Rulers, Not Schoolchildren

Francis had prepared himself for Mary's anger, steeled himself for a fight, but nothing could have prepared him for the anguish in her voice when she spoke, still facing the window, as if she couldn't even bring herself to look at him.

"So you are taking my mother's last hope," she said tonelessly, "and leaving her to the mercy of thousands of Protestant rebels demanding her head and my crown."

"Mary, please understand," he pleaded of her.

"I do understand," she told him, finally turning to face him. Her expression was already one of defeat. "You are doing what you think is best for your country."

"Not only my country," Francis protested. "If France is beaten at Calais, your country will suffer too! France can hardly defend Scotland if -"

"Defend Scotland? When have you ever defended Scotland?" Mary broke in, her voice heated now, her anger finally making its appearance. "Except with brave words."

"That is not fair -"

"Oh, and now you want fair?" She scoffed. "We are rulers, not schoolchildren. Blood will be spilled because of the choice you have made, my mother's blood!"

"You don't know that! But the blood of thousands would be spilled if -"

"Yes, French blood, I know!"

"I do not only think of France!" Francis shouted, his anger getting the best of him.

The room went quiet for a moment, the only sound that of the flames crackling in the fireplace.

"No, you do not," Mary said at last, her fury gone, replaced once more with utter despair. "But you do put her first, as any king would."

"Then can you forgive me?" he asked softly.

"It is myself I cannot forgive. I've made an awful mistake. Our marriage was an awful mistake."

That one hurt. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. "Please don't say that."

"There were a thousand moments where I could have done something. Made secret treaties. Sold favors. Even snuck away to Scotland to be with those people who need me. And do you know why I didn't?" When he didn't speak, she went on. "Because I love you. Because I am your wife."

"Mary, listen. I promise, when we have taken Calais, the first thing I will do is travel to Scotland with your uncle's army. We can still save your mother!"

She walked away from him and his heart plummeted to his feet. When she turned back to him, she was crying. "Like when you promised that you would take me to Scotland with my brother? Or when you promised soldiers the time before that and the time before that?"

"You make it sound like every promise I make is an empty one."

"What other promise can you make? You are the future king." She wiped at her eyes.

It was silent for a moment.

"I'm only going to ask two things of you," she said, crossing the room back to him. Her eyes were still wet with unshed tears. "First, is that you stop making promises you know in your heart you can't keep."

Francis opened his mouth to protest. But he knew that she was right. Finally, he nodded and shut his eyes. "And the other?"

"Come back to me. Live through this battle. And don't let England cost me you."

All he could do was hold her and get them both through this.