~5~

 

          John woke with a start. He guessed it was a bad dream. He hoped so; he dreamed that he was at his coronation, the crown about to be laid upon his head, when Fredrick came charging in screaming.

         

          “He’s a liar, and a cheat!” He pointed at John, accusingly. “That man is not fit to be King! A man who is cowardly enough to play puppet for any other man,” he glared at Girard, “should not be ruling over France!”

 

          He looked demented now. “Don’t be fooled! Or this man will bring you all crashing down!”

 

          The multitude of people in the throne room started to converse with each other, agreeing with Fredrick. They started to give John angry glares, shouting at him, slowly approaching, ready to attack.

 

          That was when he opened his eyes, troubled by the delusions of his own mind. He wondered what time of day it was. He looked out the window and saw that the Sun was not yet up. Before dawn, he sighed. He definitely wanted to try and get more sleep. He was going to need it.

         

          He looked over to his left and was startled yet again. Feeling foolish, he realized that he had to get used to waking up and finding a woman beside him. He smiled to himself; she was here to stay.

 

          John also realized his hand an inch away from Francine’s back; she was turned away from him. He then found that he was in the middle of the bed, instead of on the far right of it. He rolled his eyes and groaned. He should’ve known that he wasn’t going to keep to his side of the bed during the night, knowing how he slept. He felt ashamed; he probably pushed her until she nearly fell off. But he looked over to her, watched her body rise and fall with every breath she took. She looked content. But still, I have to work on how I sleep.

 

          Just as John repositioned himself, trying to allow sleep to overtake him, there came a loud thud on the door.

 

          Francine’s head shot up in an instant as if she were never asleep to begin with, as she eyed the door.

 

          “John! John it’s me!”

 

          He hurried out of the bed when he heard Richarrd’s voice, it sounded urgent. He opened the door and poked his head out to find his friend there, along with a group of palace guards running by.

         

          Looking confused, he focused on his messenger who looked distraught. “What’s going on?” John asked.

 

          “Girard wants you in his study right now.”

 

          “Why?”

 

          “Just hurry,” and Richarrd was off.

 

          John stared after him stumped. He finally closed the door and turned to find that Francine had sat up. She now studied his face, searching for an explanation.

 

          “Girard has called us to his study. We have to go immediately.”

 

          She didn’t need to hear anymore. She could sense that something was wrong. Francine rushed out of the bed and grabbed a simple dress to put on. John also hurried and put on some fresh clothes.

 

          They both rushed up to Girard’s study. When they got to the door, they found that they didn’t have to knock; the door was already opened.

 

          Girard was sitting at his desk, looking solemn.

 

          “Girard,” John’s voice put him out of his trance.

 

          “Please, sit down,” he gestured toward the two seats opposite him.

 

          Francine and John took their respective chairs reluctantly, pondering about all of the commotion. John was especially anxious, no one seemed to want to tell him anything.

 

          He spoke first. “So what’s going on?”

 

          Girard’s next words seemed difficult for him. “It’s Fredrick,” he paused to collect his thoughts. “He was found this morning dead. From all of the wine bottles located around him and around his quarters, they ruled it as alcoholic poisoning.”

 

          Girard delivered the news with definite disgust and disappointment. It was as if he were not surprised, but it was plain to see that he was dismayed, and didn’t want things to conclude this way.

 

          Upon hearing the news, John froze. He couldn’t believe it. Yes, there were some things about his cousin that he didn’t like, but he still loved him, and didn’t wish this for him. Fredrick, poor Fredrick was now dead. They grew up together. John saw him progress from that little innocent boy to the grown man who couldn’t handle the pressures of becoming King, therefore becoming self-destructive.

 

          In one fell swoop, the throne was all his. He sunk in his chair; he didn’t want it like this. John just sought to peacefully go to Fredrick, inform him of his problem, and suggest that he stepping down would be best for him. But no. Fredrick gave up, and hoisted the crown at John.

 

          “John,” Girard interrupted his musing. “I am sure you know what this means,” he then glanced at Francine. “You have to ascend to the throne. You have to. As of right now, France is without a king.”

 

          Francine shifted uneasily in her chair. She was struck by the news hard, but John seemed to be the one truly hurt. Lord only knew what was ahead of them.

 

          Somewhat melodramatically, Girard took his two index fingers, and pointed them at John and Francine. “It is up to you two. You both have to face this, and take rule.” He then sat back in his chair, staring ahead of him into space.

 

          Francine then met John’s gaze, offering him a determined look. They both silently seemed to come to an understanding.

 

          The gaze was broken when Francine turned her head towards Girard’s window.

 

          John began to worry. “What’s wrong, Francine?”

 

          She turned back to him and Girard. “You don’t hear that?” She got up from her chair and hurried to the window.

 

          A horrified look planted itself onto her face. “I think you two should come see this.”

 

          They both got up to join her. They were then surprised to find a mass of people outside of the palace, angry and infuriated. Some carried torches, some carried weapons, and others merely carried their harsh words.

 

          They’re angry, Francine thought.

 

          She looked to the two men, “So, what are we going to do about this?” she panted. She couldn’t believe that they were just staring down at the pandemonium.

 

          “What can we do?” Girard shook it off. “The guards will handle it.”

 

          She looked back down and saw those same guards struggling to keep the people from raiding the palace.

 

          “You’re going to set soldiers on your own people?” she demanded. She looked over to John, pleading.

 

          He gave her a stern look that he handed over to Girard. He seemed as if he desired to help, but felt bound by Girard’s reluctance. Francine became even more frustrated and turned back to Girard who replied, “We would only use them to maintain control. It’s too dangerous down there for you two right now.”

 

          “Then you do something,” she offered.

 

          Girard gave her a wave of the hand. “It’ll be taken care of.”

 

          She shook her head and went back to John, weary from going back and forth between them. She had her mind made up, she was going down there, but she hadn’t learned her way around the palace yet, and she desperately wanted an escort. Hoping she at least had John convinced, she fiercely ordered, “Take me to the entrance.”

 

          John hesitated. But Francine grew dangerously impatient and didn’t wait for an answer. She then stormed out of the room, angry with the two procrastinators she left behind.

 

          But John didn’t let her get too far. He ran after her out of the door.

 

          “Francine,” he politely interrupted. She turned towards him annoyed. He kindly pointed in the opposite direction she was headed. She grudgingly obliged, and they both headed down the main staircase towards the front palace doors.

 

          Once outside, they met the horrendous scene. It was much different being fact to face with the chaos. People were yelling, throwing their fists at Francine and John, with the guards fighting to keep them off. Girard caught up to them shortly after.

 

          “We should really let the guards handle this,” he suggested.

 

          Francine took it all in. She looked into all of their faces. She felt their fury. Their king, the one who supposedly protected them, the symbol of their country, was gone. And they blamed the one who would succeed him—and his new wife. Above all, they were scared. Afraid for their future. I have to do something.

 

          With as much courage as she could muster, she found herself inching toward the crowd, halting with each curse that flew at her, but then starting all over again. Eventually she got past the line of guards who didn’t try to stop her, but stared after her in amazement as she faced the angry rioters.

 

          John could sense that Girard was about to pounce in an attempt keep Francine from doing something impulsive, but John put his arm out in front of him. He knew that Francine would never forgive him if he let anyone stop her.

 

          Accompanied only by her determination, she eyed the crowd down. A sudden silence fell over them as they waited for her to make a move.

 

          Her face softened. She didn’t know what to do. She didn’t know what she could say. But she knew that she better do something while she had their attention, or she would be finished.

 

          “People of Paris!” She bellowed as loud as she could, hoping she wasn’t conveying how scared she actually felt. “I know why you are here. You are a country in mourning. I know that you are upset, outraged, and scared even. But this cannot be what King Fredrick would want. Now I have only know him for a little while, and I have seen the reasons why he is so loved, but I think he would want the best for this kingdom, and for its people. You’ve come here today to show your love for your king, and your country. But I want you all to know that I love your country too. France is new to me, but from what I’ve seen, it is a beautiful place, with beautiful things, and beautiful people. And I don’t want to see it like this. I don’t think King Fredrick would want to see it like this. Right here, I pledge my devotion to you. I—we,” she motioned towards John, “ will do what ever we have to for this country…and its people.”

 

          After she spoke those last words, she stood there motionless. She couldn’t tell how the crowd took her words. When all she could hear was silence, she started to feel overwhelmed with anxiety.

 

          The seconds seemed to tick by, endlessly. It seemed like forever before there was any sign of life again.

 

          It started with little murmurs between them. And then, those in the back started to turn and leave, and then more turned and left, and then more. The people seemed content as they walked away. They filed out one by one, two by two, until there was no one left on the grounds facing Francine.

 

          A grand feeling of accomplishment melted over her. She did it. A relieved smile crept onto her face. She backed away slowly as if turning her back on this perfect, calm scene would end it, and prove it to be false.

         

          John and Girard gawked at her with astonishment. She turned around, still satisfied with herself, but sure to wear a discerning look as she passed the boys, leaving them to wander and meditate on her words.

          He thought it best to leave her alone for now. After what happened that morning, she didn’t look pleased. He should’ve been there, beside her, calming the crowd, reassuring them like she did. It would’ve only made sense that the future king connect with the people he is about to govern. He felt like a coward. John couldn’t believe that he let her face that all on her own.

 

          But she did it. He allowed a little smile to come to him. That thought brought him some comfort at least. She’s some woman, he chuckled.

 

          Richarrd was growing impatient with his supposed fencing partner. They were supposed to be dueling, but the only thing he was facing was a preoccupied man with too much on his mind, sitting down.

 

          He tapped John’s boot with his sword and jumped back into his fighting stance. “What troubles you, friend?”

 

          Roused from his musing, John remembered what he was meant to be doing. “Oh, it’s nothing.”

 

          Richarrd let down his sword. “I refuse to believe that,” he smirked. “Has it to do with your cousin?”

 

          Not that John had forgot about Fredrick’s death, but he had something more pressing on his mind. His death was something that could no longer be helped.

 

          John stood up. “No, it’s not that. Did you hear about what Francine did this morning?”

 

          “Heard it, I was there. It was amazing how she faced the crowd like that. They completely frightened me! But I guess she just wasn’t afraid.”

 

          John smiled in agreement, which Richarrd seemed to notice. “Why do you ask?”

 

          “Because I just feel horrible about how I just let her do it alone. Didn’t you think it was odd that I wasn’t right there, talking to the people myself?”

 

          “Well, now that you’ve mentioned it, yes, but that still pales in comparison to fact that she actually stood up to all of those people. She is truly a unique girl. I’m interested to know how you handle her…. How are things between you two?”

 

          John livened up. “What do you mean?”

 

          “You know what I mean, you seem impressed by her. Are things going well?”

 

          “I wouldn’t say that. I haven’t handled her, if that’s what you’re getting at. She doesn’t seem to take too kindly to me.” He smiled at the understatement.

 

          “And you wish she would.” It was more of a statement that a question. “What about marital bliss?”

 

          “Yes,” John swung his sword. “That would be nice, but we’re only married in the religious and literal sense.”

 

          Richarrd looked puzzled. “So you two haven’t,” he couldn’t find a way to conclude.

 

          John could sense the awkwardness. “We just met a few days ago. We hardly know each other, so I couldn’t possibly do that.”

 

          Richarrd scoffed. “She is certainly attractive. I would try to get over that very quickly.”

 

          John shot him a disapproving look. “I couldn’t do that to her. And besides, you forget, you and I are not the same person.”

 

          “Oh you make me sound like an insensitive jerk!” he countered. “But this is different. You seem to be taken with her, and you’re married anyway.” Richarrd paused to think. “Something must be wrong with her.”

 

          John shook his head. He knew how it must’ve looked to those on the outside. “It’s the exact opposite Richarrd, there’s nothing wrong with her, she’s…amazing. She is so fearless, and lovely, and delicate, and divine, and…strong-minded. She baffled me how she confronted Girard, how she soothed that crowd today, and how she was able to come to a place she didn’t know and marry a man she never met. And the best thing about it all is,” he fought to hold back a laugh, “is that she doesn’t want to be married to me!” he let the laugh out and it shook his entire body.

 

          Richarrd gazed at his friend with confusion. “I don’t follow.”

 

          “I was so glad. She hates this idea more than I do. I can tell, because sometimes she gives me certain looks, …as if she’ll never give me a chance.” John laughed again, with less amusement this time.

 

          “Well, you don’t seem to object anymore. So why don’t you try to win her over?”

 

          John sighed. “Because. We’ve been forced together and, I don’t want to think that just because we’re married, and share the same bed, don’t ask, that I have to be in love with her. I just hate that we had to go through with this, but I don’t I don’t regret meeting her. I think that if we ever met some other way, we might actually be something to each other. But now, I’ll never know.”

 

          “But that doesn’t really matter to you, you care for her, I can see it. My friend,” Richarrd put his hands on John’s soldier, “I hate to see you so pained. So why don’t you forget all of that nonsense you have just told me, and go with your heart, or hers.” He offered him a wink and a smile.

 

          John rolled his eyes and tapped his sword against his opponent’s side. Richarrd was never the sensible one and he would never let him take over that role. So John decided to finally duel him to shut him up.