The King and Queen of France stood silently staring at each other. The only sound that could be heard was the whistling wind outside, the crackling of the fire in the harth and the harsh breaths of the still married couple.
Francis stayed where he stood. He didn't step forwards and gather her into his arms, although he clearly wanted to. All he did was stare at is wife, the Queen of France doing the same. She kept distance between them, a great deal of physical space as if it would make this conversation better for them.
He saw the pain in her eyes, the shock of seeing him alive clear in her eyes, but the hatred and fury of the Empress deterred any emotions that he could turn into positive ones.
Finally, she shook her head at him and sunk down into a near chaise. She pulled up her lace covered feet and tucked them behind the sea of black tulle skirts, reaching for a goblet and filling it with wine. She gulped down the dark red liquid, taking her eyes off him, instead staring at the dancing flames in the harth.
"Mary, I-" Francis started, the minutes of uneasy silence making him choke out the words, but a harsh look stiffed the romantic speech he had planned.
Although she had barely changed in the past two years, things had changed. Her breasts and hips larger from baring their child, waist smaller and generally thinner, clearly attributing to the stress that all her power bought. Her face was thinner, features sharper, than before, cheekbones more prominent and nose thinner. Her hair was still dark, now a dark raven rather than the shiny brunette that he remembered. Those dark orbs almost onyx with a small ring of glittering golden around them, the last remains of the girl she once was.
He left a girl, but here before him sat a woman. A woman he had abandoned and neglected for almost all of their marriage, the child she had carried, borne and raised her only tie of becoming who she was once more.
"Don't speak." Mary finally spoke, her voice soft, still not looking at him.
"I have to. I have to tell you-" he trialled off at another harsh look, features looking sharper than before because of it.
"I don't want to hear anything you have to say to me. Go to the throne room, let your people adore you, then leave me to my fate." she said, voice deceptively light.
"Your fate? What do you mean, Mary? Your fate is right beside me," he tried to lessen the anger, but seemed to only stoke it.
"My fate is undecided because of your foolishness!" She suddenly shot up from the chair, threw down the wine goblet and walked some feet from him. "Your weakness and sentimentality could bring my death!"
"I will travel to Rome, explain why I did what I did, the Pope cannot punish you or Henry," he swallowed down the bile. "you did what you did because I was supposed to be dead. But now-" he walked forwards, a hand extended, as if he was trying to hold her hand. She shook her head, walking further away.
"Do not." Mary demanded. He stilled, but continued to talk.
"Now everything's changed, Mary. I will go to Rome, explain my actions, and ensure you and Henry don't suffer because of it! It was lawful, me being declared dead proved it. But I'm alive, your marriage to him must be annulled and after-"
"What?" she interrupted, glaring at him. "You think I will just come back to you? Play happy families like nothing ever happened between us? Are you that foolish?" Mary asked.
"No, I just meant that-"
"That's what you want. A happy reunion and for me to forget everything that's happened between us." she continued as if he hadn't spoken. "And then introduce you to our child for the first time and play house. Is that it? Or, is it not us you want? Lola and your bastard. Do you want to play family with them? After all, it is the least you could do, if they stay here, people will talk and they will know eventually. You're the father of her child, and all they'll know is scorn and neglect. Is that what you want?"
"Of course not. We've talked of this and-"
"How many things did you talk about in your self made exile? Of me? France? Scotland? Your mother? How many of those things lead her to your bed again?" she asked.
"None! We haven't slept together again, it was just one time, one time that created Jean! You have to believe me!" he said, eyes wide that she wouldn't believe him.
"Of course I don't!" she yelled. "You're telling me there's nothing but that child between you? No connection, no deeper feelings, no deeper connection, no mutual understanding? Please," she paused, tears glittering in her eyes now. "you proved your priorities the moment you placed your unborn, legitimate son and I underneath Lola and your bastard child!" she cried.
"It was an impulsive decision! I know it was wrong but-"
"But, what? You wouldn't have done it again? Don't lie to me, of course you would have done it again. And again, and again. Imagine, the boy who had rammed it down my throat that one cannot act on impulse or whim all through our engagement and marriage, the moment he became King, he ran away from his duties and loyalties and placed them all under a foolish woman and a bastard child." she chuckled, now looking him dead in the eye. "Anything to say to that? Any excuses? Any more lies you wish to spin? No?"
"No." he said, now being the one to look away. "I know what I did was wrong, and my actions after the fact even worse, but if you give me time to explain-" he trailed.
"Explain what? Why you impulsively ran into plague stricken lands as some sort of reckless romantic hero, saving your mistakes from death brought about by it's mother, who had trapped herself out there? Why after the fact, you ran away to Italy to play house with them for two years, and all the while, allowing the pope to declare you dead! Why you abandoned me after your fathers' death, pregnant with your son, legitimate son, nonetheless, left alone to rule France in your stead, all the while gaining three countries! Do you want to explain why you ran from everything that supposedly meant anything to you for years, whilst I birthed your legitimate child! Who, I should add, has no idea who you even are! Your legitimate son thinks you a stranger!" she yelled.
Mary walked away from him, wiping her cheeks, her hands trembling from anger and rage.
"We were given a year for you return, claim your place as King whilst your son remained the heir, or the Pope would declare you dead, your reign and our marriage over! And he did! At five months old, James was King! Everybody grieved for you, now accepting the fact that you were gone and never coming back! Your mother grieved for you! As did I, Bash taking it the hardest, and all that time, all those tears and all that misery, all for nothing!" she yelled. "You come back into our lives and expect everything to be okay again!"
"No, I don't!" he was the one to yell now, turning to her. "I know I did you wrong, and you have every right to hate me for what I've done. And I am so, so sorry for that! No words can express my regret to you, but there is no point dwelling on it! What good will it do?!"
"I want to know what you were thinking! I want to understand what justified doing what you did!" she cried. "I want to know how much they, or how little I, meant to you, for you to justify doing what you did to me and your son!" she yelled, tears rolling down her cheeks. He ached to wipe them away, his feet moving instinctively to get near her.
"No, no!" she cried, backing up. He stopped, watching in agony as her tears grew heavier. "Do not even think of coming any closer!" she sobbed. The anger of the Empress was subdued for the moment, leaving nothing but the pain of the girl. "You've ruined everything we were! Everything we could have been! You left me! You abandoned me whilst I was pregnant, I grieved for you! I grieved for you! I thought you were dead, taken away from me forever, but you were playing house with the woman I thought was my friend and your bastard child!" she cried. "How could you do that to me?!" she sobbed. "What did I do to deserve such pain, such punishment, for you to leave me when I needed you the most?! Not just being a Queen dealing with a plague stricken land, but I was pregnant with your child! I needed you, and you left me!" she sobbed, walking away as if the physical distance could make them both stop crying.
Mary choked back another sob, wiping the tears. "Why would you even sleep with her in the first place?! I know what happened, you had every right to take whoever you want, but why my friend? Out of all the people, why her? Somebody I trusted! And you convinced with her!"
"You didn't tell me!" he yelled. "How could you keep that from me?! You knew Lola was having the baby and you didn't tell me it was mine! Thing's would have been so different if you had!"
"This is not my fault!"
"Why didn't you tell me about the child?!"
"To protect you!" she cried, turning back to him. "Nobody would think you weak and sentimental, because I knew you would want to keep it! The moment that child calls you father, they will! Court will know, and so will France! You'll be diminished in the worlds' eyes, and for what?! A bastard? Think like a King!" she yelled, the furiocity of the ruler now coming out. "I tried to remain loyal to her, knowing the position she'll now always have now! She begged me not to tell you, to try and save herself and her child from a lifetime of scorn and pain, foolish in reflection, but justified at the time! She betrayed me! You betrayed me! Why?!" she screamed.
A knock at the door. Mary sniffled and wiped her eyes.
"Enter." she said.
The Duke of Guise poked his head in. "Apologies your Imperial Majesty, niece," he started. "but the privy council has called a meeting about this new development of the King." he said.
"Court knows he is alive?"
"Yes, they do."
"Very well." she nodded. "I will arrive imminently." she said. The Duke nodded and bowed, but not leaving the room.
"Why is the Duke of Guise here?"
"He protects me." Mary sniffled as her uncle came closer at her side, now seeming so tired. "Go to your chambers, I have to see to them."
"I'm king, Mary. I can take over now."
She looked to her uncle. "Go and wait in the throne room. I shall accompany momentarily," she spoke solemnly. He nodded, bowed, and left.
"No," she suddenly snapped. "for the past two years, I have been dealing with your country, whilst you physically ran from your responsibilities as king whilst your country was in crisis. Left me and your kingdom for your lover and bastard child, one whom she didn't even want you to know about. Leaving me, your wife, alone to deal with your country whilst running mine," she glared. "So, no, Francis. You are not king. That is just your title, but you are not King. You are a little boy who physically ran away from his duties to his nation, so until the pope declares you alive and reinstates our marriage, I am the real King. Go to your bastard, who clearly means more to you than I or your country do, and leave the rulers to rule your country," she glared. He gulped, but couldn't really fault her for her words. Yes, they were hard to hear, but they were true. He had run from his responsibilities and kingdom, and yes he did leave her alone to be king, rule two countries, whilst he did run away to his once lover and bastard child, whom he was never supposed to know about.
"I'm sorry for what I did, and you have every right to hate me for what I've done. I'm sorry that you're angry. I will be in our chambers if you need me, my Queen," he walked away, hearing her do the same, not even glancing back at her.
"Your Majesty," a voice said. Francis looked up from his chair to a young page he had never seen before. His mother sat near him, holding his hand, a regular occurrence since he had returned a week ago. She had always been touchy-feely and a little dramatic, but she had barely left his side ever since he returned, something the young King wasn't used to.
He was King of this domain, but he held no true power. Even though he was alive, legally, he was dead, the undivided power of France falling to Mary. And, until Pope Paul IV came to France and changed the legal documents declaring his death -and Mary's marriage- null and void, that was where it would stay.
"What is it?" Catherine asked, still clinging to Francis' hand, tracing the deigns of his gold signet ring, the only true reminder that the young, golden haired man in extravagant clothes was actually a King. He could dress like one, but he wasn't truly a King. Not until his power, Queen and heir were returned to him.
"Pope Paul IV has arrived at court. His holiness, your Medici relation, refuses to rest or eat, he wishes to conduct the meeting with your Majesties, and their Imperial Majesties as soon as possible." the page answered. He nodded.
"Very well. Send him inside." Francis ordered. He sighed through his nose, looking around the map room. Hardly anything had changed, apart from the papers about British politics.
"His Holiness, Pope Paul IV, come to court!" the herald cried, before the pitter patter of footsteps, and the door opened.
The appropriate, royal greeting between the Medici blooded men and woman was conducted, before the door closed with a quick swear of "I shall retrieve their Imperial Majesties at once, sire" from the young page, before informal greetings took place.
"Son, I you must excuse my surprise at seeing you sitting here, very much alive," the Pope said to Francis. "we had all accepted your gravitation to the almighty heaven." he said.
"Many were surprised at my son's return, your holiness, myself included, however we rely on you to make this right, once and for all." Catherine said, stepping behind her eldest son and placing her small hands on his shoulders. He looked down a little. "You must assist us in helping my son, the Emperor, regain his power and throne, including his wife." Catherine finished.
"Of course, daughter. I must admit, I have never seen a situation like this before, nor do I believe I will again. However, both men have legitimate claims to their marriage to the Empress, and should the Empress' marriage to the Emperor be annulled, I fear most will call for her head, for her marriage could be perceived as bigamy, her necessary consummation adultery."
"Your Holiness, I was declared dead. Their marriage was made out of political necessity, however I cannot condone this facade of a marriage to go on any longer. Legally, she is still my wife, there cannot be any evidence suggesting otherwise." Francis declared, fidgeting with his fingers and raising his chin a little. He was clearly uncomfortable with the situation, and after no doubt having to explain it to the Pope, the entire world will know of his foolishness on the first day of his reign. He would be reduced on the worlds' stage, and couldn't bare the thought of any probable attacks on his country from Kings who thought him weak.
Not to mention, his wife still hadn't looked at him ever since their conversation days previous. And, because she held the power, she had hidden her son from him, no doubt wishing to inflict the pain and betrayal she felt when he ran away from her and their kingdom when they needed him the most.
"What I cannot understand is how you managed to be declared dead, when it is so obvious that you still walk along the living." he said, tilting his chin up.
"In the temporary banishment I sustained years ago, when my late father was attempting to marry the Empress to my bastard brother Sebastian, I lay with the Lady Lola and placed a boy child within her." his cheeks reddened a little, and his head bowed upon the sharp glare given to him by his mother. "For months, she kept the child a secret from me, not wishing to impune herself into my marriage or cause it to crack. However, when my son was born, the plague had just started and the Lady Lola found herself trapped in plague stricken lands. She sent word that she was going to die and wished her babe to be saved, and impulsively, I rushed from the safety of the castle walls to her side." he lowered his head again. "I knew it was wrong almost immediately after finding the Lady Lola and my son, I knew I should have remained at court with my wife, who at the time was pregnant with my heir," he gulped. "But, I couldn't leave them to their demise. So, we ran from the plague as she swept through the small village Lola had found herself in." he paused, taking a breath, squirming uncomfortably underneath the hard Medici gases. "We ran from the plague, ran so far that we ended up in the middle to east side of Italy. It took a great amount of time to earn our fare home, leading to the time limit that the Vatican placed on my wife. I am told she was given one year to find me -have me return home- or I would be legally declared dead from the plague, my body burned. And, just before it passed, she gave birth to my legitimate heir." his head lowered further, eyes drooping to the floor. "I know in heinsight it was wrong, but I didn't know that I would be declared gone from this world, giving my wife every permission and warrant to take another as her husband." he said the last word as if it pained him, looking up at his distant relation. "She had no reason to wait to make sure I was never coming back, I am sure Mary, my mother and my line had accepted my death by then." he nodded. "And, she did. The Empress waited the obligated mourning time -seven months- before finding a suitable match after my son reached his fourteenth month. And, three months later, here we are." he finished.
"And, the Empress. What do you wish the outcome of this consultation to be? The Vatican may take your viewpoints into account." the Medici blooded Pope asked, sitting back at the young King's tale.
"It cannot be legally bigamy and adultery, I was considered dead, father." he said. "I do not wish for her or Henry Stuart to be harmed in this matter, they are innocents, the only ones who are not are the Lady Lola and myself. All I wish is for my wife's new marriage to be annulled, all records of it removed, and to raise my son with her." Francis finished.
"You wish to prevent executions?"
"Of course. Neither did anything wrong, given the circumstances." Francis said, hating the situation, but it was true. As much as he resented Henry, he couldn't blame him for this, nobody could. This wasn't their fault, only his.
A knock at the door, before the young page popped his head back in.
"Your holiness, your Majesties?" he asked.
"Yes, what is it, child?"
"His Imperial Majesty has arrived for his judgement of the situation." the page bowed, opening the door for Henry Stuart to walk in.
Henry Stuart wasn't a sight for sore eyes at all. Long black curls, bright green eyes and a well kept beard decorated skin coloured light olive. A strong jawline and a manly face was sharp and drawn as he made his way into the room. He was donned in dark brown leather trousers, black leather knee high boots, a white tunic, a brown and gold waistcoat underneath an extravagant green silk doublet with black and gold embroidery. A sleeveless coat of brown fur fell from her shoulders, rings glittering on his fingers. A silver livery collar rested on his shoulders, a brown and black scabbard over his right shoulder, a long silver blade with a black glass hilt poking out of the black and silver holster. And, on his head, was the consort crown of Scotland, glittering in all it's gold and onyx glory, the very crown he -Francis himself- used to wear.
Francis couldn't help but glare at his new rival, but this time, the rival was for no throne. It was simply for a powerful empress who was stuck between two handsome Kings.
He also couldn't help but notice the fact that his mother smiled at the young man as he entered the room, so obviously seeing him as a son-in-law type of figure, caring for him as she cared about her own onetime rival whom she now both respected and admired.
Francis shot his mother a glance, but she paid him no mind, staring at the young Englishman who was well on his way of capturing the Empress' heart, just as he had her hand. Subconsciously, his fist balled up, anger towards the man both justified and unjustified.
"Your Holiness," he announced in a loud, proud voice. Even his aura oozed confidence, but it didn't border on arrogance. He knew he was going to loose everything he had so recently gained and would live out the rest of his life in exile, but his marriage hadn't been annulled just yet, he still held the world at his fingertips. "I hope I didn't disturb at an inopportune time." he finished.
"Not at all, son. Sit. We have much to discuss about yourself and the Empress, as well as the King." the Pope replied, sparing Francis a glance as Henry sat down at the long table. The fair haired King stared holes into Darnley's head, who looked to the Pope to start this long, painful conversation.
Catherine looked at the door expectantly, awaiting it to open and to catch sight of the regent of France, but glanced at the young Englishman as he sat across from her when the door opened no more. Like Francis, Mary had completely shut her out and refused to speak to her when it wasn't necessary, and Catherine found herself missing the younger Queen's company, a surprising contrast from their feelings for each other but three years ago.
So much had changed, in so little time.
"Tell me, Henry," she started. "where is the Empress? This concerns her, too." The Queen Grandmother of France said, taking quick eyefuls of the door, then to the Emperor Consort, left to right in quick succession.
"Mary?" Henry asked. "Why, she's seeing to her new rival. Making sure she doesn't cause animosity for the next few years." Henry announced, making his own rival look over at him. Henry looked back at the very alive King of France, and the very alive King could see the resentment and dislike in those green eyes that looked suspiciously similar to Bash's. He knew the same resonated in his own azure orbs, watching him carefully.
"Her rival?" Catherine frowned. "Mary has none. Queen Elizabeth is dead, her only rival is dead." the Queen Grandmother of France said, cocking her head to the side, unable to help remembering the now -without question- dead Henry and his own vague comments.
"Elizabeth? No." he said. "Their rivalry died along with my distant cousin. However, new new rival will cause problems that have no relation to me." he replied.
"Who is it? Some noble who wants her dead because my son is not?" Catherine asked, standing up and placing her hands on her sons' shoulders. Francis was still silent, staring at his son's still stepfather, waiting on confirmation of this vague clue.
"No, Queen Grandmother. Not at all. Her new rival is the mother of her son's half brother, the Lady Lola. She's with her right now, your highness. Alone in the royal chambers."