"Henry, please! Wait!" Mary called, raising her skirts to chase after her husband (was he still her wedded husband and master, she wondered) as he walked through corridor after corridor of the French Court. Said Court now buzzed with the reality of the return of the very alive King of France, not forward thinking enough to think of the drama that now awaited their Queen and her temporary husband.

He said nothing. Just walked faster.

"Henry, stop!" she almost demanded as they reached one of the older parts of the castle, lit only by a few torches on the walls.

He did. He stood with his back facing her, looking at the black door ahead of him.

"Henry, I-" she trailed off, walking towards him. "I'm so sorry. I had no idea." she said, reaching a hand out towards him. "He'd been declared dead, we thought he was never coming back, my son was crowned King. I-I, I'm so sorry, Henry." she apologised, hurt filling her heart.

Their relationship had started out passionate and fiery, something she had always craved in her spouses. And, although their relationship had taken a turn for the worst just before marriage, after they had wed, things had improved. Both coming from families of vipers, keeping each other away from blood relatives had shown each other that there was more to each other than what met the eye. There was more to her to Henry than the attractive, passionate English Lord. Keeping him away from the manipulative Lady Lennox had proved this to her, a bad trait about him showing just before marriage. He was easily manipulated, a little naive to the real world. But, that had changed when they left Scotland and England, spending a few weeks in Ireland before returning to France. He had been loyal and passionate, truthful and proved himself a good man.

The same was shown to him. At first, the Empress was playful and happily immature, before turning into a cold, heartbroken ruler who married him for nothing but political gain. But, after removing themselves from their families and lands of birth, she had shown to be passionate, wild, compassionate and kind. Never mind the fact, she was stunningly beautiful. A true Queen, a devoted mother to James-

James. The little Crown Prince who he had grown so fond of, a brilliant father-figure, step-son bond had formed between them over the last five months. They had grew closer over the duration of the marriage, caring for him and loving him just as much as he did her mother.

But, this? Could either of them survive this?

"I understand the politics, Empress Mary." he suddenly said, adding "But this is so much more than a simple magic trick, popping your true husband back into your life, James' life." he said evenly. "You know better than anybody the world we live in. What we shared is nothing but a lie. Your son may not be the King of France anymore, but he may be the King of Scotland and England soon enough."

"What do you mean?"

"Our marriage is bigamy!" he suddenly cried. Mary jumped, stepping back a pace. "Our consummation -which the Pope and the Vatican know about- nothing but adultery! And if that wasn't bad enough, against a King! One of the leading powers of Europe! No, he's not just a King, he's an emperor now." he chuckled. "It's treason, Mary!" he turned to her. "We could both be -justifiably- executed for this!" his eyes were wide, taking large paces over to his former wife.

"No, we won't." Mary gasped as he gripped her wrists. "He was declared dead by the Pope and the Vatican, we were given permission to wed, they can't do anything to us. We didn't know he was still alive, thousands of people scaled every inch of France and her neighbouring countries, we wouldn't have wed if we knew he was alive." she said. He blinked at her, pain in his eyes, one that matched hers.

The duo had found something together. Spurned by lust, something more had blossomed between the two over the past two months. Although it couldn't be described directly as love, there was something more there.

"What do we do, Mary?" he asked, so quietly, seeming like the sickened young man that Mary knew of just after their union.

"I don't know." she shook her head. "The pope will know soon enough, and we must await his judgement. Annulment, maybe." she shook her head, taking her arms from his grip and turning her back, walking a few paces. "This isn't our fault," she said, not sure who she was trying to convince. "it's his! This is Francis' fault, Henry!" she slowed her steps. "The Vatican can't punish us, it isn't our fault this happened. If he didn't run away like a scared little boy the first day of the plague, none of this would have happened!" Mary ran her fingers through her hair. "This would have been so much better for all of us if he'd just died in the plague." she hissed, turning back. "Him and his mistress and their bastard child," she hissed, starting to realise what she now would have to deal with in her marriage, if one could still call it that. "they should have died," she trailed off.

"It would be simpler." Henry added. She nodded. "But, they didn't. They're alive and well, your marriage to the Emperor valid." he sighed. She nodded silently, looking down.

Two years ago, Mary would never have wished for Francis to be dead. He had been everything to her at one point -second to Scotland, obviously- and she had produced his legitimate heir. Their true family now walked this earth, the product of their love and marriage happily resting in his bedchambers, she remembered.

The Empress tutted at her enamoured past self, the foolish child who believed her husband would never ruin her like this.

"That woman, that woman and the child. Is the boy his? The woman his mother?" Henry asked. The two had never really talked of Lola and her bastard child. Both had been presumed dead, along with Francis.

"She is." Mary sighed. "They're obviously together, don't you think? They seemed awfully close earlier." she chuckled. "Doesn't this sound familiar?" she asked. Henry looked at her. "I am trapped in an unhappy marriage with an unfaithful King who now has a mistress and a bastard child. I'm to turn into Catherine. What a lovely notion." Mary chuckled darkly, tears glittering in her own eyes.

Why didn't he stay dead?! Why couldn't he let her be happy with Henry?! Why couldn't James have been raised by him? Why did he have to grow up with an elder, bastard half sibling, doomed to grow up as Francis himself did, watching his parents' cursed marriage, all but ignored by his father and looking up to his bitter, unloved and neglected mother? Would James turn into Francis? Would this never ending cycle continue? First Henri, then Francis, would James follow in their footsteps?

Henry lead her over to the wall, sitting her down on the cold floor, back resting against the cold stones. He sat at her side. "You won't become her, Mary. I know you too well, you'll be different." he tried to appease, before blurting "What will become of me? Our marriage has to be annulled, seeing as though he's still alive. But, what will become of me? Am I going to be executed or forced to live in scorned exile?" he asked.

"No, you cannot be executed, we didn't do anything wrong. This is Francis' fault this happened, not ours. The marriage must be revoked, it is obvious. I am Empress, I can grant you titles, Duke, I suppose, have you in my privy council, you can still reside in court, but-"

"But not emperor." he said bitterly. "What a grand fall, Emperor Consort to the most powerful woman in the world to a duke in England." he spat.

"I am sorry, Henry. I wish it could be different." she said quietly.

"I know. I don't blame you, but if we just waited, this would be happening."

"It would, our courtship would have been called off. Besides, we had to wed. We consummated our relationship before marriage," Mary looked away. "I could have been having your child."

"You're thankfully not with child, maybe that was the reason. Maybe this happened for a reason."

"Why are you so optimistic?" Mary asked, following it up with "You said yourself what's going to happen."

"What's the point of being unhappy because it's over? I have a reason to smile, because it happened." he tried to smile for her, and her reply was just as strained.

"I am sorry, Henry. I never wanted it to happen like this."

"I know, I know. I didn't either."

"What on earth is wrong with you?!" Catherine yelled, hitting her son over and over. "Why disappear for over a year?! We thought you were dead, James was crowned King, Mary the regent! How could you do that to us?!" she screamed.

Francis did nothing to stop her blows. If she wanted to hit him, he wasn't going to stop her. He knew he deserved it, anyway.

"Before I heard of the plague, Mary told me Lola was going to have my son! I had to go after her, save them from death!"

"You were -are- King! An emperor now! Your father and I taught you you cannot act on feelings or whim!" Catherine screamed. "Isn't that what you told Mary when you were courting?!" she emphasised with a loud smack across his jaw. "We grieved for you! The only thing that stopped Mary, Bash and I from going mad was James!" she shrieked.

The child on Lola's lap started wailing, but Catherine paid him no mind and continued to yell and slap.

"James, where is he?"

"Oh, no. You are not seeing him until we finish this and you explain to me your foolishness!" Catherine yelled. "The first act of your reign, the first moment you had to step up and be King, you ran away! You ran like a scared little boy, a coward!" she yelled. "Why? Why?!" Catherine yelled.

Francis was shocked. He had never seen her so wild, so out of control with her emotions. Never before had he seen her so angry, either.

"Mary told me of my son, and I knew I had to go to him and Lola and protect them! I thought Lola was dead, my child alone in the world!" he paused, now stopping her waving hands. Her rings were sharp on his face. "She survived, but we kept running from the plague until she died out."

"That took three weeks!" Catherine screamed. "You were gone for two years!" she bellowed, trying to get her wrist out of his tight grip.

"It took time to get back, mother! We had ran so far that we ended up in the middle of Italy. My title, nor Lola's, held any wight there. It took time to find work, to not only reside and feed each other, but to gain our fare back to court." he tried to explain

"You're a Medici!" Catherine screeched. "You're just as -if not more than- important there as I am!"

"We were in a tiny village! Nobody knew or cared who we were! We didn't get any news or information about court, about Mary or James or France, until tonight!" he exclaimed. "I didn't know I had been declared dead in the Pope's eyes, nor did we know of James even being conceived, let alone becoming King, mother! I didn't mean for that to happen, I didn't want this to happen!" he almost cried.

It took almost an hour, but eventually Catherine calmed enough to speak rationally to her son.

"You're a foolish boy," Catherine announced. "a foolish, impulsive, sentimental boy." she insulted. "All of court knows of you being alive, no doubt the Pope will know by two mornings time. You must beg at the Pope's feet for forgiveness, and give nothing but support to Mary and Henry."

"Let them be wed? Let them be together? Are you mad, mother?" he asked.

"Of course not, you fool! You must give nothing but support to them, their union must be annulled at once. But, many will say that they deserve to be executed. They married because we thought you died in the plague, but now that you are alive, the union could be perceived as bigamous, the consummated bedding ceremony now adultery against you. They didn't do anything wrong, and you must make any who think otherwise believe it. Your mistakes -yet again- could cost Mary her life." Catherine announced lowly.

Francis said nothing, just tipped his chin up at his mother.

"I will retrieve her from wherever she is. And the two of you must talk of what has happened and where to go from here. You have a child now, you cannot let your marriage repeat what your fathers' and I was." she said, leaving the room.

When she returned, Mary was with her. Eyes red and hair dishevelled, she looked exactly the same to him that she had done two years ago.

Francis said nothing, just looked into the golden depths of her eyes, ready for judgement of his actions.

"Leave, now." Catherine hissed at Lola. She stood up obediently and walked to the door, stopping nervously near Mary.

Mary did nothing. She didn't strike, she didn't cry or scream. She did nothing but stare at her, somehow frightening and unsettling Lola more -with the lack of action- than if she was to yell for the guards and the executioner, announcing her want for Lola's head.

Moments past by like eternities, the two Scotswomen simply staring at each other. Mary seemed to know exactly the effect she was having on Lola. Her gaze was imperious and ice cold, penetrating Lola's skin and soul.

The gaze didn't change, it didn't heat with fire, fury or revulsion. It didn't harden into that of the Italian woman standing near them. It didn't do anything, really. Just stayed as it was, blank, imperious, authoritative.

And Lola was terrified.

The Lady gulped audibly, chin starting to wobble and her eyes starting to well with tears. She knew she was going to be punished, conceiving with her Queen's husband, then running away with him for two years. She knew it was deserved, knew it was treason, what she had done. She waited for her punishment, but it never came. Only the piercing stare of the betrayed Empress

Catherine seemed to be pleased with this, a large smirk on her lips. Francis stared at the mothers of his sons, as did his own mother, but neither Medici blooded royal did anything to stop Mary or save Lola. The very alive King of France knew this situation reminded her of her own with Diane and Henry, the satisfied grin on her face proving what he thought.

Finally, Lola's mouth opened, a squeak leaving her lips.

This seemed to satisfy Catherine even more. A pleased chuckle left her throat, the low sound almost sensual. She may be enjoying this more than Mary no doubt was, Lola's humiliation, judgement and fear.

Lola tried to speak again, a whimper following this time. The frightened choke cracked in the air, making her take a step back, as if trying to protect herself from the Empress. The fear she felt was abundant as Mary took a step forwards, accentuating the height difference between the two. Mary literally looked down at Lola, who lowered her head in a mix of dread and obedience.

Lola felt like a vulnerable lamb in the gaze of a deadly wolf, so unprotected and terrified for her own life and that of her cub. She was intimidated and frightened, not even trying to hide it from her monarch, who seemed to be satisfied by Lola's fear, for the moment at least.

This small act of subservience broke their eye contact and both pairs of eyes fell on the little fair haired, blue eyed boy who held his mothers' hand. He hadn't made himself noticeable since his cries had ceased the moment his grandmother had stopped striking his father. These two women intimidated even the little boy, auras dangerous and deadly.

However, the little illegitimate child seemed to recognise his step mothers' authority in the room, luckily not making a noise or bursting into tears. She was undoubtedly the most powerful person in the large chambers. He kept his head bent low, not moving or making any sounds. The child didn't quite look scared, but he could identify that this woman was not to be angered or displeased in any way.

A deeper fear made its way into the Scotswoman. She knew what herself and her child meant for their Empress' marriage and future, and knew she knew it too. The domineering scrutiny now directed at the little boy brought further fear into Lola's heart. What did Mary want to do to them? What lengths would she stop at to get her long deserved revenge? Would her son forever face the Empress' hatred and judgement? Would she harm him? Could she harm him? Had the two years changed her that much, that she would harm the child?

The Mary from years ago never would, she didn't even make Lola do penance for her treason, instead helping her and showing her nothing but kindness. This Mary, however, this Mary was different. Cold, cunning, imperial. Merciless?

Finally, Lola made a distinguishable whimper. The first perceptible sound since speaking Francis' name hours before. It brought Mary's gaze from her child to her, features sharper and aura deadlier than before.

"Forgive me, your Imperial Majesty." she whimpered. "We will not intrude any longer." she dropped into a low curtsy.

This act of submissiveness and subservience seemed to please both Mary and Catherine, judging by the satisfied snicker that left the Empress' lips and the wolfish smirk that left the Queen Mothers'.

"Leave." Catherine demanded, following them out, closing the door behind them.

This left Francis and Mary alone for the first time in two years. And the silence that passed between them drove a wedge into Francis' heart, convincing him that this was it. His great, terrible fear, the one that he had developed the moment she was declared his bride.

This was the end of them.