"Francis, please, you must calm down!" Catherine begged as she ran to keep up with her incensed eldest son. His jaw was locked tight, eyes red and crazed with fury.
"How can I, mother?!" he spat. "The mother of my bastard tried to kill my wife!" he roughly jerked his black velvet covered arm from his mothers' grasp, seething in rage as he marched right up to the tower's door. Catherine rose her skirts in an attempt to catch up to her son, but Francis was having none of it.
"How could you do this?!" Emperor Francis de Valois-Angoulême roared as he shoved open the doors to the tower's cell and headed straight for it's occupant, his strides long and frequent, eyes wide and crazed like never before, an anger surged in his veins, brighter than any Barth and deeper than any ocean. He moved like a raged bull, gripping the traitorette by under her jaw and slamming her roughly against the wet stone walls. Lola squeaked in alarm, her own teal orbs expanding as she looked at the enraged Emperor's who looked about ready to snap her neck. Francis seethed, hissing in through his teeth, his jaw locked tight as the grip underneath her jaw increased and increased. It was sure to bruise. But Francis didn't give a damn.
Catherine gasped at the roughness her son showed. Her calm, patient, understanding son now treated the woman who had birthed him his first son with the roughest touch, far from the gentle caress he had treated his wife to just mere minutes ago.
"Francis! Francis, please let me-"
"No!" the enraged King roared into her face, saliva spraying from his lips in the most beastly way. "Do not interrupt me! Do not care try and justify it with another excuse!" he screamed. "You tried to kill my wife, your Queen! How dare you! After everything she did for you!" he roared, his eyes crazed with rage, the hand gripping his whore's jaw trembling as it tightened further. "After everything we've done for you, this is how you repay?!" he roared.
"No, no!" Lola cried, tears slipping down her face, moistening his hand. "It's not like that, Francis! Please believe me, I would never harm Mary!" Her hands reached for Francis' torso, trying to push him away, assisting Catherine's fruitless attempts to loosen his grip on Lola, but it was equally as fruitless.
He laughed harshly, jerking her back and forth. "Do you honestly think I am that stupid?!" he bellowed. "Do not lie to me!" he got even closer to her. Lola gasped in pain and tears, the hand grasping her jaw tightening so much that it felt like it would snap in half.
"I'm not, I swear it!" Lola screamed as he jerked her back and forth again. The little traitorette was completley at the violent Emperor's mercy and they both knew it. "I didn't do anything!" she cried through the tears.
"Do not lie to me, Lola!" Francis roared. "The crater with poisoned candles in it has your seal! Who else could it have been?!" he screamed, the other hand gripping a large fist of her hair and jerking it back roughly. "What is this?! You try to remove Mary from my side, hope that I will then marry you and legitimise John as my heir?! Is that what this is? A way to try and use our child to consolidate your own power?!"
"No, no! I-"
"Francis, please, let her go! We can solve this some other way!" the Medici blooded Queen Mother of France begged, but the King of France shook his mother from his arm and continued to berate.
"You tried to kill Mary and Lucien! You tried to assassinate my wife and my son!" he screamed.
"No, no! Francis, please!" Lola cried out. "You're hurting me!"
"I don't care! You deserve it! You deserve everything you put my wife through!" he bellowed, jerking her back and forth roughly, the back of her head smacking against the stone again and again. Lola sobbed in pain and fear.
"Francis, please! Stop! This isn't you!" Catherine begged, but neither parent to John Phillip Valois-Angoulême seemed to hear her. She went back to trying to pull Francis from the mother of his bastard, but it was sill fruitless.
"No, it wasn't me! I was framed, I swear it! I swear it on the blood of our son!" she screamed.
"You use our child as a bargaining chip, again?!" he screamed. "Never again, harlot! We captured one of Phillip's men. He confessed to everything, the two of you conspiring to kill the Empress and the Prince!"
"No, he's lying! I've done nothing! I've been locked up in here for weeks! I've had no contact with the outside world! Apart from the maid asking for me for our son, I've heard from nobody! Please, you have to believe me!" Lola begged helplessly, trying to push him off of her, but even with her pushes and Catherine's pulls, Francis moved not an inch.
"I believe not a word that comes from your traitoress mouth!" Francis got close, their noses almost touching as Francis screamed in rage. Catherine gasped at this radical change, trying desperately to loosen Francis' grip, but again, it was fruitless. "We've protected you from yourself, we've fed and housed you and our child, gave him a Prince's education and childhood, give you a husband and a house, protection for you both, and you do this?! Mary protected your secret from me, and you repay her by trying to kill her?! Is that what Phillip asked of you? That he'd reinstate the engagement between our son and a Hapsburg daughter if you removed his enemy and her heir?!"
"I am no spy, Francis! I talked to the Hapsburg's in an attempt to secure John's future and lessen the ice between them and Mary!"
"That is not your decision to make!" he bellowed into her face. "It is mine and Mary's! We're the ones with power! Not you! All you ever will be is a ruined, exposed traitoress who will forever live off your ruler and son's hospitalises! That is all you will ever be! You are a woman, a ruined one at that! You have no power in this world, nor will you ever have any of it!" he yelled. He pushed Catherine a few feet away from him, and this time, she stayed away.
"No, I-"
"Not a word!" he yelled. "If my mother didn't find out which poison was used, Mary would be dead! If I hadn't taken my child away from his mother, he would be dead! Do you have any idea what you did?! You've already convinced the world one of your rulers is dead, did you have to try and make it another?!
"I did nothing! I did nothing!"
"I should have let Mary take your head years ago." he spat. Lola inhaled a shaky breath, tears slipping down her cheeks, falling into her mouth and upon Francis' hand that jerked her head up further and further, exposing her neck and throat.
"Francis, please! I would never harm Mary or your son!" Lola screamed. "I was framed! You must believe me!"
"Speak again and I will cut out your heart!" he screamed. He pulled back from the mother of his bastard, looking down at her as if she repulsed his very being. The hand on her jaw moved and flung high behind him, and Catherine grabbed it before he could strike Lola with the back of it.
"No, Francis! Please, this is not you! Snapping her neck or striking her as if she is some common dog will not bring justice! When this is all over, we can put her on trial, you mustn't do it like this!" Catherine begged. Francis seemed to respond to that. He lowered his hand, but got close once more.
"Even if you didn't try to kill them, you will forever be implicated in this latest threat against my wife." he spat. "And you will loose your head, alone in this tower, before the day is done." he hissed.
"Good lord." Mary chuckled as Greer finished her tale. They sat at the small table just behind the doors to the balcony. The slowly recovering, widowed Lady Castleroy had just finished telling the tale of Francis confronting Lola about her role in the attempted assassination. She had been informed of the events by Catherine, getting the dirty little details from Steven and listening in to the conversation between Francis and Sebastian that afternoon. "Well, it says something of the severity of your crimes if you have Catherine de Medici pleading your case, being the voice of reason." Mary chuckled, sipping her tea that the physician had brewed for her. Greer smirked at her friend, sipping from a different cup of maternity tea that the very same physician had been brewing for all three noble ladies as they grew with child.
"Indeed it does." she blew on the hot, steaming liquid in her cup. Subconsciously, she placed a hand upon the small bump that lay underneath the grey satin of her gown.
"How far along are you?" Mary asked, enjoying the fact that Greer no longer considered the babe within her a curse, but a blessing, the final tie between she and her deceased husband.
"Not very far at all, only a couple months." the fair haired Lady in waiting answered her friend and ruler. "How are you feeling? Having only given birth a few weeks ago."
"Better than last time." Mary answered. "But of course, not completley healed." she answered, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear, stealing a glance at the fair haired baby laying in the crib beside her. He looked like a shapeless lump in all the blankets the nannies had wrapped him up in, but it looked adorable all the same. She reached inside the grip, stroking a golden lock back from his forehead.
"He's such a sweet boy," Greer noted.
"He is," the new mother smiled down at her new baby, completley sure that before long, this little boy would be graced with younger brothers and sisters.
"He doesn't look like James much." the Lady Castleroy replied.
"Not in the hair, but the face definatley." Mary ran her fingers down her sleeping newborn's cheek. From deep in his slumber, Lucien gave his mother a gummy smile. She beamed down at him. "I love you." she whispered to the baby. She turned back around slowly, looking at Greer. "How's Kenna?"
"Forbidden to leave the bed, from both Bash and the midwives." the dark eyed, long blonde haired woman answered with a small smile. "The babe seems to be lowering, so it should be any day now."
"She and Bash deserve this baby, after the hell that Francis and I put them through."
"They chose to be loyal to their respective rulers. It can't be helped that Henry forced them to be wed." she shrugged a shoulder, draining her tea before filing it from her individual teapot. Mary wrinkled her nose.
"How can you enjoy that? It was the bane of my pregnancies." the Empress glared at the dark liquid falling from her friends' teapot. She had always hated pregnancy tea. It tasted vile to her, but for some reason, her lady loved it.
"I crave it." she shrugged, adding "You know how I feel about all that veal and venison you ate in France and here." Greer shot back. Mary chuckled.
"Point taken." she answered. "Is George still holding his grudge towards you?"
"He has my stubbornness, that's for sure," she huffed. "James isn't the only one that John irritated. It's going to take a long time to regain George's favour, let alone your sons." they shared a look, knowing full well the stubbornness James held, especially when somebody had done something wrong to he or any he loved. Sensitivity, protectiveness and stubbornness didn't make the best mix. "He's with him now."
Mary whistled, knowing full well the mistrust between all the children towards Francis' eldest. After a couple displays of anger towards them, they usually steered clear of the illegitimate boy, almost like the plague he had been born into. And that didn't quite help the boy's anger towards them all, even her little nephew who held Francis' moniker, simply because the adorable little boy had favour and John did not.
"I'm having the cooks bake some chireseye for him to try and make up for it." Greer continued. "I can't believe I have to bribe my son to play ball with another child."
Mary chuckled. "It sounds ridiculous, but it is what we have to do to at least try and make them get on. It will make things easier for everybody if you can get on as a cohesive unit.
"Is this about the war?"
"It is." Mary sighed, flicking a couple locks of hair out of her face. "When Francis and I are in battle, you and the children and all the politically important people will be moved up to the northern highlands to be kept safe. It'll make life easier for everybody if they could get on. Not exactly be friends, I don't know if that's ever going to happen. But find mutual understanding and tolerate. That's the most we can hope for."
They walk through the hallways of the French Court, confident and stature, demure and superior as they looked upon the people under their care. Everybody stops and stares at the quartet as they make their way through them stone walls. Nobody murmurs for a good few moments, taking the time to absorb their King and Queen's beauty and superiority.
Donned in golden silk and ivory satin, pearls adorning every possible inch in delicate embellishments, the King and Queen walked in front of their people and their court. Their shoulders were back, their chins rose, eyes set. Not a hair was out of place, not a jewel nor a pearl. They were dressed to the nines, in complete unison, dressed to match.
She was on his arm, confidently walking through the sea of courtiers in France for the first time in years. Eyes set and sparkling and golden, she walked with a demure smile, a far surer beauty than the French Court remembered. It didn't take a simple mind to know that the Queen's beauty would only grow as she matured.
Good God, Court whispers as the King and Queen of France walked slowly through it. Is the King hard of sight? They ask amongst themselves. His mistress looks like that and his wife looks like that? They ask, noticing the obvious differences in looks between the Queen of France and the rumoured maîtresse-en-titre whom trailed in the simplest cloths behind them, her hands bound at the womb, eyes cast to the sparkling stone flooring of the French throne room.
Look at the Princes, others whisper as the enchanting King and Queen walked past them. I spy the Valois grace. They say. How wonderful the Dauphin looks, how healthy the Prince. Ladies observe, looking at the dark haired Dauphin -who was being held securely, resting upon the King's hip- and the golden haired baby whom lay sleeping in the Queen's arms, the most perfect picture of contentment.
The Queen mother smiled wide at the back of her son, her face beaming with pride, dark golden caped gown trailing behind her as she walked slowly in her sons procession. Her hands clasped around her chest and heart as she smiled wide at them. Of course, she was displeased to walk behind the newly unwed Flemming female and her own bastard child, but so long as she was trusted by her son and his wife for the time being, she would put up with the neusence of Lola for now.
Behind her, the Baron de Portiers, along with the Baroness. Young Lady Meredith clung to her father's loose black leather doublet, red and purple floral dress hanging loosely over her slumbering frame, covered almost completley by a fur cape. The Baroness looked completley exhausted in her travels on her husband's side. A fur held her newborn baby. She little clump whimpered in small mewls, the mother rubbing small circles upon her baby's back.
Before an avalanche of guards, the Duke Bayard and Lady Castleroy lingered together, walking a few inches apart. The Lady held one hand of her children in each one of hers, not looking at the young man she had been so very fond of not that long ago. Things had ended badly with them when the Dauphin was unborn, the slight awkwardness melted just after Princess Claude died. Her only daughter held her father close, copper curls poking out of her pink cape, settled in his arms. But still, the comfortableness between the duo hadn't completley gone away after all this time.
The King lead the Queen up the stairs, their eight week old young colt not making a sound as he slept, and sat her gently upon her great, golden throne. The Dauphin settled at his mother's feet, smiling wide up at his father as he moved towards his larger throne, settling himself and watching with glee as his nobility and staff bowed before him in unison, cloths rustling and and heels clipping as their owners dove and rose in slow succession.
"My loyal subjects," Francis began, his great voice booming and dripping in Kingly pride. "it gives me great pleasure to see you all here tonight, to celebrate the safe return of your Queen, Dauphin and I, and to welcome your new Prince to his country, Prince Lucian Robert Francois of France and the United Kingdom of Great Britain." Francis paused. "We must celebrate these joyous occasions with apt attention, so there will be a ball in honour of my son and my families' safe return from my wife's country." he finished. Court bowed, murmuring 'Long live the King' as the aforementioned King and Master waved a hand, telling them all to leave him to his privy council.
"My sisters," Francis said, noticing his entourage had not yet left him. Kenna took three steps towards her Emperor. Leaving her children sitting on the floor, the pregnant Lady Castleroy came close too, wrapping her arms around herself, the bump extenuating itself upon her abdomen. "Why don't you take my nieces and nephews away to the nursery, as well as my sons. They must be exhausted from our travels, as you must be, sister," Francis nodded to Kenna. She bowed quietly -how unlike her- holding her two week old baby closer to her. Quietly, the two Ladies in Waiting gathered all the children and made out of the throne room.
"To the dungeon with her." Francis hissed to his brother, nodding at Lola. As much as he wished for her head to be a pretty new castle decoration, his mother was right. She had information upon their enemy. They needed her as long as they needed it.
"Your Majesty," the grand lord Chancellor of France said first, stopping at the staircase, appearing quite proud of himself in his red leather doublet. Francis nodded at the dangerously ambitious yet fiercely proud Frenchman.
"Chancellor." Francis nodded. He watched Mary tense near him, remembering the things she had told him of her previous puppeteer turned current puppet. He reached for her hand, silently informing her of his loyalty and devotion to her. He wouldn't let Narcisse harm her or put James in danger again.
"Majesty," he answered. "Your sister, the Queen Elisabeth Valois-Angulème of Spain, Princess of France, wishes to speak with you."
Francis looked up as a young brunette emerged from the shadows. A pale yellow gown with pink floral design cloaked her, a silver tiara standing tall upon her head. Hazel eyes sparkled in what looked to be nerves and happiness as she looked upon her eldest brother and King.
"My brother." Elisabeth smiled softly.
"Elisabeth." Francis got up from his throne and came over to his eldest sister. "I'm glad you're alright." he embraced his little sister. Elisabeth clung to her brother tightly.
"I'm truly sorry about what my husband has done, Francis. Truly." she quietly said.
"I know, sister. I know. You'll help us defeat him, yes? And I'll protect you and any child you bare?"
"Thank you, brother. Thank you."
"Look at you now." Mary chuckled, strolling into the dungeon's cell, looking at little Lola as she sat in nothing but a white chemise, a raggedy woven blanket and little else, no jewlery and no embellishments, raggedy hair and no shoes. "After all we've been through, all we've lost." Mary paused. "Look at us now. I am where I am. And you are where you are." she finished, not walking down the stairs to the cell's floor that was lightly decorated with straw. She looked down at Lola, literally and figuratively.
"I had nothing to do with King Phillip's plot against you. You know this. I have spoken of it half a dozen times."
"It matters not." Mary replied. "Your calling card was found at the scene. Even if you were framed, you were involved and you will be implicated."
"You swore to be justical when you courted Francis. What about now? You're going to let me die because it saves trouble?"
"Justice has no place in this world. And my primary focus is on an international war that may turn into a worldwide international affair based on nothing but ignorant fallacy upon religion." the Empress answered calmly. "Now that I am back on my feet, I have had information from my husband. You were in contact with Spain and the Hapsburgs to engage John to my enemy."
"I did."
"Why?"
"To secure my son's future."
"That is Francis and I's decision, not yours. You are nothing now. Not wed, I was forced to annual your union that would have protected you because of your foolishness, to protect my loyal subject from yourself. Think not that this is you getting your way, since you never wished for this union. There will be another. You will be sold like a brood mare again. And if you ruin it again, there will be another." Mary started walking down the stairs, her body turned from her former Lady but faced her. "And another. And another. And another." she repeated. "But I'm uncaring if we have had your son's engagement conversation before. He will wed a nobles bastard with the highest dowry. But this is the thing I actually want to know." she leaned down to Lola's level. "You were in contact with Phillip. That's how Catherine found him. You opened the door for this."
"Y-yes."
Their nosed touched.
"You knew my castle -this very castle- was going to be attacked by the Spainish. You knew. You knew and you said nothing. You did nothing." Mary hissed, gripping her jaw. "Not only do you attempt to ruin my marriage, you try and ruin my rule again. And you still claim to be loyal? How foolish can a person be?" the Empress threw the whore away as of she was a speck of dirt. She turned away from the former Flemming Lady.
"I can give you information, help you win the war. Bring down Phillip and get whatever you want." Lola panted from the floor.
"Oh, you will." she chuckled, not looking at her. "And so much more. That's why I and Catherine prevented Francis from drawing his sword and taking your head in England." she closed her eyes for a few moments.
"Come back to me." Mary whispered, cupping his trembling cheeks and resting their noses and foreheads together, slowly calming him down.
"It was not for you, not even for your son. Francis is more than content to allow your child to grow up without a mother. Your head is on your shoulders for the countries. And it will be until it is no longer needed. But when this war is over, you will be brought to justice for all of your crimes against both me and my countries. I promise you that."
"Mother," Francis noted as he came into the nursery for his youngest son. Sitting in an overstuffed rocker, holding the baby, was Catherine de Medici in the post-dinner simplicity that she usually wore.
A red satin slip and a thick, fur lined robe combined with crimson velvet slippers and undone hair, a bare face and a lack of usually overdone jewellery to prove her status in France, and to compensate for the lack of royal blood because of her Italian nobility bloodline. Francis gripped the wood of the door, warm from the burning harth of the nursery, looking over this scene that he hadn't ever seen before. His mother looked really quite young without the makeup and hair, jewellery and finery.
Because of the obvious similarities between he and the baby, it could be thought that Francis had gone back in time to see his mother holding himself when he was just born, when Henry had been ecstatic over the birth of his first legitimate child -a son, at that, King Francois I had noted multiple times- so much so that he had temporarily cut off Diane de Portiers and ignored the three year old Sebastian for a few weeks.
"What are you doing here?" The King of France asked, looking somewhat simpler himself, without the heavy crown he had been sporting for the past nine days they had been in the French Court, no fine robes or exquisite materials. A simple combination of black leather boots, trousers and doublet that hadn't been properly seen since his Dauphin days moved stealthily with it's master, stopping it's slight rustles as he ceased his purposeful steps.
"I just wanted to see this sweet boy, my love." Catherine answered. "I haven't properly greeted him." she finished. It was true. The first time Catherine had set eyes on young Lucien was when she was treating his mother for her poison-laced candle assassination attempt. But even that wasn't a loving meeting between grandson and grandmother, like she'd had with young James all those years ago, which really wasn't long at all. Not even four years, to be precise. It had been a quick greeting with a weary hold -Mary still didn't trust Catherine, less of all when the known poisoner was giving her tonics to drink, yet knew she had to repay the debt somehow- before the child was returned to his mother for a feed after the poison had been flushed from them both. With the travelling from England to France on separate ships, the Medici matriarch still hadn't set eyes on the baby. And with the nine days of being in France, all of the adults' time had been taken up by wrestling power from Narciesse and general politics, with the horrid reality of the impending war between the Catholic Empress and the Spanish Catholic King.
"Very well." Francis came into the room, closing the door quietly, coming over to his mother and his son. The baby was awake, staring up at Catherine with apt wonder, content and quiet as always, wrapped up in blankets. "Is he alright?"
"Yes, he's very well." the Queen Mother of France replied. "After feeding not twenty minutes ago, the nannies have changed his clothes and put him to bed. I couldn't resist holding him."
"So long as he is not uncomfortable." Francis moved from the back of the rocking chair and towards another seat not too far from the duo.
"He's alright." Catherine replied quietly. "He looks just like James when he was born." she said, after several minutes of comfortable, yet still uncomfortable, silence, the only sound being their breathing and the crackles of the harth.
"Does he?" Francis may have seen paintings of the newborn Dauphin-technical King- of France, but because of his Italian escapade, he hadn't ever set eyes on him, something he still hated himself for.
"He does. He has the same face, minor differences in them both." Catherine noted, ever the maternal figure. "But his hair-" she smiled over at her son, holding his own son, one hand pushing back the blanket covering his head and pulling out a long strand of blonde hair, already starting to curl.
"Yes, it's good to have some resemblance. James is all Mary." Francis chuckled a little, still finding it hard to believe their circumstances.
"He's a blend of you both." she reminded him. "I do wonder who he will be." she looked down at the baby as he made a small, kittenish noise. "Who he will become in this life."
"We'll know soon enough." he said offhandedly.
"Goodness, this is rather awkward, isn't it?" Catherine said. Francis looked over at his mother, his strong, chiselled jawline never more apparent. From this vantage point, the similarities between Catherine and her eldest son could be seen. The same curls and eye shape, skin tone, light hair and eyes that were anything but dark like the rest of the Valois clan. The King of France took more after his mother than his father -which was odd because he and Bash both had light eyes yet their father had the darkest black- yet his aura was all Valois-Angoulême, that essence of power and intelligence was all his father and the French Kings before them both.
"Yes, it is." Francis said, after a long feat of quietness.
"I know you do not trust me." Catherine began. "But you must know my reasoning's for doing what I did to you and Mary."
"I do not." he answered, using that same tone he used whenever he spoke to his long dead father.
"I thought I lost you, Francis." she sighed. "For years, I thought you were dead, gone to me forever. You cannot imagine a mother's grief when she buries her child-" she paused, remembering that period of time where Mary was heavily pregnant and on the battlefield, when she thought she could loose the baby in addition to Francis and her estranged daughter who had been murdered by Sebastian as a way to protect Mary and the unborn baby. And keeping in mind her dead children who never made it to adulthood, Catherine finally noted that she had been though far too much in her lifetime. "and I thought I had experienced that pain again. But worse, you-" she looked into Francis' eyes. "my favourite child, my saviour from the block. My golden child, my entire world." she looked away, never the best at feeling her own feelings. "I thought you were dead, that pain was so much worse than when I buried Louis, Emmone and Henriette. You, a man, a King, your precious life over, I hope you'll never know that agony." she sighed. "But when I got you back, when you walked into my chambers that night, my world froze. You were finally returned to me, still in the land that the living walk upon. I wanted nothing more than for you to have all you wanted again. That's why I stood by your side -not Mary's and James'- during the claiming John issue. You wanted your child to be claimed with lands and titles, and although it wasn't the best decision -both personally and politically- I supported you."
"You did more than that." Francis murmured, looking away. "You betrayed James and his mother, the people who'm you supposedly stood behind like no other when I was gone. You knew Mary's struggle and the importance of James, personally and politically, yet you betray them."
"I never wanted them to suffer, Francis. You know that. You know I love Mary like one of my own girls. And I adore James, but he would have always had her, he always did when you were in my homeland. He would always have his mother and his mother's countries. He would have still been safe, that's why I told you to claim him. He wasn't your only chance to be a father, but he was the son you knew and raised. Even though John doesn't have Mary's blood, he -at that point, at least- was the one loved the most. Not because of anything Mary or James had done, simple because you knew of his existence and ruined everything you had ever had so he could have his life."
"It was the wrong decision, mother." Francis interjected. "I never should have claimed John."
"You say that now, but you thought it the right decision at the time."
"I shouldn't have done it. I acted like my father and for that I have no excuse. I could have ruined my marriage, put my son and my wife in danger. John and James are at odds now, if I didn't do what I did, maybe that wouldn't have happened. Maybe if I acted like father in that circumstance, they would act like Sebastian and I."
"Maybe they would, but we cannot change things now." she tried to soothe.
"I am the King. I can change things." was the quick response.
"A man who says he is the King is no true King at all." Catherine said, her words cryptic and chilling. So much so that Francis looked sharply towards his mother and replied swiftly, his eyebrows high up upon his head and knitted together.
"Where did that come from?" he asked, that odd expression upon his handsome face not wavering in the slightest.
"Your father said it to himself the night he became Dauphin. He lived by those words." she nodded to herself.
"And died by them." Catherine's son added.
"Yes." Catherine sighed. "He did." she paused. "I didn't do what I did to manipulate you, you've always known I have wanted the best for you. I would drip almost anybody's blood to keep you safe and protected upon your throne. But I always told you when your father was alive that I would stand by you, and I have, to the best of my abilities. If I protected you before you took the throne, I would hope you would protect me as you sat upon it."
"As we all realised the night father decided to start the process of Sebastian's legitimisation." he sighed, wishing to forget that horrid day.
"Yes," she stated.
"If you love me so much, why try and dissolve my throne with my sisters' husband?" he asked. "You started this ball rolling with Phillip. I know you try and make it right by helping us stop or win the war. But you started this. You went to Spain and told Phillip our secrets. You started the coup upon this very castle. Yet you claim to love me? Why did you do that?"
"Jealousy, Francis. Simple jealousy." Catherine answered. "I was jealous that Mary turned your mind from my advise and to hers. I had done everything you wanted and you turned your back to me and looked to her. I was jealous of all she has ever had. I am jealous of everything she'd ever had. Royal blood, youth and beauty, countries under her blood written rule, an empire at her feet and another country at her usage upon her marriage. The lack of time it took to create an heir, the lack of time to create another Prince." Catherine looked down at Lucien again. "It is no excuse-"
"No, mother. It is not. I and Mary appreciate the assistance with the battle and the politics, but it is still not enough."
"I know. Francis, I know. I want to make it right. Elisabeth and I have told you everything we know. So has Lola, she may know more, but she steadily feeds information. The nobles seem satisfied, knowing Spain's strength's and weaknesses, but-"
"It will take time for Mary and James to turn to you again. You know that?"
"I do." Catherine answered. "I hope with this baby," she looked at Lucien again, now that he had fallen asleep in her arms. "I have an opportunity to make things right."
"Give them time and assist them in whatever they need. You'll have an opportunity with James when everybody we care about is shipped up to the top of Scotland, should we not prevent the war." Francis replied.
"I hope so."
"You speak of Lola." the young King added. "Why did you send her to Scotland and England when I warned you to keep her in her rooms with her son? You knew Sebastian and I were going there to start winning them over but-" he trailed off.
"All I have ever seen are King's with mistresses. Your grandfather had one, you know of your father and Diane." Catherine glared at the mention of the long dead mistresses' name. "I was under the impression that that was normal. To love your mistress and your bastards and think of your wife nothing but a stud horse for an heir. But looking at you and Mary, I now understand that that is not how it has to go."
"You told me to try and love her when I was a child. She didn't have your favour then, yet you said so when I treated her coldly after she came to France as a child." he noted.
"I did, but I wanted you to be different, then. My jealousy clouded me now. I thought you could find love with Lola (Quick A/N: It's your girl here, I just have to say I really hate writing stuff like that. Just eww) and be content with her and John, how you had managed to be in Italy. I know now that it is not true, had it hammered home when you gave your consent for Lola to be married to a sir."
"It's been annulled now, mother. Her treason has made it impossible to keep the marriage valid without destroying loyal Killian's reputation." he huffed. "I don't like how you went about everything, but I suppose I understand. Just do try and not ruin my marriage anymore and I will help you rebuild Mary and James' trust in you." he half smiled.
"I will try." Catherine chuckled.
A knock at the door interrupted the mother-son moment.
"Enter!" Francis called, trying not to wake the sleeping baby in his mothers' arms.
Steven came in. "Excuse me, uncle. But my aunt wishes to see you with the privy council."
"Of course."
"You propose what?!" Catherine shrieked at her son as she took him by the arm from the council chambers and to another room where they could have their privacy.
"I proposed a marriage between King Antoine's son and heir, Prince Henry, and my sister, Margot." Francis answered calmly.
"Good lord." Catherine fell back towards a nearby settee. "Are you mad? Henry is protestant, you know how his father treated Sebastian's wife Kenna in the past, you know how your cousin acts! And you wish to pollute Valois-Angoulême blood with that of Bourbon?"
"My wife is related to the Bourbon's through the de Guise, mother." Francis answered calmly. "Your grandsons hold some of their blood." he paused. "And you cannot judge a son on the actions of the father. I would have no hope of surviving in this world if I was judged upon father's mistakes. Henry is only a few years older than Margot, my sons are distantly related to them. They are children, they are harmless."
"Not all of them." Catherine huffed.
"All that matter in this world." he amended with a glare. It sounded harsh as he did love his son Jean, but the fact would always remain that Jean was lower than a common speck of dirt in this world.
"No, Francis! I won't allow it! She's my daughter!"
"She is. But she is also my sister and I am her King, as well as yours." he answered. "If we give Antoine this marriage, Navarre becomes ours in any heir they may have in the future and the ice that has been within the two families' since Mary forced their hand to sign away their birthright to my throne."
"It was a brilliant move," Catherine muttered.
"It was. But we need common ground to try and stop this war between Spain and the Empire. France is caught in the crossfire and we need a common strip of ground for negotiations to begin." he answered. "Now, come on. We have business to attend to." Francis grabbed his mothers arm in the way she grabbed his earlier and drug her back to the privy council and Mary.
"Do we have the Queen Mother's permission for negotiations to begin?" a lord asked.
"I don't like it, but very well. Princess Margot will marry Prince Henry."
"And we will be able to send word to Navarre and Spain that we may meet in this land to begin negotiations of peace, not war." Francis answered.
"Then it's decided." Mary finalised. "I have to go to the level grounds and meet King Phillip myself." she finished, her voice dripping with regal authority, every inch an Empress.
The snow crunched against the hundreds of cantering hooves. Metal clinked against one another and clothing rustled in motion. Belts clanked together and horses whinnied loudly as they ran through the feet of snow that blanketed the Navarrian field. The beat of the moving hooves echoed loudly, in a chaotic unison as the King and Queen of France made their way to the meeting point with the King of Spain.
Mary grit her teeth as the edge of the hill came to view. She looked over it longingly, finding no Spanish procession. She could find nothing of the sort that she was looking for. No irritating King, no hundreds of guards and mercenaries. Nothing but the pristine and imperfection-less, snow covered ground of Navarre.
She slowed her horse, settling to a stop as she waited for her enemy to arrive before her. Her horse, a white haired, blonde maned, blue eyed stallion was cloaked to the nines in an intricately woven, dark blue blanket with light blue fleur-de-lis' all over it. A childhood pet gifted to her by her father when he was upon his deathbed and heard of Queen Marie's successful childbirth to a premature girl. Askari -meaning noble warrior- had been a newborn foal at the time, and had proudly served his mistress as they grew up together. He had ridden with her in battle, and he was going to stand by her side and deliver her to her fate. He always had been there.
"Stop." Mary ordered. From beside her, Francis stopped on his raven haired, maned and eyed stallion, stopping beside his wife. He looked at her intently, donned in the finery of a King, yet protected by armour, no crown upon his head.
From behind them, the fifty seven guards stopped in quick succession, the more important members of their family coming to their side. James, Earl of Moray, at his sisters right, Baron Sebastian de Portiers' to his brothers' left.
They waited in silence for several minutes, still astride their horses. Mercenaries had galloped into the distance to try and search for word of the Spanish, yet came back empty handed.
"Imperial Majesty! Imperial Majesty!" a voice cried. The procession looked up and watched the young bastard niece of the Empress and Queen came galloping up towards her.
"Sara, do you have news?"
"Indeed, Majesty. The Spanish King's army is imminent. They come guarding him as we speak, sight of his procession was spotted just above the Arga river."
"That's not even fifteen miles away," Sebastian noted, his brow furrowed deeply. Teal green eyes were bright from the cold and wide from the worry he felt about his younger brother and his wife dealing with the frightfully unpredictable Phillip of Spain, when they were under the protection of a known enemy to the French throne.
"It is." Francis looked towards his wife, his movement slow, his own anxiety showing. He and James would be close to his wife in this meeting, but because both French blooded consorts were merely consorts to the regnant rulers that had the true issues -Elisabeth was still safely at home in French Court- neither could be there to see the conversation the two viper-like rulers. Sebastian would be traded as a hostage, as would Don Carlos, to keep the peace and the civility, but that may not be enough to completley settle the two opposing sides.
"Well, have the horses resting and burn some fires. It seems we're going to be here for quite a while." Mary noted, slipping down from her horse, brushing her fingers over the roused black satin ball gown skirt that was covered in small diamond broaches in the crevices.
"Mary," Francis said, some hours later. From their settlement at the small, impromptu camp the French and British contingent had set up, the Spanish could finally be seen over the hill. They had stopped where they were -keeping the agreed to distance- and awaited the Empress' next move.
"Show time." Mary said, simply, fixing the stiff cloak she wore, the small eye going into the hole, keeping it closed around her throat. A grey fur lined, black suede piece that was hooded and embellished in silver thread and diamonds had been placed onto her by dear Greer, it matched the grey satin under top she wore that was settled under a high necked, long sleeve, chain metal piece. With an impressive ball gown skirt with ruched detailing, a high wasted, pleated belt -connected to the skirt, much like the one she wore on count Vincent's French scourge- clinching her waist in, she showed all the pomp and pageantry necessary to impress such a King as she was to meet. A scabbard and baldric hung from her shoulder, both silver and grey and an impressive silver blade gifted to her by her father and revamped by her husband hung from her hip. Her usual row of diamonds upon her head, ears, neck, ears and fingers, she impressed visually, but her beauty wasn't what matters now. It was the brains she held and the fox-like trickery she showed was what mattered now. And nothing but.
"Are you ready?" Francis asked his wife as they all got up from the blankets. He helped her up onto her horse, steadying her until she was settled, helping place one small foot into the stirrup.
"As I'll ever be." Mary sighed as her husband, brothers and guards hopped up onto their own horses.
Several guards trotted off first. Mary clicked her tongue, her horse following uneasily. As they passed the tip of the hill and could see what once was a battlefield, and the volume of guards and nobles the Spanish King had brought with him, Mary felt anxiety flooding through her veins. She carefully managed it, putting a Queen-like expression onto her pretty features, slowly making her way down the impressive drop of the hill.
Once down, Francis gave the word and twenty guards stayed at the top, drawing their bows in preparation of an unwarranted shot from the Spanish. Ten of them spread out across the hill, whilst the others surrounded the French King, Queen and their two bastard half brothers.
The King nodded and the guards in front of them parted. Mary caught sight of the small, far away figure of Phillip II of Spain. Pale skinned, auburn haired, dark eyed, donned in brown furs and black velvet, astride a brown mare.
Not at all what she was expecting, but she didn't dwell upon it. She looked at him for a few moments, watching as he scanned all over her body. She waited as the small circles of his eyes met hers, mirroring each other's movements as the swords they both held rose slowly, informing each other that the deal was on.
Mirroring yet again, Phillip gave a nod and Don Carlos slowly came forward astride a caramel coloured, fair maned brute. Mary did the same, and Sebastian came forward, black maned and haired, grey eyed stallion came forward in the hostage exchange.
Francis nodded his consent and protection as his bastard half brother made his way to their enemy, their own enemy coming close in their camp. Mary lowered her sword and Phillip did the same, both watching intently as the ones they trusted were placed in the dangerous grips of their enemy.
Mary clicked her tongue once more, and the three of them slowly astride forward. Phillip did the same, John of Austria and Sebastian of Portugal at his sides, his brother and his nephew. Mary watched as Sebastian de Portiers was surrounded by a circle of guards, Francis hearing the crunch of snow as Don Carlos was the same.
"Where is he?" Francis hissed.
"He'll be alright." James answered. "Phillip won't kill his own son to anger you." It was true. As much as he resented the Prince, no father would be so quick as to see his own son dead. And if Phillip killed Sebastian de Portiers, Don Carlos would be as good as. And a King needed his heir, after all. "And give him more reason for you wishing his destruction."
A few yards away, Sebastian and James hung back from the back of royals. Mary and Francis rode forward, Phillip and his own most trusted doing the same.
Several more feet, the four of them stopped. Mary reached past the baldric and scabbard, gripping the hilt of her sword slowly, raising it up high. She slightly enjoyed the shriek of metal passing through metal as the sun glinted against the silver blade. Phillip rose his own sword and they passed it over.
Francis took it, waiting patiently as his wife leaned down and rose her skirt a few inches on either side, exposing her thick black stocking covered half shin, bringing out three daggers on each side, held securely by her thigh high boots. She passed them over. Francis took them willingly. Two small blades came out of her wristbands, a thin dagger coming out of her bodice. From her hair, a throwing blade in a small wax scabbard. All the while looking at their enemy, the two continued to strip themselves of any weapons. Phillip dug a choking wire from his belt, Mary removed a poison ring from her finger, a gift from Catherine upon her eighth birthday. Phillip dug small daggers from his waistcoat, Mary reached into her mouth to pull out a small vial of poison with a rubber tip and a small, thick stick at the other end, the liquid green-yellow and sludgy, a dirty trick she'd learned long ago.
Passion and poison are not so different after all, Mary remembered the Lady Oracle saying as she gifted the thirteen year old Queen this strange new device. Should she be unprovoked kissed, simply inject the assailant with the liquid and they'd soon meet their maker.
When bare of weapons of any kind, the King of Spain and the Queen of France came together for a few more feet, becoming clearer and clearer with every passing step their horses made. She could hear the grunt of his breath with every exhale.
You really look like a Hapsburg, she thought. It was all in their signature chin and jawline. They were known for their madness and inbreeding, there was no way her precious James would marry one of them and face a lifetime of unpredictability from his foreign wife. The blood of the empire that would soon blood-rightly include France would never be poisoned by the Hapsburg's.
When they were a couple feet away, they disembarked from their horses and started to talk, man to woman.
"Neither of us can converse in the same language." he paused. "We will do so in Latin." he said, in the intricate language.
"I have the ability to speak the language of my enemy, however if you wish to do so, I will accept." Mary answered. They started to talk in Latin.
"I see the rumour of your childbearing was just that, a rumour." Phillip snarked.
"Not at all," Mary said from her horse, slipping down. "I had a son. A perfect, healthy boy who'm you tried to take from me."
"Very clever." he replied. "I'm glad you saw through the facade of the Flemming child."
"Indeed I did." she nodded. "It was you all along. You had your spies take Lola's seal from her husband after filling his body with alcohol after so many berated him for his treasonous wife. Planted it upon the crate and waited for my husband to take her head. Well, let me inform you that her neck is in one piece."
"For now."
"Yes, for now." Mary agreed. "You knew she failed in her mission to marry her bastard son to one of your girls and tried to dispose of her. The foolish little girl simple has not made the connection yet."
"Neither your husband. I am told he was fooled by the implication of the mother of his bastard in the plot against your life. It proves he is that easily manipulated."
"He will in time, now that you have confirmed my suspicions." she shrugged. "And now that you have, I have less use for the Flemming's head. But I am sure she appreciates the few extra days just until you told me what I want to know." Mary paused again. "As for my husband's foolishness, that will fade in time as he grows into a King, I will assist him and watch in pleasure as he grows from what he is now into what he will be, and he will be nothing like you, I am sure." Mary paused again. "I am curious though, why? Why take advantage of the little girls' vulnerability?"
"The bastard boy has a claim to France, because of your connection to him, a claim to England. Two less people in the way."
"Doesn't that sound familiar?" she asked. "You berate Anne Boleyn for her role in the poisoning of Catherine of Aragon, your relative, if I am not mistaken, and the attempt of Queen Mary I of England, my cousin and your long dead wife. Yet you try to do the same thing."
"May her soul burn for her harlotten behaviour." he hissed. "It worked, however. Why wouldn't it work again?"
"I have your confession, thank you very much." she answered. "And as for why, your old partner changed sides once more. Catherine de Medici saw your poison. Catherine de Medici is the reason why it didn't work again." she answered.
Phillip narrowed his eyes.
"Now, enough of the social interaction. You hate me and my regime, you are hand and glove with the Vatican, you use your influence to try and turn them against me. Why? My people will not suffer and die because of it. I will not go to war because of it."
"You are a woman." he spat. He said nothing more.
"You say woman as if it is an insult. When in reality, it is anything but." she answered, shaking her head. "I am leading a revolution, your Majesty. The time is changing where a woman belongs as a subservient role to her master, where all she is there to do is birth children by the dozen. We are so much more than breeders for the next generations or the next. We are human beings, not things to be taken or given, bought or sold. And yes, some of them may sell their bodies for gain, some of them may be foolish and ignorant. But was it not your relatives, Queen Catherine of Aragon, Queen of England, and Queen Isabella of Castile that were Kings in every way, except their bodies? You saw nobody berating them for behaving like the Kings they were and always will be. Your people take pride in their actions, I share in your admiration of them. But I will take inspiration from them and will let no man take my country from me."
"Strong words, Queen Mary-"
"Empress Mary, King Phillip. I am Empress Mary of the house of Stuart, first of my name, Empress Regnant of Wales, Ireland, England and Scotland and it's isles. I am the Queen consort of France. I am no simple Queen."
"Be that as it may, you may have the heart of a King, but I am and forever will be just as much of a King and Emperor as you are a Queen and Empress. However, you have been a thorn in the side of myself and the Vatican for far too long."
"Ah, yes. I have heard of your issues with my acts of tolerance. The times are changing, Kin Phillip. The time is over for hating a man or a woman for the family he was born to, for wishing death because of the way they worship any God they choose. It matters not which way the people wish to pray to the almighty Lord himself. It only matters what the man does with his hands. Should he serve the crown and bend the knee in loyalty and obedience, he will be rewarded well. The countries will be united and strong, instead of being weak and broken simply because their ruler has been raised too ignorant to accept the change in the realm just as one accepts the change in weather."
"I am a stout Catholic. I will forever bend the knee to the Pope and kiss the ring of the holy ghost. But you, a Protestant sympathiser, your soul will burn for the lack of integrity and subjugation you endorse. I am loyal to the one true God, the one true faith."
"It will not be me that will suffer. It will be you. The people will see the new world my husband and I create and the world my son and heir will continue to grow with his Danish wife at his side. The new world with it's power and might will one day step forth to the rescue of a dying, old regime and will liberate the old for centuries to come."
Mary stepped closer.
"I see you have wasted my time with this peace talk. You wish for it not. Then, neither will I. Let me tell you, King Phillip. And I wish for you to listen. The British are coming for you. The British and the French are coming and they will never, ever stop."
Mary rose her hand to accept Sebastian back, hopping onto her horse and slowly riding away as Phillip travelled back to his army, heir in towe.
King Francis II and Empress Mary I sat astride their horses as Mary called to their loyal subjects.
"My loyal subjects!" she called. "I come to you now as a Queen who will willingly place my life upon the line for all of my people. However, let the records show that your Queen made every move for peace in our times. And it is the Spanish King who'm insisted to bathe in the blood of your countrymen! My lords and my people, it my duty to tell you along with your King that from this moment on, we are at war!"