Juana’s attempt at reasoning her objections was a complete failure. Her husband was no better. He walked to Juana and held her back, whispered in her ear to tone down her rhetoric. But Juana pushed him away and called him weak for not defending her.
It was sickening, it was comical. If this wasn’t their daughter, Isabella and Ferdinand would order the guards to take her away; but they remained seated, watching their heir presumptive commit political suicide.
“You want to challenge me because you are dying.” Juana accused.
“Juana, that’s enough.” Philip hissed.
“Let me go, Philip.” She hissed back, wrenching her arm free. Who was he to tell her what to do? He was going to be King next to her. “You dare to presume what is best for Castile. I am Castile. I will be Aragon!”
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