Free Four Sisters, All Queens by Sherry Jones Page A

tonight.”
    The gathered crowd erupts into cheers, tossing flowers to Marguerite and calling her name. Louis offers her his arm. With musicians before them and the queen mother behind, she walks in a rain of petals through a stone gate, past a line of servants standing at attention, and into the great hall, bedecked with colorful banners and bejeweled tapestries and filled with long, linen-covered tables and benches. Louis leads her up onto a dais and they take seats at the table with Blanche, while the rest sit according to their rank.
    Servants scurry in bearing great platters of food: duckling, carp, venison, lettuces, cheese, cooked apples, foie gras, olives, raspberries, and bread—and pouring wine into goblets with pitchers of water set alongside for mixing. Louis hands her their golden goblet and watches her drink; she returns it with lowered eyes. Tonight they will spend their first night together as husband and wife—on their backs in the marriage bed instead of on their knees in the chapel.
    Her stomach flutters, causing her to pick at her meal although she has not eaten all day. Coming from a home where food was scarce, she is accustomed to hunger. Louis, too, eats little, and grins much. When the musicians begin to play, he leans toward her. He is tired, he says, of music and crowds. Would she welcome a tour of the château and grounds? The gardens are most impressive.
    They step into the courtyard and it is as he said: cherry trees blossom wantonly, filling the air with fragrance, and lilies bloom around a burbling fountain.
    “This fountain seemed much larger when I was small,” Louis says. “I remember hiding behind it. Now I see why I was so easily found.”
    “From whom would little Prince Louis have hidden?”
    He grimaces. “My tutor. I had neglected my studies. His beatings were quite severe.”
    “What a pity!” She reaches up to stroke his cheek. “A good teacher would have inspired you instead of beating you.”
    “Oh, but I was a very sinful child. I was much more interested in chasing frogs and torturing beetles than reading my psalter.” He sighs. “Think of my poor mother, trying to bring up an unruly boy while ruling a kingdom of malcontents. I caused her much woe—until my fourteenth birthday. On that day Mama appointed M. de Flagy to me, a true gift from God. His daily whippings helped me to mend my ways.”
    Marguerite gasps. “Daily whippings! You poor boy.”
    “It is not so serious as that.” He plucks a blossom and tucks it into her crespine. “But I did not bring you into these beautiful gardens to discuss my tutors. I had hoped for a kiss under these trees from my lovely wife.”
    He brushes her cheek with his lips. His breath is hot on her face. His heart thumps against her chest.
    “You are lovely.” He kisses her on the mouth, gently at first, as if he can feel her pulse, too, racing in her breast. At last, when she winds her arms around his neck, delighting in the taste and feel of him, his kiss deepens.
    “I cannot wait to join our bodies,” he murmurs. “I pray that the priests will bless our marriage bed soon.”
    “Soon enough, my son.” Blanche’s voice is a lance piercing their privacy—or their illusion of it. “First, however, we must discuss affairs of the kingdom.”
    Louis stiffens. His hands fall from Marguerite’s body. Blanche’s face holds disgust, as though she had found them naked and fornicating on the lawn.
    “Your presence is required in my chambers, Louis. If you are not too busy.”
    What “affairs of the kingdom” cannot wait until tomorrow? This is the life of a queen, Marguerite supposes: no time to call one’s own, ever subservient to the people’s needs. She had thought that, as queen, she would have control over her life as well as the lives of others. Now, after three days of fulfilling others’ desires while putting off her own, she thinks the opposite may be true.
    Inside the great hall the music continues, but the