She returned in her chambers alone that night. Francis didn't follow her. He barely said anything after Bash and Kenna recited their vows. He wasn't alone to blame. She didn't exactly like to comment on what happened either. How could that have happened?
The king's illness had rapidly brought chaos in court and had transformed their lives into the unimaginable. Bash married to his father's mistress! It was ugly and nauseating.
And her anxiety over Kenna's fate was the smallest part of her inner turmoil. To say that to see Bash wed another didn't hurt, would be a lie. After all, there was a time not so long ago that he was her fiancé and during that time she had gotten used to the idea, her feelings for him beginning to grow with each day. Those feelings were hurt today. And the worst part was that Francis saw that written across her face…
She couldn't hide her expression fast enough and she know must live with the consequences. Francis was reasonable in all things, but relentless in his love for her. Catherine's words were proven more and more with each passing day. And his hostility toward Bash might be over for now, but was bound to resurface the more time Bash and Mary spend around each other…
She shuddered as she undressed herself and put on her nightgown. Sebastian was married to a lady of court. He wasn't going anywhere. The words she spoke to Lola echoed in her mind. Her marriage was threatened left and right. The lies she kept from her husband, the furious jealousy he felt toward Bash. Deep down she knew Francis's jealousy was not without cause. He knew she wouldn't be unhappy with his brother. She contemplated that for a long while after she had lain in bed. And suddenly she realized something.
Mary rose and put on her robe, leaving her chambers quickly. Making her way along the dimly lit hall, she reached her destination and opened the chamber doors without any resistance from the guards. The room was plunged in darkness, moonlight throwing a slight silvery ray across the bed where her husband was sleeping. She went silently to the other side of the bed and got under the covers careful not to waken him just yet. She felt the warmth from his body and drew closer, which combined with his scent brought her much needed solace.
Francis was on his side, turned toward her, breathing slow and even.
The queen drank in his features as she had done from the first moment she saw him on the day of her return. Eagerly, greedily almost. He was so perfectly sculpted. From the high cheekbones, to the straight nose, to the full yet graceful lips. She had desired him long before she had loved him. And she had always, always yearned for him. Because Francis was never fully in her grasp. There was always something that kept him from her; politics, former lovers, prophecies. Even now, as her husband, Mary yearned for him still. Her heart shook with the thought of losing him. It was a battle she fought every day and she knew would fight for the rest of her life. The comforting realization was that he felt the same way.
Her hand reached out to touch the fair curls on his forehead and the warmth of her fingers caused him to stir. He opened his eyes slowly, his hand instinctively capturing hers.
"Mary?"
"I'm sorry I woke you. I couldn't sleep."
Even though his mind was still foggy with sleep, he smiled at that. That's what she had told him the first night they were together. Memories flooded her, his scent making them sharper and she scooted closer, nuzzling and kissing his bare chest. His hands fisted in her nightgown rubbing up and down her sides, relishing in the feel of her against him. Soon after her gown fell on the floor.
Mary couldn't remember a night she'd spend with both her husband and her nightgown.
He cupped her face and kissed her slowly, lingeringly, his sleepiness making his touches lethargic. And yet, the more they kissed his intensity grew. As if the more he came awake, the more he was aware of his surroundings… and what had transpired that night. She was suddenly on her back, his lips on her neck as she untied his breeches impatiently.
Mary moaned at the feel of his fingers probing her and lifted her hips expectantly. It never seized to amaze her how quickly she could light up her body until she was all twisting limbs and shaky breaths under him. Her hands went around his back and her legs opened wider, as their lips locked again.
His first thrust was slow, tender. Francis lifted his head and looked at his wife. She didn't know what he expected to see, but he must have found it because he smiled sweetly at her . He started moving then, his eyes still focused on her face. Mary couldn't look away either trapped in his gaze, in his possession. They found their rhythm easily as always, their breaths mingling, their foreheads touching. Mary reached to find his mouth with hers, but he stayed just out of her reach, his lips quirked in a smirk as he witnessed the strained pout in her face.
This was his favorite game. Toying with her impatience, fueling her passion and then extinguishing it torturously slow. They were so well matched that way. Fire and ice. But tonight Mary felt that the game was prolonged. Francis kept plunging steadily, building her climax and then stopping to brush his lips across her chest, her neck, his palms tracing her body as if he was molding her with his hands.
Mary let out tiny whimpers and moved her hips desperate for friction, sweat breaking all over her skin from the strain, from the need for release. She remembered one other time when she felt like this. Her wedding night. He had made her beg then too.
"Francis!" he was buried deep inside her, fiercely aroused and completely still.
"Tell me you're mine. Only mine."
"I am! You know I am!"
Francis twisted his hips sharply making her moan loudly.
"Say it." He gasped out, even his superior self control threatening to shatter.
"I'm yours! Only yours. Always!"
He finally brought his lips down to hers and started thrusting roughly, mercilessly. Mary moved with him, her arms holding on to him tightly as he drove her insane with pleasure and their screams were muffled in each others mouths when they found their release together.
Francis stayed on top of her. Mary preferred it anyway. She liked the beat of his heart against her chest, his breath on her neck, tracing her fingers on his back. She heard his voice husky and breathless.
"I love you. So much. And I'm scared."
"I am too." She started shaking beneath him, her arms tightening around him.
"You? Whatever for? You have me. "
"And you think you don't?!"
"I saw you tonight…. that look…. it was my worst fear come to life. I couldn't breathe when I saw that look." His words were soft, terrified whispers dancing on her skin.
Mary wanted to see his face, but it was buried in the crook of her neck. It was so elemental, his jealousy. An instinctual fury riding him hard.
"You need to understand something."
"I don't think I want to hear it." He said as he withdrew and moved away from her, on his side. Mary took his face in her hands and forced his eyes back on hers.
"Yes, you do. I am not going to tell you what you already know, rather something you don't now. A truth that will help you see things through my eyes. I.. I am yet to be with child." Her voice shook and Francis's expression softened. He was about to interrupt when she continued.
"I long for one and I pray God will bless us with one soon. Yet this disappointment I feel now cannot even compare to the first time I realized I wasn't with child."
"On our honeymoon…"
"No, Francis. When you were gone."
Her voice was pained and breathy, the memory slicing her deep inside, drawing her back in to that day. Francis's features tightened in anguish.
"I thought I had acted with strength. I was engaged to another man that secured my country's future and you… you were safe at last. I remembered your words that last morning and unknowingly they had become my one secret hope. Yet that morning I bled, grief crippled me so hard, I couldn't breathe. I wanted to believe a part of you would always be with me… that it was God's way of rewarding me from my sacrifice. I realized that no matter how much time passed I would carry that pain within me. That was a week before you came back."
When she finished she was crying as Francis kissed her over and over, ashamed of his insecurities, of his weakness when it came to her. "it's you…it's always been you… " she had said. That was the only truth that mattered.
"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! I wish I were a better man."
"You're the best man. The only man. I'm yours and you're mine."
Francis held her tightly as dawn bled into the room and exhaustion made her finally fall asleep in the only way she could these days, nestled deep in the arms of her husband.