This is to the magnificent Purple-Ripples, who suggested I write some FrUk, my second fave couple!

As a heads up, this story contains college life, drinking, sex, rape, cheating, libraires, the truth, lies, friendships, love, loss, death, books, a king, 8 wives, one miracle, and one million reasons why none of this was ever going to work. :) Enjoy!

Also, I'm attempting to meld humor into my stories (Those of you who are avid readers know I NEVER have humor), so this is new...

Notes:

If its in italics, the word is stressed or read differently than the rest of the surrounding text, such as when someone is thinking, reading, cursing, or speaking in a different language.

If in bold, italics and underlined, its being read in their mind.

Yep, thats all. :) ENJOY!

"Francis."

"Hmm?~"

"Stop staring." My eyes never left the page as I reminded him for the millionth time for that afternoon. I didn't even have to look up in order to know he was doing it.

I used to love days like this, where I could sit in the secluded section of "English History" on the top floor, far right side of the college library. There was seldom a person to come by and interrupt me in my research but it seemed that Francis was making this a habit of I refunding me and proving to be such a nuisance. I usually had to hold my tongue and just keep focused on King Henry the VIII and his notorious line of wives, my new topic of study. I liked Catherine of Argon the best, and was again engrossed in the words of a rather passionate monologue when I could feel his eyes drifting back to me.

"Francis, stop it."

"Stop what, love?

"Staring! Stop staring, it's hard to concentrate with you just staring."

"I'm not staring," came his cool, measured reply, the tone seeming so obvious and a tad bit hurt. "I was gazing."

I pretended to retch, setting down my book and giving him a pathetic, 'Are you serious?' face.

"Francis, please, I'm in the middle of a very important passage, and you've destroyed my entire mood that was building up until that point. Please, tend to your own studies, text, browse, do anything but stare at me!

"Like I said, I wasn't staring, it was gazing!" he defended himself with a hand causally flipping his curls from his shoulder. "It should be taken as a compliment." there was a treacherous pout to his lips as his foot bobbed under the table and brushed against mine, eyes falling seductively as he tried to win my attention over with a soft, forlorn smile.

"Just leave me alone, you ass."

He didn't argue anymore, neither did he take his eyes from me as I lifted my book up and turned the leafy page.

This was the first thing I knew about Francis Bonnefoy: He, for whatever reason, didn't have anything better to do on Saturday afternoons than to pester me.

You'd think that for the partier in him, this was insufferable, and I was sure that if I kept up the annoyed silence and completely ignored him, then he'd leave. But it was edging on day 13, and he's still here. Never does he read, or answer when his phone when it buzzes, or look interested in completing one of the many papers I know whose due dates are fast approaching. He just stares.

Oh, I'm sorry, "gazes."

I fell easily back into the book, even though I had reprimanded Francis on messing up my concentration, but really nothing was lost, the poor Spanish princess still had my sympathies, and as I flipped the page, I started a new chapter.

'He was the king first, and my husband second. When I married him, I knew that, but now as I watched him lick his lips and talk excitably with that Anne Boleyn, I couldn't push the feeling of dread from my sinking like an anchor in my chest. I was losing him, losing my place, all to a woman so much younger than me, much fairer than me. She was beautiful with all those dark curls falling from her coif onto the milky curve of her neck.'

'The way her dress was tightened made her perky breasts bounce lusciously when she laughed, and the pearl necklace that his majesty had bestowed upon her for her seventeenth birthday laid on her collar bone reflecting her innocence, even though the jade jewel that hung down sat nestled in her cleavage. I hated her for that effortless beauty. As I looked at my own dress I noticed just how simple and refined I appeared, the lace at my throat coving my sun kissed skin, my own aged body hidden in the heavy folds of my dress. He didn't want to hear my songs any more. He never laid beside me or rested his head on my lap so I could thread my ringed fingers through his curls like I used to after we had married. There was never any love, and as my beauty went, so did his attention, to a younger, clever, filled out, curvaceous girl. I wasn't jealous, I was saddened. That my love life was over, and my prime had passed.'

I hurt along with Catherine, that she had lost her husband to such a devious fox like Anne. In all my research, Anne was my most hated of all of Henry's wives, simply because she had stolen the sweet Catherine of her throne so unrightfully, and 'damn it, if Francis doesn't stop staring at me, I'll rip his balls off.'

"Francis!"

He tried to quickly avert his eyes, as if he was sly enough to not be caught, only to end up looking lost and idiotically curious as he drifted his head around the library ceiling, suddenly interested in the tiles.

Finally he settled his wide eyed gaze on me, as if my words had just reached me. "Oh, I'm sorry Arthur, had you said something?"

I rolled my eyes and gave a great sigh, closing the book and pinning my forehead to the desk, letting out mock sobs of frustration.

"I just want to READ." I lamented, squeezing my eyes shut until my irises saw bursts of starry light.

"Oh, come on, it can't be that interesting, let me see," and before I could snatch the book from his manicured hands, Francis had taken it and leaned away from me, picking up his reading from where I had left off.

A smile was curving quickly on his smug face as he placed his elbows on the table, almost in hysterics as he read on. "Oh my God, what is this, cheap smut?"

"No, you uncultured idiot, this is the inner thoughts of a queen!" I was trying to reach for the book but he was pushing against me so he could read more.

'Oh, how I wish to bed my husband at least one more time, to taste love like honey on his kingly lips.' His voice was full with mock royalty, making a fuss over the entire serous piece. 'I could see the lust like a red fire in his eyes as he swept those hands over her womanly body, noticing that she was no longer the peasant girl who had come to court all those years ago. He was wondering what her lips felt like bent in a kiss, how that supple body felt like pressed against his hardened fervor, how her light voice sounded as she screamed in the throes of passion.' Do you get off to this or something?" His laugh was insufferable and haughty as he flipped through the book some more, unaware of the flush fervently beating in my cheeks as I scrambled to grab the text back. 'If only I could get him to spill his seed into me once again so we might try one last time for a baby.' This bitch is crazy, what's her problem? And this Anne sounds hot."

"Give it back you git!" I laid over the table and was reaching hard to grab the book. "Anne was just some slut in the court and she got what she deserved in the end! Catherine was a chaste, lovely queen! On what grounds do you stand to say such things?"

He finally gave up the struggle, throwing the book on the table uncaringly, the yellowed, musty pages crinkling with a thud as it landed, disheveled. I scrambled to straighten it, throwing a hurt and hateful glance to Francis.

"It's just a book, and they're just people, dead in some grave. What do you care?" I suddenly was furious at the way he held his shoulders, so proud and pompous as he stiffened his posture, chin held high as he looked down on me.

I opened my mouth to protest, but I sputtered as I came up with nothing. Sure, I was English so it's history was always interesting, but as of late I had been obsessing with this flirtatious king and his wives for what seems like little reason.

"It's just fun to read. Being illiterate and French, I doubt you understand what it's like to come from a fascinating country."

This was the second thing I knew about Francis: He was of French decent, and was keen on protecting that.

"Fascinant? S'il vous plaît, j'ai vu des choses plus fascinant dans un livre en braille! Vous pensez que je veux m'asseoir et regarder autour de vous lu cette merde? Je viens de vous parler, imbécile. Dieu, un tel gaspillage de mon temps. Antonio avait raison, je devrais renoncer à vous, vous prude. "

I was completely taken aback as he started to spit out the language, his words frilled and a bit over run with his sudden thick accent. He gathered his belongings with a huff and practically stomped out of the library, my apologies welling up in me like a monsoon.

"Francis! Come on Francis, wait!" Forgetting my book, I strode to the banister and looked over the edge, scanning the aisles of books for him, only to watch as Francis made his way to the front of the first floor, disappearing into a blind spot between the "Mysteries" and "Romance". My teeth ground together in anger at him, still confused on why he was so mad, and why on earth he kept coming back each day.

You see, we always fought like this, ending usually with one of us yelling and the other leaving, but never have I heard him speak in his mother tongue, or so I speculated was his first language, from the way he seemed to slip so easily into it at the first instinctual emotion. I knew that when around his girlfriends, he'd drop a few words like "Cheri," "l'amor" and "vous le vous couche avec moi?" But never had I actually heard him sound so serious and so in his own element. It was like he was reverting back to his old ways.

Hearing it felt almost intimate.

I walked back, defeated as I collected my things and placed the heavy book under my arm, my mind still spinning with what he had said. I was used to fighting with him, so why did this seem so different?

Translations are thanks to Google, so you guys who know French know for a fact that this is wrong, but this is what was meant. "Fascinating? Please, I've seen more fascinating things in a Braille book! You think I want to sit around and just watch you read this crap? I come to talk to you, idiot. God, such a waste of my time. Antonio was right, I should give up on you, you prude."

So how are you liking it?

Good? Bad? Should I just give up?

Is there promise?

Do you want this couple?

Another couple?

Talk to me and I answer! I swear I don't bite!

Have questions? Ask!

Read and review my lovely readers.

With dearest love,

Suga Bee