For the next few days, Mary avoided Francis like the plague, conflicted beyond belief. What they did on the night of the ball couldn't be perceived as wrong, both were man and wife, after all. It wasn't adultery, nor was it betrayal or treason. But, it did seem wrong, in Mary's mind. The physical action was simply too quick in their relationship, they had only just began to even think of repairing their relationship. At this point, it was still far too soon to even think of giving their bodies to each other, the first time in over three years.
In the early days of the abandonment, when Mary had only just began to suspect that Francis had left more than one person behind, she had imagined what it would be like to be with him again when he returned. After all, it had only been a few days since he left, maybe a week or two, and the young Queen was still that idealistic, naive little thing, no matter how much she had darkened over the last year at French Court. She believed Francis was alive, wouldn't be too far behind Louis of Conde, who had just came to court.
But, now that it was done, it felt wrong. Although it wasn't cheating or adultery, it still felt like it. Her skin crawled with sin, an invisible thick, vulgar oil rolling around her soft porcelain casing. Mary had always thought that the first time after he -would ever?, at points- returned was supposed to be a special, sensual and beautiful night, not a drunken night of not thinking and only feeling. The physical act meant nothing now, the only thing it achieved was temporarily relief and a great deal of confusion and confliction now that it was done. Stupid, stupid girl.
"Mary," a voice said. Turning and halting her pacing, she saw Kenna walk towards her. The pretty Baroness wore a gold lace and white gown, the same one she wore whilst they left for Scotland after the impromptu Coronation in France.
"Kenna, what is it?" she asked, taking the piece of folded parchment from her Lady's hand.
"It's from James," Kenna clarified, picking a piece of loose thread from Mary's cream gown with purple lace and an overlay of purple and black organza.
"It's nothing important." Mary brushed it off. "What is important is this whole thing with my husband."
"Why do you think that is?" Kenna asked, brushing her fingers over Mary's bare forearms, threading their fingers together.
"He's trying, Kenna. I know that. He wants us to go back to how we were. I just don't know if I'm ready." Mary sighed.
"You still resent him?"
"I do. He knows that. I just think I've given him false hope, instead of a true insight into how I'm feeling." Mary sighed.
"And how are you feeling?" Kenna asked. "After what happened on the night of the ball." she asked. Mary had called for an early morning tea after waking up in bed with Francis, immediately telling Kenna and Greer what had happened.
"You and Francis? I-I. Wow." Greer said, surprised. Her eyes were closed, eyebrows high.
"I know, I'm so stupid." Mary breathed.
"I just don't understand." Kenna finally said. "Two days ago you were irritated at the mere prospect of him coming to Scotland. I told you what Bash said in his letter, you were angry. But, he comes back for less than a day and the two of you-" Kenna trailed off.
"Yes, yes. I was drunk, I wasn't thinking. I'm such a fool." Mary groaned.
"I don't know," Mary sighed. "Conflicted, I suppose. It was amazing, being held and embraced in a way I haven't been in around eight months. Even with Henry, it was never the same as how it was before Francis left. Being physically loved, adored almost worshipped, it's changed my mentally. I'm still furious and resentful, but last night and his appearance yesterday, it's reminded me of how married life can be, and I miss it. More than I thought I would. More than I realised. It was never like this with Darnley. It started to be, yes, but it never got there before Francis returned. You remember how it was before and immediately after our marriage." Kenna nodded sympathetically. "Part of me still hates him, part of me wishes him to be burned at the stake. But, another is different. The other wants to forgive him and jump into his arms, to accept what he did and move on, to be a disgustingly happy family with James. The other part still loves him and would do anything to make it work, to give James a proper, legitimate family and childhood. I just," Mary sighed. "Oh, I don't know. I want to make it work, I don't want to live like Catherine did, nor do I want to end up repeating Henry and Catherine's mistakes, nor their lives. I want to forgive him. But, I don't know how to forgive him."
"Take some time, talk to him," Kenna paused, running her fingers through a section of raven curls. "you two have been through a lot, especially since the French plague. You shouldn't forgive him so soon, nor so easily. Pretend in front of court, don't let any rumour of your actual distance reach them, before taking some time to fight it out and reach common ground. Not just about your marriage, but about James. You know he's still weary about his father, less in Scotland than in France, but he still doesn't know what to make of his father. He is what you should be focusing on, regardless if you find happiness in your marriage or not." Kenna advised.
Mary half smiled and chuckled humorlessly. "How did you get so wise?"
"Wife hood, motherhood. It changes things." Kenna smiled softly. "You are my sister, all I want for you is happiness, and success. Your marriage effects my marriage, my friend. I want both to work."
"Yes, Bash is foolishly loyal to his brother. And, you are foolishly loyal to me." Mary trailed off.
"Yes, we are. Technically, our marriage is strained because of our divided loyalty. But, it doesn't have to be. We will help you in any way we can, you know this, yes?" Kenna asked. Mary nodded. "You must try to salvage whatever you can of your marriage, if you want a chance at not becoming Henry and Catherine. You and I know better than anybody what their union was before his accident." Kenna said, a light blush floating on her cheeks of pure embarrassment.
"I know. It breaks my heart to think of becoming the last King and Queen of France, especially because we know how their children thought, growing up in that environment of hatred, love and infidelity. I want to forgive him, I want to be able to give my son a proper family like none of us have ever had. But, I don't know how. I don't know what to say to him when the time comes. If I don't say exactly what I need to, I could grow old resenting and hating him. The same with him, he's starting to resent me for not moving forward with our relationship. I know it. I can tell what he thinks when he looks at me, and his squire tells my working girls what he has said to Bash and Leith, those he trusts. It's been a year since he returned, I'd bet he thought I would be further in my forgiveness than I am. That in itself makes me feel guilty. There's just this deep pitted resentment I cannot explain inside me. I just-I just, I don't know what to do anymore." Mary looked away. A gentle hand underneath her chin brought their gases back together. "I am afraid." Mary breathed, admitting the same thing she had to Catherine almost four years ago.
"You aren't wrong for feeling how you do. Nobody can tell you how to feel. I cannot begin to understand how you're feeling, nor can I imagine Bash doing to me what Francis did to you. You don't have a time frame for forgiveness, no matter what Francis thinks, nor what he says. Nobody is going to rush your forgiveness, you're portraying the happy couple, France and the Empire are benefiting from the alliance, the only thing anybody could say is about the arrival of another heir. But, you have James. A strong, healthy, tolerant male heir. Nobody, not even Knox or your political enemies - who themselves have been subdued after the birth, empire and marriage- can force anything. This is just you. Everything will be alright, politically. And, because you have everything politically, the only thing that will change of this imminent conversation and hopeful reconciliation will be the two of you's love for each other. And, judging by your actions on the night of the ball, the physical attraction is clearly still there." Kenna babbled, ever the wise woman, and Mary nodded wordlessly, blushing a little. "I can safely say he still loves you?"
"I think he still does. No matter what he's done that have negative repercussions for me. He claims he still does."
"And you? Do you still love Francis? Not in a way because he is your King, Emperor, husband, childhood companion, first love -both physical and emotional-, and the father of your child. Are you still in love with Francis?"
A pause. A long one.
"I-I'm not sure." Mary finally said.
"Oh, Mary." Kenna sighed, leading Mary over to the side of a nearby setter, wrapping an arm around her. She leaned on her Lady, trusting her weight to her.
"What a mess we've found ourselves in." Mary chuckled, remembering how Greer had said the same thing before the whole Remy-Julian thing had happened in France. "My crumbling marriage is destroying yours, my one-time best friend lies to my husband and I for reasons we still cannot figure out." Mary chuckled humorlessly.
"What? Lola? What has she done?" Kenna frowned, pulling back to look Mary in the eye.
"She claimed to me that Francis drank heavily in their Italian exile, bedded women, but not here. And, Francis contradicts. I believe him. He swore on the blood of our son not long after I sent word to my girls in France, seeing what they could find out about some Italian connections." Mary sighed.
"What reason does she have to lie?" Kenna asked.
"I don't know. Some could say she's the devil incarnate for what she's done, but others will say it was justified. Some could be in the middle."
"Why?"
"I truly believe she didn't mean to do what she did to our marriage, no matter how angry I am at their physical act. I believe she didn't draw him put into the Italian fields like a seductress. But, like it or not, it is betrayal, treason. I don't know why she lied to me, maybe to shift some weight of the blame onto him whilst upset at my yells at her not long after their return. I don't know why." Mary paused for a long time.
Kenna sat in silence the whole time.
"I truly believe she isn't some whore who got herself into this mess as a way of petty revenge. She's just a foolish child who didn't realise her treason and foolishness at the time. They didn't intend to cause all this political drama, it was a foolish, impulsive decision that had large consequences for all of us. Treason and betrayal, yes, and I will never trust her again. But, I cannot let my anger get the best of me. It's time to grow up." Mary babbled. "The fact it wasn't intentional doesn't excuse it, nor does it make it okay. But, I have to take that into account" Mary paused again.
Kenna stayed silent, just listening to what her Empress had to say.
"It doesn't really bother me if he took another while in exile. Hell, I did." Mary shrugged. Kenna opened her mouth to protest. "Different circumstances, I know." Mary rolled her eyes. "But, the fact stays the same. I don't care if he took another, nor do I care if he did not. I care about the fact one of them continues to lie to me."
"You think Francis is lying? After he swore on James' blood?"
"Not as much as I think Lola is, but it is possible. I cannot turn back time and see for myself, but I can do everything in my power to protect my heart and child until the day comes where I find out the truth."
"Mary!" Greer suddenly said. Jumping, Mary looked over to her dearest lady as she barrelled over towards her. Greer was donned in a green gown, the satin stiff as it was forced to move with the speed of her legs. Blonde hair was messy and crooked, gold jewellery not in place as it usually was. As beloved as she was, Greer could be vain at times.
"Greer, you look like you've seen a ghost. What's happened?" Mary frowned, gripping her bracelet covered wrists. Greer stopped in front of them, thrusting the folded parchment at her Empress.
Silently, she opened the letter, reading it quickly before throwing it at the floor with a groan.
"What? What is it?" Kenna asked.
"Francis. He wishes to meet with me tonight. Alone."
"Francis." Mary said. Inhaling sharply, the King of France turned around. He couldn't help but smile at the vision of grace in front of him.
She was so beautiful. A tight, white gown heavily covered in gems, beading and embroidery covered her new, motherly body. The straps were thin and clung to her shoulders, thick satin belt around her waist, holding up a simple over skirt and train, the front skirt of the under gown visible, sparkling in the dark light. A cape of white fur blanketed her otherwise bare arms, the ties tight around her throat. Her hair fell in waves, the back fastened in a loose braid, a small floral crown on her head, her neck and ears glittering with small jewels.
"Mary," he smiled, walking a few steps over to her.
"You sent word for me?" Mary asked, fiddling with her fingers. Goodness, this was awkward. They had drunkenly slept together just a few days previous, so to be standing in front of her husband and King made her so very uncomfortable.
"Yes," he stopped a few inches in front of her. "I hope you don't mind. I thought we should talk." Francis began, seeming to be more than a little nervous himself.
"No, I don't mind at all." Mary lied. "What about?" she asked, feeling rather like the five year old child addressing the long dead King Henry rather than a seventeen year old Empress addressing her King and husband.
"You, me." he began. "Our marriage, our rule." Francis paused. "All the events that have gone on since we were wed."
"We've spoken of most of what we must," Mary answered, rather formerly, straightening up to her full height, almost a defence mechanism, like his words could break down walls she had spent three years building.
"Yes, but now everything has changed. James, John, the night of the ball." Mary looked away at the mention of their drunken rendezvous.
"I don't wish to speak of it." she swallowed. "There are no other ways of saying things that can make the words hurt less." she finished, rather cryptically.
"What do you mean?" he frowned.
"I don't want to speak of it. My words will hurt us both, and I have spent too long hurting. I don't want to hurt anymore." she sighed.
"No. We must be honest with each other. You told me yourself that you don't want to live how my mother lived for all those years. You must be honest with me." Francis prodded.
"Fine." she sighed. "Francis, that night-" Mary trailed off. "It was a mistake, okay? We shouldn't have done that." She looked away, not wanting to see the hurt on his face, the pain she knew would be there.
"I agree." he suddenly said. Mary's eyes snapped open. What did that mean? "It was too soon. We should have waited, not drunk so much. Talked, not pushed each other away." Francis finished. But, even with the words, Mary could see the hurt and sadness in his eyes. For some unknown reason, that hurt in a way she couldn't explain.
"What?" Mary frowned. She expected him to react in a different way, shock, anger, but not acceptance. Anything but acceptance.
"It was a mistake." he said, calm, but his eyes told another story. "Too soon, simply a search for physical pleasure and not the meeting of a husband and wife after so many years apart." he finished.
"Do you regret it?" Mary asked.
"No." he instantly said. "It would have been better to wait, but I have more hope than I did in France."
"Because we had far too many drinks and ended up in bed together?" Mary scoffed. "It was a mistake, it shouldn't give you hope."
"Well, it did." he said no more. "What do you want from this?" he asked.
"I have no idea what you're attempting to ask me. You called me here." Mary defended herself, her body tensing at the almost accusation.
"I did. But, you let me stay in Scotland, rather than banish me to France." he said. "Why did you let me stay?"
"Because the Empire must finally see her Emperor, even if he is simply a consort. Some look to you and not me, and you can help my rule by swaying them to my side. I nursed your plague stricken country, now it's time for repayment." Mary replied, the ruler inside of her coming out.
"Not the royal reason. It's simply an excuse. Your reason." he said, eyes burning into hers. She swallowed.
"James needs to know his father. Without distraction or unconventional contradictory advise. It's hard growing up without a father. James won't go through that." Mary said, folding her arms in front of her, almost guarding herself.
"Whilst that's closer to the truth, I want the real reason." Francis pushed.
"There is no other reason. I didn't stay to give you hope, I stayed to give you your son." Mary snapped. "I won't pretend to play happy family, nor will I poison his mind against you. You're only here for political and fatherhood reasoning." she finished.
"No, I'm not." Francis said, almost calmly. Mary's anger grew. How dare he -of all people- accuse her of lying!
"Another accusation and I will stuff you in a trunk and send you back to France." Mary said, but not as angrily as she would have liked. As children, when she irritated him, he threatened to pack her in a trunk and send her back to Scotland.
"Come back here!" the little, six year old, Crown Prince of France squealed as he rushed along the long hallways behind his Scottish fiance.
"Catch me!" Mary giggled back. The young Queen had taken full advantage of her flattened shoes and his uncomfortable and heavy new clothes his mother had commissioned for the meeting of the newest Medici Pope, waiting until the introductions had been complete before snatching the Crown Prince's favourite little toy soldier, rushing off into the long hallways of Fontainebleau, growing bored of sitting straight and prettily in front of members of the contingent. Upon the Queen's permission to leave, the little Mary and Francis had taken off. Although, the little Prince was far more reluctant than his Scottish counterpart.
"Mary!" he wined, unable to run faster in his heavy boots and stiff embroidered robes. He glared at them as if they were the cause of all suffering in the world, trying to catch the young Queen of Scotland, but without luck. "Come back here!" he wined as she pelted down the next corridor, giggling all the way. "If you don't I will stuff you in a trunk and send you back to Scotland!"
"You will never!" she squealed, narrowly dodging the corner of the next turning. "You love me!" she laughed, throwing what he'd said to her three days ago in his face once more."Catch me!" Mary giggled, turning back to watch him struggle to join in, although the smile on his lips contradicted the irritation in his eyes.
What a picture the pair made, the future of Empire chasing each other around the hallways of Henry's favourite holiday home. The various courtiers they passed gave them all fond looks, chuckling to themselves as the Queen of Scotland outran their future ruler. The bond the two shared was undeniable, something that pleased most of court.
"Look!" Mary gasped, halting to a stop. A few seconds later, Francis appeared next to her, snatching the wooden soldier from her right hand with a satisfied smirk, but Mary had lost interest in irritating him. She was far more interested in pointing out the boats being commissioned in the small lakes, a sure sign of the light festival Catherine had tried to keep from them. Last year they snuck from their rooms and watched the lights and fireflies all night, being found asleep on the grounds by a flurry of flustered maids who were sure they'd lost the Future King and Queen of France and Scotland.
"Fireflies!" Francis pointed at the paper lanterns that were being set out on the gardens.
Coming back to reality, Mary took a step back from her husband, looking away.
"What?" Francis frowned.
"Nothing," Mary said quietly, hating to remember the happier times. They clouded her present day judgement.
"What are we going to do with this, Mary? How can we go forward?" Francis asked.
"This isn't about us, Francis." Mary sighed. "They key issue here is James. What makes him happy and what makes him secure as he grows up." Mary paused. "We can think of us when our child is secure and happy."
"How can I make it right?" Francis asked.
"I don't know. I don't know how he will react to you. He knows you as his Uncle Bash's friend, still doesn't quite grasp that you are his father." Mary sighed, hating the fact she has to say that. "When James grows accustomed to you, works through any resentment that he has, then it will be time to work on our relationship. He is my priority right now. He and my empire, nothing else."
"As they should be." Francis agreed. "However, we must talk of his future."
"What about it?" Mary asked.
"His brother and Lola." Mary frowned deeply, anger overcoming her yet again.
"No."
"No?" Francis frowned.
"No." Mary finished. "He will not know about that. I can make him understand the fact you gave a child lands and titles, but he cannot know about the biological relation between the two of them." Mary slowly explained.
"Why not? They are brothers." Francis frowned.
"They are not brothers." Mary glared. "They are half brothers. I know you claimed him, knowing what it would do to your son and I. I knew before I left France."
"I had to! I had to give him a better life!"
"One that will be full of scorn and neglect! One that wouldn't be if you let Lola and your child ride away with Louis of Conde!"
"How do you know about that?" Francis frowned. Mary sighed loudly.
"I have my ways." she answered. "But, the fact of the matter is that by doing that, you trapped him in a world of scorn and neglect. He will be spoken of in scornful whispers until the day he dies. By claiming him, you broke my heart and chased James and I away like we were stubborn cattle!"
"I did no such thing! You left me!"
"I made good on my word and we are not about to start yelling about this. I have had enough of yelling." Mary rushed. Francis paused for a few moments.
"Why did it break your heart?" he frowned.
"Because you ignored my advice and followed your mothers' instructions."
"We can grow accustomed to this over time. If we proceed with caution, James won't resent his brother, he won't know any different."
"He is not a piece of clay to be moulded by any hand. His feelings are his feelings. You will not manipulate him into thinking any different." Mary furrowed her eyebrows, almost glaring. "They will not be pushed aside because you don't want to face the consequences of your actions. The only way to protect your's and Lola's child is to make sure the two never meet." Mary began calmly.
"You cannot wish this! They are brothers! They could live with each other like Bash and I!"
"Half brothers." Mary reminded. "If you wish to yell then you can yell in France, not here. Now, Bash and yourself have always had a tumultuous relationship at best. Brothers in youth, before they faced obstacle after obstacle. Lola, myself, Henry, the crown of France. And now, Bash resents you for driving away his wife and daughter. He serves you because he must, not because he wishes to. You've hurt him almost as much as you've hurt me." She paused to let her words sink in. "They will fight. James has your's and Catherine's vindictive heart, anybody who hurts those he loves will be punished. And, with the power he will attain after our deaths will ruin your son." Mary shot down each point he made. "If he doesn't see the pain, then he may accept the fact you claimed him. All John Phillip Valois-Angoulême will be to him is a name, a name with title and land. One he can learn to accept when he grows into King hood." Mary calmly went on.
"We can-" he breathlessly trialled off.
"Do only that to protect him. If the two meet, ever meet, then this will change. James will grow to hate him, he already is starting to. Remember the time you saw him after your bastard son? How he cried and refused you? I think it poetic, in a way." she shrugged a shoulder. "And, as he grows into a man, that hatred with grow and manifest and spread and as soon as he is able, he will kill him and take vengeance on his mother. He will raise hell upon them, you know that. You just don't like it." Mary read his mind. "Send Lola and John away. Let them live comfortably in the Spanish border, a precious little titled secret. In time, those who you announced his claimence to will forget and focus on James." she explained. "And," she went on. "If you cannot forget about him must be a father to him, go on regular visits to see him wherever the child lives. But, do not ruin the realm because of him." she finished.
"Why do you wish to protect him?" Francis asked, breathless.
"Because I am his Queen. I have a duty to serve my people. He is both French and Scottish, both regions I rule over." she paused. "And," she continued. "I realised something Catherine never did. He is not to blame for his conception. I cannot resent him for it. I can only resent you and Lola, and believe me, I do. He is innocent in this, blameless. I resent what he represents. Pain, betrayal, treason." Mary counted. "But, the child himself is blameless. He deserves as much protection as the next child who was unfortunately born out of wedlock, sired of a King and a foolish harlot." Mary finished.
"You still resent Lola and myself?"
"I do." she shamelessly admitted. "And, it is safe to say I always will." she paused, noticing his mouth opening to reply. "Before you try and justify it with the whole prophecy thing, you are responsible for your own actions. What you did wasn't okay, and never will be." she moved on. "You've cost me much, Francis. More than I ever thought possible. But, I do not dwell." she said, voice dripping in superiority, no evidence of the pain in the words.
"How can I make it right?"
"Be a father to your son. And after, that is a different matter. But, neither you or I, are the first priority. Our countries and James must be." Mary finished. She looked over at the dark night's stars. "I should get inside. James won't settle until he knows I'm there." she said.
Francis grasped for her hand and she looked over at him. Neither said anything.
"I cannot do this anymore." Francis admitted. Mary frowned.
"What?"
"I cannot do this," he gestured to the both of them. "You lay your pain at my feet and won't let me make it right, you don't give me a clue into what you want me to do. I cannot do it anymore."
"This is not about you."
"No, you throw the past in my face, hate me because of my son and Lola then play the doting wife in front of court." Francis suddenly spat. Mary blinked. "That's all you give me. I am the father of your child yet you treat me like a stranger!"
"What do you want me to do? Jump into your arms and let the last three years of betrayal go? No, it doesn't work like that, Francis!" she snatched her wrist away from his grasp.
"Do you even want to me married to me anymore?!" Francis suddenly exclaimed.
Mary paused, silent for almost half a minute.
"My feelings have nothing to do with this." she said, slowly.
"Do you even love me anymore?!" he cried. The way he said it did something to her. Only now did Mary see the tears in his eyes when she looked at the red ringed cerulean orbs. She frowned deeply. How could she respond? Did she love him still?
"How I feel has no matter." Mary slowly said. "You taught me that." she took another few steps back. "Goodnight, your Majesty."
Mary turned and walked back into her castle, her steps wobbly, knees trembling, encased in satin and lace. Her heart hammered in her chest and tears of her own blinded her. How could their marriage have come to this?
And, behind her, the King of France stood alone on the Scottish Royal lawn. And, shamelessly, he let the tears fall.