6 months later

"What is it, Francis?" Lady Abbatelli purred. "Whatever could get you so down in the dumps?"

Bathed in the yellow light of numerous strategically placed decorative lamps, pale candles dripping with wax and the crystal, glass-ecased chandeliers above, and the warm glowing heat of the fireplace keeping the wintry cold out, Lady Abbatelli urged her lover to tell her what ailed him. The two sat upon Francis' bed, Francis turned away from his mistress and the clock nearing about 8 in the evening. With her abundant chest pressed against his hunched over back, Tatiana traced circles upon and around the country's shoulder, humming lightly as she did so. Francis, lightly swirling a glass filled with ruby-red wine, sighed and his free hand through his blonde locks, then sat the glass down and turned back to the sultry woman behind him.

""The King," he began, stroking the soft, olive skin of his mistress. "Expects me to be able to fix the sexual problems between the Dauphin and Dauphine. They've still yet to consummate their marriage after 6 months! What am I supposed to do? They're children!"

"Children indeed, but children with the fate of France in the hands of whether they can muster themselves to relieve their virginity."

"I know," Francis huffed, spinning into a cross-legged position on the bed and pulling her into his lap. He then leaned down to Lady Abbatelli's collarbone and hovered, allowing his lips to graze the sensitive flesh with every word he spoke. "I just don't see why I have to be the one to do it. Louis Auguste is his grandson after all, and I am certainly not in the position of speaking to the Dauphine about a subject as delicate as this."

"King Louis wants you to talk to the Dauphin, la mia passione," Tatiana gasped, wrapping her slender fingers in her lover's long hair. "Because you are experienced when it comes to the subject, and also because you, frankly, aren't him. He has other subjects, those of the State to be concerned with, along with the Du Barry."

"Mon beau feu," Francis growled, kissing the soft skin between each word. "I am the one who attends to those affairs for him. I read concerns and needs to him, he tells me to stamp them, he fondles his whore for a few hours, muttering sick, sexual innuendos into her ears... That, along with ceremonial performances, is all he does. And then he expects me to clean up his mess of a grandson!"

"Mi amore, do not raise your voice in anger, and do not refer to the King nor the Du Barry in such a fashion," Tatiana said calmly as she reached behind her and began to unlace her tight corset. "I know your frustrations, but staying cool and collected is the best thing to do in situations such as these."

"I know," Francis sighed, reaching his long arms around the woman to aid her in the relief of her pesky garments. "I just...The people are growing restless, Tatiana. I can feel it in my bones, in the beating of my heart, in the blood pumping through my veins. They may not be acting yet, but where they're concerned, every day is simply one day nearer to dying. This tension I can feel in the very fibers of my being... there's going to be Hell to pay, Tat. It may be tomorrow, it may be 100 years from now, but... something is definitely brewing, and the more it does the more restless I grow with the King's carefree actions."

With those words, Lady Abbatelli's deep blue corset was finally unlaced. In one fluid motion, the frenchman before her removed it, leaving her in only her petticoat and a light sleeveless top. Tatiana laughed as she removed the final pieces of clothing from her body, leaving her nude, straddling Francis.

"See, mi amore," she purred, tugging at the loose, billowing collar of the frenchman's undershirt. "You're a natural with the art of intimacy. Surely with a few pointers for the young prince he shall become... inspired with the womanly form in no time."

Francis smirked, removing his own shirt. "Let us talk no longer of incompetence or social unrest or civic duty... we will experience enough later this evening at dinner but now...let me have you..."

"Sempre, mi amore..." The Lady whispered seductively, leaning back as her lover showered her with kisses and various other deeds, elicting sounds of pleasure from deep within her chest. As Francis had hoped, there would be no more talk of his national obligations that hour.

_______________________

The french aristocracy was prone to long, awful, painful dinners, and this one was no exception. As Francis stared over the rim of his wine glass, he couldn't help but study the scene laid before him: Lady Abbatelli to his left and the Countess of Noailles to his right, young Marie and the Dauphin across from him, King Louis and the Du Barry (who sat upon his knee, of all the places) at the head of the table, and the rest, royal nobodies, were sitting around a long, dark walnut-colored dining table, lavishly adorned in silver candlesticks, floral centerpieces and piles and piles of food. The shadows of lords and ladies danced upon the sea foam green and gold accented walls as the flames of the candles waltzed gracefully amongst the table decor. The titters of ladies chatting about the latest fashions and the hearty chuckles of gentlemen reliving the latest hunt filled the air with the merriment of the rich. 

As the next course came out, Francis dissected the demeanor of the young Austrian in front of him. With her honey locks drawn back into a loose, wavy updo, accented by a set of pearl earrings and a baby pink bow-shaped choker, Marie slowly, meagerly picked apart the breast meat of a pheasant, raking her trident fork back and forth upon the juicy flesh until a small enough piece was available for consumption. She had an uncomfortable air about her, and although she tried to hide it, Francis could see through her facade to the ponderous furrowed brow she wore.

'Could it be that someone confronted her about the subject of her marriage consummation?' Francis wondered as he set his glass back on the table and picked up a spoon to dip into the creamy soup placed before him. 'Or perhaps she's heard the wagging tongues of the courtiers who are wondering why she is not already pregnant?' Whatever the case was, Francis knew he wouldn't be able to consult her upon it. Perhaps, he thought, he should talk to Noailles about it, or send word to Maria Theresa of her daughter's difficulty in the topic at hand. 

Francis' eyes then wandered to the Dauphin. Louis Auguste, quiet and polite as ever, munched consistently on a full, heaping plate of meat, bread, and greens, only stopping when presented a question by another member of the dinner party. Although his back was erect, his face was angled toward the table, indicating that he would much rather like to take his dinner in his room where no anxiety-inducing small talk could take place. Francis sighed, then placed his spoon back on the linen napkin by side of his soup. 

"So, Louis Auguste," Francis said brightly. "I hear your latest hunt was rather successful."

"It was, Sir Bonnefoy," the young man replied, his voice barely audible over the clamor of the rest of the table. "The Duc l'Oprienge and I each shot about a dozen pheasants."

"How very well," Lady Abbatelli chimed in, smiling warmly at both Louis Auguste and his wife before plunging her spoon back into her own soup for another mouthful. 

"Indeed," Marie said, looking to her husband  with soft eyes. "I'd say if there were no others to do it, Louis Auguste could supply the entire palace with fine meat for weeks in only a day or two."

The Dauphin visibly blushed, but kept his eyes on his meal. Marie looked upset for the lack of recognition she'd received from Louis Auguste, but brightened once more turned to Tatiana. 

"So, Lady Abbatelli," Marie asked. "Have you had word from your husband recently? Certainly it must be difficult with him in Venice and you serving as a diplomat here at Versailles."

"I have, my Dauphine," Tatiana replied. "And Umberto is well. Although it is difficult with the distance, we are still married. He and our sons just moved into the Palace of Caserta, actually, and he is to become advisor to King Charles II."

"How very lovely," Marie smiled, lifting her fork of pheasant meat above her plate. "May I wish the best of luck to him."

"Thank you, Marie Antoinette," Lady Abbatelli said graciously, laughing gaily.

Francis hated when she talked about Umberto, her husband.Whether it was a lover's jealousy that she Tatiana was bound to him by God or not, everything about him made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Umberto Abbatelli was, in Francis' opinion, a slobbering, abusive brute who was only able to win her through a strategic marriage alliance secured by her mother. Tatiana was one of the only people to truly make Francis happy, that he truly loved, in the last thousand years; but even if something did happen to Umberto, or if Tatiana was committed enough to go to England and be granted a divorce from the Italian oaf, nothing would change the fact that, in reality, nations don't get the luxury of finding true love unless within their own ranks. No matter how hard he prayed, Francis would always ended up in the same situation with every coming and going of a generation. It didn't matter if it was Jeanne d'Arc, Marie de'Medici, Louis VIII, Adéle of Champagne, or Phillip II; whoever France fell in love with was yanked forcefully away by death's grip before he could say goodbye. Francis cursed his dreaded immortality. 

He just wanted to grow old and die with someone, to not have to watch his significant other and children die from a distance while he remained an ever constant father and watchman of the lands and people of France.

'Is that too much to ask?'

"Bonnefoy!"

King Louis, teetering on his chair in inebriation, raised his mug of beer at the nation, snapping him out of his thoughts. With a bright red, splotchy face, the king babbled on about something, earning laughs all 'round the table. Francis smiled back weakly, not really hearing -or caring, in the moment- what the old man said. 'Whatever it takes,' he thought, waving back the uproar of titters, chuckles, and cojourings  coming his way. 'To get through another dinner.'

_______________________

After the majority of the dinner party had dispersed, either to go to bed or to one of the many billiards rooms, Francis seized the opportunity to talk to Louis Auguste about the consummation problem. As young Louis climbed the curving marble staircase, Francis trailed close behind him, down dimly lit halls of brass and corridors of vibrant red tapestries, until he found a space, near an unoccupied library where none would interrupt them.

"My lord," Francis boomed heartily, making Louis Auguste jump slightly. "Might I have a word in private? It is, of course, by request of the King."

Flushed, the Dauphin nodded numbly, gesturing to the library as a place to talk. Francis smile, motioning for Louis Auguste to enter, which he did. The blonde nation followed his prince, closing the door behind him and taking a seat across from him in a blue printed armchair next to the roaring fire.

"So, young Louis," Francis began, adjusting himself into a more comfortable position. "How have you been faring lately?"

"Very well, Sir Bonnefoy," Louis replied, folding his hands upon the lap of his grey suit.

"Very well... And your wife?"

"She, too, is well."

"Good," Francis said. "Very good."

A few moments of silence, awkward silence, passed, then Francis decided to tackle the great elephant in the room.

"Louis Auguste," Francis said, clearing his throat and moving up in his seat. "Your grandfather has asked me to talk to you about a subject of detrimental importance. That subject, as you've probably guessed, is your... refusal to consummate your marriage with the Dauphine. Would you mind telling me what it is that ails you that disallows you to preform?"

Louis Auguste's face turned bright red in embarrassment.

"Bonnefoy," he began, moving to stand. "I think this conversation highly inappropriate to be discussing at the moment. Can it not wait for another time?"

"My boy, this is hardly an excuse for ceasing the conversation. In it lies the fate of your future reign."

With and understanding, yet still highly uncomfortable, look, Louis Auguste sat back down upon the white couch. "Alright," he sighed. "Ask your vile questions."

"I hardly think this talk vile," Francis replied, smiling to try to relieve the ever-growing tension. "It is, after all human nature. What is it about Marie Antoinette that you find unappealing? She is a beautiful young lady of noble degree. Is it the air about her? Her mannerisms? Are you unsure about how to go about the activity?"

Louis remained silent.

"Would you like some advice on... on how to get it up? Or are you not attracted to young ladies? If so, do not fear, my lad; I myself have loved men, those of the same persuasion, and as long as you can get enough inspiration to produce an heir, those who accompany you-"

"Enough!" Louis exclaimed, standing in a huff. "This is sacrilege! I will not hear another word! You will not speak of such sinfulness to me."

"My lord, you are married! It is not sin if-" Francis began, reaching out a hand towards the Dauphin. But, alas, it was too late; Louis Auguste had stormed out in a fit of pique. Sighing, Francis stood, brushing off the trousers of his blue and gold suit, and moved toward the door himself. Exiting into the cool, dim hall, Francis recomposed himself and started off to his own room.

'And to think,' Francis scoffed, climbing the steep staircase leading to his quarters. 'I'm supposed to be the one without human urges.'