Between Two Kings (34 page)

François shifted in the bed and drew the bedcovers over their bodies. Then he stretched his body across the bed and shivered in pain, his back hurting from the deep scratches his mistress had left on his skin during the night. His body was on fire from excessive perspiration. He swept his eyes over the room, looking at the chaotic mess of their clothes on the floor. He cursed himself over and over again.

François reached for her shoulder. “Anne, wake up,” he said flatly.

Anne slowly opened her eyes, disoriented and sleepy. “François,” she murmured.

He gave a cold glare to her. “Please leave,” he commanded.

She snuggled to him, but he disentangled from her embrace. “What is it with you, 
mon amor
?”

“I was very drunk,” François said with a clear note of displeasure. “You used it to stay with me.”

“You wanted me as much as I wanted you,” she protested.

“I was drunk,” he reiterated.

Anne climbed out of the bed and gripped the king’s black silk robe. “Can I use your robe?”

François drew in a long, ragged breath. “Yes.”

She cloaked herself in the robe. “Thank you.”

“Please leave because soon I have a meeting with Monty.” The King needed to have a bath and be dressed. He knew he wouldn’t be able to eat anything with such a hangover.

“If Your Majesty wishes, I will leave,” she replied. “Have a good day.”

“Thank you, Anne,” the king snapped nonchalantly.

François called his servant who had slept in the room adjacent to the king’s bedchamber and asked the young boy to help Anne de Pisseleu remove herself from his presence. He watched how she gathered her clothes and turned to him with a playful smile.

As soon as the door behind her closed, François felt the plummet of despair, knowing that he had committed an error yesterday. His heart pounded for three, four, five, six long seconds. He was angry with himself. As the haze evaporated from his head, he wholeheartedly regretted spending the night with his mistress. He’d betrayed his marital vows and a feeling of frantic guilt slashed through him. But why was he bothered so much by that? It seemed to him that he almost knew the answer.

Anne de Pisseleu was annoying and was always near François. She never left him alone. She would constantly come to have a meal with him or try to seduce him again. François didn’t want to sleep with her anymore, but he also didn’t prohibit her being at his side.

One evening, François lay on the large walnut bed with gilded canopy in his bedchamber. François wasn’t alone – Anne de Pisseleu was snuggled close to him, her head on his chest. They were fully dressed, although it was quite late.

Anne de Pisseleu smiled. “François, you have stopped paying attention to me since your return from Venice,” she complained. She kissed the king’s neck.

King François sighed heavily. “You are exaggerating, Anne.”

She knit her brows for a moment. “My François, we have spent only one night together since you returned from Venice.” She felt how the muscles of his body tensed.

François shut his eyes. “I am very busy and cannot be distracted.” He didn’t want to remember that night. It was unbelievable but he felt guilty that he had been intimate with Duchess d’Étampes. Every time François remembered that Queen Anne, his wife, carried his child while he slept with Anne de Pisseleu, his feelings of guilt turned more frantic.

“You were not busy all the time,” she objected. “Are you healthy?” Before he had married in Venice, François usually invited his mistress to his chambers almost every night. They used to be passionate and regular lovers.

François pulled away from her. “Anne, I told you that I am very busy.”

“It is because of your new wife,” she assumed.

The king tensed at her words. “It doesn’t matter,” he answered sharply.

Duchess d’Étampes felt the king’s body strain as soon as she mentioned his new wife. What was wrong with him? “Your Majesty, if I may ask you, how long have you known the woman you married?” Her tone changed from personal to official.

The king glanced vexedly at his mistress. “I knew my wife enough to marry her.” He didn’t want to talk to Anne about the other Anne who had occupied all his thoughts the past months.

With a sickening lurch in her heart, Anne de Pisseleu looked up at him with a sort of challenge. “What is going on? You no longer like to spend time with me.” She trailed off, her green eyes sparkled. She knew there was only reason the king no longer looked at her with complete adoration and why he preferred to sleep alone in his bed. Even if they somehow ended up in the bed, there was no physical intimacy between them. She decided she would check out her theory. “Your Majesty, do you remember how many years we have spent together in harmony? We were so happy.”

François smiled. “Those years are unforgettable,” he drawled in a distant tone. There was nothing of the usual pure, wild devotion in his voice as he talked about their past.

Sadness appeared in the green eyes of the king’s mistress. She noticed that his reaction to her had changed and evolved into just pleasant memories. How did it happen? She didn’t know, but she felt that he no longer loved her. “Your Majesty, I greatly appreciate the time we are spending together. It is the best time in my life.”

The king closed his eyes. “It was a great time when we shared our interests, fears, confusions, and passions.”

Anne gave the king a sidelong glance. She noticed he talked about their time in the past. She was in despair. Did he fall in love with his new wife? How could it happen? “Your Majesty, the Queen of France must be an incredible woman if you married her only because she heroically saved your life.”

François opened his eyes and glanced at Anne, then looked away. “My wife is a unique woman.”

Anne wanted to know what kind of feelings existed between the King and the Queen of France. She saw that the king missed his wife, but she still didn’t understand to what extent he had fallen for her. “Does your wife love you, my king?”

The king’s body tensed and he stiffened. He shot her a hard under-the-counter glance. Then his amber eyes softened. “It doesn’t matter,” he murmured. He knew that Anne Boleyn, his wife, hadn’t loved him when he married her. Most likely, Anne Boleyn still loved her first husband – King Henry. And several months ago François hadn’t minded but now the thought that Anne didn’t love him was like a sharp knife in his heart.

“Your Majesty, I love you,” Anne half whispered in ardor.

King François smiled at her. He was gently stroking her blonde hair. “I know.”

Her sentiments of love and passion weren’t being reciprocated. Anne de Pisseleu saw it, but she wasn’t going to lose the battle without a struggle. She didn’t know who the woman was, but it didn’t matter because she knew who she herself was and she would never give the king to somebody else, even if François’ wife was an incredible woman. “François, I will always love you.” She wanted to kiss him, but he pulled away.

King François glanced away. “Anne, I don’t want it now.”

Duchess d’Étampes kissed his neck, but he moved farther away on the bed.

“Why don’t you want me?” she asked in indignation.

“I am very tired. I prefer to rest,” the king said discontentedly. Then he rose to his feet and went to the window, staring outside. “Maybe you should go back to France,” he suggested.

“Your Majesty may need me here,” she replied in a sweet voice. She leapt to her feet. She had to check another thing that had become a headache for her since she heard the rumors. “Your Majesty, I heard your wife is with child. Congratulations.” Her eyes rested on François throughout the last phrase of her statement.

The king turned his face to her. “Thank you,” a monosyllabic answer followed. He didn’t make a single move to hold her in the room.

Anne de Pisseleu didn’t know what to do – to cry or to laugh. François had just confirmed that his wife was with child, his child. She had never given him any bastard child, and it was her pain and, probably, her punishment by God for the carnal pleasures she had in abundance. Anne made a deep curtsey to the king and went to the door. She paused near the door and looked at him. “Your Majesty, I wish you to have a good night.”

“Goodnight, Anne,” King François replied politely. He felt guilty that he no longer had the same passion he’d felt for her for years. He didn’t want to make her suffer. He tried to find the same passion and the same love in his heart and soul, but there was nothing, except for devotion to Anne as his friend. Was it his fault that he considered her to be more his friend than his lover at that moment? Why had his old feelings faded away?

While Anne was in Venice, King François often remembered his wife. And the more he thought about her, the more he felt that their marriage meant something more than a pure political alliance. What exactly did he feel for Anne Boleyn? François had wanted revenge on King Henry for their old political conflict. Anne Boleyn, the Queen of France, was his political tool. He didn’t plan to start a war with the Kingdom of England, but wanted to put Henry through humiliation by cornering him and enlightening him that his cast-off queen was presently François’ queen and wife.

François also needed a more loyal England without Thomas Cromwell who preferred an Anglo-Imperial alliance. There were many potential political gains from his marriage to Anne. His revenge plan was working perfectly as the situation in England was now not far from being chaotic. The pamphlets and the critical book about Thomas Cromwell’s role in the Reformation were enough to create huge problems for King Henry, possibly resulting in an uprising against the king and his religious policy.

François had helped Anne arrange the downfall of Cromwell as a part of their plan. With Anne’s name cleared, King Henry would be forced to announce to the world that Henry had made a great mistake when he had discarded Anne Boleyn. François wanted to show Henry that, in their old rivalry, he, François, was more cunning and more intelligent. It gave the King of France a feeling of devilish personal satisfaction as he imagined Henry’s reaction to the news about Anne’s new status in France. Rational and calculating, François knew that Henry would be brought to the very edge of his own sanity when the truth was discovered.

François truly wanted to help Anne. Anne Boleyn was an unconventionally beautiful woman, a woman with an air of charm, grace, enigma, and womanhood around her. It was without saying that her appearance and image attracted men to her, including François himself. Anne was so intelligent, so clever, and so broad-minded that very few other women could be compared with her in the above-mentioned qualities.

In the sense of her intelligence and education, Anne Boleyn was a true Renaissance woman. Anne also was a strong-willed, ambitious woman, who was capable of sacrificing many things to achieve a certain degree of greatness for herself and her children. She was born to rule and to control. François was sure that if Anne had been born a man, she would have been one of his most prominent advisers. He was eager to listen to her opinion on various matters, including political matters. Anne and François had much in common and they could become great political allies and rulers. He was proud that Anne was his wife and his queen. He admired and adored her. Those thoughts had shaped his decision to propose a deal to Anne – their political marriage and combined forces in their revenge. Anne was born to be the great Queen Consort in an alliance with the king.

However, the more time François had spent with Anne in Venice, the more attracted to her he was. He liked talking to her. He liked looking at her. He adored her mode of thought and her mentality. They shared many interests and avocations. They had much in common, both being ambitious, craving greatness, crafty, able to rule, and having great Renaissance intelligence. Finally, François hadn’t noticed just how dependent he was on Anne. When he didn’t see her, he missed her.

He liked spending more and more time with her. He liked their physical contact, even if there was no wild passion and fire between them, like there once was between Anne and Henry. He hoped that passion for him would awake in Anne’s heart over time; he was prepared to wait patiently. François wanted to protect Anne and give her peace and a feeling of harmony.

The news of Anne’s pregnancy had made François the happiest man in the world, and the only thing he wanted was to hold her near his heart and never let her go. He didn’t tell Anne that he would have preferred to have a son as their first child because he wanted to spite Henry by throwing into the English king’s face that Anne had given François a son while Henry had erroneously considered Anne infertile. Yet, he knew that the gender of the child was in God’s hands, and he would never blame Anne if she gave him a daughter. He would be happy with any child she gave birth to.

François often remembered Anne; her face, her smile, and her blue eyes that so entranced him. He ordered the production of small portrait of her and placed it in the locket he wore on the exquisite golden chain on his neck. Somehow Anne’s image evolved from an image of his political tool into that of his queen, his lover, his wife, and the mother of his children. His adoration and respect had evolved into a new feeling for him – deep love. François finally confessed to himself that he loved Anne Boleyn. She was probably the only woman whom he had ever loved genuinely.

What should François do now? Should he confess to Anne his feelings for her? He knew how much she had changed since the tragedy in England and her escape from there. François doubted that Anne would welcome his love with waiting arms and an open heart. As he realized that he loved her, he also realized he wanted his affection returned, but he also comprehended that it could happen only over time. He needed to be patient, probably for a long, long time, before Anne would be ready to see that she could trust him and love him and return his affection. He couldn’t tell her about his true feelings. It was too early for him to do that.

December 1537, Castello di Rivoli, Turin, Piedmont

Anne de Pisseleu, Duchess d’Étampes, waited for the King of France in the reception room. She rose to her feet from the large wooden armchair and walked slowly toward the mirror that hung near the fireplace.