Francis 3rd.p. POV

I know that when Francis goes off into battle with Leith he is not yet King, but he will be in this fic.

Why be a King if you're not ready to make sacrifices? Francis wanted his country to know that he wasn't just a King by birthright, but a King by destiny. His love and devotion to his nation as strong as his ferocious passion for his beloved wife Mary. Because deep down, in the pit of his soul, he knew that she was his reason. Not only his reason to succeed, but his reason to live.

If he truly cared about Mary's survival then he must go and fight this war himself. See it wasn't his need to prove to his loyal subjects why he's fit for their King. It was his need to protect and defend the woman he loves, as a man and not a royal.

Despite all the death and hatred surrounding those brave soldiers in Francis' group as they moved through the war, he still found himself lying awake at night picturing Mary's face. Every feature, every line, every memory he'd etched of her into his brain. He could not think of anything else as he wait for sleep to take him. No matter what happened in the days' previous hours, no matter the violence and gore, his thoughts always took him back to her. He reverted back to his safe place in times of need and distress, and he swears as he rides home from victory that it is what saved his life. It was the possible joy of such success that he would always risk the weight of potential failure. The chance of saving her was worth the risk of losing himself.

Francis had begun at some points to have rather carnal images of his wife dance across his imagination, but soon resisted the urge to entertain such thoughts. He would not let himself feel that pleasure until he knew his duty to protect her had been fulfilled.

So the night of the cannon victory defeating the last of the rival soldiers, Francis finally dropped the gate to that part of his brain. His manhood tightened his pants as the blood began to flow downward. His heart beat rapidly with the excitement of his fantasizing.

At that point the only thing keeping him from releasing such pent up energy was the close proximity of the other soldiers in his crew. Leith, only a few feet away, was still awake keeping watch. His shift had only just begun, he'd be awake for hours now. Francis would never have the chance without leaving them, and no one in that camp was going to let the King of France walk away from what survivors were left.

So eventually sleep took him, and a delighted puppy awoke in his place. He packed up with an attitude so cheery it became contagious. Within an hour they were upon their horses and headed back to the royal castle.

"How are you this morning, m'lord?" Leith wonders as Francis tosses him an apple. They walk steady through a creek, and Francis picked it off of an overhanging branch.

"I'm eager to see my wife, and yourself? I don't see how any woman, no matter how rich, will be able to reject your offer now. Not only will I grant you a position and holdings, but I hear that scars are very appealing to women." Francis winks.

"I cannot thank you enough for your generosity. And I can only hope that she will see that I am right for her now," Leith nods his head respectfully.

"I owe you my life, and you've become quite a friend to me," Francis grins and pats Leith carefully on the shoulder as not to hurt him or disturb his posture on the saddle of his horse.

Some time later Francis sees the gates of his home, locked and awaiting the triumphant return of their King and their greatest warriors. He breaks into a gallop, his horse startling the others as he takes off so quickly and unexpectedly. A loud horn is sounded to signal his return, and as he approaches the gates are opened and nobles, servants, castle folk, and visitors alike were flooding the foyer of the entrance. His soldiers are not far behind as he dismounts.

Words are said and cheers are made, but when Francis sees her face in the crowd, flooded with relief, his heart fell to his stomach. They were drawn to each other and as he reaches her they share a chaste but passionate kiss.

It was as if everything else from that point on happened in a blur. For so long it had only been memories, thoughts, dreams. Now she was actually here with him, her warm skin brushes against his bruised and battered torso.

Being with her again felt like finally warming up your fingers or your toes after a day in the snow, so much pain for so long that it finally becomes numb, but you never really realize how numb until you've started to thaw out.

He had no idea how badly he really wanted her, because he never let himself think or act that way while at war. Now that he's back in his own bed, in her arms, he wasn't quite sure how gracefully he'd adjust to the warmth that gnaws at his cold.

Sunlight streams through the window as Mary and Francis move together in a way neither of them have for some time now. Their naked bodies relearn each other after the missed nights, and Mary takes note of a few new scars. She remembers his old ones, as they were kids when he got many of them from their mischievous adventures. He once fell out of a tree.

She perches atop his pulsing arousal and he slides into her slick folds with ease, earning a sigh from them both. They don't stop their desperate kissing, refusing to let one another go and clinging with such strength that it'd surely leave marks on their skin. He lies on his back and she begins to move herself up and down on his engorged manhood.

He groans, "you're so tight." Squeezing his eyes shut he wraps his arms around her and presses his lips to hers. She moans in response, adjusting to his size.

She only moves herself against him for a few more seconds before he grabs her hips and holds her in place.

"I'm gonna cum if you keep doing that," he warns, rubbing his fingers lightly down her back. She nods and stays still for a few moments, running her fingers through his hair as they continue their kisses. He wasn't embarrassed that it hadn't even been a minute yet before he's ready to blow. He's waited far to long for this to worry about anything else.

After some odd moments Mary begins to move, and euphoric bliss washes over him. He feels close to the edge, sensitive. He could finish at any moment, but he resists to prolong watching Mary ride him in such a way. She moans his name and fucks him harder with every jolt, yanking him closer to the point of no return. He wasn't going to be able to tell her to stop this time, he's not strong enough.

So he decides to embrace his eminent orgasm and flexes his legs up to better angle himself inside of her. She cries out and scratches his chest, repeating, "yes Francis! Yes!" He clutches the pillow behind his head with one hand and the sheets by his side in the other. A light sheen of sweat covers their bodies despite how they've not been going at it for that long.

There was hardly any warning before he started to explode, a pleasure so pure he saw stars and his whole body was taken over with mind numbing euphoria.

Outside the doors to their chamber, the guards hear Francis howl with an intensity that not even Henry had achieved during his most intense sexual endeavors. Their eyes widened at the suddenness of his outburst, knowing surely that the King must've reached his peak. They knew what was happening in there, and had guarded the doors to them long enough to know when the King and Queen were deep in the throes of passion. But in their experience it sounds as if he had never had an orgasm more powerful. And they were right.

Her name escaped his lips coated with pride and heated pleasure. He shot streams of hot liquid into her womb as he stakes his claim deep. Married or not, he will always fight for his wife. His moans begin to slow and lower in volume, his writhing lessens, and soon he's limp under her. His heart beats wildly and his beautiful golden hair is splayed across the pillow, unkempt and untame. He can't even find the strength in his arms to lift them and wrap around his lover. His legs and fingers relax, both sore. His body feels like hot candle wax. Mary breathes just as heavily as he as she removes herself and lies against his bare and heaving chest.

They lie there for a few minutes simply reveling in the glow of their lovemaking.

"I really missed you," Francis whispers to her as he kisses her hair.

"I missed you too, my Francis," she answers back, tightening her hold around him.