A/N
I'm not dead! I have however, been procrastinating, hence the time it took for this to come out. The characters are a little OOC but i think they'll be fine. I also used some Scottish Gaelic and French in here so I'll put the translations right here!
Translations:
mon cheri - my darling (French)
mon amour - my love (French)
mar sin leat- goodbye (Scottish Gaelic)
gum biodh Dia leat air do thuras air ais - may God be with you on your return journey (Scottish Gaelic)
*Please let me know if I missed any!*
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"Get a deep purple gown for the christening, preferably a plum color," Lola demands to the poor tailor's apprentice, picking up and aimlessly tossing fabrics one after the other, "and add a fleur de lis bracelet won't you? After all, I am the mother of the king's first born. I might as well be his mistress." She perked up, "ooh, I like that. King's mistress. I am that, aren't I right Sarah?"
"Is it just me or has Lola gotten a lot more…" Kenna trailed off, her and Greer just outside the woman of the conversation's new chamber–the one she had demanded the week before.
"Bossy? Conceited? Arrogant?" Greer filled in with options, sneering at the self-proclaimed "king's mistress" sorting through intricate patterns one after the other.
"We should go. Lola might not be one of Mary's ladies anymore but we certainly still are." Kenna lightly gripped Greer's arm, pulling her away from Lola's door.
"What happened to her? I want the old Lola back" Greer sighed, exasperated and let herself be dragged away.
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A head of blond hair peeked around the Queen of Scots' door, looking in to see his queen staring distantly out the window. "Hello," he greeted, startling Mary.
She spun around, "Francis! I wasn't expecting you, do you not have a meeting with your council soon?"
"I do," he started, walking to Mary, "but I wanted to make sure you were alright, you know, with Lola?"
"Rumors travel fast." She sighs, "as well as one can be with their husband's self proclaimed mistress under the same roof."
"I assure you, Lola is not my mistress."
Mary smirked, "you wouldn't dare take a mistress while your wife is carrying your child, would you?"
"Of course n-" Francis's eyes widened in realization, "you're pregnant? Not that I would take a mistress if you weren't…"
"Yes, it's been some weeks since I found out and it's still early but I am finally with child!"
Francis could barely contain his happiness, swiftly closing the gap between husband and wife for a passionate kiss- one that both had deepened before Mary pulled away, much to Francis's poorly hidden disappointment. "You still have an important meeting to attend."
Francis pouted, crossing his arms, resembling a toddler, and fell back upon the nearby chaise.
"You have to go, you're the king." Mary beckoned, sitting beside him.
"Can't you go with me?"
"Would you be able to listen to the nobles at all then?" Mary exclaimed, laughing joyously. She leaned in and whispered sultrily, "I'll be all yours once you're back."
"Well, then I better get this meeting over with." Francis half-announced and offered his wife a hand.
Settling her hand in Francis's, she let him pull her up. "I'm going out for a walk in the courtyard with my ladies for a bit."
"Alright, be careful my love." Francis kissed his queen before turning to the door.
She gently grasped Francis's arm, stopping him in his steps. "Don't tell anyone yet, it's still quite early."
Francis smiled, "of course, whatever you want."
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"Mary! That's great news! Congratulations!" Greer exclaimed, enveloping Mary in her arms.
"I pray to God that Lola will shut up now," Kenna mumbled.
The now trio had to agree. Lola hadn't stopped rubbing how she got pregnant in one night and Mary couldn't conceive in over half a year.
"That little rat has been insufferable. Kenna and I saw her in her new chambers this morning. 'and add a fleur de lis bracelet won't you? After all, I am the mother of the king's first born. I might as well be his mistress.'' Greer mocked with an eye roll.
"Fleur de lis?" Mary asked, not surprised. Exactly who did she think she was? Even mistresses shouldn't wear fleur de lis's–those were strictly reserved for the royal family.
"All that power has gone to her head apparently. She's all but declaring herself the queen." Kenna remarked as she kicked at the pebbles under her feet.
The three finally approached the little picnic Mary had some servants set up. They took a seat on the soft blanket while Greer half-joked, "give it a few days."
"How do you think Lola would react?" Kenna asked, concerned.
An awkward silence filled the air but the friends knew the answer–It would be very likely that Lola would try something.
Mary interlocked her fingers on both hands, making a subtle clapping noise. "Enough about Lola. Kenna, how is married life with Bash?"
Kenna faked a groan and playfully rolled her eyes. "Terrible. The amazing sex does make up for everything."
"I heard. Who hasn't? I'm just surprised you haven't managed to break a hole through the floor yet!" Greer joked before reaching across for a strawberry.
"Well, mercifully, we haven't even cracked the bed in half yet."
Both Mary and Greer's eyes met each other then Kenna's, both with eyebrows lifted. "Lies. I saw maids hauling a new bed into your chambers two nights ago."
The brunette blushed deeply, a rosy red spreading across her tan skin, "you can't underestimate passion!"
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Mary trailed her fingers up and down her husband's bare chest, listening to the rhythmic breaths he took, with her other hand on her abdomen. The young queen stared out the window at the glaring morning sun, lost in thought.
"Mary," the fair-headed king whispered, having awoken from his slumber. His wife heard naught. "Mary," he tried again, gently shaking her using the arm that was wrapped around her.
The Queen of France and Scotland snapped out of her trance and looked up at her king, "yes my love?"
"Something troubling you?"
"Nothing to worry about, just nerves about the christening and Lola."
"I know you Mary. That's not it. Tell me."
The 17-year-old tried to squirm out from Francis' embrace but he only tightened his grip, starting to tickle her with his other arm. "Francis! Stop! We have a busy day ahead of us!" She giggled.
"Not until you tell me what's really troubling my beautiful wife," Francis continued to tickle Mary.
"Fine! You are so bothersome!" She squealed and the tickles subsided.
"So?"
Mary turned her body to her lover before saying, "It's Lola. I'm worried she won't take the news well."
"The news? That you're pregnant? I don't think she'll be a danger." He replied whilst running his hand through Mary's silky tresses.
She looked down, face flushed with embarrassment for worrying about something so unlikely. "You're right, that was nonsense."
Francis gave her a small smile, "But if it eases your conscience, I'll move her and Jean to the nearby cottage on the grounds. It's not too far from here so I could still visit my son but far enough to make sure you're safe from her." He finished, leaning down to softly kiss his wife's lips before getting up to reach for a robe.
"Francis, you don't have to do that for me. I don't want to separate you from your son." Although Mary resented Lola for her multiple betrayals and attitude of superiority, she knew that the little babe had no faults in this clash of former friends. He couldn't control his conception, no one could.
"I insist," he responded, passing her a deep red robe. "I'll still be able to see Jean, and whatever my alluring wife and future mother of my children wants, she gets. You two are my top priority."
She blushed deeply while slipping into her robe and walking over to her grandeur wardrobe and right on time, a knock was heard on her doors, her ladies waiting outside to ready her for the day.
A pair of arms snaked around her waist just as she was about to open the door, "Send them away, I'll help you dress today." He seductively whispered into her ear.
Mary bit her bottom lip and looked up at her lover, "do you even know how to tie a corset?"
"No, but I'm sure you can teach me."
The Queen of Scots, Queen Consort of France, and possibly England, as everyone wanted her to be relented, reached for the gold handle and pulled open the large doors. "Kenna, Greer, you don't need to read me today. I can do it myself."
"Is Francis gonna help you? Are you sure you'll be ready in time for breakfast?" Kenna teased as Greer shook her head trying to conceal her laughter.
"Kenna!" Mary playfully scolded before closing the door in their faces.
"So?" Francis asked, an eyebrow cocked.
"I guess I should pick out my dress for the day then." She said, heading for her wardrobe once more after giving her husband a quick kiss.
After careful consideration and leafing through her closet, she narrowed it down to 2 gowns, those of which were sprawled out on the large bed. Mary stood at the side with her hands on her hips, "Love, help me pick one of these gowns please."
Quickly finishing tying his tunic, Francis walked up to Mary to help her decide on a gown for the day. "Well, I'd prefer you wear nothing at all."
Mary playfully hit him on the chest, scoffing, "And let the entire court see things that are meant for your eyes only?"
"On second thought, the blue one looks good." He quickly amended.
Satisfied with his answer, Mary picks up the corset that was set aside last night and hands it to Francis, "You realize that lacing and unlacing a corset is very different right?"
"How hard can it be? Besides, you can help me."
"No I can't, I wear a damn corset every day but I don't know how to lace it." Mary jokes.
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The royal family along with Mary's ladies conversed with each other through the lavish breakfast being served to them, Francis sits at the head with Mary, the two beside each other per his request once becoming king, building their reputation as the king and queen who couldn't keep away from each other, Catherine sat next to Francis on the left side of the table, informing him of his duties for the day whilst Greer and Kenna sat next to Mary on the right side of the table, doing the same. This happened every day like clockwork, except this one day.
Harsh heel-clicking against the tile was concealed by the numerous voices and bustling servants coming in and out of the grand hall. It was not until she loudly cleared her voice did the royals notice her and the infant in her arms. "Seems like someone has forgotten to invite me."
Mary rolled her eyes and glared at the brazen woman, "no one forgot. You simply weren't invited. You're no longer my lady, you no longer have a place."
"I'm the mother of the king's only child. I should have a place here, so I'm going to take it." Lola took a seat at the end of the table, still cradling her son. The self-control in the queen was impeccable.
"So, Francis. I was thinking, after Jean-Philippe's christening, I would like to have a closer chamber and nursery to yours, so you may spend more time with your son," the curly hair woman reached for the spoon and bowl left by kitchen maids to feed the innocent babe.
Mary nudged her husband's arm, urging him to tell her the news. Francis slowly nodded, placing a hand on Mary's arm. "Lola." He started. "We've decided that after the christening, you and Jean will be moved to Roselands Cottage on the castle grounds."
The woman froze in shock as the last of his words were delivered. Sending his child and the mother of his child to a mere cottage instead of staying at the lavish Chateau de Fontainebleau? This was unthinkable to the unwed mother. "Francis, darling, are you sure? It will be much harder for you to see your son. Why don't we just move my chambers as I had suggested."
Kenna rolled her eyes, mumbling, "how many times must one move their chambers," incoherent to others. Lady Castleroy sitting beside her simply looked irritated and bored with the behavior of a former friend, loosely making swirls in her porridge with her spoon.
Mary, for once was grateful for the nausea that washed over her that morning, quickly getting up and excusing herself from the now turned awkward breakfast to rush to the nearest chamber pot to empty her stomach, Francis was never far, chasing after his wife, tenderly brushing her hair back and rubbing her back.
After regurgitating the contents inside, the young queen collapsed against her husband, weak from vomiting the food consumed earlier. Francis swiftly reached for the goblet of water left on the table as snacks for the royal couple and brought it to her lips, prompting her to drink the cool liquid.
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"You look spectacular mon amour," Francis greeted, offering her an arm, which she took graciously, looping hers around his. The royal couple was donned in a beautiful matching black and dark red outfit. Francis in a long dark red velvet coat with black embellishments, black vest with shiny red swirls embroidered on, leather breeches, boots, and topped off with his French crown. His queen was dressed in a silky, a-neckline, deep red gown, lace-up red heels, with her dark hair tied up in intricate braids surrounding a gold tiara with pearls, topped off with a beautifully expensive diamond necklace.
She smiled and leaned up for a kiss, "and you too darling."
They made their way into the royal carriage, prepared for a bumpy ride to the church. Soon, the two heard the tell-tale sound of their cue, along with the door opening. "His Majesty, King Francis II of the House of Valois, King of France and King Consort of Scotland and its Isles!" The herald waiting outside announced as Francis stepped out, sticking a hand back in the carriage to help his young wife whilst the herald continued, "Her Majesty, Queen Mary I of Clan Stuart, Queen of Scotland and its Isles and Queen Consort of France!"
Once they were both out of the carriage, Mary and Francis nodded, motioning for the servants, nobles, and commoners gathered to rise, just before another carriage rolled up, the herald once again announced, "Lady Lola of Clan Fleming and her child!"
Out stepped the disgraced woman, her hand gripping the side of the door frame to display the glistening fleur de lis bracelet on her wrist- something that caught the attention of many nobles who turned their heads at such disrespect and ostentatiousness, even for them-. The only thing possibly more noticeable than the gold bracelet in the sun was the girl who stepped out of the carriage, dressed in a sparkly plum gown, grabbing the attention of everyone in the crowd.
Oblivious to the looks from the crowd, Lola scanned the scenery for her target. "Francis!" She exclaimed, moving to the uncomfortable king and queen, "isn't this day just lovely? Our son is getting christened!" The curly-haired woman practically shoved the poor baby boy into Francis's arm.
He awkwardly smiled, holding his firstborn. "Well, we must be going then, we shouldn't be late." He extended an arm out to his wife, the other arm balancing the child, and ignored the glaring mother. It was clear to everyone there. Lola had wanted to take Mary's place, walk beside the king, dote on the child, spend every possible waking moment together, she wanted everything her queen had.
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Lola was nursing a goblet of wine, watching others fawn over Jean-Phillips, ready to intervene if anyone hurt the newly appointed Baron of Valay. As vain as this woman was, she was still a mother with somewhat of a maternal instinct. "Lady Lola, a letter was sent for you." A messenger handed her the said letter and left as quickly as he arrived.
She quickly recognized the seal from her family and opened the parchment, eyes darting left and right in excitement, scanning through the paper.
Lola,
The family congratulates you on your new child but I cannot say that your mother and I are pleased with it. You have disgraced this family beyond repair. We are spat at in the market, mocked on the streets, no one would buy or sell to us. We have no choice but to disown you and unfortunately, I am not going to apologize for this decision.
You were chosen to be Queen Mary's lady since you were five. Your duty was to her, not to sleep and bear the child of her betrothed.
We wish you the best in this life, as you will no longer benefit from the family title and money. Along with those losses, you are no longer permitted in our estates, and this will be the last letter you receive from anyone of the Fleming descent.
Mar sin leat,
Malcolm Fleming
She stared at the letter in shock. How did her family find out so quickly? They couldn't even meet her face to face one last time? Grief overtook the woman and she abandoned the poor child to flee to the halls.
Leaning against the cold hard stone wall, Lola let the tears flow, leaking out like a faucet at her misfortune.
"Lola?" a wary yet familiar voice called out.
She looked up through her blurry eyes to see the faint, obscured blonde. "Greer?" She wiped away the tears to see her suspicions confirmed.
Greer picked at her nails. "I thought you'd enjoy all this attention. Pageantry for you and your son."
Lola scoffed, "if you're here to berate me, I won't hear of it. Just go back inside."
Despite her head saying no, her gracious heart heard none of it, Greer couldn't help but feel her heart soften at the sight of her former friend in the tear and kohl stained face state. After much internal fighting and reluctance, she finally decided to give into what she felt was right, "I came out for some air, not to berate you on your wrongdoings. Are you alright Lola?"
Sarcasm laced her voice, "I just got disowned and found out that this is the last letter I'm ever getting from my family," she held up the envelope only to let it drop with her hand mere seconds after making her point, "you tell me whether I'm ok."
Greer's remaining resolve broke away, rushing forward to envelope the girl who had lost her family as she would've not so long ago. "I'm so sorry, I can't imagine being cut off by my family, even if my father is just horrible."
"Greer, will you help me with something?" Lola asked, a small smile shining through her tears and gruesome, dangerous hope was reignited.
The blonde returned the smile with naivety, "of course, what do you need?"
"Help me. Help me win Francis's heart. Help me create a family I can be a part of with him and our son. Help me become his mistress, if not his queen."
Greer pulled away as if Lola's skin was made of acid, her walls immediately went up, hardening her heart once more. She looked at the woman with dark, incredulous eyes. "Are you really asking me this? Are you actually asking me to betray my queen and my friend? You have not changed in the slightest. You are still the arrogant, selfish, manipulating whore."
Lola looked like a puppy who'd been kicked, "you said you'd help me! Am I so wrong to want what's best for myself?!"
Lady Castleroy shook her head slowly, "Yes. When it comes at the cost of someone you pledged your loyalty, yes. You've made your choice to betray your queen. I'm choosing to stay loyal to my friend." She turned away to go back to the party before casting the betrayer a last look, "you better pray to God that Mary doesn't decide to take your head for your numerous treasons. I will turn the other cheek on this but never again Lola."
Lola stood alone in the hall, eyes narrowing at no one. It's Mary's fault all of my friends have turned on me. They are just begging to be released from her service as I had been. She convinced herself that her deranged thoughts were the truth and swiftly got to work.
She locked herself in her chambers, rinsing her face down with the rosewater filled basin and reapplied the make-up, stashing the damned letter away, reconstructing the confident, now un-titled, woman she was before.
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"Do you happen to have pennyroyal? My courses have been quite bad," she politely requested the kitchen boy, strolling into the soil floor kitchen.
He nodded, quickly swiping a few sprigs from the shelf, "here you go m'lady."
She nodded back in acknowledgement, "thank you." Turning her back to the boy, her hair lightly whipping his face as she walked away smirking.
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Once more, she locked herself in her chambers, plucking off bundles of the leaves and dropping them in a small satchel that was safely tucked away in her hidden pocket. This will end my worries, make my life so much easier. She thought to herself as she walked back to the party, hoping that during the near quarter of an hour, no one noticed she was gone.
Lola went back to her position of watching over the small infant, keeping a close eye out for her chance to end this once and for all.
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"Are you tired, love? We can retire, it's well into the night." Francis whispered into Mary's ear as they continued surveilling the gathering.
She put a hand on his upper arm and offered a reassuring smile, "You're sweet to ask, I promise, I'm fine. Enjoy your son's christening dear." The queen motioned for a server holding a silver platter with a teacup on top of it to step forward. She quietly thanked him as Mary gripped the porcelain teacup handle.
"Promise to tell me at the first sign of uneasiness?" He fretted.
Mary lifted the teacup up to her lips, taking several sips of the liquid before making another promise. "Yes cheri, I'll tell you at the first sign of uneasiness." She downed half the cup before setting it down on a nearby table. "Now come, dance with me," she smiled and pulled her husband to the middle of the room. "Music!" She called out to the orchestra near the corner.
Francis grinned at his beautiful wife as he let her lead him to dance, grateful for such a forgiving, strong, and rightful person in his life. They waltz across the room along to the beautiful symphony of melodies, quickly taking the center of attention, all Francis could think about as they looked into each other's eyes, the rich earth meeting the soaring sky–much like the Greek myth of Ghea and Uranus–, was how lucky he was for the heavens above to unite them against all odds, against the pressure of their two countries, and for them to find love where no one expected them to, much less find the love of a lifetime in each other. He had no doubt that if he had married anyone else, they would not take so kindly to finding he had sired a bastard.
"Francis-" Panic filled her voice, her grip tightening on his shoulder. A small whimper escaped, her eyes shut in pain as her other hand flew to her abdomen, still holding onto the king for support.
"Mary!" His hands instinctively tightened around her waist to steady her.
She looked up to him with pleading eyes, "something's wrong. Something's wrong with the baby-" Mary groaned with pain.
He frantically looked throughout the room, yelling at anyone, "get the queen a physician and a midwife!"
This caught everyone's attention, including a certain dark-haired woman. Lola stood there, rattle in hand with wide "deer in headlights" eyes. Everyone was thinking the same thing–a midwife for the queen? That could only mean one thing. The queen of Scotland and France was finally with child.
The rigidness in the crowd angered the blonde king, who in response once again roared, "GET THE QUEEN A PHYSICIAN AND MIDWIFE," his voice echoed throughout the high-ceilinged room. Francis picked his wife up, cradling her in his arms as tears streamed down her face, praying to god to allow the unborn babe to stay on earth, for it was much too early for them to join their ancestors.
The nobles and commoners alike were taken aback by the typically mellow kings' outburst, quickly filing around to look for his demands.
After what felt like an eternity, physicians were finally located and brought over, trailed by the midwives. They hurried the king and queen out of the party, leaving the dazed crowd behind to process the news.
Amongst the gossip and excitement for a new heir, no one noticed Lola smirking, silently praising herself for her genius. She picked up the little Baron of Valay and quietly exited the celebrations for her own. Her plan was to give Mary the pennyroyal tea, make her sick from it long enough for her to sneak in a lethal dose of poison. Turns out, it turned out better than she expected. Everyone knows that pennyroyal also doubles as a pregnancy termination drug.
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Francis paced the floors outside of the large wood doors, leaving the stone with signs of weariness. Anger, grief, confusion, thousands of emotions pounded through the poor man. In a burst of impulsiveness, he slammed his fist into the wall, hissing at the contact of skin scratching against stone.
"Your majesty?" The voice of a midwife caught his attention immediately.
He spun from the wall to the woman, quickly inquiring, "How's the queen?"
The woman, known as Eloise, smiled, bringing relief to the desperate king. "Queen Mary is well, we managed to stop the bleeding. The child lives."
Francis exhaled, closing his eyes to bask in solace and luck. "May I see her?"
She nodded, moving aside to let him in–a chance he took immediately, slipping through the crack–, Eloise decided to quietly close the door, allowing a brief moment of peace and joy before addressing the dumbfound nobles for the royal couple.
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When he walked in, the first thing he saw was Mary, sitting up on the small cot sipping water from a chalice, staring into blank space. Upon a closer look, he noticed her eyes were bloodshot and puffy, clear evidence of crying over something she thought she'd lose what they'd both wanted for so long.
Hushed footsteps grew closer but she made no movement, merely nursing the water. "Mary," he warily whispered. "Mary," he tried again, firmer this time as he stepped closer. Still no response. "Mary." Francis once again spoke, this time, lowering the cup and lightly shaking her shoulders.
This finally worked, she blinked and turned to him as if she'd responded right away, letting a small but pained smile grace her features. "Francis," she breathed, "they wouldn't tell me anything but that I was poisoned by the tea. Please say you know something." Mary pleaded, tears appeared at the corners of her eyes, threatening to fall over the ledge.
Francis sat next to her, wrapping his arms around her figure and pulling her head in to rest on his shoulder, "shhh, it's alright. Our baby is fine, you're fine," he comforted, running his fingers through her hair.
In the arms of her beloved, she weeped, clinging onto the fabric of Francis's tunic and burying her face in his shoulders. She wept for the miracle that was their child, she wept for the near loss of them. She wept for relief and grief alike.
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When Mary awoke, the light was streaming through the large paned window, indicating the next morning, but she was not greeted by her husband as she'd expect, but by her ladies sitting around her, reading from a book. She tiredly rubbed her eyes, "where's Francis?"
Greer looked up from her book, as did Kenna, "Mary! You're awake!"
"Francis had to address the nobles about this whole situation." Kenna answered.
Mary slowly nodded, "I want to take a walk."
"Of course, we'll accompany you." Greer smiled and set her book down.
Mary held a hand up to stop her while getting up, "no, I want to go alone."
The two ladies looked at each other in concern before Greer finally spoke up. "Mary, we were given orders to stay with you at all times by Francis."
The queen nodded, "Be that as it may. I don't want a word about who I'm going to visit and you two will stay outside the door."
If they weren't worried before, they certainly were now. What was so secretive their mistress had to use such an authoritative tone with them? This voice was strictly reserved for the queen, not the woman. For the people, not her friends. For the ones that invoke her fury, not the ones she loves. With the change in behavior, Kenna and Greer had no choice but to follow both their king and queen's orders.
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Winding through the maze of corridors that is the French palace, Greer and Kenna were shocked at the door they stood in front of. They wanted to ask questions, why was Mary here, what does she have to do with this, what has she done, they were foaming at the mouth with questions but per Mary's commands, they could say nor do anything but stand guard as they let their imaginations run wild to picture what may be happening.
Mary walked into the chamber, composure still regal-like despite the wrinkled gown, lightly knotted hair, and obvious remnants of tear paths. She looked anything but a queen to be quite frank. Her eyes were dulled with fury as they roamed the room before landing on the woman.
"Mary, what brings you to my chambers?" Lola asked with fake sweetness.
She glared at the woman, "it's 'your majesty' to you," the queen sneered. "I know it was you Lola."
Lola feigned confusion, "whatever do you mean, your majesty."
Mary stepped towards her menacing, "do not play dumb with me. I know you're the one who poisoned me and almost cost Francis and I our child."
The curly-haired woman shrugged nonchalantly and picked up a book, "I have no idea what you're talking about. Maybe it was a nobleman who disliked you. Or maybe Elizabeth."
She almost laughed, "Elizabeth? You expect me to believe that Elizabeth knew of my pregnancy, when the only ones who knew were Nostradomas, Francis, Greer, and Kenna? The entirety of France, Scotland, and even England has awaited the news of my pregnancy, they don't have a motive. Elizabeth is cunning. She wouldn't risk something so obvious."
Lola's eyes darted away, opting to look at the door instead, trying to think of an excuse to get suspicions off of her. "You must've gone mad if you think I had anything to do with your–" Before she could finish, she felt a hand gripping her jawline to turn her to look into the eyes of a very angry queen.
"I have not gone mad, I am, however, enraged. You have tempted my fury and that is not something to be taken lightly." Both the position Lola was in and the sight of her sovereign queen holding so much rage scared her to no end as Mary's grip tightened to an almost bruising strength. "The only reason Francis knows nothing of this treachery is your son. He does not deserve to grow up without a mother because she was too incompetent but I warn you. I could easily take your place as Jean's mother— something I'm sure my husband would prefer— and if you try to do anything to my child, that will be the case. So I suggest you mind your own life and tend to your son. He may be the only person on this earth that cares about you." Mary released her grip suddenly, flexing her fingers and turning away from the woman with a hand on her chest, taking small, quick breaths.
Greer and Kenna were outside the door, brimming with curiosity when said door finally opened and out stepped their queen. "Mary, what happened?" Kenna bombarded.
Mary swiftly passed by them, walking at a quick pace with her ladies following closely behind her. "Just giving someone a warning." She answered grimly whilst they made their way down the corridor and to the throne room. They almost made it in but were abruptly stopped by no one other than Catherine De Medici.
"Mary, my dear. You must rest. The prince within you must be kept safe." She gently spoke, taking Mary's hand and leading her back down the corridor to her shared chambers. Even though Mary knew Catherine hadn't meant it, her sentence was like rubbing salt in the wound. She almost hadn't been able to keep her own child safe inside her, the one job she had and she would've failed at it– she should've checked what was in the tea before consuming it.
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"Francis?" The dark-hair queen craned her neck towards the door to get a clearer view of the person entering the royal chamber from the bed.
He offered a small smile as he took small strides to his wife for a long-awaited kiss. "I've missed you."
Mary blushed and playfully punched him, "It's only been a few hours."
Francis rested a hand on her abdomen, "And how's our little miracle? Have you felt any pains since I was gone?" He asked affectionately.
"They're fine, and no, there's been no pain since last night cheri." She rested her head on his chest as he caressed her locks. "Although it has been incredibly dull. Your mother saw me in the halls whilst I was taking a walk and she has banished me to our chambers." Mary pouted and weakly threw the book she'd been reading to the other side of the bed to make a point.
The blond man cupped her face with both hands and turned her face to look up at him, "she's only looking out for you, but you are the current queen, my queen. If you want to continue your duties before you're rushed off by a cloud of midwives to 'take to your chambers'". He understood his wife's need for action, for whilst he'd love some time to rest, he couldn't imagine being confined to a single room, only allowed to see certain people for over a month's time. She loved being a queen and Francis loved watching her handle nagging nobles and greedy merchants. Many kings would be furious to have a queen such as her, but Francis could not be more proud to have the Queen of Scots as his wife and co-ruler.
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Lola threw the delicately binded book against the floor in frustration, resting her head on her hands, she heavily sighed. The woman had been leafing through a mountain of books about herbs, trying to find some sort of poison that may kill her enemy. I will not let my son grow up with Mary as a mother. Jean cannot grow up hating me, even if I'm dead. She will be disposed of. Even if the price is my own life.
Sliding yet another book on the desk, she leafed through the pages with boredom, until a particular plant warning caught her eye.
*This particular plant may cause temporary paralysis if the grinded powder is mixed with water.
Lola remembered Mary telling her and the other girls oh so long ago about how Catherine had escaped from the tower and threw a poisonous seed in her bath, causing her to nearly drown. That'd do. She dramatically slammed the book shut and smirked to no one in particular.
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She got to work at the break of dawn, getting dressed in a simple, silk, square neckline, red dress, paired with charcoal gray heels and a simple crystal leaf band nestled atop her intricately woven half-up hair. Lola hurriedly past the large doors holding slumbering people around them and up to the master of poisons herself chambers. She slipped a carefully written false letter for Catherine to meet a new nobleman and his family on an outing away from the castle for lunch. The dark-haired woman knew the Dowager-Queen wouldn't pass up an opportunity to get another high-placing lord under her belt.
Lola sashayed to the royal nursery smugly and held her head up high. She quietly approached the crib and brushed her fingers against his soft, chubby cheeks. "Good morning my sweet."
Jean-Phillippe babbled and stretched out his tiny arms and legs in response before settling back into peaceful slumber.
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"Catherine!" Mary called out behind said woman.
She turned around in a hurry, "I really mustn't be late dear, I'm having late lunch with the Duke of La Marche and you should be in bed."
The current queen waved her hands dismissively, "Midwives say I'm well enough to roam and Francis allows me to continue my duties until I take to my chambers."
"Alright, tell me what you want, quickly."
"Keep your poisons away from Lola, please. She may have tried to poison me at the christening."
Catherine imitated Mary's previous gesture and waved aloofly, "Of course dear, I'll make sure a guard is posted every second of the day when I get back, I really must be going now."
Mary nodded slowly and warily, "Thank you, good luck on your lunch."
The blonde scoffed, "luck? I don't need it when I have wealth."
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Lola looked at the great grandfather clock in the wide hall. Four twenty-five. Perfect. Catherine should be long gone from her stash of poisons and herbs by now.
"Queen Catherine asked me to retrieve a gift for the Duke of La Marche and meet her at their outing, may I pass?" She lied to the guards posted at the mahogany doors.
They looked at each other and nodded, believing the obvious lie and parted the doors.
"Thank you." She sauntered in, pausing to wait for privacy. Once the tell-tale closing was heard, she got to work rummaging through vials of color. When she didn't find what she was looking for, she moved onto Catherine's herb covered desk. Lola carefully shuffled leaves, oils, and a variety of powders until she found a bundle of the dried leaves. Taking out a few–enough to make a strong enough powder, but not so much it'll be noticeable–, she broke them in threes and let them tumble into the marble mortar. Dark-brown eyes scanned the messy surface for the pestle, locating it in a matter of seconds underneath some recipe pages.
Lola held the pestle firm in her hand and grinded down until it was fine powder. She then produced a small detailed gold box from her pockets and poured the contents in. Making sure that it was completely sealed, Lola exited the room and walked away feeling victorious, but not before instructing the guards. "No need to tell Queen Catherine of my visit, she is aware." She held up the intricate container, "there's an expensive royal brooch she's gifting and would rather keep it secret." The dark-haired woman knew all of Catherine's guards were sworn to her, not Francis, and she'd be a fool not to take advantage of that.
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Mary and Francis sat on their respective thrones hand in hand listening to the commoners and nobles express their concerns and disagreements. They were both bored out of their minds, although they'd never show it, as they resolved one conflict after another with agreement and ease.
The comte of Lyonnais stepped forward, determined to express his own concerns. "Your majesties. My congratulations on the coming of the new heir but I must say, what if you were to lose the child, or if it is born a girl?"
The king and queen's eyebrows furrowed at the question. Every noble no doubt had asked this themselves but no one had asked directly to their faces.
"Why do you ask this?" Francis inquired.
"Well, like with the late Queen of England, Catherine of Aragon, she was barren for many years and had six miscarriages. It is no secret she has not conceived a healthy heir with over a year of marriage."
The last sentence struck Mary like lightning and she immediately tensed up and turned her head away. Her king noticed the change in his wife as his calm appearance turned stormy dark. "Comte Cadieux, I suggest you banish that thought from your mind and keep our child in your prayers, or you may find your title and land in another's hand and your head upon a pike."
The comte gulped, "I apologize for such intrusive thoughts, I will pray each night for a healthy child. Please forgive my foolishness."
Francis waved him off and he scurried out like a mouse, the fair-headed husband turned his attention away, gently using his thumb to stroke Mary's hand, "are you alright love?"
She offered a small smile and a nod, "thank you."
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Catherine stalked through the halls in anger until she came across her eldest son. "Francis!"
He smiled and greeted, "mother."
"Look into the Duke of La Marche for me please dear."
"I'm not sure why, have you received intel on the new duke?" Francis asked, concerned.
She brooded, "he was supposed to meet me for a late lunch today, I waited for nearly 2 hours for him to show! I ought to have his head for this offense." How could one blow off the queen-mother of France and the infamous Catherine De Medici? Simply unheard of.
Francis furrowed his brows in confusion, "he came to court today, hours after noon. That can't be right." He distinctly remembered the man coming to pay his respects and congratulations, along with inquiring about the possible takeover of England with this new heir. A fine fellow indeed, certainly not one who'd forget about an important meeting.
"I got a letter from him this morning, why send an invitation if he'd be here?" She pondered aloud.
His eyes widened in realization, "it wasn't sent by him. It was sent by someone else as a distraction." Francis panicked, "Mary." He broke out in a run towards the bathing room, praying to the God above to spare her life.
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She really felt like crap. There was nothing more she looked forward to than the nice, relaxing feeling of warm water running down her bare body at the end of each day. Mary stood there, letting her body be undressed and her hair pinned up by her handmaidens. She stepped out from the mess of garments pooled on the floor and the ladies took their leave as usual. She walked away from the pile and towards the steaming bath, sinking herself beneath the warmth and instantly relaxed, closing her eyes in pleasure.
Suddenly, like deja vu, she felt a cold metal against her neck and her eyes flew open to try to get a look at her assailant. Before she could, however, she heard a whisper, much like before but with a completely different message, "my son will be the next king of France, one way or another." And with that, Lola dumped the contents into the bath water, listening to it fizzle before removing the dagger. "Scream and I'll plunge this into your heart," Lola threatened.
"This… this is… madness… Lola…" Mary stumbled, drifting in and out of consciousness. Her limbs numbed, losing her grip on the wooden bathtub, her vision faded black before water filled her lungs. She couldn't even scream for help if she wanted to and all she could think about was the child in her stomach. The child who'd never get to meet their kind-hearted father. The child who would never see the world and all of its glory. Not even the worst parts of the earth.
Lola tried to flee the scene, flee her crime, but when she tried to escape through the secret passage she came from, the panel just wouldn't budge. She banged on the panel in desperation. "Damn it!" She cried in fury and despair. She was cornered. She couldn't exit through the front door, there'd certainly be guards posted outside. Her back pressed against the wall as the poisoned steam swirled around her. There was no choice but to breathe it in. Just as she collapsed, she saw a man with a bright golden halo barge in, no, not a halo. A head of blonde. Francis.
"Mary!" Francis panicked and hurried over to lift her out. He tried gently slapping her in an attempt to wake her, "please, wake up darling, please," he weeped, holding her unconscious body. "Guards!" He called out, and on cue, they burst through the door and quickly looked to the side, careful as to not catch a glimpse of the unclothed queen.
"Yes my lord," they answered simultaneously.
"Get a physician for the queen!" He commanded whilst shielding his wife's bare body with an embrace.
The guard closer to the exit nodded and hurried off down the corridor. "Your majesty, what should we do with Lady Lola?" The remaining ask, looking at the unconscious body on the floor.
In the midst of panic, he hadn't seen the body sprawled on the floor. Francis saw red at the mention of her name. "Take her to the dungeon. She will be dealt with as soon as possible."
Lola awoke to rough hands lifting her off the ground and reactively jerked her arms away but alas, the grip was too strong, she glared up at her opposer. "Take your filthy hands off of me! I'm the mother of the king's first-born and his mistress!"
"Address yourself as my mistress again and I'll personally see that you will be drawn and quartered at the next dawn."
The "lady" sharply turned her head towards the source of the threat and her eyes widened in fear at the sight. "Francis! Please! I only did this for our son! So that we could be a family and Jean would never be in danger!" She pleaded, still resisting against the struggling guard.
"Do not use Jean as an excuse for your wrongdoings. You alone have done this to the light and love of my life and I swear to the almighty God, you will pay for this with your life," he fumed, "get this wretched witch out of my sight." He spat out with enough venom to slaughter an entire village.
"No! Please don't do this to me! Francis!" Lola's voice slowly waned hopelessly, watching the miracle–although she certainly wouldn't call it that–unfurl before her eyes whilst being dragged down the corridor. Her plan had failed. Her death, her sacrifice, would be in vain, for Mary had suddenly opened her eyes, gasping for air as if she had risen from the dead. Now, Lola only saw Francis and Mary in each other's arms, Francis peppering Mary with kisses all over in relief.
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"Lola." A calm voice with underlying anger, like a single wrong move would set off the lion, greeted the doomed former friend.
"What have you done to yourself?" Another pitied.
Lola scrambled to the door separating the three, "Greer, Kenna, please, get me out of here, they'll execute me soon." She looked miserable. Pathetic. Desperate. And she was all those things.
"And why would we do that? You clearly have no loyalty." Kenna spat, rolling her eyes. She stepped closer to the bars and pried Lola's finger off one by one, "we are only here to escort you to the torture chamber as per our king and queen's demands."
Kenna took a step back so Greer could unlock the cell door, and once it was opened, Lola knew she wouldn't make it, but what's there left to lose? She hitched up her dress and sprinted but alas, Greer was too quick for her. Lola was harshly grabbed by the arm before she even made it past Kenna. "I've warned you Lola. You've been given more chances than anyone I've known, and yet you have wasted them faster than anyone I've known. Face your consequences Lola." Greer's cold dismissive eyes bore into hers, daring her to defend herself.
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Greer and Kenna trailed the guards gripping Lola arm's with bone-crushing force to the new, larger, "questioning" chamber where Francis and Mary were waiting with fiery anger. As they approached, Greer pulled ahead and nudged open the metal-reinforced wood door and the men in armor practically threw her into the dank circular room.
"Greer, Kenna, if you're not attending to other business, you are welcome to stay." Mary invited with a gesture of her hand.
Both gladly accepted, Kenna, for one, had nothing better to do than to hear of her former friend's other treacheries at French Court, Greer on the other hand, would love to be there for Lola's well deserved sentencing. They stepped around the woman in question and took their usual places besides the queen.
Francis got straight to the point, unbothered by Lola's disheveled appearance, "are you responsible for what happened to Mary at our son's christening?"
She stayed quiet, refusing to cave. Mary circled her, looking at her with disappointment, anger, pity, one of those, or maybe all. "Lola, speak. Or you'll be put on the rack and stretched, and there will certainly be no mercy."
Lola gulped in fear, she'd heard tales from people who've been through it, describing it as your limbs feeling as though it's been lit on fire, often chasing a forbidden death. "Fine. Yes. I slipped pennyroyal in your tea. I wanted to make you sick enough to poison you with no suspicion. I didn't know you were with child."
"Anything else you'd like to admit while you can?" Kenna didn't care if she spoke out of turn or not, the royals got what they seeked and now she wanted some gossip.
"No Kenna. Tell me my punishment and be done with it." She answered with spite.
Francis stepped closer, narrowing his eyes, "if you say so. You will be beheaded for treason tomorrow at noon in the town square, you will have until then to spend with Jean, as per Mary's insistence. Show my queen gratitude for this act of kindness."
She reluctantly turned to face her, still sitting on the hay covered floor and with much hesitation, thanked Mary, who motioned for Greer to bring in a guard to escort Lola to the nursery, for her kindness.
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Rumors do travel quite quickly. The whispers, laughs, and finger point towards the dead woman walking to the nursery did not escape her. Even at such times, she held her head up high and walked as if nothing was wrong, but the watchful one saw the fear in her light blue eyes and the slight tremble in her lips.
Much to her relief, when she rounded the hallway, the voices faded and she was able to walk into the nursery in peace to the babbling child in the crib, although a guard still stood by the doorway watching her every move.
She gently picked him up and continuously bounced him on her lap, stroking her fingers over his soft, chubby cheeks, trying to memorize as much as she could. Her actions for her son have cost her her life, and now, he will never know her. Lola knew she was in the wrong, but she also knew she would never regret it, if only her plan had succeeded, she would've lived out her days happy and in love.
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"Will you be at the execution?" Francis asked the next morning, sitting on the chaise waiting.
Mary turned towards him, her ladies following behind her, tying her corset with just the slightest hint of annoyance from the movement. "I may. There's some unrest with lords in Scotland that the Marquess of Huntly has traveled here to settle. He is due to arrive sometime before noon. If we are able to draft a solution before then, I will be there."
He nodded and continued to watch patiently whilst Greer and Kenna fluttered around finishing her outfit, hair, and makeup.
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In the faint distance, the carriage appeared in the horizon, riding in a steady pace towards the large palace. Mary knew this was not a religious issue they'd be discussing, more over the dissatisfaction of her being a foreign queen to her own home country. For this reason, she had chosen to wear a Scottish family tartan paired with a white, lace top and brown leather corset belt. This may not do anything, but it would show her Scottish heritage, that France may be her home, but her country is Scotland.
"Lord Nichholsen, welcome to France." Mary says with a smile. "The king would be here but he has some business to attend to."
He nodded, plastering on a smile as well, albeit, his look much more for show, "I heard. Is the business not the execution of a fellow Scot, Lola Fleming?"
She ever so slightly tilted her chin up, "Lola is to be executed for two attempted assassinations against me, her sovereign queen."
"Ah, well I don't want to dabble on these. The lords back home are growing restless. They want to see their queen, not her mother. Show me inside, won't you, your majesty."
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He watched in the corner, the sword sparked embers with every glide of the stone. A clean, swift cut. The last mercy he would grant the treasoner. Like the famous Anne Boleyn, Lola would be beheaded by a swordsman. No one wants to see the executioner hacking away at a head either, considering this would be a public execution.
His son's mother would soon walk to her death. He'd feel twinges of guilt every now and then, but they'd be quickly overshadowed by fury. Fury at her jealousy, fury at her insolence, fury at her treachery. He could no longer believe the compassionate Lola he had first met. She was consumed by greed, her judgment clouded by the alluring chance of power. She had brought this upon herself.
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The dark-haired queen smiled in satisfaction, "it is settled then. After my child is born and we are both safe and well enough to travel, Scotland will finally meet their king, queen, and heir. We stay in my country for 3 months and the following years will be spent half here and half in Scotland. Is that correct?"
Lord Nicholsen tilted his head low in acknowledgement, "that should be. I will make my return journey in a day's time to inform both your mother and the peerage. And your majesty, may I say, it is a great relief to see you wear your family's tartan, you have not yet forgotten your true heritage."
"And I shall never. I will discuss this with my husband, and I am sure he will agree with me but I really must get going if I want to be on time now, gum biodh Dia leat air do thuras air ais." She added, getting up from the chair she'd been stuck in for the past hour.
The Marquess was impressed she still remembered Scottish Gaelic, he didn't know whether he should compliment or make a remark so he settled on smiling at the young queen and bowing out.
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Lola was marched to the town square weeping, body wracking in sobs, almost pitiful–that is, if anyone could hear it–for it was drowned out by the crowd's jeers. She was shoved onto the platform for all to see and hear her last words. "Today, I stand before you all," she starts, taking small, uneven breaths, sobbing trying to get out the next words, "I am to die for the actions I've taken for my son, and I am grateful to their majesties mercy, allowing me to spend my final hours with my child and for a death by beheading. I can only thank God for the time I've had on this earth, and I will face whatever lies ahead of me in the next life."
The crowd quieted to some sneers, some smirks, some looking at the ground, no longer wanting to be there. Although some felt sympathy towards the woman, no one could deny she committed treason and should be put to death. A silk handkerchief was tied on as she knelt on the wood, in front of the basket meant for her head. The masked swordsman looked over at the two thrones situated on an elevated stage in the back, waiting for the signal and positioning his sword for a clean sweep. Both collectively nodded grimly and chose to look away. It was final. There would be no going back now.
The cold kiss of the blade brought about the end of her tale.