He had always wondered what lay beyond death... the aftermath that no one knows beyond what is visible... when a person ceases to be alive and therefore to exist. It was an unknown that gnawed at him from within, driven by his longing to know one of his deepest existential fears... a fear that everyone must bear... a fear that some take an interest in, while others do not even question.
Now, he knew what happened after death. And he wasn't sure if it was just him or not, but after his demise, he did not find himself facing void or nothingness... nor was it eternal glory in the realm of God where one experiences nothing but eternal joy.
Is this the same for everyone? Or was he the only one chosen for this opportunity? These were the first questions he asked himself after opening his eyes again, having just closed them for the last time as he exhaled his final breath, defeated by his own cardiovascular system. It turned out that his heart could not withstand the feat of fucking three women at once for an entire day without stopping. It simply gave out without a word. Damn the mortality of his body.
His name was Jean, and this was his new story that was about to begin. In a place and reality totally different from what he had known.
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Year of our Lord, 1539
Kingdom of France, Château de Fontainebleau
In the opulent halls of the Château de Fontainebleau, the mood that reigned over the place was filled with tension and the cloying scent of intrigue. The French court of King Henry II was a simmering cauldron of whispers, alliances, and barely concealed animosity. At the heart of this storm were two women: Catherine de Medici, the queen, and Diane de Poitiers, the king's mistress and favorite. Their silent war over the king's favor was the pulse of the court, a relentless beat that echoed through the grand chambers and whispered corridors every day from sunrise till the coming of darkness, ever repeating.
Catherine, a daughter of the powerful and noble Italian family, the Medici, had been married to Henry at the tender age of thirteen, just barely an adolescent by modern standards but already a woman of wedding age by her time. Their union was a political alliance, a cold and calculated merger of power and influence—a fine example of the so-called dynastic marriages.
Henry, a strapping young man with a voracious appetite for both power and pleasure, had quickly grown tired of his Italian wife. Her sharp Italian features and sharp intelligence were a stark contrast to the fair, delicate beauties he was accustomed to. It wasn't long before he sought solace in the arms of another woman he came to desire since the day he left the kingdom to be a prisoner of the Spanish like a bargaining chip with his brother in exchange for the freedom of their father, the king.
There was a tradition for those nobles who were political prisoners that needed to be traded like that: a woman kissed the man leaving their country, and the lady in the French court at that time who kissed him goodbye was Diane de Poitiers, a member of a noble family; she was a girl a couple of years older than him and her brown hair, black eyes, gentle demeanor, and not-to-be-forgotten curves that were a delight to gaze upon made her the embodiment of French grace and beauty that captivated the young Henry for life. That years later after his return he would take her as his lover.
For six long years since he married, his wife Catherine de' Medici's or his Italian bitch as he lately liked to call, womb remained without movement, a fact that Henry did not fail to notice. His visits to her chambers grew less frequent, and his eyes barely concealed his disdain and lesser appreciation of the Italian woman. Catherine, barely leaving her adolescence behind, a proud and fiercely intelligent woman, was not a fool, and she could see her husband's changes. She felt the sting of his rejection deeply, like a dagger straight to her heart. She was queen of France, a Medici, and yet, she was powerless in the face of her husband's indifference. She couldn't show weakness or beg for love from her husband, as it would only bring her mockery and disdain from the nobles in the court. She was a queen and could only endure her nights that were filled with loneliness and desperation, her days a constant battle to maintain her dignity in the face of the court's thinly veiled contempt that expected her duties to the Kingdom and the royal family to be fulfilled and produce an heir for the French crown.
Diane, on the other hand, flourished under Henry's affection, and her power in the court ever grew. She was his confidante, his lover, his advisor. Powerful lords from all across France flocked around her like bees to a flower for her favor, as she was the king's favorite, the woman he doted upon. Her chambers were a sanctuary for the king, a place where he could escape the pressures of his reign and the growing coldness of his marriage—not to say the enjoyment of indulging in a lot of sex with a pretty and willing lover. The large amount of time the two spent together bore a bitter fruit for the queen, for Diane bore him a bastard daughter, showing to the world that he had no problems producing children. Louise de France, her birth a bittersweet reminder of Catherine's own barrenness and, at the same time, a clock that started ticking with an ever-growing urgency for her to have a child as soon as possible.
Yet, fate is a fickle thing, and in 1539, Catherine finally fell pregnant after trying everything and lowering herself to seduce her husband in every possible way to grace her with nightly visits to her chambers. Her body, once a source of failure and shame to the eyes of the realm, was now a vessel of hope for the kingdom. The attitude of her subjects and courtiers changed at the naked eye, as she held now a more firmly secured position for herself compared to before. Now, the people's expectations and murmurs were if the child would be a man or a girl who would have the chance of bearing the crown. If it is a boy, the queen would be steady like a rock, and Diane would no longer pose a threat in any way to her. Henry, despite his initial skepticism, found himself drawn to his wife's changing form. His visits to her chambers became more frequent, his eyes lingering on her swelling belly, for even if their marriage was one going straight into a cliff, he still had feelings and love for her. Catherine, while loathing Diane and the power she held over Henry, couldn't help but feel a sense of relief from the suffocating and delicate position in which she was cornered. Her pregnancy had forced Henry to acknowledge her, to see her as more than just a political pawn and a bag of coins at his disposal.
Rejoiced she was, like a happy bird when she birthed a son and heir instead of a daughter. Jean, who was about to be named Françoise by Henry but changed his mind at the last moment, was a turning point. Henry, overcome with joy and happiness from the moment he had his son in his arms, looked at his heir with a sense of awe and emotions that were new to him. Catherine, exhausted and elated, saw in her son a chance to secure her position, to finally gain the respect and influence she deserved. But Diane, ever the shrewd courtier, saw the birth of Jean as a threat. She knew that a son and heir could shift the dynamics of the court, could weaken her own position. She had to act, to secure her place in Henry's heart and in the court.
The christening of Jean was a grand affair, a spectacle of wealth and power not only for the people of France but also for the whole of Europe, as he was the heir of the kingdom, the next in line to be king, the Dauphin of France. The Chapelle des Trinitaires was filled with courtiers and people from all over the realm and different places of Europe and the world, their eyes gleaming with excitement, wonder, curiosity, and speculation. Catherine, her body still weak from childbirth, stood tall and proud, regal as she was, her eyes burning with love never leaving her son. Henry, resplendent in his royal attire, looked at his heir with unconcealed pride and satisfaction with himself for having a son and heir at last. Diane, dressed in a gown of shimmering silk and sporting a lot of expensive jewelry like the queen, watched from the sidelines, her face a mask of serenity as the king knighted his son and named him Dauphin of France and heir after his baptism. The Pope was his godfather along with one of the most powerful nobles of the kingdom, Anne de Montmorency the Constable of France, and his aunt Margaret de Valois and little sister of King Henry was his godmother.
As the ceremony ended and the courtiers began to disperse, Diane approached Henry, her voice a soft purr. "Your Majesty, a moment if you please."
Henry, his eyes still on Jean, nodded absently. "Of course, my dear."
Diane led him to a secluded alcove, her hand resting lightly on his arm. "Henry," she began, her voice barely above a whisper, "I am so happy for you, for France. Jean is a blessing, a testament to your virility and strength."
Henry, his chest swelling with pride and further satisfaction at being praised by a woman and his lover, smiled. "Thank you, Diane. I saw a vision of greatness for the kingdom when I held my son in my arms, a gift from God."
Diane nodded, her eyes downcast. "But Henry, I must confess, I am worried."
Henry's brow furrowed, his smile fading. "Worried? Whatever for?"
Diane looked up at him, her eyes filled with concern. "Catherine... she is a Medici, Henry. She is ambitious, ruthless even. With a son and heir, she will seek to gain more power, more influence. She will seek to push me out, to take my place by your side."
Henry scoffed, his hand waving dismissively. "Nonsense, Diane. Catherine knows her place. She is my wife, my queen, the mother of my heir, but you... you are my heart, my confidante, also the mother of my daughter. No one can replace you."
Diane smiled sadly, her hand reaching up to cup his cheek. "I hope you are right, Henry. But remember, a Medici queen's ambition is a dangerous thing. Catherine will stop at nothing to secure her position, to ensure her son's future."
Henry's expression darkened, his eyes narrowing. "Are you suggesting that Catherine would harm my daughter? Her own stepdaughter?"
Diane shook her head quickly, her eyes wide with feigned alarm. "No, Henry, of course not. But she could seek to undermine her, to lessen her importance in your eyes, in the eyes of the court. She could turn her into a mere shadow, forgotten and unloved."
Henry's jaw clenched, his eyes flashing with anger. "I would never allow that. Louise is my daughter, my blood. I will not let her be cast aside."
Diane nodded, her voice a soothing murmur. "I know, Henry. I know you love her, that you would do anything to protect our daughter. But Catherine... she is a formidable opponent. You must be vigilant, Henry. You must protect her, and our love."
Henry looked at Diane, his eyes filled with determination. "I will, Diane. I promise you, I will."
As Henry and Diane emerged from the alcove, Catherine watched them, her eyes narrowing. She saw the determination in Henry's eyes, the smug satisfaction in Diane's smile. She knew they had been discussing her, plotting against her. She could feel the familiar sting of rejection, the burning ember of anger in her chest. But she also felt something else—a steely resolve, a cold determination. She would not be cast aside, not again. She was a Medici, a queen, the mother of the future king. She would fight for her position, for her son's future. She would not let Diane win.
The days that followed were a whirlwind of court intrigue and political maneuvering. Catherine, her body slowly regaining its strength, began to assert her authority. She held councils with her advisors, listened to the grievances of her people, and even began to involve herself in matters of state. Henry, while initially surprised by his wife's sudden interest in politics, found himself impressed by her intelligence and acumen. He began to seek her counsel, to value her opinion.
Diane, seeing the growing bond between Henry and Catherine, became increasingly desperate. She whispered in Henry's ear, her words a poisonous drip of doubt and suspicion while also seducing her lover, making him experience the blissful joy in bed.
Henry, torn between his love for Diane and his growing respect for Catherine, found himself in a state of constant turmoil. He loved Diane, her gentleness, her beauty, her unwavering support. But he also admired Catherine, her strength, her intelligence, her unyielding spirit. He was a king, a man of power and passion, and yet, he was helpless in the face of his own desires, his own conflicting emotions.
Catherine, aware of Diane's whispers, of her attempts to undermine her, was undeterred. She knew that her position was precarious, that her power was fragile. But she also knew that she had something Diane did not—she had given Henry a son, an heir to his throne. She had secured her place in his life, in his heart. She had given him something that Diane never could.
The conflict between Catherine and Diane continued, and at some point, the queen grew indifferent to her husband and his mistress over time.