The Empress woke up with a soft groan leaving her lips. She looked around the room. Still dark. The dying fire crackled near the bed, the only source of light in the room. Candles long since blown out smouldered slightly. They had been specially made for the Queen, having magnolian petals slightly crumbled up into the wax, making the entire room smell of the sweet scent.
Mary looked around to her husband. He slept soundlessly, turned to her, cheekbones high and jawline as sharp as ever, more prominent as he slept, face serene and handsome. Francis had started confiding in her about French politics when she hit eighteen weeks. Her husband had told her that the moment he left France to go to her and James, Catherine started meddling in his affairs, making sure that everybody disobeyed Francis' orders and followed her own. She had the tendency to forget that she was no longer the Queen of France, borderline turning the nobility against Francis and to her. Something of which he could not allow. So, until the next day, he needed all the rest he could get.
Mary looked over at the moon. It hadn't moved much since the last time she remembered being awake, Mary thought with despair. With this pregnancy and James', Mary found it hard to gain the rest she needed. And, with the growing bump she knew would double in size during her pregnancy, she knew that not much sleep would be attained over the next few months. She'd spent hours tossing and turning, attempting to get comfortable, only to attain less than an hour, before discomfort found her again. As excited and welcome as this pregnancy was, there were drawbacks into growing an heir inside of her.
Mary sighed softly, running a hand through her silky curls. She needed as much rest as possible, determined to rule her empire until she physically could not any more. That was difficult with protective elder half brothers and a protective husband who demanded she not stress herself out with anything. As much as she understood their love and protection, she was simply with child, not made of porcelain. Sorting out kerfuffles regarding grain, marriages and nobility appeasement would not do any damage. It was simply irritating at times.
Looking over at the balcony, she noticed that the doors were open and the light chiffon curtains were dancing in the soft summer breeze. In a choreography of their own, they worked to appease their mistress under the guidance of the wind. It was a beautiful sight. Another of the reasons Mary adored her homeland. England and even France simply could not compare to nights like these.
Slowly slipping out of bed, Mary wrapped herself in a light fur blanket, letting it hold itself up at her elbows, gently grazing the floor as she walked out of the darkened bedchambers and into the balcony, her feet gently kissing the cool stones of the floor.
Her homeland was beautiful. Rolling hills as far as the eye could see, lakes pooling in the valleys, streams meandering through the forests and the fields. The trees danced to a beat of their own, crops and sunflowers providing counter beats to the orchestra of summertime dance. The soft, August breeze gently adored her body and face, brushing the long, thick waves of onyx locks over her shoulders. The weather was perfect. Not stiflingly hot like it was in France, nor was it horribly cold and unharvestable like how it was in some parts of the England-Wales border. It was just perfect. Warm enough to be comforted by the heat, high up enough to be relieved by the cold.
The Empress watched her beautiful land dance for her, revelling in the beauty given to her by her father. Many-a-day, the young Stuart Empress wished to know the man who sired her. To feel a fatherly, protective love that he had expressed to all of his children. All of his daughters and his sons, his bastards and his heirs. There would have been no preferential treatment, proffering his sons over his daughters, his bastards over his heirs. Not like Henry and Sebastian, or any of the Valois-Medici blooded children. Not like Catherine preferring Francis, Charles, Henry and Hercules over Elisabeth, Claude and Margret. He cared for his children brought out of a dutiful marriage bed and a lusty, sinful bed just the same, never caring for a child more than the others. Well, maybe her, being the only surviving heir he had, but simply because of only that.
Growing up, she'd heard stories of her father. In those first, sacred quintet of years. His kindness and his ruthlessness. His hatred and admiration of his cousin, King Henry of England. How much he loved his first wife, Madeline, and how much he took care of his second, Mary's own mother, seeing as though he couldn't offer the same love that he had the long dead Valois Princess. He begrudged Protestantism, like most at the time, but still cared for those he ruled over who were Protestant. His passionate war speeches as he and Henry did battle for the Scottish-English borders. His adoration for his country and his family, the protectiveness he felt towards both.
She wondered what it would be like to cry out 'papa' and jump into his arms as a child. To not have to have been shipped away at age give to a strange, foreign land, to a cold mother figure and an absent father figure who was power hungry and saw her as a bargaining chip for England. Nothing more. As much as she cherished those three years in France -with her husband and the growing Valois/Medici clan- Mary honestly thought she might have given it up to be with her father, should he have lived through that fateful battle. She wondered what it would have been like to be the crown Princess, Duchess of Rothsay for more than six days, to have the title of 'future' ruler for as long as Francis had his. To not have had the English lusting for her blood all -bar six- her days. To simply be a child who loved her father, not a Queen with the weight of the world on her still young shoulders.
That itself was one of the reasons why she was so conflicted when she realised James was still alive inside of her. Like her, he'd never have a father. He'd be born a regnal ruler and have a target on his back. He'd be a King before a child, to never have the opportunity to cry out 'papa' and run into his own fathers' arms. To have to be locked away in a castle all of his days, eventually growing resentful for his protection. To never see what a real man and King was supposed to be, how he was supposed to act and treat others. To have somebody to turn to when he needed manly advise, to ask how to treat his wife or the woman he loved. To have somebody to replicate, to be able to grow into somebody faithful and true. For years, James didn't have that, and it was because of Francis and Lola that he did not. That was one of the reasons it took so long to forgive, hell, Mary didn't even know if Francis was completely forgiven most days.
As much as she hoped this child that grew inside of her turned out like James, sweet, kind, perceptive and intelligent, they would always be different. They would always be different. This child would be born into a whole family, an undivided union between two mighty lands brought together by his or her parents. James was an important political occurrence who saved France and Scotland from uncertainty and his mother from insanity. As much as she hoped the two of them could love each other and depend on each other as they grew up, there would always be differences between the two. Differences that she couldn't fix.
Mary blinked as arms wrapped around her waist. Arms covered in thin brocade, dark and intricate. She relaxed into them, feeling no fear. She knew who it was. Mary always knew.
"What are you doing awake at this hour?" he said, his voice quiet and soft, almost melodic. "The sun hasn't even risen yet." he noted, looking over her shoulder at their country, darkened and beautiful, even now.
"Your son won't allow me to rest." Mary smiled softly. But, as much as she would like to be asleep, Mary knew she wouldn't trade this life inside her for anything. It was a surprise, but a welcome surprise. One that brought Francis and James closer too her, becoming the glue that truly brought them together.
However, things between them were not truly fixed just yet. They were well on their way on becoming who they were in the early days of their marriage and courtship, but mistrust and uncertainty still stained both of them in different ways.
"Is that so?" Francis asked into her neck, tightening his arms around her, one hand falling on the noticeable bump she sported underneath her sleeping gown.
"It is." Mary answered her husband. Her hand found his, warm and alive underneath her own. To this day, after grieving for him, it was still surreal to have him as he was now. Alive, with her, having a second child with her, raising their first and their Kingdoms, side by side, something she was sure would never happen.
"Why don't you come back to bed, I'll have Steven send for some lilac and rose tea and ginger biscuits, so you can relax. You must rest, love."
"Mary," Francis said, coming into the room. Opening her eyes, Mary instantly locked them onto her husbands' cerulean orbs, smiling softly as he came forwards. There had been a certain spring in his steps over the last few weeks, and Mary was enjoying every moment of his unbridled happiness.
"Francis," she smiled.
"Were you sleeping?" he berated himself. He didn't mean to wake her, just check on her.
"No, just resting." Mary answered. She placed a hand on her growing, twenty one week old bump, visible in the slip she wore, cleverly disguised by robes and thick fabrics in court. Reaching for his hand as he sat at her side, he gave it willingly, pressing a kiss to her forehead, before on her growing stomach.
"What did the midwife say?" Francis asked, not liking the fact that he hadn't been with her at the small visit, but matters of his country took presidence as they always had to.
"She believes everything to be okay," Mary smiled softly. "She says we should feel him any day now, since I'm showing." Mary finished, rolling onto her side to see him better.
"You look so beautiful," he said, voice dripping with a mixture of love and awe as his hand crept up to cup her growing stomach, smiling up into her eyes.
"Thank you." she said, her voice soft.
"What will we tell James? He grows tired of Bash and I telling him that mama is tired." Francis noted, wrapping a large, substantial hand around her petite palm and long fingers.
"We'll tell him when he quickens, before court. He deserves to know that he is going to be a brother." Mary replied. "An elder brother." she added, noticing how Francis' eyes changed at the mention of the word brother. He still missed John, it was obvious. But, the truth was stark and clear. Mary and James and their unborn baby came first. They always had no.
"Shall I send for him? He misses you." Francis said, running his fingers around her wrist, enjoying the soft skin that was usually covered by gems and diamonds.
"Of course, this separation isn't good for either of us." Mary replied. "Will you stay with us? Just for a while?" Mary asked him, suddenly feeling anxious at the thought that he would leave them. Again.
"Of course I'll stay." Francis nodded. "I'm never leaving any of you, ever again."
"Mama." James babbled, walking over to his mother as she sat at her desk. His mother looked up as he came strolling into the room, instantly loosing interest in her conversation with the few working girls and spies she had set up in Spain. After all, letters could wait, her beloved little child was only going to be this small for so long.
"My love." Mary smiled, holding his hand as he walked up the small set of stairs Francis had commissioned a month ago, that lead him to a spare chair next to the Empress herself. Even with this pregnancy being considerably smoother than her first with James, it was still a precarious business, even more so due to the political importance of this child. So, Francis and James had banned her from picking up her adorable little toddler until the baby was born and she was healed. But his little pouting face and big eyes made it hard to resist his wishes.
"Mama." he smiled, carefully walking off the chair and settling onto what he could of her lap. He sat with his legs crossed, tiny back settled on the desk. Mary beamed at him, brushing some unruly curls from his face, settling them sort of tidily behind his little ears.
"Hello, love." Mary smiled. "Did you run away from Governess Aldive again?" Mary asked.
"Yep." he agreed, shamelessly. He accentuated the little word with a nod. Mary laughed. "She's not very fast." he added. Mary chuckled. Not only did he have his mothers' younger impulses to run around -something she remembered vividly doing all around French Court in her first year there- but he had Francis' long limbs. That made a deadly combination for the Governess Mary had employed to start structured lessons. It was now expected that the boy would rush away at a moment's notice. He seemed so proud of himself that Mary didn't have the heart to berate him for his mischievousness for. Besides, he had his fathers' charm, the boy could get away with anything with a smile. He wasn't called the 'sweetest, most perfect child in all of Europe' for no reason, after all.
Mary smiled at him, giving up on her fruitless attempts to smooth out the kinks in his black curls.
"Where's your Papa?" Mary asked.
"With Oncle Bash and Leith." he answered, starting to twirl her necklace in his little hands, a high neck silver bib-resembling necklace made up of small diamonds, resembling feathers.
"Do you know what they were talking about?" Mary asked.
"About Grandmere." he said, voice soft as his little hands slipped down from her necklace to the now very visible bump Mary sported. Mary tried to smile, loving the attentiveness and curiousity her son bore to the child inside her, but the words that fell from his lips unsettled her. Why would Francis be talking with Sebastian and Leith? Had something happened regarding Catherine?
As much as Francis had begun sharing things about France and his own clan to his wife, he had an awful habit of keeping things to do with Catherine from her. He had claimed it would stress her and the child, something that he couldn't let happen. The Empress of Great Britain and Queen of France was now twenty five weeks pregnant, clearly remembering the night she and Francis had told Court that she was pregnant.
"This is a glorious day for all of Great Britain and France. The almighty Lord has smiled upon us all. My husband, the Emperor and I, stand before you, covered in glory, to deliver such amazing news. It is my privilege to announce to you and the world, that I carry within me an heir." Mary smiled wide, standing at the head of the table, husband by her side. She beamed at her court as they roared in excitement. A thunderous applause echoed through the grand room. Kissing his wife's hand, Francis smiled at her.
"The Empress and I are pleased to share with you the news of our child. Long may he reign!" Francis raised his wine glass in celebration.
"Long may he reign!" Court cheered, drinking their wine.
It had been such a pleasant evening, that evening. Wine and dancing, exquisite food and music. Happiness and joy echoing and rippling throughout all of court, even the ambassadors from around the word seemed excited to share the news to their homelands. It seemed like their reunion story was finished, with Mary being pregnant and the three of them being a disgustingly happy family picture. But, they weren't completely healed, Mary knew. Francis knew. An unborn baby and a happy son wasn't enough to remedy the ugly cuts and scars their relationship now sported. They still had a lot to work through, a lot to say to each other and a lot to forgive on both sides. Both were well aware of the fact. They always knew.
"What did they say?" Mary asked, coming back to reality.
"Don't know." he shrugged a shoulder. "They were very quiet, but Papa didn't seem happy when Leith got told something by sir Atale." His words were very misspoken and slurred, but he got his message across.
"Do you know what?"
"No, but Leith got angry. So did Papa and Bash." James' hand found her hand, the left remaining on her growing stomach. He gripped onto the lock of hair that was covered in diamond encrusted beads, much like the pearl braid she used to wear when she was younger in France. "When's the baby coming, mama?" James asked.
"In winter, love. After your birthday." Mary answered, straightening his light blue silk and white lace tunic. Like her own as a child, his clothes were almost always crooked in some shape or form.
Mary kissed his head softly, feeling his small hands grasp for her necklace once more, but couldn't focus on him. Only on the window. And what on earth was going on with Catherine de Medici.
"Francis, we cannot let this happen." Leith said. His King stopped pacing and looked towards him.
"I am aware, but what I am not is how we stop her." he said, voice dripping with irritation.
"We could send word to our sister, have her tell us things of what's happening in her court. And if you write to her, she must obey. Leeza is still a French subject, after all. Even if she married the King of Spain." Bash interjected, sipping on his mug of piping hot tea.
"No." Francis shut it down. "The King is like his father. He is persuasive, he can make whomever he wishes think whatever he wishes. Our sister may be strong minded, but that strength could only hold out for so long." he said, his voice now dripping with exhaustion. "He could have turned her mind against us, and if my mother is helping him get what he wants, and he finds out that his Queen is actively working against him, he could call for her head."
"We cannot do nothing, Francis." Leith said, standing up from his perch at the head of a small table. "You know fine well that being loved by Catherine de Medici is worse than being hated by her. She will rip this world apart." he added.
"I know. I just cannot believe the woman would be so foolish. I cannot forgive her anymore. I cannot let her convince me to hurt Mary, nor James, no matter if she thinks she's doing the right thing." Francis groaned. "She's supposed to be the whip smart Madame La Serpente. Not this foolish crackon who is filled with vengeance simply because I am using my own mind, not leeching from hers." he ran his hands over his face, the action rough.
"Papa!" a few small voices cried. The Frenchmen in Francis' new study turned to see the impressive doors open and two children come running in.
First came James, donned in light blue silk and white lace. His doublet was grand, dripping with finery in the blue and white materials. On his little legs, leather trousers, small boots pulled across his little feet. His hair was messy and crooked beyond belief, eyes big and bright and golden in the summer sun. He beamed instantly as he set eyes on his father and favourite uncles, rushing faster in his excitement to reach them.
Holding his hand was a little sixteen month old girl. She had copper curls just reaching her little shoulders, sparkling grey-green eyes and a big, toothless grin as she held her cousin's hand. Her hair was jewelled in a tiny silver crown, a few little pink gems glittering on top. On her little body was a pink muslin gown, donned in tiny little roses. Small percale shoes were on her tiny feet, sparkling in all their red Majesty.
"James." Francis knelt to the floor, catching the two little bodies as they pelted into him. The children started giggling as they latched onto him.
"Odette, stop harassing your uncle." Leith smiled sadly, getting away from his place on the floor and walking over to Francis and the children. He lifted the little girl up, holding her securely on his hip as she giggled at him.
"Sorry, papa." the little girl giggled. The girl was fiery and fearless, much like long dead little Prince Louis. And also much like her mother.
Bash shared a sad smile with his younger, half brother as he took his son into his arms and stood up, turning towards his brother, both thinking the same thing.
Princess Odette de Valois was the result of Princess Claude's brief marriage to Leith Bayard. A marriage approved on a few months after the Princess had returned to France. She had came to the royal court whilst Mary dealt with the Narcisse issue, but even Mary could see the attraction the duo felt. Soon, they were wed in a small ceremony after declaring their feelings towards the Regent at the time. That appeared to be that, they were settled and content, but not for long.
Claude had fallen pregnant with little Odette almost immediately after the marriage. The pregnancy grew smoother as time went on and mother and child successfully survived delivery, before Claude had fallen pregnant again, when Odette was no bigger than a newborn. The second time around, neither mother or child were so lucky. Claude and the little boy she attempted to birth a couple months early had died, leaving a bereft father and a little girl who looked exactly like her mother, but would never know her.
Odette started to babble in her fathers arms, playing with his hair as she giggled to him. Leith smiled sadly. Even though his wife's death was months ago, he still felt her loss, and always would. It was a blessing and a curse that Odette looked and acted exactly like Claude did. It was one of the harder things Francis had to find out when he returned from Italy.
"Papa." James tugged on Francis' ear. Cringing, father turned to son. "Tante is sick." James informed him.
"Tante?" Francis asked. "Which one?"
"Tante Kenna." James informed. "Tante Greer told me to tell you and Oncle. And 'dettie wanted to come." the little Crown Prince informed his father.
"Is it the baby?" Bash asked, coming closer to the boy. "That's making Tante sick?" Bash asked, remembering the horrid morning sickness both Kenna and Mary had suffered horribly with during the first months of pregnancy.
"Don't know." James said, throwing his little and long arms out, bent at the elbows, cocking one head to one side. "Could be. But Tante said to tell you and Papa."
"What about Mama?" Francis asked. "They're both having babies, is she alright?"
"I know!" James squealed, clapping his hands, clearly excited for his new baby brother or sister. "And no, mama's stuck in the throne room with the boring old Swedish ambassador. He's boring, papa!" James complained. "Mama doesn't like him, nor the Duke of Hedeby."
"Pious fool." Francis muttered. Mary wasn't the only one who disliked the Duke of Hedeby, strongly resembling the thoughts of John Knox -the long since subdued reverend- was the old Norwegian Duke who was sent by his rulers to make a deal with Mary on their behalf. "What did she say?"
"Mama sent me away from the meeting, but he makes her sad. Make her happy, papa! You said you would!" James complained, giving Francis a look that mirrored one that tiny Mary gave him when she wanted him to push his small boundaries in adventurous childhood antics. He even folded his arms and narrowed his eyes with a small 'humph' of displeasure. Francis laughed a little.
"I will." Francis chuckled. "But, Mama has to deal with the boring men. You will, one day."
"Not for a while. And i'll make them stop saying the same things over and over and over. And stop them from trying to get more!" he added, his voice nothing but a babble, the words quick, almost without pauses for breath. Again, just like little Mary.
"Me too, and me!" Odette babbled from Leith's arms, her voice nothing more than a sweet couple of long syllables. Bash smiled at the childish antics.
"Where's Meri?" Bash asked the tiny boy. The little Crown Prince was always aware of his little cousins where, he was the eldest, and therefore, the most protective of them all.
"Sleeping. With Rosie. George is with Tante Greer." James informed.
"And Tante Kenna?" Bash pushed.
"In your chambers, Oncle. She said not to bother you, but Tante Greer said you should go."
"You did well, neveu." Bash ruffled his unruly curls. James beamed, proud of his actions. "I'll go to her." he told himself and everybody in the room. "Francis," he addressed his half brother and King. "I'll be back soon. Surely Martine has more information for us by then."
Francis' eyes darkened, even with his son in his arms. But, even with his son in his arms, they weren't as dark as they normally would, when thinking of the devious Queen Catherine de Medici.
"Love, we have to talk." Francis said, strolling into Mary's study. Steven had told him the Empress' had finished her meetings with nobility and a quick privy council meeting, upon his insistence a few hours previously. It was before the evening meal, an intermission in the day where Mary took tea and snacks with James, a quick break from ruling. The sun had set earlier than expected, the clouds dark and the air sweet, just before a storm was to hit.
Mary sat on the head of the table, one not long but not short. Her light blue-grey ball gown sparkled slightly in the candlelight, her diadem glowing. The pregnant beauty slowly turned to him, taking a break from pouring tea from the silver tea pot.
"My love." Mary smiled softly.
James sat half way down the table, his chair on higher legs than the other two. He wore a new jacket, a little red velvet ensemble with gold embroidery, hair pulled up in a red satin ribbon. His face was slightly hidden from an impressive bouquet laying in the middle of the table, as well as a seven tiered stand covered in small cakes and biscuits, tarts and pastries. Small tea plates lay in front of them, as well as thick goblets.
"Papa!" James beamed, throwing himself to one side to catch eyes with his father. Francis grinned at him.
"Hey, you." he smiled, walking over to his mother. Francis placed a kiss to Mary's hair, a hand going to her growing stomach, visible and large underneath the soft fabric.
"What did you want to talk of?" Mary asked, ever the diplomat.
"My mother." he answered. Mary's eyebrows furrowed.
"What of her? What has she done now?" Mary asked.
"I do believe that this is a conversation for another time." Francis nodded to the boy. He walked over and picked him up from the tall chair. "Come on, mon petite prince. Go to Tante and your cousins." he said, walking with James on his hip. James wined, always having enjoyed the time he had with his mother, not liking to be away from her whenever it was not necessary.
His pleas fell on def ears as he was passed over to Simon. Francis closed the door and turned to his wife. Mary frowned a little.
"You're scaring me." she admitted. "What on earth could be so wrong that James would have to leave?" Mary asked. He took one of her small hands -a little swollen from pregnancy, not that he would have noticed- and lead her to one of the chaises near the fire. Francis didn't speak, just sat down next to her, taking that hand in his own once more.
"I've heard news from my cousin, Piero." Francis began. Mary frowned. His maternal Medici cousin was a dangerously ambitious man, much like Duke Claude de Guise, her own maternal uncle. What on earth could he be doing corresponding with Francis about Catherine? The only time the Medici family corresponded with the house of Valois-Angoulême was when they wanted something, something Mary knew first hand in her brief regency.
"About?" Mary pushed. What was this?
"My mother." Francis sighed. "He says he received word from a Monestry outside northern Milan. My mother took a lover there, and said lover was found dead after a rather ambitious rendezvous. And, stricken with guilt and grief, she was found dead at a noose."
Mary laughed aloud. "Catherine de Medici, guilt stricken? Does she think we're stupid?" Mary asked.
He chuckled. "I suppose she does. She has a rather high view of her own viewpoint, a rather low of ours. But, that is not what we should focus on."
"No, it isn't." Mary agreed, swallowing down laughter at the audacity of the Medici woman attempting espionage. "That is not the woman we know, it cannot be."
"It cannot." Francis agreed. "So, if she's not dead, where is she?"
"And what on earth is she up to?"
"We've received intelligence from Spain." Francis revealed.
"Oh?" Mary asked. Spain and Italy were fierce Catholics, Italy being a close ally for France and in ways, the empire. Spain was a close ally, hand in glove in some areas of ruling, especially with the marriage of Princess Elisabeth of Valois-Angoulême to King Phillip of Spain. Some attempts at alliance had been made over the past several months. But, negotiations with Spain had turned sour ever since Mary focused on tolerance in the second month of her English reign. An illogical war against Protestants had been started by fierce Catholics, lead by themselves by Spain. And they hated the tolerance that Mary and Francis showed them.
"Yes," Francis nodded. "They say a woman with copper curls and mink boots walks towards Spanish Court on a daily basis, anger in her wake." he said.
Mary chuckled. "So, it's her. What else can we expect from her?"
"I don't know. But, if a woman with her knowledge walks towards her daughter and son-in-law, vengeance for both you and me in her mind, she could start a war. You know she will, and that is the last thing we want." Francis said.
Mary knew he was right. With the Empire starting to flourish under joint rule, another heir on the way and a strong heir waiting to take the throne, their countries had never been stronger. France prospered under Mary's Empire, new trade roots and gold settling a previously penniless and plague torn country. They both prospered in this new 'golden age' of tolerance and money, nobody wishing to change it, even if some wished for Catholics or Protestants to be eliminated. They got on for the greater good, something Mary was rather proud of achieving in her short life and reign.
However, it hadn't all been sunshine and rainbows. Mary had had to lead both her Empire and France into many battles over the years. She herself had fought on the front line, leading a new female revolution, that going side by side with her new political revolution. It had been horrible. A short war with Germany and a quick squabble within France itself, for both sides to fight it out until they exhausted themselves, before proper negotiations could occur.
The German battle had been quite pointless. Protestant Germany and it's Protestant King had simply disliked a Catholic Queen of two countries and the imminence of a Catholic Regent and a Catholic King. They had attacked the border at the same time Elizabeth started to attack Scotland in retaliation of Mary's pregnancy. Intellect from Marie de Guise and Mary Stuart had crushed England's attempted stink and a short, sharp battle had tired out the German-French soldiers. The negotiations in that room had been tense and icy from both sides, finally finding common ground after eight days of bickering back and forth.
The French war was even more pointless. Stupidly Catholic Lords had risen a stink at the tolerance Mary showed, and Ignorantly Protestant subjects had risen up in retaliation. Mary had allowed two weeks of squabbling, before literally smacking them on a wrist like a stern governess and a stubborn, ignorant child. That was what Mary verbally compared them to, before she berated their ignorance and stupidity for fighting and gave them a stern telling off. Then, she sat down the main leaders and forced them to talk. They weren't let out until the yelling stopped and the talking started to get easier to do. Then, a mighty fine patriotic speech had been given, and since then, France had been quite willing to cooperate for their Queen.
England and Scotland had gone into a little hissy fight just after Mary took the throne and had sat on eight for around nine weeks. The border absolutely despising each other for many years, coming to gunpowder and blades for a few weeks, before their mistress took charge of that situation. She and the main leader of the opposing sides had given and took in their negotiations, finally ending the bad blood between the two countries once and for all. Of course, there was always going to be a baseline dislike, that would never change for centuries. But, alliance had always been better than war on all sides.
An almost instantaneous battle against Navarre had gone on at a similar time, almost immediately after. The Bourbons had attempted to siege the castle just after Mary took England, attempting to kill her and James and take France for themselves. Their ally, the Protestant Joseph Tudor being the one who was almost placed on the British throne. Of course, it had never came to that. French Forces and English had crushed the attempted usurpers and the Bourbons had signed away their claim when the risk of Lois of Conde's head being removed from his shoulders had been put on the table for King Antoine. After that, he was more than content to enter an alliance with the Empress and Regent.
Good Lord, what fun Francis had missed out on his Italian holiday.
Blinking out of her memories of battle, Mary focused on said blonde haired Frenchman. He was talking, making Mary not believe he saw her temporary zone out.
"I truly believe she's going to Phillip. Expose our secrets and vulnerabilities, start a war to teach us a lesson for not listening to her. Well, me." he said.
"Why would she do such a thing? Catherine adores you, you are and always have been her favourite child. She wouldn't hurt you."
"Wouldn't she? I effectively banished her." Francis chuckled humorlessly.
"She still adores you. She would move heaven and earth to make you happy. If she'll go after anybody, it will be me. She resents me for taking the French throne, ruling in your absence. Taking James away from her and turning your mind against her."
"You did not. I used my own mind, I thought my own thoughts. She can't blame you for that."
"She can, and she will. Catherine has always hated me, you know that. There's a reason she told you to claim your son after returning, forgave so quick after you came back. Let Lola come to Scotland, child in towe. There's a reason why she tried to turn Lords in her favour. Because she hates me."
Francis said nothing. Just turned away.
"I cannot blame her for thinking the way she does. She thinks that is genuinely how things should go between King and Queen. They taught you to think the same. The Queen births and raises the children, the King finds love with his mistress and adores his bastards. The King and Queen hate each other but rule well together. That is genuinely how she thinks, how she thinks it should go. I cannot blame her for that, she was sold to your father and country, saw the way your grandfather treated his second wife with mistresses and bastards. She endured your father with Diane and Bash, whomever caught Henry's eye at the time, even Kenna at one point. That is genuinely how she thinks it should be, she's became attuned to it. And now that you do not act as they did-" Mary paused.
"She thinks it's wrong, tries to change it."
"Precisely. What she's done in the past is because of how she thinks and because of who she loves. You, most of all." Mary cupped Francis' cheek. He leaned into her touch. From inside her, the baby squirmed suddenly. Mary became uncomfortable and lay back on the settee, resting her legs on Francis' lap.
"What of you?"
"I am nothing to her. Nothing but a temporary alliance to secure her own power and standing when we thought you were gone. Now that I have you back, she'll go back to the Catherine she always was. Madame Le Serpente. The one who hates me and would do anything to have you in her back pocket, ripping the world apart because she loves you." Mary listed off. Her words held no animosity to the former Queen, just acceptance.
There was a time when Mary pined for Catherine's love more than anything. As a child, a little five year old all alone on foreign soil, mysterious and enchanting and different. One who had never known the love of a mother and the adoration of a father in her homeland, and who hoped to find love in France. She did, but with her betrothed and his siblings. Not with the King and Queen of France. The only parental influence she found was a cold mother and an absent enigma of a father, who doted on his mistress and bastard and neglected his heir and wife simply because they were not who he loved.
But, that was okay.
Because she had Francis. And that made everything okay.
"Let's not talk more of this, I am sure Bash and Leith will have plenty to talk to us of my mother tomorrow. For now, my only responsibility is to care for my pregnant wife."
Mary smiled softly.
How she loved him.