Chapter Fourteen

J oanna looked down at the three lockets on her lap and studied her children's faces. She missed them terribly, even though they'd only been traveling for two days.

Eleanor and Charles had cried when she'd left—Eleanor having to be pried by Margaret from around Joanna's neck, her small face going beetroot red and tears dripping from her chin.

It had broken Joanna's heart.

Little Isabella had barely noticed. At the breast of a wet nurse—a nobleman's wife from a nearby village and an upstanding Christian woman—she'd continued to feed greedily during the commotion.

And now, with each pace of the horses, she and Philip were getting farther and farther away from their beloved children and closer to France and King Louis.

"We will return home soon," Philip said, glancing at the lockets and then up at Joanna. "After the ceremony in Toledo, we will journey back through the Pyrenees. A shorter route."

"That cannot come soon enough," she said, holding in a sob. "I wish they had traveled with us, the children. I'm sure they would have been perfectly fine."

"It would have been foolhardy of us, not least because it would have put Charles, our son and heir, also in Louis's court."

"If Louis had harmed a hair on his head, Maximilian would have dropped the weight of his army upon him. My father would have done the same. Louis wouldn't dare."

"That might be the case, but do we really want to risk our only son?" Philip took her hand. "It is enough risk that you are going to be there."

Joanna thought for a moment. "I will not curtsey to him."

"I beg your pardon?" Philip's eyebrows shot up.

"I will not curtsey to Louis in court."

"You must, Joanna. He is a king."

Her jaw tightened and she turned and looked out of the carriage window. Her new status was weighing heavily upon her, but with it, also came a sense of power. Power she'd never thought she'd have as she was the third child, a second daughter. Yet here she was. Heir presumptive and her destiny changed. She was going to grab hold of it, tightly, for she had an educated brain and the heart and soul of the bravest king and queen in the world. She would make everyone proud and rule with surety and wisdom.

*

The journey to Loire was long and hot and much as Joanna had trepidations about arriving at the home of her parents' French enemy, she was relieved to finally arrive at Chateau de Blois and have the rattling carriage come to a halt.

Beyond the carriage door, Belmonte gave instructions to her knights. They were to stay no more than five paces from her.

Philip scowled at the back of the carriage, in the direction of the knights. They'd always irritated him and she knew it wounded his pride that her parents didn't think that he, her husband, could protect her.

She touched his cheek. "You are a patient man," she said gently, "and for that, I thank God, but do not think of anything else now other than getting us through this visit with Louis and then continuing our journey."

He ran his hand through his hair, his brow furrowed.

She flattened down a tuft that had stayed upright. He was so handsome, so regal, she'd have to stay close and make sure no ladies of the French court set their desires upon him.

They were not greeted by the king, but by smartly suited courtiers, who directed them across the courtyard.

The red brick and gray stone chateau was three stories tall and then taller still with gothic spires and ornate pillars. The steep roof was dark and the black windows somewhat menacing, as though eyes could peer out, yet it was impossible to see inside.

They were escorted through a series of lobed archways, footfalls echoing around the stonework, and then through to a lobby holding a small, glass chandelier.

"How very modern," Philip commented.

Joanna looked around. The interior was lavishly decorated with flowers and gilded walls. To her right, huge, wooden doors were thrown open to a vast room with a tiled floor and an elaborately decorated ceiling featuring dark-blue squares decorated with small, golden crosses.

"That is the Salle des états Généraux ," a courtier said, pausing at her side. "Quite beautiful, don't you agree?"

"Yes, indeed." She nodded and took in the canopied golden throne set upon a red, rugged plinth.

"I am sure you will get to admire it further, during your visit," the courtier went on, his accent heavy. "This way, please."

Joanna followed, Philip at her side, the knights and Belmonte close behind. Then came their entourage, carrying luggage and gifts of material and wine for the king and his wife.

After climbing a set of stone steps, the courtier opened a door and gestured to Philip. "Your chambers, Your Grace."

"Thank you." Philip looked at Joanna.

"There is an adjoining door to the ladies' guest room."

"I'm sure the princess will be quite comfortable." Philip stepped inside.

Joanna was escorted a few more paces and then shown into a westerly-facing room that was bright with sunlight.

Belmonte stood in the doorway and looked around. "That is the door to the archduke's room?" He pointed to the left.

"Yes." The courtier tipped his chin at Belmonte. "And who are you?"

"I am the personal protector of the Princess of Asturias under the orders of her parents, King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella."

The courtier looked him up and down, seeming to downturn his mouth very slightly as his attention settled on Belmonte's ever-growing black-and-gray beard.

Belmonte didn't seem to care. "And the princess's knights will be on guard outside this room and by her side at all other times. You should ensure the king is aware of that." He paused. "Though I should mention it is non-negotiable."

The courtier huffed, then stepped out of the way as Beatriz bustled in carrying a trunk. "This way," she called over her shoulder.

Five more trunks arrived and were set beside a wooden-paneled wall and a highly polished walnut table.

"Dinner will be served at dusk," the courtier said, straightening his cravat. "Promptly. The king does not like to be kept waiting."

"I trust there is hot water," Beatriz said.

"Naturally." He turned and stepped out.

Belmonte followed, closing the door behind. He spoke to the knights guarding her door, his voice muffled by the heavy wood.

"Your Highness, you must be exhausted. I will prepare you a lavender bath."

"Thank you, but not lavender—that will make me sleepier still. I'll have sage or peppermint."

"You are very wise with herbs." Beatriz dipped her head. "I will call for some immediately."

Joanna went to the window and looked out. She was higher than she'd expected and her view was over trees and then a wide river, complete with a stone arched bridge. Small houses peppered the landscape, interconnected with tracks and hedgerows, and a flock of sheep grazed on softly rounded hills in the distance.

The sun glowed rich orange, jewel like, as it sank into the water, stretching dazzling fingers of light over the river's surface. A small boat meandered toward the shore, leaving a jagged wake.

She poured wine and sipped, then discarded her shoes. It was strange to feel tired after sitting in a carriage all day. She'd forgotten how wearisome traveling was. Philip was right; the children would not have enjoyed such a journey. She was thankful for his wisdom.

Soon, Beatriz had a barrel of hot, steaming water scented with herbs ready for her to sink into. It felt heavenly to have the heat surround her bones and she dabbed her face, glad to wash away the dust and dirt of the road.

"Which dress shall I lay out for you?" Beatriz asked, fussing with the trunks.

"The red one."

"This one?" Beatriz pulled out a new, scarlet dress decorated with images of golden pomegranates and artichokes.

"No, no not that one." Joanna pointed, dripping water onto the rug. "That one."

"This?" Beatriz pulled it from the trunk and held it at arm's length. "But…"

"It is a traditional Spanish dress, yes, and I think that would be appropriate for me to wear to meet the King of France."

Beatriz studied Joanna and then the boned skirt on the dress.

It was made of sumptuous, red velvet encircled with five dark hoops and it was shaped like a bell. A black velvet stomacher in the shape of a ‘v' gave way to padded shoulders and long, red sleeves that gaped over the wrists. The neckline was low, but not as low as some of her dresses from Ghent and Flanders.

Beatriz laid it on the bed. "I'm really not sure—"

"And the black headdress." Joanna gestured to the trunk to her left. "And the necklace my mother gave me, the one with the emerald set in gold."

Beatriz found the headdress and placed it on the bed beside the gown. She added the necklace next to it.

"And I should also like the cloak."

Beatriz's eyes widened. "It is very warm, Your Highness."

"I wish to look the part."

Beatriz studied her for a moment then set the spectacular and heavily decorated cloak on the bed. It depicted the coats of arms of Castile, Aragon, and Trastámara and would drape from her shoulders and pool at her feet. In this outfit, no one would mistake her for anything other than Spanish royalty.

She smiled, then dunked under the water, wetting her hair.

When she surfaced Beatriz was there, ready with a jug of rosemary water to rinse through the strands. "Are you sure you know what you are doing?"

"Perfectly sure." Now that she had a plan, in all honesty, she was quite looking forward to meeting the King of France.

*

"My love, are you ready?" Philip's voice came through the door.

"Almost," Joanna called. "But please. Wait there. I will come to you."

"But…"

"One moment," she called, shrugging to adjust the weight of the heavy cloak. Already, she felt hot in it. And the dress was tight at her waist, the voluminous sleeves hanging halfway down her legs, adding to her discomfort. But what was a little discomfort when she had a point to make?

Philip banged on the door again. "We must hurry. The king hates to be kept waiting."

"Calm now, husband. I am ready."

Beatriz dusted Joanna's nose with powder then fussed over a loose strand of hair poking from her headdress.

"How do I look?"

"Spanish."

"Spanish royalty?" Joanna raised her eyebrows.

"Indeed, Your Highness. That is exactly how you look and I believe exactly what you intended."

Joanna smiled. "Coming, my love."

The door opened and she swept toward it with her head held high and holding the dress slightly off the floor so as not to trip.

Philip stood dressed handsomely in dark breeches and a pale tunic. A dazzling Habsburg pendent sat around his neck and his hair was still damp from bathing.

His mouth formed a perfect ‘o' when he saw her outfit.

"Come, come," she said, gliding past him and her tall knights. "We will be later still if you do not."

"Joanna!" He gasped and stood as though pinned to the spot. "What in God's name are you doing?"

She turned to him. "Going for dinner with the King of France, which was your idea, if I remember correctly."

"But…But what are you wearing?" His tone was sharp as he gestured at her outfit. "What is this ?"

The knights tensed, a subtle but definite low, metallic clank.

"It is my Spanish dress, as you can see." She placed her hands on her waist, her elbows sticking the cloak out wing-like.

"But you look so…"

"Beautiful? Adorable? Regal?" She raised her eyebrows at him, enjoying seeing him struggling for words for once.

"So…Spanish." He took a step closer. "You look so utterly Spanish."

The knights followed him, hands on their sword hilts.

"I am Spanish, or had you forgotten?" She raised her chin higher still and set her gaze on his.

"Of course not, but I had no intention of rubbing the king's nose in your…Spanishness."

She let out a brittle laugh. "Then why did you bring me here? Tell me that. Why on Earth did we not board a boat?"

"You hate sailing and France is on our way to Toledo."

She twisted her mouth into a smile. "Yes, of course. You are right, my love. I hate sailing."

He frowned. "You will anger King Louis with this formal attire. That is not wise."

"Do you really think it will vex him?"

"Yes." He folded his arms. "Now go and change."

She mimicked his action, the cloak hanging heavily once more. "I do not have time to change."

"I will wait."

"That might be the case." She laughed and turned. "But the king won't, so come on, let's make haste."

She paced across the landing to the stairwell with her outfit flowing. Thickly framed landscape paintings adorned the walls. She was aware of Philip and her knights close behind and her heart beat faster now at the thought of meeting this king her husband revered so.

In the Estates General room Joanna had admired earlier, a lavish banquet had been set on a long table strewn with candelabras. Her mouth watered at the sight of the boar's head with an apple between its jaws, the side of beef already sliced, the pies and figs, the herbed butter and steaming bread. How hungry traveling made her.

Around the sides of the room, French noblemen stood dressed in finery and sipping from pewter goblets. Beside them were French women in long gowns with square-cut necklines and cuffs made of sable, hair pinned and half-hidden by dark headwear.

Upon her arrival, they stopped talking and turned to study her. A few of the women whispered behind cupped palms, their eyes sparkling as though they'd just been told the most wonderful gossip.

Joanna let her gaze rest on each person in turn.

Philip drew up beside her, a shoulder taller, his chin also tilted as he assessed the room.

"Your Highness," Belmonte said, appearing with a goblet of wine for her. "You look…like your mother."

"Thank you, Belmonte. I will take that as a compliment." She smiled at him but gestured the wine away.

"As you should. She is a beautiful woman." He dipped his head then took his place behind her, with the knights, the way he always did.

The high-pitched trump of a brass instrument made her startle, but she disguised it, or so she thought, for Philip pressed his hand into the small of her back, as though telling her he was there for her, no matter what happened next.

She was glad of the turn in his mood.

The king's arrival was announced by a courtier wearing feathers in his hat. "Lords and ladies, please welcome the esteemed and adored King of France, King Louis XII."

All eyes turned to the head of the room.

Joanna consciously slowed her breathing. She had no intention of looking perplexed or nervous or intimidated by King Louis. If she gave him one inkling that she was, he'd play her like a puppet.

She heard his heavy, echoing footfalls before she saw him. And then when he did appear, his emerald-green cloak caught her attention first. Floor-length and made of sumptuous fur, it accentuated his broad shoulders and tall stature.

He wore a heavy, golden chain over it, and upon his head a black cap, from which flowed silken hair the color of a chestnut. His skin was pale, his nose was large, and his chin wasn't strong and angular like Philip's; it was shallow and his neck long. This didn't make him an ugly man, just not one to her taste.

Behind him his wife, Anne, Queen of France. She wore a golden silk damask gown with the fashionable square neckline, though her gown also had an ample skirt and train. Her gown cuffs were trimmed in fur and her kirtle sleeves red and embroidered in gold. A glittering, heavy, pearl-and-diamond-encrusted gold necklace sat around her neck.

The king's dark eyes surveyed the room then came to rest on Philip and then finally on Joanna. He paused, as though taking in her dress, surprised by it, then stepped forward.

"Ah, our guests are here," he said, flinging up his arms and displaying the capes slits and his red, velvet sleeves beneath. "Finally."

He strode alongside the banqueting table, the attention of everyone in the room upon him.

"Philip of Habsburg." He chuckled. "Why, you are a most handsome prince, indeed. It is a truth I have heard but now see with my own eyes. In fact, if it were up to me, I would declare you ‘Philip the Handsome' and be done with it."

"You are too kind, Your Highness." Philip inclined his head. "And thank you for inviting us to be your guests. It is always a pleasure to visit France, and of course, on this occasion to meet you."

Louis huffed slightly. "And you have married since your last meeting with my predecessor, Charles." He turned to Joanna. "An interesting choice of bride." He paused. "Your father's, I should imagine. He is a conniving and cunning character."

Joanna held the king's curious gaze. Her fists clenched so tightly, her nails dug into her palms. A rash of heat spread up her spine.

"Please, allow me to introduce my wife formally, Your Majesty. This is Princess Joanna of Castile, Archduchess of Burgundy, the Low Countries, and Luxemburg." Philip's voice was tense.

Silence hung heavily then stretched uncomfortably when Joanna didn't bob her head, or bow, or curtsey. She simply stood tall and proud and unaffected by the king's stare.

Eventually, Joanna did break the silence. "It is a great pleasure to meet you."

Louis raised his eyebrows, his lips a thin, tight line. He glanced at Philip and then back at Joanna.

Behind her, Belmonte and the knights' wariness practically crackled from them. They were ready for trouble.

Louis cleared his throat and rubbed the point of his small chin. "You do not bow to the king?"

"You are not my king," she said firmly.

Philip stared at her, his brow furrowed and a rise of color growing on his cheeks. "Joanna. Apologize at once."

She ignored her husband. "You are not my king," she repeated to Louis. "For I am heir to the throne of Aragon and Castile, Princess of Asturias. One day, I will be Queen of all Spain and we will be equals." She tried to read his expression—it was impossible—but she pushed on regardless. "Equals do not bow to one another."

"Your Majesty, I—" Philip started.

Louis held up his hand to silence him. "And this is why you wear such a gown, Princess, to remind me and all in this esteemed room exactly who you are?"

"I am proud of my heritage and will be prouder still as Spain gains power and new territories."

"Power." Louis stepped closer to her. He breathed deeply as he stared into her eyes. "For people such as us is the elixir of life, is it not?"

"And comes with great responsibility to do good," she said, trying to ignore the bristling anger coming from Philip. This was clearly not how he'd imagined introducing her to his mighty new friend. "To do good for the people who serve us. To do good for the people who rely upon us."

A flash of amusement crossed Louis's eyes then he tipped his head back and a great, roaring laugh emerged. It echoed around the room as his noblemen looked at each other.

He then stepped to the right and clasped Philip's shoulder. "Oh, my, Philip of Habsburg, Philip the Handsome, you have found a willful wife, indeed. One with a great mind and, I would imagine, great stubbornness. I will give you one word of advice for managing such a woman, something I have learned from experience." He paused and his mirth subsided. "When the wind blows it is best to be a pliant willow bough that bends with it rather than breaks. For if you are too rigid, like an old oak branch, you will be snapped—in this case, by her."

"Wise advice, indeed," Philip said, though there was a note of annoyance in his voice.

"Do not seek to control her," Louis went on. "Instead, go with her, for a future queen is a feisty creature and when she is queen she will be more complex still."

"Perhaps you confuse ‘feisty' with ‘intelligent' and ‘determined,'" Joanna said.

"My dear, you are right." Louis stood before her again and set his big hands on her shoulders as he stared into her eyes. "And I should do well to remember that, as one day, we may meet on the battlefield."