The whole of French Court abandoned the enchanting halls of the Château de Blois as both the nobles and servants alike stood outside in the courtyard waiting anxiously for a carriage carrying the royal insignia of the House of Valois or perhaps for the trumpets to sound triumphantly to mark the return of the royal children, the younger children of the Queen Mother, Catherine de Medici: Prince Henry, Princess Marguerite de Valois, and young Prince Herculé.
While everyone was simply ecstatic about the return of the late King Henry's youngest children to French Court—what could be a better opportunity to propel a career other than having an easily blackmailed senior member of the Royal Family whose trust is effortlessly gained because they're children?—the nobles and servants who stood waiting were wondering with rather colorful imagination on where their sovereign monarchs had disappeared into.
Unbeknownst to them, they were being watched by said sovereign monarchs who stood barely clothes by the window of their chambers. "Francis," her tone was scolding and reprimanding, as if she was his mother giving him a word of advice after charging into the battle of Calais with the English. "Francis, we are King and Queen—we have a graceful and benevolent image to uphold!" Mary turned around with a sigh escaping her lips when Francis had embraced her from behind, his face hidden in the crook of her neck. "We have an image to uphold and your little scene in the courtyard helped nothing of it!" Francis laughed at Mary's concerns, her pleading only motivating him to do otherwise.
As a brother, he couldn't have been more excited than to see his siblings again after such a long time. No one can truly say otherwise. However, with the beautiful form of his wife by his side, his mind couldn't help but get itself preoccupied before Francis decided to passionately steal his wife away on a romantic rendezvous towards their chamber with a passionate kiss and a rather short whisper to Mary's ear: a whisper that had gotten Mary's cheeks to flush crimson red for the whole of French Court to see.
In the end, Francis managed to steal his wife way with a giggle escaping her lips as they made their way through the crowd, a resounding name rang through the air.
"Francis!" even from the Royal Chambers of the King and Queen, it was visible that the nobles and servants alike were gossiping about their rulers who couldn't get enough of each other—they were simply in love and it seems like they would remain that way for a very long time.
"I know what you're thinking," a knowing smile graced Francis' lips as he read Mary's mind when he turned her around to face him. His hands were firmly placed on Mary's shoulders and her frown quite iron on her face. A frown, Francis had decided at the moment, did not belong on his Queen's face. A smile suits her better, without doubt.
"Francis, we should be down there, with your court and people, waiting for your siblings!" Francis gave out a laugh and his grin only grew wider. Mary knew to herself that Francis understood what she was feeling. Mary loves spending time with her husband, especially after the life-shaking moment where she had actually lost Francis to death—Mary would leap high and jump long at the opportunity to spend time with her husband should she be presented with the chance to do so—but the gossips and rumors they generate, their romantic escapades, is beyond Mary's capacity to handle civilly and rationally.
"Oh, but we were down there, Mary, waiting for my siblings like the rest of them," Francis couldn't resist the sight of his wife in front of him as he leaned down again and breathed in her scent, gently sucking on the spot below her ear. "We were waiting with them when your husband, your wonderful husband," at that point, even Mary couldn't even prevent the laughter escaping from her lips, "decided that instead of waiting by the gates of the castle, we could spend our time more productively," it was suggestive, Francis' tone, as he smiled at his wife. Mary had opened her mouth to protest when Francis, swift as he is, had cut her off. "And don't you go on saying that what we are doing is unproductive—I've been so-told by the servants and guards paroling our halls that the pursuit of mutual carnal satisfaction is anything but irrelevant and unproductive," Francis sensually moved in front of her before capturing her lips in a single fluid motion, exploring her mouth as if it's the first time they've ever kissed—with Mary, Francis feels every experience to be new and unfamiliar, something so intriguing and exciting, so Mary in essence.
"But you've read their letters, Francis," a cream-colored letter flashes in Francis' mind as he remembered their governess' letter, remembering the little notes she's included regarding his sibling's joy in being returned to Court and in seeing their family. "They will be beyond devastated when see to the courtyard the absence of the King, their brother!" Francis found it endearing, the sight of Mary putting his family first. His heart swelled at her generosity and couldn't help himself but think on how fortunate he is, having a wife like Mary, and the thought of her being a mother to their child. . .oh, it will be the greatest joy for all of France and Scotland!
Mary looked up and laughed at the mischievous face Francis had on his face. "They wouldn't be too upset with us Mary, trust my word on that matter," Mary raised a curious brow at Francis' retort.
"And why is that?" Francis grin only grew wider as he carried Mary, whose lips continued to part off giggles that resounded throughout their chambers, off to their four-poster bed, a bed that held so much memories and enough sex to scandalize even the French, and pinned her down against their mattress, his body effectively shielding Mary's frame.
"Because we can tell them—and truthfully, be honest with them—that we've been trying vigorously in our attempts to arrange for their new playmate!"
A bit of a filler chapter here. Some fluff between Mary and Francis before thing head for a turn down south.