in passing as she travelled from vienna to castile to attend the princess in her marriage to the the king. with a deep fear of the ocean, or rather, sailing upon it, she also opted to travel by litter, thus her arrival in castile had been delayed. yet, her sojourn through france had implanted some fond memories, lingering sentimentalities of the chateaus that had lodged her along the way. paris, however, was a distant cry from the picturesque french countryside and sadly found itself plagued by the usual ailments of an overcrowded city –– the stench alone was enough to make her queasy. fortunately, that day there was a freshness clinging to the breeze, credited to a light dusting of snow and ice.  it reminded her of home. 

 not usually one to be afflicted by sentimental pathos, petra was quick to tighten the fur about her chin and focus instead upon her son and his nanny, the pair with their hands outstretched in an attempt to captured the falling flakes. it was julius’ first snowfall and a memory that the duchess was keen to commit to memory. ❛ is it not a beautiful sight, seeing a child’s first  interaction with snow ? ❜ she spoke to the figure beside her. ❛ i do not belief i’ve ever seen such a manifestation of innocence. ❜

while marguerite would insist that paris was beautiful no matter the time of year, there was a certain magic to it when the snow had first fallen. it glistened in the sunlight, untouched by hands and feet that would eventually turn the white tufts into slush and ice that was much too easy to slip upon. the courtyard already felt brighter as snowflakes descended and she wondered what her beautiful château would look like with the river nearly frozen beneath it and the parapets covered in white to match the stone façade.

though marguerite’s own son was too young to play out of doors in such weather, she looked forward to the days when he would be older, when he would take such pleasure in nature as the child in front of her clearly was. ( she worried wondered if philip would have tired of them both by then. ) her head turned and she inclined her jawline, her fingers ensconced in fur-lined gloves. “it is a beautiful sight indeed.” her eyes flicked back to the other woman. “and snow is the most beautiful when it has first fallen.” the corners of her mouth tugged upwards. “how old is your son?” she inquired, only wondering after the words had left her mouth if the young boy belonged to another.

Blanche understood love, lust, and desire. Both her boys had had illegitimate children of their own. But when even her grandson was succumbing to his manhood’s baser urges and siring offsprings as the result of unholy fornication, the old woman had to take the deepest breath and cross herself on behalf of her grandson. Or else, she would let cruel, cruel words fall from her mouth and wound those she loved most. Blanche worried for what had become of the jeweled name of House Anjou. Her dear Ferrant threw the crown’s last penny into the Seine and violated his vows to his wife before God with an illegitimate son. Philip was mirroring his father already, despite not having put a babe inside Alexandrina Trastámara’s womb yet.

The disappointment had kept Blanche away from meeting the child that Philip had long been boasting about in court, much to the dismay of his wife and queen. But as foreign guests were slowly filling up the many quarters of their castles, the old Queen did not want to leave matters of internal discords vulnerable for exploitation. Hence, this belated meeting with the baby.

“What else but Great Grandmother? Philip calls me Grandmother; it is only fitting.” It seemed almost childish of her to hold a grudge over a babe who had just barely parted his mother’s womb. But Philip was Ferrant’s son and her anger melted before him. Thus, it was the child and his mother who bore the brunt of Blanche’s iciness. But then she looked at the little man’s face and contemplated his wordless answer. She had to remind herself of his infancy and all the things infants could not do. Sighing, she waved for the servants to leave them and close the doors. Whatever shall go on here, she’d like it to be private. “Mamé is fine. The boy seems bright but I suppose he is exactly God’s scribe yet. I do, however, expect the full title from him when he can master speaking. And let’s hope I haven’t slipped and broken my hips first.

“Does Philip visit often?”

as mistress to the king of france, marguerite supposed that her very existence, at least when also considering the existence her child, might be unpleasant to the queen mother. she could not blame the woman for that, however, and refrained from making a remark that might come out more entitled than she meant it to. louis seemed pleased to be here, gurgling and smiling as he looked over at the elder woman and his mother kept her eyes carefully on the queen mother, wary of her intentions ( though she expected the other woman might be wary of hers as well ).

marguerite nodded slowly, her lips pressed together to keep from interrupting. truthfully, she had thought grand-mère would be acceptable enough, though it seemed the queen mother had other opinions. it would not do to anger her and so her head incline was deferential. her lips curved into a more genuine smile at the other woman’s acquiescence to something more appropriate given louis’ age. “say hello to mamé, louis,” she said quietly to the child on her hip. though he could speak, it was little more than babble to those who were not around him a great deal. but as blanche had said, louis was a very bright child and though he did not say much, an approximation of the endearment blanche preferred came out of his lips. “would you like to hold him?” she asked.

the question was a loaded one and marguerite considered her response before offering one, her tone measured. “philip is a very present father. he loves louis very much and it is quite evident for most to see.” pride glinted in her eye briefly before she pressed her lips together once more.

Beautiful music poured out of the nursery, a sweet melody that reminded him of warm sunshine and the soft voice of his mother whispering in his ear. It calls to him with the lure of a siren, drawing him towards the location of his mistress whom he had rode off to see before the arrival of monarchs from across the globe. It will be some time before he can properly hold his son in his arms with the weight of hosting upon his shoulders and even sweet Marguerite will be required to remain out of sight for his wife’s sake. Even so, he will grasp this moment with all the tender gentleness that is lost to him upon the biting cold of his crown when he places it upon his head. 

He is hardly in the doorway before he spies his sweet boy toddling towards him, drool gathering on his lips as he coos at him. “I missed you too, my darling boy,” he calls, striding forward. Philip leans down to sweep him into his arms, pressing a wet kiss to the side of his face. Once he has him safely tucked into his chest he turns to greet Marguerite, a gentle smile gracing his face at the sight of her. “I did not think to announce myself but could not help but seek you out before the arrival of those from across the sea. I will not be able to visit as much as I wish during their stay and thus sought to have a private moment…if you will have me.”

the surprise of philip’s presence quickly gave way to pleasure and as she watched the king of france sweep his son into his arms, marguerite’s gaze grew even fonder. though she had luxurious apartments at court and a position many would covet, even marguerite knew the importance of staying out of the way when the french queen’s family would be visiting. her son’s acknowledgement was likely already seen as a slight and marguerite trusted that the duke of étamps had the situation well in hand — to benefit her, as was her due. “he has missed you greatly,” her lips curved as she leaned up to press a kiss to the corner of philip’s mouth. “as have i.”

( she wished to be a source of solace for philip, from the court, from his responsibilities, from the pressure that would continually be piled upon him. )

her head inclined. “your responsibilities are great, philip, but louis and i prefer it when you are with us,” she told him, her eyes genuine as she looked up at him. “i hope we have the privilege of your company for at least a couple of days.” her lips quirked at the corners, a playful smile echoed in her eyes. “i do so wish to give louis a sibling. it is not good that he has only me for company when we are here.” an eyebrow arched questioningly as if she was merely testing the waters, though marguerite would feel blessed by any children god gave her.

as the royal families arrived from all over the continent, marguerite had been settled into a luxurious apartment at cordeliers with her son. though louis was technically a member of the royal family by birth, his illegitimate status left him vulnerable and if not for the love philip had for him, marguerite expected their position would not be nearly so solid.

in all the months that louis had been alive, marguerite had never taken him to see his great-grandmother, the queen mother blanche. she expected that perhaps philip had introduced them, but marguerite knew that for a woman who so loved her religion, the idea of an illegitimate child was likely not a comforting one.

( contrary to what many might believe, marguerite de polignac had never wished to be a queen, had never reached for more than she thought her due. the title of maîtress-en-titre had given her position legitimacy but it was not one she wished to improve upon. )

still, she held her son on her hip, smiling at the faces he made. as the queen mother entered the room, she inclined her head respectfully. “your majesty,” she said carefully, deferentially, though she hated the tone of her own voice. “i was pleased that you would receive us today.” she turned toward her son. “louis, you must greet your great-grandmother.” she paused. “what do you wish for him to call you?” she asked.

a toddler’s giggle reverberated in the room as light poured in through windows. when she had been given chenonceau, an estate on the banks of the loire river, the nursery had been dull and dreary. refitting it had been one of marguerite’s first tasks and she sat there now, plucking at strings on a lute as louis looked on, his hands clapping together.

though marguerite loved her life at court ( and her popularity had only improved since birthing the king a son ), she treasured these moments with louis and entrusted him with only a select few.

as her son began to toddle toward the door, marguerite’s fingers paused and her head turned; a smile grew upon her face. “has your papa come to visit you louis?” she inquired before setting the lute to the side and looking up.

“philip ! i did not expect to see you so soon after leaving court,” she said, rising from her chair to greet him.