I woke up in the morning to a pale light tangled in your hair
I never wake before you, but this time I caught you sleeping there
Yes, you are my sunlight – you are my last breath of air
and I would try to hold it, I would try to keep the moment like a dying man I swear
You belong to me
If you belong to anyone, you belong to me –
but I have no other place to keep you safe
His skin still prickles as he enters the corridor, making his way down its stone walls and past the guards placed for his own safety.
Safety! He savors the irony of the word inside his head.
He realizes he has become anything but safe.
Recalling Narcisse's words, he knows he has been lucky to be able to buy a few weeks' time before signing the edict into law: You see this is no longer just about you. Your mother – your wife – will also suffer and die. And when your head is cut off, along with Catherine and Mary's, what do you suppose the nobles will do to your brothers? What will happen to your bastard son when you're not here to protect him? They will all be assassinated. Your child will not reach his first birthday. It will be the end of the Valois line.
He cannot let anyone die for his mistakes.
Lamentably, he has realized too late the man who has snaked his way into corrupt control of the Court. He did not heed his wife's understanding that Narcisse holds more wickedness than his son had, that he would not shy away even from the murder of innocents simply for the sake of teaching the king or the queen a lesson.
Too many times, she had asked him what kind of king he wanted to be. Too easily, he had let himself be compromised by his love for her and his desire to keep her safe.
And a compromised king is not a king at all.
He turns the corner, grateful to find the hallways empty. His family and the nobles have removed themselves from the chateau, taking advantage of the sun's warmth and of the opportunity to spend their time at the edge of the water. His footsteps pad along the passageway, taking the all-too-familiar steps to her rooms. There remains no other option.
He has failed.
You are king! Doesn't that count for something?
He wishes it still did count, that what power he had hadn't been stripped from him by a man who desired the rule of France without the weight of its crown.
Shaking his head in anger, he pushes onward.
He knows he ought to have killed Narcisse when the opportunity presented itself – but he also knows that he never wanted to be the kind of king that his father had been.
If only his father hadn't been so reckless and ruthless … and mad.
Nonetheless, he ought to have killed Narcisse. Now, there is no way out.
If the people learn that you killed your father, they will never believe your queen didn't know it. Your heads will be on two pikes side by side. I know you're both very romantic, but I doubt this is the future together you had in mind.
He picks up the pace of his steps, cursing the endless labyrinth of passages built to connect different parts of the chateau over centuries. Just ahead, guards stand outside her door.
The guards bow in greeting and he raps lightly on the door, which opens after a few moments.
"Francis!" His mother exclaims, taking in the depths of his countenance that the guards nearby have never learned to see. "Won't you come inside?"
He shuffles into her rooms and toward the window as she pushes the door shut behind her, barring it to prevent interruption. Caught in his own thoughts as he gazes out onto the sunlit grounds, he jumps when she sets her hand gently upon his arm.
"What is it, my dear son?" Her eyes cannot hide her concern.
Turning to her, he releases a sigh and brings his gaze to hers.
"I am out of options," he tells her. "I need your help."
You told me you hadn't lost hope.
His eyes open and the first thing he notices is the rapid rhythm of his heart. He cannot manage to escape the utter ugliness of his words or the despondent falling of his wife's beautiful face as they left his mouth. They follow him into his dreams and through his waking hours, tormenting him with their falsity and prodding him to be fully honest with her.
If only she knew!
But, as a means of protection, she cannot possibly be told. She must remain fully unaware. The world he has permitted to form around him as king has become dark and uncertain and cruel. She remains his only source of light and he knows he must keep her safe – even though that will require her sorrow and confusion. There is no other way.
The bright early morning rays of sunshine slant through the windowpanes and fall upon her face as she sleeps next to him and his heart begins to slow. It is the one place he knows she has found rest in the last weeks – the one place she does not wrestle with the expectations set before her as queen, as wife, as friend.
She has a childlike belief that a woman should trust her husband.
His mother's words slice through him, piercing him with regret over the many poor and naive decisions he has made since his father's fate was placed into his hands. He used to be a man his wife could trust – and he resolves that he must do all within his power to ensure that he proves himself to once again be trustworthy, even if she never knows.
Last evening, as a last desperate grasp at some other remedy, he had posed the idea of her returning to Scotland without him and she had refused outright to do so. She asserted they could face their foes together. She promised to fight at his side, to stand resolutely with him without care as to the cause of his unnamed fears.
But he cannot have her do that. It would be a fool's stance.
Her breath moves in and out of her mouth softly, and he finds himself transfixed by the quietness of the moment and the closeness of his body to hers. He works to set each piece of her into place in his memory. He wants to remember her like this – lovely and unguarded and at peace.
Whatever happens, I'll never leave you – Never betray you.
Those words he spoke to her will be true until the end of his days, however many they may number. He will fight for them to be true. If he cannot be the kind of king he wants to be, then he will at least be the man and husband that she deserves. At the least, he can grant her that.
Because a compromised king is not a king at all.
Author's Note(s): Yes, I'm still writing, but it is a very, very slow process (because after 5 years of trying to get pregnant and miscarriages, I'm pregnant again and this one should be joining us in October!). This story has been in the plotting stage for a long time and is coming about in 200-300 word bursts. Updates will not be quick to come, but they will indeed come. A special thank you to Robin and Heather for agreeing once more to be betas for what is a bit of a complicated tale (when they don't even know what's coming yet!) and to all those who continue to encourage me to write. No, I'm not watching the show any longer, but I feel an eternal need to rectify the carnage of so many beautiful possibilities.
Disclaimer(s): Reign and its characters are not mine and, to be honest, I don't really want them. They belong to Laurie McCarthy and CW/CBS. Direct quotes have been pulled from 201-207 in order to better set the stage for the plot divergence. The plot divergence itself is, however, the product of my own imagination and therefore belongs to me. Lyrics at top (and, consequently, the name of the fic itself) are from Typhoon's "Artificial Light".