XIV. HERETICS

                                    

                                          

                            

                                
                            
                              
                                  
                              
                              
                                
                                  
                                  
                                
                              
                             
                            
                            
                          
                          

-
THE PRINCESS HAD been placed under careful watch, six guards flanking her wherever she went. She had quickly grown tired of this, but every person of importance to her insisted it was necessary. 
She was still recovering from the shock. Every time she closed her eyes, the decapitated stag's cold, dead eyes stared back at her.
On the brighter side, she had befriended a few of the aforementioned guards, her new guardians eager to earn the favor of the Princess, of the future Queen of France. 
That title of hers was growing more tentative by the day. Nobody told her much of political discussions at Court, but she knew very well that Henry would prefer his son to marry a Queen in her own right, the Queen of Scots. 
Francis told her she had nothing to worry about, but a looming uncertainty tugged at her heartstrings. 
Annalise's burgundy skirts trickled down the steps in the throne room, blending with those that adorned Queen Catherine, who sat in her golden chair. The Princess sat at her feet, looking up at her as she barked orders at one of Annalise's guards, Robert.
The Queen turned to her and adjusted the girl's tiara slightly, sweeping a few stray hairs that had fallen from Anna's intricate knots and braids. "How are you feeling, Amore?"
Annalise reassured her that she was fine, turning to Mary as she entered the throne room. Again, she was asked, how are you feeling? Again, she replied, fine, thank you. The aftermath was almost more exhausting than the incident itself. The Princess was growing restless.
The Queen of Scots' eyes narrowed as they scanned over the scene before her, an uneasiness washing over her features that she quickly tried to mask. The clicking of her slippers slowed as she paused before the throne. 
There sat her sister and the Medici Queen, wearing the same color, wearing the same expression. She worried about how the similarities between them may grow in the coming future. 
Catherine's hand rested on Annalise's shoulder affectionately, but something about the touch seemed ulterior. The grip, for lack of a better word, seemed to be holding her in place. Securing her, steering her. It wasn't a hold bred with love, but with control. 
Robert's orders were to open the doors to the throne room, and as he did, Catherine called out to Mary. "Perhaps it's best if Annalise addresses the servants, after all, they will be hers one day."  A half-smile worked its way onto her lips.
The words made Anna want to cringe. The idea of having charge of so many people made her nervous.
Mary nodded and reached a hand out to her sister, which she rose and took gingerly.