***Thank you for following my story. Mary and Francis are one of my favorite TV couples and their love story always holds a special place in my heart. I wished so much better for them than the ending they received, which is why I imagined this second chance love tale. This is a story I wrote in 2016 but am revising and reposting. You can expect one or two chapters a week hopefully, for a total of 20 chapters. :) While the pace of the story is fairly slow at the moment, don't worry, it will speed up soon with lots of adventure, unexpected twists and plenty of swoon-worthy sweet Frary moments. Thanks so much for reading and hope you enjoy! Thanks for the comments! I love reading them. ~ Sweet R. ***

Chapter Two: Midnight

Francis gazed at the stone ceiling above as shadows from the hearth danced across it. He'd hoped by midnight, sleep would take him, but alas, the notion proved futile. Too many thoughts cluttered his mind, leaving no room for rest. He threw back the covers with an exasperated sigh and sat on the edge of his bed. Running his fingers through his hair, Francis recalled the painfully quiet ride through the countryside with Mary. Oh, how badly he'd longed to pull her into his arms and comfort her. But he'd promised to give her space and time to heal. Even if it meant sacrificing his own happiness, Francis would do anything for Mary.

He eased himself out of bed and tiptoed toward the doorway connecting Mary's room to his. In the dim firelight Francis watched his wife's abdomen moving up and down in slow, even intervals. The light shown over her angelic face, causing his heart to skip a beat. She slept peacefully— all the stress from the past few months erased. A faint smile formed on Francis' lips, thankful and relieved. At least in her dreams she had some reprieve from the hardships she'd endured of late.

He never tired of watching her sleep. Mary remained the most beautiful and precious sight he'd ever laid eyes on. Francis knew it the day she'd returned to French Court before their betrothal. The moment their eyes locked from across the courtyard, she'd captured his heart. Even with the uncertainty about the alliance— the drama with his parents— the arguments they'd had, somehow, he knew from the very beginning they were destined to be together.

"Sleep well, my love… my light," Francis whispered.

He'd almost turned to go when Mary groaned in her sleep. "No. Please no." Her head thrashed one way and then the other. "Please…"

Francis stood with his feet rooted to the ground. Mary was in pain— still traumatized from the night the night of the castle attack. He longed to go to her— longed to hold and comfort her but something stopped him. Would his presence only make things worse? They'd tried to sleep in the same room after the attack but simply hearing him breathing next to her had triggered a panic attack. After the incident, Mary had suggested they live separate lives. But how could they? How could he not be close to his soulmate? It was torturous. His wife was hurting and there wasn't a thing he could do to help her.

She thrashed again and her breathing became fast and erratic. "No. It can't be true…"

Francis sighed and took a step forward. Promise or not, he had to do something.

"No… Nostradamus. It has to be a mistake. Not Francis…"

Francis stopped in his tracks and ice flowed through his veins, hearing his name on her lips. A mistake? Nostradamus? He knew it could only mean one thing. Francis gulped down his emotions and crossed to Mary's bed, sitting on the edge of it. With trembling hands, he reached to caress her cheek. "Mary, wake up. It's all right my darling."

"Francis!" she cried, her forehead gleaming with beads of sweat. "Don't leave me…"

"I'm here, Mary. I'm here."

She startled awake and gasped upon seeing him. Lurching backward until her back rested against the headboard of the bed, she cried out in terror, her eyes wide.

"It's only me. It's Francis. Your safe."

Mary slowly began to calm after hearing his voice. She squinted in the dim light. "F… Fran… cis?

"I'm here."

She let out a shaky breath. "It was only a dream?"

"Yes, but it's over now. You're safe."

"Oh Francis!"

In an instant, Mary melted into his embrace and nuzzled her face against his chest. Francis rested his cheek against the top of her head, savoring her closeness and the familiar heavenly fragrance of rose water from her hair. How long had it been since he'd held her like this? Too long. He cradled Mary in his arms as she sobbed against him— her tears soaking though his thin nightshirt.

Francis could have held her forever, but moments later Mary pulled away. "I'm sorry," she whispered with a shudder, wiping her tears on her sleeve. "Did I wake you?"

"No, I couldn't sleep anyway." He gazed into her eyes with concern. "My love, please tell me what is troubling you. You can talk to me. No matter what it is. I'm here to listen."

She broke his gaze and looked down, fiddling with her sleeve. "It was nothing. Only a nightmare."

Francis reached to wipe one of her tears and his hand lingered to caress her cheek. "Mary, I…"

"Please," she interrupted and removed his hand, looking at him with tear-filled eyes. "I'm fine, really." She managed a frail smile through her tears. "Francis, the hour is late and we're both exhausted. Please, can we discuss it in the morning?"

"Very well," Francis agreed, although he wanted to press further and discover the true reason behind Mary's tears. He'd promised to take things slow and didn't wish to push her away again. "I'll see you in the morning." When she laid back on her pillows, Francis pulled the covers over her and gently kissed her forehead before returning to his room.

Collapsing into his chair by the hearth, Francis rested his chin in his palm, allowing his interaction with Mary to marinate into his mind. She'd allowed him to comfort her. That was a good sign, right? It provided a small glimmer of hope for their future. However, at the same time, something else troubled his soul to the very core.

Before waking, Mary, she'd murmured several chilling words in her sleep, concerning him leaving her and something about Nostradamus. It could only mean one thing— the prophesy. The thought of it sent dread pulsing through his heart. After causing such grief before their wedding, he'd hoped the prophesy of his death had been put to rest, but had he been horribly mistaken? It was a question that would have to wait until the morrow.