"Your Majesty," Francis' page said, walking up to the King of France. He bowed, handing Francis a piece of folded parchment. "Word from the German Ambassador, your Grace." the dark haired page said, bowing and leaving the room.
"What is it?" Bash asked, sipping a wine goblet.
"He says his master does not approve of my continued estrangement from the Empress and wishes to have an immediate audience with the both of us." Francis signed, letting the letter fall from his fingers and onto the table. "I cannot think of politics right now." Francis sighed.
"You have to. You have to be King, now. Running away to the woman who bore you a child and leaving your country to regent rule is no longer an option." Bash almost snapped.
"You still resent me for my impulsive choice?" Francis grained.
"Kenna resents you, for she is loyal to her Empress. Whatever Mary feels, Kenna feels. And whatever the woman I love feels, I feel." Bash explained. "I must agree, as well. I am separated from my wife and daughter because of your choice." Bash almost glared.
"Mary left." Francis reminded. Bash swallowed back a sigh, the kind of sigh that hadn't tried to come out since Francis was fooling around with Olivia and had tried to marry her.
"Mary made good on her word. She warned you she would leave and she did. Don't blame her for your mistake." Bash almost glared.
"Must you insult my judgement?" Francis asked, leaning back on his chair.
"You may be King but I am your elder brother. You have me here to give my honest opinion." Bash reminded.
"Come, child." Catherine's soft voice said, drawing Mary's attention from the window she was perched on the sill of. The pregnant Queen Consort of France wore a black gown, covering every inch of her body except for her face, black lace gloves covering her hands.
Everyday, Mary gave up a little bit of hope that her beloved husband was out there somewhere, alive. The child inside of her was her salvation, but also her torturer. One, last piece of Francis grew inside of her, she never even got the chance to tell him of her findings, before he was off riding away like some reckless, romantic martyr, saving the mother of his child from the jaws of death that she'd thrown herself into willingly.
Her stomach grew, as did the hole in her heart. He'd been gone for months, her stomach prominent and obvious, large and quickened with child. He comforted her and tortured her, a constant reminder of Francis, both a miracle and a curse.
"Come," Catherine, also donned in black, said quietly, reaching a hand to Mary's arm. Like her daughter in law, she too lost a bit of hope that her golden child still walked amongst the living. His unborn child that grew inside his wife the only piece of him they had left. "fresh air will do you good, Mary. Your child requires it," Catherine whispered, placing a hand on her stomach, the other on her back to steady her, unsteady balance and all.
Slowly, the duo made their way out towards the gardens, silent in pre-meditated mourning. She sat Mary down first, before settling beside her pregnant daughter in law.
Where was he? Mary thought to herself. If he wasn't dead, where could he possibly be? Was he going around the country, helping to rebuild it after the plague? Did Lola or the child survive? Was he with them? Did he see his bastard child being born? Did the six month old light up whenever it saw him? Did Francis' eyes light up when he saw his child? Did it toddle uneasily towards him? Would that child be the only one he'd ever know?
Subconsciously, Mary's left fist tightened. How could he leave her? Pregnant, with his child, no less?
"I know," Catherine quietly said. Mary turned to her, frowning.
How? the silent question was loud.
"I know how you feel. It was hard, so, so hard, being without a child and having to watch that little bast-" Catherine cut herself off. "watching Bash run around and play whilst I felt alone."
Catherine glanced up from where she had once stood, ushering a very pregnant Mary out of the castle for the first time in weeks. The ghost of the Queen and the unborn King still remained, six months after their departure from the castle and the country.
The happy squeals of the crown prince of France still echoed in the hallways, joining with the giggles of long dead little Prince Louis. She could hear the ghosts of her children that had grown into adults, their childish spirits twining with their adult forms. Gasping for breath, she imagined the ghosts of Victoria and Joan, running around in girlish pinks and purples. They spun each other in circles and chased each other around the corridors. She saw the ghosts of young Elisabeth and Claude, the elders' soft, melodic giggles, the sound of Claude's loud, bellowing laughs.
That was all she wanted for her son. Her favourite, her golden child. To listen to the sounds of his own giggling children.
For him to be happy.
Was that such a crime?
Catherine ached from the loss of Mary and James, knew that if she hadn't instigated Francis claiming his son, the duo would still be here. She knew that if she had kept her mouth closed, the Queen Consort of France and the Dauphin would remain, but Catherine was a mother, she hurt when her son hurt. And, no matter how justified Mary's anger was, that anger saddened her favourite child. And, his own made him happy, in the rare times she saw her bastard grandson and her eldest son together. As much as it would hurt Mary, she needed her son to be happy.
As horrible as it sounded, Catherine held the deepest compassion for Mary, but Francis was her child, her priority. She would rather have Mary unhappy than Francis to be the same.
As much as she missed Mary and James, she had to prioritise her son and his own son, rather than Mary and her son. Besides, they'd be alright, James adored Mary and the woman was a political genius, they'd always be safe in whatever country Mary ruled upon. And, if not, they'd always have position and station in France.
Should Mary and James ever return, Catherine knew it would hurt the Empress to see Jean and Lola. It would hurt Mary like Catherine had burned for three years in suffered silence. Unlike Mary, Bash's first two years of life had caused three miscarriages, making her resentment to the young bastard worse than ever.
Whilst Catherine didn't want Mary to suffer the way she suffered, she knew that if it spared her son unhappiness then she would permit it, all the while attempting to support the young woman as best she could.
But, Catherine knew Mary, and knew that Mary had far too much self respect to live like Catherine lived, if she had a choice in the matter, which she always did. Mary always had the option to leave, for she was a regnal queen, Catherine only a queen consort once upon a time. She had even more option and reason to leave after having James, a legitimate, strong male heir. Part of her knew that the young Scottish Empress would leave to her homeland to raise her child in complete happiness, rather than put herself through all that suffering for little to no reward.
Happiness is the one thing a Queen can never have. But, perhaps, an Empress could find a way.
The sight was completely maddening. Watching her sit contently on a teal silk settee, so beautiful, all alabaster and onyx. Serene, content, idealistic. He watched as she smiled down at their son, the future of an empire. The future of the world lay so happily in her arms. Outside, the thunderstorm danced to the tune of his inner emotions so well. The child, so perfect and sweet, innocent and ignorantly betrayed. At such a small age, he was so strong, symbolised so much more than simply the physical love between a King and a Queen.
The sight before him angered and contented him, two emotions in complete turmoil with each other. One battled the other, and they always would, until he looked away from the scene. It reminded him of his inadequacy, a relationship he did not share with this perfect little child. One he would never see. A depiction so impossibly perfect that it would never be seen the same way again. Well, he could see versions of it, of course. Another child, another woman. But, never would he lay eyes on the actual account of this scene.
He was supposed to give her that. And, he did. But, he also did not. He gave her the opportunity to have that, but he hadn't given her that. Complete and unbridled happiness, such contentment that it seemed impossible.
There was a soft smile on her face, one he hadn't seen in years. She looked so young, so beautiful. Soft raven locks fell over her, her offspring holding the moniker so perfect that it could never be anything else. The boy in her arms, laying so calmly with a hand reaching up towards her, he would never truly see. A version of him, yes. But, never the physical child in front of him. He would never see this child.
The King of France and Emperor of Britain stood silently, staring at the beautiful scene that he would never truly see. He would always be as he was now, just a little too far away from this unity and serenity to be a part of it. He would look at it, he could look at it, but he would never truly see it. It would play in front of his eyes like a production, but he would never truly see it.
What stood in front of Francis was not a physical woman. Nor a physical child. Just a painting. A once white canvas, some paint and visible brush strokes. But, the painting was so much more than that. It was what it always would be. A moment in time frozen in the world forever.
Mary sat on a teal silk settee, one that now rested in her old chambers in it's physical form. From what he could see, she wore a delicate white gown, waves of satin and lace falling so effortlessly around her arms and body that it could be excused for water. It wasn't too dissimilar from the gown she wore when Bash had been injured, in that whole situation with Thomas, the long dead Bastard Prince of Portugal. Nor was it too dissimilar to the gown she wore the first time they had met Philippe Nadine on their travels through France. But, it was so different to any other. Which, he knew, wasn't too dissimilar to what she actually was. Different. Different and changed. Her shoulders and chest were exposed, all glowing porcelain skin. She sat turned to the side a little.
On her neck hung a simple teardrop shaped pale sapphire, housed safely in a small row of clear diamonds. A matching coloured bow hung from her gown, falling just out of frame, frozen by paint, but so clearly moving. Her face was turned down, looking at her baby fondly. In her ears, small diamonds that glittered in this perfect, sun rising light.
A soft smile was on her lips, light in her forever frozen eyes. The curve of her soft jaw was highlighted, as was the contour of her cheekbone. Her hair, all raven locks, fell around them. One shoulder exposed, long locks pushed behind her shoulder, the other covered by the cascading fall of the curled raven sea. All untarnished and perfect, beauty beyond compare, as it always had been. And always would be.
In her arms lay James, no bigger than a newborn. All pale skin and raven coloured curls, laying in a knitted white blanket. On his little body, a white satin suit, one small foot poking out. Bare, porcelain and fresh, tiny and perfect, far from breakable but not too far from fragile. An eye was exposed, shimmering gold. His small nose wasn't too dissimilar to his own, pouty lips open in a soft, open grin. A hint of a little tongue could be seen, but the tiny hand reaching up to his mothers' chest and simple diamond. Or, maybe her heart. But, he and only he held it.
Something he, the King and father himself, would never have.
"So, what are you going to do about that?" a voice said. Francis jumped, turning to his black leather clad half brother.
"I-I-" he stuttered. It was funny, having been raised to be so proficient in the art of conversation, yet some could leave him tongue tied with just a look.
Bash turned his face, indicating his brother to speak further.
Francis shook his head and turned away, turning to stare at the utter perfection. Away from his half brothers' relentless gaze. Further away was a mirror, small because of the distance between him and it. But, in the reflection stood Lola. Lola and John, the latter donned in green.
Funny, isn't it?
White, the colour of innocence and purity.
Green, the colour of fertility and envy.
"Well, isn't this symbolic?" Bash smirked from behind him. Francis turned once again.
"What do you mean?"
"You look at Mary and James, but always behind them, Lola and Jean. But, Mary and James are gone, here only in portrait, because Lola and Jean are here, physically. You have to pick, Francis. Think like a King, not like a man." he replied. Francis blinked at him, and Bash mirrored. "You have not answered my Question. What are you going to do about that?"
"I have no idea." Francis decided.
"Well, my brother," Bash smiled, coming closer and placing a hand on his King's shoulder. "You are lucky that I do."
Hundreds of miles away, in a cold castle, the young Empress sat at her desk, rapidly writing on a piece of parchment. It had been a long day. A long day of politics and arguments with a partially dimwitted new member of the Scottish Privy council. One only there because of his blood and not because of his brains.
What is it about those with light hair? They never do me right, Mary thought, starting to read over the treaty once more. Mary's eyes rapidly went over the weakest part of her given information, considering how to change it.
"Your Majesty!" A voice called, drawing the Empress' attention away from the treaty she was ratifying to the door.
"Yes, what is it?" Mary questioned, staring at the neat, Calligraphic words written in black ink. She glanced from one note to another, one to her left and other to the right, before dipping the quill she used in the ink pot once again, waiting for her page to speak once more.
"Your Imperial Majesty, you have a visitor, someone of great importance, he says." Tomas, one of the pages said. His voice was breathy, as if he's just been running.
"Who is it?" Mary asked. But, she knew. Mary always knew.
The door opened wider, the soft squeak giving it away.
"Your Imperial Majesty, the Emperor Francis."
The sun has risen in all her Imperial Majesty. She overlooked her worldwide Kingdom with a warm, bright smile, assisting them out of their slumbers willingly. Her almighty Majesty slowly coaxed her people from beds without irritation or reluctance, like she did every morning. Moors were lit up, mountains, cliffs and hills equalling her beauty. She showcased her Kingdom's beauty in all it was, forcing her counterpart to observe their contours and highlights. Heat from the sun on this glistening, Springtime morning replaced embers from dying hearths and small lights from melting candles. She awoke her Kingdom for another day.
Obeying their mistress, birds sung their melodic song. They soared over the mountains and the heaths, the hills and the streams and the seas waking up to the gentle songs. Brother helped sisters, roosters cooing for their own mistresses and masters to awaken, the future mistresses and masters in the world starting to wail at the sight and the sound, weather they be in small, willowing cottages or imposing, large castles. Animal kind coaxed their owners from their beds, watching quietly, those sneaky enough to do so laving sinful beds with information for only the Almighty Empress' ears and hers only.
The raven haired, Almighty Empress awoke quietly in her own right. Swallows singing and quiet voices outside her bed chambers being enough to stir her from her dreams. For a moment, one singular, grand moment, it was as if nothing had changed for the young girl. The last several years nothing but a nightmare. The young girl was still the indulged, beautiful and strong young 'Reinette' of the French court, waking up in the arms of her future King and Husband, whom she adored and was adored in return. The protective Dauphin who was already so, so dear to her.
Mary knew who lay behind her. Mary always knew.
And then, she was still that young, kind and sweet 'Dauphine' of the French Court, her country defended much like her heart. Scotland was momentarily contented under her mothers' regency, England at bay with support for Mary's rule growing day by day and France eagerly waiting for the announcement of an impending heir. Although darkened by the ways of the French and the rules of the world, these few moments were craved most of all, where none of it mattered. Where it could just be him and her against the world.
But now, now it was all so different.
The night before had been something of a fairy tale. The ball room glistened in gold, flames from candles and great hearths giving the room an enchanting, seductive glow, as all from Scottish Court gathered to celebrate this momentous occasion. Portraits of King's and Queen's of Scotland had smiled upon their court as she gathered in her glistening beauty. Men wore their finest coats and jackets, escorting into the room things of beauties, donned in their finest gowns and finest jewels.
But, as she entered, all could agree that the purest thing of beauty was without question the Empress of the United Kingdom of Great Britain. She wore a massive sea of golden tulle skirts that glistened into the seductive light, a tight silk bodice encasing the enviable figure she wore. A foot of satin went over her skirts, trailing over the back to create a four foot long train. Satin pearl embellished court heels were covered by the golden material, silk bodice covered in intricate silver embroidery, in itself embellished with jewels of every colour and small pearls. Her arms were left bare, the left being covered by her raven sea of curls as they were held to one side, an impressive golden crown on her head. As the raven haired beauty usually was in big parties, she was draped in gold jewels, long chandelier earrings and a heavy necklace, bracelets of golden lace covering her hands and holding her middle fingers, every other stacked with rings.
Court had audibly gasped as the young beauty walked into the ball room, one handsome young man on either arm. Both had been donned in black velvet and gold satin, complimenting her so perfectly that it seemed almost surreal. The portrait of the, so disgustingly sweet and hole, trinity defied whatever the history books could say about them. Whatever they had or would say about them, past, present or future, had been defied by the sweet little portrait as she parted the sea of courtiers and walked over to the grand, golden thrones.
The ladies of the court cooed over the sweet family trio, whilst the men covered their faces with the golden wine goblets, only brought out for the most special and important events. This event, however, this event was both neither and all.
As the Imperial Mistress of the court waved a hand, the music played and the people danced. The music was loud, jolly and happy as she made herself known. Echoes of the Celts and the Gaelics, the English and the French echoed throughout the grand fortress that was Edinburgh castle. She danced with those who danced within her, never stopping until the last of the music finally echoed into slumber.
The wine had been explosions of fruit and sugar in those with goblets' mouths. It flowed endlessly, nobody, not even the Emperor and Empress of Britain and France, being sober towards the end. The alcohol flowed like water, adding to the enjoyment of the court, celebrating her Emperor's debut into the world his wife had made her own. The court danced and laughed with each other, celebrating for the sake of celebrating as her Empress' girls went to work.
The Empress watched as her fourteen girls went to work, Greer's working girls assisting their counterparts as they wooed and charmed those who were less complaint in their loyalty to the Scottish Empress than the others in the court. The woman would never admit it, but she'd built up quite the network of spies and girls in the Empire, including France. But, Mary hated remaining so work driven and enjoyed times where she could have fun. So, she and her people had partied all day and all night, no expense spared for the enjoyment of a Scottish party. The music had been loud and constant, wine goblets and whiskey tankards never empty. Her people had danced and danced the night away, barely stopping to indulge in European cuisine that had been imported from all over the continent.
The night before had been something out of a fairy tale. The return of their ally had caused the British people to erupt in joy and celebrations, finally getting to meet the man who had married their blood written Queen and who had given her their future Emperor. Simply put, the introduction of the ruler to the Scottish court for the first time had been more than enough cause for celebration.
Diamonds flickered like candles all over the ballroom. Weather it be from the decorations or chandeliers, or the jewels on every Lady's gown, they flickered and danced with their mistresses and masters. The diamonds glinted on the Empress' fingers as she raised goblet after goblet full of wine and whiskey to her lips, dancing the night away, temporarily beloved husband at her side.
Her husband brave and strong and here, never leaving her for a second longer than necessary, if only they could turn back the sand glasses and have that be true. When the brave, valorous, charismatic character thought of her and only her. When there was never the issue of mistresses and bastard children, when abandonment and omission wasn't a factor in their weltering marital union.
If only,
If only.
"What are you doing here, Francis?" Mary asked, monotone drowning her words as the door closed and legal husband and wife were alone again.
"I-I couldn't stand to be away from you a moment longer. I wanted to see you." he looked down at his threaded fingers, observing the stone and wooden flooring and the tapestry rugs.
"Why?" Mary asked. "You've had over seven months to return to me, try and prove your contrition and finally be a father to my son. So, why now? What's changed?"
"Time, I suppose." Francis sighed. Mary still didn't look at him, but furrowed her eyebrows a little, her attention ripped from the treaty in front of her to the husband behind her.
"What does that mean?"
"I don't know," Francis sighed. "My brother made me realise-" he trialled off.
"What? That we've repeated history? Come on," she chuckled humorlessly. "that was obvious since the moment I realise you slept with my Lady and got her pregnant." she snickered humorlessly.
"I understand your anger. It is justified. What Lola and I did may not have been infidelity, but it was definatley betrayal. For that, I am sorry." he said quietly.
"Speaking of her," Mary moved on, not even acknowledging hid words. "where is she? A King never leaves the castle with his mistress." Mary finished.
"I don't have a mistress!" he suddenly exclaimed. Mary blinked in surprise, not expecting this conversation to get loud so soon. He walked over to the other side of the desk, looking her in the eye. Feeling at a disadvantage, Mary stood to her full height. Francis spoke again, louder than a usual saying, quieter than a yell."I slept with her, once, to accidentally conceive John! I was upset, betrayed, angry and numb! I shouldn't have done it, and I know that now! But don't let one foolish indiscretion ruin everything we have!"
"What do we have?" Mary honestly asked. "A son and heir, a legal marriage and an Empire. That is it. Any love I had for you, any smoldering ember, was put out the moment you claimed that bastard child as your own!"
"I know you didn't want me to, and I know your reasons. But I did it because I love him, he is the only son I have that I actually know!-"
"Who's fault is that?!"
"Would you not do anything possible to improve James' life?! That if you did one single thing, his existence would be immediately benefited?!"
"Not if within a decade, his life will be ruined more than it would have been if he was just a common bastard!" Mary yelled. "I am sick of fighting about this. You and I will never reach an agreement over it, what is the point of all this?" Mary asked.
"I don't want my actions to ruin the next twenty years of our lives! I don't want one indiscretion and one possibly wrong decision to ruin my marriage!" Francis exclaimed.
"That didn't ruin it! I can look past your night with Lola, I might even be able to look past claiming John, what I cannot look past is making the last three years completely about her! You abandoned your unborn son and I! For over two years! You made us think you were dead! You ruined an innocent man's life, so much so he has to live out the rest of his life in guarded exile! I could have lost my head because of you! You made Lola your confidant, that is what hurt worse than abandonment! In some eyes, she could be described as your legal wife, not I!"
"How could you think that?! Who could think that?!"
"You spent nine months married to me! You spent almost two and a half years in self made exile! Your bastard child knows you, my son does not! If anybody knows the intricate details, some could say you and she are more married than you and I! Never mind the fact at least one of you is lying to me right now!"
Francis went to open her mouth, to interrupt, but he furrowed his eyebrows and frowned as her last sentence left her lips.
"What are you talking about?" Francis frowned.
"On the day I confronted Lola, she told me that in Italy, you got drunk on various nights and took different women to your bed. You didn't bed her again, you bedded others." Mary said, angry but slightly curious at his confusion. Either he was acting well -which the man could not- or Lola had been lying to her.
"I did no such thing!" he yelled. Mary blinked in surprise. Well, this is a development Mary thought, looking her husband in the eye as he spoke again, quieter this time. "It is true that I drank, casually, socially in fact. To try and find out what others knew of France and you when somebody would travel from my homeland to my mothers' But, I was never drunk. I damn sure never slept with any whores." Francis growled. "How could she tell you that?" he asked, but more to himself than to his wife.
"So, she lies to me. She lies to you," Mary trialled quietly.
"What?" Francis asked. "What has she lied to me about?"
"Nothing, it doesn't matter," Mary shook her head, looking down at the treaty again.
"No," he came forward, a gentle hand wrapping around her wrist. "Tell me."
"My working girls said that the morning you were coming back to court, a man came into the room and told you of your mothers' impending execution. Lola said she had 'no idea'" Mary crooked her fingers a little, mocking Lola. "of these events. But, she was the first one to start begging for it. Revenge for what Catherine did to Collen just after our return to court." the Empress exclaimed. "Hell, it was even before Henry and others started talking of it." she finished.
If Francis looked angry before, now, he looked furious.
He let go of her wrist, turning towards the door, as if going to leave. But, this time it was Mary who grabbed his wrist.
"No." he looked at her, bewildered, before slowly glancing at the hand on his wrist. As if realising what she'd done as well, Mary released her husband, looking him in the eye again. "No. If what you say is true, that she's not here, there's no need to leave like a raging bull. If you are truthful, that you want to work on our relationship and focus on the baby, do that." Mary ordered. "Greer and Kenna tell me that they're organising a ball for this evening, a celebration of your miraculous recovery from the grave and our marriage's reinstatement." Mary looked away a little. "As angry as I am with you, I don't want to live the rest of my life how Catherine did. I know that." she looked back at him. "Lead me into the ball tonight. Let the people know that the rumours of our distance are just that. Rumours."
"But, they're not." Francis said quietly.
Mary looked away, nodding a little.
"They are." she sighed. "Francis, I am still quite guarded, wary and still utterly furious with you. But, I don't want my child to grow up like you did, and I don't want to turn into your mother. I find myself torn. Part of me still believes in the whole fairy tale love we once had, but the other wants to ban you from my land and never see you again. But, if I give into the anger inside me, I feel I will regret it for the rest of my life." she sighed.
Francis' heart lept. Was she serious? Were these words really coming out of his wife's mouth? Or was this an impossibly perfect dream that he never wanted to wake from.
"So," she moved swiftly on. "We won't pretend the last three years didn't happen. It will kill us, resentment and un-harboured love and regret will tear us apart like they did to your parents. In public, we'll act the perfectly happy couple, the devout parents. I'm sure James will play along so long as he's near me. We'll be disgustingly happy, but not naive. It's what will be best for us both. Many people are angry and need pacifying over the last few courses of events. But, when they are, happily pacified with gold, lands and titles, then we will attempt to change how we actually are." Mary paused for a few moments. "We'll take a trip, up to the North. There's a little castle at the highlands will be perfect. In private," Mary paused again.
"And in private?" he asked her and there's definitely hope in his voice.
"In private, you and I will try to fix this."
The Empress meant that. She really, really did. But, fate and God got in the way, as it always had and always would do.
The night before had been drowned in alcohol, far too many glasses of wine and too many games involving whiskey. Too many cordial sips of scotch and too many dances requiring liquid. Too little food, not enough heavy foods. She thought, now back in reality, in a gloriously warm bed.
And last night, she thought with a grin, not opening her eyes. His warm, large hands slowly undressing her. His petal soft lips on hers as layers and layers slowly pooled to the floor. Mary's eyes snapped open. And, sure enough, both were bare underneath the warm sheet they lay under.
Oh, sweet lord.