Two years later, the King and Queen of France walked happily throughout the walls of their preferred chateaux whenever they and their inner circle needed a break from the hustle and bustle of ruling , Chateaux de Charbonnières. Upon the heels of their growing clan of four royal children, the contented parents smiled adoringly at their litter as they giggled with each other, chasing both a rolling ball and a recently born Scottish wolfdog.
Prince James, the eldest, took in the scene with rapt attention. His big golden eyes missed nothing as he rushed down the corridor that held the door leading the rapidly warming French countryside. His mother's feistiness and his father's willingness to learn was rapt and impressive. At the tender age of five years, the boy was intelligent far beyond his years. Having started schooling earlier, he was already writing large pieces and reciting long stanza's of poetry in any foreign tongue. Smart and playful, courageous and strong, already of his growing number of siblings and the foreign beauty by his side, the Dauphin and Crown Prince would make quite the ruler as he grew up.
Running by his side was the Danish Princess Anne. In a soft gown of white with blue flowers, the little girl giggled with her male counterpart as they made chase for the young dog gifted to the royal children of the court not that long ago. Dirty blonde haired and big blue eyed, the foreign Princess had long settled into her new life. Ever since being introduced to each other a year ago, the duo were inseparable and rather similar, although the young Anna -as the family had daubed her- was a little more timid than the young Prince who was both adventurous and content to sit and read with her, whatever she would prefer.
The young two year old boy toddled next to them, giggling aloud as he made for the ball. Young Prince Lucien resembled his father in the face and hair, but his eyes were all his mother. He held her young, sweet spirit and the sense of adventure that was only tampered by his lack of size and age. Donned in sapphire and ivory, the young little Prince had been the glue that stuck his family for a time, although that couldn't last for long.
He was merely a few weeks old when Spain and England went to war. The resulting defeat of the once strong and unbeatable Spanish armada was downright embarrassing to the history books. It took almost tree years, but the result was conclusive and decisive. The battle had been fought and won, but it was an even harder battle to enter into peace talks and peace treaties. The furious and embarrassed Spanish King had been seething all the while, until the speech that even knocked the Spanish soldiers and guards to their knees in fealty to their master's enemy, who had reluctantly been turned into an ally for the Spanish people.
The war had taken a tole on all involved, however. With the King and Queen at the front lines throughout the first few months, it was all due to change when the Queen started coming down with fainting spells and vomiting. Still, like a Scot, she pushed through the illness she felt, continuing to bring blade to enemy and blood to hands. But all that had to change when her stomach started to swell a few months into the battle. It didn't take a genius to work out what was wrong with her. So reluctantly -Mary had wanted to fight with her people and her husband, but risk becoming to the babe took precedence- the Scottish Queen took up residence as Queen and Empress Regent as she grew the baby inside of her.
The pregnancy ended on a chilly autumn night, as a babe with sparkly dark eyes, plump lips and black curls escaped her mother's womb. The Princess Anne Marie Elisabeth de Stuart-Valois-Angoulême was nurtured by her mother until the winter died down, and the newborn baby Princess was transported to northern Scotland. The now one -almost two- year old little girl toddled after her brothers and future sister in law, thumb in mouth and little rag doll in the other hand, black and pink gown as crooked as ever, every inch her mother's daughter. The Empress -healthy and recovered from another brutal childbirth- returned to her husband's side to fight at the front lines. They did so for months, fighting side by side together in perfect harmony, until the Emperor managed to put another baby inside his wife. This time, a boy. A boy with blue eyes and blonde curls, sweet and perfect and tiny at seven months old currently, holding his father's looks and name. The very same baby was being held in his still young and beautiful mother's arms as she walked side by side with his father.
Prince Francois Alexander Philippe lay gargling in his mother's arms. She was grateful to finally have a child who was the product of her and Francis' strong love that held his beautiful blue eyes. Of course, Lucien held eyes a little brighter than his elder brother's, but it wasn't the same to look down at her son as she fed him from her own breast and see the eyes of the man she loved the most.
With the war over and peace -both political and personal- returning to their land, their land responded well to it. Spring and incoming summer had been kind to France and the empire. The working man's belly was full and the land was fruitful. Trade was at an all time high and a wave of relative religious peace and tolerance had freshened the land that they walked upon and the air they breathed. The protestants were settled with tolerant ruling and the Vatican contently pacified with gold by the bucket load, it seemed the King and Queen had finally created the new world that both had dreamed of for so long so many years ago.
But the peace that Francis and Mary so pined for had a price. And that price was the bloodshed seen during the war.
Although the war had been conducted mainly at sea, there was still a great deal of land-based battle that had ensured that the innocent suffer with the guilty. The slate had been wiped clean now that the Catholics and Protestants were at a level playing field, and their rulers had somehow managed to stop revenge upon revenge upon revenge. Blood had been spilled, enough to not only satisfy the vengeful but startle them. The war had been bloody like never before. Even the coldest of men shivered when the bodies of young men and growing children had been carted past them in the days past. Their blood had been as chilled as the snow underneath their raggedy boots, finally letting go of their hatred and resentment to give peace a chance.
"Be careful, my love." Francis warned as Lucien toddled outside onto the grass. Young Princess Anne giggled in delight at the feeling of grass underneath her hands as she crawled onto the soft material. She rolled onto a flowerbed, laughing in glee, before noticing another near her and making a loud noise of excitement, scrambling to her feet and rushing over to the large family strolling near them.
Mary smiled softly at the sight of her dearest Lady who had unjustly suffered so much during her life. But she had him now, him who had always been there. Who had always been in her heart, the one she had loved the most.
Her poor Lady Greer had known such pain. The beautiful lady had given birth to a little boy, Adrien Alexander Castleroy, a few months into the war. And, after assisting his younger half sister get back to her country, it appeared that the dowager Lady had fallen hard for the young Earl of Moray. Not wishing to stall the union that seemed to have been imminent ever since James lay eyes on the new mother of three, Mary allowed the wedding of her half brother and her dearest Lady in waiting. Leaving his new wife the new Countess of Moray, James went back into battle with a kiss from his wife, promising to come back to her.
To James, Greer had borne three daughters. Isabella, Audrey and Amara. But then, of course, the Earl of Moray died a few weeks short of the end of the war. The dowager Countess had been devastated to receive the news of the death of her husband, burying yet another as she held his newborn baby in her arms. But her first love had valiantly came to the rescue, repairing her broken heart and becoming a father to her children. The two were now finally wed and together, rich and titled and secure, like they had always wanted before the people they were devoted to were wed in the eyes of God and their people.
Leith and Greer were content and happy together. Greer took on Princess Odette as her own, and the French Duke -who still firmly held the King's favour, being rewarded for his bravery and loyalty- became the most perfect father figure for George, Rose, Adrien, Isabella, Audrey and little Amara. The youngest of Greer's many children was a spitting image of her mother, and completley held her step father upon her little finger, the closest friend and ally to young Princess Odette. The family unit was complete, even more so with the suspicions that Greer -ever the fertile woman- was yet again going to bring a child into the world.
"Papa." Lucien said, tugging on Francis' doublet, reaching up high to do so. The King of France smiled at the little boy, picking him up with ease.
"What is it, mon cherie?"
"Oncle Bash." the boy tried, but his words were misspoken and muddled. "Where's Oncle?" he babbled.
"He's right over there, cherie." Francis nodded to the family of five sitting together on a blanket a few yards away from them. There sat the Baron and Baroness de Portiers. Bash and Kenna sat next to each other, the latter lounging in red satin and golden lace. Their children, the Ladies Meredith and Amia and their one year old little boy, Matthias, were happy in their parent's care. The married couple had agreed no more children, yet wouldn't be opposed if it happened again. Kenna's recent miscarriage at eleven weeks had been the turning point in the agreement, but the natural maternal edge she had always felt ever since meeting the long dead little Pascal, was sure to sway the decision once again. Besides, ever since wedding, Bash had always wanted many children.
Mary looked upon the little family with a soft smile, grateful that after everything they had went through several years ago, the union between Kenna and Bash was still strong.
Turning from side to side, Mary saw all the children of their inner circle running around and playing with each other, happy in the growing heat of the French countryside. They were due to leave after the season, so Mary wished to give them as many happy memories here as possible, before they sailed to England to travel around the empire and rule upon her as her true Empress, not leaving it under regent rule. Although David Rizzio and Lord Bothwell have long since proved their worth as temporary rulers who were loyal to their Queen and friend.
"Come, mama!" a young voice said. The Queen in ivory satin and circular pearls looked down at her too grown up baby boy, smiling wide and a little pink from the sun. James rushed over to her and gripped her elbow, mindful not to jostle little Francis in his mother's arms.
"What is it, love?" her soft, melodic voice let out, smiling down at her little boy who meant so much to her.
"Come sit with us!" he insisted, gently tugging her over to sit on a scarlet blanket that servants had lay out. The one year old Princess Anne had already plopped down and was fishing her little hands in the picnic basket, plucking out an iced bun.
Mary laughed, following her boy without hesitation, laughing with him as she watched her husband start to rough house with their second eldest.
What a feeling this was, she marvelled. All is well.
"I assure you, that should your daughter be bound to my master's son, she will be the most happy." the Venetian envoy insisted as he sat in front of the Emperor and Empress of the United Kingdom and France.
"Will she?" the Empress asked first, the aforementioned daughter settled upon her mothers' lap. Looking adorably beautiful in black satin and lace, silver embellishments glittering upon her little skirt and from a little circlet upon the already long black curls that hung from her head, the young Princess Anne looked up at her mother in wonder, reaching up to tangle her little fingers in her mothers' multi coloured necklace that covered her neck, throat and most of her chest. Diamonds of every colour fell from her mother's neck and throat and ears, a matching headpiece nestled into her mother's own raven hair. "Why?" Mary demanded, allowing the child to fiddle with her fingers, play with the multitude of large rings.
"Oh-umm-" the envoy stuttered. "My master, his Majesty, is the most noble gentleman that lives. I assure your Majesties, he will pass on these attributes to his own son, and the Prince will make sure that the Princess is very happy in her marriage."
"You may be telling the truth," Mary started, leaning forward upon her Scottish throne. "is it not strange that the King of Romania has been so quick, rid of his Queens, in such tragic circumstances?" she began. Mary thanked Catherine's Medici spies for the information silently. "The first, dead in bed not four months after her marriage. The second, found with her throat cut in the middle of the night, and the third dead upon her carpet, her body as red as it." she listed off. The King who'm they might someday make their daughter his in law was a very sketchy man. It was simple luck that Queen Lucia had fallen pregnant so soon after wedding this strange king. "If my child," Mary began, brushing her long fingers through Anne's soft curls. "held two heads upon her neck, then you can assure his Majesty that his offer of marriage to Prince Julian may be considered. Alas," Mary paused, pressing her fingers to Anne's exposed neck now that she moved the soft curls out of the way. "my daughter only has one."
"I beg of your Majesty to reconsider-" the envoy started to laugh nervously.
"No, the Queen of Scotland has spoken." Francis interrupted, standing up quick upon his throne, using Mary's sceptre to stand firmer. "There will be no more discussion about this marriage. You are welcome to stay two nights until the storm has passed, before you travel home to your master with the news. Good day, sir Bennit." he waved a hand. The envoy left in a scuffle.
Mary looked at him quietly, smoothing down the navy satin of her impressive, ruched skirted ballgown. Her bodice was tight against the corset she wore, a thin strip of satin just below her shoulders keeping it upright. He had been skittish ever since the privy council had told them of their desire to see justice brought to light, not just be passed around from castle to castle, dungeon to dungeon, tower to tower. It wasn't anything new.
"Why is it so hard to find a nice man for you to wed when you're older?" Mary asked her daughter, who beamed up at her mother, shuffling to stand up upon her mother's lap, now that the need for decorum and settlement was gone.
Mary held Anne's hands to keep her steady as the girl giggled and babbled in a language all of her own.
"We're lucky we have time before she weds." Francis said, seating himself back upon the throne.
"Still," Mary protested. "Don't you want Anne to be as close as James is to his fiancee?" she questioned, fixing her hair, pushing half of it in front of the right shoulder, the other half behind the left. "To be as close as we were in France?"
"Of course, but she's barely two. There's still time, love." he sighed, resting his head upon his fist that held the orb of the sceptre.
"I know, but I want her future secure." Mary answered, turning back to her child as the little girl started touching her bodice.
"Baby," she giggled. "Baby," Anne repeated. Mary smiled at her, fixing her hair and straightening the small circlet Catherine had insisted she wear. It was one of the dozen the Medici Queen Mother of France had bought for her only granddaughter on the second anniversary of her birth.
"We don't know yet," Mary reminded. "It's still too early to tell." she finished. It was true that she had been feeling off recently, more nauseous yet more hungry, and a little tired and faint more often than not, but even if she was pregnant again, it was far too early for physicians to tell. And the sweet little girl had heard of her father's suspicions when he and her had spent a few hours with Catherine a few days ago. Ever since then, she was adamant.
The rest of the day ran like clockwork. Continue to oversee Scottish politics for the rest of the day, before their own personal affairs for a little while before dinner. The large family, complete with Catherine and the King and Queen -including the de Portiers and the Bayard's, as usual- ate together and laughed, before the nighttime routine started. The King and Queen spend time with the children individually, reading stories and playing games, before getting ready for bed themselves.
Coming into his darkened chambers after his nightly game of catch with Anne, the King of France watched his wife sit at her dresser -dressed in her sleepwear simplicity- and remove the jewellery she wore that day. Their son who bore his name was already comfortably sleeping in his bassinet, so Francis slowly stripped down to his own nightwear and joined his wife in their bed.
Sleep was easy to find when they were together.
Mary sat tensely on her throne, arms on the hard armrests, eyes piercing through the poor nobles that stood in front of her and Francis. The entire country knew they were having marital troubles, the fact he claimed his son and caused problems for the alliance, and his own marriage, was now public knowledge. They were known as the Ice Queen and the Desperate King.
It wasn't uncommon to find the duo sitting on their thrones, Mary strong and rigid on her own, not looking at him, staring down at her court, whilst he sat desperately closer to her on his own throne, continuously begging to talk through his eyes, always whispering to her. But, she never paid any attention to him, just stared down at her court.
The court functioned well, but everybody knew the marriage had been destroyed and was borderline over. The damage had been done long ago, and Mary was forcing her husband to live with the consequences. As far as she was concerned, he made his choice. So, she made hers. They ruled France and Scotland, but their marriage was over. She couldn't bare to look at him, let alone love him again. They functioned like Henry and Catherine did. Married, but alone.
She watched with a clenched jaw, eyes staring holes into the poor nobles' bodies, her face stone cold as she listened to them talk. She saw Francis out of the corner of her eye, half paying attention to them, but leaning towards her. He was still begging, but Mary wouldn't listen. He nearly cost her her birth written throne, by claiming his bastard son. It was unforgivable.
Said bastard child came into the throne room soon after, nannies behind him. The newly motherless little blonde boy ran down to the two thrones as he usually did after Lola was beheaded by Elizabeth. But, nobody expected his next actions.
He ran to the middle of the thrones, yes, silencing the nobles and gaining his fathers' undivided attention. Francis looked down at his son, not failing to notice how his wife didn't turn her head. He doubted if she even moved her eyes to the little blonde boy. She never did.
Nobody expected the little boys' actions. He walked away from his father and over to his stone cold step mother. By now, the entire court was silent, looking over at the Queen and her step child. It was the most interaction they'd ever had, almost.
He reached up on his tip toes, grabbing the thin white sleeve of her dress, fingers skimming across the delicate cream embroidery, fisting the material in his hands, shaking it a little, gaining her attention. Everybody held their breaths, watching as the Queen of France and Scotland looked down at her bastard step son. The amount of time she even acknowledged his presence could be counted on two hands, and would still have a good few fingers left. It was like they were the incarnation of Catherine, Henry and Sebastian.
He waved his hand in front of her face, indicating for her to come closer. She leaned down a little, closer to him. She could practically hear Francis' heart beating through his extravagant clothing. John-Philippe brought his little hands to his step mothers' long, soft black hair, moving it from her ear. She turned her head, hearing her earring make a noise as it was moved due to the little boys' hands.
He cuffed a small hand, whispering into her ear for a few seconds. Nobody dared to move. They had only touched thrice before, in two years. This was so unexpected. Francis couldn't believe his eyes. Mary had never, ever, interacted with his son in front of their court. She'd only ever even touched him, in front of him, twice.
When Mary pulled back, she looked into the little boys' blue eyes, observing how they seemed to widen and darken with tears, his little nose and cheeks getting pink. She watched his hands as they quickly moved into the air, indicating for him to hold her.
The entire court was even more silent, if possible. Nobody expected the interaction, least of all the King. His mouth was open, eyes matching. John-Philippe had never pined for Mary before, and she'd never acknowledged him to this extent before. He'd never asked for her to hold and comfort him before. Ever since Lola's death, things had changed. Francis was stunned.
He watched, mesmerised, as Mary sat up straight again, moving her arms to the little boys' ribs, hands clasping over the white cotton. She picked him up with ease, holding him high in the air, before sitting him on her lap, his legs across the white silk and cream embroidery. John-Philippe's arms immediately wound themselves across Mary's neck, burying his face in the crook of her neck and shoulder. If people were stunned with this development, it was nothing compared to their shock at the Queen of France and Scotland when she wound her arms around his middle, kissing the head of the personification of failure and betrayal. He closed his eyes, relaxing into her arms.
The King of France's mouth was open in shock, watching the willing embrace of his son and wife. Her eyes found the court again, and a stern look from the hardened queen brought those back to doing what they were supposed to be, but nobody, not even her, could deny the hardness in her eyes had lightened, just a little bit.
Francis awoke with a start, jerking up in bed. He looked over, hearing a small moan. Mary rolled onto her side, but didn't wake. Prince Francis was in the bed with them now, comfortably curled into his mother. The youngest must have awoken at some point and his mother -as she usually did- took him into their bed to be closer to him.
Not wanting to risk waking either one of them, since they needed their rest, Francis slowly got up from the bed and covered his body in his robe, a lit and burning candlestick in his hand. He left the room and travelled a few coridoors, opening the door to a smaller set of chambers.
A small figure quickly scrambled under the covers. He sighed, entering the dark room and closing the door behind him. The King and Emperor slowly made his way over to the bed, setting the candle down onto the bedside table and placing his hand on the small figure's back.
"John." he said. The figure didn't move for a few seconds, before his eldest sighed and slowly came out of the covers. "Why aren't you asleep? It's late." he said.
"I can't sleep, papa." John shook his head. "I worry for mother, and what tomorrow may bring."
"Still?" Francis raised an eyebrow. "You haven't seen your mother since your youngest brother was born. Haven't you and Mary gotten along well?"
"Yes, father. Of course. I know mother did wrong in the past, and I know that Bella doesn't want to, but I worry that she will be harmed for her crimes."
"Her crimes will be atoned, child. I don't think she will suffer through it, although the people who have ensured this happen may wish her to. But her crimes will be atoned for, they have to be. She chose this path, son. So she must see it through." Francis paused. "Your Bella and your Papa are not people to betray, John."
"I know, Papa. And I know I haven't seen her in so long, but I don't want to get older and not see her."
"You won't forget her if the worst outcome happens, John. I'll make sure of it. But she cannot get away with what she did any longer. Tomorrow, Lola will be put on trial. And she may be gone from this world soon after."
Lola inhaled shakily, looking around the room she sat inside. A high ceiling and dark walls. No candles burned or danced in the wind. The clouds were overcast and visable inside the large windows upon the ceiling and the walls.
A tense silence. Breaths were quiet and loud at the same time, the tension palpable and downright painful. It seemed the cold, blackened walls grew eyes that bore into the men's very souls. The jury and the judge sat upon their chairs, looking between each other. Some were bloodlusty, some were small and observed upon their chairs, as nervous as the object of their investigation.
One gave the nod. The herald banged his heel against the cold floor and the doors slowly opened. The herald cried out;
"All rise for Empress Mary of the house of Stuart, Empress regnant of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and it's isles, Queen consort of France, Duchess of Edinburgh, Lorraine and Anjou." the herald cried. The judge and jury and the prisoner stood upon sight of the Empress.
Slow, methodical footsteps echoed through the somber courthouse. Soon, the figure arrived into the room, taking her place above the judge. She wore scarlett satin and raven chiffon, her necklace, earrings and crown substantial with rubies and pearls, face covered by a black veil that dragged longer than the skirt of her ball gown.
In her hand, she carried her sceptre, the other her English coronation orb. Mary's face was stoic and expressionless, golden eyes piercing through the jury and the privy council. She walked bridal-like, her face dark as she slowed behind the great, pearl throne. This wasn't Mary, this was the Empress. And the Empress was here to rule.
Most surprisingly of all was who walked next to her. Not quite surprising was the figure to her left. Black haired, satin and leather clad, dripping in finery. He walked with his mother, replicating her facial expression. James' eyes locked onto the prisoner, jaw tightening at the sight.
The most surprising by far was the boy to Mary's right. Older than James, golden haired and clad in grey velvet. He too looked upon his mother, but his mother was not the Empress he walked beside. No, his mother was the prisoner the Empress was here to observe. Because this, reader, this boy was John Valois.
Mary was trailed the Baroness Kenna and the Dutchess Greer, who took the boys to the side as Mary sat upon her throne. The Baroness in lilac and the Duchess in gold stood to the side with Steven, watching the veiled beauty properly take her seat and observer her Scottish Court. She sat high above the rest of her people, expression stony as everybody took upon their seats.
"Master Voltiers, read out the enditment." the Judge boomed. Mary inhaled deeply as the lead jury member started to read from the scroll.
"We are gathered here today on the 7th of June of the year 1561, the twenty first year of the reign of our sovereign Lady and Mistress, Queen Mary I of the house of Stuart, to foresee the fate of Lola Fleming. The charges, set about on the fifteenth year of the reign of our sovereign Lady, her Imperial Majesty, Empress Mary of the house of Stuart, first of her name, the lady did knowingly commit high treason against her Majesty. In addition, on the eighteenth year of the reign of Empress Mary Stuart, the lady did knowingly commit a second count of high treason and did knowingly work against the crown in an effort to weaken her Impeial Majesties standing on the world's stage." the crime was listed off. Mary highered her chin, looking down at the former Dame in black.
"How do you plead?" the herald gruffed. Mary looked from the aging herald and the former Dame and Lady, who stood upon command.
A pause. A long pause.
Several moments later, Lola spoke. Her voice was deceptively strong, yet wavered under the scrutiny of Mary's soul penetrating, golden coloured gaze.
"Not guilty, my lord." Lola announced.
An audible murmur fell upon the court. Mary exhaled through her nose, looking away from Lola to James. She looked past him, moving a hand for Steven to come forward. He did so, bowing before leaning down to hear the words Mary started to whisper in his ear. The bastard born spy listened intently as his Queen and Empress spoke quietly into his ear. James watched intently as his mother spoke to his uncle, blinking slowly as Steven backed off and walked out of the courtroom. He and his half brother looked at the retreating form of the spy and page, before their eyes slowly trailed back to the Empress.
"Silence! Silence!" the judge yelled loudly, banging his hammer against the table. Mary watched as he silenced the court. She swallowed thickly and stared at Lola through her veil as she spoke.
"I love the Empress. The love anybody would have for a girl whom she has grown up with, nursed when sick, played with as a child. I would never knowingly cause her so much pain in a way that could ensure her removal from the throne. In a moment of weakness several years ago, I made a mistake with a French noble and for that, I assure you, I pay for. However, I commit no treason in the eyes of the crown, for he held no relationship with the Queen of Scotland and at that point, neither did I." Lola paused. The more powerful of the two glared at the less, noting how she never apologised for whoring herself out in Paris, simply made excuses for it and tried to justify it.
James looked over at his mother, watching how she grew tense with hatred and disgust. Her jaw clenched, and she said nothing at all. Even John looked at Mary, not Lola.
Even John looked over at his step mother. He too said nothing, old enough to understand the truth of his conception and how one kiss lead to all of this.
"I admit, I worked against the crown to ensure my child's future. However, all my actions were were the first step in an alliance with the Haspburg Dynasty, a way to soften the hatred between the two feuding houses for eternity. It is a sad day when one has to defend one's actions, no matter how honourable. And a sadder when one's father attempts to solidify the death of his young." Lola announced, looking Malcom Flemming in the eye. She never could hold Mary's gaze for long.
"An even sadder when that same offspring is charged with high treason against her country and sovereign ruler." Malcom hissed. Hearing this, Mary smirked in pleasure.
"Charged is not convicted, father." Lola almost huffed. Mary frowned. Was this child ready that stupid? "Or is it, in this court? To have the ability to wrongfully put a woman to death due to a mistake long attoned for." Lola finished. "Judge me, my lords. Judge me for all I have done wrong, but never forget, your actions hereso present will be judged by God. In the greatest court of all." she finished.
Mary straightened her back, settling her neck up high and her shoulders back.
"My lords of the jury, it is time to pass judgement." the judge hissed to the jury.
"Guilty."
"Guilty."
"Guilty."
"Guilty."
"Guilty."
"Guilty."
"Guilty."
"Guilty."
"Guilty."
Malcom Fleming sat forward, looking Lola Fleming straight in the eye.
"Guilty."
The gate slowly squeaked open with a loud cry. Hushed breaths could be heard from the traitorette doomed to die by the hand of those she betrayed. Her arms were bound at the back by a thick layer of scratchy rope that dug into her wrists despite the long sleeves of her black gown embroidered by pink flowers. Brown hair was wrapped up at the back, the neck visible and open.
The guards forced her up he steps and over to the scaffold. The herald -a platinum blonde, blue eyed male, was donned in silver chains and a red doublet, the English lion big and proud upon his chest.
"You are guilty of high treason against her Imperial Majesty, Empress Mary of England, Wales, Ireland and Scotland and it's isles, Queen Consort of France. Do you have any last words as you stand before any last words as you stand before your Empress and your God?"
Lola paused, sniffling.
"G-good Christian people, I come to wield myself to the will of the Enpress and the Emperor, my mistress and master who have always treated me so well and have shown me a tenfold more happiness and protection than what I have had right to. I obey to te will of the Empress, to finally face judgement of my actions several years ago, and wish her to quell any sadness or guilt she way experience as my child grows with her own. I am aware that in my life, I offended the Queen's Majesty, and I take comfort in the fact that my death will now atone. I pray, and beg of you all now, to pray for the life of the Empress, my lady. The lady whom I have loved and cared for all my life, yet whom has shown me so much kindness and grace in which I do not deserve. Should a man judge my case in six hundred years in the future, I ask him only to judge it kindly."
Lola took a step back and servents slowly started taking off her gown, leaving her in her plane, white chemise. Her hair was covered by a cap tied around her chin and jaw, shoes and stockings removed.
"I-I now take my leave of this world, and of all of you who have been witness to my departure. I beg only that my child remain safe in the care of those he loves and trusts. However, his father and godmother will give him the best care he could hope for, and for that, I am eternally grateful. I beg he remembers me not as the woman who betrayed the only mother he will ever truly know, but the woman who gave her life in an attempt to keep him safe."
Lola finished stuttering and stumbling over her words, speaking to the crowd, but only speaking to the crown as she sat at the back of the courtyard upon a raised throne to observe the execution. This time, Francis' eldest children weren't there, but the Baroness and Duchess stood at their rulers' side.
The executioner came over to her, veiled in black, gripping her by the back of the neck and moving her towards the execution block. Lola went willingly. She knelt at the block. He pushed her forwards. Lola went willingly.
The axe rose. And then it fell.