King, pretender... prince. Where all just tales to Henry, his mother Queen Alexandra had died in hi childbirth 16 years ago, only months after fleeing the capital that they had only just reclaimed, and his father King Henry IV died meeting the army of the Yorkist King George only months earlier, though in truth Henry IV had only just reclaimed his throne after almost a two decades of war, the country slipping between the House of York and the House of Anjou. Now, the Yorkist Queen Mary sat on the throne... and the prospect for the House of Anjou sat uneasily in Henry's lap, in exile in Aquitaine.
If there was anything to love about Aquitaine, it was the exquisite food. The sweets and pastries, the rich cheeses, the breads, and the cakes. Henry found it delicious, the culinary really made up for the weird accent and the anti-Mercian hostility. For even though sixteen year old Henry had been born in the Marches and never actually set foot in Mercia proper, he was Mercian to his core.
Henry retired from the dining hall, and headed back to his room after eating a hearty lunch, in truth the young prince knew he had overeaten, stuffed himself might be more apt. The foods that had been offered up, and the sheer size and range was too much to turn down, and Henry had stuck right into it, devouring each portion as if it was his last meal. The result: his stomach was feeling especially bloated, a feeling he was more than use to after meals, though not usually this much.
Copyright 2000 - 2024 21 x 20 Media All rights reserved. This site is property of 21 x 20 Media
All Writing.Com images are copyrighted and may not be copied / modified in any way. All other brand names & trademarks are owned by their respective companies.
Generated in 0.13 seconds at 9:17am on Dec 26, 2024 via server WEBX1.