He walks stealthily through the darkened hallways of his court, the place that seemed so foreign and unknown to him now. Although the plague had died almost as soon as she was born, things changed for him, leaving him out in the wild with his sinful family for the rest of his reign. He hadn't really reigned at all, for his first day as King, he had ridden off to find said sinful family. Although comfortable in a small cottage a few days ride away, just to the east, they had been completely cut off from society, receiving no word on the state of court or of France.
France, herself, had prospered, it was obvious. Plague and famine were followed by great harvests and political miracles, for there hadn't been a hungry man in sight ever since he took the throne. Or, when she took the throne.
He hadn't heard anything about his wife, but figured she'd either stayed at court -still able to be perceived as the lawful Queen- or had gone home, to her birth written throne. If that was the case, then he would give her props for ruling so well, before going to his other country to reclaim what was his.
Their footsteps padded against the cool stone of the flooring, before they turned a corner and came to a darkened doorway. His hand pushed against it, and it obeyed its King, slowly swinging open to reveal the bedchambers of Dowager Queen Catherine de Medici.
The former Queen sat quietly at her desk, mixing liquids together in small containers, muttering to herself, smiling a little, as the fire crackled behind her. She wore dark autumnal clothing, orange hair pinned up, a small black crown nestled into the curls. Her head snapped up as he entered the room, sinful family in towe.
He stood proudly in the doorway, ready for his judgement.
Catherine stood up sharply, her lower stomach hitting against the black wooden table, spilling a few vials. Their eyes instantly connected, neither saying anything.
Moments passed by like hours. Catherine's mouth finally opened -ever so slowly- in a silent scream. As the shock passed, her skin began to pale, looking even more white against the darkness of her clothing.
He stood still, hands knotted behind his back, not saying anything, tilting his chin upwards slowly, ready for his judgement of his actions.
Catherine finally moved, walking slowly over towards him. He lowered his gaze to catch her line of sight -as is she'd ever look away from his azure gaze after years of being depraved of it- not reacting as a shaky hand slowly raised up to meet his cheek.
Catherine's palm touched her eldest sons' cheek, the fingers trembling, the palm sweating as they became antiquated with his auricomous hairline and the curve of his jaw.
Her voice was soft, so soft, as her hazel eyes lined with tears.
"Francis, my son." she whispered. Her resolve gave out and she yanked the King into her arms tightly, never wanting to let him go again. He willingly returned her embrace -just like the last time he had returned from prolonged time away from French Court- not the only one reluctant to let go. As scheming and conniving as she could be, Catherine de Medici always put her children first and had always tried to be a good mother.
Suddenly, she yanked herself from his arms and threw a stiff palm at his cheek, creating a loud 'smack' that echoed through the room.
"How could you do that?! Desert your Kingdom immediately after your fathers' death! You've been gone so long, we thought you were dead!" she cried, the tears sliding down her face. "But, you're alive. My eldest son, my golden child still walks amongst the living." She smiled through the tears, cupping his face. Despite the stinging and the mark of the palm, he smiled softly at her.
"I had to find my child and his mother, mother." he finally spoke. "I couldn't let them die in the plague, if I had the chance to save them."
"Lola, Lola and your child." Catherine trailed off. "Mary told me that she was to give birth to your first child." Catherine stated slowly, watching as the Lady Lola walked into the room, holding the hand of a fair haired, dark blue eyed little boy in blue. Catherine narrowed her eyes at them both, staring down at the small boy.
"Mary." Francis caught her attention again. "Where is she?"
"Mary." Catherine said. Francis furrowed his eyebrows. "You're alive." she said quietly. "Oh, good Lord, this is terrible." Catherine walked away from him, pacing, left set of fingernails entering her mouth.
"What? Mother, what is this?" Francis asked, leading Lola and the small boy to a nearby chair and setting them down, before walking towards his mother, trying to stand in front of her, but she moved away again.
"You were declared dead, Francis." she stated. "The anniversary of your disappearance, you were declared dead, we thought you had died in the plague. Legally dead, your reign and marriage over. The country was told you were dead, so-" she trailed off again.
"So, what?" he prodded. "Mary went back to Scotland? The only logical move since I was thought to be dead." he nodded.
"No, Francis. She didn't." Catherine said quietly, closing her eyes as if in pain. He frowned deeper.
"Why?" he asked. "She wouldn't have had any position here, besides my widow."
Catherine paused, the time passing ever so slowly.
"France isn't ruled by it's King." she finally replied.
"Of course she isn't." Francis frowned. "With Charles still only a boy, you would be the regent." he said, his frown getting deeper.
"No, my child. I am not." she said, sitting down on a chair, resting an arm on a close by table.
"What? Who is?" he asked.
"The deal with the privy council stated that if you did not return in one year of your disappearance, you would be declared dead and the crown would go to your heir. We had a year to wait for a body, or your return. Clearly, we didn't find either of those things. But, we found something else?"
"What? What did you find? Another outburst of plague? Take me to Mary, mother. I'll get the answers I need from her, if you will not directly tell me."
"No!" she cried. "No." she said, softer this time. "Sit, Francis." He obeyed.
"Mother, what happened. Is Mary even alive? Did she make it through the plague?" he asked. It seemed a ridiculous question, but with how uncharacteristically vague his mother was being, anything seemed possible.
"Yes, dear child. She did. But, after the plague and the famine, we were given great news. A light in the dark times." she almost smiled.
Francis silently furrowed his eyebrows.
"My son, Mary announced that she was with child." Francis' stare turned blank. He said nothing, just blinked, clearly not knowing how to react. Mary..with child? His child? Their child? The thought made him smile, but it also unnerved him. If she had his child, where was she? Where was the child?
He hadn't known he had asked those questions until his mother spoke again.
"The child was born healthy, a healthy son." she half smiled, taking his hand in her own. "Francis, your wife had your legitimate son." she said, tears in her eyes, taking in his blank face.
"But, that could mean-" he trailed off.
"With you declared dead, yours and Mary's child was crowned King." she choked. "King James."
"James?" he breathed.
"Yes, James. After Mary's father. James Henry Stuart-Valois. King of France, Duke of Rothsay, Crown Prince of Scotland and England."
"England?"
"Yes. England. When Mary was eight months pregnant, Elizabeth was found out to have an illigitimate pregnancy. So, she was killed. And-" Catherine trailled off.
"Mary was crowned Queen? Queen of England?" he asked.
"Yes, my love. She was. With the power of empire, it is she who rules this land, with you declared dead."
"Mary is regent?"
"Yes, dear son. But, that has to change. You are the lawful King of France!"she smiled, taking his hands.
"Why didn't you say Scotland?"
"Hmm?"
"You didn't say I was the lawful King of Scotland? Mary and I are wed." he asked, confused. Catherine's face fell. He frowned, head spinning. What was happening?
"With you dead, and a healthy heir borne, Mary needed to consolidate her power. She wouldn't have done it if we had known about this, though. You mustn't hold this against her, she was doing what was right, given the circumstances."
"Mother. Stop babbling, you're scaring me. What has Mary done?" he asked.
Catherine sighed, looking down at her skirt.
"Francis," she whispered, still looking down. "Mary, she-" Catherine trailed.
"She?" he asked, impatiently. What could Mary have done?
"Francis, Mary remarried." she said. Looking up, she saw his own face fall and portray the shock he felt in his heart. She watched as it went from shock, horror, disbelief and finally to heartbreak.
"Oh, my darling." she brought him in for an embrace.
"It cannot be! I am still alive! She cannot have taken another as her husband and King!"
"We thought you were dead, and Mary needed another heir in case anything happen to James." Catherine tried to explain.
"I understand the politics, but, mother! My wife is married to another!" he inhaled deeply, pulling back. "When?" he whispered.
"Three months ago." she said quietly, brushing his hair behind his ears.
"To who?" he asked.
"Henry Stuart, Lord Darnley." she finished.
He sniffled, wiping his face. "Where is she? I must make this right. Her marriage must be annauled!"
"They've just returned to French court, for Mary to rule in James' stead. They returned from England two weeks ago. I will bring her to you." Catherine said quietly, leaving her chambers and walking down the hall.
"Francis," Lola began.
"Don't!" he snapped. "All I need is my wife, for her pretence of a marriage to be annulled, and to meet my heir. I need no more." he choked. He stood up and paced for almost an hour, before they saw Catherine pull a reluctant Mary inside by the arm, her golden bardot sleeves shimmering in the candlelight, black tulle skirt dragging behind her.
"Catherine, what did you want me to see? Henry needs me to talk to the Italian ambassador and I have an important meeting with the Duke of Backsla-" she trailed off, instantly locking eyes with the dead man walking, her words silencing.
"Mary, Francis was never dead." Catherine said softly. "As you can see. You know what must be done." she said firmly. Mary gulped, saying nothing, her face chalky white as she stared into the azure eyes of her apparently deceased husband.
"Mary, what are you doing in here? We must go to the Lord David and talk about Italian trade-" A man said, long brown hair and dark grey clothing coming into light, instantly looking at Francis. His own face fell, seeing everything he wanted melt away at the sight of the very alive King of France. He looked down at Mary, before walking away, fast.
"Henry! Henry, wait!" Mary called after her husband, turning and rushing away in his direction, picking up her skirts. "I didn't know! I thought he was dead!"
Henry Stuart walked away, shoulders hunched.
Mary turned back to the fair haired Frenchman who she had grieved for.
"Why didn't you stay dead?"