It's Good To Be The King

((Closed for DeliciousMaiden))



King Francis VII sat on the gilded throne in the sun washed salon, his legs crossed, his brown bearded chin resting on his hand as he consider the two men that stood before him. His eyes were darker by lack of sleep and the recovery from over indulgence of wine. Whilst he still remains a young King, God does not even let royality be in excess without some punishment. If it wasn’t his duty to sit for requests and grievances this hour, he would be back in his own bed continuing to sleep this haze off or grinding into one of the maids designated to keep his room well maintained. Still a King has his duties, and seated here in the Salon he blesses them with his presence. He had to make many wait until he was ready to see anyone this day, and the room seemed filled with nobility of different heraldry whether waiting their turn or not. As painful as it was, the King only could begin and hope the end would come soon.

For the duty of the day, he looked regal with a studded top coat lined with the purple color of his nature. His powdered wig was understated, but this hall should consider itself lucky he agreed to continue with such a sober state he was in. Donning just simple riding pants and house slippers, one could say the King did as little as he could to be ready for this hall.

Francis was already growing bored with the proceedings however, and itched to move on to some other duty in some other chamber. He pulled a parchment of order straight from the Chancellor’s hands and reviewed it quickly. “Lords Lesserby and Umberton,” the king proclaimed passively, “you both come to me with the same request of coin. I have no time to be bothered by both of you, so …” He dropped the parchment at the Chancellor’s feet and waved to the lords. “Only the one who is most agreeable will have my coins. For now, you only have have my attention, but even that too is fleeting.”

“I only ask for 10 crowns so that the manor kitchen maybe grown, and in return to repaying the loan, your Majesty will be the first guest of honor to the grand ball we will have fed from the new services,” spoke the refined Duke of Lesserby.

“And I,” the Duke of Umberton nearly interrupted, “ask for 10 crowns as well, but would be to fund an aqueduct, so my vassals can farm your lands with greater yield. Tis been a horridly dry spell the Good Lord has seen us to struggle through, and yet with some water we shall prevail.”

Lesserby guffawed, “you ask for money just to feed beggars.”

“And you to feed your own fat bellies,” Umberton returned slightly louder.

“Fat bellies,” Lesserby spouted, “we are dignified, we welcome royalty; whilst you slaughter a pig in the street to feed His Magistry.”

“At the hands of your dead servants, who have none the food to feed their wee children.” Umberton turned and stood tall to the looming Lesserby, a cane raised as if soon he will strike.

The two began to bicker back and forth, growing in volume and declining in decorum. The King just pressed his fingers into his temples, and rubbed them until the latest headache began to wane. Yet the feat was near impossible as these two fat old men continued to speak.

“Enough,” the King commanded. Once silence resumed he stood, “I shall take a moment to consider.”

He stepped from the throne, wandered through the crowd to the side door. Most in the room had turned to pay their own attention or to grumble quietly to themselves. One by the door did not. At first the King noticed her stunningly beautiful smile underneath a full white wig, but it took little for him to notice more. She wore a ball proper powder blue dress accented with eggshell soft white lacing. The shoulders of which raised high to her shoulder blades before plunging deeply to present heavy, yet magnificent breasts.

The king stopped in front of her, gave her a devilish grin, and slid his hand easily into the dress until his fingers surrounded her nipple. She gave a shocked breath and raised a fan up to her chest, not as much to stop the man but to hide what he had done. Not that anyone would think to speak ill of her, or suggest she should remove his hand or stop any other advances he may make. She noticeably enjoyed his toying with her nipple, yet even that wouldn’t hurt her favor in the court.

All this simply because, he was the King. In his court, he ruled absolutely, and all were to follow his wishes.

While mauling the lusciousness of the breast his gazed turned up to hers and found eyes more wicked than his.. With a nod of the head, he slipped his hand from her dress and lead her out of the room with him.

Shortly after in his study, the lady in the blue dress bent over the harpsichord and gripped the at the far edge. Her dress was pulled down to the waist as her heavy glands ground into the instrument. The lower portion of the dress was pooled up high above her hips. As customarily unspoken terms set out by the King to any lady in his castle, she stood there without undergarments of any type except for the stockings ending well short of the treasure between her legs. And it was that treasure the King was currently plundering.

The king continued to plunge his hungry member over and over into her soft depths. She was no maiden for sure, but the youthfulness of her sex suggested she had yet to bear a child either. It took little to ready her for his needs, but once she was sprawled across the harpsichord he cared only to drive his hardness deep into her repeatedly until her repetitive climaxes made her wetness drool down to the stockings below. Quickly he rode her to his own finish, and from what was left of a long night with many fair ladies he still poured heavy seed into her spasming womb. He slowed, laid against her back, and slowly moved his hands between the wooden instrument and her breasts.

She was unknown to him. A stranger who knew only to follow her king’s orders. Yes she was nobility, but laid out over this instrument he made her into nothing more than a common whore. He chose to prove that too her simply by rewarding himself by asking his favorite after-coitus question.

“Tell me, my lady,” he said between breaths. “What is your name?”

She purred softly under him, his softening member still insider her. She turned her head and replied, “Gwendelyn, the Lady of Lesserby.”

The court was one that rumors spread, even if it was well known that such distasteful rumors were the norm in King Francis’s reign. The King returned to the salon, his wig misplaced, his hand stuffing his shirt back into his pants, and the glow on his face that all who know his court recognizes what he had been up to moments before. Behind him is the disheveled Dutchess and knowing whispers grew of what had transpired. As if there was any question left in the their minds, the King slumping satisfyingly into the throne made a declaration that removed any doubt.

“Ten Crowns to the Dutchy of Lesserby, and I shall be there for the Grand Ball if for nothing more to receive a tribute for this loan. Next business than?”

Marie:

Marie descended the steps, her eyes scanning the vast ornamental gardens for the sight of the woman who had become her benefactress. A simple girl of modest French nobility, Marie was ill at ease within the finery of the English court, yet, ever dutiful and loyal she had been given no choice but to make her way to England as hastily as possible as soon as she had received the letters requesting her assistance. England and France, though proclaimed allies currently and openly welcoming an interchange with the other’s cultures and society, still held a suspicion and lack of trust as far as politics and power were concerned, or so the Duchess had explained to her the previous evening. Just what the reasons were for her great-uncle’s incarceration Marie could not guess. Neither did she know exactly where he was being held, but she had heard nightmare accounts of ‘The Tower’ and knew that she had to do all she could to petition for her uncle’s release.

Marie had been fearful of being met with hostility given her nationality and her family ties, but as the Duchess had assured her, the court looked upon the ladies of France in quite a different light to that of their male counterparts. And it was this fact the Duchess told Marie which would lead to her presence being brought to the attention of the king and in turn give the young French girl the opportunity to beg clemency from King Francis who she was told was easily moved to compassion by a pretty face and a genuine plea for assistance. In pursuit of such a project, the Duchess had set about equipping Marie with the necessary finery, though whilst she insisted that Marie present herself in a fashion that perhaps surpassed her actual status as minor nobility, she counselled Marie to eschew the typically English formalities of the white wig and bejewelled embellishments which were commonplace amongst the ladies of the court.

” … simple, honest and without artifice …”

The Duchess declared was the approach that Marie was to take, much to the young girl’s relief for she was already finding it impossible to hide the fact she was far from comfortable amongst such lavish surroundings and, though it was the entire reasoning behind her visit, the prospect of meeting the King filled her with trepidation.

Francis was dunking bread into a wooden bowl of stew and sloping it in his mouth. “What’s next”, he said thru half chewed food. Sure he knew how to present himself as refined and proper at the right occasion, but when he had nothing to do but be King, one would picture his eating habits on par with any holligan at any Inn in the country.

“Your Aunt, her Magistry of Bulgaria, has sent you candidates from her duchy suitable for marriage.” The chancellor proclaimed with every bit of dignity he could present.

“How Many?” the king asked as he rose up and dropped the bowl of stew to the floor leaving it for servents to clean up later. He moved a few paces, pulled down his pants, and began to urinate in a chamberpot with the aim of newborn. Liquid splattered about the floor and mixed with the leftover stew.

“Four, your majesty,” the Chancellor responded, looking away to give his sire some diginity even if his sire didn’t ask for it.

“Bahh,” the king replied, “more hags and wenches. Why’est not we have a good war to fight, rather than this drudgery of boring court members and their simple wishes and pleas and hopes I marry when I bloody well choose not to. Have them stay for dinner in-case I want to bed one of them, but they shall not spend the night.” He flicked his hand to suggest the Chancellor should act promptly, which left some of the fluid on his hand to fly about the room as well.

Close confidants through time would long note that all royalty act the way Francis does when away from the eyes of the court. Francis however …

In order to act, the Chancellor just turned to four women, in the finest that Eastern European taylors could produce, stood upon in varying degrees of anger, shock, and relief. A wave of his hand, and the girls turned to leave. The king’s display was truely that, there amongst the finery and elegance of the court. Finishing off his relief, he shook his member without caring if any or all of the court watched then returned to the throne stuffing it back in his pants.

“What else?”

“Ahh,” the Chancellor opened his scroll. “The Brothers of St Bartholomew are concerned for their goods will run out through the winter and have asked the king for a donation of grains from the harvest this season.”

Francis looked up with a smile. “Ahh, lest we have something worthy of a King’s time. Are they here?”

“No Sir,” the Chancellor responded.

“Well, send for a representative. Tell them they shall have the grain, but we wish to see it as business deal. Those bloody munks make the best Ale, so they shall have as much grain as they want but we must see some of that which they profit from. Speaking of which, that stew was too little. Let us get to buisness so we can move to dinner. What’s Next?”

“A plea for clemency from …”

“No clemency,” Francis interrupted, “next.”

“That is all, sire.”

“Good,” Francis said and stood from his throne.

“Sire, if I could,” spoke an advisor to his side, “it will not look well upon your kingdom if you do not at the least meet with she who asks for clemency. Once you have heard from her, than decide what you shall.”

Francis groaned a little and fell back to the throne in a huff, “alright, then where is this … she?”

The chancellor called forth for Marie to come forward, and immediately Francis sat up in his throne and raised an eyebrow as she came through the crowd. Sure he had spent a long night with some of the ladies of the court, and the smell of Lesserby still stuck to him, but this one started refiring the hot coals in his loins. “So be it, I shall meet with this one privately to discuss her plea.” He turned to the advisor and spat, “Does that suit how one will look upon me, Blackwood? Or do you need to be there as well to watch.”

The advisor just huffed, and crossed his arms.

“So it’s settled, it’s this woman, then dinner, then whatever Bulgaria has to offer a king. You are all dismissed.”

The plan had been for Marie to find her feet at court and in doing so hope that the King would notice her and that her plea for clemency could occur ‘naturally’, but Marie was shocked to find that the Duchesse had arranged for an audience with the King that very morning.

” … but Madame .. I am not prepared, not dressed to … “

Her protestations were dismissed instantly and before she knew it Marie found herself in the antechamber outside the King’s private quarters awaiting an audience with the man himself. She was far from prepared and had no idea as to how she might persuade the monarch to grant a favour to a French girl of no importance, especially given that her uncle had been accused of a crime against the English. Marie closed her eyes and prayed that the King might decide he was too busy or not in a receiving mood that morning, but these intercessions came to naught as the Chancellor summoned her and she found herself moving forward prompting her to move slowly through the assembled courtiers towards the intimidating throne set in the middle of the room beyond.

Nervously Marie moved through the heavy double doors noting as she did so that the few assembled courtiers exited through that same doorway, closing the heavy wooden panels upon the two of them. For long moments Marie hesitated, immobile as she stood just beyond the threshold, her eyes shyly averted, before taking a steadying breath and summoning her courage to step forward and advance to stand before the royal throne. Wordlessly she swept into a deep courtesy, remaining almost on her knees before the English monarch.

”Your Majesty … “

Her voice was breathless, her head tipped upwards hesitantly meeting his gaze with her blue eyes, her fair cheeks tinged with a rosy hue at the intimidating sight of him as she awaited permission to rise.

”I had not expected that you would receive me so promptly … “

She offered by way of apology for her lack of coherence.

”I am Marie, Marie Deschamps, your Majesty.”

Her French accent was unmistakeable and so much stronger for her nervousness.

”My family, they are lovers of England.”

She assured him.

” … I beg your Majesty to believe the Deschamps offer nothing but friendship and would never be an enemy to England.”

Had he made the connection? She could not presume to read his reactions.

”If your Majesty would consider ... mon oncle … Charles Deschamps … “

She broke off uncertainly awaiting an indication that she might continue.

Inside his chambers was stifling warm in the summer heat, and worse yet in the heavy cloths that were needed for court. Before they left he asked the windows to be opened but not a bit of wind flowed through yet. Not to bother, though, shortly enough he would be free of the drapery of royalty, but not till the french girl was there to attend to him.

When she entered, he gave her a stronger appreciation of her wares. In fact, he had to be appreciative of his own taste in women. She was a fine catch, she was, and curved in all the ways that made the king proud of his own decision. The french do seem to grow fine beauty, and she was clearly one that rose up to meet that level.

As she started to talk, he gave a wave to her addressing her bosom, and turned away towards the window. The wave he gave was known throughout the castle as his simple request to unfasten her top so he may gaze upon her breasts. Though being a young woman, he gave her the decency to expose herself whilst his back was turned. Be breathed in the air as best as he could, only barely picking up a word here or there. He removed the royal purple jacket and dropped it unceremoniously to the floor, and began to unbutton his shirt.

Quite indeed, he did catch a word or two there of what she spoke to. The ‘I beg your Magesty’ and ‘lovers’ and the ‘offer’s she no doubt was giving to him in her time of need. These clemency wishers were so boring in their requests that he could recite them with them.

As he turned back to her, she finished: ”Mon oncle … Charles Deschamps … “

“What is this?” he demanded. He waved his hand more forceful & animated in the air towards her bosom. “Did you not see?”

He stepped closer to her, and he his hand shook open palm nearly in front of her. “Do you not know this is a request for amnesty? Why are you not showing me your breasts?”

“What is this?”

The King had turned back to her abruptly and somehow seemed displeased. Hesitantly Marie rose, incomprehension clear on her face.

"Your Majesty?"

She questioned softly as he waved, pointing towards the glimpse of clevage evident from the relatively simple dress she wore.

“Did you not see?”

She glanced around not knowing what it was that she should see, apart from the sudden realisation that they were completely alone ...

“Do you not know this is a request for amnesty? Why are you not showing me your breasts?”

Marie was too shocked to consider court correctness. Both of her hands flew to the top of her dress in an irrationally protective instinct. She looked into the face of the Monarch who had advanced so closely.

"I ... do not understand ... "

She uttered in confusion.

"I come to speak to you of my uncle ... I do not ... cannot ... "

She blushed hotly and yet she was filled with trepidation at the displeasure with which he was sure to respond...

“Yes, yes,” Francis muttered, “your uncle, Deschamps is it.”

The King’s hand kept waving in front of her bosom, as if doing so would some how reveal them magically. His voice matched the frustration that seemed to be with his movements.

“You have come to ask me for clemency, what is there to understand. Surely the clemency is the same word one speaks in France as they do in England. You do not seem to ask for Charity by mistake do you?”

He threw his hands to the side, and kicked his boots off as his patience grew thin..

“Keep your breasts cover if you wish, you may just lift your dress and show what lies beneath. Otherwise I will not be firm enough to enter. I am kind enough to let you speak as we go about such business but business is what we must proceed to, My Lady … Mayde? Mauree? Marie? Is it?”

He was unbuttoning the last of the buttons on his shirt and pulling the tails from his pants.

“But you must be aware that you are not the last European woman I must bed today, so please halt yourself from anymore delays, and bare yourself to your King.”

“Yes, yes, your uncle, Deschamps is it.”

Her eyes brightened, daring to hope that he had been listening, that he would still consider her plea.

“You have come to ask me for clemency, what is there to understand.
Surely the clemency is the same word one speaks in France as they do in England. You do not seem to ask for Charity by mistake do you?”

She watched as he kicked off his boots and involuntarily took a step back as she regarded him warily.

“Keep your breasts cover if you wish, you may just lift your dress and show what lies beneath. Otherwise I will not be firm enough to enter."

Her face flushed crimson. The King's intent finally clear.

"I am kind enough to let you speak as we go about such business but business is what we must proceed to, My Lady … Mayde? Mauree? Marie? Is it?”

She gasped as he began to undress. He was a King and was obviously used to doing as he pleased with the ladies of his court, a fact she felt shocking in itself. Loyal as she was to her uncle, Marie could not believe that he would wish her to surrender her virginity as payment for his freedom? She could not o give herself to a man, even if he were a King, who did not even remember her name!

“But you must be aware that you are not the last European woman I must bed today, so please halt yourself from anymore delays, and bare yourself to your King.”

She recoiled in horror at his words.

"Non..."

She replied, only belatedly adding, " ... your Majesty."

She feared his displeasure, feared that he might even force her.

"You are the English King ... what you expect ... in France such things ... they do not take place ... "

She could not imagine such practices took place within the French court.
Yet all she could do was throw herself upon his mercy.

"Please your Majesty. You say you have many women to bed.
You cannot care for a girl with ... no experience ... "

Her eyes pricked with shameful tears at the confession of her innocence.
Surely he could have little interest once he knew she had no experience with men?

She sunk to her knees before him.

"Mon Dieu, Your Majesty, do not demand a price I cannot give."

She begged desperately.

King Francis was taken aback. Such insolence from this French Girl.

"You are the English King ... what you expect ... in France such things ... they do not take place ... "

His face started burning red, his anger growing. To hold the French People to a higher standard than England’s King? This child thinks to rebuke him, in his own castle? There was no reason for it, none that would be conceivable.

"Please your Majesty. You say you have many women to bed. You cannot care for a girl with ... no experience ... "

“Ahhh, a virgin,” he interrupted bluntly showing his full understanding of her innuendo. “That explains your reluctance, but not everything. Rare though from a French girl I suppose.”

Her voice became more shattered and pleading but was far from etching through the indignance of her behavior. When she dropped to her knees he raised an eyebrow and let a devilish look come across his face.

“Ahh, now that is more like what I come to expect from France.”

He stepped forward a couple of paces and stood directly in front of her face. He waved a hand in front of his pelvis and smiled to her.

“Few I allow such opportunity, but you may proceed with your mouth as you propose.”

“Ahhh, a virgin,”

Marie flinched at those words. Her face flamed as he continued to discuss her 'virtue'.

“That explains your reluctance, but not everything. Rare though from a French girl I suppose.”

She feared he would demand the impossible, yet perhaps still more frightening might be the prospect that he may simply dismiss her and not entertain her pleas. It was the first occasion that she had even considered her virginity as anything less than an asset.

“Ahh, now that is more like what I come to expect from France.”

The approval in his voice drew her attention upwards.

"Your Majesty...?"

Marie questioned breathlessly her eyes meeting his in confusion as he actually smiled at her.

“Few I allow such opportunity, but you may proceed with your mouth as you propose.”

For long moments his words made no sense ... and then ... she gasped her eyes dropping to his crotch in horror as she hastily backed up and scrambled to her feet. If her cheeks were pink before, they were flaming now.

"You cannot think that I ..."

Her indignation and shock fortunately choked her preventing the full extent of her disgust to pour forth.

"I have never ... would never ... "

She shook her head mutely. She would only ever allow a husband to make such demands on her. Not even a King, any King would ever have any rights upon her virtue.

"Mon Dieu... c'est incroyable ... "

She exclaimed in agitation as she surveyed the King from what she hoped was a 'safe' distance, dreading yet wishing that he would dismiss her and praying that her Uncle would understand that sometimes a price was too high to pay ...

--- revised ---

Francis was stunned, absolutely stunned by the girl’s behavior. Never had known their duty in his court. His demands were far from demeaning for one seeking the king’s favor, but now she is demanding of him. That’s when he released …

“You … you are just a peasant girl aren’t you. You know not the protocol of one meeting with Royalty.” He thought a moment gauging the girl curled up on the floor.

“Let it be known, I am not one to disdain simpler folk who know not why certain court rules are in place. That is to say, I am not an old king, and one had to inform me. If you know not what is expected, then I shall teach you. One moment, dear girl, let me see if I can find one that can be of assistance.”

He walked over to the chamber door, opened it and peered out into the hall. After a short time he spotted a good candidate, and called her into the room. In walked a lady in an elegant soft fabric gown mostly green with white lace along it’s gilded lines. It was a dress that clearly was worth a grand fortune. She was fairly beautiful too with ringlets of red hair she let flow without choosing a powdered wing in a way to suggest she does so choose it because what is natural for the woman is far more fetching.

Turning to the girl still in shock he presented the woman like one would before entering a grand hall. “Mademoiselle Deschamps, may I present to you the Duchess of Argyle, daughter of the Scottish Baron and Cousin of the Marquis de Oreleon. Lady Argyle, I present you a simple girl, Mademoiselle Deschamps. I don’t mean to be rude my lady, but I only want it known where one is considered in our nobility.

The Dutchess smiled warmly to the girl and curtseyed as if she was meeting the queen. “Pleasure to met ye, Mademoiselle Deschamps,” she said in a Scottish accent.

The King turned to look directly at the Duchess, “My Lady, would you please show us your womanhood.”

“Of course, your majesty,” she replied and immediately gather the dress until it rose well above her hips. There in front of the king and the girl was the her sex born to see. She wore stocking that reached to her mid-thigh but nothing else under the skirts.

“You see,” the king began while stepping around appreciative of the dutchess, “in nobility, one must be appreciative of beauty and that of God’s creations. While some would look to a stag in the fields and point that as beauty, or a painting of a grand army ready for battle as beauty, I see God in the curve of a woman or the touch of their skin. It is the simplest of gifts one can give their King, is it not? To present what God has granted on her? Take the Duchess for instance.”

The king moved his hand to the front of the Argyle’s Mons, and his fingers danced in the reddish pubic hair dusted there. “Even after she has brought forth a grand heir for her husband, she remains an amazing creature. Look at how her lines are smooth like a marble goddess, or how her hips draw the eyes down to where her smooth legs.” His hand moved to rub softly on the woman’s sex, she reacted with a light moan and a close of her eyes. “Even the devilish blemishes of her freckles across her navel enhance the God given beauty she is. Look Mademoiselle, look at the Duchess, see why it is important you must respect the court’s wishes.”

Between a light grunt, the duchess spoke up. “Y-your majesty. Might I bother ye to know your intentions? Soon enough I will be needing to find relief if you continue..”

“Of course, my duchess, soon enough” he responded accordingly. “Let me finish with the girl.” He turned back to ‘his student whom he shocked so soon before’.

“Mademoiselle Deschamps, I shall give you three days. During which you will the guest of the King and you are welcome to any your heart desires. How I act upon your Uncle shall be commensurate of how you return my favor. For example, if you choose to release your inexperience than I would surely release your uncle. But, I am a fair king, and an appreciative King, so if you remain reluctant than feel free to find what you are comfortable with. I am sure you are quite beautiful under what you wear, and if that bears true then I shall give some leniency.

“That being said, If you leave this castle without offering yourself to the King in any way, I shall accept that as admission of guilt and have your Uncle executed for treason. If you insult me further, than you shall be sharing the cell with your Uncle, and believe me the men down will take great pleasure with your … inexperience.

So there they stood in the chamber. The girl whom recoiled just a short time ago. The duchess, exposed. The king partially undressed and caressing the lady. Francis smiled smuggly to the girl, he had granted this great favor to her, spending his precious time to show her the world of nobility. And to believe some believe he is unfavorable to peasants.

“Now if you excuse us, Mademoiselle, the Dutchess should be offered some privacy as I give her some relief.” With that he turned woman towards his front, and she, dropping the gown, began to open his pants. “I shall look forward to meeting with you later.” Then his attention went fully to the Duchess.

“You … you are just a peasant girl aren’t you. You know not the protocol of one meeting with Royalty.”

The King’s response to Marie’s revulsion was measured, dangerously so. She was far from a peasant girl; she came from a good family and though not rich or titled she was expected to marry well which would perhaps add to her family’s fortunes.

“Let it be known, I am not one to disdain simpler folk who know not why certain court rules are in place. That is to say, I am not an old king, and one had to inform me. If you know not what is expected, then I shall teach you. One moment, dear girl, let me see if I can find one that can be of assistance.”

Although the King was not angry, Marie was far from sure that she wished to be ‘taught’ what might be expected of her. She watched in horrified fascination as he went to the door and summoned a lady who was passing by. The fact this was a random selection was not lost on Marie.

“Mademoiselle Deschamps, may I present to you the Duchess of Argyle, daughter of the Scottish Baron and Cousin of the Marquis de Oreleon. Lady Argyle, I present you a simple girl, Mademoiselle Deschamps. I don’t mean to be rude my lady, but I only want it known where one is considered in our nobility.

Marie flushed at the King’s description of her, but curtsied respectfully to the lady to whom she had been introduced. Even a ‘peasant girl’ could display good manners, she determined silently.

“Pleasure to met ye, Mademoiselle Deschamps,”

The Lady in turn was most generous in the warmth of her greeting, her accent striking, at least to Marie’s ears …

“My Lady, would you please show us your womanhood.”

Marie was shocked by the question and no less so by the accommodating way in which the Lady lifted her skirts to demonstrate that she wore no undergarments.

“You see, in nobility, one must be appreciative of beauty and that of God’s creations. While some would look to a stag in the fields and point that as beauty, or a painting of a grand army ready for battle as beauty, I see God in the curve of a woman or the touch of their skin. It is the simplest of gifts one can give their King, is it not? To present what God has granted on her?”

Unable to speak, unable to flee, Marie was subjected to his ‘lesson’, one which progressed to forcing her to witness the King’s ‘advances’ and the reactions of the Lady in question.

”Take the Duchess for instance. Even after she has brought forth a grand heir for her husband, she remains an amazing creature. Look at how her lines are smooth like a marble goddess, or how her hips draw the eyes down to where her smooth legs. Even the devilish blemishes of her freckles across her navel enhance the God given beauty she is. “

Marie did not dare to look away and in fact was forced to obey and observe closely.

”Look Mademoiselle, look at the Duchess, see why it is important you must respect the court’s wishes.”

It had been obvious from the start that the King’s attentions were far from unwelcome. Her request for ‘relief’ and the King’s assurances confirmed that, as he had stated, court demanded that he have ‘access’ to the ladies of his court, peasant and Duchess alike.

“Mademoiselle Deschamps, I shall give you three days. During which you will the guest of the King and you are welcome to any your heart desires.”

She was to be the ‘guest of the King’? Why and how could that be?

”How I act upon your Uncle shall be commensurate of how you return my favour. For example, if you choose to release your inexperience than I would surely release your uncle.”

Marie knew there would be a ‘price’, but giving up her virginity, that was too high!

”But, I am a fair king, and an appreciative King, so if you remain reluctant than feel free to find what you are comfortable with. I am sure you are quite beautiful under what you wear, and if that bears true then I shall give some leniency.”

There was an offer of leniency, but even so, the King would have … expectations … Would he truly be content with whatever she could bring herself to be comfortable with, Marie pondered? She owed it to her uncle to … try … to try to see how little she could give up to ‘satisfy’ and secure his release, whilst retaining her virginity and as much of her innocence at all costs.

“That being said, If you leave this castle without offering yourself to the King in any way, I shall accept that as admission of guilt and have your Uncle executed for treason. If you insult me further, than you shall be sharing the cell with your Uncle, and believe me the men down will take great pleasure with your … inexperience.”

The iron hand in the velvet glove. He was not angry, perhaps she was not worth his anger. It was clear that she no longer had a choice. In some way she had to ‘offer herself’ to him. Failing to do so would put herself in danger and, if his threat was to be believed, would result in a fate much worse than finding herself at the mercy of a King.

“Now if you excuse us, Mademoiselle, the Dutchess should be offered some privacy as I give her some relief.”

Marie dropped into a deep curtsey, her eyes lowered to hide her panic and in an attempt not to see that the King was barely waiting for her to leave before making ready to ‘relieve’ the Duchess.

“I shall look forward to meeting with you later.”

His words were not intended to hold a threat, but as she rose and hastily retreated, Marie was filled with panic and fear.
Once free of the room, she hastened to her own rooms and locked herself in before throwing herself upon the bed, her mind in turmoil.

She would have to accept the King’s attentions, would have to ensure that she did not insult him further.
Perhaps in that way he would be truly lenient and see that as ‘offer’ enough to appease him and gain his favour and her own freedom and safety.

At the castle garden, the setting summer sun in the cloudless sky flickered orange hues across the widespread grasses and hedges. The air remained steady and warm even with darkness coming due in no small part by the sun’s relentless afternoon. Flowers and trees perfumed the grand lawn finer than any could create in any city shop. By the king’s demand, the dinner was moved to the lawn to enjoy such a beautiful night; complete with all the elegance of a court table, chairs, linens, and fine china one would find in enclosed walls.

The meal had begun without him, a long standing break of protocol simply because King Francis could never be expected to arrive at a table at any proposed time or at all. In an act of kindness, Francis relieved the embarrassment of hunger to his guests and allowed that those who wished to eat would. Something that was handy on this evening because the King was becoming very late. As the meal began, King Francis still lay in his bed napping after his time with Lady Argyle and a poor attempt by one of the Bulgarians to win his favor. The night before’s debauchery and the day of pomp & circumstance required the well deserved Royal rest. It was the smell of roasted wild boar brought to the lawn wafting through the castle windows that finally rose him.

Walking out onto the lawn, he could feel the soft grass under his slippers. In the short time he took to get ready, he was able to emerge very regal for dinner complete with a long purple coat, elegant shirt and pants, and of course the finest of powdered wigs. His senses were keen and aware, if not sedate. While he took great joy in the smell of the roast and flowers, the feel of the grass, and the sound of nature around them; he barely gave a simple start down a lady’s bosom when she curtseyed in front of him on the way to the table. In fact he made it to the meal without even attempting to brush up one’s backside. This was a very calm feeling, and one he relished.

Place settings for twenty or so guests were laid out at the table, and those that came and went filled most the chairs when he arrived. Picking up the goblet at the head of the table he made a quick toast:

“Good evening, friends. I hope dinner meets your expectations, as I hope it will meet mine. Please continue to enjoy yourselves and do not stop until you are satisfied. That is, of course, what your King expects; nothing but your full satisfaction.”

With that he raised the goblet higher and smiled. Appraising the guests, his eyes fell once more on the golden haired virgin he had met with earlier. He gave her an appreciative nod, if only to congratulate her from being foolish enough to run away. While their negotiations will continue now longer than he had wished, he would definitely look forward to further talks with the peasant girl.

Alas, it was time now to eat.

Marie knew she would have to grant the King some ... favour ... that she could not be totally unaccepting of his advances, but just how to appear to be compliant and yet protect her modesty and at all costs her virtue she still had to work out. She could not speak to the Duchess, for she could not risk any tales getting back to the King. If he suspected Marie was in anyway repulsed by the 'honour' he bestowed upon her, then he had left her in no doubt as to just what her fate would be. Marie knew she must play the part, must ensure she looked attractive, yet not too much so and of course she must steal her courage to endure what she must in order to secure her own safety and that of her relative.

And so when informed that the meal would take place in the garden, Marie was kindly informed by her benefactress that despite this venue, formality was still expected. Selecting her yellow dress; a fine garment whose yellow she was told added a glow to her pale features and which flattered her finger, but not, she was sure in any kind of provocative fashion. Seated on the chair, toying with the food before her, Marie could not help her nervousness as the meal began and continued in the absence of the monarch. In fact many were past the main course by the time he appeared. His advance to the tables lacking the usual ritualistic announcements, yet Marie was more than aware of his presence as he took his seat at the table and she consequently dropped her eyes down to study her plate.

“Good evening, friends. I hope dinner meets your expectations, as I hope it will meet mine. Please continue to enjoy yourselves and do not stop until you are satisfied. That is, of course, what your King expects; nothing but your full satisfaction.”

Embullient as ever, he toasted his guests and knowing a refusal to respond would be seen as the height of bad manners, Marie took up her own goblet and raised it, her gaze lifting tentatively and colliding with that of His Majesty. His nod brought a flush to her cheeks, but Marie made herself hold his gaze uncertain as to whether his expression was approval at her attire, or just an acknowledgement that she had made the 'right' decision. Only when HE looked away did Marie lower her gaze once more sure that her cheeks were flaming and her mind racing in confusion as she focused with effort upon eating. Giving up on the main course, she decided to indulge in the sweets finding them much easier to palette.

The meal was sufficient, that was true. At the very least, the king should have the best of cooks, and that is what the had. Yet his weariness led him to choose to accept what he was offered rather than revel in its richness. He was elegant in his table manners, but spent very little time on any of the courses presented to him. Finally, he passed on the pastries, and stood from the table no later than any of his guests.

For the next while, as the sun slowly disappeared from the sky, he stood and talked to some of those visiting. Much of it was quite boring, as he listened to those talk of this family or that. Many times over he felt as though he was being prepared to find the next lineage, or create the newest royal heir. Sure, his seed might have spawned an heir somewhere by now, but to have it’s legitimacy meant finding a wife -- something King Francis made clear to be a lower priority than many of his Aunts and Uncles believe. So as the guests prattled on about this Marquis or that Baron, the King listened and watched the colors of the sky change until only the candles of the manor brightened the lawn.

Of course, when it grew dark, it was custom to move any further activities to the parlor, when the wine barrels would open and music was to be played. Typically, that meant the king would sneak a lass off behind a curtain or to his chambers for the evening. Strangly, though, with his weariness came an emptiness. For the first time in a week, he had no urge to bed anyone. Was not the first time, and it is far from surprising from how much he had enjoyed these last few days. Yet, it still can strike him as strange.

There was, though, the problem with the Bulgarians. In the mood or not, they immediately took to his side and suggested things they could do that would make a sailor blush. The king delightfully played along, but as the troll like women hinted they wished to leave the room with him, he changed the subject or just bluntly denied their advances. Finally he just pulled away from them. He searched for something, anything, that could ensure that he could act as though it was any other night without the overwhelming need to grab for his royal jewels.

So he spotted her once more. Her beauty accented more so in the lamp lit parlor and the elegant yellow dress she wore. He crossed the room to her and gave a slight bow.

In a soft voice he greeted her. “Mademoiselle Deschamps, I hope you don’t mind the company of a King. With all the respect I can give, I feel tonight I would much more enjoy the presence of one determined to maintain her purity than those who take pride in having none at all.”

It became clear that the King had many others upon whom to focus his attention. Marie watched covertly as he ate amongst his subjects and then later she watched as he was surrounded by ladies, no doubt eager to offer themselves to him. She was fascinated by the 'affairs' of the court and not a little shocked, but at least it eased her mind that his conduct towards her had not been anything out of the ordinary; she was just one of many ladies to who the King believed he had a right. She could only hope that the novelty of a new face would soon wear off.

Somewhat reassured, Marie was able to actually enjoy the meal. The setting in the garden was exquisite and the food amazing. Unused to English cuisine, she found nothing to fault in it and actually found herself conversing easily with those around her who seemed to be curious about the new arrival and about her home country. Marie had not known that it was expected to move onto the parlor, but found that the whole ambience, assisted by the back drop of music and the flow of wine was all she could have expected of court life. Taking care to consume just a single glass of the wine, which she acknowledged was indeed fine, she found that she was actually enjoying herself for the first time since her arrival.

“Mademoiselle Deschamps, I hope you don’t mind the company of a King."

She blushed as he bowed before her, his sudden appearance taking her totally by surprise and prompting her to sink into a deep, respectful courtesy.

"You honour me, your Majesty,"

She managed to respond, her eyes averted as she held herself gracefully at his feet, before rising slowly.

"With all the respect I can give, I feel tonight I would much more enjoy the presence of one determined to maintain her purity than those who take pride in having none at all.”

Her eyes instinctively crossed the room to the ladies who had surrounded the King earlier, then with sudden realisation at the direction her gaze had taken, she snapped them back to avert them respectfully, praying that she had not seen. She did not want him to think that she had been watching him, or that she was judging those the King chose to keep company with. His manner was altogether kinder that evening and Marie prayed that she had not put that in jeopardy.

"I am unfamiliar with the sophistications of court life as you know your Majesty, but if my company would please you ... "

She dared to lift her eyes to his and give a shy smile realising for the first time, that, when considered as a 'man' without the Kingly demands and attitudes she had witnessed earlier, he was indeed handsome ...

He pulled two glasses of heavy red wine that were moving on a servants tray as it passed and handed one of them to the Marie without even asking. He clicked their two glasses together in a minor toast and drink half his glass in a couple of swallows. He scanned the room at many of the men and women of the ‘sophisticated court’ who grow more drunk and more frequent to move against one another in the open. Some have taken to dance in the center of the parlor, but have allowed it to become more free with their bodies then what could be considered proper during more sober hours.

“Oh, I am sure court life would be easy to learn for a peasant girl if given a chance,” he responded to her. “In many ways, I am sure it is quite the same. We have food, music, dance; just like those who are simple. Tastes are more refined, surely, and one only needs to open one’s mind to what courtesans choose to have around them.” He was trying to avoid sounding condescending to the girl, knowing she is uncomfortable enough in this place, whether that was what was heard wasn’t his concern. “While filth from the streets may poison one’s body, the filth in a court comes from mouths and poisons a mind. In a court one must always please the enemy in front of them, while creating more enemies of those not in your presence.”

He took a smaller sip of his wine and turned to look at her. She had quite soft features when examined close. For a peasant girl her hair was well kept, her face was smooth. The dress she wore complimented a figure that was not thin and hungry like one would expect, but strong and vivacious.

“Tell me, Mademoiselle Deschamps, where do you keep yourself. That is, you are clearly not from nobility; but for one with such striking beauty as yourself to not only be unmarried but untouched is surely a rarity outside of the church. How is it that you exist in such a commoner world without a very lucky husband?”

He did not ask before he procured them a glass of red wine each. She accepted it as he expected her to and toasted with the King, carefully sipping the rich liquid, a tongue flicking across her lips as she did so. He seemed content merely to stand beside her and Marie remained silent as he seemed to take in the sight of those surrounding them.

“Oh, I am sure court life would be easy to learn for a peasant girl if given a chance,”

She found her lips at the glass once more as he referred to her as ‘a peaant girl’ once more.

“In many ways, I am sure it is quite the same. We have food, music, dance; just like those who are simple. Tastes are more refined, surely, and one only needs to open one’s mind to what courtesans choose to have around them.”

Unexpectedly, her lips twitched as he referred to those whom he termed ‘simple’. The term should sound disparaging, but somehow the fact that his relegation of any person who was not royal or noble to the peasant class was in itself oversimplified.

“While filth from the streets may poison one’s body, the filth in a court comes from mouths and poisons a mind. In a court one must always please the enemy in front of them, while creating more enemies of those not in your presence.”

She was not a foolish girl. Marie had already guessed that the court was rife with ‘politics’ where it was important to be in favour, not least with the King. But she was surprised that the King himself should make the observation he had.

“Tell me, Mademoiselle Deschamps, where do you keep yourself.”

Her eyes rose to his, belatedly becoming aware that he had been scrutinising her. She hesitated uncertain as to what he was asking her.

”That is, you are clearly not from nobility; but for one with such striking beauty as yourself to not only be unmarried but untouched is surely a rarity outside of the church. How is it that you exist in such a commoner world without a very lucky husband?”

In truth he had paid her a great compliment. She did not fit the English concept, HIS concept of class and it obviously confused it.

”It is true that my family is not currently of la nobilité Your Majesty,”

She started carefully.

”But the Deschamps name has been well respected within France for many years.”

She bit back a sigh and did not quite manage to repress her sorrow.

”Malheureusement, contemporary generations have fallen upon … harder … times... My parents, they are both dead and I myself have no siblings, which I suppose given our situation is a blessing… “

She did not add that it had led to a lonely childhood.

”My uncle, the man I come to petition for, he has been my guardian, he is my only family..."

She explained.

"He does not supply me with a dowry to marry well and yet he will not give his permission for me to marry with a man he considers not worthy of the hand of a 'Deschamps' bride ...”

The King considered her a peasant, which was not quite true and yet Marie believed that it was a more accurate summation of her status than the ambitions her uncle had still held for her; at least before his imprisonment.

”En fin, perhaps all that is left for me will be to enter the Church …”

She found herself adding with unguarded regret.

As he listened to the girl, he started to realize his own mistake. To call her a peasant girl mayperhaps be quite unfair. Former nobility? Respected family? It was worth a question to his man later to confirm, to see if this woman surely is of noble blood. It changes little, but it raises curiosity.

Then as she speaks of her uncle, the curiosity grows. He is tempted to ask more of him, to find out his standing, where he resides, or even if the King is so inclined, what his name is. If he comes from former nobility, why would he find himself locked up for treason.

But to ask such a question would suggest that he can be convinced of leniency for the imprisoned man without seeing the girl’s charms. And that would be foolish.

He raised his glass to his lips as he listened to her talk, but when she said:
”En fin, perhaps all that is left for me will be to enter the Church …”
He nearly spit the wine out to the floor.

“Don’t say such awful words, Mademoiselle. They’d beseech you to become a nun. Those women are just dreadful. They do nothing but feel one should be punished for bad behavior. Priest will be stern with you, but they have the dignity to look away when they are to know better. Nuns just choose to remain stern and disapprove. Wretched, Wretched creatures.”

He tried to animate the speech, he was, in fact, just jesting about the ladies. Moreso, it was a wanton desire to cheer up the girl, and direct from such serious talk about hard times and family troubles.

“Besides, I hear they do not allow women of a certain level of beauty. Nuns are to be ugly and horrid. You are far, far too alluring to wear a habit. Think of the troubles you would send the young priests and alter boys when they see such a lovely thing in their chambers.”

Marie looked up in surprise as the King seemed to choke on his wine.

“Don’t say such awful words, Mademoiselle."

He seemed truly shocked at the suggestion.

"They’d beseech you to become a nun. Those women are just dreadful."

Marie could not helped but be shocked by his sacrilegious words!

"They do nothing but feel one should be punished for bad behavior.
Priest will be stern with you, but they have the dignity to look away when they are to know better. Nuns just choose to remain stern and disapprove."

Her lips twitched at his scandalous account of the holy life. Wrong that it was to mock in such a manner, Marie could not help but giggle as he concluded tragically;

" ...Wretched, Wretched creatures.”

Marie sipped her wine in an attempt to reign in her mirth.

“Besides, I hear they do not allow women of a certain level of beauty."

He was teasing and flirting, but she could not help but chuckle as she shook her head in silent admonishment.

"Nuns are to be ugly and horrid. You are far, far too alluring to wear a habit."

He really was outrageous. Marie glanced around to make sure that no one could overhear their discourse.

"Think of the troubles you would send the young priests and alter boys when they see such a lovely thing in their chambers.”

Despite her best efforts laughter escaped her.

"Your Majesty!"

She exclaimed.

"Would you not think religious devotion would make one immune to any ... temptations ...?"

The suppressed laughter was evident in her voice even as she jumped to pious defence of the Church.

" ... and ... if not .. "

She paused, a slight hesitation only before re-joining his banter.

"As you say, there are plenty of nuns to keep a novice in line and ensure she does not stray from her duty ... "

The demure way she lowered her eyes was entirely negated by the impish smile that was all too evident as once more she sought diversion in the wine glass, realising belatedly that it was already half empty.

"Whether wed to a man, or to the Church, my fate is in the hands of mon oncle Deschamps ... "

Marie managed to add, her expression momentarily diverted at the sudden thought that should her uncle actually not be released, then not only would she be alone and unprotected in the world, but she would be in the unaccustomed position of making her own choices!

"It is so in England too, n'est-ce pas? Le marriage, it is arranged comme ca?"

She questioned softly in a belated attempt to steer the conversation back within the bounds of propriety.

There was moment where she mentioned her uncle that was completely lost to the young King. This was simply because he was lost in the vision of the young Mademoiselle Deschamps being ‘disciplined’ for being so tempting. It was the first time that night, since his afternoon romp with Duchess of Argyle, that he felt any urge of such a type. The french maiden, even in her naivety, seems to bring out something in him.

Only when he caught her question -- "It is so in England too, n'est-ce pas? Le marriage, it is arranged comme ca?" -- was he returned to the present state. He shivered at the thought, marriage, but it was an honest question that deserved an answer.

“Oh, oui oui, Mademoiselle,” he replied playfully sliding in some of his limited French. “But for far less convenient reasons than just finding whom is right. One does not simply better their standing, they must acquire more to be elevated. So if that means one marries a son off to the ugly daughter of a duke, that is what they think is best.”

He gulps down the last of the wine in his glass, and with a flip of his hand it flings over his shoulder towards a surprisingly at-the-ready servant to catch it. Shortly another cup of the sultry wine arrives at his hand and he takes another sip.

“Royalty be no different. My mother was Spaniard, in hopes that my father could gain title to all of Catalonia. Once she passed, my father turned an eye to Denmark. Had he not turned ill en route to meet his soon to be wife, this castle might be there than here.”

He seemed too at ease as he talked about his late parents, but not too surprising. The heir to the throne always, it seemed, is kept out of the troubles of the King; especially when they are younger and a troublemaker. Francis ascended to the throne while he was still a boy, so he had little chance to even know those who were but his parents.

“Fate has given me my own place, though. We are not at war. Our allies respect my crown, but dislike me. And I have no guardians to tell me whom I should and should not marry. So I have my own course ahead of me. Sure, my aunts and uncles send me women to court like those Bulgarians,” he stops to point at the women who started the evening fawning over him and now seem more than content to be pressed up against the musicians and pawing at the reluctant servants around the room, “but there is no NEED. I can choose whom I marry based on …”

He stopped, almost slipping out the word ‘Love’. Stopping though is what he did, and he shivered again at the thought of it.

“Well, you understand, do you not?”

“Oh, oui oui, Mademoiselle,”

Her eyes widened at his response in her own language. Not for the first time she was realising that this King was indeed 'charmant' and she had to admit, fascinating.

“But for far less convenient reasons than just finding whom is right. One does not simply better their standing, they must acquire more to be elevated. So if that means one marries a son off to the ugly daughter of a duke, that is what they think is best.”

She nodded. She was no stranger to the concept of ambition via marriage. She watched him drain his wine, throw his glass and then be presented with another brim full of the red wine he seemed to favour. How could a man in his position, with his power fail to take it for granted that the universe revolved around him, she reflected.

“Royalty be no different. My mother was Spaniard, in hopes that my father could gain title to all of Catalonia. Once she passed, my father turned an eye to Denmark. Had he not turned ill en route to meet his soon to be wife, this castle might be there than here.”

She was surprised that he had lost both parents in such a way, but did not dare to offer condolences.

“Fate has given me my own place, though. We are not at war. Our allies respect my crown, but dislike me."

Marie wondered what it was that his allies disliked, but knew better than to ask.

"And I have no guardians to tell me whom I should and should not marry. So I have my own course ahead of me. Sure, my aunts and uncles send me women to court like those Bulgarians, but there is no NEED."

She followed his gaze and briefly took in the sight of the Bulgarian party and their somewhat exhibitionist behaviour. No doubt they intended to capture the attention of the King in such a way, but already he had turned back to her.

"I can choose whom I marry based on …”

Her eyes searched his. Just what was it that he would base marriage upon?

“Well, you understand, do you not?”

She nodded slowly.

"Yes, in the case of marriage, you are fortunate, you Majesty."

She responded carefully.

"I can only hope that any man I have to marry might be a kind man, a man who might be interesting and have interest in me ... and perhaps ... one who was not too old ... "

She blushed, draining her wine glass to cover the unwanted image of a certain individual who she had suspected her uncle was wishing to ally herself with.

"In many ways I think,, for me, the church will be a better option ... "

She found herself adding with a barely repressed shudder at the idea of being obliged to spending her life with the elderly Comte her uncle had introduced her to shortly before his visit and capture.

Francis turned to look at the French woman. He light hair and soft features were even more alluring the the firelight of the parlor. She was clearly a handsome woman from the moment he first laid eyes on her, but now he could see the blush on her concern for the future she seemed utterly radiant. It seemed odd that he might find beauty in someone so troubled, but it was his nature to look for the beauty regardless of the thoughts of the woman. It’s all he has ever known.

Yet there was something different in this one. They actually share much of their same concerns - a future not of one’s choice, marrying out of necessity. That alone gave him pause. He could do something for her, might do something maybe. Yet she was French, which means that he may be blowing into the wind.

Of course they had his expectation of her, which could ruin her for whatever may come. The thought almost made him feel guilt … but it was gone sooner than he could even think it much further. It did give him another idea.

“Well, if it is to the nunnery you must go; then maybe it is better you enjoy things before God tells you that you cannot enjoy anything.”

He took a step away from her just a short distance, and pointed to the gaggle of musicians currently getting molested by the Bulgarians.

“Minstrels Please. Put the ladies down, and let’s have some music.”

Then looking out to the whole of the group he called out:

“And will some fine gentleman take this lovely mademoiselle to take her on a spin across the floor?”