Playing in the gardens, the three year old Crown Prince of Great Britain and France sat on a blanket with his half cousin. The duo were giggling with Greer's children, two year old George and newborn little Rose. A ball was being passed around them, as well as a few small toys scattered along the blue blanket. Glass dishes of crumbled marzipan and sugared almonds were along the sides, as well as a few dishes of dark chocolate sweets. They giggled with each other, playing with their little toys, the perfect picture of childish innocence presented in that cobalt square.
James, the eldest of the quartet sat with his legs crossed underneath him, passing a ball back and forth to George, who was four months younger than him, matching curls splaying around their shoulders. George's light contrasted James' dark, but their dark eyes matched perfectly. Young Meredith was the eldest girl out of the quartet of children, six months younger than James and two months younger than George whilst his sister, tiny little Rose lay on the blanket, squealing as the ball passed her by, three months old and as sweet as honey. The youngest Lady Castleroy certainly adored her elders.
She started to squeal and make noise as her mother, the eldest Lady Castleroy appeared with the beautiful Baroness de Portiers. However, Bash, who stood near them, and the young Earl of Moray, who stood guard with his fellow bastard of a King, could see that both Ladies seemed troubled and far paler than usual. Their eyes were wider than usual, an uncertainty covering their usual peaceful auras.
"Kenna, what is it?" Bash asked, coming closer to his wife, taking her hand. She shook her head.
"Bash, something terrible has happened to Mary."
"What? What is it?" James, always so protective of his younger sister and Empress, said, his voice fast, throwing himself forwards, towards the Baroness.
"She collapsed an hour ago, the physicians say it's stress, but she has a fever. This cannot happen!" she almost exclaimed, but kept her voice quiet for the sake of the children.
"What?" James gasped. "Is she alright? How bad is the fever? It it because of that foolish husband of hers? I always said he was bad for her ever since he came to Scotland." he glared.
"We don't know, he's certainly a part of the stress, but it might be because of Lola."
"Lola? But Lola's locked away in France until Francis sends for her." Bash frowned.
"Not anymore, Catherine let her out, gave her safe passage to Court. She's residing as we speak." Greer added.
"How could this have happened? For all we know Lola could be the culprit, poison, perhaps."
"No. Lola has no ill will towards Mary. Lola's terified of her, she understands the power that Mary has over her. I know her, at least, I think I still do. She wouldn't dare try to kill an Empress, she's not that stupid. She's been frightened of Mary since her and Francis' return a year ago. She doesn't have the guts to attempt Regicide." Kenna shut down that argument. "We must tell her son, keep him informed."
"No," Bash said, gripping her bare arm as she attempted to walk to the young Crown Prince. "Let him enjoy the day, let him continue to be happy whilst he still can."
"Very well," Kenna agreed. "But, we need to go back to Mary. I have no idea what's happened there since we left." she said, turning her head to stare at the little Crown Prince of Great Britain and France as he laughed with her daughter.
Mary had been almost five weeks pregnant when Francis had left, all those years ago. Far enough to suspect that she was finally with child, but too soon to tell. When news of the plague had spread to the Court, Mary had fearlessly took charge of the castle. Food was evenly spread out amongst the plague stricken stone walls of the French Court, nobody having too much and nobody having nothing. She had proven herself a true Queen, whilst the King had ran away from his responsibilities to his people and Court to look for his bastard and the mother.
Mary had been heartbroken after Francis abandoned the both of them to fend for themselves once he learned of the plague. If it hadn't came, Mary would have had no issue with him going, but it had, and he knowingly abandoned his pregnant wife and Queen to a nightmare that became so, so much worse than the plague itself.
Two weeks after the abandonment and heartbreak, Mary had started to bleed. She and Nostradamus had been certain that she had lost the baby, for their had been so much blood and so much pain. She was left weakened and almost as dead as those afflicted by plague in her own right, so much so that Catherine had to take charge for almost nine days, until Mary was back on her -unsteady- feet once again. She had grieved for her baby, but that grief was unwarranted and not fruitful as signs of pregnancy continued to show. And then, Mary physically started to show, finally settling her poor, weakened heart.
They had announced it when Mary was four months pregnant, when Court really started to ask where Francis actually was. The facade of him going to a safe house in Germany was outed, and the reality of his true whereabouts was echoed throughout the Court, spreading across the country. Although they hadn't spoken of the fact Francis had gone looking for the mother of his bastard and said bastard, they had announced that Francis' safe house had been compromised by plague, and they had had no word on his safety.
After the announcement of Mary's pregnancy pacified those uncertain about her sole rule with their true King out in plague stricken lands, Court and France and England started looking past Francis and to the child in Mary's womb, knowing the true Majesty of this unborn child. They had rejoiced in the news of the pregnancy of the future King, whilst Scotland breathed a sigh of relief, knowing their power would be forever tied to the country across the water. Marie de Guise had been outed from power, James, earl of Moray the new regent under his sisters' command.
It was then that the Vatican had confronted the Valois-Angoulême clan, telling them that if Francis did not return before the anniversary of his disappearance, they would legally declare him to be dead. If the child Mary carried was a boy, he would be declared King of France. And, should it be a girl, Prince Charles would be crowned King. With no cause to refuse them, they had to accept and coincide with the Vatican's wishes. The disguised search parties went all around France, looking for the fallen King, more frequent than before. If they didn't come back with King in towe, Mary would be declared regent in her son's stead, and of course, they never did. Although some believed Francis to be dead, it had yet to be declared nor announced.
It was as Mary grew and grew into her seventh month did people really start believing that Francis was never coming back from his foolish hunt. Instantly, they looked from the thought to be dead King and to the Queen Consort and her unborn baby. Court had been insistent that this child was a boy, so much so that England started looking from the Protestant Elizabeth to the Catholic, pregnant, Mary. To the future, as the simple truth was never more obvious. Because Mary was married (widowed?) and pregnant, she was simply a better prospect for England than Elizabeth.
When Scotland had heard of the King's run away and probable death, they had been happier than they had been when they heard of their Queen's pregnancy. All -including Catholics- had been dreading Mary's marriage, thinking they'd be under foreign rule rather than their own, considering the fact Marie de Guise started filtering Frenchman after Frenchmen throughout Scotland's royal court. Knowing their Scottish Queen answered to no man, and was to expect a baby, was what made them completely unified in Mary's favour.
Intelligent tolerant ruling from the Queen Consort and future regnant quickly squashed any religious hatred from Frenchmen to Frenchmen. Although both sides could not stand each other, they knew they had to work together to make France again one of the greatest powers in Europe. And so, they did. Following Scotland's lead, they followed suit, working together to build their might and wealth, not working against each other for a meaningless victory.
Just before Mary had given birth to James, Elizabeth was outed for an illegitimate pregnancy sired by the married Robert Dudley. That was all England -who had been steadily turning against her ever for five months- needed. She was labelled a whore by her people, not helped by the fact many thought her a bastard, and her head was taken, along with Robert Dudley's. Mary was crowned Queen and later Empress.
Days later, James was born. James, the young Duke of Rothsay and York, Dauphin of France, crown Prince of Wales, England, Scotland, France and Ireland. Mary's labour had been horrible, almost four days of pain and blood and contractions. The baby had refused to 'drop' and Mary had almost bled out. It was gruesome and horrid and unfathomable that both had survived. At one point, it had gotten so bad that she had names her brother regent for her Empire should she die and the child survived, and Catherine for France. All, including Mary and her ladies, had thought that the Empress would die in childbirth.
Of course, both had been strong enough to survive their ordeal. James was born, strong and healthy, and Mary recovered within seven weeks. Catherine and Kenna had planned the christening of the Dauphin, Catherine having the authority to claim James in her son's stead. The event was glorious, barely being shadowed by Mary's French coronation when the Queen was three months pregnant. With Francis gone, the authority fell to her, and she had to be coronated, even if Francis hadn't been.
He was given the name James Henry Stuart Valois-Angoulême, Dauphin of France, duke of Rothsay and Prince of Wales, as well as the duchy of Glasgow and Anjou.
Mother and child travelled to England soon after, for the grandest coronation of them all. Kenna and Catherine spared no expense for Mary's English coronation. It was grand and luxurious, all blue and gold and silver. England had celebrated the prospect of a strong, well rounded, unquestionable ruler and a strong, healthy male heir, one that hadn't been seen since the time of long dead King Henry and Prince Edward.
They travelled to Wales for the people to see her ruler and heir, before going up North to see Mary's homeland for the first time in over a decade. Her people had rejoiced at the sight of their Empress, the person who had brought them Empire and an heir. They were unquestionably under Scottish rule, the general thought of the King Regnant of France being dead being accepted by the Scots as easily as her future King was.
Mary had laughed and danced that night, the first one in Court, but only a few knew that she had cried that night.
It had been so hard. It had been so hard doing it all alone, Kenna remembered hearing Mary cry to her one night. She had missed Francis terribly, never having thought their reign would turn out like this. At that point, they had a mere eighteen days to find the King of France, and the guards -lead by Sebastian- had been as fruitless as ever.
As the days slowly dwindled into single figures, Mary presented a strong front in front of Scottish and English Court, but the Empress spent her nights crying in her son's nursery. Hope that Francis was alive had also been slipping from his wife, let alone his people. They had accepted it almost as quickly as they had done the rain or the sun. Kings were dispensable, after all.
They had been in the North, silencing some unrest from the Catholic clans when word had reached from Rome that the time had run out. Francis was declared dead. James was the King of France. Mary was the Queen Regnant of France.
Immediately, they had travelled back to France to consolidate power. James was crowned and Mary was given the title of Queen Mother, Dowager and Regent, Catherine being known as the Queen Grandmother, a title recently created by the Regent, but one that made the most sense in heinsight.
Mary had taken the news of Francis' legal death hard, Catherine falling into deep grief over the death of her golden child, but Bash had taken it the hardest. The pregnant Baroness had spent a month holding her husband as he cried at night, sobbing words about his baby brother and how much he missed him for leaving and hating him for doing so. The funeral was a small affair, not wanting France to know the truth about their King's death, a truly horrid day for all involved. Mary had barely spoken a word, choosing to cry and hold her newborn son who was now the King of France.
Mary and Bash had been torn apart by the whole prophecy ordeal, but had reconnected in their grief. The pregnant baroness had taken issue with it, but in heinsight, she knew it was just insecurity and jealousy coming through in her hormonal nature.
Many-a-night, the Queen Regent of France was found in the royal nursery holding her newborn on or one of Francis' youngest siblings. She was found crying silently, telling whomever stories of how much a good man Francis truly was, how we made mistakes, but how he loved them all and would have been with them if he could.
James had truly been the glue that had held them all together in those horrid months of grief and pain. His sweet smile and melodic laugh had seemed like a gift from God, for taking Francis away but giving them something much desired. A son, an heir, but most truly, a part of Francis. Something that the Queen Regent had once feared she would never be gifted.
Of course, then began the constant moving around for months at a time. A few weeks in Ireland, another in Wales, a few months in England, another in Scotland and another in France. But, Mary was not a stupid woman. She knew to properly secure her rule -even if it was strong and consolidated, she was a powerful woman in a man's world and many would lust to see her dead- she needed more heirs. More sons ready to take the throne, a few daughters for the marriage market. And, as strong as James was and would always be, he wasn't indestructible. Anything could happen to him, and, after all, she was never supposed to be Queen. She, herself, was a spare heir, having two dead elder brothers who left this world before she arrived.
So, the marriage to Darnley was announced, their marriage quick and swift and honeymoon even shorter. By then, both Greer and Kenna had given birth to a son and daughter respectively, having a new respect for their Empress in a way. Childbirth and pregnancy was by no means fun, after all.
But James was always held in a higher pedestal than any child she could have sired with Darnley. Not because of any malice to her never to be born children, but simply because James held the blood of the man, after everything, Mary loved the most. An Imperial heir was irreplaceable to her, no matter how dispensable Kings were and are.
The child was as strong as any long living child before him. Sweet and smart, constantly doing things before his nannies and nursemaids expected him to. Talking and walking before it was warranted, eating sold foods and cutting teeth quicker than expected, but he was so attached to his mother. He adored her like her adored no other, so protective and perceptive that he let nobody whom he didn't trust get to close to her.
Having always enjoyed the nursing time he had with her, it was a horrid change of pace to no longer have that sacred time, never settling properly until he had felt his mothers' skin and heard the sound of her voice for minutes at a time. They had such a strong bond that Henry -their marriage was tumultuous at best at the start- could only dream of.
Whilst James was accustomed to not seeing his mother as she ruled over five Kingdoms, he was always with her in some ways. Playing quietly with his cousins and uncles and aunts as Mary dressed for the day, sleeping in her chambers at night, having breakfast and dinners with his mother and never settling until she had temporarily escaped from whatever council meeting she had going on that night for a few moments of blissful sanctuary.
It was because of this that James found it so hard to become accustomed to Francis. He didn't want his mother too hurt how she had done in the worst moments with Darnley, nor did he like somebody he didn't know becoming close to his beloved mother, especially because he could sense the tension radiating off of her whenever Francis was around in France.
Although things had started to mellow with James and his father, slowly enjoying the fair haired Frenchman's company after so many years of not knowing who he was, things still weren't on par with what could be. It was to do with Mary still not completely trusting her husband once more, still and always would be weary of him, almost waiting for a second betrayal, hardening her heart in preparation for the event. Even though the situation with Lola was still going on, he hadn't made such a mistake that she couldn't' forgive.
Yet, that is.
Francis immediately returned to Mary's rooms after his confrontation with Lola. He sat at her side, clasping her hand tightly, silently praying for her to wake up as soon as possible. Still, Mary lay silently in her bed, her chest moving steadily up and down, skin burning to the touch, even with the cold cloths laying upon her skin.
"Please, wake up, love." Francis whispered, leaning a little closer. He placed a hand on her hot forehead, becoming concerned with not only the heat, but the lack of water on her brow. "Please." he whispered again, tightening his hand on her own, swallowing back the emotion at the lack of physical response. "I love you." he finished, placing a few errant locks of hair away from her face. He kissed her cheek softly, his face drawn with the concern he felt for his wife.
"My lord," a voice said. Looking up, Francis saw one of the physicians, Sir Matthias, come into the room, laden with a leather bag.
"Sir Matthias." he acknowledged.
"Has their been a change with the Empress' condition?" he asked.
"No, nothing." he said, his voice low. "She hasn't moved as much." he said, miserable and afraid.
The strong broot of a doctor came closer with Francis' permission, touching parts of Mary's face and neck in quick succession.
"Her fever has worsened." the physician concluded, slowly pulling her chin down to expose her mouth. He tipped a few vials into her mouth, turning her head back to let the liquid slide down her throat.
"What's wrong with her?" he asked.
"I'm not sure, my lord." he frowned. "The Empress is with fever, yet no obvious signs of infection can be found." he paused. "Keep the sheets pulled back and constantly place newer, cold cloths on her skin. She must keep hydrated."
"How can I do that? She's unconscious." Francis stated.
"Tip a small amount of water in her mouth and raise the chin to replicate swallowing, but not as she inhales. Not too much, we don't want the Empress to choke or potentially drown." he instructed.
"Of course." he nodded. "Thank you, sir Matthias."
He bowed out and left the room.
Francis did as he was told, constantly dipping water into Mary's mouth and changing her cloths to keep the water on her skin cold. He followed his orders for hours, and by then the moon had risen and court was aware of their Empress' sickness. The Earl of Moray kept the gossip at court minimal at most, claiming Mary was simply exhausted and had an easily treated infection.
All the time that he was keeping Mary's true condition under wraps, the physicians gave him constant updates, as well as Kenna and Greer, who were taking turns seeing the children and making sure James was as unaware as possible, saying that his mother was merely sleeping and would join him when she woke up. But, they both knew that the lie could only go so far. The boy was smart, after all.
Currently, Francis still sat where he had been all day, trying his best to take care of her with the assistance of sir Matthias and the Ladies in waiting, both of whom had been reluctant to leave the bedchambers of the Empress. It had been almost half a day since Mary had collapsed, and still, she did not wake.
Suddenly, the door slammed open and Kenna jumped, seeing Mary's half brother come barrelling into the room like a bull seeing red. He headed straight for Francis, ripping him away from the slumbering beauty and roughly pinning him against the door to the balcony in quick succession.
"James!" Kenna shrieked as the Earl suddenly balled a fist and brought it squarely into Francis' cheek, snapping the King's face to one side, yelling at him all the way.
"You get away from her!" he had yelled as Francis started to struggle against him. "This is your fault! All of it! If you hadn't brought your whore to Scotland, this never would have happened!" he roared. The Earl had always been so protective of Mary and James, even more so when he had learned what Francis had done to her in the past.
"Get away from him, James! This isn't his fault!" Greer had tried to say, rushing from the sleeping Empress to her furious bastard half brother, pulling at his arms that were locked tight at the fingers to Francis' doublet.
"Get off of me!" Francis snapped, shoving his half brother in law away from him. James stumbled back a few steps. Francis knew how to handle himself, having remained muscular and physically strong since the Battle for Callas.
"This is all your fault! You did this to her! You brought this on her and us!" he snapped, not daring to struggle against Greer as she held him back, for fear of hurting the Lady he had grown fond of, never one to harm a woman was the Earl of Moray.
"I did not! She's unwell, that's just an unfortunate thing. This is not my fault!" Francis tried to convince them both, Greer standing in the middle of them with her arms out, pointing at either one of them.
"You must be more stupid than my sister told me you were to be! If you hadn't brought your whore to Scotland, this wouldn't have happened! She collapsed because of you and that Flemming harlot!" James yelled.
He was pulled away from Greer by Sebastian, who in himself was so protective of Francis. Bash brought James close, but he was so thin compared to the muscular Scot.
"You forget who you are talking to! That is the King of France, your Emperor!" Bash threatened.
"This is nothing to do with you! He caused this!" James snapped.
Bash opened his mouth to reply, but the door banged open again, and another James ran into the room, crying for 'mama' with every movement of his little feet. Francis tensed at the sight of the crying little boy who cleared the high up bed with one brave jump.
Quickly, he crawled over to Mary on the bed, zooming past Kenna to latch onto his mother.
"Mama! Mama!" James cried. "Wake up, mama!"
The tension in the room drained from the floor, leaving only room for sadness and empathy for the tiny toddler who was crying for his mother.
"James, come on," Kenna whispered, looking exhausted, "Shh, now." she said, but James did something he'd never done before. He refused her arms and clung deeper to his mothers' limp for, crying harder as he realised Mary's arms weren't around his as they always were when he held her.
Francis took a step closer to his son, walking until his knees and legs touched the bed, but James jumped away from his arms as he had done seven months ago.
"No! No! No!" the little boy cried, clinging to his mothers' form tighter, so tight that he thought he'd be taken away.
"James," Francis began, quietly.
"No, mama is sick because of you!" he cried.
Francis slowly opened his mouth to reply, but Bash, now away from the elder James, spoke first.
"James, this isn't your fathers' fault." he tried to soothe.
"Yes, it is!" he cried. "Papa said he wouldn't be mean again, but he has! Mama is sick because he spoke to the mean boys' mama!"