"Wow." the seven year old whispers, her gloved fingers clinging to the barricade in front of her. She's so little that she has to stand on her tip toes and even then, all that pops over the barricade is the mop of copper messy curls and hazel eyes. Her breath bounces back from the combination of cold metal and plywood and paint and heats her nose, most of her chin covered by the layers and layers of fuzzy scarves around her neck and puffa jacket, a matching pink hat covering most of her head. "It's magic." she whispers, watching the figure in white chiffon fly around the ice with beauty and majesty and calmness and gentleness and steel a woman three times her age can achieve with ease. It's so fascinating to her, watching the girl who was just as much a sister as those of her blood fly around the ice and jump around in rapid spins and pointed landings, the fellow Princess arching backwards into another pose, her raven ringlets flying behind her as she smiles prettily for the cameras.
"What was that, darling?" a voice asks. The little girl looks up at her father and gives him a bright smile, showing off the gap in her mouth. She pulls herself from the barricade, her coat giving a few grunts and grumbles as she moves.
"Mary, Papa!" she points over the barricade keeping her from falling into the crowd, a private box of isles meant to keep people like them safe and protected. "She looks like un ange! Papa, she does!"
The King of France chuckles at his little daughter who is every inch his wife, right down to the fiery Medici temperament and equally as fiery locks. He reaches down and takes her little hand, rubbing his thumb around her glove-covered knuckles. "She looks marvelous, mon petit." Henry agrees. "Very beautiful."
Claude gives him her best smile, looking towards her right, where her mother sits with the littlest Valois' closest to her. The babies do more sleeping than watching their Godsister preform, but that's fine with little Claude, as she smiles at her father again, before turning towards her elder siblings. Elisabeth sits quietly watching, while Sebastian and Francis lean over the rail to cheep and woop and clap whenever Mary hits a move right, or whenever she surprises the crowd with another spectacular show of athleticism.
The little Princess hops right back up to the pedestal to watch Mary preform, making note to tease her brother as she catches sight of the different way he looks at the ten year old who will be his wife when they're eighteen. But she may not tease him, because if Francis is happy, then Maman is happy and that means Maman may treat her nicer than usual, and Claude relishes in times like those. They come so rarely when a babe keeps the Queen of France up all night.
Mary finishes her routine, and she gives them all pretty smiles and doe eyes as she bows. And, in that moment, Claude realises that she wants to be just like Mary.
YOU ARE READING
You Are My Light Part II
Historical Fiction-Reign Oneshots/Taking Requests- The world can be dark, Mary, and uncertain and cruel. The only thing that matters is that we face it together. No matter what happens, you are my light. Part 2! -Read TEML first!-
