Midnight, after everyone with sense had gone to bed and everyone without was at least shut away in their chambers, was perhaps the only tolerable part of a day at French Court.

At least, this was Bash's opinion, as he sank down into a sofa in the parlor just off the throne room and let out a sigh of relief as he got off his feet for the first time all day.

It had been a difficult day.

Francis had given him his orders in the morning, to investigate a disturbance in one of the nearby villages. It had taken half the day to do so, and then he'd been called back by a guard because of a threat to the King's safety; a noblewoman who'd entered the castle and held a particular grudge against King Henry, which no doubt included his son, for the death of her husband.

Dealing with her had been more difficult than the skirmish in the village.

He hadn't seen Francis afterward, though, informed that he was shut up with his advisors for what was likely to be the rest of the day. And he hadn't seen Kenna, who saw fit to torture him with presence in the neighboring chamber each night, but avoided him like the plague during the day.

He hadn't seen Mary, either, though he was convinced that this was more the fault of the Bourbon's than anyone else.

And the day had still had matters to attend to, things that had to be done in Francis' absence with his approval, as Mary, it seemed, had retired early to her rooms after supper, asking not to be disturbed.

Yes, it had been a long day, but it was thankfully over now. He tried not to think about the fact that it would only repeat itself, tomorrow, and that he should be sleeping now, rather than staring out the window wistfully.

He didn't want to go back to his chambers.

His chambers, though thankfully empty now, still sat adjacent to Kenna's, and he didn't want to face her, not tonight. Besides, here he didn't have to face anything but an open window, feeling the cool night breeze on his cheeks and knowing that, at least until tomorrow, he hadn't a care in the world.

He didn't hear Francis enter the room, but he saw his brother's haggard reflection in the glass of the full length mirror hanging at the other end of the parlor, and wondered if that decoration had been Kenna's contribution.

"You're still awake," Bash said, glancing up in surprise as Francis flopped down beside him on the sofa.

Francis shrugged, not meeting his gaze. His left hand was wrapped around the neck of a wine bottle, and he uncorked it, watching it fizz before speaking in a dull voice. "I wasn't. Couldn't sleep in there. Not again."

Bash raised a brow. "Your bed too comfortable, Your Majesty?"

He regretted the words instantly, watching as Francis' eyes dropped. For a moment, he thought Francis was going to actually cry, but then he screwed up his face and settled back into the cushions, features carefully blank.

And how many times had he done that, in the last few weeks. How many times had he lied by omission, forced himself to pretend that there was nothing wrong with him when there so clearly was.

Bash knew about Mary's...infidelity. Not the whole story, only that she'd been spending a considerable amount of her time with Conde recently, rather than with Francis. That she was happy when she was with Conde.

Had heard about it, from Kenna, who, he had realized over the course of their marriage, was quite the fountain of information when she wanted to be. Of course, she had not presented in the same light that Francis no doubt saw it.

Kenna.

He supposed it just hadn't sunken in yet.

Part of him was hoping that it never would.

Finally, Francis lifted his chin and whispered hoarsely, "Every time I close my eyes I can see them. Ghosts, lurking. Waiting for Mary..." he swallowed back a lump. "She's not the only one who finds that room unnerving anymore. I know that my nightmares can never compare to hers, but..."

They sat in silence for a long moment, before Francis dipped the wine bottle back and took a long - too long - gulp from it. After a moment, he hesitated, and then held it out to Bash.

Bash took the drink quickly, before his thoughts could focus on Kenna's and his disastrously ending marriage, or on Mary, leaving Francis, the man she had chosen over Bash, for some other man.

The Prince of Conde, no less.

The wine burned down his throat, but not in the pleasant way, and he gagged, jerking it away and ignoring the few drops that splattered down his chin. "What the hell is this stuff?"

Francis snorted, though his eyes maintained their dead expression.

Not a twinkle in them for weeks now, and Bash would be lying if he said he wasn't concerned. More than concerned.

"A present from my brother-in-law, Philip."

"Well, it's disgusting. You should send him back a good Anjou recipe and let him know what he's been missing all these years. Hell, you could find something better in Claude's secret stores she thinks Catherine doesn't know about."

Francis' lips quirked, and it struck Bash then that he would do anything, in that moment, to see his brother smile. "I doubt he'd appreciate that gesture."

Bash smirked. "Probably not."

The silence then was not so unnerving as it had been a moment ago, and if Bash threw aside all the things on his mind, he could pretend that this was just like when they were younger, both sons of the King and without a care in the world.

He glanced at Francis. He supposed it must have been harder, to be Francis, than it was to be Bash.

He had never really considered what Francis' life was really like, as the Heir, until he'd had the chance himself. Had thought that all of Francis' whining, all his jealousy that Bash got to leave the castle unattended while Francis was shut up every day like an infant, was silly. That Francis didn't realize how well he had it, not having to listen to the jeers of the nobles because they respected him, able to have any woman he wanted while he waited for his wife to return from her convent.

He had not been jealous of Francis in those days, per se. After all, his life was the woods, and had he been forced to stay away from them, he would have likely complained as much as Francis.

But when Mary had thrust him into the position of the heir himself, he'd found a new understanding for Francis' mood swings, the decisions he made that Bash would never agree with, could never make. And now that Francis was king...there were days that he almost felt sorry for his brother.

He did not remember feeling sorry for his brother on a daily basis until Conde came to Court, however.

"So..." Bash drawled, in a serious effort to change the line of thinking that both he and Francis were likely undergoing, "I heard that Catherine's found herself a new...pet."

Francis looked like he was trying very hard not to gag. "On second thought, I'd like some more of that stuff. If we drink the whole thing down, it might start to taste pleasant."

"I doubt that," Bash argued, but handed it over anyway. "We'll simply be too drunk to tell."

"Exactly." Francis took a long gulp. "You know, when Narcisse started blackmailing me for control of France, I never imagined I'd see the day when he and my mother..." he trailed off, and this time did gag a bit, evidently unable to even formulate the words.

Bash snatched the wine bottle back. "Are you sure that's not what he's doing now? Trying for some chance to control us again?"

Francis shrugged. "I wouldn't put it past him, but I'm not concerned. My mother has proven time and again that she is quite capable of looking after herself. If anything, I'd be more concerned for him. If I cared about him at all."

"Claude did seem rather upset about losing her...ah..."

"She's infatuated with Mother's new bodyguard for her, can't you tell?" Francis asked, lips twitching again, as if he wanted to smile, but couldn't seem to stretch his lips out far enough for it. He apprehended the wine bottle, but didn't drink from it yet. "Leith."

"You're rather well-versed in Court gossip these days, brother," Bash teased.

"Well, being a King sometimes has its advantages, you know." He leaned close. "I've been spending an awfully large amount of my time around Lola. She's not exactly as ready to share everything she hears as the Lady Kenna, but there's only so much you can say about a sleeping babe when we spend so much time with John."

Bash didn't quite know how to answer that, for he knew, inevitably, that Francis' thoughts had turned once again toward the woman he'd probably rather be spending time with, pleasant as Lola's company was. As his thoughts always did, these days.

Bash supposed they always did before, too, but that they had not brought him the pain Bash saw on his face now.

"How is he?" Bash asked, in an effort to turn the conversation toward lighter notes. He'd do anything to wipe that look off of Francis' face.

Francis blinked, as if waking from a long sleep, and turned slightly toward him, sipping absently at the wine. "Huh?"

"Your son," Bash coaxed with a slight smile.

He didn't get to see the child much. There simply wasn't the time, what with his duties to the Crown, though he did make an effort whenever he could remember to do so.

He knew well the loneliness of life as a bastard, even if the child was too young to understand it yet himself.

And, for a moment, he thought he would get a genuine smile from Francis. At the last moment, it tugged down into a frown, and he let out a weary sigh that seemed to make Bash weary in turn. "He's perfect, Bash. And you should see how Mother dotes on him with Lola. Between the two of them, he's going to be the most spoiled child in all of France." Another sigh. "I wish I could spend more time with him."

"You're the King, Francis. He'll know you still love him."

Francis nodded absently. "I know that. I just want..." and he stopped then, for he wasn't yet drunk enough to speak freely. "Is it wrong that I wish he was Mary's, even if I love him the same?"

Bash was quiet for a long instant, not quite sure how to broach that topic. Though the night was late and they had enough wine to tide them through this conversation, it wasn't one he particularly relished having. "Because then your line would be assured?" he asked, although he knew the answer before Francis even spoke it.

"...Because then, at least, I would have something to hold onto," he whispered.

"Francis..." he tried, and grabbed up the wine bottle to take another long gulp before he said anything more. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" Francis asked, glancing at him with wide eyes. "Out of everyone in this castle, you and my son are perhaps the only people I still consider innocent of any wrongdoing."

Bash raised a brow. "Innocent?" he asked, lips quirking with amusement.

Francis shrugged. "Well..." he snatched back the wine bottle.

"I'm sorry that you and Mary are having so much trouble," Bash said finally, "And I'm sorry that I was a part of it."

"Part of it?" Francis echoed, turning back to him. "What are you talking about?"

Bash sighed. "I knew that hiding the truth from Mary was wrong. That she deserved to know about what happened to our father. She's a woman, Francis, not a doll. She would have found a way to protect herself, if she needed to." A sigh. "I'm just as guilty as you; I was helping you find Montgomery, that night. We were both lying to our wives."

And Francis let out a harsh sound then, that was somewhere between a snort and a sob, taking another sip of the wine and wincing as it burned its way down his throat. "I know I shouldn't have kept it from her. She might have been able to help, before things got...too far. God, I knew then, but I...I just couldn't bear the thought of anything happening to her...because of me." He grimaced. "I suppose I was holding on to her too tightly then, too."

And Bash didn't know how to answer that, so he simply grabbed the wine bottle back from his brother and gulped down some more. It was surprising him, that they hadn't yet managed to put a dent in the bottle, and yet his head already felt quite buzzed.

"She's sleeping with him," Francis muttered, and Bash blinked in surprise at the words. "Conde."

He could remember the day Mary and Francis had been wed; it had been seared into his mind all too well, thanks to his father.

Could remember, as he walked away with his hands bound behind him after witnessing their consummation, realizing that Mary had never loved him the way she loved Francis. That their love was written in the stars, and no one, not even he, would ever truly be able to push the two of them away from each other.

It was the night he realized he would never have Mary, never have the love of a woman the way Francis did, and a part of him had hated his half-brother, in that moment, where he never had before.

Mary was sleeping with Conde.

"She...does she realize how much trouble she could get into, if anyone found out? If Catherine finds out?" Bash demanded. "She could..."

"I know," Francis grimaced. "I know. But...she tells me that he makes her feel happy. That she doesn't want to hurt me, and that we should both move on."

"She's the Queen of France," Bash said. "She can't move on."

Francis opened his mouth to speak again, and Bash was not so sure he wanted to hear any more, but he listened anyway. For his brother.

"She wants me to grant him the official protection of the Crown."

And Bash had no idea what to say in response to that but, "Will you?"

Francis sighed. "Of course I will. How could I not? I've been doing it since the moment he claimed to be a Protestant, and I've been attempting to keep the rumors down since the moment he first laid eyes on her." He coughed. "I lied to my mother today, for them. Told her that Mary would never think of Conde like that. I've been lying to everyone for such a long time, Bash. I'm not sure how much longer I can keep it up."

"You don't have to lie to me," Bash heard himself say, took another sip of that wine so he didn't have to think about the words.

"He's parading her around Court like one of his mistresses. Can't she see how he's taking advantage of her while she's vulnerable? Or does she hate me so much?"

"I doubt that she could ever hate you, but I'm not sure I'm the one you should be asking that," Bash said softly, not meeting his brother's eyes. "I can hardly be objective."

And Francis paused then, glancing over at Bash with an almost human expression in his eyes, for the first time in so long. But not the twinkling smile that Bash would have liked to see, the one that lit up his whole face and usually came at Mary's bidding; only compassion.

"I'm sorry," he said finally, the words seeming to form awkwardly on his lips, and yet conveying so much. Bash was about to wave them away, when Francis continued, "Here I am burdening you with all of my troubles, and you have enough to deal with on your own."

"You're my King, Francis. Nothing is more important than your troubles, and how I can fix them if it is within my power to do so," Bash responded, easily, and realized that every word was as true as the day he had said them in oath to his King.

What's more, they had been for much longer than he'd thought.

Francis blinked; obviously, he had not been expecting that answer, and Bash felt a wave of guilt that he didn't. "Kenna has mentioned, frequently, to Lady Lola her desire for an annulment." He said the words blankly, glancing at his brother out of the corner of his eyes.

The words were not meant to hurt, only an offer to let Bash unload as Francis had, but they did hurt, even if he'd been expecting this for some time. Indeed, it had been his own idea that they live separate lives, as Francis and Mary now did. "I'm aware."

"Do you want it, too?" Francis asked then, and Bash found himself swallowing hard. Found that he couldn't quite answer the question.

"Look at the pair of us, Francis. Two Valois brothers, losing our wives at the same time. I wonder, if we finally have heirs, with whomever we do end up with, will that happen simultaneously, too?"

Francis groaned. "Pass me the wine, Bash."

Hours later, and though Bash had not kept track of the time, he could see the sky beginning to lighten out the nearest window, and knew that the King of France would be required to appear at some point tomorrow, preferably without the raging hangover that he was sure to blame Bash for.

Even if said King had been the one to provide the wine.

He sighed, groggy mind telling him that he should attempt to stand before he tried to help Francis to his feet.

It seemed like a good suggestion. He blinked, pitching forward and nearly falling to the ground before Francis' arm snatched out and caught him by the shirt tail. "What's wrong with you?" Francis asked, even as he swayed slightly.

"I think perhaps we'd better go to bed, Your Majesty," Bash said, struggling to hold back a laugh at the look on Francis' face as he pitched forward into Bash and then seemed stuck there, head resting against his shoulder.

"Had we?" Francis asked dreamily, snuggling into Bash's shoulder and letting out a contented mewl, and yes, Bash was going to use this as blackmail of his own in the near future.

Provided he remembered it at all when he woke up.

"Come on then, Francis. They're called feet for a reason, you know." When that failed to motivate his brother at all, he snapped, a little more gruffly, "Time for bed, you."

Francis groaned, and, if anything, leaned even more heavily against him.

Bash resisted the urge to swear, and told himself that, if he didn't remember anything tomorrow, he was at least going to have to remember that Francis was a very sleepy drunk.

He didn't think he would have been able to hold back his curse until Francis suddenly whispered, so soft that he almost didn't catch it, "I don't want to go back there."

Bash stiffened, suddenly remembering why they had been drinking so heavily in the first place. "All right. Well, I don't think Claude would be very happy if she woke up to find you passed out on her floor," he teased.

Francis blinked at him.

Bash sighed, relenting. "All right, fine. You can stay with me tonight, provided you get your arse out of bed tomorrow on your own."

"Kenna?" Francis whispered, not seeming to hear the threat.

Bash swallowed the sudden lump at the back of his throat. "She's been staying in the rooms down the hall, the last few days."

"'M sorry," Francis muttered into his shirt, and Bash did smirk, this time.

"Come on, Francis. Let's go."

They stumbled forward, Francis hardly seeming aware of his surroundings while Bash swayed and stumbled and pretended he knew where they were going. He knew vaguely that they were in one of the parlors just off of the throne room, that his own chambers were in the East Wing of the palace, which was quite a good walk from where they were now.

Thankfully, as he was too dazed from the wine to keep track of where they were going, Francis, who, although he was a bit more...clingy than usual, seemed to have a good idea of direction, still.

"I think that stuff's stronger than we thought," Bash said woozily, leaning hard on Francis as they both stumbled forward into the darkened hallway.

Francis blinked at him owlishly. "Maybe that's why King Philip swears by it," he muttered, and Bash didn't know what was so hilarious about this comment, but he soon found himself doubled over, laughing.

If not for his arm wrapped around Francis' shoulder, he would have fallen to the ground, he was sure.

As it was, the ground was much closer to his eyes than he was comfortable with, but he didn't stop. Couldn't stop, until his eyes had blurred with tears that he wasn't sure were from the laughing, and Francis was awkwardly pulling him to his feet while trying to maintain his own balance.

He wasn't certain why the words continued to make him laugh, long after the punch line had been delivered. Indeed, he wasn't altogether sure that it was humor that had him laughing like a very drunk mad man.

Perhaps he simply needed an outlet, after that conversation, after the last few months of being the King's deputy and finding that, despite his works, no one but Francis seemed to give a damn.

Of course, Francis didn't seem to give a damn about anything, nowadays.

And that was funny too, and soon he was hanging off of Francis, body racking with giggles, his brother staring down at him as if he had two heads. Maybe, in Francis' drunken haze, for he was fairly certain that Francis had been nursing that wine bottle as much as he, he did.

And the image of himself, with two heads, only made him laugh all the harder. Beside him, he heard Francis let out a chuckle that could be more described as a snort, and that sent him into another uncontrollable fit of giggles.

And then he heard the clear, airy tone of his brother's laughter, beside him, no doubt incurred by his brother's mad actions.

It was by no means as...rambunctious a laugh as Bash's own, but it was the first he'd heard from his brother in so long.

Bash stopped laughing instantly, smiled even as he forced himself to straighten up, though he said nothing at Francis' curious look. He wasn't going to draw attention to the fact that this was the first time he'd heard his brother's laugh since Mary had chosen to remove herself from Francis' life.

If he did, he was afraid he might never hear it again.

Instead, he glanced around with bleary eyes, blinking a few times in the hope that they would focus. "I'm not...entirely sure where we are."

Francis' lips twitched, as though he were trying very hard to hold back another laugh, and Bash really wished he wouldn't.

"Well, we were in one of the parlors near the throne room, last I remember. Then you had to go to bed, so we're going toward your chambers."

Bash raised an eyebrow. "Francis...I know you don't spend a great deal of time around my chambers, but I'd think that even you would know they're on the East side of the castle, not the West."

Francis swore under his breath, though there was no real heat behind it. "Oh."

Bash snorted. "Oh."


Bash was quite certain that, although Francis was leading them in entirely the wrong direction of the palace, he had not intended for this.

Mary and Conde stood just ahead of them as they turned down the hall, in an effort to find their way back to the , Conde leaning out of the door of his chambers while he passionately kissed the Queen Consort of France, hand under her chin and tilting it up to meet him as she arched into him and gave a low moan, terribly loud in the otherwise quiet hallway.

Then Conde opened his eyes and blinked at them, brown eyes widening comically.

Bash glanced at his brother, wondering hopefully if perhaps Francis was too dazed by the drink to notice; his hope was swiftly put to rest as he saw the ashen look on his brother's face, as they both remembered everything the drink and each other's familiar company had helped them to forget for a while.

And, seeing that look returned to Francis' face once more, when only a moment ago he had been so carefree and happy, if only because of the drink, as he once remembered Francis being, made something like protective anger ignite in Bash's chest.

He understood that Mary had been through hell. Understood that she blamed Francis for it, even if he thought she was somewhat misguided in doing so. But that didn't mean that she had to continue punishing her husband every chance she was able to.

Didn't she see what it was doing, or did she truly not care anymore?

And he knew that she hadn't been expecting the two of them to even come to this part of the castle, at this time of night. That it was totally irrational for him to blame her for this meeting, yet he wanted to, badly. And part of him did.

Conde and Mary exchanged glances, stepping almost guiltily away and refusing to meet his sovereign's eyes, though Bash would have been more pleased if he had noticed the sudden chill in the air and decided instead to leave.

"Your Majesty, Bash," Mary spoke up then, looking for all the world like a guilty child caught doing something she knew she shouldn't, "I didn't expect to see you here."

Francis didn't answer. Bash wasn't even sure that, in that moment, he would have been capable of doing so.

"I could say the same," Bash spoke up when the silence grew too heavy.

Mary stiffened. "I was just escorting Lord Conde back to his chambers. The foreign nobility staying at Court are usually placed on the East side of the castle, if you remember." Her words held no real bite, but they burned at him nonetheless.

He hadn't been able to be angry with Mary, when she chose Francis over him. Had been too heartbroken for that, and after, too focused on fighting for his life and then attempting some sort of a relationship with Kenna.

He was damn well going to relish the feeling now. Knowing that he hadn't been enough for her when she chose Francis, that Francis hadn't been enough for her when she chose their cousin.

"I suppose you were," Bash said, and hated that, in his drunken stupor, he couldn't summon the strength to put any malice behind the words.

Conde blinked, evidently noticing this, too. "Your Majesty, Lord Deputy, are you both...?" he bit his lip, either to keep himself from laughing or too nervous to actually ask what he wanted to know.

Francis leaned his head on Bash's shoulder, and Bash knew that they should take their leave now, before Francis did something that was going to truly embarrass him in front of his wife and her lover. Like hug him.

"We were just leaving," he heard himself say, as if from quite a great distance.

Conde blinked, and then attempted to school his features. "Of course. Do you need someone to escort you?"

Bash was trying not to glare. He really was.

He was also trying not to say something along the lines of, "As if I'd let you near enough my brother to stab him while he's vulnerable," but he had already failed at that once.

He ended up answering in a tone that would have impressed Catherine, "I think we can find our way around the castle on our own, thanks."

Not really noticing what he was doing, Bash wrapped an arm under Francis' shoulders and propelled him in the opposite direction with only a nod toward Mary, ignoring Conde altogether.

He was grateful that, despite the early hour, it was still dark enough that they only had to walk a few paces before Mary and Conde could no longer see them.

Was even more glad when Francis collapsed against him, throwing them both into the wall and closing his eyes comfortably as he leaned against Bash's shoulder.

At least he hoped Mary could no longer see them,stare with that guilty gaze that seemed to suggest she knew exactly why they were drinking so late. Early. Whatever.

Bash sighed. He'd thought he'd taught Francis to take his alcohol better than this, when they were younger.

Though he had to admit, the stuff from Philip was stronger than anything he'd had in some time.

Maybe he'd have to send the man a thank you for it.

He had a feeling he would have never seen Francis smile tonight, without it.