The meeting twixt the Queen and the Empress

*Marie walks in. Unsure of how to dress and wishing neither to outshine the Empress nor be outshone by her, Marie has chosen to dress modestly but wear very tastefully intricate jewelry. The Royal seal of France is in her pocket and her Guise Uncles stand in the shadows. Their presence is necessary to sign a treaty and Marie hopes the Empress will not be frightenedby their presence. Marie does not dare sit before the Empress arrives and so stands in wait*.

*Marie begins to tap her foot wondering where in the name of God the Empress has got off to*.

Isabella, donned from head to toe in Charcoal black, steps up to the meeting place. Her snow white complexion and big, doe eyes sparkle against her night sky gown and she looks more beautiful than ever. With a single Quartz crystal amulet dangling from her neck, she relies little upon jewelery to emphasize her womanly charms.

Your Majesty! *Marie walks forward, uncertain as to how exactly to meet the Empress and so merely offers a slight curtsy*. May I introduce my uncles, Charles the Cardinal *A tall, handsome man bows charmingly in your direction* and Francis, the general *Another handsome man, shorter and with a scar running the length of his face bows in your direction*.

*Marie removes her cloak and hands it to her uncle, and waits for the Empress to either sit, offer refreshment or speak*.

Isabella scans the area, also removing her cloak before beckoning all present to sit. In a smooth, slender voice, she speaks:

- I am most glad to meet you here, Marie.

*Marie sits down gracefully, her long, slender frame appearing to almost glide through the air*.

And I you. Are we alone here?

Looking Marie's men up and down, and summoning her maid from where she was hidden around the corner, Isabella tuts.

- Apart from those we see before us, yes, we are alone.

Perfect. Shall we commence negotiations then or social niceties?

- That my lady, I shall leave entirely up to you.

I say negotiations If I am forced to endure one more round of meaningless charming nothings I shall vomit.

Elizabeth has held Europe around the throat. All of us have at some point or another danced to her tune for whatever she has promised. Your (I emphasize the word 'Your' ever so slightly) son by her promises of marriage and myself by promises of recognition. I frankly grow extremely tired of this.

What say you?

Ysabel, slightly startled by Marie's bluntness, chokes on the wine she was so elegantly sipping.

Clearing her throat, and trying to regain composure:

- I hath found myself under her influence, even though my status would say otherwise. Whilst me and the Emperor, my husband, are visiting her Country, I find little authority in her realm.

- I am accused of ill wishes to Juan, when it is only what I cannot help. My son, Filipe, had made his wishes clear to marry Elizabet - whether the match would have been lawful or otherwise is another question. My son, is the King of Spain, and rightful successor to his father, and it amazes me how his wishes and opinions are belittled by a bastard.

The word sounds harshly shocking spouting from Ysabel's holy mouth, but it was what she felt.

Exactly. The very idea of the future King of Spain's prospective bride being taken by his ill gotten brother is absolutely stunning.

I will not insult your intelligence. I am the Queen of France. My accent is French, my language French and my culture French. But I truly believe that instead of fighting a series of grinding and pointless wars over Italian cesspools, we would better use our time and manpower against our mutual enemy.

I am willing to concede all French claims to Italy and Burgundy if that is what is required of me. Naturally I will expect something in return, but I realize that one must give in order to get.

Isabella's eyes widen at Marie's willingness for her their friendship.

- and... What exactly would you want in return?

The marriage of my son to your grand-daughter Infanta Ysabeau Claire Eugenie complete with a dowry befitting her station and an offensive and defensive alliance of both Spain and Austria with France. Also if you accept my cessions of the Italian and Burgundian territories, you must leave them completely open to French merchants and travelers .

The second should not be difficult to realize as your son has already allied himself with my family. If an excuse is needed to justify such an alliance, that should provide adequate. And as I am ceding these claims to Italy and Burgundy, that should pave the way for a peaceful settlement.

These terms are reasonable, are they not?

Isabella cocks her head.

- What type of merchants?

All merchants. Any Frenchman wishing to sell an item in Spanish held Italy or in Burgundy shall for all intents and purposes be treated as if he himself is Spanish.

- I see no reason to decline this treaty..

Good. I already have it drafted. *Gestures to my uncle the Cardinal. The treaty specifies that Ysabeau will be moved to France at 12, and until then you shall pay for all of her expenses. She shall use the title 'Princess of Wales'*.

Stamp here and sign here.

But before this, have you anything you wish to say or ask about a certain Spaniard? *Raises an eyebrow, obviously meaning Juan*.

Isabella raises an eyebrow, brandishing her quill.

- Princess of Wales? But surely that title belongs to the Monarch of Eng...

Jaw dropping open, Ysabel squints in a most ugly fashion.

- How do you intend to grant that title to my granddaughter Marie?

*Marie paints an expression that usually works. That of the dumbest idiot on Earth*.

Why, Elizabeth signed a contract with me making my son her heir. As the male heir to the Monarch of England, he is the Princess of Wales.

(OOC: I obviously meant Prince of Wales. Although considering who we're talking about, Princess would work just as well).

Isabella pauses, wondering.

- I never knew about this treaty? All things escape me as of late... and so, my granddaughter shall sit upon the throne of England and Scotland?

Should Elizabeth die without heir, yes she shall.

(OOC: you are getting the pair of yourselves in sooooooo much trouble with this)

(OOC: With whom? Define trouble.)