Sebastian had never considered himself a religious man. His father's Catholic side denied his very existence, considered it an abomination, and his mother's pagan roots derived in a group that killed innocents and drained them of blood, for the sake of an over glorified monster.
So no, Bash didn't believe in the divine. There was a time however, that he wanted to. A time when the idea of a supernatural force that kept an eye on him, appealed to him a great deal.
That time was when he fell in love with his brother's betrothed. It was completely effortless, falling for Mary. She was beautiful, intelligent and kind. And if that wasn't enough she had a wild and passionate nature and a relentless determination when she wanted to achieve something. Just like he did.
At that time, it was torture, watching the woman he loved try to win the affections of his seemingly indifferent brother and fear for her safety, her friends', her country's. He had never resented Francis. Not for his crown, his fortune, his privileges. But he resented him for this. For having this lovely creature at his side and not giving her the treatment she deserved.
And then the miracle happened. A path appeared before him. A way to be with the woman who ruled his heart and not be wretched with guilt for betraying his brother. For a divine force had damned their union and had given him what he didn't have the faith to pray for.
After two months of bliss, of hope and of love, this miracle was shattered before him. With a single word, Nostradamus had removed the prophecy that threatened Francis' life and kept Mary away from him. And with very little coaxing, Mary left him to return to his brother, leaving him in the deepest of despairs. He wanted to hate her but couldn't. He loved her too much. So he focused his hatred on his brother, especially after he thought he tried to have him killed. And now…
Now after he saw his brother trapped under that ice, his life draining out of him, he realized something very important, something his feverish pursuit of Mary had made him forget. He loved his little brother. And before this love for Mary had consumed him, his little brother loved him. No, that wasn't quite right.
Francis loved his mother, Charles and Henry, begrudgingly respected his father, but Bash he used to worship. The Dauphin of France, one of the most powerful men in Europe, trusted Bash more than he trusted himself.
Because Bash was his older brother. He taught him how to ride, how to sneak out of the castle and how to flirt with girls. Bash's approval meant the world to Francis and Bash was just grateful for his brother's kind and compassionate heart, especially considering who his parents were.
He forced himself to do something he never bothered to before. He tried to see what this had been like from Francis' perspective. Growing up with a preordained destiny, one that trapped him in every way, even in marriage. For Bash, Mary was a wonderful, lovely woman. For Francis, she was the culmination of a life imprisoned and burdened with the fate of nations. And possibly, due to their father's greed, she might symbolize the destruction of France. A bad alliance. Bash never bothered with affairs of state but knew that Francis lived for them. How many times he had seen his brother rumble on about a political strategy or a bad harvest until he had started to make fun of him, bored out of his mind with the intricacies Francis was explaining. Bash was a privileged, favored bastard. Francis was a ruler. A King.
One who had millions of lives on his hands. And couldn't only follow his heart. And even so, how could he have written off Francis' feelings for Mary as perfect indifference? He remembered the day the little Mary left to go to the convent. Francis, who had huffed and complained about his six year old betrothed all the time, when she was taken from him, had locked himself in his room for weeks and wouldn't come out, crying and screaming at every one who dared enter his room. And after nine years, his brother probably thought he had learned his lesson and tried to keep his distance. And yet Bash was there when Francis stood up to his mother, fought and blackmailed his father and got blood on his hands. All for Mary. How could he think what he felt for her was only a sense of duty? Didn't the castle buzz with the gossip that the young Dauphin had returned to a castle full of Italian bandits, only to save Queen Mary? She was worth more to him than his own life. How could he have been so blind?
Bash had painted in his mind the image of an arrogant, self serving Francis, because that made things easier. But it wasn't that simple. He was a fine man and Mary had strong reasons in choosing him. That's what it came down to, wasn't it? Mary's choice.
Did he really believe she would choose to be with him?
She loved him. She had admitted it herself. He brought adventure and a freedom in her life she had never experienced. And he would have made her happy. He knew that. He would have put her first. He might not be as good a King as his brother, but he would be a better husband. Mary knew that and yet she didn't choose him. Because just like him, Mary was ruled by her heart…
Mary didn't remember Bash as a child but he remembered her. And he never called her Mary. L'ombre de mon frѐre. That's what he liked to call her, for she was just that. Chasing after Francis, sitting by his side when reading and playing and dancing. She really was his brother's shadow. And while he had stubbornly refused to acknowledge Francis' feelings for Mary, the young Queen's love for the Dauphin could not be overlooked. She never stopped loving him, he thought with a pang. Even when she arrived after nine years of absence, when she looked at Francis, her heart was in her eyes. There was a light there that ignited just for Francis, a smile only he could put one her face, as if the mere sight of him reassured her in an instinctual way. And her pursuit of Francis was even greater than Bash's pursuit of her.
She was determined to secure the alliance, true and she'd been told from a young age that Francis was meant for her…
But even when Portugal made an offer and she was released from the engagement, Bash saw how she looked at Francis. Such longing and regret in her eyes. And then the joy and relief that had filled her the weeks after the treaty was reinstated. A joy she shared while looking at Francis, touching his hand, smiling and conversing with him. Those were the first days he felt a discomfort when he saw them together and he tried to ignore it.
But he was there when she rumbled on and on, intoxicated and full of despair, despair his brother had caused. She had kissed him then and he thought that returning the kiss was only fair, since Francis' heart clearly was elsewhere.
But he was wrong. And it cost him. It cost him his little brother. Never had Francis looked at him with such jealousy and hatred. Never had the war inside his brother raged stronger. The cool and collected Dauphin, the mature and calculative one didn't exist when it came to Mary. So he chose to throw himself in the arms of another. Afraid of his own feelings. If he acted like the older brother he should have been, he would advice Francis not to be afraid of his heart. But he didn't. He let himself be biased by his own selfish love and let their father poison Francis into becoming like him.
And during all this, Mary loved him still. When he pushed her away, she loved him still. When she saw him with another girl, her heart still was his. And though she loved Scotland above all else, Francis was her second strongest love. Maybe it was because they were engaged so young. Maybe it was because they were both rulers with tremendous responsibility and they could only find solace in each other. Understand each other. Or maybe it was because they complemented each other so well. The fiery, headstrong Scott with the patient, well-mannered Prince.
And what her choice resulted to, was him being force to watch the consummation of their marriage. The single, most horrid moment in his life. To watch his love writhing in the throes of passion with another man… Mary had no choice but to continue. It was a ritual that was demanded by France, Scotland and the Vatican. And Francis… Francis made sure to make a point…
The worst part of it wasn't the act, he thought. It was the way Mary looked at him and touched him. With the joy of a child and the desire of a woman. It was a strange feeling, the one they shared . Whatever it was, it had set roots in their hearts from a tender age and it was a bond so strong, it surpassed the fate of nations, wars and destinies and made them return to each other time and time again. The only thing you could do with a love like that is accept it. Even if it killed you.
So where did that leave Sebastian?
His love for Mary, would take time to be forgotten. And his frail relationship with his brother was only beginning to mend. But he had bigger concerns in his life didn't he, he thought with a smile. Because another fiery Scott was occupying his bed, a woman who was becoming more and more determined in winning him over. And mind you, she knew what she was doing…