#claude de valois

[awkward-sultana]

(Almost) Every Costume Per Episode + Claude de Valois's pink and white gown with silver embellishments in 3x09,16

[alienas]

COSTUME APPRECIATION Claude de Valois, Reign

[perioddramapolls]

Period dramas dresses tournament: Pink dresses Round 1- Group C: Claude de Valois, Reign vs Jane Grey, Crossed swords (gifset)

[the-dumpster-fire-of-life]

Requests

Hey! I'm bored rn and decided requests are open for now, BUT, the only requests I am taking in rn are from my idea list bc I have been looking to write them for a while and haven't gotten one from there in a while and all in all have just wanted to write some stuff from my idea list.

So rn I am only taking requests from my idea list and reign for now. Thank you, send in requests if u got em for my idea list!

Rules

Idea List

Who I Write For

[winnie-the-monster]

“Mother I came as soon as I heard. Is it true, are you terribly ill?”

“You sound so hopeful. I suppose I deserve that.”

[cy-lindric]

Last of their name

[dailyreigngifs]

CATHERINE DE MEDICI and CLAUDE VALOIS in REIGN — 4x02: “A Grain of Deception” (2017)

[hiatuswhore]

Viper IV

Reputation: The Princess of Conde, said to be a lover of games. Perhaps chess, a game requiring one to think many steps ahead and anticipate your enemies next move. For every missteps brings you closer and closer to defeat.

VIPER III: Versatility

YOU NEVER KNEW FRENCH COURT TO BE SO DULL. The privy council drolling on about issues they will never resolve. No plots or ploys, you settle on a ceasefire allowing the Queen Consort a period of reprieve. You busy yourself with strolls with Sebastian and feigning interest in many high Lord's pursuits of your hand. This does not stop the Queen Mother from focusing on your every movement. Nor are you a fool to the servant in your ranks who reports to her. All information they receive perfectly curated to your liking.

Sitting at your vanity, you huff like a child on the verge of a tantrum. Whispers containing scandals so minuscule you are certain the histories will write you as the first to truly die from boredom.

“Dahlia, any news on the parchment I sent to my brother?” You ask. The shake of your handmaiden’s head garnering another huff. “He wants me to come home, but I have far too much to do here.”

“Princess, you must stop fussing so I can finish your hair,” Dahlia’s silvery voice and gentle touch gaining an apologetic smile. The light tapping of your chamber door stills your handmaiden, your head turning toward the door. Dahlia crosses the room. Opening it, she bows respectfully before lowering her gaze and stepping aside.

“My King,” You rise to your feet, a grin on your lips as you curtsy. Francis chuckles, shaking his head as you ask what you can do for him.

“My wife seems to believe you have a vendetta against her. I am no fool of the deep care you hold for your brother. This afternoon you will invite her on your evening stroll, just the two of you,” Your head tilts to the side, a wide smile taking your features, hiding the thorns beneath rosy-colored petals.

“While I admit I was not very fond, I thought to have clarified my intentions with your wife. Very well, we will have a lovely evening at once,” Clasping your hands in front of you, stepping forward, you peck his cheek. His nose grazes your cheek as he turns to meet your gaze.

“We are not children anymore. You know this is not appropriate,” His words leave him in a breathy whisper. You wet your lips, offering a warm smile.

“I meant nothing untoward, Francis. You are dear to me. I would never have you jeopardize your honor,” Only run it off a cliff, the heat of his skin warming your own at the proximity. His head tilts forward so slightly you nearly miss it as he stiffens. You pull away first, brushing past him with a knowing smirk.

The long corridor from your chambers holds a sea of faces that matter little as you make your way to the kitchens. Fetching to chalices of wine, your smiles large as Mary and Catherine’s eyes land on you. They stand in the throne room, speaking quietly amongst themselves.

“Queen Mother. Her grace. My apologies for the intrusion. I hoped to steal the Queen for a stroll. I even brought us wine,” You say, holding out the chalice. Silence dances between the three of you. Both Catherine and Mary eye the cup in your hand warily, the smile on your lips wicked. She knows she cannot refuse. To do so slights the Princess of Conde--another slight against the De Bourbon family, her kin-in-law.

“Of course, Princess,” Mary swallows thickly, her voice wavering as her fingers brush your own against the cup. She glances at Catherine a final time before joining your side. You wear a kind smile, your airy aura filling the halls. You ramble to Mary just as you do with a dear friend, noting how the chalice in her hands has stayed there.

“What a lovely day. Isn’t it lovely?” Stepping outside, you turn to Mary, her strained smile and stiff posture fueling your amusement. Catherine stands with Francis on the second-floor terrace watching the two of you.

“Very lovely indeed,” Mary mutters, following your toothy smile up the terrace. She’s greeted with differing expressions. Francis wears one of encouragement as Catherine stands as though a guillotine awaits.

“Mary, you are not very good at this game. You went to Francis of your fears, rightful fears, but now here we are. Let me help you understand your particular situation. This is a game of reputation. I very publicly invited you to wine and a stroll. The part the people do not know is that it is at the King's behest. Now imagine if word spreads, you refused my efforts for peace after all you brought upon my brother? What a lecherous cunt,” You scoff, speaking barely above a whisper, shaking your head, a smile painting your lips. Mary’s eyes narrow, her shoulders falling at her side. Stepping into the trap before it was even set.

“I am the Queen. You are my subject in my court!” The ferocity of her tone unlike anything you ever expected of her. You would have commended her in another life, but now your smile falls as you stumble back. Mary’s frown distinct as your eyes well with tears. You shift your gaze down sharply, cowering like a frightened child—the antithesis of your nature.

“My apologies, your grace. Will you excuse me?” You curtsy, wiping the faux tear from your cheek. Mary’s eyes bounce around the open grass field. Ladies and Lords alike lounge around different fixtures watching the exchange. Realization cuts through like a blade to skin, your sorrow not reaching your eyes. Oh, how this game suits you.

“Princess,” Mary breathes out, watching as you fiddle with your fingers. The comely and giving Princess standing before the aggressor, the cruel Queen.

“My apologies, your grace. I know our histories are—” You cry out, the approaching mop of blonde hair arriving with impeccable timing.

“Mary, a word,” The clench of the King’s jaw clear despite the mask of calm he wears. You offer a respectful curtsy heading back toward the castle with your head low. Inside, Catherine greets you with a sneer; taking her hands, you smile.

“I detest you. You wretched girl,” Catherine squeezes your hands tights, to onlookers a warm exchange between family. The Queen Mothers' smile as warm and deceitful as your own.

“Oh, Catherine. To hate me is to hate yourself. I learned all I know from watching you,” You lean forward, kissing both her cheeks. The softening of her glare was not lost on you before excusing yourself. Like wildfire, the word spread of your exchange; invitations of tea and strolls pouring into your chamber like water to a glass.

By noon, you receive word of a private family supper. You naturally assume it to be the workings of Francis but still consider others. While Mary navigates your game as well as a blind man at sea, you await Catherine to guide her hand. You wear a courteous smile as the hundredth invite for tea arrives, your empty promises of soon arranging a meeting becoming almost instinctive.

“(Y/n)!” Your eyes widen at the squeal. Claude rushes down the corridor, her arms wide open. She nearly tackles you to the ground in a hug, squeezing so tight it may very well suffocate you.

“Thank god! This place is so terribly boring,” You exclaim, stepping off to the side. Claude smirks. “I was so upset to learn I had just missed by mere hours the day I arrived.”

“I hear my brother's wife made you cry, and I know for certain that is not the case. You must tell me your machinations at once,” Claude whispers, leaning in close. The two of you stop at the corner, appearing like giddy children.

“That would spoil the fun dear cousin!” You say, crossing your arms and mirroring her smirk.

“The Scottish Queen is doomed then, but that must wait. We have much to catch up on,” Claude hooks her arm in your own. She leads you down the hall, her animated rambling taking the whole of the conversation as you listen intently.

“You slept with Ser Harlin?” You gasp, stopping in your tracks. The French Princess bit her bottom lip, grinning like a madwoman. She spares you not a single detail of her exploits with the pagan warrior, a burly man of few words.

“How have you not? I know, no Lord who looks like him. We must have our fun before our brothers decide to try and marry us off,” Claude says, shrugging your shoulders, your matter-of-fact tone dripped in certainty, “I believe my brother knows if he forces a husband upon me, that poor soul will not make it to our marital bed.”

“Well, if Francis makes me marry, can I count on your diligence in my indoctrination to widowhood?” Claude teases. Nodding your head, you stand straight up with a playfulness to your tone, “I swear this oath to you in perpetuity, my princess.”

“I see you two muck about once more,” Francis greets his sister with a warm hug, his eyes meeting yours with a long pause. Claude’s gaze bounces between the two of you, chuckling shamelessly.

“All these years and nothing changes. Well, you two clearly need a moment. Mother!” Claude calls out, skipping away before either of you can say a word. You bite the inside of your cheek, certain you will not lead this conversation.

“I wish to apologize on behalf of Mary,” Francis says, studying how you render your face expressionless.

“It’s clear the Queen does not seek forgiveness, but who I am to ask that of the Queen. I do not believe she likes me very much. I think I should soon leave,” You shrug your shoulders, pursing your lips. A huff leaves him, taking the bait as easily as you threw it.

“You will do no such thing. I want you here, so that is where you shall be.” Francis taking your hand in his own, the closeness intoxicating—inviting far too inappropriate for the open hall. You wet your lips, watching his eyes travel to them.

“Of course, my King.” The batting of your lashes and low hum of your voice garnering a deep sigh. Francis closes his eyes, rolling back his shoulders as he releases your hand. “Are you unwell, your grace?”

“You very well know what I am at this given second,” He tilts his head, giving you a knowing look. Leaning in closer, your pointed stare and lopsided grin doing the young King no favors.

“You are King, Francis. It is well within your right to reach for what you want. Who you want,” Placing your hand on his shoulder, you trail your pointer finger up the side of his neck and back down at a tantalizingly slow pace.

“I will not be my father,” Francis says, disappearing into his own mind before you. Your hand travels up to his cheek, pulling him back to the present, testing your limits with your thumb tracing his bottom lip.

“You could never. Far too honorable. Too good,” You draw your words out, the slow whisper and dark eyes evaporating those around you from view. The few who linger in the corridor pretend as though you both are not the center of attention. You lean up, pecking his cheek once more, resting your cheek against his, your breath tickling his ear. Your eyes on the dark mop of hair down the hall, “I am your first love. Mary shall be your last, it seems. Your grace.”

You step back, noting how he stares at you, the adoration clear as day. Curtsying, you brush past him. At the end of the hall, you stop shoulder-to-shoulder with the Scottish Queen. Her glassy staring forward as though someone has commanded it. You do not spare her glance on even turn to address her, your face now one of stone.

“Please, Princess. Ask anything of me, and it is yours.” Mary swallows thickly, her eyes on her husband's back as he continues down the hall. When he turns the corner, she turns to you, your gaze still forward.

“Your demise.”

MASTERLIST

[mary-tudor]

François I received a book in the presence of his mother, Louise de Savoy, and sister, Marguerite d’Angoulême.

Date: 1503.

Source: National Library of France

Description taken from here:*

“Master of Philippe de Gueldre, "Antoine Vérard presents his book to François d'Angouleme, in the presence of Louise de Savoie and Marguerite d'Angoulême, in Octavien de Saint-Gelais, Le Séjour d'honneur, Paris, Antoine Vérart

BnF, Rare Book Reserve, Venom 2239, fol. 1st

In 1506, after his engagement to Claude de France, daughter of Louis XII, François d’Angouleme is summoned to court as heir to the throne. It is no doubt on this occasion that the Parisian bookwire Antoine Vérard is preparing for him a personalized copy of his edition of the Séjour d'Honneur, allegory describing the court of Charles VIII. In the light of dedication, the young prince receives the volume of Vérard's hands, under the gaze of his mother, Louise de Savoie, and a young girl who is undoubtedly his sister, Marguerite.”

*facebook group entitled “enluminures Europe—VIe -XVIe s.”

[carmelide]

it's always gon be FUCK francis de valois

[awkward-sultana]

(Almost) Every Costume Per Episode + Claude de Valois’s white blouse, brown skirt, and beige printed corset in 3x17

[alienas]

COSTUME APPRECIATION Claude de Valois, Reign

[winterhalters]

K I N G S I D E, a tale of seven kings

first season 1514-1520. Claude and François finally get married, a vacant seat for Mary Tudor, Louise of Savoy's stubborness to keep her son in check. A new King arises, the New Order, François' quest for glory in Italy. Another crown, another campaign.

second season 1522-1530. The inheritance dispute that leads Bourbon to treason. The pursuit of the italian dream, Claude dies, all is lost in Pavia. Süleyman and the unthinkable alliance, captivity in Spain. The Ottoman fleet. Royal depression. The inheritance dispute that led Bourbon to treason. The ladies' peace, Henry VIII flinching, a price for two princes, a New wife for the King.

third season 1531-1537. Louise dies, tensions between François and Marguerite. The wedding of Catherine and Henri. The rise of Pisseleu, the battle at Court between Charles and Henri and their people. War between Diane and Montmorency. Placards and the anti-heterics frenzy, another war in Italy. Wedding and death of Madeleine.

fourth season 1539-1547. Mending tensions between France and Spain. A very stubborn niece. All eyes on Henri and Catherine's sterile womb. Death of Charles. The duel in Jarnac. The King is dead, long live. Diane de Poitier's absolute triumph over Anne de Pisseleu. The Guises make their move.

fifth season 1553-1559. Diane of France's not so typical royal wedding. Catherine giving birth to the twins, Chenonceau goes to Diane, the cordial hate between the two. Rohan VS Nemours. Montmorency mess and a remarriage for Diane of France. The death of Henri, everything falls down.

sixth season 1560-1564. François II barely hanging on, Catherine's almost giving up, Elisabeth married off, the Guise family's counterpower, Montemorency's political exile, the Amboise conspiracy, preparations for the grand tour.

seventh season 1565-1572. The end of the grand tour, encounter between the royal family and Elisabeth, queen of Spain. The rise of Charles IX, a new queen, Marie Touchet and her bastard boys. Catherine's plans to get a match for Marguerite. Rising tensions between Charles and Henri after Jarnac and Montcontour. Marguerite's nuptials amidst tensions and Coligny's attempted murder.

eighth season 1572-1575. Coligny and the Protestant leaders rallying the troops. The Saint Barthelemew Massacre and the promise of Marguerite to never forgive her family. Catherine finds out Anjou's possible involvement. A new king for Poland. Marguerite's toubled married life. Death of Charles IX. Henri's escape from Poland and slow return to France.

nineth season 1581-1584. Catherine's illusions shatter. New King, no heir. Marguerite returns to Paris. Louise shows some spine against the King's favorites. Quarelling with Anjou, tensions with Elizabethan England, Anjou's election and subsequent death and Catherine's anger. The Guise family veering off the road.

tenth season 1585-1589. The mounting war of the three Henris. All eyes on King Henri who has no sons, Catherine's political exile, the slow burning of the last Valois children. Hunting down Marguerite from stronghold to stronghold, ending with her house arrest in Usson. Assassination of the Guise brothers, the death of Catherine, Henri III breaks down in Diane's arms. Marguerite in exile, Diane the only "true" daughter of Catherine's, as she sets out to (successfully) pacify the kingdom on her own.

[the-dumpster-fire-of-life]

Okay, I do lots of fanfiction, but y'all, please send requests for Reign.

Im in love with literally everyone.

Charles, Claude, Francis, Mary, oh my god I love them.

I will pay u guys to send me requests for them

Look at her. Oh my god. Look. At. Her!!!!

Kicking my feet and shit 😍

AAHHHHHH (also highly recommend "long may she reign" on Wattpad by @Spindleshanks who wrote an OC x Charles, of my god I love the OC, her name is Tulia Bryne and oh my god the writings unimaginablely good 😭)

I'd do unimaginable things

[winnie-the-monster]

[scotianostra]

James V, King of Scots married Madeleine de Valois on January 1st 1537.

Madeleine of Valois was a French Princess who played a brief but significant role in European history as the first wife of James V of Scotland and, for a short time, the Queen of Scotland.

Madeleine’s poor health meant she died only six months after their wedding day – her short time as Consort led her to receive the nickname the ‘Summer Queen’ of Scots. Despite her short reign and tragically young death, Madeleine left both a direct and indirectly lasting impact on the tumultuous political landscape of Scotland.

Madeleine of Valois was the fifth child and third daughter of King Francis I and Claude, Duchess of Brittany.

She was born at the Château de Saint-Germain-en-Laye in France on 10 August 1520. Frail since birth, Madeleine was raised in the mild climate of the Loire Valley region to protect her from the cold.

When Madeleine was 3 years old, her mother died, and she, along with her younger sister Marguerite, was raised by their paternal aunt, Marguerite of Navarre. However, after their father remarried Eleanor of Austria, Madeleine became part of her household.

By the age of 16, Madeleine had developed tuberculosis, the same illness that likely claimed her mother’s life.

Madeleine’s marriage to James V was a result of diplomatic alliances between the Valois and Stuart dynasties.

The Treaty of Rouen, signed three years before Madeleine’s birth, aimed to strengthen the ‘Auld Alliance’ between France and Scotland after Scotland’s shattering defeat by England at the Battle of Flodden. One provision of the treaty was the marriage of a French princess to the Scottish king. King James V was only 5 years old at the time of the Treaty, thus negotiations on the marriage did not begin until 1530.

In April 1530, John Stewart, Duke of Albany, was appointed commissioner to finalise the royal marriage between James V and Madeleine – the French King Francis I’s eldest living daughter. However, due to Madeleine’s poor health, Francis proposed an alternative French bride, Mary of Bourbon, from his extended family, who was to be given a dowry as if she were the French king’s daughter.

James V agreed to marry Mary, and travelled to France in 1536 to meet her. However, upon his arrival, Mary didn’t appeal to him and instead he became enamoured with Madeleine, promptly asking her father Francis I for her hand in marriage. Initially, Francis I refused, fearing that Scotland’s climate would worsen Madeleine’s fragile health.

Smitten by 16 year old Madeleine’s delicate beauty, James V continued to press Francis I to permit the marriage. Madeleine also made her desire to marry James very obvious, thus despite his reservations, Francis I reluctantly granted them permission. The marriage contract was made at Blois, where Madeleine renounced her claims to the French throne, and Francis I provided a substantial dowry.

James V and Madeleine were married on 1 January 1537 at Notre Dane Cathedral in Paris – Madeleine was 16 and James was 30. The union was celebrated with four months of festivities, strengthening the bond between France and Scotland and fulfilling the terms of the Treaty of Rouen. Due to Madeleine’s health, their journey to Scotland was delayed until spring.

James and Madeleine eventually sailed for Scotland, arriving on 19 May 1537, yet by this time, Madeleine’s health had deteriorated further, and she was very unwell when the royal couple landed at Leith. Despite this, Madeleine is said to have kissed the ground upon arriving in her husband’s kingdom.

In preparation for her arrival, James had ordered improvements to Falkland Palace and the Chapel Royal, and was also in the process of building new tennis courts, and had added a French-style tower to the Palace of Holyrood House.

However, Madeleine fell seriously ill shortly after arriving in Scotland, possibly due to tuberculosis. She was bedridden and unable to fullfill her role as queen consort. Despite her illness, Madeleine’s presence brought a touch of French culture and refinement – known for her beauty, grace, and intelligence, Madeleine quickly became beloved by the Scottish court.

Although expressing some improvement in a letter to her father from Edinburgh on 8 June 1537, James V was concerned enough to also write to him requesting the physician Master Francisco to be sent. Madeleine later wrote that Francisco would only be needed to perfect her cure.

Plans were underway for Madeleine’s coronation as Queen of Scotland, yet her health continued to decline. A month later, she died of tuberculosis in her husband’s arms on 7 July 1537 at Holyrood Palace, aged 16 – just 6 months and 7 days after their wedding. She was interred in the Royal Chapel at Holyrood Abbey in Edinburgh, next to King James II of Scotland.

Her death left James V devastated, and plunged Scotland into mourning.