"No, Papa. No, please, no." James cried into his mother's side. Mary sat up on her bed, reclining upon the pillows, nightgown thin upon her body. The Empress sat glaring at her Emperor who sheepishly half sat upon their bed. The youngest of the quartet lay obliviously in her arms, nursing at her bared breast, wrapped up in a thick bundle of furs. The elder of the children lay at his mother's side, pressing his face upon her ribs. His small arm lay upon her torso, as if trying to cling to his mother without hurting her.
"James, come on. He won't-" Francis started, but the cry of his son and the fierce glare of his bride stifled the words.
"No, no." James shook his head. "I won't do it!" he proclaimed loudly. "I won't!" he cried out.
It was a dark morning in the palace that the royal couple were residing in. It was cold and bitter, the snow high and the heaths hot. But the temperature in the room was stone cold. The King had confessed to revealing the true connection between his sons, and of the new fact that the eldest wished to see the the elder of the two laying near their mother upon that bed. But none of the trio were contented with his new information.
Mary blinked at him, eyes narrowed into small slits. His wife's jaw had been clenched the moment she had heard that he had spoken to his sons about their true connection. He wanted to talk to her about everything, to explain and make her understand but James had to come first.
"James," his father started. The boy blinked rapidly, peaking out from his mother's dress. "I know what he's done has hurt you, but he understands that it was wrong. Mean and wrong. He wants to make it right, to apologise." Francis cried to soothe. But the boy shook his head.
"I tried to be nice so he would be nice to me. But now he's stuck here forever and going to make everybody unhappy! I don't want it!" he replied, his voice louder than normal but quieter than a cry.
"He won't, son. Oncle Bash and I talked to him about his behaviour, he knows it was wrong, wishes to apologise for his actions. They were born out of jealousy, because you are the heir and he is not." Francis' words were spoken as if he wished to soothe, but it did little good.
"No, Papa. I don't want to go and see him. You can't make me."
"No, I can't." Francis agreed. "And if you really don't want to go, I won't make you, alright?" James peaked curiously up at his father. "But John really wants to make things alright between you. He sees how nice Oncle Bash is to me and wants to treat you like that."
"No, Papa." James said. "I don't want to. He might be my brother, but that doesn't mean I have to like him because of it." he spoke, his words quite misspoken as it always was when he tried to speak in a vocabulary that was older than his own.
"No, you do not." Francis soothed. "But if ever you want to have your brother at your side, he will be."
"I have one," James sat up, pointing at the sleepy baby guzzling at his mothers' breast, his eyes fluttering as tiredness overtook him as it always did after he contently sucked at his mothers' breast. "He's my brother and he will be with me."
"He will," Francis agreed. "Very well, if you want somebody who acts like Oncle does for me, it'll be him, okay?"
James gave his father a long look, not nodding but seeming to understand.
Francis looked up at his wife. Mary blinked at him, reading his wants through his eyes as she always could.
"If he doesn't want to know your son just yet, you must not force him. Follow his lead." the Empress replied to her husbands' silent request that she assist him in this conversation.
"I will." he nodded. "But-" Francis was interrupted not by his wife, but by James.
"No yelling." he quickly said, those big golden eyes of his widening as his parents started to speak.
"We're not going to yell, my love." Mary ran a hand through his black curls, her heart aching at the immediate response he had when his parents talked of uncomfortable matters. She had to make up for yelling at Francis whilst he was there, apologies not being enough to settle his little mind, she saw. Perhaps a nice day out at the coast when the weather grew warmer or a sleigh ride all over the estate the next day. "We're going to talk." she affirmed softly.
"Yes, we are." Francis added, noticing the uncertainty in James' eyes immediately after he and his wife spoke of one of the most complicated factors in their marriage, young John. Or, more specifically, the matter of John and his mother.
He opened his mouth to speak again, interrupted not by the elder of their sons, but by the quiet yawn of their youngest. His little mouth opened in a perfect 'O' as he yawned, a small kittenish noise escaping his mouth as those big blue eyes opened again. Mary smiled down at the baby in her arms, his brother leaning over to giggle at him and touch his chubby cheeks, the skin petal soft.
Francis smiled at the scene, the tension temporarily broken by this sweet, perfect scene. How he loved to see it. Mary, his beautiful, enchanting wife with their perfect children, the epitome of contentment and sweet motherhood. Motherhood suited her well, Francis acknowledged for what felt like the millionth time.
There was something very motherly about her long before she was one, however. Her maternal instincts had always been there when his younger siblings needed it most, shown most vividly when they were children and even as adolescents, regularly playing surrogate parents for his youngest siblings when Henry was too busy with his throne or his whores and Catherine spending her time poisoning her enemy and playing the doting wife to the husband she loathed. Yet with her own child in her arms, it became so very apparent that this was the job she was meant for, not just Queen or Empress, but mother, too. Holding her son, she looked a little older, yet no less beautiful. In fact, her beauty somehow increased tenfold when she was with their children. Indeed, this was who she was. A true Queen and a natural born mother.
When the baby settled into a light slumber, the air coaxed from his little stomach, Mary looked back up at her husband. James started nuzzling contently into her shoulder, trying to find his own slumber against the one who he loved the most, just like his younger brother.
"Sebastian came to see me today." Francis informed.
"Oh? What did he say?" Mary asked, observing the reaction of her husband as he spoke.
"We don't have the time to deal with the issues of my mother nor Lola right now. Before we set sail to France after he-" he quickly glanced down at the baby. "grows stronger and the weather grows warmer, Lola will be placed in the custody of Lord Bothwell. Imprisoned in the tower of London, but under his custody. And will be until we have settled the issue of King Phillip and the Vatican." he said.
"Lola will be gone?" James seemed rather awake now, for being previously nestled into his mothers' shoulder to go to sleep.
"Yes, love. She's going to be leaving." Francis nodded.
"And Catherine?" Mary asked, feeling that sense of weariness whenever she spoke of the Medici matriarch who had betrayed her time and time again.
"She'll be taken to France to be legally interrogated -travelling with Martine- not us. We'll find out when she knows, use it against Phillip. And providing we either win this battle with him or it doesn't come to war, we'll figure out what to do with her next. I cannot banish her. She knows too much about us, our weaknesses and secrets. Maybe place her upon house arrest with your men, men she cannot bribe, has no weight over nor any powers of manipulation." he said slowly, remembering the time his mother had told him about Mary's almost completed plan to exile her from France after she caught her corresponding with Elizabeth when she was pregnant with James. If Mary hadn't stopped the plan and hadn't instead locked her away in her rooms for months, Catherine could have used those months to ruin her and her grandson, something of which she apparently had no issue doing, given current circumstances.
"I'm grateful." Mary nodded, having always felt unsettled by Catherine ever since she turned on her when Francis returned from Italy and the grave.
The door knocked. Mary called for whomever there to enter.
In walked Steven, her bastard nephew, spy and page.
"Aunt, Uncle, cousins," he bowed. "The Lady Castleroy asks to take the Dauphin to his chambers to rest, and the nanny Josephine wishes to place the Prince in his own crib for the night."
"Yes, of course." Mary nodded, hating to be away from her children, but understanding it's necessity. She had to heal from such a traumatic and long birth and loosing so much blood, and that couldn't be attained with two children and a husband in her bed, unfortunately.
In walked Greer, pale yet somewhat better than the last time Mary had seen her.
"Majesties." she curtsied, walking forewarn and taking the sleepy Dauphin from the bed, Josephine gently taking Lucien from his mothers' arms.
"Just to sleep, Tante?" James asked, his eyes big and wide. "Just to sleep?" he repeated, digging his small and long fingers into Greer's arm as she picked him up, suddenly fearing that Greer was there to take him to John, which he absolutely did not want to.
"Just to sleep." the blonde affirmed.
Francis slowly stood from his chair and went to them, bidding his sons goodnight with promises to see them in the morning. Mary watched him with their sons with rapt attention, observing his actions with them.
For a moment, the Empress wondered what it would have been like if Francis hadn't left for Italy. To receive a note in his calligraphic handwriting, to observe it as though the piece of parchment was a light in the midst of so much darkness. To read the words, I love you, I miss you, we're safe, we will return as soon as we are able. To have those seventeen words comfort her in a way she couldn't explain, to give her reason and hope that he was alright and that her baby wouldn't have to grow up without a father. She pinned for that love and trust and support, it had nearly killed her when she grieved for Francis, to have to rule alone in James' stead, empire falling upon her grief weakened shoulders.
When Mary attained England and the two smaller countries, she had had to forget her grief for a good few months, almost four. Many had tried to pray upon the bereft Queen turned Empress and regent, something that Mary simply couldn't let happen. She had to protect her child's future, so she did. It had taken months to solidify her power and rule, placate the nobles and appease the working man, for the English to accept a Scottish Queen with a basically French heir. Some days it seemed impossible, god only knew how she managed to settle her new countries into a new age of religious tolerance and stability. Somehow, she managed it, practically feeling the long dead Henry's smugness for his bloodline to one day rule England. But combined with the things learned during her early rule and finding out how she even attained the throne of France and keeping it from the grip of Stephanè Narcisse, it had seemed like a challenge that was somehow attainable. And it became true.
Josephine left with the baby. But Greer stayed with James in her arms, shushing him as Francis started to bid him goodnight. But she heard him say the name of his eldest son multiple times. When he finished, Mary spoke.
"Love," Mary nodded. Obediently, the little boy covered his ears with his small hands, still in Greer's arms. She didn't want him hearing anything else about his parents' rather rocky marriage. Seeing that he couldn't hear anything, Mary turned to her husband. "If you want them to resemble yourself and Sebastian, you must take a step back. James is the more reluctant, you must follow his lead. I am not happy that you spoke to him without me there, neither am I happy that you took it into your own accord to inform them both of their biological connection, but James told me you told him that you listened to him in a way you never did before, so do it again. Follow James' lead, because you're dangerously close to ignoring his wishes and following only your own and your other son's. Don't repeat your mistakes, or the repercussions will be great."
"I'll miss you, Papa." James said into Francis' neck. The King of France stood holding the young Dauphin of France in his strong muscular arms, blonde curls long against his shoulders. He wore black, leather slacks and knee high boots, thick velvet protecting him from the cold December nip. Golden hair sparkled just as much as the embellishments of his doublet. He stood calmly, his son in his arms as they said goodbye. James' arms were wrapped around his neck, red velvet and silver satin decorations covering his small black tunic. Having just woken up from a nap, the boy's hair was disheveled and eyes half lidded. He looked up with big golden eyes, clinging to his father, small fingers tight against the thick material of his doublet, knuckles pressed against the warm skin of Francis' neck.
"I'll miss you too, my love." Francis calmly replied, his arms large and warm around the boy's back as he settled upon his hip. "Your brother and I will return in three days time." he said, his voice soft against the silky curls of his sons hair. Warm puffs of breath het Francis' skin as his small son clung to him as they said goodbye.
"But that's so long." James complained, black curls falling behind his ears as he looked up at his father, wrapping his arms tighter against his chin. Francis kissed his forehead, running a hand down his face, pushing an errant lock from his cheek behind his ear.
"You get your mother all to yourself, my love. Your brother and I won't take any of her time away from you." he half smiled, holding his sons little warm body closer to his own. The boy mewled as he was held tighter, pressing his face into his father's chest, searching out a heartbeat that comforted him.
"I know, papa. But I'm going to miss you and my brother very much." the boy said. Francis dropped a kiss to James' cheek.
"We won't be gone for very long. Only long enough for your brother to be christened. And then we'll come back to you and your mother. I promise." the elder said, leaning down to place his head upon his son's. "I'm coming back." he whispered. "Papa's not going anywhere this time." his voice was quiet. "But while I'm gone, you're the master of the palace. And I need you to take care of your mother until I return." the King of France ordered. James toothily grinned at his father, another hand leaning up to grip a small handful of golden ringlets.
"I will, papa." the boy nodded.
The door opened and Sebastian walked inside. He held a heavy cloak of brown and grey fur, thick bronze felt and black embellishments in his hand, a tired smirk on his face.
"Forgetting something?" Bash asked, slinging Francis' cloak onto a chair and plopping down on another, all bundled up in black furs and leathers.
"I'm busy." Francis huffed at his elder half brother. Bash smirked at him and made a face at his nephew, who giggled in response, before he looked over at the third and fourth members of this little family.
"Sister," Bash nodded. "Are you feeling any better?" the baron of Belay asked, remembering Kenna's frets about Mary's recovery from the birth seeing as though they had hit a little standstill in the complete recovery. Whilst she hadn't been bleeding much any more and showed little signs of infection, the fever, nausea, weakness and vomiting she had been feeling for three days had unsettled her physicians and midwives, so much so that she hadn't allowed herself to breastfeed Lucien this morning, fearing an infection that could harm the baby. The fever had been the last straw for them and as much as Francis wanted to stay with them and care for his wife, since she wasn't able to attend the christening -she hadn't recovered from the birth, with the addition of these new signs of illness and the churching issue- it was up to him to lead the charge of the new Princes introduction into the world.
"A little," Mary admitted, her voice weak as she lay upon the bed, sprawled in the mattress, head and neck propped up by the pillows. "Not much, though."
"We've sent word to the physicians that reside here and the neighbouring towns. Sir. Matthias and his flock work tirelessly to find a cure." Bash nodded as Francis quietly comforted his boy, who wasn't happy that his father, uncles and brother were leaving for London for the christening.
"I'm glad." Mary rubbed her face, mopping thr slight sheen of sweat from her brow with a cool, damp rag. She inhaled deeply, her eyes closing for a beat, listening to the gentle murmurs of comfort from father to son before there was a dip on her bed. Mary opened her yes to see Francis leaning down towards her, James sitting upon the corner of the bed, knees pulled up to his chest.
She made a small noise as Francis placed a few gentle kisses upon her lips, letting the golden orbs flutter open to focus on his statuesque face.
"I hate to leave you like this." He gentle skimmed his fingers down her arm, slowly sliding them into the spaces between her own.
"I'm alright." the Empress said quietly. "I promise."
"I don't have to go, perhaps Bash or Leith can take my place. I don't want to leave you when you need me."
"No, Francis. Our son needs you with him, I'll be okay. I promise."
The fair haired King sighed, placed his forehead upon hers. Their noses touched and Mary sighed in pleasure, enjoying the soft comfort he was giving her. Although they would always disagree upon something or other, their devotion would never change.
"Don't you dare leave me. I can't afford to loose you." his voice was quiet.
"I won't." she promised quietly, hoping she could actually keep her word like he would keep his.
"Is he ready?" Sebastian asked the matrons who were getting the young Prince ready for his christening. The tiny boy was wrapped up in his intricate robes, contently fiddling with a silver rattle as the females dressed him up.
"Yes, your Grace." A young, green eyed brunette in a cream silk gown and a matching veil replied. "The Prince is content, we are simply waiting for the King of Nevarre and the Lady Jean Stewart to collect him."
"Very good." Bash nodded once, leaving the long chambers to walk upon the hallways of Hampton Court. It has been decided that the King Antionè of Nevarre would godfather the child, settling protestants who were displeased of a continuing Catholic rule. And Mary's bastard half sister, Jean, would godmother the little boy, a way to settle Scotland, who anxiously awaited the sight of her Queen and who weren't happy about the fact that the aforementioned Queen would be setting sail to France in a few short months.
"Francis." Sebastian said, opening the door to his half brother's chambers as handmaidens assisted the King pull on his impressive doublet. It was substantial, clearly overseeing a good few under layers. The top material was a blood red satin, glistening in gold embellishments and small gems. His scabbard and baldric were also impressive. A crimson material covered in gold satin embroidery with a long, silver hollister that was covered in sapphires, emeralds and black iron designs.
"Brother." the King greeted. "Is everything prepared?"
"Yes, Majesty. The procession is set to walk and Antionè must be finishing his dressing."
"And our sister?"
"I walked past the lady Jean a few moments ago." Handmaidens stopped fiddling with the Emperor's doublet. "Ready to go?"
"Absolutely."
The procession carried the newborn Prince to the Chapel Royal where he would be christened. It held all the pomp and pageantry befitting of a new imperial, pure blooded legitimate heir. High ranking members of English, Scottish and French court and the clergy were required to take their place, as well as foreign diplomats and ambassadors so that they could report back to their masters and mistresses on what a spectacular event the new prince's christening had been. The regent of England had pulled out all the stops, putting all of Kenna and Catherine's parties that they had pulled together in the past to shame.
In its grandeur, some replications of the long dead King Edward Tudor's christening were echoed. Four gentlemen of the court -two of political matters, two of the cloth- bore torches in their hands that were not to be lit until the newborn Prince had been christened.
Ministers of the chapel walked upon thr procession of nobility, along with gentlemen esquires and knights, cardinals, a few privy council members, two lords, the treasurer of each countries treasury, ambassadors and the most politically important lords of English court in he midst. The privy seal and the lord chancellor, the duke of Norfolk and another representative of the vatican. A few dozen more nobility walked the charge of the procession. Next after the Earl of Essex, the lady Jean Stewart, being lady godmother, her gown impressive and a blue-silver, looking down admiringly at the newborn who was nestled comfortably in King Antionè's arms, the Prince's christening gown long and white and substantial.
Within the Chapel Royal, the spectacular christening stage was raised up on a huge structure which took up almost all of the chapel, again replicating the christening of the then Prince Edward. The stage, brought about by the eighth King Henry's time, was designed as such so that everyone in attendance could view the new prince. A proud cardinal performed the christening, speaking loud and clear for all to hear, proclaiming the new Prince's titles, Prince Lucien, Duke of York and Aberdeenshire, Earl of Chester and Glamorgan, duc dè Orleanś. The Te Deum was then sung, and spice, hippocras, bread and sweet wine were served to all involved, before little Prince Lucien was returned to his father's arms where he would stay for the rest of the afternoon, only leaving the comfortable space to reluctantly suckle from a wet nurse and to be cleaned and changed by nannies who had accompanied he and his father on the trip from the south of England to the busy London.
"Introducing his royal highness, Prince Lucien, first of his name, of the house of Valois-Angulème-Stuart, Prince of France, England, Wales," the herald had cried upon the Prince's christening. "Duke of York and Aberdeenshire, Earl of Chester and Glamorgan, duc de Orleanś. Long may he reign!"
Later on, at the celebration of the new Prince, Bash pulled Francis aside to converse with his brother for one of the first times that day. Of course, it couldn't be helped. It was one of the first times the King and Emperor made an appearance in court since Mary went into confinement for the boy's safety, and a King's work was never done. It has been like that in France, too. Courtiers and ambassadors begging the King for an audience, but it didn't get less irritating as the time went by.
"Well, it's been a lovely ceremony, hasn't it?" the Baron asked, sipping from a goblet of wine. The King smiled at him, newborn boy still in his arms.
"It has, James spared no expense."
"Is that wise? Considering the issues with the Vatican and King Phillip?"
"We want to end things like this with diplomacy, not war. When Mary heals and we travel to France, we are most likely set to meet with our brother in law, see if we can sort the issues he and Mary have with each other without the risk of blood flow. It would be nice, but Phillip is-" Francis trailed off.
"I understand," Sebastian smiled, giving his King the grin he had given him on the night he and Mary had announced her pregnancy publically, and the following ball of celebration of the unborn heir. "Ruling is a burden I will never fully understand, but from the letters we recieved from Elisabeth, things with him have never been-" he paused to find the word. "simple." Bash decided.
"Look at out family, Sebastian. We have never been simple." Francis chuckled, before both caught sight of young Steven rushing towards them, donned in riding clothes. His hair was all over the place and his eyes were frantic and wide.
"Uncle, you must return to us quickly." Steven rushed, but made himself quiet and unrecognisable enough to not cause attention to himself.
"Why? What has happened?" Francis asked.
Steven fished out a crumpled note from his pocket and gave it to his King. Francis passed the baby to his brother and read the note, written in scrawled handwriting, as if it had been done in a rush.
"My honourable King," it read. "I beg that your return to the palace our Queen and Empress resides in, as her highnesses health has taken a turn for the worst during the night. Physicians are doing their best for her, but my dearest Queen begs for your highnesses presence, along with your sons. Her health has rapidly deteriorated over the past five days and we fear the worst should her Majesties fever not break soon. Your humble servant, the Lady Greer Castleroy."
"Francis, what is it?" Bash asked, noticing the paleness of his brothers fave and the wideness of his eyes.
"We have to leave." he breathed.
"What? We're due to leave tomorrow morning."
"Not then, now. Mary has taken ill in the night, I have to be there with her." Francis said, his words quick and precise. "Get a wet nurse and a nanny, ride with them and my son to the Palace." he ordered like a King. Bash nodded quickly, knowing not to question. "I'm riding with you, let's go." he ordered his bastard nephew in law, before looking at his bastard brother. "Tell James to make up an excuse to why we left early. Dont tell him anything about Mary."
And then, Francis left.
He and Steven rode all night to get to the small palace in which they were staying. The fair haired King ran straight towards Mary's chambers, ripping open the doors, not to find a frantic dozen physicians, but rather a calm atmosphere that was the last thing he was expecting.
"Francis, you're here. I'm glad you got our message." Kenna smiled from a chair.
"Is everything-" he trailed, looking from her to the sleeping form of his wife in the bed.
"Everything is content. The threat is over. We found the cause of her sickness."
"What was wrong with my wife?"
"Poison, Francis. It was an assassination attempt on Mary and Lucien."
"The baby? Why would anyone harm a newborn?" he almost growled. "My newborn and my wife?"
"King Phillip." Kenna answered almost casually. "We have no proof it was him, don't even know what was poisoned, but we know he has the strongest motive." she paused. "If Mary was poisoned, it would transfer into the baby, seeing as though she feeds him from upon her breast."
"Who found it?" he asked. "Tell me, please."
"I did, my son." came the answer. But it didn't come from Kenna, nor Mary. But from across the room. Francis slowly turned. And there, sure enough, was the answer.
And there, stood Catherine de Medici.