Hello everyone! Thank you for stopping by to read this fic, I hope you will enjoy it, but, since is my first one in English, please tell me if I made any mistake, it would only help me. I also wanted to explain why I published a fic that is setted in the second episode; well, the girls of the frarynetwork are definitely to blame, because their 7dof made me drown in feels, so I decided I needed to write something from the good ol' days, when the only problems we had to deal with, were Olivia and Natalia. Ah, good times, good tiiimes!
Anyway, without keeping you anymore, here's the story!
Disclaimer: obviously I don't own Reign, I just own a history book with its characters in it.
Flowers;
A strong, pungent, yet delicate smell reached his nostrils; it wasn't unpleasant, it couldn't be. It was coming from her crown of roses, and Francis was realizing that, against his will, that smell was intoxicating him.
Smooth;
Her hands were smooth and soft, the Prince noticed; her skin, under the sun rays gleamed with a whiteness that almost seemed unreal, almost as if she were made of marble. Francis wanted to stop caressing the hands of his betrothed, really, but he just couldn't . Something stronger than his own will was forcing him to keep following random paths on her knuckles with his thumb.
Amber;
Francis had seen dozens of amber necklaces in his life; his mother wore them quite often, but not even the purest color of the Queen's jewelry could compare with the one of Mary's eyes. She was staring at him, amber eyes were mirroring into sky blue ones. And then she smiled, and so did he, defeated, because deep inside, he knew he couldn't resist her.
A laugh;
Lighthearted, carefree, pure. That one was the laugh of a fifteen years old girl, Francis noticed, not the one of a Queen with the weight of a country on her shoulders. That one was the laugh capable of breaking all the walls he had carefully built over the seven years they had been apart.
Strong;
It was the taste of the wine on his tongue. Strong, persistent, just like Mary when, just a few minutes ago, accused his mother of plotting against her. Wine, yeah, Francis will need it to face what is waiting for him; the look of disapproval on the Queen of France's face is already on him when she sees him approaching her.
Francis doesn't believe Mary, he could never believe his mother capable of doing such an awful thing, yet here he is, in front of her, because after all, ask wouldn't be such a wrong thing.
Mary;
She was around him, even when she was nowhere to be seen. His senses had memorized perfectly that girl, and they always seemed to find a way of bringing every single thought he made back to her.
And Francis hated it. Francis hated himself for that; he hated the weakness of his heart, that had submitted the reason that had always guided him, with an easiness that terrified him. He hated everything. Everything, but the girl with flowers in her hair. And God only knew how much he wanted to hate her too.