Horses silenced. Grey clouds overlooked the gloom infested French Court. In the courtyard, nobody spoke a word, simply walked to different carriages to place full trunks on their backs. The ambience borderlined on eerie, nobody knowing quite what to say or how to say it.
The deed was done. The marriage between Mary and Henry Stuart had been annulled thee days previously. The former Emperor Consort's things had been packed up and safe passage had been booked to Wales, where Henry Stuart would live out the rest of his days in a small, comfortable manor house with a steady and generous income from the crown.
In his castle, the King of France stood by a criss-crossed window, observing the sombre thirty people of Henry's household. They wore blacks and dark greys, almost appearing to be in mourning. Which, in a way, they were.
After a large pay off to the Pope, it had been determined that the Empress and former Emperor wouldn't face execution for their adultery and bigamy, but neither could have any correspondence with each other, and the Stuart blooded male would live the rest of his life in exile. In addition, Henry couldn't plot to regain his throne and murder the King of France, or else he would be executed. He would be granted the title of Duke of Lancaster, but would forfeit his place on the English privy council and his original Duchy of the Duke of Edinburgh, the one he attained through his marriage to Mary.
He exhaled slowly through his nose when he saw Mary leading out her subject. He was on her arm. She was donned in a heavily beaded cream floor length, figure hugging gown with a high neck, covered up by a thick, dark and light grey fur cape. Long hair was up in a high, intricate ponytail, a tiara shimmering in the deep light. Her companion was donned in a dark grey riding ensemble, face low.
He saw her let go of his arm, the former Emperor Consort turning to her after a few moments. Francis grunted, observing the way Henry placed a hand on his wife's cheek, pressing his lips to the other one. His eyes narrowed into small slits, watching Henry bow low to his Empress, before slowly getting in one of the larger carriages.
And, moments later, he rode away.
"I cannot believe this." Henry grumbled, walking slowly to his carriages.
"I know, it would be a lot simpler should it be different." Mary said quietly, leading him over to the end of the stone walkways, the one she walked with Francis once returning to French court all those years ago.
"So, this is goodbye? You and I will never see each other again." Henry frowned, turning to Mary. She smiled sympathetically, nodding slowly.
"No. We will not." she sighed. "You've been a good and faithful friend to me, Henry. I just wish things could be different." she looked down.
Henry placed a hand to her cheek, turning her face up to meet his. He leaned in close, kissing his former wife's cheek one last time, before pulling back. Mary watched him take two steps back, bowing low.
"My Empress." he said, bowing. He stood straight again.
"I hope you live a long and happy life, Henry." Mary lowered her eyes, staring at his forced, half smile, before glancing up at his eyes.
"Long may you reign, your Imperial Majesty." he said, turning from her and walking into his carriage, settling down onto the seat and hearing the door close and lock to his left.
He gulped down his disappointment and hurt until he was away from Mary's gaze, and then, ever so slowly, let the tears fall.
Mary sighed as all the carriages pulled away, one by one, before walking slowly back into the palace, not once looking back.
"Well, how are you going to fix that?" Catherine asked suddenly. Francis slowly turned to her, not speaking. "This marriage. How are you going to fix it?" she asked.
"I honestly have no idea," he sighed. "The pope says he and his people should restore me to the throne, properly, and Mary and I's marriage to be declared legal once more, but I'm not sure that's what she wants." he finished.
"What do you mean?" Catherine frowned, walking towards her eldest son as he turned fully from the window.
"You haven't heard the way she peaks to me. I believe she's given up on me, us. She can never forgive me for my betrayal and abandonment, let alone what I did to her and James. Picking Lola and Jean over Mary and James. Honestly, if the positions were reversed, I'd do the same." he sighed, running his fingers through his hair.
"If that's the case, how would you want her to act?"
"I-" he sighed. "I'd want her to tell me that she loved me and only me, that nobody came close. That, simply because I wasn't her first choice in impulsive situations, that didn't mean I wasn't first in her heart. I'd want her to explain every granite detail of her actions, even if it hurt. I'd want her to give me time to forgive and process everything in my head, not to push me to talk unless I wasn't ready. I'd have her earn my trust, not letting anything change who we were to each other." he rambled.
"then you have your answer. Give her time, let her figure out how she feels about you. This is her choice, you made it so. Follow her lead, Francis." Catherine tried to soothe, walking over to her eldest son and running her fingers down his arms, clasping his hands. "Jean. What are you going to do about him?" Catherine asked. "Him and Lola?"
"I want to claim him, mother. I want the world to know that I claimed him as my own. I want to give him a better life than Bash had." he sighed. "But, Mary-" he trialled off again.
"Mary doesn't want you to." she said. Francis nodded. "See it from her perspective. The child her husband sired with her best friend, ran away for over two years to raise in a tiny village whilst she thought her husband was dead will always be a permanent fixture in her court. She will see the personification of pain and betrayal every day for the rest of her life." Catherine tried to explain.
"I never wanted to hurt her, mother. It just happened!"
"I'm not blaming you, Francis. But, you must understand where she's coming from."
"I know, I know." he paused. "What do you think I should do, mother?"
"Claim him, Francis. I'm speaking to you as a mother. As your mother. I can tell you that if you do not claim him, there will be a distance between you and that boy for the rest of your lives. Jean knows you are his father, most of court has already guessed. You must do right by him. He will never be king, Francis, but James will. You can ease what ever rage or distrust he feels over time. In time, he won't remember a time where you weren't here. You want them to be close, yes? Like you and Sebastian were?" she questioned. He nodded softly. "Then make them so. Children are like clay, you can mould them to any shape. And I can promise you that raising him, alongside James, will be the singular joy of your life." Francis nodded slightly. "I won't pretend with you, Francis. Mary will be angry, furious. But, in time, she will adjust to the situation. So will her son. I did." Catherine was cut off.
"But, you and father, you hated each other in your reign. Uncomunication, love and mistrust ruined you."
"You love Mary. And I believe she still loves you. You will make it past this, Francis. You will always be with her in some shape or form. Your bond together is stronger than that of your father and I's. Believe that, Francis."
"My love." Mary smiled, entering the nursery after a long day of meetings and political affairs. From the ground, James squealed as he locked eyes on his mother, bumbling over to her. He wrapped his arms around her legs, embracing her slender legs covered in coral satin, little face turning up to beam at his mother.
"He's been as good as gold, your Imperial Majesty." Annaliece, one of her must trusted nannies, smiled at her Queen Regent, curtsying low.
"Have you, my love?" Mary asked her little son, bending down and picking up his little body. James giggled in response, letting out a garbled word that began with a 'Y'. She smiled warmly at her child.
"Has he taken supper?" Mary asked.
"Yes, your Imperial Majesty. The boy finished his stewed aubergine, ate half a slice of bread with most of his sliced chicken and pork, before eating most of his carrot, potato and sprout salad. He enjoyed a bowl of almond pudding with a small piece of cherry pie." she replied.
"Good. What did he drink?"
"Cold boiled water and a juiced apple."
"Lovely." Mary answered. "Are you ready for bed, now?" she asked James. He shook his head, muttering a no, but his mouth opening in an adorable little yawn contradicted this. Mary smiled softly.
"I believe it is," she looked to her nanny. "have his evening bath prepared, with some warm milk sweetened with honey." she instructed. From her arms, James let out a soft coo, nuzzling into the crook of her neck. Mary smiled softly, pressing a kiss to his head.
"Yes, your Imperial Majesty," she said, walking out of the room after another deep curtsy. James turned and waved at one of his favourite nannies as she left, continuing to do so as his mother dismissed the two guards, other nanny and three servants that were in the room, finally leaving mother and child alone for the first time since dawn that morning.
It had been a hard day. Henry had left that morning, after news of their marriage's annaulation had reached from the Vatican. She was saddened to see one of her must trusted friends leave, and was unhappy to receive news of a bit of turbulence in the Italian border with France, and up in the west of the Scottish highland. Troops and diplomats had been sent either direction, but it had taken quite a bit of time to pacify and soothe frantic nobility.
Never mind the fact that some were still shaken up over the fact that their King had somehow risen from the grave he never was really in, in the first place, of course. The Empress and Queen Regent chuckled softly, subconsciously tightening her hold on the little boy in her arms. Said King had been in his chambers all day plotting with his mother
Mary walked over to a chaise, settling them both down against it. Knowing what was coming, James waited impatiently, squirming on Mary's reclined torso. Quickly, she freed a breast and covered her child as he eagerly started to suckle. Try as they might to wean him from her, James was still reluctant to completely stop the intimate bonding time both enjoyed.
Mary stared down at her child with a soft smile. He was so perfect, so undaunted or untainted by this horrid world.
She observed his features. He looked rather like her. All dark golden eyes and raven hair. James held his fathers curls, but Mary's cheekbones. Her eye shape and his nose. Her chin and his jawline. His lips but her porcelain skin. So sweet and innocent, yet so protective and perceptive.
"I love you, mo gaol." she whispered in her native tongue, stroking his silky black hair. "I'll do whatever I possibly can to protect you." she finished.
Mary didn't know if James understood what she said, but a tiny hand gripping her own made her think he did.
Knock! Knock! Knock!
Mary jumped, body snapping up from the overstuffed satin chaise. She overlooked her surroundings, finding herself inside James' spacious, luxury nursery.
How did she get here?
It took a moment to remember that the boy had had a nightmare in the middle of the night, and would only soothe when his mother had been with him. So, Mary found herself spending the night in the chaise.
The door swung open and Mary wrapped a tighter arm around James' still sleeping body, the other hand grappling for the blade the Empress always kept under the chaise.
"Forgive me, your Imperial Majesty." A voice said. Mary looked over and saw Steven, a fair haired, green eyed bastard son of the Empress' half brother, John Stewart. He acted as a spy and page for his godmother and aunt, who had raised him ever since he was fourteen.
"Steven." she clarified, relaxing. "What is it, child?" she asked, never having broken the habit of referring to him as that.
"The Lady Aimee, the Lady Amelile, the Lady Charlotte, Renee of Blois, Gabrielle of Melun, Jacquitte of Beray, Marion of Amboise, Blanche of Numois and Adrienne of Étampes, your Grace," he bowed out, opening the door for Mary's nine working girls.
Whilst she would never openly admit it, she'd built up quite the flying squad in the French Court. All were fiercely loyal to her, many others stationed all across the country, their only tasks to sleep with noblemen and important fixtures in France, all giving information to the Queen Regent who was due to become the Queen Consort of France in due time. Similar arrangements had been set up in England, Scotland, Wales and Ireland as well, but it was in France that they had truly established this little agreement.
They had done terrible, terrible things to prove their undivided loyalty to Mary, all of this starting just after the long dead Count Vincent's little visit to the French Court. It had became serious when Mary had started adapting to the ways of the French Royal Court, even more so when Francis had left over two years ago.
The most accomplished ladies, such as Aimee, Amelile and Charlotte had been given titles as rewards for their efforts. Aimee, the Empress' personal favourite, had been married off to a wealthy and powerful Duke, for it had been her to inform the then Queen of Scots and Dauphine of France, of Francis' little adventures away from Court. However, her loyalty hadn't changed ever since her wedding just after Mary had found out about Lola's bastard pregnancy.
"What it is, girls?" she asked.
"Mary, your Imperial Majesty, we've heard something terrible!" Blanche, the youngest of the nine, cried, cheeks even redder than they would be as they stood out of the dark blue satin of her strapless gown. Mary cocked her head at the one who reminded her of dear young Aylee, the newest acquisition who had worked for her for several months had been nothing but loyal, even if they had to get rid of the little bit of childish innocence she clung to.
"What, Blanche?"
"The King, the King and the Queen mother have been speaking over King Francis' bastard son!" she exclaimed. Mary cocked her head, glancing down at James as she stood up, cradling him against her chest, walking over to her girls.
"What of it?"
"The Queen mother encourages him to claim it!" she exclaimed, almost outraged.
"What?" Mary gasped. "Just a few night ago, the Queen mother understood my reluctance to let it happen! How could she double deal against me like this?" she questioned, passing James over to Amelile.
"She says she thinks only of King Francis' happiness, not of Prince James' future, nor your happiness, your highness!" Gabrielle added.
Mary shook her head, anger coursing through her veins. She explained her reasons! She explained how James would ruin his bastard half brother as he grew into a man! And they still want Francis to claim the bastard child?!
"Charlotte," she said instead, pulling the black donned red head's attention to her. "Get into bed with the cardinal, get him to tell you when the legitimisation will happen. We must find out how much time we have left." she demanded. Charlotte nodded and curtseyed with an "of course, your Imperial Majesty", leaving without another word.
"You three," she addressed Blanche, Adrienne and Marion. "find out whatever you can about this, find out if Catherine is simply lying to her son, do whatever you must." she instructed. They nodded, curtseyed and left.
"You," she addressed Renee of Blois, Gabrielle of Melun, Jacquitte of Beray, three blondes from eastern France, known for the deviousness and deception. "Become acquainted with the bastards' mother, her servants and the nannies stationed for the bastard son. Find out about any possible matches she may be juggling, if she wishes to take her bastard and flee, find out anything she could have withheld from me."
"You two, my most accomplished and trusted, become acquainted with anybody immediately close to the King, sleep with his servants or guards, read his journal, even become acquainted with him if you must, but you do not share intimacies with him. Find out his feelings and immediate actions. And, if he truly means to claim it, send for my servants to pack mine, my ladies, my sons' and your things. If the King claims his bastard son, we are going to Scotland. And we will not return."
"Are you sure of this, Mary?" Greer asked as she finished the complicated bun at the back of Mary's head.
"Not really, no." Mary sighed. Greer had really been the one to step up the most during their tumultuous time in France. Easily the most loyal out of her ladies, second possibly only to Aylee, but Aylee was gone now. She trusted her more than Kenna, simply because Greer was easily the smartest and most level headed out of all of them, even though she still adored her half sister in law. Kenna could be too impulsive and hedonistic at times, ambition for personal rise sometimes could outweigh what was loyal and right.
But, she trusted her and loved her a tenfold more than she did the other Scottish blooded woman taking up residence in the castle.
As much as Mary trusted her working girls, the trust between her, Greer and Kenna was deeper, stronger. It could be labelled as mutual understanding, seeing as they held similar opinions and heritage, but even then, it seemed deeper.
"I think you should continue to wait until the dust has settled between the two of you before you introduce them." Kenna chimed in, fixing a pair of long emerald earrings onto her Queen's ears.
"I am aware, I know it won't end well, but to keep their suspicions to a minimum, they need to be distracted." Mary sighed, fiddling with her signet ring.
"They still don't know?" Greer asked.
"No, they don't. Regarding this situation, there's every possibility either one will sweet talk me into deception of their own, tell me whatever I want to hear until they do whatever they please," Mary sighed, feeling Greer slide pins and twist knots into her long raven locks from behind her.
It was the day that Mary finally agreed to let Francis see James for the first time. Things had been better and worse in both areas. They hadn't been fighting as much over the past two weeks, although Mary ached to scream at him for his deception. They'd only yelled once before, around four days ago, when Francis had made the mistake of mentioning Lola in the presence of her Empress.
Mary's girls had been doing all they could for their Queen Regent, but much to her annoyance, things hadn't progressed as fast as they wished. Only a vague time scale from Charlotte and barely anything they didn't already know from the others. It angered Mary that she was at a disadvantage and could do little but await for this whole mess to play out.
The Pope had made strides to Francis' legitimisation, but it was taking longer than they thought to restore him to the throne. Mary hadn't objected, although she clearly wanted to at times, making the whole process a little smoother with the French public, but certain people wouldn't accept certain things whilst others were certainly more ardent in their acceptance than others.
Mary was still reeling from these past few weeks, but simply couldn't let it cloud her judgement in ruling. If anything, it had made her a stronger ruler, more perceptive and ardent in her judgement. Although well aware that she was killing the young girl inside of her, the one who believed Francis and she would live and rule for a long time, a dozen children at their feet, but there really was no alternative. It was either become a ruler or die trying to be one.
Honestly, as bad as it sounds, Mary was genuinely surprised that Francis hadn't been assassinated over the last little while. To be truly killed and dead forever. It would have been so much simpler if he had been, and the fair haired King had gained many enemies over the fact he still walked amongst the living. It wouldn't have been surprising if word had reached them that the powerless King was actually dead. They could have kept this mess from the public and the history books, she and Henry could have grown to love each other and gave James many half brothers and sisters, could have lived a life together, but unfortunately, they didn't live in a dream world. It would have been great, but the man had been cooped up in his chambers with heavy guards ever since his return. He was here to stay, and would emerge covered in glory after the Pope legitimised him once again and reinstated their marriage.
Which, unfortunately, meant introducing Francis to his legitimate son for the first time.
"How do you think James will react to seeing him for the first time?" Kenna asked.
"He won't be happy. He will cry and he will pine for another he knows, one of us or Bash. No matter what Francis wishes to think, their will be no immediate connection or love. You know how perceptive and protective he is. He will pull away from him, make it known that he doesn't like being around him. I think he'll sense the animosity between Francis and I, and I have been told by the nanny Francesca that little boys are even more protective of their mothers than their fathers. Never mind the fact that James doesn't even know his own father." Mary finished, a little sigh at the end, never thinking she'd be saying the last sentence in her life.
"Bash and I have spoken of this." Kenna blurted softly, tying a necklace of diamonds and emeralds around her Queen's neck.
"Oh?" Greer asked. "What does he say?"
"He knows why you want him gone, he does. He knows that Lola's child will cause you nothing but pain, still doesn't understand why Francis wishes to claim the child and keep him here. But," Kenna sighed.
"But what?" Greer asked, curiosity expanding.
"He adores James, you know that, but Jean," Kenna trialled off.
"Jean, what?" Greer prodded.
"I am sure that he favours Jean to James." Kenna blurted. Mary's eyebrows furrowed, a frown of confusion appearing on her face.
"Why is that?" her voice was cold, for reasons too complicated to explain.
"Nothing you or James has done, Mary." Kenna added, voice quick. "But I am sure Bash relates to Jean. Both being bastard born, both will know and knew lives of pain, scorn and neglect, both represent pain and betrayal. There has to be more, but Bash is one of the few people that can look at Jean and see him for what he is, a little boy, not for what he personifies." Kenna said, not thinking. When she did, she started spluttering and stumbling over her words.
"Mary, I-I-" she started, fearing the wrath of the back of Mary's hand. She had felt it a few times, knowing the symbolism of their positions hurt worse than the strike.
"No, I kind of understand." Mary sighed. "I don't like what I have to become to be a ruler. I don't like the fact that I almost resent the child for his conception, nor do I wish to send him away. He is innocent, but even I have to protect his future." Mary sighed, getting up from the chair and pulling on a long white fur house coat over her ivory silk gown with spaghetti straps over the shoulders. Her satin court heels clicked against the stone flooring. Kenna helped her fasten the coat, fixing the belt she wore, the same one she wore to her first wedding.
Straightening out her dark green gown, Greer quickly fastened a few more pins to her Empress' hair, blooming out the raven curls around her back and hips, straightening the diamond crown.
"Let's get on with this, then." she sighed, walking out of the door and over towards the Prince's nursery.
Catherine was inside, kneeling in front of the tiny prince, smiling and talking to her second grandson. The room was comfortingly lit with a fire, the sky dark and room cozier than usual. It was also full with the usual three guards, four servents and two nannies. They talked amongst themselves quietly, only stopping to bow and curtsey to the Queen Regent.
"Your Imperial Majesty." they murmured, before talking to each other once more.
James' little dark head snapped up, hearing the familiar words. With a sweet squeal of excitement, James bolted up from the floor where he and Catherine sat, rushing over on steadying legs to hug his mother's legs that were encased in a wide ball gown skirt.
He looked up at her, a wide toothy smile on his little face.
Mary smiled back, kneeling to take the child in her arms, resting him on her hip.
"My love," Mary smiled softly, stroking his black curls back from his face and kissing him softly.
The little Prince started to wine as he was placed on Catherine's lap, who had sat on one of the chairs in the room, a gift from the last King of Persia after James' birth.
"Shh, my little love," Mary whispered, kneeling in front of her son and kissing his little hands that started to reach out to her again.
Mary stood up and walked behind the chair, nervously fiddling with her fingers as she started to hear the sound of firmiliar footsteps. The loose gait could be identified anywhere.
"Are you sure about this, Catherine?" Mary asked, whispering to her mother in law. "It seems too soon."
"It is not, Mary. You simply need a push." Catherine answered with a smile, looking back at her. "All of you do."
Mary exhaled slowly, looking up as the door opened and the fair haired blonde King walked inside the warm, cozy room. Sebastian trialled behind his half brother.
"My dear little James, this is your father." Catherine smiled as Francis came forward, kneeling on the floor with a smile.
Catherine set her younger grandson on the floor, slowly encouraging him to walk forwards to his father.
Silently gesturing to the guards, servants and nannies to leave. Silently, they did.
"James," Francis whispered. "I'm your papa, and I am so sorry for not being there. But, I am here now, and never leaving again." he said, quiet and slow.
James stood staring at his father for a long time, inspecting him. Francis let him look for as long as he wanted, not moving, just looking back at his son.
God, he looked just like Mary. All dark eyes and hair, similar features and a mysterious, soothing aura.
Finally, James blinked slowly, langidly, cocking his head to the side, black curls swinging over a tiny black leather clad shoulder.
A little, soft smile painted his lips, dimples exposing themselves on his cheeks.
Francis exhaled a chuckle through his nose, smiling wider than he had in over two years.
He raised a tiny hand, a little wave. A little word slipped from his lips, a similar way he spoke when talking to one of Francis' elder siblings or a courtier.
"Hello." he quietly said, the word soft and a little slurred.
Francis beamed at him.
Mary exhaled a little. Okay, this isn't bad. She thought, looking at the interaction.
The slight sound brought James' attention to her. He looked back at his mother, then over at his father. Back to his mother, then over to his father. Over and over and over and over again.
Suddenly, as if understanding the last twenty eight months, his little eyebrows furrowed and he started to frown at his father.
James took a step back to his mother. Francis stood up again.
"Are you nice to mama?" James asked, words misspoken and babbled.
"Not all the time, but I always will be now." Francis answered. "I promise."
James shook his head, little curls moving.
"Don't know."
Seeing the heartbreak in Francis' eyes, something changed in Mary. She didn't want him to hurt like she hurt these last few years. At her most vengeful, she would have wanted Francis to hurt the worst way possible, but now that he was starting to, Mary didn't like it. She had to be better than what he had done over the last while.
"James." Mary softly said, walking over and kneeling down next to her son. "No need to be scared or unsure, it's okay." she softly said.
"Who, mama? Who?" James asked, taking quick glances at Francis through his misspoken words. Mary's eyes hardened, hating the fact that, like her, she had no idea who his father was.
"He's your father," Mary brushed a curl behind his little ear. "Your papa." Mary tried to smile.
"No hurt, mama. No hurt." James repeated.
Mary smiled softly.
"He won't hurt me." She tried to promise.
"Promise, mama? No hurt, not let mama sad," James rushed.
Mary smiled softly again. "I hope so."