November, 1500

Louis had energetically committed himself to the preparation for war. It was in that mindset that he received the courier's letter, almost without thinking. Yet, the seal upon it was that of his older brother, Jean. He broke the seal without question, expecting some mundane correspondence. He had sent letters to his brother from Milan, for he was in no position to venture beyond the borders of France. The kingdom considered him mad, yet Louis had always been able to see through the trauma that had consumed his brother. He was lucky perhaps that it had not consumed him. The letter had dire news; Jean was dead. Louis sat, as if forced down by the weight of the letter. For perhaps the first time, he was truly alone. The two brothers had survived the Bastille, survived the damnable Spider. Yet now Jean was gone, and he was the last of the Armagnacs. He reread the letter, hoping it not to be true. His first instinct was to pray, pulling the rosary from his pocket. He offered his pain to the Virgin Mary, and each decade strengthened his resolve. He knew now that it was his duty to win honor for his family and to ensure their passage into the future. He was Duke of Nemours, Count of Guise, Castres, l'Isle-Jourdain and Pardiac. All now relied on him. He thought at once to succession, and his lack of a bride. His brother had no children, and it was now time for him to find a bride.

It never rains, but it pours.