The Martial Unity

After the first failure to recapture Paris, the history books wrote that Joan was insistent on trying again, while Charles was adverse to the idea after securing his throne. He felt that she had become too difficult to deal with, and as such made no attempt to take her back from the English.

"My King, we must maintain proper boundaries. You are my liege, and I am your humble servant. God has sent me to be your protector, your guardian. It is impossible for me to be your wife. God will not allow it, nor would the nobles."

Whether or not God would allow it, Charles didn't know. But, he was certain that she was correct about the latter portion of her words. They would turn a blind eye to him taking her as a Mistress, but a Queen? France would burn before they allowed a commoner to hold such standing. It simply didn't matter how much Joan had accomplished for them.

Charles' jaw set for a moment before he sighed.

"Take however many knights you need. I'll be awaiting word of your victory."

Joan gingerly stood and bowed once more, sweeping a glance toward a dark corridor to the back left of the throne and leaving without another word.

The moment she left, a shadow stepped out from the corridor, making its way to the throne's side.

"Did I not tell you that when I'm meeting with her you aren't to be in the vicinity? What exactly do you mean by so flagrantly ignoring my commands, Pierre?"

"Forgive me, my liege. But, it is impossible for me to leave you with such a dangerous person. Punish me if you must."

"I'm well aware of what you're doing. Leave. Do this again and I will have you executed."

"My King, forgive me for saying so, but you cannot take this woman as your wife. You may think that this matter is only about her lineage, but this is not so. If she became your wife, would you allow her to go to the battlefield? If she carried your seed, would you allow her to charge toward the men of England?

"You are destined to be a King of legend. You must make decisions for the betterment of France."

having a child that carries her blood and strength not be more beneficial than anything else? What if every King of France from now on

Joan of Arc's parents had this strength, neither did

to sire a bastard to test your theory, I will equally have nothing to say.

for a long while, saying nothing. Finally, he opened his mouth

"Leave me."

slinking back

his expression cold and dark. He looked like a man made of darkness, his robes a deep black, his

the shadows. It wasn't an illusion or a feeling, but the

into

was in a room dimly lit with candles

lay sleeping upon slabs of rock. Upon his appearance, they stirred, almost

Patay is a must have victory for His

"Yes."

inexplicably slipped into the shadows as

an alter with a closed black book. He stroked the cover almost affectionately, but also somehow simultaneously felt afraid to

to glory. Our names will go

glow emitted from the

**

crutch through the corridors of the main stronghold. Her face would sometimes flicker into a smile when she passed by someone, but the smile would just