Francis looked at the array of eggs, paint, and paintbrushes scattered on the table. Everything was ready to go. Easter was this coming Sunday and it was a tradition to decorate eggs every year. His head snapped as he heard footsteps and he looked up to see Mary approaching him, her hands resting on her swollen stomach. He rushed to her side, linked his arm through hers and guided her over to the table. "All this trouble to decorate eggs," he stated, "Are you sure you want to this year?"
"Yes, I want to," she told him as she slowly lowered herself into one of the chairs, "Decorating eggs is fun!" She leaned forward to grab a paintbrush, but couldn't quite reach it due to the size of her protruding stomach. "But it sure would be a lot easier if I wasn't pregnant," she told her husband, frowning.

"You're the one who insisted we do this," Francis teased her, laughing.

"A little help would be nice," she stated, getting him to join her at the table and hand her a paintbrush and an egg. She smiled at him in thanks and dipped the paintbrush into some blue paint.

Mary had found out she was pregnant with her and Francis' first child around Christmastime. After many months of not being able to conceive, they were both extremely happy to find out she was expecting. It was the best Christmas present they could have asked for and for the first few months, Mary had a glow about her. But now that she was in her second trimester, that glow was starting to wear off and her growing stomach made things – like decorating Easter eggs – difficult to do.

"So, what are we going to do with all these eggs?" Francis asked, sitting down next to his wife and starting to decorate an egg of his own.
"I have no idea," Mary shrugged, "But I like decorating them. It's fun. When I was at the convent, we decorated eggs every year. Well, I didn't get to until I was older, but I always watched the nuns when they did. Do you remember us watching your parents do this when before I was sent to live with them?"

"Of course I do," he told her, "I remember us sitting at the table and asking them why they were painting eggs. At that age, we thought eggs were just for eating."

"Well, we were young," she said, setting the first egg down and picking up another one, "I'm not surprised we thought that." She giggled at the memory of their childhood selves bugging Catherine and Henry with an endless amount of questions about why they were painting eggs.

"True," Francis agreed, "But this is a pretty good alternative to eating them."
"And they always look so pretty," Mary added, "The perfect decorations for all the festivities that will take place over the weekend. Perhaps we could string them together and make a garland of sorts to hang around the room."

"That's a very good idea," Francis said. He had spent a good portion of the morning draining the yolk out of the eggs, and he would hate to see all this hard work go to waste if they were just going to sit in a pile on the table, untouched. Mary was insistent on decorating eggs, so all the hard work he put into this was made worth it to see his wife happy. Francis set down the egg he had just finished and leaned back in his chair, watching as Mary focused on painting an egg, a wide smile on her face. Mary turned her head and saw him gazing at her.

"Why aren't you painting anymore?"
"Because I love watching you paint these eggs," he told her, "I love that you smile and your eyes light up with happiness when you do something you love." Mary didn't have a response to that. He always managed to leave her speechless. She smiled at him, leaning over and pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

"Thank you," she told him, "For all of this. For all the lengths you go to to make me happy."

Mary was still amazed that this was their life now, happily married and expecting their first child. When she had first shown up to French Court after living in the convent for so many years, Francis wasn't thrilled with her sudden presence or the fact that they were engaged. But, as time went on, he started to realize that he did in fact love Mary and wanted to marry her. And despite all the obstacles they went through – the prophecy, her trying to get Bash legitimized, her brother's visit to court causing a rift between them for a short time – their love for each other was strong enough to overcome anything thrown their way. And the child that she now carried was a product of their love. It was unbelievable that she had gotten everything she wanted, really.

"Do you think our child will be as curious about egg decorating as we were?" Francis asked, pulling Mary out of her thoughts.

"I'm sure they will," she told him, "And when they're old enough, we'll decorate eggs with them. The three of us doing this every year, as a family."
"That would be perfect," he said, "And maybe they will end up being as talented as you when it comes to painting eggs. Really Mary, all of the eggs you've done are beautiful."
"The ones you did have come out great as well," she remarked.

A few hours later, a collection of bright and colorful eggs were sitting in a basket that was placed in the center of the table. Francis had sent one of the servants to find something they could string the eggs through once they were dry. Mary leaned back in her chair, resting, her hands instinctively placed protectively on her stomach. She turned to Francis, unable to hide the smile on her face, "Well, I think this is the start of a great family tradition."
"I would have to agree," he said. He moved his chair closer to where Mary was and grabbed one of her hands, "The three of us painting eggs is the perfect tradition." He pressed his lips to hers for a few seconds, the two pulling away when the servant returned with some string, startling the couple.