Dancing
[A/N] Drabble based on the prompt "Dancing," left by Miss Marvel Nerd in the writing game topic of The Assimilation Trials.
Guess it's true, I'm not good at a one-night stand.
But I still need love cause I'm just a man.
These nights never seem to go to plan.
I don't want you to leave, can you hold my hand?
For what very may well have been the last time, Mary and Francis were dancing.
Francis was considerably weaker than he had once been and Mary found herself leading much of the time, holding onto him just a little too tightly. She was worried still that he may collapse after his earlier fall down the stairs.
"You're leading," Francis grunted all of a sudden, his breathing slightly labored with the effort of continuing.
"Just keep your eyes on me," Mary murmured, her eyes flickering up to his, but she managed to conceal her worry. She needed to be strong for the both of them in front of the king of Navarre.
The music continued, accompanied by her occasional hushed whisper of, "Stay with me. Stay with me," as the two of them danced. She held her breath as he lifted her up in the air, suddenly wishing desperately that they had chosen a better time, a different dance, so that he dind't have to exert himself. Only moments later he was on his knees, the eyes of the entire room on him, and in an effort to cover up his vulnerability, Mary curtsied to him, offering him her hand. She didn't miss the gratitude in his blue gaze as he took her hand and kissed it, holding it against his cheek for a moment before she helped him and led them off the floor.
In the back of her mind, she knew it was the last time, and it took everything she had not to succumb to her grief then and there.
Her husband, the king of France, was dying, and he was taking her heart with her.
Oh, won't you stay with me?
Cause you're all I need.
This ain't love - it's clear to see.
But darling, stay with me.