"Mama," young Lord Francis Stewart murmured as he lay his head upon his aunt's midsection. Mary brushed her fingers through his long blonde hair, his green eyes half lidded as his adoptive mother slowly soothed him. The young boy hadn't been feeling well this summer, a nip in the air causing a wheeze in his chest. Mary sat upon her chair in her study, slowly penning a draft to the King of Portugal about a possible marriage for her daughter. The little boy was curled up in her lap, searching for the comfort she had brung him ever since her brother's death.
"My love." she murmured back, rather preoccupied with the letter and the other young Francis, who lay in his small crib near his mother, contently resting after the feeding she had given him a few minutes before. He fisted a small fist of her skirts, holding her closer to him. Ivory lace and golden embellishments tousled together as she continued to work. It had been almost two weeks since the trial, and her family had been working in cold symphony ever since. The children seemed happily oblivious to the events, yet those who could understand worked in cold counterpart with one another.
"Don't feel good." Lord Francis murmured, pushing his face closer to her warmth and scent.
"You don't have a fever." Mary placed the back of her ring covered hand onto his forehead. "How about you lay down and I'll send for some soup?"
"No, mama." he muttered. Mary sighed through her nose, gently cupping his face with one hand, brushing the soft tendrils from her nephew's face.
"Okay," she agreed. "But I have to go to talk with my husband soon, alright?"
"Yes, mama." he mumbled, already half asleep. Mary smiled softly, rubbing her fingers over his cheek. The young boy smiled in his slumber, enjoying the fondness that the only true mother he had ever known showed to him.
Mary gently lifted him up into her arms, shushing his murmurs, and placed him in the crib that was meant for Lucien and Anne. The young Empress covered him up in the lilac satin, fixing his clothes so they were more comfortable to take rest in, before the door opened.
Emperor Francis walked inside, wearing that same expression he did when he found out that his wife had spoken to his guards about Sebastian, just after the two of them had returned from their honeymoon. But he smiled when he saw her and their sons, one adopted and one natural.
(I've just realised that there's three Francis' in the one scene. Try not to get confused, guys!)
"My love." Emperor Francis breathed, enjoying watching her play the role of mother almost as much as he did when she played the role of wife or Queen or Empress. He came inside the room, closing the door quietly behind him. Mary smiled at the man she loved the most, still so enamoured by the fact a man of such beauty and intelligence was wed to her. He had been the perfect, model father, husband and ruler ever since Lucien's birth. It was hard to believe that at one point, not that many winters ago, where she had hated this man, an even harder thought that she had wished him dead. And now, she loved him more than she could say, more than any -bar four- person alive, almost more than the countries she ruled upon.
"My darling." The dark haired beauty smiled, leaving the children and coming over towards her husband. He took her into his arms, as gentle as ever, pressing his lips to hers in a sweet embrace that made her heart flutter and her skin heat.
"I love you." he murmured as he pulled away. She smiled contently up at him, cream chiffon and white lace gown hanging loosely off her frame.
"I love you." she sighed in pleasure. He cupped her cheek, pressing another kiss to her forehead. Mary closed her eyes slowly.
"Is he okay?" Her husband pulled away a few inches, looking over at their adopted son.
"His fever has broken, but he's weak and uncomfortable." Mary replied, watching as he walked over to the little boy. The elder fixed the younger's hair, before walking towards his baby son. The King picked up the Prince, smiling brightly down at the young child in his arms. Mary smiled brighter, always as happy to see the man she loved with the child she -for many years- didn't believe she could ever possibly have.
"He loves his papa." Mary observed. It was true. His natural son who bore his name was not only his namesake and his almost complete lookalike, but he so obviously adored his father above anybody else.
King Francis looked up with a sheepish grin, a twinkle in his eye as it always had been when he held one of his children -no matter their mother- in hid arms.
He said nothing, just looked back down at baby Prince Francis, who started gurgling and reaching up to his father, smiling his gummy smile and grinning his large grin.
"What were you working on?" the elder asked, his eyes skimming down the paper his wife had been working on for a few hours.
"Anne's marriage to the infantè of Portugal, as we discussed a few days ago." Mary noted, brushing her hair back from her shoulders to behind her back. Francis nodded.
"Are we still completely sure this marriage is wise, considering what happened with your brief engagement to Tomàs?" the King questioned.
"His nephew is not him, love. The Prince is only a year old, and they'd grow up in our care until they wed and go to Portugal. With our influence and Hugo's personal developments, I'm sure the marriage would be a happy one." Mary listed. "Besides, it's a simple proposition, nothing is finalised just yet." she nodded.
"I know, I just worry for her."
"As do I, love. Our only daughter is bound to be a little over protected at times, however."
"I can't help it, however. She's my-"
"Baby girl, I know." Mary smiled fondly. Francis smiled sheepishly again. He seemed to flush a little.
"Don't be embarrassed." Mary joked. "It's not a bad thing, you're a brilliant father to our children." she now honestly said, walking towards her husband and their baby, pressing a kiss to the side of her husband's head and on top of their baby's forehead.
"Thank you." King Francis smiled, passing their baby onto the bassinet. He gurgled loudly, his little arms stretching up high for his parents. Francis smirked at his son, wrapping the Prince's small hand around his own finger.
"I love you." Mary smiled down at her baby, walking away from the pair and returning to one of the tables with the correspondence with her diplomat that was situated in Portugal.
Mary found herself missing James at moments like these the most. Although Francis was a fierce politician, James Stewart, the Earl of Moray, had always been the man who had worked best with her in political issues. But that man that dear, dear man was now gone to her forever, and for quite a while now, too. The brother closest to her had given his life for her in the war with Spain, and although she would never get him back, she would always hold a part of him in her memories and in his daughters.
Mary sighed, letting go of that pain and grief for the time being. She flicked through the pages for a few moments, not really reading what she knew she probably should, but was distracted again as the door opened again.
In walked Kenna.
"Majesties." She curtseyed. Mary looked her long and hard. Even Kenna, who had pretty much hated Lola since she and Francis returned from Italy when James was a baby, seemed such different since the former lady in waiting took to the scaffold not two weeks ago. A little grief stricken, yes, but far from bereft and weakened. But that wasn't it. The Baroness just seemed different. A little more timid and reserved, as if frightened of Mary, more than she had been in the past. Hell, even more than when she stepped out of line and met the back of her Queen's hand as punishment, when they thought Francis was dead.
"Kenna." Mary acknowledged. "What is it?" She asked.
"Catherine." she started. "She wishes to see you in the throne room. Apparently there's some trouble with a couple noblemen that need your attention." Kenna replied.
"Very well." Francis answered. Mary looked back at him, seeing his namesake in his arms again. They both walked out the room, leaving Kenna to keep an eye on the young boy who still slept in his cot.
"Mother," King Francis announced as he and his wife entered the throne room. Catherine looked up from her triangular huddle and looked at her son. The stern look she wore evaporated as soon as she saw her son holding her grandson, and the ten month old young baby awake and gurgling.
"Oh, how darling!" Catherine gushed, raising her skirts to the light red satin and the dark scarlet velvet gown she wore, so the golden lace slippers she wore -as usual, the heel was high, making it difficult to walk. But Catherine always adored those heels she wore so, wearing them almost constantly around Mary, seeing as though the Scottish blooded royal held almost an entire foot to her Medici mother in law, even as a child, Mary was almost of a height with her- were visible. Catherine rushed as quickly as possible to the two Francis', taking the baby from her own baby's arms, cooing down at him.
Mary smiled, as real as possible, always amused by the enchantedness the Medici Queen Mother of France showed whenever she held one of her grandchildren in her arms. Hell, she was even ecstatic when she held Queen Elisabeth of Spain's daughter in her arms, and the entirety of Europe knew how much she preferred baby boys to baby girls. There was something about babies that melted the icy Queen's heart, it was most apparent.
"Look at those eyes, those are some blue, blue eyes. Yes, they are, yes, they are." Catherine cooed. Mary laughed quietly. It was unclear where the blue eyes of Francis, his youngest son and a couple of his siblings came from. The Medici's were noted for their hazel eyes, and the Valois for their brown, almost black.
"Mother-" Francis tried to interrupt, but Catherine waved her hand at her son to silence him. King Francis obeyed, but his eyebrows rose high upon his forehead in surprise.
"Not now, darling."
"Catherine!" Mary interrupted her mother in law's coos, finally getting Catherine's attention after sever failed attempts were made by her husband. "You called us here, why?" she asked.
"Ah, yes!" the Queen Mother nodded, coming out of her facade and handing Prince Francis back to his mother. "The King of Romania," she started.
"What does the damned fool want now?" King Francis huffed. "We've already compensated him for the rejection to Anne's failed proposal. What else could he want?"
"He's not happy that his bloodline won't contain that of your children," the Queen Mother noted. "His ambassadors may be doubling as spies."
"We didn't know that's what ambassadors are actually for?" Mary asked, but she was ignored.
"The Lords Ethros and Omega?" King Francis asked.
"Yes, one of them is doing more than just trying to keep the peace." his mother replied. "The question is, which one?"
"Yes, that would be the question." King Francis rolled his eyes. Queen Mary smirked at her husband, always entertained whenever Catherine irritated her son. "Thank you for pointing out the obvious, mother." he huffed.
Catherine appeared to barely refrain from smacking her son for his cheek, doing so only because the throne room was full of courtiers.
"Enough of that tongue, child." Catherine glared. "We have to find out which ambassador is acting as a spy, and end the threat before it turns into what happened with Spain."
"Again, you're pointing out the obvious, mother." Francis rolled his eyes. Catherine scowled.
"If we have issues of espionage and deception, Catherine," Mary butted in. "There's a simple solution."
"Oh? What is that?"
"A blue dye." Mary simply replied. "We did it several times in France, it's how we realised that Antoine did what he did to your husband, and that Narciesse knew about it."
"Indeed," Catherine's eyes sparkled with anger and excitement. "What shall we do?"
"Set a honey trap." Mary informed. "Whomever gets the false information to the King, we will execute upon the spot."
"So, what will the honey trap be, exactly?" King Francis asked.
"I do believe that this is my area of expertise, my child." Catherine smirked.
The Queen of France sat uncomfortably in her carriage. Nerves cut her insides to the point of pain, and it wasn't because of the rather substantial bump clinging to her skin. Just three months after Catherine's decision to take over the spying issue with Romania, the Medici Queen Mother of France had been suspiciously quiet. And a silent Catherine de Medici was usually more deadly than a loud and proud one. But many things had been happening in the lives of the young royalty that ruled upon France and Great Britain.
Most notably, the bump that was kept not even a little hidden underneath Mary's pretty dress. Physicans had been correct in their suspicions of pregnancy within the Empress. But the bump was growing at a somewhat alarming rate, giving the implication that the child growing inside of her wasn't all alone inside his mother's womb. It was comforting, albeit alarming for the young Scottish Queen, who was well aware that multiple children births and pregnancy were even more dangerous than a single birth, when single births were already dangerous enough as it was.
But that wasn't the only cause for anxiety. Today, something just felt a little different. She knew there wasn't much cause for concern. After all, there were almost thirty French guards surrounding the carriage of the Queen and Princes and Princesses of France, and Kenna and Bash and Amia and Meredith and Phillip were only just a half mile away. But still, Mary felt unsettled.
Her white satin gown clung a little too tightly to her body for Mary's liking, the extremely intricate gold satin embroidery -a gift from Catherine- covering the bardot cut, long sleeved piece. The gems sparkled along her stomach, a rose petal like piece holding skirt to bodice. A floor length, white lace, high neck housecoat was placed over her, underneath a fur lined silver satin cape. Long black hair was pulled into a rose braid, half of Mary's thick raven sea pulled up into the rose-appearing braid, the other long and loose, the ends curled. Small flowers were placed all over the braid, a high tiara of teardrop cut diamonds settled at the front. Long chandelier earrings skimmed her bare shoulders, a necklace of pearls and diamonds glittering upon her chest.
The Queen of France looked down at the sleepy thirteen month old baby boy, every inch his father. He reminded her a lot of little Prince Henri or Hercules since she hadn't ever seen her husband at this age, and even if she did, she was younger than him, so she wouldn't remember. All done up in ivory satin and dusty blue silk, the young, fair haired, blue eyed bundle of love and happiness for the Queen and King of France sat in his mothers lap, fiddling with a small toy that Greer had gifted him a few months previous.
Beside her, Princess Anne de Valois. Green velvet covered the little girls' neck, chest, arms and shoulders, whilst a high wasted skirt of teal green covered by a layer of black organza covered her legs. The small girls' hair was pulled up in a tight braided updo, a small silver and emerald tiara carefully balanced upon her head. Anne loved her mother's jewels, so was carefully making sure not to jostle one of her very first crowns of her own.
On the other side, the Princes Lucien and James. Her Dauphin was donned in the black leathers like his father used to wear as a child. But her little Lucien was in his blues and blacks and whites, fiddling with a small gadget gifted to him by his godmother upon his last birthday. James, proving himself Francis' son, looked out of the window, taking in each and every detail of the outside world away from him, whilst her little boy fiddled with his small gadget. Like his father, Lucien was enamoured with astronomy, so he had been enthralled with this small gadget ever since it had been gifted to him.
Mary inhaled, pressing a hand upon her growing baby bump, the anxiety within her growing and growing. Her breath shook, and she subconsciously held the youngest of her children closer, the one inside of her and the one upon her lap. The Empress couldn't explain this feeling, but she knew it wasn't a positive attribute and knew that it had to be a negative aspect. Mary placed a hand to her lips, biting her nails as she glanced out of the window. Why was she panicking so much? They had just left Ambérieu-en-Bugey and were on their way back to court.
That question was asked when the carriage suddenly jolted. She inhaled sharply, one hand gripping Francis and the other holding Anne. The young girl gasped aloud at the sudden feeling of falling forward and Mary quickly closed the window, seeing a guard fall from astride his horse. She turned away from the noise of pain the man let out, reaching over to close the window curtains on the other side as well.
"Mama," James asked quietly. Mary glanced at him. "What's happening?" he asked.
She didn't reply for a few moments. Mary peaked out of the curtain, holding her babies closer, before quickly shutting the crimped red velvet curtain and turning to her boys.
"Children." she addressed like a stern governess. "Come here." she demanded. "Now." she clarified. Instantly, Anne shuffled closer and James and Lucien came to either side of them. Mary held them closer, pushing them all to one side in an attempt to protect them all equally from a threat that she didn't completley understand.
The carriage silently stopped for many minutes. Mary tensed, hating the fact she couldn't fight back, but the protection for her children both born and unborn had to take presidence. Why couldn't Francis have come with them? Why couldn't Bash and Kenna have been in the same carriage as them?
Soon, it started rolling again. Mary held all of her children, bundled up at one side of her, very close to both her and to each other. Mary's body was tense with a mix of fear, uncertainty and adrenaline. The cold blade held upon a garter seemed fuelled by fire, tingling against her skin as though it held a power of it'sown, but it was so cold now. Her heart raced and she inhaled slowly, knowing for sure that these weren't the same people that they started with. She couldn't do anything. She was pregnant with possible multiple babies, she couldn't fight them. She couldn't deny them for fear of them hurting her living babies.
So what the hell was she supposed to do now?
"James." Mary quietly said, after what felt like eternity. The atmosphere was thick with tension and electricity. Mary felt powerless, one of her -if not the- least favourite feelings in the world.
"Mama." he said. She turned to him, sitting at the back of their little bundle, holding all of them tightly together.
"I know you're scared," she could see it in his eyes. "but I need you to be brave right now, and protect your siblings. I'll get you out of this, okay?"
"Yes, mama." he nodded. "Are you sure?"
"I'll protect you before anything else. You four," she moved her hands over all of them. "and the babies mean the world to me, I promise, in the end, we'll be alright."
The carriage stopped a few miles later. Strangely, the 'guards' placed the stepping box by the door of the carriage, reached inside quietly to unlatch it, and even more surprisingly so, a hand was held out to help his Queen outside.
Mary furrowed her brows. This was unexpected. She looked towards him, quickly shifting her children to her. James and Lucien were held onto one hip, Anne and Francis upon the other side. She held the baby securely, her eldest's hand reaching over his younger brother to hold his youngest siblings head up, seeing that his mother could not. Mary smiled gratefully, feeling Anne wrap herself around her mother, clinging to her in tears. She placed a kiss to Anne's head, slowly and reluctantly taking the 'guards' hand, allowing him to help her out.
It was better to pretend to trust, to butter them up, and gain their favour than to irritate them when she had more than herself to loose.
"What is it?" Mary pretended that the guards surrounding her were the same ones as her children burrowed themselves into her, seeming to not mind at all that her frame was slightly contorted by the growing bump upon her abdomen. "Why've we stopped?" she asked, noting every little detail about this small little cottage and the surrounding woodland area and fields surrounding them. She observed every granular detail about every single man surrounding her, the light grey clouds above her head, bright and wonderful in it's pre sunset state.
"Majesty," the first man gruffed. "It's almost night, you and the children must take refuge until the sun sets and rises once more. We've sent word to the King and the Queen Mother. I strongly advise you to go inside, highness." he said. Mary blinked owlishly. It was so obviously a decoy, but she couldn't think of an ulterior motive two dozen men could have towards herself and her children. France had prospered since the end of the war, religious tolerance keeping catholic, protestant and pagan safe, and the year had been kind to France, the working man's stomach always sated and full. What on earth could be the cause of this?
"Come, highness," another man said, extending an arm out towards the door of the shack. Straightening up, Mary forced a smile and a strong facade, ignoring how winded she felt by carrying all of her children. Knowing there was no other choice, Mary reluctantly walked into the shack, a little bit grateful for the burning hearths relieving herself and her children from the cold.
"Come, highness." she was lead into a stingy room with almost nothing inside. It was grey or black in colour, all dust and dirt and stale air. A burning hearth and a chair sitting near it, a dust covered wardrobe in the corner. No bed, no anything else. Just that.
"Sit." she was ordered. Gritting her teeth, for she always hated taking orders from another, especially one who was below her on social rank. She glared in front of her, slowly walking towards the chair and sitting herself down, laying her children onto her lap.
"Goodnight, my Queen." he smirked. Then the door slammed closed. And Mary and her children were alone.
"Mama, where are we?" Lucien asked, clinging to his mother's dress as she slowly adjusted his cape to cover him more. "Where are we? What are we doing here? I want to go home to papa!" he babbled.
"I know, my little bird." she soothed, running her hand over his blonde hair. "I'm not sure where we are, but I promise that I'll get all of us out of here, somehow." Mary promised.
"Promise?" Anne asked, looking up from her mothers' breast, her big dark golden eyes almost black with tears. She was always such a sensitive child, even though a resulting boldness was coming out of her whenever they were as safe as could get in court. But when she wasn't, she was simply a frightened child.
"I promise." she nodded, kissing her daughter's head as her youngest settled against her lap. The children bunched up together upon her skirts, sharing the limited space they had seeing as though a large bump was taking up a fair portion of it.
They spent almost an hour together, silent except for their breathing and the children's occasional sniffles. The youngest three seemed to have fallen asleep for a few minutes, but it was an uneasy sleep that was broken soon after. James leaned his head upon his mothers' shoulder, depending upon his only constant even more than he did when she carried Lucien inside her womb. Those years of sparce visits in the war had left him frightened of her forever departure, even more so now that he was older and understood the danger of childbirth. And he knew that a possible multiple pregnancy -like it seemed strongly possible- was even more dangerous than a singleton.
"Come, loves." Mary said, pregnancy induced tiredness overflowing her system, although she knew she couldn't take rest. She inhaled slowly, silently apologising to the child -or more likely, children- inside of her for not giving them what they needed at this moment, after feeding Francis and allowing him to take more rest in her arms. The Queen of France shuffled Dauphin James and Prince Lucien and Princess Anne out of her arms and onto the floor, closer to the fire. "The sun has set, it's getting colder. You must keep warm, we don't want Papa to see you sickened, now. Do we?" she asked.
"No, mama." Lucien answered, accepting his place onto the floor more than James or Anne did. They leaned against Mary's legs as she held her youngest close to her, wrapping him in the fur cape to keep him as warm as possible. But the Empress placed the baby Prince into her eldest's arms, covering him with the blue and golden blanket in which he had held since his first day of birth, when she heard a small noise coming from behind them.
The noise happened again and Mary frowned. It sounded kittenish in a way, almost sickened. She stood from her uncomfortable chair and walked over to the corner of the room.
"Mama, be careful." James said. Mary took his words in, but knelt to the ground, seeing a little lump hiding behind the cabinet and leaning against the wall, curled up in a ball.
"Hello?" she asked, the lump obviously human. "It's alright, I won't hurt you." she said.
The human lump shuffled. And she caught sight of his eyes.
"Jean?" Mary asked in shock, immediately taking her step and god son from his perch on the floor and into her arms. He was a little damp and so cold. How long had he been there? What on earth was he doing here? "Child, what happened? What did they do?" she asked, taking him into her arms and walking swiftly back to her chair, the six year old Baron whimpering as he curled into his step mothers' arms.
"Bella," his words trembled with tears and childlike fear as his bella placed him as close as she could to the fire without him getting hurt. "The bad men took me from le consier when I was going to see him and Philippe." he mentioned Francis' childhood friend, the duc of Ambien, of whom he had been spending some time with, bonding with the duc's son, Philippe. "It's been a long time, Bella." Jean nodded into his step mothers' neck.
"Shh, it's alright." Mary comforted, shushing the six year old child. "I have you now, I'll keep you safe." she nodded.
"Your Majesty," the guard panted. He handed Francis his son's blanket, a blue and gold piece that was soaked with slicking and drying blood. "there's news of the Princes and the Princess, the Baron of Velay and her highness, the Queen." he continued speaking as his King looked upon the bloodied blanket.
"No." the King shook his head, finally looking up blue eyes big. His face was pale and his stomach rolled in fear and disgust. "What's happened to them?" he asked.
"Your highness, the impostors bore the insignia of the hit men owned by the Medici, your highness." Francis looked at the guard deeper. He looked around, every nook and cranny, seeing what he was looking for. He looked back at the guard, speaking again.
"Take my mother." he decided. "Place her in the dungeon for this treason. I will not be moved this day." he seethed, the tears in his eyes real and bright.
Francis stormed into the dungeons in which his mother was being held. He looked around to the nooks and crannies of the dungeons, waiting for that one little spot before he talked once more.
"You killed my family!" he yelled, storming into the room in which Sebastian and Kenna de Portiers stood with her. Kenna's lips parted to ask her half brother in law what he was talking about, but Francis answered her silent question before she could ask it.
"She had them kidnapped." he pointed at his mother in chains. "Mary and the children. She had them kidnapped, she traded the lives of my innocent children and my wife to save her life!" he snapped.
"No, Francis, she couldn't have-" Kenna walked forwards. But Francis interrupted her.
"But the kidnapping was botched, and-" he paused for breath, eyes growing with craze and redness. "My son, my infant son, was killed during the attempt. You murdered my son!" the King of France yelled out.
Kenna's lips parted. "That-that can't be right. There must be a mistake!" she pleaded.
"There's no mistake! I held my child's blood in my hands!" he yelled. "We captured one of her men and he confessed to everything." Francis spat, drawing his sword.
"Catherine, what have you done?" Sebastian asked, walking forward a few steps, to put himself in between them.
"Nothing! I've done nothing!" she cried desperately.
"I should have killed you a long time ago." Francis declared, before swinging his sword high in the air. It came crashing down near his mother's face and she screamed in fear before Sebastian tackled his brother and King to get the blade from his grip.
"Francis!"
"I would never harm Mary or your children! Any of them!" Catherine cried out.
"Speak again and I will cut out your heart!" Francis screamed, pushing away Sebastian and gripping his brother's own blade in retaliation for the loss of his own. "Even if you didn't order it, my son is dead because of you." he hissed. "My wife and children may be as well."
"Oh, God, no." Kenna whispered.
"We will find my family, and you will lose your head, alone in this dungeon, before the day is done." Francis hissed.
"I didn't harm your son!" Catherine screamed behind her son as he stormed out of the dungeon. But Francis ignored her.
"Francis." Sebastian said. His King and brother jerked out of his place sitting upon the settee near his brothers' legs. The King of France looked broken. His face pale and his hands bloody, eyes almost black and red from his devastation. The Baron looked around the nooks and crannies of the walls and the door, seeing what he was looking for. Francis looked up at his brother. Sebastian lowered his head for a beat. And then the younger started to talk.
"T-the children and Mary were on their way back to us, but upon the road, the impostors took a hold of the guards places and took them somewhere. I don't know where." Francis shook his head. "One of the guards that survived the ordeal got word back, and our men tried to get them back. B-but-" Francis stopped. He sniffled loudly, running his hands roughly over his face. Sebastian's lips parted. "He managed to get a few good licks in, told us of how his victim gave up the plan about Mary and the children and the children she carries inside of her. But the plan had already fallen apart, ours to save them. Apparently, there was a fight, for them, our guards against their men. But my son, my infant son, he fell." Francis gasped out. Sebastian cried openly, sure of the devastation upon his face. "His-his his head." Francis shook his head and broke down. He cried into his hands.
"Francis." Sebastian said, coming over to his younger brother and King, wrapping his arms around his little brother. He allowed Francis to cry as much as he wanted upon his shoulder and chest, looking around for that little bit of information that would tell them what to say next. He found it, placing a kiss to his brothers' blonde curls as he pulled back, wiping his face again.
"We can't find them anywhere. Mary and the children. None of them. Bash-" Francis looked up. Even though Sebastian knew the truth, the tears upon his brothers face and the way his voice cracked as his nickname was spoken damn near broke Sebastian's heart. It was like he was that nine year old little boy who was in devastated shock when his nine year old companion was taken away from him in the dead of night.
"We went to the place where they were kept. There-there's no sign of them. But they told me that-" Francis took a breath. "Bash, they had Jean." he revealed. "The guard told me he saw Jean in Mary's arms." he seethed in a breath. "I don't even know if any of them are alive, but the baby-" he choked. "Brother, all I see is his face, everywhere. His smile. How..how could they do this?" he whimpered. Francis broke down in tears, not even stifling them all as Stephane Narciesse burst into the room. Catherine's newly exposed lover looked frightened and exhausted.
"Francis." he said. Sebastian took up to protect his brother and King if necessary. He looked behind the Lord Chancellor, spotting the thing he needed to see. From the corner of his eye, Francis moved a little. It caused Stephane Narciesse to speak. "Francis, Mary is still out there. I know her code better than anyone, the symbolism and the notes. I believe your wife is alive, your children, too."
"How?" Bash asked.
"When you and the mother of your bastard were in Italy, your wife and I quarrelled over so much over her first pregnancy and first early motherhood. However, as much as she and I dislike and mistrust each other, I came to respect her as a ruler and as a person. I know her code and her symbolism, her notes to assure. I believe she is alive, I have seen a few. Please, allow me to prove my fealty to you and your wife by saving her and your children."
"What do you need?" Bash asked. "Men, horses?"
"Yes. And weapons." Narciesse said. "Give me a few hours, I will have your wife and my Queen back in this castle."
"You may have whatever you need." Francis stood up. "But I am going with you."
"Very well, Majesty."
"Mama, please!" Anne cried out as Mary held all of the children close to her. "Help! Help! I'm scared!" Anne cried out as her mother held her and her brothers tighter. Mary kept her body angled away from the door, clenching her eyes shut as she listened to the familiar sound of battle and death. The heave of breath and the clanging of swords and weaponry. The cries of the dying and the infuriated roars of the living. The Queen sat hunched over the young children, using her body to protect all five children. They all cried aloud at the sound and she protected them as much as she could, but the kicks and turns of the children inside of her and the cries of the ones in her arms caused distraction. She breathed slowly, in and out, trying to settle herself and guard the children to the probable face of battle.
Suddenly, everything became quiet. Mary looked up from her hunched over position, eyes glowing more silver than gold. She inhaled shakily, tears streaming down her face, hearing the children's sniffles and their small hands gripping her tightly. She held them tighter.
Silence upon the battlefield meant one of two things.
Mary inhaled sharply as the door suddenly was kicked open, swinging wide. The children caught sight of who it was before she did. The eldest two gasped and rushed towards him.
"Papa! Papa!" John and James cried out.
"Oh, my loves." Francis breathed as they were suddenly all in his arms. He took all the children in one arm with ease, wrapping the other around his pregnant wife. The King of France breathed deep, fast and hard, pressing hard kisses to all of his children and his wife. Francis knelt to kiss his wife's growing bump, feeling movement and kicks under his lips. He stood up and held them all tightly to himself, pressing them hard against himself.
"Oh, I was so worried." Francis breathed out. "Are you hurt, did they do anything?" he asked, his voice was quick. So quick that Mary barely understood what he said.
"No, no. We're fine, we're all okay. They didn't harm them, thank God." Mary answered.
"The baby, is he okay?"
"Yes, Francis is fine. They weren't touched." Mary smiled, touching her husband's face.
"I'm glad." Francis kissed all of his children again. He tightened his grip upon his wife, pulling her closer. "Come, we have to go home."
Heralded by two guards, Catherine de Medici walked slowly towards the two thrones of France. The throne room was abandoned besides the King, Queen, Dauphin, Princes and Princess of France, along with the illegitimate Baron. Bronze caped gown trailed behind her as she looked into the infuriated face of her golden child and of the impassive face of her daughter in law. They had washed off the dirt and the dust and now changed. Francis wore dark blue velvet with silver embroidery, his sword large and tall whilst his wife was donned in teal chiffon with gold upon her bodice, the tutu-like skirt big and bold, making the baby bump large and noticeable. Mary's curls fell to one side, a tight braid holding the other side, a golden tiara hanging in her hair. All of the children sat at Mary's feet, silent and close together.
Francis looked behind all three of them, waiting for the thing he wanted to appear in the distance. Once it did, the King growled, staring his mother down as she and the guards rose from their bows.
"Leave!" the King growled at the two guards. "She won't run. Where would she go?" Francis shook his head in disgust. He waited until the guards left and his nose curled in disgust as the dishevelled Queen Mother of France waited for judgement.
"Francis, please, listen to-" Catherine started, but Francis didn't give her the luxury of talking.
"Don't speak." he spat, getting up from his chair. He walked with swift purpose to his carrier. I've always thought, the one redeeming quality about you was your love for your family." he began
"Your children were never harmed." Catherine tried. "Mary was never harmed." she said, as if it made it better.
"You sent armed men with swords drawn to take them by force. They could have been killed easily. But that means nothing to you. Family means nothing to you, except a means to an end." he paced angrily. "If you had birthed peasants instead of kings, and someone offered you a monarchy, if only you were free of us, - you'd slit our throats in an instant." he spat. Mary breathed deep in her throne, placing a hand upon her baby bump. She'd seen him far angrier than this in the past, but this anger was different to all the others.
"That is not true." Catherine begged. "You are my son, my life-" Catherine reached out to touch, but her eldest son backed away.
"And now you mean nothing to me." Catherine's lips parted. Francis continued on. "Not a mother, certainly not a queen mother, as I strip you of your title, your income and your home." he turned his back on his mother and walked to his family. He turned and sat upon her throne.
"You will forgive me, I command it." Catherine suddenly stomped up to her son, up the three stairs to the thrones. Francis laughed in anger.
"You command nothing." he replied darkly. "The only taste of power you have had is through marriage, a false Queen in every scene of the word." he hissed. "And now it's gone, you have no throne and have dissolved any measure of protection I may have given you. No power, no throne. You command nothing." he repeated.
"I am your mother!" Catherine leaned down to her son.
"Yes, and I am the King!" Francis yelled, getting into his mother's face.
"You will! Catherine shoved her fist into Francis' face. His lips parted and he snickered in angry laughter.
"Please, Francis. Please, you-you're my son. You can't do this to me. You can't do this." Catherine reverted a little, but still kept close.
They started growling at each other, talking over each other so much that Mary couldn't understand what they were actually saying, before Francis stood and pushed his mother away.
"I beg you! I beg you!" Catherine walked backwards onto the floor and even got onto her knees. Mary blinked in surprise. "I will beg you." Catherine lay upon the floor. Francis stood up again. "I beg you! I beg you! I beg of you! Please, I beg of you!"
He replied, but not to her. But to his wife.
"Mary," his voice wasn't angry at all. "take the children to our chambers, please."
The Queen of France and Empress of the United Kingdom of Great Britain obeyed quickly, picking up the younger duo and holding the hand of Lucien. Jean and James walked with them. Francis watched them leave with his mother. And he watched as the one thing he was waiting for before left with them.
He smiled at his mother.
"You are quite the actress." he smiled. Catherine grinned as she stood from the floor, her son helping her to her feet. Catherine smiled gratefully at him, enjoying the fact that he was a gentleman and not the vicious brute his father was.
"And you, an actor." Catherine de Medici agreed. Francis smiled down at her. "What a blue dye test." she chuckled, straightening her gown and hair, adjusting her jewellery and placing a hand upon her throat to try and soothe it after her screams.
"Indeed." he agreed. "You could have left out my family dying, however." but he said it with a small smile. Catherine shrugged one shoulder. She brushed off Francis' shoulders, cleaning them from an invisible dirt. Like she had on the morning of Count Vincent's visit, Catherine fixed her son's hair.
"It made for a more believable story. I am Catherine de Medici, the world doesn't think I am above murdering my daughter in law and grandchildren." she rolled her eyes. "I'd never harm them, Francis."
"I know, I know." he agreed. "I'm trusting you to keep an eye of the results? Get your whores and Mary's and Greer's to work together to see who is the spy?" he asked.
"Of course." Catherine agreed. "Go to your wife and children. Assure them that it is safe and that we were just pretending. I don't think the children understood."
"Probably not." he said. "See me later, tell me of what you've discovered."
"I will."
"I should have been with you," Francis said as he walked into the chambers he shared with his wife and the ones which she now sat in with her children.
"Papa!" Anne, James, John and Lucien got up to greet him. They hugged his legs.
"Today we had a man try to kill us," John said, as if his father didn't know what had happened.
"No, they did not!" James interjected. "Mama protected us!"
"She did, but I should have been the one to protect you all." Francis took them all into his arms and placed them onto a nearby settee.
"Now, you must know what happened today,"
"We do. A bad man tried to harm us and mama." Anne informed her father helpfully.
"A bad man did come close, yes, but it was a trick. To see who was going to tell somebody what happened. You were always going to be safe. Grandmere and I planned it all."
"So, grandmere was pretending?"
"Yes, somebody has been watching us for a few days, so we pretended something happened in front of them to learn who it was." he said. "I promise, grandmere didn't do anything to harm you. She wouldn't do anything to harm any of you, or your mother or I."
"Will anything happen to her now?"
"No, James. Nothing will happen to her." Francis replied. "Just know that you've always been safe today. It was all a trick to help our countries identify our enemy."
"So, grandmere is good?"
"She is, Anne."
"So it was like a play?" John asked.
"Yes, son. Just like that. A play. Pretend."
"Okay," Lucien jumped down. "Come play with us, papa! Come play with our new toy Uncail Robert got for us!"