Right, we are moving into hostile situations in this chapter. The last chapter was only the beginning. This chapter now focuses on the Eighty Years' War where the Spanish recognised the Netherlands as an independent country after said eighty years of warring and multiple monarchs and countries getting involved in favour of the Protestant Netherlands. As I did in the previous chapter, I've altered situations to fit in the story (changed timelines etc) and taken bits from history. We are now beginning this chapter in August, where Mary's seven months into her pregnancy and Kenna is six by the end, well... you'll see. Shit's going down. This is a long chapter, you all bloody deserve it for my long break, haha. Buckle up, guys.

The war will fully be in this chapter. It was meant to be two chapters but I didn't want to keep it from you and I couldn't think of a fitting chapter title so I decided on one for both. Also, also (haha), I hate writing battle scenes, if you read my GoT stories, you'd realise and in the earlier chapters of this story. I apologise for the vagueness but you can Wikipedia the wars discussed in this chapter and the previous chapter which are condensed somewhat on Philip of Spain's Wikipedia page.

Replies to reviews:

Guest (1) [chapter 66]: Awh, glad you do! Eighteen is being reworked. I had a whole timeline thing and then I hated it so, it's having heavy alterations being done. Won't be out for a while, unfortunately.

Guest (2) [chapter 66]: You can't hate me, haha! I'm sorry I did this!

elder441 [chapter 66]: You will find out soon enough and yes, Bash and Kenna are linked in the way that if he dies, she'll die with him.


Francis crumpled the piece of paper in his hand and sent it into the campfire. He looked up and saw his son and nephew, laughing about something as they took rest for the day from travelling.

He hadn't the heart to tell them the news.

"Robert?"

"Yes, Your Majesty?" Robin quickly said, getting up when he heard his uncle call him by his formal name.

"Your mother," Francis began. Not father - he can't know yet. We don't know anything yet. There is still hope, but let's not worry the boy about it and reduce his chance of fighting. "She was taken unwell. It is nothing to be concerned about, the fever will break. She needs to lay off the champagne."

Robin laughed and nodded, sitting back down with a sigh of relief. "My mother does enjoy her champagne. I hope the baby is alright."

"From the midwife's words, it doesn't affect the baby. Both will be fine," Francis said. He hated lying but the boy was still a boy even though he would be a man.

Francis stood and told everyone that he was going for a short walk so he could walk the strain in his legs off. He stretched, keeping his sword sheathed at his hip as he walked on.

They'd lost a battle. But they will not lose a war.

The French fleet had lost ten ships and well over one-thousand men, including Strozzi, Bash's third-in-command who was wounded to death - by order of Santa Cruz before the Spaniard's own death at Bash's orders - and then, still breathing, thrown into the sea. Bash's second-in-command, Cassius, had managed to get their remaining fleet and men away.

The report was very detailed, Mary had written to him after receiving confirmation herself from the men who fled. She had no idea what to do with them. Did they abandon their leader? Their country's commander? Or did they follow instructions or even were smart enough to protect the rest of the fleet they had left once their commander and leader was no longer able to fight?

Ten ships out of sixty destroyed, seven missing, four sunk, two burned, four captured - that was still a good number of ships they had left from their Anglo-French fleet at thirty-three. They fought well. Especially as they killed the Spanish's commanders and destroyed about eleven of their ships, leaving them with seventeen left. But the French had lost well over three-thousand men to death or wounded, missing or captured, and that pained Francis as one could be his brother.

Francis couldn't believe it. They had used their artillery well, operating in mutually supporting groups of four to charge, "and assail each of them one of the great vessels of the enemy" as the surviving messenger's note of what Bash had said forming in his head. The Spanish fleet suffered severe damage and was weakened but they weren't going down without a fight and proved that they were the underdog. This led to the abuse of the French people living in Spain - Spain had won the battle. They sure as hell will not win the war.

The Azores had now been taken over by Philip. But Francis now had control over Santa Maria after his army slaughtered the Spaniards who went there completely. Bloodshed, it had been and it happened as his brother's own battle was being fought and lost at São Miguel.

Francis wanted to cry but he couldn't. He was a king. A king. He had to remind himself - a king. Number one, kings didn't cry and most especially, didn't grieve. They should be grateful for their life even at the expense of others fighting for him. But men had died on his hands.

People with families.

"Your Majesty?"

"What is it?" Francis almost snapped at John before sighing. "Sorry. what is it?" He asked softly now.

"You've been standing here for a long while," John said quietly. "What is wrong?"

Francis gave him a warm smile. "None of your concern, my son. Come, let's see if there is some rabbit to eat."

John narrowed his eyes and didn't say anything as he followed his father, the food now on his mind.

...

"I can't... I can't believe it," Robert breathed out, pressing his lips against his sister's hand. "I refuse to."

"As much as I said," Mary said, quietly as she sat by the fire. "We lost so many men."

Robert glanced her way. "How bad?"

"Very," Mary whispered. "We lost the battle, came out with more but lost more in the sense that the Spanish barely sent enough of their force but they had power."

"We must build our ships, bigger, stronger, better," Robert told her.

Mary rolled her eyes. "Easier said than done."

"Money? We need money?" Robert asked. "I have a lot. My maternal side fell onto me, I have gained my mother's estates from her cousin who died without issue. Bash has money tucked away and I know Catherine de Medici could easily pay for one-hundred ships and spare."

Mary smiled sadly. "We could prepare, but what is done, is done."

Robert sighed heavily. "What do we say to their children? This is the second time they've been apart."

"Anastasia and Alexander are strong," Mary told him. "They will be fine as long as their attention is focused on their cousins. Have you written to our relatives in Scotland?"

"Your half-brother wishes to come. Wants me to convince you to accept his audience," Robert replied.

Mary tutted. "I will. I want you there."

"Of course," he replied. "I must leave but let me know of any changes."

"I will," Mary promised him. "Tell your wife and children I think of them. I hope your son liked his horse."

Robert smiled, getting up. "He did, Your Majesty-"

"We're in close quarters."

"Mary," Robert whispered. "Cousin, I will see you later."

He left and Mary sighed, sipping her water. She had no taste for wine or champagne. She didn't want to die of consumption either. She yawned, placed a hand on her growing bump and settled down asleep. She could make strategies later. Now, her baby wanted to sleep and her right with them.

...

Francis and his army had suffered but they would not be easily defeated. The Azores was only one part of the war - he still had to win and subdue the Netherlands and Leith had to get Burgundy back into French hands.

He was in Antwerp, a prominent province in the Netherlands. The weather was cold, but still warm in the chill Summer months. They couldn't complain, heatwaves were a thing in France.

"The treasure fleet is coming, Your Majesty," one of his soldiers announced to him. "His Grace had managed to have eleven destroyed - the Spanish are weaker."

Francis nodded thoughtfully. "That means they would have men on horses, on foot. They can't heavily rely on their fleet - Bash had most ships destroyed."

"What do we do?"

"We take the fight to them," Francis said. "They would be weakened and licking their wounds but we won't give them any time to rest."

"Are you sure that is wise?"

Francis turned to face William of Orange, or 'the Silent', a prominent exiled member of the Dutch aristocracy. The man was in the Spanish Court and lost favour, deciding that Philip's cruel ways against his beloved country were down to the poison being spoken into his ear from the Spanish nobles.

"Forgive me," William muttered in a strong Dutch accent. "I am a man of fifty, there comes an age when you sit down and think things through properly."

Francis clicked his tongue. "Not at all. I asked for your aid and advice, I will accept your opinions."

William nodded. "For years, we have suffered brutality at Spain's hands. Eighty years of pain, unjust pain."

"I swear, your Protestants and Catholics alike will never be mistreated by France," Francis told him. "I have friends and family who are Protestants even though my wife, children and I are Catholic. As long as you believe in something, you have no reason to fear for your life."

"You will burn atheists?" William asked curiously.

Francis tilted his head a little. "Only if they admonish those who believe."

"How can you put an end to this eighty-year-long war?"

"I have a few ideas but more are welcomed," Francis replied firmly.

"You are the first French king I like. A Valois, no less!" William told him. "Your father was a fool to have trust in Philip."

Francis didn't deny nor agree. "You can trust me. Give us all the information you have collected and fight with us."

William paused for a while before he said, "Holland and Zeeland - they will be easy to subdue without bloodshed. It's the central provinces you need to worry about."

"Then, let's talk about strategies."

"The Iron Duke they call him," William said, standing from his seat. "Fernando Álvarez de Toledo, 3rd Duke of Alba. He is pure evil. Alba had two Flemish nobles executed in Brussels' central square. He had erected here at Antwerp a bronze statue of his pompous self trampling my people under his horse's hooves, cast from our melted-down cannon which had been looted by the Spanish troops after the Battle of Jemmingen."

Francis could see the pain in the man's eyes and he promised himself, France, every country under his rule and province that he will liberate them from their tyrants. No one deserved pain for what they believed in. No one person was the same.

William took a sharp intake of breath in. "Alba boasted that he had burned or executed 18,600 of my people, many of them women and children. That does not even amount to how many he has killed during the Spanish sackings over the cities. We have to make them pay."

Francis wanted that. Most especially for Elisabeth who they turned their back on, a woman who had done her duty if not bore a son which was most needed, but still - Henry the Eighth of England had two daughters who had become queens after their half-brother's death. Philip was cruel, masking this underneath a facade of pain, anguish and kindness.

"With blood," Francis promised him.

...

Elisabeth rushed into the dining rooms where the adults were seated. Catherine, Mary, Lola, Greer, Lord Castleroy, Robert and Claude. She breathed heavily, looking at all of them in pain and disbelief.

She had been praying hard at Church, daring anyone to disturb her as she fasted and prayed to God for her brothers' protection as well as her nephews'. Then as she left for dinner after spending all morning and afternoon on knelt knees, she found out from the whispers.

"Tell me it isn't true," she whispered, pressing a hand against her stomach as bile formed in her mouth. "Tell me."

"Leeza, please sit," Catherine commanded her daughter, pulling out a chair. "You look pale. You really must stop this fasting."

"Perhaps you should join me," the former Queen of Spain snapped. "Perhaps it would have stopped our men from being destroyed at the Azores!"

Claude's eyes stung with tears. "Sister, come and eat-"

"Bash is dead!"

"We don't know that!" Robert cried out, slamming his hand on the table and making everyone jump. "We don't know that..." It was now a whisper.

Leeza shook her head. "He's not with the men who returned. We are in August now! They had been gone for months before coming back! His ship was sunk, destroyed and sunk and set on fire... Men burnt, slaughtered, beheaded..."

"If he was dead," Mary calmly began. "The Spanish would have sent him as a warning."

Leeza sniffled. "But what if they couldn't retrieve him?"

"He could be captured," Lord Castleroy offered. "I can pay any ransom-"

"Again, we would have received something," Mary said.

"He is strong," Catherine said nonchalantly, buttering up her bread. "He will find his way home."

"Now eat," Claude said softly, offering her hand.

Leeza almost collapsed if not for the guard who helped her to the seat Catherine had pulled out for her. Her mother began shoving food after food down her throat, restoring some colour into her cheeks.

"And how does his wife fare?" She asked after the tenth mouthful.

"The fever will break soon," Mary said quietly, eating her soup. "She shouldn't indulge in drinking, that is all."

Leeza swallowed hard and nodded. "Very well," she whispered. "I will eat now."

"Good."

...

Mary scanned over the names over and over again. Relatives of hers and Francis's. Her first cousin, the son of her mother's younger brother, Henry I, Prince of Joinville and a cardinal, Charles de Bourbon.

She scoffed. They were the leaders of the Catholic League? It could either go one of two ways, easy or hard. She hoped it would be easy to subdue them and keep them quiet.

"Your Majesty, they are here," one of her guards said.

"Let them in," she said, shifting on her throne.

They entered and bowed low before meeting her eyes.

"Henry Joinville, Charles Bourbon, welcome," she said firmly.

Henry nodded respectfully. "You know our relationship?"

"I do," she replied. "Cousin. And you as well, Cardinal Charles. You are most welcome."

Charles narrowed his eyes. "Why did you send for us?"

"His Majesty and I know that," she paused to meet him in the eyes. "You were funded by King Philip. The current king with whom we are warring with? The current king who is said to be converting to the same religion you despise?"

"Protestants dominate the nobility of France-"

"Yet your King and Queen are Catholic, and Catholicism will always remain France's official and majority faith," Mary cut Charles off. "You cannot condemn us for wanting peace in our countries. As long as there is no hostility, no bloodshed, we will not condemn people for their beliefs."

Henry sighed. "What do you want from us? Forgive my hostility," he asked her.

"Stand down," Mary said simply. "Stand down, accept lands to build whatever you wish and stop your revolt against the Protestants. They wish to live in peace, you should do the same. Or else action will be taken and I do not wish to imprison family."

"If 'family' is so important," Henry began. "Then why the threats? Why not do as we want?"

Mary chuckled wryly. "Who wears the crown?" She asked rhetorically. "Who has the guards? And the soldiers? And the fleets? Armies? Lands? I attend Church every day, I pray and pray and pray. I pray for peace. It does not matter how you worship, as long as the God I serve helps my King to preserve the peace. We are soon entering the Golden Age, gentlemen. Either you are with us or against us and I promise you, if you are against us... King Philip will fall and so will all your other financers."

"I'd rather be imprisoned," Henry said, standing his ground.

Mary sighed. "Cousin... Anti-Protestantism and anti-Catholicism is an offence to the Crown. You are risking many lives. Yours. King Francis and I follow the ways of the Roman Catholic Church, the Pope himself is a firm believer in our France - since the days of Francis I of France when he remained loyal to the Papal States during his uncertain relationship with Henry VIII of England. Not once has France ever broken faith as England did. Even its former queen converted to Catholicism, her father's true religion. You cannot come here and talk down at me, your Queen!"

"Queen," Charles drawled. "No longer 'cousin'?"

Mary glared at him. "If imprisonment is what you want, it is what you will get. In the Netherlands, innocent families are being burnt. As Catholics, we are good people, not evil and we do not justify our evil deeds by saying they have turned away from God! Guards, arrest them. Judgement day will come for you both."

She watched as the men were taken away and she sank in her seat, feeling dazed.

"Mary?"

Mary looked up and relaxed when she saw that it was Greer. "How is Kenna?"

"She's awake. I came to call you," she said softly. "But it looks like you need someone."

Mary nodded, gesturing for Greer to take a seat beside her on the Dauphin's throne. Not Francis's, she couldn't bear that and she didn't want any superstitious things going through her head as they were with this pregnancy.

"You must take care of yourself," Greer chastised gently. "You cannot allow yourself to lose your temper. Stress will affect the baby."

"I know," Mary croaked out, sniffling. "I'm scared."

"Shh," Greer hushed her, reaching to take Mary's hands in hers. "No, you can't be. You are a queen, Your Majesty. You are Queen Regent of France. Her Consort has left the castle, not literally as you are seated before me, but you get what I mean. France looks to you now as well as Scotland, England and Ireland. The war will be over soon."

Mary looked at her warily. "And what would we have lost?"

"Nothing of great damnation," Greer replied. "We will all get through this."

"Yes," Mary whispered. "We will."

They left the hall, arriving at Kenna's bedchambers to find her resting in the middle of the bed. She still looked pale but there was colour in her cheeks. Her brown eyes were void of emotion and she slowly turned to face them.

"I see your fever has broke," Mary said for the people outside and Greer's sake.

Kenna nodded, unsure. "Nostradamus gave me something for it," she mumbled. "Can we talk? Alone?"

Greer left and Mary came to make herself comfortable beside Kenna, running her fingers through Kenna's twisted locks. She had not had a chance to wash her hair nor make herself presentable. Nothing seemed to matter.

Kenna's eyes fell. "I told Bash before he left that I'd know if something bad happened to him."

"Kenna?"

"My heart is broken, Mary," Kenna whispered numbly. "He's gone."

"Kenna, you mustn't think the worse-"

"Nostradamus told me. The link he had with Delphine, it came onto me upon her death," Kenna said with a sad smile. "Through her, our son is special. So special..."

Mary swallowed hard. "The Spanish fought harder than we expected. Sure, they were smaller but they had more power and I don't know what happened."

"What am I going to do?" Kenna asked Mary. "How am I going to do this? Raise four children without him? Would I need to get remarried? Secure our futures? Why do I keep having to build everything up-"

"Oh, my dear Kenna," Mary breathed out. "You don't need to remarry anyone and him being gone does not mean you will lose everything. You are still family, his estates go to Robert when he returns. In his absence as well as Robert's, you are the claimant of Bash's wealth."

"Oh, God..."

Mary blinked back tears. "You have us. You will always have Francis and me. Greer and Lola even... We are all here for you and the children. I love you."

Kenna bit her lip. "I love you too."

...

Holland and Zeeland were easily claimed by the French. No bloodshed as William had said and they had been in talks with the high nobles for weeks for both provinces. They offered men to the cause, fed up of the burning and killing of their men, women and children.

A month later, in September now, Alkmaar had been invaded and they drove the Spanish out, Alba and his son running with their tails behind their backs. Alba was quickly replaced by Luis de Requesens following his humiliation. An Act of Abjuration had been formed, where the States-General declared that Philip was no king of theirs. This was to the French's advantage, the Netherlands were revolting and hearing of their presence in their country and now, they will fight for France.

Declaring was one thing but could they fight back?

Francis looked up from his wine to see William being granted entrance. He dismissed John and Robert, telling the boys to attend to the horses.

They got up, catching the start of William's words: "My brothers, Louis and Henry were killed at the Battle of Mookerheyde a few days ago. We lost the battle, Your Majesty..."

When they got to the horses, John noted that his cousin had been quiet of late. He looked withdrawn, worried, bereft. No time was good enough to call him out on it but now, it was. Away from Francis and other prying ears, John requested a short walk away from camp.

"You don't need to look so worried, Robin. We lose battles, it happens but we won't lose the war," John told his cousin.

Robin turned to him, his face now blank. "War is an evil thing."

"It is, ye-"

"It destroys lives," Robin continued, turning away. "Loyalties upon grey lines. Is it strange that we have not heard back from the Azores? It is a simple battle, in and out."

"Well-"

"Answer me that," Robin mumbled, digging his sword into the wet ground beneath them. It had rained now, the sunny months now over.

John shrugged. "Perhaps it was not necessary as we would have easily won," he replied. "Or do you know something I don't?"

"No," Robin admitted. "Just that I receive stares of late. Guards turn to me and quieten when I pass. They look... pitying."

"Do you think something bad has happened?"

Robin sat down, leaning his back against the tree. "I feel it. I just... know."

"Robin-"

"I've not heard from my mother either. I am surrounded by people but I feel alone," Robin continued. "I feel abandoned."

"I don't know what you're talking about," John began. "But I am right here with you. Come on, up."

He helped Robin to his feet and they returned back to camp, near the King's Tent.

"...My sons, Philip William and Maurice will arrive in due course," William was saying. "There are 25,000 crowns on my head."

Francis rubbed his chin. "We'll protect you. They won't dare-"

"They killed your half-brother and Strozzi."

"What?"

Francis turned to the opening of the tent to see his son and nephew, their eyes wide. "Robert Francis-"

But the boy had run off, John right behind him.

...

"Confinement?!" Mary cried out. "I do not have time for that!"

"You are eight months gone through this pregnancy, Mary! By November, you will give birth," Catherine told her daughter-in-law. "Should anything happen to you or this child, God forbid James coming to the throne so early, even as regent!"

Mary tutted, shoving the woman's arms away as she headed to her chambers, Lola and Greer hurrying behind Catherine and the governess. "How are the children?"

"We are doing all to protect the Dauphin," the governess said. "All of their Latin lessons are going well. And we have sourced a good tutor for the twins."

She hadn't seen them in a week, busy with the issues and politics of France. That and the leaders of the Catholic League being imprisoned indefinitely and their supporters on the verge of uprising.

"Catherine, deal with the League," Mary finally said, turning to the governess as the Queen Mother left their sides. "Make sure James's chambers are cleaned regularly. He is not to be taken unwell during my month of confinement."

"Yes, Your Majesty," the governess said.

"As for the girls, make sure they take their embroidery seriously with Bella and Kitty," Mary continued, the guards opening the doors for them. "Joseph and Peter are now to cease playing outside. The weather is getting colder and God forbid, Joseph is next in line."

The governess curtseyed low. "Your Majesty. And what of the de Poitiers children?"

Mary froze by the head of her bed. Kenna had been awfully quiet, going around in dark blue as if she was in mourning already. It had made Elisabeth spiral deeper into her faith manic, praying at all hours without eating and Claude had taken to caring for Anastasia and Xander as well as her own son. They were not certain that death had come for Bash and Mary refused to believe otherwise for the women of her family's sakes and her absent husband's.

"Make sure their education is being tended to," Mary told her. "Make payments to their school and relieve the parents of the children who attend a whole year's fees. They work for Bash and in his absence, we must take care of his lands on Kenna's behalf."

Anything education-related, the governesses and governors could attend to - including payments and donations.

"I will right away, Your Majesty," Susanne replied before leaving.

"Now begins your confinement," Lola said gently. "We can't risk your healths."

Mary nodded and lifted her arms. "Help me out of this damned dress."

...

Francis hovered over the battle positions on the table, William to his left and his sons to his right. He had sent guards after the boys, preferring to handle that situation after.

"So, the treasure fleet has been fully destroyed?" He asked William with a small smile.

William nodded. "Yes. And inflation has got to Spain - Philip is unable to pay his soldiers."

Francis nodded. "We will end this war in the Netherlands, here in Antwerp as we divide and conquer - some troops going to Ham to destroy their garrison. We will claim the Netherlands once and for all, liberate its people and grant them aid for those who grieve over the ones they've lost in inhumane ways."

"Actions speak louder than words," Philip William said quietly, receiving a glare from his father.

Francis smirked. "I've spoken a lot in my time and in turn, things came to be. I once told my father that Calais would be ours again and I was right. He didn't believe me, but I did it. I fought alongside my men and we took back Calais."

"And he has done as he said he would," Maurice told his brother. "However, the case of the Azores..."

"It was shocking on our part," Francis admitted, swallowing hard. "I do hope my brother lives."

"I pray for your family," William told him before shifting the treasure fleet figurine off the table where it fell onto the ground. "Sunk and burned. As they did yours."

"All seventeen," Francis said proudly. "It is not over. I can see this lasting a year but if we play things right - we may be home by Christmastime."

"Your Majesty!"

A messager hurried in, bowing quickly as he took a moment to catch his breath.

"R-Rebels, Spanish rebels. The ones Philip can't p-pay," he cleared his throat. "They're coming! They're coming with the Spanish Fury!"

Francis froze. "Which direction?!"

"South in Namur!"

"We could appeal to them," William began. "Prevent bloodshed before-"

"Philip will kill them," Francis quickly said. "And once they find we are here, they could catch us off guard but we won't be caught off guard. We need to re-strategise."

"Or we could not bother," Maurice suggested. "Let the Spanish turn on themselves. We are north of Antwerp, many miles away from the south of it. We do not need to get involved if they should not make their way over."

William sighed. "Your Majesty, we should still make our way down. To Maastricht, Tournai, Oudenaarde, Dunkirk, Bruges and Ghent united through the Union of Utrecht. Invade them before Philip sends another zealot to get there first."

Maurice or William? The son or the father? Both are on opposite sides of this matter, Francis thought. William has been a great help and I've only just met his sons. I do not know what to make of them...

"William, send some spies to clear the path so to speak," Francis finally ordered. "We're taking those provinces."

"We need more funds to pay the soldiers," Philip William brought up. "What do we do?"

Francis gave him a look. "I have thought of that, contrary to belief," he began. "We have had an injection of money from England. Not only England, Italy as well. The Papal States are on our side - they want us to stop Philip for acting out evil work in their name, threatening to switch to Protestantism every other day."

"Then, we will meet the Spanish in the middle?" William asked.

"We will." He looked up and saw the guards directing John Philip and Robert Francis into the entrance of the tent. "If you would excuse us, gentlemen."

The men bowed and left, leaving John to come in first, Robin hesitant. Francis sent him a soft smile, holding out his hand to gesture for him to take a seat. He watched the boy look at it and then sigh, entering and taking a seat at the other end of the table. John sat on the side, between King and nephew.

"It's true?" Robin asked quietly.

"We have had no confirmation," Francis told him. "Only that there were men were missing. For all we know, your father could be making his way home. He has not been confirmed dead."

"I want to see the message-"

"I burnt it before it could reach enemy's hands," Francis explained quickly.

Robin sighed. "What am I to do?"

"We are at war, Robert," Francis said. "You are no longer a child. We suffer losses but now is not the time to grieve. The war must end and then we will see where we stand."

"I will fight on one condition."

"That is?"

"You have men go to the Azores and look for him," Robin told him firmly. "Him alive or dead, either way... we need him home."

Francis raised his eyebrows. The boy wasn't wrong. "Your aunt has already made moves towards that. She sent men to handle the repercussions of what occurred. They will be searching for our men to bring home for burial."

"Fine."

"You are the only boy who can make such a demand and have it granted," Francis said lightly, taking a seat and retrieving his lockets from his chest, looking through the portraits. "It's almost over, Robin. Never fear."

John gave his cousin a warm smile. "Shall we spar?"

"No," Robin said quietly. "I'd rather sit here in silence if it's all the same to you?"

Francis nodded. "I'd like that." At least he was surrounded by his son and his brother's likeness. He wasn't alone in the sea of strangers.

...

"Our Queen wants us to end the Catholic League!" Leith announced, holding up the letter which had Catherine's hand on it on Mary's behalf. "Our aim is to convert the people of this region back into French mentality. They are still French by blood and the king who reigns over them does not care for their welfare at all!"

There was an uproar of agreement.

"Today, we will help them, bring them home," Leith announced. "And put an end to the Spanish reign in France once and for all!"

Following a long negotiation with the people of the region, Leith had promised the people some expansion of land, a huge influx of money and other enticing offers that they could keep their word on.

The following morning after travelling to Fontaine-Française the night before, Leith followed his scouts and they had managed to encounter Spanish troops by accident.

He cursed.

"What should we do, my lord?" A scout asked.

"We should return and use the light horse tactic," Leith said.

And that is exactly what they did. Leith and his army had surprised the Spanish and forced them to retreat, killing or wounding nine-thousand Spaniards. Something told him that it would be a temporary fix and not permanent.

With the help of the local inhabitants, he was relieved they could convince the two-hundred odd men to fight with the promises he made, he had them armed with scythes and metallic objects that could shine in the sunlight.

"We have to regroup," he said, heading back to the rest of his army - military troops.

"What if they retrieve more men? We've lost twelve-hundred!"

"What would we do?"

"We had more men at the Azores, yet still lost!"

"Either way, we still have a third of their men!"

"Didn't we subdue nine thousand out of twelve?" Another asked.

Leith ordered them to be quiet, he couldn't think. "We have to trick them into believing we still have a larger army and attack with all we've got."

"Then what?"

"You know, we might not even have to fight," Leith told them, turning to look beyond in the valley to see if the Spanish were coming.

After hours, many hours, the Spaniards returned.

Both sides stood as they were, not daring a move.

Leith narrowed his eyes from atop his horse, watching Juan Fernández de Velasco watch him. After a while, the man raised a white flag and Leith's eyebrows shot up in surprise, his men cheering. They gave up.

They knew that Burgundy was a lost cause following the Frenchpeople of the region hating King Philip and supporting the French Throne. Leith gave a nod and watched as the Spanish troops retreated.

Burgundy was France's again.

Next, the Catholic League.

And they were the easy part.

...

William marched into the tent. "Now that we've taken Ham, massacring the Spanish garrison there and made our way down, liberating the towns as we go, I have word from France."

"Tell me," Francis said, dismissing Robin and John from the tent.

"Why can't we listen?" Robin muttered as they left.

"We're only boys," John replied. "I'm not sure I want to be an adult and have all of that on my shoulders."

Robin laughed softly. "I guess."

Inside the tent, William said, "They captured Amiens-"

"What?!"

"But your Deputy reconquered Amiens, was victorious in Burgundy and re-liberated Doullens, Cambrai and Le Catelet but..."

"Yes?"

"Calais was conquered."

Francis stood up. "Calais? As in the Calais that I reclaimed from England almost fifteen years ago?"

"Yes, Your Majesty."

Francis sighed heavily. "It is fine. We can deal with that after. We must focus on the fight at hand."

"About that - the Spanish troops have mutinied," Philip William announced, entering the tent. "It is so soon, we weren't expecting it. It's happening everywhere, the battle at Namur wasn't the first time it's happened and nor can they stop revolts from all over the Netherlands. Now is the time to continue to defeat the Spanish once and for all and throw Philip from his throne."

Francis nodded slowly but, "He can keep his throne. I just wanted France as a whole, Portugal to be liberated and the Netherlands... He can keep his throne but not without promises."

"Then it ends," William began. "Starting at Gembloux."

...

November 10th.

The screams started at three in the morning.

"Fetch the midwife!"

"Your Majesty-"

"Make sure she is comfortable!"

Mary couldn't make head nor tail who was speaking as she wailed, the pain tightening in her stomach. She writhed on the bed, sobbing and mentally begging Francis to come. She couldn't do this alone, not again. The twins had come into the world without his presence and now...

Now this child had the same fate.

"Lady Lola!" She heard Robert call out. "Make sure the children are alright. Lady Greer, attend to the Queen..."

Mary drowned out his voice as she could see a blurry blonde figure hover over her, speaking to her in soothing words. "It hurts, Greer," she cried out.

"I know, Mary," Greer said softly. "I have gone through it myself. So have you, five times before. You can do this."

"I can't...!"

"You can!"

"I want Francis!"

Greer brushed her hair back. "I know. I know, dear Mary. But you will just have to cope with me," she said, looking up to see the midwife enter with Nostradamus. "Wherever or however you need me to be, I will be so."

"Remain by her side," the midwife said gratefully, getting her tools out. "Your Majesty, your babe is coming quickly."

"Just get it out!" Mary cried out, squeezing Greer's hand tightly. "Get it out..."

The labour had lasted hours, finally ending come noon at seventeen minutes past twelve. The midwife lifted a screaming, pink and bloody babe from the Queen, quickly cutting the cord and wrapping the baby up warmly.

"What is it?" Mary breathed out, weakened by her last push.

"A princess, Your Majesty," Nostradamus told her. "Shall I let the family know?"

Mary nodded, accepting her newborn into her arms happily as he left. She pressed a long kiss on her head and turned to Greer. "I... I have good reason to wait to name her as I did for the twins but..."

"You have a perfect name in mind?" Greer finished for her.

Mary gave her a smile. "I guess Catherine should have reason to celebrate more than others."

"Oh, don't say-"

"Caterina. Aileen Caterina. For Aylee and for Catherine," Mary breathed out, staring down at her daughter's hazel eyes as her fingers coursed through the baby's strawberry blonde locks. "Hello, Little Cat. You are your father's daughter."

Caterina stared up at her mother in confusion, her mouth opening up into an 'o' as she yawned and squinted, quickly recovering and pouting.

"She needs feeding," the midwife explained, cleaning up. "We must deal with the afterbirth, Your Majesty."

"I will take Caterina," Greer said kindly, accepting the new baby into her arms. "Hello, my dear."

Word got through the castle quickly and soon, the elder children were hurrying to see their mother and new sister. Before the doors, Rose and Anne had to calm their brothers down before they opened the doors and entered, seeing their mother sitting on a seat by the window, the baby wrapped in white in her arms.

"Mother!"

"My darlings," Mary replied happily, using her head to gesture for them to come closer. "Meet your sister. Come, quick!"

James was the first to run over, gasping in awe at the wide-awake baby. He pointed down at her. "She is so small!"

Mary laughed, her eyes meeting her daughters'. "She is."

"Can I name her?" Peter asked, sticking his teddy under his arm as he and Joseph came to inspect their sister closer.

"I have already done that, my sweet," Mary said gently.

"So," Rose began, sitting at the bay window with Anne. "What did you name her?"

Mary looked at each child in the eye, the boys giggling at the suspense. "Aileen Caterina. Caterina is your new sister's name."

"Cat!" Joseph cried out. "Is she a cat?!"

"No, silly!" Anne scolded him lightly.

"Like Kitty. She's a cat!"

"No, Joseph," Anne said, now amused. "It's a nickname. A pet name, if you will. They are not animals."

Joseph pouted. "That is not exciting at all."

"She is very quiet," Rose stated.

Mary laughed wryly. "You all gave me grief! I am glad one child is considerate," she replied teasingly. "Girls, do you wish to hold her?"

"May I?" Anne asked nervously. "I must practice for when I have Oskar's children."

Mary smiled and nodded, handing Caterina over. "Support her head. She can't hold it up as we can."

"She is so beautiful," Anne whispered in awe.

"More so than you," Rose replied.

Anne gasped. "I resent that! The older sisters are always the most beautiful."

Mary chuckled, running her hand down Rose's head. "Don't tease your sister. I can't believe you are both now thirteen and twelve."

Rose blushed. "We are fast becoming women."

"You are already," Mary corrected them. "How is your monthly pain?"

Rose winced. She has started a few days ago, having advice from Anne. "Terrible."

"I will have Nostradamus make something for you," Mary replied.

They were disturbed by a knock on the door and she ordered the person to enter. It was a messenger who looked conflicted on whether to tell her the news in front of her children.

"Excuse me, my loves. I will be right back," Mary said, getting up and letting James take her seat as they all continued to coo at the newborn. Mary could read the messenger's face and followed him out. "What is it?"

"The Burgundy troops have returned. The King's Deputy was taken to the healer immediately," he explained.

Mary sighed. "How bad is he?"

"He had a wound on his arm inflicted by a Catholic League member they put down, it became infected. During their journey back, they made the decision to amputate."

Mary gasped softly. "I see. I will see him when he has recovered. Any news from the King?"

"Only that the war drags on," he said. "I wish I had more information."

"What of the troops sent to the Azores?"

"They managed to retrieve wounded and deceased men but..."

None with green eyes and the crest of the Valois-Angoulême, Mary thought. "The King's brother wasn't retrieved?"

"His body may be lost to the sea as his ship was sunk," the messenger offered. "I... I'm sorry-"

"It's fine," Mary said. "Leave me."

He bowed and left quickly, not wanting to say something else wrong. Not that it was wrong.

Mary sighed heavily, covering her face. Kenna was in confinement, her children unaware of their difficult situation, Mary had no idea what to do.

She returned to her bedchambers with a bright smile on her face as she walked back to her children.

...

So bright. Everything was so bright.

Eyes scanned the room, seeing it littered with papers and candles, an elderly person in the corner, by a desk and muttering to themself. He frowned and sat up, emitting a slight groan from the tight scar on his chest.

"You're awake!"

He jumped, looking up to see that the person was a man and he grinned a gap-teethed smile his way, offering him soup and some bread.

"How..." His voice was scratchy, unused. "Long was I...?"

"I found you two months ago, washed ashore," the elderly man explained. "I stitched your wound up and since then, you've been in and out of consciousness. Today, you are fully aware."

"I see..."

"Muriel," the elderly man said. "My name is Muriel, my Lord. You look like a highborn. Are you?"

He groaned. "My head hurts."

"That would be the bump on your head. I keep my pots on the shelf above you," Muriel said, the man looking up to see for himself. "One fell on you last night when you jolted awake, screaming some poor girl's name."

"What name?"

Muriel paused, pursing his lips in thought before clicking his tongue and snapping his fingers. "Kenna. 'Kenna!' You had cried out. Not French native nor Portuguese. You sound French. Are you one of the soldiers who tried to liberate us?"

Tried to...?

"You lost. Badly, may I add," Muriel muttered. "We still are under Philip of Spain."

"Oh. I... apologise?"

"It's fine! We're planning another revolt, my Lord," Muriel said nonchalantly. "My son's fighting. I might fight. Give these two," he showed him his sagging muscles. "A reappearance. So many wars these arms have seen."

"Right..." The man drawled out. "So, that name?"

Muriel gasped. "Right, yes! That name sounds very Scottish. Like the Queen, the one in France. Oh, the lovely woman had a baby. Did you know that?"

"From your words, I have been coherent only today," the man grumbled out. "Wait... Queen in France. I-I know her?"

"You do?" Muriel asked. "Oh! You are French noble blood. Right. Kenna, Queen in France... What else to see what you remember?"

The man shrugged. "I-I don't know."

"Oh, come on!"

"I don't-" He stopped himself, feeling a sudden rush of sharp pain in his head.

"What is it? What do you remember?"

The man's eyes widened. "What month are we in?"

"Almost December, my Lord. Two days time, it will be," Muriel replied.

"I need to get home."

"Where is that?"

"The Queen in France - she will know. Her name... Her name... I can't..."

"Mary. Her name is Mary," Muriel said indignantly. "The most pretty queen you've had, mind you!"

If not for his predicament, the man would be roaring with laughter at the idea of this old man holding a torch for Mary.

"Yes," he breathed out instead. "Mary Stuart. I, for the life of me, can't remember much."

"Do you have a family?" Muriel asked, stuffing the bread into the man's hand.

"I..." The man gasped. "I do."

"Here we go. We are getting some-"

"Kenna."

"Oh, the name from before?"

The man nodded, a soft smile gracing his lips. "She will kill me."

"What?!"

"I need to go home to her."

"No... I think you should very well stay!" Muriel cried out. "She will kill you! Is she a spy?"

The man frowned. "No, you fool, she's my wife!"

"Oh... Why does she want to kill you?"

"Because I didn't come home."

"You're not making any sense, my Lord."

"Please, it's Bash." Bash gasped. "I'm Bash. My name is Bash."

"I think so?" Muriel asked, confused. "Should I applaud you for remembering your name?"

Bash glared at him. "Muriel, thank you for your hospitality but I need to get home to France."

"And how would you set about that?" Muriel asked, stuffing a spoonful of soup into his mouth.

Bash gaped at him. "I thought that was for..."

"It was getting cold. Waste not, want not," Muriel replied nonchalantly. "Now, tell me how you're going to get home."

...

On the 24th of December, Christmas Eve, Mary looked out the window, hopeful to see her husband return.

Nothing.

She turned to see Kenna fast asleep, a newborn babe in a cot beside the bed. Mary stood and went over to the baby to see that she was wide awake. She smiled, lifting her into her arms and cooing when she began to fuss.

"There's a good girl," she whispered as to not wake the mother. "Born on Christmas Eve at five in the morning. Your father's spitting image."

"Sophia," she heard.

Mary looked up and saw Kenna's eyes open a little as she continued to lay down, watching aunt and niece. "Sophia?"

"Sophia," Kenna confirmed quietly, a tear slipping down her face. "Sophia Sebastienne Francine."

"Three names, hmm?" Mary asked lightly, looking down at the baby's green eyes.

"Can you take her to the nursery?"

Mary looked at her. "She needs to be with her mother."

"I can't," Kenna whispered. "Not right now. She looks just like him."

"Kenna-"

"And she won't fill the empty hole in my heart."

Mary's lips wavered and she placed the baby back into the cot and returned to the window. "Don't do that."

"It's been months, Mary. We only know of Francis's and our sons' survival," Kenna said. "All that is left is to return home. And they will. But Bash won't. When Francis returns, I'd like to start the funeral planning."

"Take more time-"

"Mary?"

"Yes?" Mary asked, turning to face Kenna.

"I don't feel... I don't feel too..." Kenna's eyes fluttered closed and Mary hurried to her, feeling her forehead heating up.

The afterbirth.

"Guards! Get the midwife and Nostradamus!" She cried out, covering Kenna's frame with the covers. "Oh, Kenna... Don't do this to me, to us..."

...

A day later, the fever still had not broken although they had managed to retrieve the afterbirth through traumatic and bloody circumstances that made Mary throw up.

Catherine had comforted her, seeing the strong wall that the Scottish Queen had built start to break. "You must remain strong."

"Catherine-"

"Every battle is over. We have won the war," Catherine reminded her. "They are coming home. Our Francis is coming home."

Mary sniffled and nodded, straightening her back. "It's only a matter of when."

"Exactly. Patience is a virtue. Good things come to people who wait."

Mary walked on, heading to the nursery to check on the new babies. They had moved Sophia from her mother's side, giving the ailing woman more space to recover.

"Perhaps we should allow the Pope to say a few words," Catherine said carefully.

"No. No last rites-"

"Mary-"

"It's happened before and she survived!"

"Mary-"

"No. I forbid any talk of death. In fact, the next person to even suggest or allude to the idea will be forbidden to talk for the next full day!"

Catherine scoffed. "Immature," she said lightly, making Mary roll her eyes. "We should attend Mass. It is Jesus's birthday. And today is about family. Let us put up a united front for the people, you and the children attending the Christmas Mass."

Mary nodded slowly. "Yes. That seems wise."

...

The choir stopped singing when the doors were flung open. Everyone turned around and gasped.

"It is a Christmas miracle," Catherine muttered, a smile forming on her lips as Claude and Leeza also let out warm smiles.

But they weren't important.

No, the Queen was.

Mary slowly turned around to see what they were gawping at and she gasped herself. Before she could move, the children had begun to run, forgetting their royal courtesies and behaviour to attack Francis with tight hugs.

"The King has returned!"

"The King has returned!"

"All hail the King!"

"Our victorious King!"

Francis looked up from the children, meeting Mary's eyes. She daren't move and he smiled, receiving a grin in reply as she looked down in her arms. He looked down and he was immediately transfixed by the image of his seventh child.

"Make way! The King is walking down!"

Joseph and Peter each took one of Francis's hands and pulled him down the aisle, the girls and James running ahead of them to reach Mary first.

"Husband," she breathed out, shaking.

Thankfully, Francis took the baby into his arms and grinned even more. "Wife," he replied in kind. "We did it."

Now the war was over.

The choir promptly began to sing again, Mary's eyes never leaving Francis's own. She still couldn't quite believe it, here he was in the flesh, his clothing appropriate for the celebrations. Her cheeks were beginning to hurt and she realised she hadn't stopped smiling since she saw him.

"I love you," she mouthed to him before James took her attention and she lifted him up into her arms as Leeza carried Peter and Joseph held his sisters' hands.

"I love you too, Mary," Francis whispered into her ear, placing a kiss on the side of her head.

...

The door opened slowly and Kenna's eyes drew to it. It was Nostradamus.

"How are you feeling?"

"At death's door," Kenna whispered. "Is it Christmas already?"

"Everyone is at Church," he explained before a smile graced his lips. "We have much to celebrate this year." Then his face fell. "And of course, to-"

"Grieve," she mumbled.

"Your Grace-"

"I'm going to see him, Nostradamus," Kenna cut him off, her eyes watering. "He's so close."

Nostradamus hovered over her, feeling her head. She was getting worse. "My Lady, you cannot die."

"Nostra-"

"If you are still breathing after all of these months, it means that he is alive!" Nostradamus cried out. "You cannot give up, you mustn't."

"I can't hold on much longer," Kenna told him, a sob escaping her lips. "I can feel... death is coming."

He quickly shoved a liquid down her throat, hoping it would help break the fever soon. "It is Christmastime, your children want to see you." All of them, he thought.

Kenna shook her head. "I don't want them to remember me like this. I saw my mother die... No child should-"

The door opened and Kenna turned to it, seeing green eyes.

"Bash! You came home to me!"

"No, Mama. It's me, it's Robin," Robin quickly said, coming to her side to take her hand in his hands. "Oh, Mama!"

Kenna studied him closely. "Oh. Sweetrobin... You are your father's image. His greatest gift to me," she said softly, cupping his cheek. "You've made me so proud."

Robin closed his eyes, tears streaming down his cheeks. "Don't leave us too."

"Robert Francis, look at me," Kenna ordered gently. When he did she said, "You are a man now. You are strong, noble, kind... Once your annulment is complete, you are to marry your true love but only when you are sixteen. You are thirteen now, still my sweet, innocent child..."

"Mother-"

"Your uncles and aunts will take good care of you all," Kenna continued weakly. "Oh, you look just like him."

"Mama, please."

Nostradamus turned away. "Shall I call the Pope?"

"No," Kenna whispered, running her fingers through Robin's hair. "If I die with my son's face in my mind, I'll be at peace soon enough."

"Your Last Confession?"

Kenna smiled wryly, continuing to stare at Robin. "I will take my chances."

"Mama-"

"Just... Tell me a story, Robin. The one about the time you and your father went hunting and ended up in the tree," Kenna said softly.

Robin laughed, a sob escaping his lips. "The bear."

"Yes. That one."

"Father swore he wasn't scared but I knew he was trying to convince himself so he could protect us..."

Before he continued on, Kenna's hand fell from his face and he let out a heartbroken scream, hugging her tightly.

"My Lord-"

"No," Robin croaked out, digging his face into her shoulder. "No!"

Robin placed a hand on her heart and kissed her forehead, leaning his against hers. He closed his eyes and began to pray, until the words became more hurried, more Pagan.

Nostradamus gasped. "Is he...?" He breathed out in wonder, staring at the boy in shock. He knew those incantations. He wanted to know how the boy knew them. He knew Bash raised his children as Catholics, they never encouraged his Pagan ties with Robin.

He looked at the door, going over to lock it before anyone could come in and he looked back at the son and his mother, the boy continuing to speak quickly. Before he knew it, Nostradamus saw Kenna's eyes snap open in shock, turning to her son.

Robin stopped now, his eyes still screwed shut as he sobbed now. "Come back to me..."

"Robin, I'm here," she whispered, bringing him into her arms properly, kissing his head. "I don't know how, but I'm here."

"Mama..."

Her eyes met Nostradamus and she swallowed hard. "He... Did he-"

"Yes."

"No one should know about this," she breathed out firmly. "Fetch my handmaidens, please."

"I should at least check you over-"

"I know what happened," she cut him off. "And it will never happen again. In fact, do you know of ways to... to make him..."

Normal? Nostradamus understood her fear. If anyone heard of a woman dying only to be brought back to life, they'd kill him just as they did his father's former lover. The woman in white, the witch who had killed servants to perform blood rituals.

"I'm sorry," Robin said, pulling back in shock. "I couldn't lose you too-"

"I understand," she quickly said, giving him a small smile. "But Robert... Your powers are quickly honing and without your father or anyone to guide you... I can't take any risks with you. Where did you learn how to do that?"

Robin turned away. "The war. A rabbit had been preyed on by a fox. I saved its life and saw the fox drop dead."

A life for a life.

Kenna braced herself for whoever's death was coming. She hoped it wasn't her queen and her family. "You are to never do this again. We will find out information, try and-"

"Mother, this is a part of me! Something from Father's true faith-"

"His true faith was Catholic!" Kenna cried out before quickly quietening down. "No one, and I mean, no one knows of his Pagan ties. Do you understand? If they did, they will..."

Robin slowly nodded. "Kill me and my siblings?"

"Indeed, child," Nostradamus said. "And your mother for keeping the secret. And then they will turn to the King and Queen and ask them if they knew as well."

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry-"

"Hush," Kenna breathed out, hugging him again. "It's Christmas. We should smile and be thankful for those who still remain."

Nostradamus' eyes met hers and he gave her a comforting nod. He is still alive as you are not dead.

"Thank you," she mouthed to him before he left to fetch her handmaidens. "Oh, my Sweetrobin..."

...

The first day of the new year.

Francis downed the rest of his wine and placed it down on his desk, turning to face Leith. "How is your pain?"

Leith smiled wryly. "I'll survive. It is odd. My body believes there to be two, full arms but there is only one and I feel the pain from the one I lost. I apologise if I can't carry out my duties as-"

"Don't be stupid," Francis said fondly. "I have hired Junior Deputies. My nephew wishes to be one, to honour his father."

"Have we still not received word?"

"No," Francis said sadly. "Such is life. William of Orange was assassinated before we left. His sons helped us put an end to the war - the Dutch Republic is now recognised as independent by the Spanish Crown and Philip is meeting us to sign new treaties of peace. The Roman Empire is on France's side, he has surrendered."

Leith nodded. "I read the reports. 700,000 people dead."

"The Spanish will pay for their crimes of war."

"Can they even afford it?"

Francis smirked. "They'll ask for a loan," he said, pouring another cupful of wine. "We will grant it with strings attached."

"What happens after?"

"He returns to Spain, the Netherlands are declared independent from French rule - we were never going to keep them, they deserve their freedom. As for the Azores, we will ask for that in return for the loan as well as Calais," Francis explained, taking a seat with a heavy grunt. "Those beds were not comfortable."

"Relieved for your luxuries as a king?" Leith teased him.

Francis chuckled. "I am not denying that. Thank you, my friend. For always being there for me."

"I will never leave your side willingly."

"Good. Because I have a duchy to gift you. And a marriage proposal," Francis told him coyly.

Leith raised his brows. "Marriage?"

"My sister is widowed," Francis said. "Claude needs a husband and she is alone in Scotland. It is time she came home for good."

Leith smiled widely. "I accept if she does."

"She does and so does her son. He likes you."

"I adore him," Leith breathed out. "Thank you, Your-"

"Leith..."

"Francis." Leith laughed. "God, you survive a war and come home to a wife and son."

Francis grinned. "Well, I came home to a baby who was already a month old. And I swear my eldest is taller than her mother!"

"Children. Such blessings."

"They are, indeed."

...

"Elisabeth?"

She turned around to face her former husband. "Why are you in here? You are supposed to be in the hall, awaiting my brother and king."

"I had to see you-"

"No," she snapped. "You are to blame for my brother's death! Sebastian's dead because of you!"

Philip sighed, bowing his head. "Darling-"

"Philip," she warned him, her eyes narrowing.

"Elisabeth," he tried again. "I wanted to protect you! Word of you being barren and unable to bear me a son after our stillbirth got around Court. There were whispers reported of you paying the price with your life through poison!"

"Forgive me if I do not believe a word that comes out of your mouth," Leeza replied coldly.

Philip shook his head slightly. "I will never stop loving you. You are my true wife - you gave me sane children, my daughters. My daughters who I will always love and cherish more than the children Anna will bear me. I have got a son now - he came early, but my love for him is less than the love for Kitty and for Bella."

"I will always protect my daughters," Leeza said. "In fact, I am prepared to remarry a Frenchman this time. He adores the girls and they adore him. A father's love can never outmatch a mother's love for a child. I held them in my womb and birthed them, my pain was our gain and I will never give them up."

"I beg you for forgiveness," he breathed out. "A king begging, Elisabeth you could only get that from me."

"Leave-"

"Return to Spain. Become my official mistress-"

Leez scoffed and started to laugh in incredulity. "No! My place is here in France, our daughters' places are in France. The king we serve? He is my brother. Not my husband. Because of you, your people hate my people and the same can be said vice versa. Spain is dangerous for a French."

Philip bowed his head. "Then can I at least write frequently? As friends? To see how our daughters fare?"

"Maybe one day," Leeza told him. "But now, our relations between our two counties are hostile."

"Never say never, my darling."

"Goodbye, Philip," Leeza replied, turning away from him. "Goodbye."

And then he was gone from her life forever.

...

As well as the treaty between France and Spain, the French graciously hosted the treaty between the Netherlands and Spain. Peace was to be restored.

The States-General sent eight delegates from several of the provinces. They were Willem van Ripperda (Overijssel), Frans van Donia (Friesland), Adriaen Clant tot Stedum (Groningen), Adriaen Pauw and Jan van Mathenesse (Holland), Barthold van Gent (Gelderland), Johan de Knuyt (Zeeland), and Godert van Reede (Utrecht). The Spanish delegation was led by King Philip himself.

Francis faced Philip and their Cardinals presented a treaty on the table before them. Francis offered Philip to sign the Treaties of Pyrenees and Vervins first as he was the guest in his lands. Philip signed his signatures and Francis lifted his own pen, elegantly signing beside Philip's own signatures on each paper.

Leeza gave Mary a relieved smile and Mary returned it and was surprised when Francis told her to sign them too. It even surprised Philip but he bit his tongue and nodded politely, his wife placing a calming hand on his forearm.

The Queen stood between the kings and signed her signatures underneath Francis's. They were equal and technically, she was still Queen of Scotland and must be appropriately considered as such. These treaties now declared peace between Spain, France and Scotland as well as any countries or provinces underneath them.

Calais and Burgundy were once again French-ruled. The Azores now belonged to France with the promise of independence after five years so they could aid the people in rebuilding their home and make sure they were stable enough to be independent. The Netherlands were loyal to France with their Protestants swearing oaths to Francis and Mary. The leaders of the Catholic League had been released and their wishes granted in return for their disbandment and promise to never revolt again with the Edict of Nantes signed by the French King and representatives for Catholics and Protestants, declaring a high degree of religious toleration for the Huguenots.

Peace.

Francis would be famous for this for years to come.

"Now, we feast! Music commence!" Francis announced, lifting his wine cup.

Music promptly began and dancers took the centre of the hall, everyone now conversing and collecting food and drinks. Laughter, tears of joy, animated stories everywhere and Francis quickly winked at his wife.

"Want to sneak out of here?" He asked into her ear.

"Francis!" Mary squealed out quietly. "We should at least wait a few hours."

Francis chuckled. "There was me wanting to get you with our seventh already."

"Still so broody! The time hasn't done me any wonders then!" Mary laughed, spotting John and Lola hugging tightly. "I'm glad they've fixed their relationship."

"Hmm," Francis hummed before his eyes drew to the entrance of the hall. "I thought you said that Kenna was still unwell?"

"She was," Mary said, a smile gracing her lips.

But there the woman was, dressed in dark blue, almost black with an ornate headpiece on top of her head and her best jewels, gifts from her husband. She greeted nobles politely, accepting condolences and well wishes as well as congratulations on her over a week old baby. She looked petrified underneath, the poor thing and she seemingly calmed down when Robin took her arm, Ana her other hand and Xander running off to find James and the twins.

"I still can't believe it," Francis mumbled, taking a seat on his throne beside an occupied Philip who was conversing with his wife, Anna of Austria. The woman seemed disinterested.

Mary sat beside him on her throne. "Christmas had a miracle. You returned and Kenna's fever had broke. Would the new year be as kind?"

"I don't know, my love," Francis replied, lifting his cup in acknowledgement of the Castleroys. "How is Caterina?"

"Perfect," Mary said with a smile. "Finally happy to meet her father."

"I've not left the children's sides in days... I ought to focus on political matters for a bit," he replied.

Mary chuckled softly. "We should take a break. Isolate ourselves from Court and spend time as a family before you take over the reins again. Aren't you relieved I didn't have the country burning down whilst you were gone?"

Francis kissed her hand. "I'm proud of you. Our people love you."

"Oh, they do?" Mary asked dubiously, but with a tone of amusement underneath.

He smiled. "They do," he promised her. "You dealt with the League appropriately."

"It was mostly Catherine."

"But you sent the orders," Francis said. "Delegation, sweetheart and I will..." He looked around before whispering something into her ear with made her blush and bite her lip. "Alright?"

"You better keep your word," she replied, turning to face him casually as if they had not just spoken about their bedchamber activities.

"I should offer Kenna a dance," Francis said quietly, watching as she spoke to Robin, tenderly rubbing his back.

"Why don't I?"

Francis turned to Philip. "You?"

"Yes," Philip replied. "Offer my sincerest condolences. She is your brother's widow, is she not?"

"You would do better to stay away from her," Elisabeth said, taking the words out of her brother's mouth. But for the public, "She must be still so awfully tender and sensitive. Not long gone through labour, almost perished trying to deliver the afterbirth and now continuing to grieve her beloved husband... The King of France will be better suited."

"Go," Mary told her husband.

Francis rose from his seated position and went over to Kenna and Robin. "It's good to see you well," he said and turned to Robin. "Robert Francis."

"Your Majesty."

"May I steal your mother away for a dance?"

Robin nodded. "You may." He left and found John and Lola.

Kenna tentatively accepted Francis's hand and allowed herself to be led to the dancefloor. Normally, she'd love dancing and parties and drinking and laughing. But no, she couldn't. Not now. If Nostradamus was speaking the truth, then where was he?

"I never got the chance to speak to you when I returned," he began as they glided across the floor, eyes on them.

"I haven't spoken to many people lately," was her reply.

"You will always be family, Kenna. Whatever you need, you just need to ask. We will grant it to you."

Kenna scoffed softly. "I need my husband. Can you grant me that?"

"Kenna, I-"

"I am not feeling so well," she mumbled. "I need to rest. Perhaps even check on Sophia. Excuse me."

She curtseyed and left quickly, tears stinging her eyes.

Francis turned to Mary, shrugging slightly. "I think I said the wrong thing," he mumbled when he sat back down. "I see Greer has gone after her."

"And today was meant to be happy..." Mary replied just as quietly.

"It is," Francis told, kissing her knuckles. "My love, it's a new year, everything will be alright."

...

"This is the French Court?"

Bash turned to Muriel as their horses continued to ride closer to the gates. "Yes."

"I'm glad you remembered everything. Sorry about the pot, although that was your fault," Muriel said. "If not for you remembering, I would never have the chance to meet the Queen!"

"Your infatuation with her is strange," Bash said, chuckling.

"She's beautiful, clever and cunning! Oh, and Scottish-French," Muriel explained. "What is not to be infatuated with?"

Bash snorted. Wouldn't the man like to know? "She's my sister-in-law."

"I still can't believe you are the King's brother."

"You better. We are here now," Bash replied, getting off his horse and leading it to the guards.

The guards eyed him warily before recognition dawned in their faces and they bowed.

"Someone's got some power!" Muriel cried out jokingly.

"Y-Your Grace, w-welcome-"

"Just open the gates," Bash said, almost rolling his eyes.

The gates were quickly lifted and Bash led Muriel in from the back, not wanting to hear the gasps or talks of him probably rising from the dead. He led them up the stairs, heading to his bedchambers.

"There's a feast, a grand affair it seems," Bash began to his companion. "I will change my clothes, freshen myself up and..."

As he rounded the corner, he saw his wife being chased down by her brother and he stopped, breathless.

...

"Kenna, wait!"

"What is it?" Kenna snapped, turning to face Robert. "I'm tired, Robert. I just want to be in peace."

Robert sighed. "Seeing as you are in low spirits... I received a letter from Paisley's husband. She's dead, Kenna."

Kenna froze, but her face showed no emotion. "I see. How?"

"Consumption," Robert replied. "I was hoping to tell you tomorrow after you began funeral plans for your husband."

"Is he able to fund the funeral for her?"

"I was planning to send 4000 crowns."

Kenna bit her lip. "Make that ten. I'll foot the 6000. And make sure her children's education is taken care of."

"You're not... surprised or saddened about the news?"

Kenna smiled wryly. "My heart is already broken, there are no more tears left to cry. Excuse me."

"Kenna," Robert began. "I never knew you were one to give up so easily."

"It's been months, Robert," Kenna snapped. "Almost six months since it happened. Miracles do not exist."

"I wouldn't be so sure about that."

Kenna almost collapsed but her brother held her, his own eyes widening at the sight of Bash.

"You bastard..." Kenna breathed out, her tears slipping down her cheeks.

"I thought you had no more tears left to cry, wife."

Kenna glared at him but then her gaze softened and she pushed her brother away so she could walk up to Bash, make sure that he was real. And there was only one way she could think of to prove that.

She slapped him. Hard.

"Ow!"

"I'm going to kill you! And then we will really need that funeral planning!" Kenna cried out, wrapping her arms around his neck and sobbing.

"I kept my prom-"

"Shut up, Bash," she snapped, before laughing. "You came home to me."

Bash smiled, tightening his grip. "As if I would ever stay apart form you willingly."

"So... is anyone going to direct me to a lovely gold chamberpot?"

They turned to see Muriel giving them an impatient look.

"Who is that?" Robert asked his sister's question.

"The bane of my life. Wife, brother-in-law, meet Muriel. The man who saved my life," Bash said. "Muriel, this is my wife, the Archduchess of Avon, Kenna. That is her brother, Duke Robert Beaton."

Muriel bowed respectfully. "It is lovely to meet you both. I am the man who saved his life and the man who is desperate to empty his aged bladder."

"Oh, right," Robert said. "I will direct you and find servants to dress you in something more... fitting."

"What is wrong with my clothes?"

They all glanced at his tattered, brown robes.

"Not very party-appropriate," Kenna said, laughing a little.

"Oh," Muriel said. "Would this mean I get to meet the Queen?"

"And the King!" Kenna told him. "To pay you for saving my husband's life. He would be most grateful and so am I." She turned to Bash. "Darling, we should offer him a reward-"

"For the past month, he's worn my ear off and now I have to pay him for that?" Bash asked lightly. "Very well. Let's get dressed first and return to this later."

...

"Dance with me, Francis!" Mary told her husband when she saw him starting to brood. They were full, their cups never-ending.

Francis smiled at his wife's enthusiasm and nodded, getting up and offering her his hand. They walked over to the dance floor as the next dance began. He loved her, the feeling of her smaller hand in his, perfect fit. She completed him and he couldn't do anything without her.

He spun her around and when she stopped, her back landed flush against his chest and he kissed her cheek gently before she twirled out of his grip, her dress flying. Then she spun back to him, the back of her hand hovering over his cheek as his own hand hovered over hers, both breathless, eyes dilated. The dance was a sensual one and it wasn't helping the sexual tension already present between them.

He had to have her.

Luckily enough, the dance ended and they excused themselves, citing that they needed to wish their youngest child goodnight. They were almost free until they ran into another couple upstairs.

"Oh, dear God!" Mary cried out, a hand on her heart.

"Bash?!"

Bash raised his eyebrows. "Busy, are we?"

"You're-You're alive!" Francis breathed out, bringing Bash into a tight hug as tears stung his eyes. "You're alive. Oh, God, I knew it. I knew you wouldn't be dead!"

"Apparently, I am dead," Bash replied lightly. "We were going to join the festivities. Let people believe they are losing their sanity by seeing a ghost."

Francis shook his head with a laugh, pulling away to look at the women. "Forget the party. I have a better idea instead to celebrate."

And that's how they ended up in the gardens, bottles of champagne, dancing in the snow and stolen kisses between couples under the moonlight. Despite all being parents, they felt like the children themselves tonight, playing tag and throwing snowballs at each other.

Peace.

Mary closed her eyes and inhaled the deep fresh air into her nostrils.

"Do you think they'll notice if we finally had a moment to ourselves?" Francis whispered in one ear, moving to the other. "If I took you and made love to you all night long?"

Mary shivered, tilting her head to the side slightly so he could kiss her neck and wrap his arms around her slimming waist. Her fingers curled into his locks and she could feel the snow become to take effect on her body.

"Warm me up?" She replied huskily.

She could feel his kiss on the back of her neck and she beamed, her eyes snapping open. Soon after, he led her back inside and to their bedchambers.