Sorry the last chapter was so emotional. I couldn't leave you all on a cliffhanger for too long so here's another chapter. This one will start bringing everything together. Hope you enjoy! Thanks for the support! ~ Sweet R.

Chapter Eighteen: The Darkness

"Open the gate," Francis demanded while trying to steady a tremor in his voice. His guards stared at him in disbelief. He must have looked like a mess with bloodshot eyes and disheveled hair, with only a half a dozen soldiers accompanying him.

"Your Majesty, are you certain?"

"Yes," Francis replied with a hint of fire in his voice. "Obey my orders or you'll live to regret it!"

"No wait!" a voice called from behind and a moment later his mother clung to him like her life depended on it. "Francis, stop this madness. Think about the future of France. Think about your family… and your infant daughter."

He refused to meet her gaze, fearing it would break his resolve. "Mary is dying and it's my fault. I have to save her."

"Even if it costs your life?"

Francis nodded and his heart thundered in his chest. "If that's what it takes. I…I cannot live without her."

She grabbed his hand and kissed it before nuzzling his fingers against her tearstained cheek. "I know your heart is broken, but don't do anything foolish. Please, listen to me. I'm begging you, Francis."

He met his mother's gaze for the first time and it broke him just like he feared it would. Tears rolled freely down his cheeks, realizing how much she loved him. However, nothing she said could change his mind. Francis leaned down and kissed her forehead with trembling lips. "I love you, mother…but I have to end this. I must face Antione once and for all."

"No…my golden child…I can't lose you," she begged and clung to him in desperation.

Francis turned a deaf ear to her pleas and tore himself away from her grasp, leaving the poor woman sobbing in the courtyard. He mounted his horse and made eye contact with the guard again, speaking with more confidence than before. "Open the gate."

…

After finding out about the prophecy, Mary had several months to wonder what it would be like to die. She imagined there would be pain involved but she hoped peace would follow. Maybe there would be a bright light leading her to heaven or something even more lovely than she could imagine. But this was the last thing she expected.

After losing consciousness in Francis' arms her world fell into darkness. A strange drifting sensation consumed her, like the strong current of a river pulling at her soul. Mary fought it at first, hearing her husband's desperate pleas for her to stay with him and feeling his warm tears dripping onto her face. How could she leave Francis to suffer? It felt so cruel and there were too many things left unfinished. What would happen to him after she was gone? What would happen to Anne? Her brother, James would act on their daughter's behalf as regent for Scotland but they still hadn't decided on a suitor for her. She couldn't leave them. Not yet.

Mary remembered the prophecy— her vision of Francis' death—the choice she'd made to give her life to save him. Peace filled her heart as her vision of Eden returned. Francis lounged on the grass in front of their chateau in the country, watching Anne play with Stirling. Her raven curls bounced as she ran to her father and jumped into his arms. They both looked so happy—so content.

With the image forefront in her mind, Mary knew everything would be all right. She let the current take her. The image faded and more took its place, rushing by quicker than the first— memories of her time with Francis. Seeing him for the first time after returning to French court—their wedding— their first dance. And those were just the first. A thousand other moments passed by in a blur. Some were painful to relive but Mary realized she wouldn't trade a single one of them. In the end every moment, good or bad, made up their incredible love story.

Before long, the images slowed, taking Mary back to her early childhood in Scotland. She watched a six-year-old version of herself standing on a pier, observing crew members loading her belongings onto a waiting ship. Mary squeezed the long slender fingers holding hers. "I'm afraid. I don't want to be alone."

Her mother, Marie de Guise knelt before her, graceful and beautiful as always. She offered a forced smile that didn't reach her eyes. "My daughter, there is no need to fear. You will be well cared for at French Court and one day you will marry the Dauphin of France."

Tears rolled down her cheeks. "Please don't send me away."

Her mother's eyes softened as she gripped Mary's shoulders. "You were born to be a ruler and your choices will never be easy. It is a lesson I learned at an early age and one you must learn too." Her mother lifted her chin and wiped her tears. "Now, be brave and hold your head high, my daughter. Always remember that you are the Queen of Scotland."

Mary watched the younger version of herself board the ship, remembering the emotional moment like it was yesterday and the deep emotions that came with it. A root of bitterness began to grow against her mother that day. She felt abandoned and forgotten by the parent who was supposed to love and protect her.

"I'm sorry," a voice said from beside her as the image faded away. "I should have let you stay with me… at least until you were older."

Mary turned with wide eyes. "Mother?"

She managed a sad smile before pulling Mary into a hug. "Yes, it's me. Everything's going to be all right."

Mary pulled back, staring at her in disbelief. She'd known her mother was ill but had her condition deteriorated that much without her knowledge? "Why are you here? Are you…are we both…"

"Dead?" her mother interrupted and let out a deep sigh. "No. I think we're both somewhere in-between, but we must make a choice soon. There isn't much time."

"Much time?"

"Only one of us can go on this voyage. The other must return." Her mother motioned off into the distance and Mary noticed a small ship. "This time I'll be the one leaving."

It took a moment for Mary to understand her mother's words. Her eyes filled with tears. "So, this is the price for saving Francis? My life or yours?" Mary shook her head wildly as tears filled her eyes. "No Mother…I cannot let you do this."

"I've lived my life," she said and framed Mary's face, pausing to wipe her tears. "I sent you away and gave up the chance to raise you. Can you ever forgive me for what I did?"

"Of course, I do."

"Thank you." Marie smiled and tears filled her eyes. "Now, listen to me. Things can be different for Anne. Be the mother for her that I couldn't be for you. Promise me you'll treasure every moment."

She closed her eyes and hugged her mother one last time, wishing she didn't have to choose. "I promise," Mary whispered and clung to her mother for as long as she could, but the current pulled her away again, much more forcefully than before. "I love you," she called into the swirling darkness."

Mary landed on something soft. She took in a huge gasp of air and opened her eyes, staring at the gray stone ceiling and soft billowing tulle above her. She was back in her chambers. Tears streamed down her cheeks, longing for Francis' face to fill her vision next— longing for his strong arms around her, but it wasn't to be.

"Mary!" Kenna cried and rushed to her side, hugging her tight.

"Oh…you're alive!" Lola exclaimed while squeezing her hand.

Mary blinked several times in confusion as Kenna released her. She took in their surroundings, realizing they were the only three people in the room besides the physician who approached with a look of shock and started to examine her.

"Fr…Francis…where?" she rasped.

The terrified looks in her friends' eyes sent chills down Mary's spine. "What's wrong? Please…just tell me where he is."

Lola wiped away tears. "He's gone, Mary."

"Gone? Gone where?"

Lola couldn't go on, but Kenna managed to explain in her stead. "Francis…he thought you were dying. He was beside himself with grief and Catherine tried to stop him but…he's gone to fight Antoine."

…

Francis rode into the bright morning sunlight, looking straight ahead as if in a trance. The heavenly scent of fresh blooms reached his nose, telling him it was a beautiful spring day but none of that mattered.

He closed his eyes for a moment, seeing Mary the way he'd left her—pale, cold and fading away from him. Without her, the joy and color had faded from his life as well, only leaving depressing tones of gray. When he opened his eyes again, he saw Antoine and Conde on horseback riding out to meet him. Everything within him screamed not to follow through with his plan, but Francis knew it was the only way. He would give his life so Mary could live.

"Good morning, cousin," Antoine said with a wry smile as he came closer. He stopped about ten paces from him. "I must say you do not look well today. Are you ill?"

Francis ignored his comment, ready to get down to business. "You've been thirsting for blood, cousin… so here I am." He dismounted his horse and walked forward while removing his armor piece by piece, leaving a trail of discarded metal in the grass. The armor had only been for show anyway, so he wouldn't appear weak in front of his subjects while departing from the castle gates for the last time.

Antoine furrowed his brow. "Is this some kind of trick or joke at my expense?"

Francis paused halfway and stood with his arms spread wide, now completely defenseless except for his sword. "I've never been more serious. Let's put an end to this war between us once and for all."

The other man scoffed at him. "How do you propose we do that?"

"A fight… to the death. If I win, your brother and your men must return to Navarre and vow to never invade French soil again."

Antoine cocked his head to one side. "And if I win?"

Francis let out a deep sigh, dreading the words about to escape from his mouth. "The French throne will be yours. My only request is that you spare my family. Send them into exile if you wish, but allow my wife and daughter safe passage to Scotland."

The king of Navarre turned to his brother and they discussed Francis' proposal in hushed tones. Conde grew red in the face and argued but in the end Antoine won. He slid off his horse, discarded his armor to the side and unsheathed his sword with a thirst for blood in his eyes. "I agree to your terms. A fight to the death it is."

The fight started out evenly matched. They clashed swords with a vengeance, but within a few minutes Francis let Antoine advance and concentrated on deflecting his opponent's swings. Francis usually relied on his speed and cleverness to win battles and knew he could beat his cousin if he really wanted to. However, with the realization his wife lay dying in the castle behind him, his aim wasn't to win this time. It was to die in Mary's stead.

Francis advanced one last time, not willing to go down without a fight and aimed for a slice at Antoine's midsection. His cousin deflected the move and swung at him again. Francis turned to avoid it but Antoine's blade sliced through the back of his thigh. His sword dropped to the ground as pain seared through his body. Francis fell to his knees, chest heaving with every breath.

Antoine's eyes flickered with sadness for a moment as he lowered his blade and pressed it against Francis' neck. "How did it come to this, cousin? I never wanted this. But you've left me no choice."

"Just do it quickly." Francis rasped through clenched teeth. He closed his eyes, bracing himself for death as beautiful images of Mary and Anne flashed through his mind. 'Love is stronger than death,' he reminded himself as Antoine's sword lifted away from his neck in preparation for the fatal blow. Soon his life would be over but Mary and Anne would live. That was all that mattered.

"No!" a familiar voice shouted.

Francis opened his eyes in time to see his brother's sword clashing with Antoine's. Bash threw his weight into the other man, knocking him off his feet and sending his sword flying through the air. It landed several feet away and as Antoine scrambled to get it, Bash helped Francis to his feet.

"This is my fight, little brother."

Francis stared at him in disbelief. Sweat trickled down his brother's face and he looked pale with dark circles under his eyes. "Bash, you're still recovering. I can't let you do this. Besides, it's the only way…"

"Mary lives," Bash interrupted and his eyes flashed with intensity. "Kenna told me Mary is awake and Nostradamus says she'll make a full recovery."

Francis' heart skipped a beat and his lungs constricted, making it hard to breathe. "She lives? How?"

"It doesn't matter right now. All you need to know is that she lives and you must live as well. Go be with your wife and child. Allow me to deal with this usurper."

Bash turned to Antoine. "It's me you really wish to kill. So, let's get on with it."

Antoine wiped some blood from his mouth and grinned while motioning for his soldiers to stay back. "There's nothing I would enjoy more."

Bash gripped his weapon and took a fighting stance, but looked over at Francis one more time. "Retreat to the castle, quickly. Go now!"

Francis shook his head and plucked his sword from the ground—strength renewed. "I'm not leaving your side. Brothers to the end."

"Very well." Bash shifted his focus straight ahead and gulped. "On the other hand, I may need your help after all."

Francis looked that direction in time to see Conde had dismounted his horse. Now both Bourbon brothers approached, swords drawn, with a lust for blood in their eyes.