An Imperial Match: Anne Boleyn marries Charles V

It’s funny how the characters always turn out too look just like how I imagined… I guess that shows how good you are at writing descriptions!
 
Why wouldn't he learn Castilian, though?
Why would he learn? No one around him speaks it. His immediate family members write letters in French to each other. He's not going to Castile any time soon. He will need French and Dutch much more than he will need Castilian or Aragonese, like his brother Felipe has to learn.
 
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12th of December, 1535.
Lisbon, Portugal. 12th of December, 1535.

The needle moved in and out of the fabric, Leonor carefully holding her tools as she sewed a new shirt for her husband, the crackling of the burning logs in her hearth filling the air. She raised her eyes slightly, looking over at her three daughters, who were also partaking in sewing projects of their own.

Joana was finishing a tapestry for a nunnery filled with devouts to Blessed Elizabeth of Portugal, paying special attention to the ruby-red roses that represented the miracle associated with their ancestress. She had started it because of the influence of her aunt-by-marriage, Eleonora d’Este, who had grown much fond of the folklore surrounding the once Queen. Leonor, of course, only encouraged the friendship, possibly because the now Duchess of Aveiro was a talented and pious young woman, not to mention one of much intelligence and good sense. Surely, there was nothing wrong with her becoming some sort of mentor to the young Infanta.

Manuela and Margarida, in their turn, were sewing new dresses for themselves, though a maid sat beside Margarida to help the poor child, only four years of age. Margarida had her tongue peeking out in concentration, reddish hair carefully brushed out of her face for her to see. Manuela, nine, was more proficient with a needle and did not need any help, carefully embroidering the hem of a wide blue skirt with beads and precious jews.

Leonor smiled. Domestic moments such as that which they were in were rare in a royal life and she enjoyed it greatly. Of course, she might have preferred for Filipe and Afonso to be present as well, and João, obviously, but the men were off on a hunting trip. Celebrating another successful year of João as King of Portugal, ruling since his father's death in 1517.

So it was just her and the girls, her precious infantas. And the maids, of course, but it was far too easy for a queen like Leonor to ignore her servants. Which she did.

"I hear the Duchess of Aveiro is to bear another child," said Leonor with a careful tone, still sewing for her husband. "Which, with the Empress' state already confirmed, means my darlings shall have two cousins born in the coming year."

Manuela looked up. "Is the Queen of Hungary not expecting as well, Lady Mother?"

"Oh, yes," said Leonor. "I had forgotten that the Queen of Hungary will have another child." She smiled. The last child born to her brother Ferdinand was Eleonore, her namesake and goddaughter, in 1534. "So three cousins in this new year, three blessings." She raised her eyes slightly, looking at Joana, who had already returned her gaze to her tapestry. "Soon enough, it will be you, Joana, who shall marry and give us blessings. Who will strengthen our family with new heirs."

"Must we talk about this now, mama?" Joana asked, turning to her with a complaining gaze. She was fifteen and entirely full of ideas about what her life as an infanta and future Princess of Asturias should be like. "I shall not marry my cousin for another two years."

"I must, if you wish to be prepared," Leonor responded with a stern lip. "When I was twenty years of age, I married my own cousin and became Queen. It was such a delight for me, though I so wished that my own mother had prepared me." Leonor had not spent much time in Castile, barely even seen and met her mother after arriving from the Low Countries, before her brother sent her to Portugal.

"I know, mama," Joana replied. "I know everything about how you and father fell in love at first sight, the love that blossomed into my sister Maria, then me and the rest of my siblings." She murmured something under her breath, something that Leonor didn’t quite catch. A complaint, certainly, or an arrogant mumble that the Queen preferred to ignore.

“It is a queen’s duty to bear children and I did so happily and loyally for your father, my dear,” said Leonor. “You have a royal womb, child, and I hope that you will fulfil your duty to your cousin with as much reverence as I did.”

“How can I know that?” Joana asked, a hint of a whine hidden under her words. “I barely know my cousin, the Prince of Asturias. Just like Afonso barely knows Infanta María. Are we to hope for love to blossom for us, as it did for you and father?”

“Yes,” said Leonor, with a sympathetic tilt of her head, “Such is the life of queens, my darling.”

“I know,” said Joana, stabbing the fabric angrily with her needle. “I know, I know, but it seems unfair to me. To be a woman, to marry a stranger, to bear his children until I die of exhaustion.” She shook her head. "I want something more."

"This is your destiny," said Leonor. "You are to rule besides Felipe and bring peace, to maintain friendly relationships between Portugal and Castile." She shook her head, settling back against her seat. "But if you are worried, then you don't need to be. There is still two years before you are to travel to Toledo, and you speak French perfectly, thus I tell you: write letters to Felipe, befriend him."

"But he is just a boy," her daughter said.

"He won't be a boy forever," Leonor said. "You are older than him, use that to your advantage. Ask about his life, about his favorite things. He will be happy with your interests." She smiled. "Mold him into the husband you wish him to be and the occasional kindness will spare you all sort of trouble in the future."

"You make it sound so easy," her daughter said.

Leonor smiled gently again. "It won't be," she said, "But you have two years to make it easy, my love."

Joana nodded, letting out a deep shuddering breath and relaxing her shoulders. Poor girl, she was just scared of marrying a stranger, but hopefully, Leonor's words had made her feel better. More at ease with her future. At that moment, Manuela sat up in her seat, looking at her mother.

"I don't wish to ever be married," she said.

Leonor chuckled.

"You say this now, child, but one day, you shall wish for children and a family," she answered. "Don't worry, for I'm sure your father will make you a match with a good man that will care for you. Make you a queen!"

"I don't want to be a queen and I don’t want children," said Manuela. "I want to be a nun and pray to the Lord all day, to stay here in Portugal with you and my father." Her green eyes filled with tears. "Do I have to go? I want to be a saint."

"You can't just wish sainthood, stupid," Joana replied with a scowl and Margarida giggled at her sister's tone. Manuela looked back at Joana and stuck out her tongue, angry.

Joana gasped in shock and outrage. Leonor simply shook her head as the two sisters began to argue, waving in a young maid to take them away.

--

Barcelona, Catalonia. 24th of December, 1535.

Anne had her eyes closed, holding tightly to the rim of her tub. The water sloshed around her body, her shift clinging to her swollen form. She was just four months along, recently quickened and yet she felt as if she was much further in her pregnancy. More uncomfortable.

She was exhausted, depleted by her ninth pregnancy in twelve years. After giving birth to Eduardo, Anne had to stay in her bed for nearly two months to recover her strengths.

She didn't even know what would happen to her when this one was born. The doctors had prescribed an herbal bath to heal her body from her last labour and to nourish her blood for this next, but she was scared. Completely and utterly scared.

--

Milan, Milan. 12th of January, 1536.

Despite Enrica's attempts, Ludovico did not laugh as she juggled three colourful balls between her diminutive hands. Catherine sat beside him, a hand over his as they stared at the fool, trying to cheer him up.

She looked at him, her betrothed. His face was as it had been for weeks since his father died, full of grief and a heaviness so unlike him. Since the day they met, when they were children, Catherine liked him for his personality. For his heart, which bursted with love and joy. It hurt her to see him like this, so upset.

She didn't love him like a husband. Not yet, in the least. Ludovico was just twelve, a boy still, but Catherine cared for him. He was her friend.

She looked at Enrica, her courtly fool. The same look of passive acceptance was stamped in her face, a sense of sadness and some sort of irritation. Catherine pressed her lips together.

"You may go now, Enrica," she said. "Leave me alone with the Duke."

Enrica nodded, bowing. "Your Graces," she said, before leaving. When the dwarf was gone, Catherine looked at Ludovico, leaning down to see his face.

"It's alright," she murmured, cupping his chin. "It's alright, I'm right here."

"I'm scared," he murmured. It was the first time he spoke in hours. "Massimiliano left to keep him safe and now Violante d'Este is coming to Milan to serve my mother, but what if that is not enough?"

"It will be enough," she said. "The wealth of Florence is by your side. I'm by your side."

"You can't win a war alone, Caterina," Ludovico responded. "I heard some people say the Gonzagas from Mantua wish to regain their lands, and they are under the protection of the French king. The same French king that wishes to take Milan for himself."

"But he will not," Catherine responded, clutching his hand. "You are the Duke of Milan, Lulu. No one else. You have many lands under your rule, many men that can defend your territories."

"I'm only a boy," Ludovico said. "I heard my mother say that she wanted me to become a king, but that can't happen until I'm of age. Until all of old Lombardy is under Sforza rule."

"It will happen," said Catherine. "You can't be scared. It will happen."

One of Ludovico’s tutors came to fetch him for another round of his lessons soon after and Catherine stayed in her rooms, pondering about him. She stood up and walked out when it was nearly noon, heart racing. Catherine found herself walking to the Dowager Duchess’ private solar, knocking at the door.

“Come in,” said Caterina’s raspy voice and she obeyed, opening the door and coming inside. The Dowager Duchess raised her eyes for a brief moment, before returning her gaze to the paper before her. Catherine was able to see that Eustace Chapuys, the Imperial ambassador, was present as well, leaning over the Dowager Duchess. Catherine curtsied before her. “What is it, duchessina? Is there something wrong?”

Catherine nodded. “I’m worried about Ludovico,” she murmured. “He has not eaten well, or slept. I think he is feeling stressed about his new position."

Caterina raised her eyes. "You think?" she asked. "He is stressed?" She leaned back against her chair, setting her papers aside. “You will address the Duke of Milan with respect, girl.”

Catherine blinked, but she didn't let herself say anything embarrassing, looking from Eustace to the Dowager Duchess. "I'm the Duke's betrothed and I have much to fear about him" she said. "His lessons are too much for him, all his duties. The Duke needs a break."

"My son is well," said the Dowager Duchess with a scornful gaze. Catherine always knew that Caterina did not like her, despised her low birth even if she was one of the most important advocates for her marriage to Ludovico. “Take care to keep your thoughts to yourself, duchessina.”

“I am to be the Duchess of Milan,” Catherine insisted. “It’s my duty to take care of the Duke, and the Milanese.”

“Your duty is to bear children for my son,” replied the Dowager Duchess, “Which you will not be able to do so for many years yet. Until then, you are a stranger in this court, a foreigner of no use who is best to keep her mouth shut where she is not called.” She smiled then, a gentle smile that was completely at odds with what she had just said. “You may leave now, duchessina.”

Catherine had no choice but to obey.
 
It is heartwarming to see such a moment between Leonor and her girls, Hopefully next time we will see the boys hunting with Joao.

Hang in there Anne, Isabella or Carlos will be fine.

Catherine is right to worry for her husband, that ammount of preassure will do Lulu not godd at his age.
 
It is heartwarming to see such a moment between Leonor and her girls, Hopefully next time we will see the boys hunting with Joao.

Hang in there Anne, Isabella or Carlos will be fine.

Catherine is right to worry for her husband, that ammount of preassure will do Lulu not godd at his age.
Did people already name the baby?
 
Well after Anne had little Catalina she did said a younger sister could be named after her own mother and the Great Isabella I of Castile. And Throwing Carlos in there as speculation if it's another boy.
 
Poor Catherine - wherever she goes, she seems to have a rough time of it as a wife...

Also, I'm doing the maths for Anne's ninth pregnancy. If she's four months along on Christmas Eve 1535, she's going to come to term on or around the 19th of May 1536. I don't like that foreshadowing... :p
 
Poor Catherine - wherever she goes, she seems to have a rough time of it as a wife...
Well, now she is having mother-in-law troubles instead of husband's mistress troubles.


Also, I'm doing the maths for Anne's ninth pregnancy. If she's four months along on Christmas Eve 1535, she's going to come to term on or around the 19th of May 1536. I don't like that foreshadowing... :p
Oh no imagine that.
 
Barcelona, Catalonia. 18th of November, 1535.

His mother insisted that Felipe learn finances, so he'd be better prepared to handle the economic matters of his many kingdoms when God called him to rule. His father had begged off, there were plenty of advisors and servants to do the work for him, but since he was so often gone, it was his mother's responsibility to choose his instructors. And she did so well, inviting financial experts from Italy and the Empire to teach him.

So Felipe felt, like any other boy of twelve in his situation, that he knew what he was doing. He liked mathematics, he liked to understand it. He especially liked the idea that he could do something about it, that he could take these kingdoms of his and fix them. Make them a better place to live.

He had great dreams, as any boy did. Felipe and his instructor, a Venetian man named Agustin Rossi wrote a long dissertation about what they thought should be done to fix his father's economical problems in his Spanish Kingdoms. Monsignor Rossi did most of the thinking, of course, but Felipe had many ideas.

There was a problem with the minting of coins. They were hammered down by different blacksmiths, meaning there was no pattern. No standard. It made it too easy for tricksters to shave off some slivers of silver here and there, to cause enough mayhem to mint more, weaker and less valuable coins, or silver objects to sell for profit. Such an act weakened the crown, made them seem liable to theft.

Felipe thought he had the perfect solution for it. A machine that could press melted silver into perfectly sized and patterned coins, something similar to a printing press. Felipe had no idea how it would work, or how it could be made, but maybe his father could call some inventor from Italy to do so. Like Leonardo da' Vinci.

And there should be a way for Castilians, Aragonese and all to trade together. One coin, one king, one kingdom. It seemed to him that this was the best choice, to create a standard. Was his father not king of Castile and Aragon both? Maybe they could even introduce this coin in the Low Countries, even if Felipe was not set to inherit those.

So, he and Monsignor Rossi wrote down all his ideas in as clear and concise words as he could manage. He wanted to be brief, but Felipe still found himself holding around six pages full of notes for his father. He was walking down the corridor, heart racing. Monsignor Rossi had offered to come to him, assumed he would in fact, but Felipe begged off. He thought his father would be more open to change if it came from him, his son and the Prince of Asturias.

His heart continued to race when Felipe at last found his father, talking to the Duke of Alba. Snippets of their conversation reached him as he approached them, clutching the paper to his chest.

"The Dowager Duchess of Milan intends to send her second son Massimiliano here to be educated as soon as they are out of mourning," said the Emperor. “I want you to travel to the coast to welcome my nephew after the New Years’ Celebration.”

The Duke of Alba nodded. “Yes, Your Majesty,” he said. “Am I to bring Messer Sforza here?”

“Yes, he will share a school room with the Prince of Asturias,” said his father. He shook his head. “Eustace Chapuys told me the Dowager Duchess is trying to arrange a marriage between Massimiliano and Violante d’Este, a daughter from Duke Alfonso and that Laura Dianti."

The Duke of Alba frowned, this was certainly a confusing new development, but he was stopped from saying anything by noticing Felipe standing behind them. The Duke bowed slightly and said, "Your Highness."

The Emperor turned to look at him, confused. "Shouldn't you be with your tutors?" he asked in a gruff voice.

"Yes, but I have something to show you!" Felipe murmured, excitedly. "I worked really hard on it."

His father waved him off, already turning.

“I am busy at this moment, Felipe,” he said. “Show it to your mother, I’m sure she will enjoy it.”

“But it’s for you,” Felipe insisted. “Not for my mother.”

“I’m busy!” his father answered, looking at him with such a look in his face that Felipe felt his heart stop. “I don't have time for your silly things. I will not say it again, boy.”

Felipe nodded as tears flooded his eyes, trembling as he bowed. His father walked away with the Duke of Alba, who looked at him with an apologising expression. He returned to his rooms, not wanting anyone to see him cry. He threw his papers in the first lit hearth that he found.
Felipe having so many ideas to make Spain better and getting shot down by his father. Damn, Charles had better get his act together as a father. He’s spent all this time away already and now when he’s finally home, he’s brushing off his heir trying to show him something he thought of for the betterment of Spain.
 
Felipe having so many ideas to make Spain better and getting shot down by his father. Damn, Charles had better get his act together as a father. He’s spent all this time away already and now when he’s finally home, he’s brushing off his heir trying to show him something he thought of for the betterment of Spain.
He's definitely not getting a Best Dad mug from him.
 
Lisbon, Portugal. 12th of December, 1535.

The needle moved in and out of the fabric, Leonor carefully holding her tools as she sewed a new shirt for her husband, the crackling of the burning logs in her hearth filling the air. She raised her eyes slightly, looking over at her three daughters, who were also partaking in sewing projects of their own.

Joana was finishing a tapestry for a nunnery filled with devouts to Blessed Elizabeth of Portugal, paying special attention to the ruby-red roses that represented the miracle associated with their ancestress. She had started it because of the influence of her aunt-by-marriage, Eleonora d’Este, who had grown much fond of the folklore surrounding the once Queen. Leonor, of course, only encouraged the friendship, possibly because the now Duchess of Aveiro was a talented and pious young woman, not to mention one of much intelligence and good sense. Surely, there was nothing wrong with her becoming some sort of mentor to the young Infanta.

Manuela and Margarida, in their turn, were sewing new dresses for themselves, though a maid sat beside Margarida to help the poor child, only four years of age. Margarida had her tongue peeking out in concentration, reddish hair carefully brushed out of her face for her to see. Manuela, nine, was more proficient with a needle and did not need any help, carefully embroidering the hem of a wide blue skirt with beads and precious jews.

Leonor smiled. Domestic moments such as that which they were in were rare in a royal life and she enjoyed it greatly. Of course, she might have preferred for Filipe and Afonso to be present as well, and João, obviously, but the men were off on a hunting trip. Celebrating another successful year of João as King of Portugal, ruling since his father's death in 1517.

So it was just her and the girls, her precious infantas. And the maids, of course, but it was far too easy for a queen like Leonor to ignore her servants. Which she did.

"I hear the Duchess of Aveiro is to bear another child," said Leonor with a careful tone, still sewing for her husband. "Which, with the Empress' state already confirmed, means my darlings shall have two cousins born in the coming year."

Manuela looked up. "Is the Queen of Hungary not expecting as well, Lady Mother?"

"Oh, yes," said Leonor. "I had forgotten that the Queen of Hungary will have another child." She smiled. The last child born to her brother Ferdinand was Eleonore, her namesake and goddaughter, in 1534. "So three cousins in this new year, three blessings." She raised her eyes slightly, looking at Joana, who had already returned her gaze to her tapestry. "Soon enough, it will be you, Joana, who shall marry and give us blessings. Who will strengthen our family with new heirs."

"Must we talk about this now, mama?" Joana asked, turning to her with a complaining gaze. She was fifteen and entirely full of ideas about what her life as an infanta and future Princess of Asturias should be like. "I shall not marry my cousin for another two years."

"I must, if you wish to be prepared," Leonor responded with a stern lip. "When I was twenty years of age, I married my own cousin and became Queen. It was such a delight for me, though I so wished that my own mother had prepared me." Leonor had not spent much time in Castile, barely even seen and met her mother after arriving from the Low Countries, before her brother sent her to Portugal.

"I know, mama," Joana replied. "I know everything about how you and father fell in love at first sight, the love that blossomed into my sister Maria, then me and the rest of my siblings." She murmured something under her breath, something that Leonor didn’t quite catch. A complaint, certainly, or an arrogant mumble that the Queen preferred to ignore.

“It is a queen’s duty to bear children and I did so happily and loyally for your father, my dear,” said Leonor. “You have a royal womb, child, and I hope that you will fulfil your duty to your cousin with as much reverence as I did.”

“How can I know that?” Joana asked, a hint of a whine hidden under her words. “I barely know my cousin, the Prince of Asturias. Just like Afonso barely knows Infanta María. Are we to hope for love to blossom for us, as it did for you and father?”

“Yes,” said Leonor, with a sympathetic tilt of her head, “Such is the life of queens, my darling.”

“I know,” said Joana, stabbing the fabric angrily with her needle. “I know, I know, but it seems unfair to me. To be a woman, to marry a stranger, to bear his children until I die of exhaustion.” She shook her head. "I want something more."

"This is your destiny," said Leonor. "You are to rule besides Felipe and bring peace, to maintain friendly relationships between Portugal and Castile." She shook her head, settling back against her seat. "But if you are worried, then you don't need to be. There is still two years before you are to travel to Toledo, and you speak French perfectly, thus I tell you: write letters to Felipe, befriend him."

"But he is just a boy," her daughter said.

"He won't be a boy forever," Leonor said. "You are older than him, use that to your advantage. Ask about his life, about his favorite things. He will be happy with your interests." She smiled. "Mold him into the husband you wish him to be and the occasional kindness will spare you all sort of trouble in the future."

"You make it sound so easy," her daughter said.

Leonor smiled gently again. "It won't be," she said, "But you have two years to make it easy, my love."

Joana nodded, letting out a deep shuddering breath and relaxing her shoulders. Poor girl, she was just scared of marrying a stranger, but hopefully, Leonor's words had made her feel better. More at ease with her future. At that moment, Manuela sat up in her seat, looking at her mother.

"I don't wish to ever be married," she said.

Leonor chuckled.

"You say this now, child, but one day, you shall wish for children and a family," she answered. "Don't worry, for I'm sure your father will make you a match with a good man that will care for you. Make you a queen!"

"I don't want to be a queen and I don’t want children," said Manuela. "I want to be a nun and pray to the Lord all day, to stay here in Portugal with you and my father." Her green eyes filled with tears. "Do I have to go? I want to be a saint."

"You can't just wish sainthood, stupid," Joana replied with a scowl and Margarida giggled at her sister's tone. Manuela looked back at Joana and stuck out her tongue, angry.

Joana gasped in shock and outrage. Leonor simply shook her head as the two sisters began to argue, waving in a young maid to take them away.

--

Barcelona, Catalonia. 24th of December, 1535.

Anne had her eyes closed, holding tightly to the rim of her tub. The water sloshed around her body, her shift clinging to her swollen form. She was just four months along, recently quickened and yet she felt as if she was much further in her pregnancy. More uncomfortable.

She was exhausted, depleted by her ninth pregnancy in twelve years. After giving birth to Eduardo, Anne had to stay in her bed for nearly two months to recover her strengths.

She didn't even know what would happen to her when this one was born. The doctors had prescribed an herbal bath to heal her body from her last labour and to nourish her blood for this next, but she was scared. Completely and utterly scared.

--

Milan, Milan. 12th of January, 1536.

Despite Enrica's attempts, Ludovico did not laugh as she juggled three colourful balls between her diminutive hands. Catherine sat beside him, a hand over his as they stared at the fool, trying to cheer him up.

She looked at him, her betrothed. His face was as it had been for weeks since his father died, full of grief and a heaviness so unlike him. Since the day they met, when they were children, Catherine liked him for his personality. For his heart, which bursted with love and joy. It hurt her to see him like this, so upset.

She didn't love him like a husband. Not yet, in the least. Ludovico was just twelve, a boy still, but Catherine cared for him. He was her friend.

She looked at Enrica, her courtly fool. The same look of passive acceptance was stamped in her face, a sense of sadness and some sort of irritation. Catherine pressed her lips together.

"You may go now, Enrica," she said. "Leave me alone with the Duke."

Enrica nodded, bowing. "Your Graces," she said, before leaving. When the dwarf was gone, Catherine looked at Ludovico, leaning down to see his face.

"It's alright," she murmured, cupping his chin. "It's alright, I'm right here."

"I'm scared," he murmured. It was the first time he spoke in hours. "Massimiliano left to keep him safe and now Violante d'Este is coming to Milan to serve my mother, but what if that is not enough?"

"It will be enough," she said. "The wealth of Florence is by your side. I'm by your side."

"You can't win a war alone, Caterina," Ludovico responded. "I heard some people say the Gonzagas from Mantua wish to regain their lands, and they are under the protection of the French king. The same French king that wishes to take Milan for himself."

"But he will not," Catherine responded, clutching his hand. "You are the Duke of Milan, Lulu. No one else. You have many lands under your rule, many men that can defend your territories."

"I'm only a boy," Ludovico said. "I heard my mother say that she wanted me to become a king, but that can't happen until I'm of age. Until all of old Lombardy is under Sforza rule."

"It will happen," said Catherine. "You can't be scared. It will happen."

One of Ludovico’s tutors came to fetch him for another round of his lessons soon after and Catherine stayed in her rooms, pondering about him. She stood up and walked out when it was nearly noon, heart racing. Catherine found herself walking to the Dowager Duchess’ private solar, knocking at the door.

“Come in,” said Caterina’s raspy voice and she obeyed, opening the door and coming inside. The Dowager Duchess raised her eyes for a brief moment, before returning her gaze to the paper before her. Catherine was able to see that Eustace Chapuys, the Imperial ambassador, was present as well, leaning over the Dowager Duchess. Catherine curtsied before her. “What is it, duchessina? Is there something wrong?”

Catherine nodded. “I’m worried about Ludovico,” she murmured. “He has not eaten well, or slept. I think he is feeling stressed about his new position."

Caterina raised her eyes. "You think?" she asked. "He is stressed?" She leaned back against her chair, setting her papers aside. “You will address the Duke of Milan with respect, girl.”

Catherine blinked, but she didn't let herself say anything embarrassing, looking from Eustace to the Dowager Duchess. "I'm the Duke's betrothed and I have much to fear about him" she said. "His lessons are too much for him, all his duties. The Duke needs a break."

"My son is well," said the Dowager Duchess with a scornful gaze. Catherine always knew that Caterina did not like her, despised her low birth even if she was one of the most important advocates for her marriage to Ludovico. “Take care to keep your thoughts to yourself, duchessina.”

“I am to be the Duchess of Milan,” Catherine insisted. “It’s my duty to take care of the Duke, and the Milanese.”

“Your duty is to bear children for my son,” replied the Dowager Duchess, “Which you will not be able to do so for many years yet. Until then, you are a stranger in this court, a foreigner of no use who is best to keep her mouth shut where she is not called.” She smiled then, a gentle smile that was completely at odds with what she had just said. “You may leave now, duchessina.”

Catherine had no choice but to obey.
Leonor having a precious moment with her daughters genuinely made me smile, and her advice to Joana was definitely something the girl should take to heart. Felipe will likely adore her for giving him some attention and going out of her way to write him a letter.
Anne had better be on her last pregnancy. She’s given Charles more than enough children already. I’d hate for him to push her like Ferdinand pushed Anna of Bohemia and Hungary.
Poor Catherine de’ Medici trying so hard to help her betrothed. Does Caterina really not think her son is taking the burden of leadership too close to heart and worrying himself or is she refusing to acknowledge Catherine might actually be voicing a valid concern about something.
 
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