Francis had always been protective of her, Mary had always been aware. Even when they were little children, Mary always understood that he was protective, even if he didn't want to get on with her at first. The little Dauphin had learned from the example of his father, that wives were for heirs and mistresses were for loving. Only after a stern -and a very rare one at that- scolding from the Queen of France did the young heir start warming up to that beautiful, mysterious siren with pretty golden eyes and long black locks.
The first example of that was when Mary was sparring with Sebastian, even though the former was eight and the latter holding a mere five years to her life. But, all bar six days of that life had been completed as a Queen, so they were more than even. The latter had seen Mary hold a blade in her hand many times, Bash warming up to her long before her future husband did. Even at that point, he was only starting to like her and her company, whilst Bash immediately took to her like a duck to water.
Said Bastard born son of the King of France had struck a little too hard, Mary's reflexes a little too slow. One blow had knocked her off her feet, a little cut under her eye and a few small bruises on her arms and legs -she'd fallen on particularly hard stones- and the young Dauphin was introduced to a rage that he'd never known before. He had yelled and shoved his Bastard half brother back, before turning to help his future bride to her feet, watching worriedly as blood splattered against the pretty pink lace gown she wore. He hadn't missed it, nor had he missed the small, amazed smile on her face. The Queen of Scots wasn't a stranger to the frailty of the fair haired Dauphin of France, after all.
The next time had been when the duo had been climbing up and down one of the larger oak trees of the courtyard. They had been with the young Princess' of France, along with the King's beloved Bastard and the Queen's recently arrived ladies in waiting, a much needed dose of happiness since the death of baby Louis not four months previous. They had climbed up and down as easy as it was to walk up and down the hallways of the French Court, until one of the stronger branches had snapped, taking the Queen of Scotland down an almost eight feet drop. He had yelled out her name, only for the aforementioned Queen to simply laugh off her pain, get up from the floor, dust of her dress and wipe the blood from her face and the leaves from her dress and hair and go right back to climbing. Said ladies didn't seem so concerned, knowing full well the Queen's tolerance for pain and her eagerness for adrenaline and adventure, but Francis had worried for her for almost a week afterwards.
There had been many more times after that, a horse running too fast or jumping too high, a fever taking too long to break or a hiding place taking too long to be found, but the second most notable time had been when an Englishman had been found under Mary's bed, a blade in his hand, malicious intent in his eyes. Clearly, the English King's regent hadn't recovered from the fact that the Scottish privy council hadn't changed their mind on Mary's ended engagement with the young Edward Tudor. The man was well hidden, slowly climbing up onto the Queen of Scotland's bed hours after she'd fallen into a slumber.
Her young puppy, Sterling, had awoken before his mistress, a sharp intake of breath startling her out of her slumber, finding an assassin straddling the bed, a sword raised high above his head. Her screams and Sterling's howls had alerted the guards outside and awoken the two Princesses and Prince of France inside the bedchambers. Adrenaline and fear had given her superhuman strength, holding the blade from her throat for long enough to allow the guards to rush inside the room and stop the slight scrap between Queen and enemy.
Francis could remember how she'd shook in his arms as the King and Queen of France stormed into the room, finding the screaming, beaten Englishman and the frightened children. His arms were clamped around her little body so tightly that she'd remained at French Court, instead of being shipped off to a convent in the north of the country, like his mother had wished.
For weeks, Mary had feared monsters under the bed, a terrifying childish fear being magnified into that of a Queen. And, months after, Mary had berated herself for being so weak from fear, scolding herself at every given moment, remedying her self hatred by larger jumps on her favourite Scottish stallion, more intense training sessions with her Scottish governor and more borderline foolish risks in their childish adventures. Even then, Francis had worried for her, but never more than when a second blade-armed assassin had slipped through the walls of French court.
This time, Mary hadn't been so lucky. It had been in braud daylight, this time. They'd tussled for the blade, Francis and his sisters and one year old new brother yelling for the guards. But, the guards hadn't came. They lay drugged outside the door. It had been a walking-close-by King to rescue his children, this time. But, the King wasn't quick enough to save the Scottish Queen from a blade through her abdomen. He'd walked into the room to find a choked-out assassin and a crying Dauphin, clinging to the hand of his beloved future wife.
She had been coughing up blood, a blade sticking from the bodice of her dress, the golden gown quickly turning a deep crimson. She'd held onto consciousness just long enough to see him storm into the room, before her eyes rolled backwards in her head. Francis and Claude and Elisabeth had started screaming louder, wailing so bloodcurdlingly in a way Henry himself had never heard before when her limp body was taken away from them by Nostradamus. The finest physicians in the country had been summoned, assisting their future Queen in her physical injuries.
Said girl was lucky enough to have her personal, Henry's, Nostradamus and seven other physicians on hand when she'd started coughing and wheezing, gripping her throat so sightly as it closed from the inside. It had been discovered that the blade was marred with poison, taking almost three weeks to even start to heal from. The girl had been on the edge of death for nine days, before being sent away to a nunnery when she could finally walk. It had been the dead of night when the future Dauphine and Queen was sent away, and she'd heard word of the cries of anguish the young Medici-Valois-Angoulême children had heard of her disappearance.
Of course, she hadn't remained there long. Maybe three weeks, before Marie de Guise had ushered her child home. And there she stayed until the age of fourteen, when it was time to wed, but that lead to the whole ordeal in France, something that the Queen loathed to remember.
Mary awoke with a painful gasp. Her body was covered in silk and warm furs and blankets. A hand was at her forehead, warm and substantial. Roughened by work, a thick ring somehow cold on the skin that clearly belonged to a man.
From behind her abdominal skin, a small kick could be felt, underneath a hand that felt quite similar, although this one wasn't touching her skin. It was restrained by layers of blankets and the silk gown she wore. It comforted her, nonetheless. That, and the kick of her unborn child.
She smiled into the touch, her teeth remaining guarded by a rather dry mouth, letting a soft word whisper from her throat. "Francis."
She heard a rustle, the beginning's of words, but payed them no mind. Darkness consumed her. She gladly gave herself over to sleep.
Ah, Francis. Her husband whom she loved, what a mess they'd found themselves in. It seemed hard to believe that once upon a time, the duo had been foolish and happy, drunk on love for one another. It seemed so simple, a world where they loved each other almost as much as they loved there people and countries. Who knows, maybe somewhere, in time or space, they could have lived a life like that. But that life wasn't this one. That life was simple, and for a time, so had theirs been. But that was then, now it was so complicated.
Everything was complicated, bar the love of their children. Even now, after all this time, Mary still wasn't sure if all had been forgiven. An almost twenty eight month long abandonment, a bastard child with her onetime best friend and two years of supposed death, let alone the political madness he had caused after his miraculous rise from the grave. Maybe one day they would be, but that day wasn't today, and she didn't think it would be anytime after tomorrow. It may be someday forgiven, but Mary wasn't sure if it could be forgotten.
But maybe it didn't have to be. She knew she could love him and be weary of what he had done in the past. She also knew she could forgive, but never forget. But, what the Empress didn't know was how.
How they could get through all of that. How they could get through not only his actions, but Mary's own and Catherine's recent tantrum. She didn't know how to get through it, but she definatley knew who to get through it with. And, if the past had taught her anything, it would be that they definatley could get through the worst things, so long as they were with each other. And judging by the lack of him not at her side, they would be.
Then, complete darkness took over. Mary welcomed the rest.
When she awoke, the hand was there again. But resting at her cheek. She moaned into the touch, wondering why the other hands' grip on hers tightened. Why was Francis worried for her? She was only sleeping. It was a natural thing for a pregnant woman to do, even for an Empress.
"Mary? Mary can you hear me?" a voice said. An unfamiliar voice. Her eyebrows furrowed. What on earth could somebody she didn't recognise be doing in her bedchambers, calling her by name?
Mary's eyes opened. An audible sigh was heard from multiple people, in quick succession, nonetheless. Quickly, blurry eyes focused on the ceiling of her bedchambers, all grand and regal. Coffered tiles were finely indented, cream and ornate, chandeliers hanging down.
The Empress' eyes fell from the ceiling to the walls, trailing down to at least two dozen people standing in her bedchambers. She frowned, silently wondering why they looked so worried and anxious, yet relieved to see her eyes open.
Quickly identifying around eight of them as physicians, a few other servants, as well as her ladies and three of her half brothers, James, Robert and Adam. What on earth were people doing in her and Francis' bed chambers?
Said King was sitting at her side, looking down at her intently. From their close proximity, Mary could tell that he was exhausted and anxious. The look on his face and the dark circles under his eyes gave it away. When he was worried or unhappy, he seemed to age a decade, and staring back at her was a young man looking old. What was going on.
"Mary," he sighed, leaning forwards to kiss her head. He peppered kisses on her hands, clasping them both in his.
"What's going on?" the Empress croaked.
"Your Majesty, how do you feel?" sir Matthias came into her eyesight, looking equally as relieved to see her awake as her own husband was.
"Well, sir Matthias." Mary almost questioned. "What is going on? What are all these people doing here? What are you doing here?" she asked.
"You don't remember, Imperial Majesty?"
"Remember what?"
"You collapsed, Mary." Francis informed her. She frowned. That couldn't have happened. "As Bash, Leith, James and I were discussing my mother and Spain. You fainted." he repeated.
"What? I couldn't have, I-"
"You did, Majesty. You've not slept long, there is no fever. We think it nothing but stress."
"Stress? I am not under stress."
"I believe you are, Majesty. Your heart beats faster under my hand than what is normal for a woman in your condition. Your face paler than usual, you are not taking in as much food as you should or did. I worry for you and your child's health, Majesty."
"The child." Mary realised. She placed a hand on her large, growing stomach, instantly comforted by a kick and a little squirm. She sighed, the tension building in her body relaxing with this revelation.
"Shh, Mary. It's alright. The child is alright."
"Yes, Majesty. Your child lives, midwives can confirm it's health. However, I fear for it's continued safety should your Majesty remain this stressed and uncomfortable."
"I am not stressed or uncomfortable." she rolled her eyes. "But, if it is what you recommend, I must oblige. What is it you wish me to do? For my child's' safety."
"Retire, Majesty." he said. Mary frowned. "Retire to a castle of your choosing, along with the Emperor and the Crown Prince. Leave your Majesties' empire to the care of the Earls of Moray, Orkney and Argyll. Your Majesty should only return after her churchment, post their royal highness' birth."
"How are you feeling?" Greer asked her heavily pregnant Empress and friend, assisting her in standing up straight, the sizeable bump on her abdomen no doubt causing lower back pain. The raven haired beauty slowly closed her eyes, her mouth open in a grimace. Unblemished cheeks creased in pain, a slightly swollen hand reaching to steady itself on a sturdy, dark oak chair.
"Absulutley awful." Mary grumbled. "I'd forgotten how horrid pregnancy could be." she mumbled, the opposite hand reaching up to brush slightly damp hair from her forehead. At thirty two weeks pregnant, the unborn, child made his presence known in more ways than one. Never mind the growing bump that couldn't possibly get bigger -but would-, Mary had been plagued with horrid sickness and pain in her back and legs. Something not helped by the constant worry over her Empire and France, who were both now firmly in regent rule.
Stéphane Narcisse had been quite the thorn in Mary's side in her pregnancy. Of course, it hadn't been for long, maybe six of seven months of being forced to bow to Lord Narcisse until she cleaned up Francis' mess, before she had gotten back control of her country. But, the chill of the powerful man had always haunted her. It had taken a complete strip of his lands and titles and money to get him firmly under her control, but he had proven one thing to his Queen Consort and former Queen Regent. The man was loyal to France, wanted what was best for him and her, so she used that to her advantage.
He had became her little puppet for a year, before being allowed to slowly act for himself. But, even then, his logic behind all of that was loyalty to France, wanting what was best for her, wanting the strongest possible ruler for her, seeing as though all the power fell to Mary once Francis was declared dead and James the real King. His power and security relied on the power and security of his Catholic Queen and Catholic Regent, until she was no longer his little puppet and he became hers.
Francis had clearly seen the once vengeful, power hungry Lord for what he was, a fiercely loyal Lord, who simply played the game of power to his advantage. With close surveillance from himself, Stéphane Narcisse ruled as regent of France, had done ever since Francis exiled Catherine from Court. Not the smartest decision, as it was cleverer to keep her locked up than to send her away, but one quite justified.
The aforementioned King hadn't left her side the entire pregnancy, moving wherever she did. It was a pleasant surprise, to have him by her side when she needed him the most. Not like the other time she'd needed him the most, but Mary chose not to wallow in the past. With her and James and their inner circle, they'd vacated English Court some days ago, settling comfortably at Nonsuch Palace, grand enough to welcome a future Prince yet private enough for security and calmness, something the Empress desperately needed as her time drew near.
Ruling her empire in her stead were her half brothers, James and Robert Stewart, along with Adam -their eldest sibling- and John Stewart. It seemed controversial that the Empress would appoint mainly Protestant bastards to rule as regent in her stead -although Adam was Catholic, as was John- but all who opposed the loyal regents were pacified by a few Welsh Lords being given a tad more power and the right people comfortably suckling on a few golden coins. Of course not literally, but they did happily turn a blind eye to the regents and the Empress' tricky political decisions whenever gold and land was involved. Powerful men weren't that complex, it was obvious.
Adam Stewart -the most religious of all of the long dead King James Stewart's children- took care of the religious sides of ruling, pacifying Catholics and Protestants alike, while James, Earl of Moray, ruled over the more important political matters. Robert assisted his elder half brother, whilst John carefully constructed their armies to slowly prepare themselves for imminent invasion, thanks to Greer's working girls and Mary's own seductive spies.
Of course, the half siblings hadn't caused Mary as much trouble as Stéphane Narcisse had in France. All had been loyal to their sister and Queen, had been ever since they were children. And, it was their pleasure to care for her country whilst she grew their next Prince. Mary's half sister Jean and their other half brothers comfortably resided in Nonsuch, assisting the Empress with whatever she needed.
"Are you sure you don't want me to have more ginger tea brought up, Mary?" Kenna asked, coming into the main chambers from the conjoining washroom, a vision in pink and purple chiffon. A hand was placed on top of her prominent, twenty five week old bump, completely comfortable in her maternity as she had been in her last. "I was just to have some." she finished, throwing a concerned look at Mary. Although both hardly looked different in their respective second pregnancies, the paleness and weakness couldn't be written off.
"No, no. It's alright, dear Kenna." she mumbled, collapsing into a long divan, pulling up swollen feet to rest on the soft satin pillows at the end. "I'm simply tired."
"It's barely midday, Mary." she frowned, coming in close. "Are you sure you're alright?" Kenna asked, motherly concern marring her features even though Mary was four months older than her. Kenna had always been maternal however, even before her time with the poor, long dead Pascal. It had just taken the small pagan boy and the birth of precious Lady Meredith de Portiers to finalise it. She had always suited motherhood, in addition.
"Perfectly fine, sister." Mary said, her voice mumbled. "You should know pregnancy tires a woman." she said, reaching out to pat a hand twice in quick succession, in an effort to comfort her Lady in Waiting and half sister in law.
"You're warm." Greer noticed, placing a cold cloth on Mary's forehead. She sighed in pleasure.
"Another effect of pregnancy, my friend. I had the same with James." Mary replied, gently taking off the blanket Kenna placed on her teal coloured rayon dress. A simple gown with no embellishments, comfortably hugging her growing stomach as if that growing bump wasn't decoration enough. It simply was more precious than any diamond the Empress owned. Only a sheer teal housecoat with pearls -that had long been thrown off- had been the only extravagance the pregnant Empress had donned.
Kenna looked down at her growing baby bump, feeling a slight squirm inside of her. Mary had always fallen pregnant before her, giving the pregnant barroness a taste of what was to come. And, the imminent day of birth that grew closer every day, and the no doubt bloody hell that the Empress was to endure and Kenna had to watch, she knew that she worried about the end of the royal pregnancy rather than the Empress did herself.
They were no strangers to the dangers of childbirth. Nobody in the room was. All were mothers and all suffered in their own rights. Greer had the hardest pregnancies of the three, Kenna the longest, whilst Mary had the most gruesome childbirth. They had all survived it at least once, but who was to say it would happen once more?
They were, of course, mere breakable women.
"Mother, why are you here?" Queen Elisabeth of Spain asked, cautiously settling at the end of a divan near the fire, two golden teacups in her hands.
"I've told you, child," the Queen Mother of France grinned mysteriously. "I wish to help your husband with your issue with the Queen of Scotland." Catherine nearly smirked, taking the tea and taking a sip from it.
"Why? I know you've never gotten on with Mary, apart from when my dear brother was thought to be with the almighty, but why now?" Elisabeth asked, ever the gentle soul. "What could Francis' wife have done to upset you, so?" the Valois princess asked.
"What has Mary Stuart done, Elisabeth?" Catherine glared. "What hasn't she done? Mary took my grandson away from me, took him across the water when your brother came back from Italy. Mary made my son feel so much pain, slowly manipulating him into thinking her way was the right way, the only way of thinking. She ripped him from his country, making him abandon it once again, right when she needed him the most. She held him in her own country, slowly manipulating him into becoming nothing more than a trophy husband! A pretty trophy for the ladies of the court to gase upon. How could she do that? How could it be justified? Slowly poisoning his mind against me, his mother. I have no doubt she has done the same with their son. He turned from me, so much so that he banished me from France! The country I gave him! The country his father and I handed to him on a damned silver platter! Yet he shoves it into the hands of Mary's puppet to go galavanting across the water with her! She took everything from me, Elisabeth! She took my country, my son, my grandson! All because shes so ardent and ignorant to not act like a queen, but to act like a girl!" Catherine snapped. "She's destroyed the French-Spanish alliance, angering your husband and harming your position! You have no son, Elisabeth! Not even a daughter to marry off! This alliance is in tatters, everything I worked so hard for is gone because of her!"
"Mother, you must not speak this way. Francis sounds so happy in his letters to me, happier than he was whilst Mary was in Edinburgh and he in French Court. He speaks of the love he has for her, their son."
"You do not defend your husbands' enemy!" Catherine snapped.
Elisabeth continued as if she hadn't even spoken, her tone not kind but not unkind. "Do you know she's with child, mother? Mary is pregnant." Elisabeth revealed. "She expects a child in eight weeks, she and Francis tell me that she and the child are healthy and happy."
Catherine snorted. "If she was growing with child, Elisabeth, I would have known about it immediately. Do you forget who your mother is, child? What that alleged child is is simply a glue to keep Francis under her thumb, France in her pocket. It is not real, Elisabeth. Mary is intelligent, I will give her that. She is manipulative. She took everything from me, and I will have no more. I will take every thing from her that she took from me. Mary forgets that I am no Anne of Cleeves. I am no submissive, I am no penitent bride. I am no somber, mourning wife. I am still a Queen. I will forever be a Queen. I am Catherine de Medici. And I will never bow to her."