"Those had to be the best four weeks of my life," I say to Francis. The limousine takes us though the busy streets of France. "I want to go back and spend the rest of the day in bed." He wraps his arm around me and kisses my hair; his other hand falls to my belly. I cover his hand in mine, letting myself melt into the warmth of his body.
"That can be easily arranged," my husband says. I look up towards him and kiss him softly. "I love you, you know that?"
"I love you too," I whisper. He moves his hand into my hair and I can't help but be grateful that Anne is asleep. Our kiss grows heated and passionate; I can feel Francis resisting the urge to tear off my clothes. We pull apart from each other once the vehicle stops in front of Versailles. I am left breathless from his kiss. We climb out of the car, expecting to me greeted by our subjects, but instead, it is deadly quiet. In the distance, I can just barely make out the shape of a chopper and—
"Are those tanks?"
"The Bourbons," Francis realizes. "They're here." He grabs me by the shoulders and makes me look at him. "Mary, find your mother, take Anne and get out of here."
"I'm not going to leave you!" I retort. Anne bursts into tears in my arms and I began rocking her, shushing her as I continue. "Francis, I'm not leaving you behind!"
"Mary, you're pregnant! If anything were to happen to you, I would never forgive myself."
"I can take care of myself! I'm not a porcelain doll!"
"You are carrying my child. I know you want to protect me, but now, it's my turn to protect you. Find your mother, take Anne, and make for the secret passageways out of the castle." He reaches into his pocket and hands me a pistol. "Kill anyone who tries to get in your way." I nod in affirmation and he kisses me fiercely. I hold Anne close and sprint into the castle. Versailles is in a complete uproar, the people in a state of panic and confusion. The Bourbons' military forces are coming closer and closer with each passing second.
"Mother! Mother!" I shout, shoving my way through the crowd. A jolt of fear slivers through me. What if Louis and Antoine are already here in the castle? The last time they attacked, they surely had the chance to find all the secret passages. I make for her chambers, only to find her room vacant. Fuck. I hurry to my rooms, and I find her standing in the doorway, almost as if she has been expecting me.
"Mary, where the hell have you been?" she demands. I shove my daughter into her arms and load the gun my husband gave me.
"Francis and I just got back from our chateau," I explain hurriedly. "Look, Mother, take Anne and get the hell out of here. The palace is under siege and you need to go now!" I head over to the bookcase and I pull it open, revealing to her a tunnel that stretches for miles. "I'll catch up with you, but I'm begging you, protect my daughter!"
"Are you sure about this?"
"YES!" I scream. "Go!" Without another word, my mother slinks through the door and I close the bookcase. I turn around to see Louis de Bourbon, flanked by four of his men. They are armed to the teeth. All I have is a small gun.
"Mary, Queen of Scots. I would have thought you would be fighting at Francis's side," he drawls. "But no, you are here. Alone in your chambers." He toys around with the dagger in his hands, and I can't help but shiver. What chance do I stand against him and his men? "Where the fuck is the king?" he demands.
"Go fuck yourself," I snarl. The world turns sideways as I feel Louis's fist connect with my face, sending me sprawling to the floor. I press a hand to my cheek; my fingers come away bloody. Every instinct in my body screams at me to run. And I do. I make for the door, screaming at the top of my lungs, but one of his men restrains me and claps a hand over my mouth, muffling my shrieks. I kick and struggle furiously and he tosses me to the floor, knocking the wind out of me. I manage to raise myself up onto my hands and knees, but my ankles are grabbed and I am pulled towards Louis. My fingernails rake the carpet and I hear screams. It takes a moment for me to realize they're coming from me. Louis flips me over on my back and positions himself between my legs, while his other men restrain me. A hand is clamped over my mouth and I'm crying and screaming in terror as he cuts open my dress with scissors, leaving me in my bra and panties. He undoes his belt and zipper on his jeans while keeping a hand locked around my throat; my vision begins to darken, and I can't breathe. I'm dimly aware of my bra and panties being forcibly removed and a choked sob escapes my throat.
"MY BABY!" I screech, and Louis slaps me across the face. All of a sudden, the unmistakable sound of a gunshot cracks through the air and one of the men holding me down collapses, blood oozing from his skull. Louis and his men rise to their feet, but Francis is faster. He shoots his men before they're able to make a move before he lunges at Louis, roaring in fury. I scramble away from the fight into the corner of the room, grabbing a blanket and wrapping it around myself. I tremble uncontrollably. I bring my hand to my throat and I wince in pain. I'm unable to stop crying and I curl up into a ball, terrified.
Francis throws Louis to the floor and punches him in the face over and over again. His knuckles are red with blood – Louis' blood. Louis fights back, but my husband has fury on his side. Francis rises to his feet, a bruised and bloody Louis lying on the floor before him. He brandishes a gun of his own and fires. Once, twice, thrice…so many shots one after the other until blood begins to splatter all over his face and clothes. I rise unsteadily to my feet and rush over to him. Louis remains motionless on the floor in a pool of his own blood.
"Francis, Francis! He's dead," I tell him. "He's dead." The gun drops from his hands. He looks at me and he trembles from both rage and shock, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes. Francis pulls me into his arms and I burst into tears all over again.
I don't even remember the rest of the battle. Dimly, I recall my brother and uncle's choppers and tanks arriving. Bombs are dropped on the Bourbon militia, effectively destroying them all. The Guise, Stuart, and Valois troops overtake those of the Bourbons. I spend the days that follow after the battle in semi-solitude, the only company I allow being that of my husband and my daughter. My mother has preferred to immerse herself in the political affairs of Scotland, with my uncle and my brother.
Francis and I look over the balcony at the sunrise. Days – weeks – have passed since the battle and the fall of the Bourbons. The burnt remains of the militia on the palace grounds is a satisfying sight; for days on end, the media has covered nothing but the battle and what our victory means in the long run for us. I care nothing about the politics of it all. I am merely grateful for my life, and that of my child. My unborn baby is okay. My daughter, my Anne, is okay.
"I can't believe it's all over," I say softly. Francis hugs me from behind, and I mold my body to his. My husband kisses my temple and holds me closer, tighter.
"What matters is that our family is safe, Mary," he murmurs, "that our children are safe." Antoine and Louis are dead, their armies destroyed. They will never hurt our family again.
"England still poses a threat, Francis," I remind him. "My claim to the throne is stronger than Elizabeth's…but, I don't want England. I don't want more power."
"Wait, what are you saying?"
"I want to relinquish my claim to her throne. I want to have a future with you without the threat of her hanging over our heads…and it was your father who forced me to declare myself for England in the first place. I never wanted England." I turn to face him and he tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, meeting my eyes.
"I will stand at your side, Mary," my husband vows. "I love you." I kiss him and his hands move to my hair. One kiss turns to two and two grows into more until we are utterly consumed by our passion. I can feel Francis's arousal and I yearn for his lovemaking. I need to be with him. I pull away from him, breathless.
"Mary, you're shaking."
"I'm fine, Francis." I manage to sneak in another kiss before Francis is the one to pull away. "Francis, trust me."
"I don't want to make love to you if you don't think you're ready."
"It's been almost a month since the siege," I insist. "I'm fine. Kiss me, dammit!" I grab his face and kiss him hard. He doesn't hesitate this time and we stagger back inside our bedroom, fumbling with each other's clothes until we are both naked. Francis throws me down upon the bed and immediately crawls atop of me, his kiss hard and demanding. We give and take from one another, pushing and pulling, and drive each other to our limits. Francis's mouth closes over my clit and my back arches off the bed. I grip the sheets and let out a scream of pleasure. My husband is relentless as he fucks me with his tongue, sending me into an erotic spiral of pleasure bordering on the edge of pain, and when I open my mouth to scream his name, a moan bubbles from my throat. The first thrust of his hips feels like home. My lips meet his in a searing kiss. I moan as his mouth finds my neck and I wrap my arms around him as he crushes me with his full weight. He bites down on my bottom lip and pulls, letting out a low growl – a nonverbal reminder that he's in control. I wrap my arms around him, sighing as he begins to kiss my neck. I arch my body against his as his teeth scrape my flesh, and I catch his lips again in another kiss.
"Francis!" I gasp. "Oh god, Francis!"
"Mary," he growls. His movements become more and more punctuated and I kiss his shoulder before burying my face in the curve of his neck. "Fuck, Mary!" Our kisses are furious and hot and passionate. I entangle my fingers in my husband's curls as he kisses my breasts and the space between them. He rubs his nose in my belly where our child grows before gently kissing my skin. Our lips come together once more and he cradles my face in his hands. I run my hands down from his face down to his chest before he presses his lips to mine. I receive his kiss eagerly and roll atop of my husband. His arms wrap around my waist and his hands move to my hair. The only sounds that fill the room are the chorus of our wordless moans and cries. I rock my hips against him, gradually propelling myself towards orgasm. Francis cups my face in his hands and pulls me close to him, our foreheads pressing together. My hands shift from his chest to his cheeks and our lips remain fused together as Francis rolls, covering my body with his. His lips leave mine in want for my neck and I lock my arms around him.
"Yes, Francis," I whisper. "Oh, oh, yes! There, there, there – oh my god, yes, OH!" My words cut off in a scream. Francis covers my mouth in his, effectively silencing me.
"Mary," he moans. "Oh god, Mary!" I kiss him hard and lean forward, positioning myself so I'm sitting in my husband's lap. I kiss him again – once, twice – and we break our kiss, gasping for breath. Francis strokes my face, tucking my hair behind my ear. I hold his face between my fingertips, caressing his jawline, and we don't speak. His hands move to my waist and he kisses me fiercely. His arms wrap around my back and he pushes me back down upon the bed. I palm his face between my hands and he kisses my cheek and my neck. I turn my head to the side and moan in pleasure when all of a sudden—
"Your Majesties, an ambassador from England has arrived at court. They wish to speak with you now." Startled and mortified, I let out a squeal and Francis rolls off me. I hastily cover myself with the sheet, trying to ignore the tingling that spreads throughout my body.
"Now?" I repeat.
"Yes!"
"Queen Elizabeth has made a peace offering," the English ambassador tells us. My husband and I sit upon our thrones in the throne room; almost all of court has come to see whether or not I will make peace with my cousin or declare war between our nations.
"A peace offering? Why is she all of a sudden laying down her arms?" None of it makes sense. It's been a year since Henri forced myself to declare myself for England and since then, political tensions between Scotland and England have run high. The birth of my daughter has secured Scotland's future, but France still needs a future king after my husband. Regardless, my claim to her throne is stronger.
"She thinks England will benefit from an alliance with Scotland and in, turn, France," he explains, "but there is only one condition."
"And that is…?" presses my husband.
"Queen Mary has to resign her claim to the English throne and remove all of her Scottish and French troops off English land," the ambassador continues. "If she doesn't, Queen Elizabeth will declare war on you and you will be fighting a war you cannot win, even with France at your back."
"Consider it done," I say without hesitation. "Where are the papers?" I share a glance with my husband. The diplomat is shocked witless. "Surely you brought them with you."
"I-I did." I rise to my feet and approach him. "Give them to me. Court is hereby dismissed." My husband and I arise from our thrones and Elizabeth's representative gives me the documents. I scan over them and I nod curtly at him, dismissing him.
I sit at my desk in our chambers, reading the treaty documents. Francis stands a few feet away from me, cradling Anne in his arms, cooing and doting on her. I'm unable to keep myself from smiling at the sight. Our daughter is the best thing that's ever happened – not just to him, but to us. She is our little miracle.
"Everything seems in order," I tell him. "This isn't some cheap bullshit ploy, Francis. This is the real deal. I'm more than ready to sign." Francis looks up at me from Anne. "Are you ready to do this?"
"I am," he says. He walks into the nursery and places our daughter in her cot before he comes over to me. Beforehand, I catch a glimpse of him kissing her forehead before lowering her into her cradle. "Do you want to summon the ambassador?"
"Do it."
"King Francis and Queen Mary, I'm surprised you're doing this so soon," says the English envoy, "but I am also pleased that the nations of Scotland and England were able to come to a mutual agreement to end the fighting." The papers are set in front of us, awaiting our signatures that would seal the pact.
"We want nothing more than to make peace with England," my husband replies. "My queen recognizes that it is time to end the fighting, and I do too." I reach for a pen and sign my name where prompted: Marie R. My husband does the same and writes his name in the space above mine in his stunning, lyrical calligraphy: Francis II.
"On behalf of Queen Elizabeth, I am pleased to announce that the conflict between our two countries is officially at an end!"
Francis looks towards me and takes my hand in his. "You have Queen Mary to thank for that. She's made a great sacrifice in the name of peace, giving up her claim to the English throne."
"Well, thank you, Your Majesties." The representative bows courteously and I give him the documents back.
"Once Queen Elizabeth has signed the accord, we will make a public announcement at court and host a large party," I tell him. Elizabeth's ambassador bows courteously and takes his leave of us.
"I suppose you're going to be the queen of two countries, not three," says my husband. He strokes my arm and we rise from our seats. I gasp as his arms circle my waist and he kisses me deeply. I kiss him back, the stirrings of desire rising within me.
"We have a couple hours to kill," I say suggestively. "Come." I take him by the hand and lead him to the bedroom.