Palais de Louvre, France. April 24th, 1558.

'All I can tell you is that I account myself one of the happiest women in the world'

– Mary, Queen of Scots to her mother on the morning of her wedding to the Dauphin François of France

Orléans, France. December 5th, 1560.

"After dinner and your usual game of catch with Anne, James is going to want your attention, too, with his reading." Mary smiled to her husband as they lay in bed.

"I'll have him work on it." Francis smiled to his Queen.

"You promise?" Mary asked as she got closer to her husband. "Promise me, and mean it. Promise me you'll try. One year of marriage isn't enough. Fight, Francis, please. I will give you children. Don't give up on our dreams, on the life we could have." Her eyes filled with tears, knowing that it wouldn't take too long for her to lose him.

"It's such a beautiful dream." Francis smiled and closed his eyes, surrendering himself.

"No." Mary whispered as she got closer to him, burying his face into her chest. "No, Francis, don't leave me..."

- In a cold morning of December, Mary Queen of Scotland and France watched as life left her husband's body and pain filled hers. Francis wasn't just her husband, but her childhood friend. Her confident, her lover, her King. So on the next twenty seven years she lived a life full of grief and pain, followed by more losses than she could ever imagine. Her son, which she so wished it was from the only man she ever dreamed of composing a family with, her crown and her head. At the moment the blade touched her neck and she closed her eyes, Mary took a deep breath and accepted everything Fate had chosen for her.

Fotheringhay Castle, England. February 8th, 1587.

"In my end is my beginning."

- And Mary didn't know how right she was.

Gardens of the Palace of Fontainebleau, France. December 5th, 2010.

The groom turned around his bride, the big skirt of her lace gown opening in a full circle around her tiny body. He held one of her arms above her head to support her as his other hand stood in her waist, touching her like she was the most precious thing in the world. Which she was for him.

"I don't think so many spins is a good idea after the amount of champagne I had." The brunette bride laughed as her groom pulled her to him. He laughed with her, kissing her cheek as he took in her scent. Lavender. A scent he had been used with since they were children and she used to jump over him to wake him up on the endless sleepovers they had together.

"Well, I won't deny that the effects of alcohol in your body will be very useful to me tonight." The blonde groom whispered in his wife's ear, making her raise her eyebrows in surprise.

"Francis!" She exclaimed, slapping him playful in his arm and blushing. He loved the effect he had on her, the effects his body and his words had on her.

"What?" He raised his eyebrow at her, taking in her beauty. "You're my wife now." He said, focusing on the word wife. "Not that I ever had any reservations with you." She laughed, leaning her head in his shoulder as their body continued to move together at the rhythm of the song. "But you're my wife now." He whispered in her ear, his beard tickling her exposed neck. "There are no more reservations. No more fears. No more obstacles. Just love."

"Just love." The brown eyed bride whispered in her husband's neck, repeating his words, and smiled. There would be no more opposition of her father, claiming that she was too much for the 'Valois' boy' that wasn't sure if was going to follow his father's path in the family's company. Because of course, James Stuart would never allow his only and beloved daughter to marry someone who didn't know what to do on future.

Also there would be no more of his mother's plans to tear them apart, her invitations to Francis' old girlfriends to family gatherings, to create jealous between them. Because of course Catherine de'Medici could never allow his son to love any other woman more than he loved her.

"I love you, Mary Stuart Valois." Francis whispered, caressing her cheek with his thumb and smiling at the sound of her new last name.

"And I love you too, Francis Valois." Mary whispered back and raised her head. She could no longer stand the distance between her and her husband, even if the distance was of mere centimeters.

Her lips touched his sweetly and they moved together, as they were made for each others. He asked for permission to explore her mouth, as he had done millions of times before, and she happily allowed, his mouth tasting a mixture of mint and champagne they had drank before the dance. For a moment they forgot they were in public, in the middle of the dance floor of their wedding party, and their hands started hovering around each other bodies. Francis hands stopped by Mary's hips as hers stopped in the middle of his blonde curls. They couldn't keep their hands from each other. Not just because of the desire. But because something stronger, something neither both of them understood.

Their parents stood around the dance floor, smiles plastered in all of their faces. If Catherine was once afraid of losing Francis to another woman, she wasn't anymore. Because she finally understood that if there was any person that loved Francis as she did was Mary and she trusted his son to her.

James also finally understood that it didn't matter what future reserved to this young couple. Because to his daughter, Francis was hers with or without money, with or without a certain future and he needed to understand and accept that. Because of course, if there was any man that loved his little girl as much as he did, was Francis, and because of that, he trusted her to him with closed eyes.

Henry and Marie stood beside their respective spouses, happy for their children. They weren't as close to the young couple as James and Catherine were, Henry and Francis never sharing the same opinion about a single thing, especially when the topic was the family company, and Mary and Marie always living under constant fights, especially about how the girl was so spoiled by her father, but they also stood with smiles in their faces.

Orléans, France. February 10th, 2014.

"I wish I could stop time right now." Francis whispered in Mary's ear as she lightly giggled, trying not to wake to two-days-old baby sleeping in her chest. They had arrived from the hospital a few hours before, Francis and Mary bringing home for the first time the little bundle of joy they waited for nine months.

"I wish I could too." Mary replied, caressing her baby's dark locks, a copy of hers. The baby stirred, his mouth turning into a pout but he remained with his eyes closed and Mary's heart filled with love and proud for this little life she and Francis had created and was already capable of taking her breath away. "He's as lazy as his father." She whispered and Francis laughed, caressing the baby's back with his free hand. He couldn't help but see Mary in this little boy he already loved with all his heart. He had inherited her hair and her eyes and Francis loved it.

"But I bet he's going to be as stubborn as his mother." Mary nodded, smiling.

"I'll make sure of it." She whispered, turning to stare at her husband of now four years. Four years of pure bliss, an endless honeymoon. They of course had their fights, but they were usually about useless things and matters. They were so in love for each other, so connected, that the reason of their fights could be considered the lack of it. Francis smiled and leaned himself to his wife, their mouths turning into one. It was a lovely and peaceful afternoon but their bliss was interrupted by Mary's phone ringing from the nightstand. Francis let go of her mouth, biting on her bottom lip and making her moan on the back of her throat. He turned himself on bed and grabbed her phone.

"It's your father." He told Mary, looking at the ID. She extended her arm and grabbed her phone from Francis, not moving an inch more to not wake the baby.

"Hello." She whispered to the other side of the line as Francis took his previously position, his free hand that was not holding up his head was caressing the baby's back.

"Am I interrupting?" James Stuart asked from the other side of the line. His daughter whispered to him and knowing that she now had a little baby to take care of, he was afraid of interrupting her peace.

"You never interrupt, father." She replied, her voice a little louder, but not so much. "James is just sleeping, that's all." James. He still couldn't believe his daughter had named his grandchild after him. And he still couldn't believe her husband had agreed on this, on naming his son after the man who was once against their relationship. Of course that now they lived in good terms and they could call themselves friends even.

"And how are things going, princess?" Mary rolled her eyes at the nickname her father insisted on calling her since her childhood. James could see his daughter rolling her eyes to him, which he didn't care at all, since she was always going to be his princess. Forever.

"Honestly?" Mary replied, smiling, as she locked her hand with Francis'.

"Of course." James replied, for a second worried.

"All I can tell you is that I account myself one of the happiest women in the world." Mary replied as her husband kissed her cheek and the sleeping baby in her chest closed his little hand around her shirt, gripping tightly to his mother.