A/N: Hello, everybody. I'm wicked excited that people are reading this and for that reason alone I've decided to make this a multi-chapter fic. I would have updated sooner but I've been having problems with my laptop so I've resorted to using our ancient family computer. I hope you enjoy and please continue to review.
Eventually Francis left Mary's bed chamber to allow her time to prepare for the evening meal and for the festivities that night. Before he left, however, he a kiss to her lips. When Mary looked at him, questioning, he merely said: "It may be a while before I'm able to do that again." And then he was gone.
Too soon, Mary thought, did the ladies in waiting arrive to help her in her preparations. As they had for the past week, the girls made weak attempts to speak highly of Tomas and of their friend and queen's engagement. Mary wished she could tell them that they need not continue in their rambling, as she would soon be rid of him, but she knew that for now her plans must stay between herself and the Dauphin.
Mary decided she would dress in white tonight. For the past few days, she had condoned herself to dark color, as though in a preemptive mourning for her own life and happiness.
She need not mourn. Not now that she had hope. The young women left Mary's chambers to make their way toward the main hall. Amongst all the noblemen and women, the political advisors, and the fabulously wealth, a single monster should be hard to spot. But, alas, Mary found herself coming face to face with her betrothed soon after her arrival.
"Mary," Tomas said as he bent to kiss her hand. The whole ordeal revolted the young queen, especially as she remembered the delicate kisses Francis had splayed across her injured arms. Injuries that this man had given to her.
However disgusted she was, she played the part of dignified woman well and allowed herself to be escorted by Tomas into the hall.
Francis found himself being pulled this way and that by his father's advisors. Men who wished to discuss the ramifications of the Queen of Scots betrothal to recently legitimized Prince of Portugal.
Some advisors thought it was for the benefit of France to be rid of such a risky alliance. Others stood fast to their opinion that there would be no other nation that would hold as firm against the English as Scotland, therefore, the Dauphin losing the Queen's hand could prove detrimental to the French.
Those few men that Francis had trusted to investigate Tomas expressed one or the other of the aforementioned opinions for appearance sake, but they knew it to be a moot point. The Dauphin would win his queen back on the virtue of the lack of virtues possessed by her current intended. It was only a matter of time, as incriminating information was flooding in all the time. Logic could not be found, therefore, there was dishonesty at play, and the skilled men of the French court would find its root and then rid the Queen of Scots of a traitor.
While in discussion Francis saw Mary walk in, not quite on the arm of Tomas, more like on his heel.
Yes, Francis understood men. They put on a show as a gentleman, but their woman would know them. Francis would never have wished his sweet Mary to know a man this way. He would never wish her to made into a victim.
From halfway across the room, Mary's dark eyes met Francis' blue. Francis gave her a small nod, one to reassure her that he would not let Tomas get out of hand. That he was supervising. Secretly, Francis was planning on returning to Mary's chambers that night to inspect whatever new bruises she would receive by evening's end. And to kiss them away, if she would allow it.
Tomas noticed Mary sharing a glance with Francis and yanked her to the dance floor. Mary's white gown spun out as she was turned by Tomas. Francis thought that Mary looked lovely in white, but he was also sure that Tomas' thoughts were far away from that ball room, that they were in a Portuguese bedchamber on his and Mary's wedding night. That he were imagining a white gown discarded on the floor and his hands roaming the skin of an inexperienced young woman. The knowledge disgusted Francis, who was only able to regain composure when he thought that the only things that Mary did have experience with was a direct result of him, Francis, and that it would never be Tomas and Mary's wedding night.
Francis continued to admire his beautiful bride while ensuring that her fiancé did not cross the line.
Throughout the night Mary stole glances at Francis. Tomas noticed the vast majority of these exchanges, and nearing the end of the night, he had had enough.
"Mary, come with me," he whispered, venomously. Mary, frightened, glanced blatantly once more towards Francis, who, as luck would have it, was not looking at her but speaking with yet another advisor. Angered by this last ditch effort Mary made in summoning Francis, he grabbed her chin harshly to direct her gaze towards him.
"You look at me from now on. Now, come." And with that Mary was being pulled out of the room and into the corridor outside.
Francis had had the same conversation so many times that night that he no longer needed to truly focus on what the speaker was saying. Instead he could focus his attention on Mary, with frequent periodical inspections. When the time came for yet another, and he looked to the dance floor, she simply wasn't there. Frantic, he quickly looked about the room, only to catch sight of a snowy gown and raven hair trailing out the doors.
With disrespect for propriety, Francis abandoned his conversation and quickly made his way out of the ballroom, perhaps shoving a number of individuals out of the way in the process.
When he was finally out he found Mary in a compromising position. Back shoved to the wall, arms ram rod straight at her sides, and eyes wide in shock and fright and displeasure, Tomas was attacking her with a kiss.
Francis didn't know what to do, didn't know if his actions would make things worse for Mary. When Tomas pulled away from the kiss, he began laying his mouth on her neck. Francis heard mumbling, and from he understood, it seemed to be a mantra of "you're mine". Francis was unable to bring himself to move until he saw Tomas touch Mary's breast. And then he remembered that under no circumstances should Mary be touched like that by anyone. Not when anyone could walk out and see them. Not when he, Francis, loved her. Selfishly, as she would not be his first anything, he wanted to be her first everything. And Tomas just took that away from him. From her. From pure, innocent Mary.
"Stop!" Francis yelled. It echoed though the empty corridor. And Tomas did.
He stepped away from a horrified Mary and slowly started towards Francis.
"Your highness," Tomas said conversationally, if not a bit condescendingly.
"Your highness," Francis mimicked, smiling slyly. Tomas grimaced.
"What you don't seem to understand is that Mary is my property, no matter how many touches you steal." And with that, Tomas hit Francis across the face.
Unprepared for the blow, Francis knees gave out from beneath him and he fell to the stone floor.
"Francis!" Mary cried. She began to run towards the fallen prince when Tomas forbade her to move. She stopped in her tracks.
Francis was on the floor, attempting to keep pressure on his aching cheek. He looked at Tomas in disgust. "She can do whatever she likes," Francis spat. And with an expression softened tenfold, he looked at Mary and said: "Mary, come see me, if you like."
Mary flew across the floor to kneel beside him. "Are you alright?" She whispered. Francis smiled slightly and removed his hand from his cheek.
"I'll be alright. There's no blood, see? No real harm done. No need to worry."
At this point the footfalls and laughter of those exiting the hall could be heard about twenty feet behind where Mary and Francis were sitting on the ground. Gasps could be heard soon after. When the king finally made his way out and looked upon the scene, he demanded: "Tell me: what is the nature of this?"
The Prince of Portugal gathered himself and said politely but authoritatively: "I was merely having a discussion with my fiancée, away from the distraction of the party." King Henry looked quite impatient and dissatisfied with the response.
"Yes, very well, but what is his highness," the king looked sharply in the direction of Francis and Mary, "doing on the ground?"
Tomas chuckled as though amused by a child. "It seems as though the Dauphin lacks a certain grace. He merely lost his footing when he left the festivities himself. Her Grace, a gentle woman, really, went to ensure his wellbeing."
The King was clearly unhappy. "I see. But I do not particularly recall my son being a clumsy fool, that seems to be the only bit of controversy in your explanation."
"That's because I am not a clumsy fool," Francis said as he hauled himself off the ground. He offered a hand down to Mary.
"Don't!" Tomas bellowed. All eyes were upon him now.
"I mean…I am perfectly capable of helping my own fiancée. Allow me."
Tomas quickly made his way over to Mary and Francis, but Francis was quicker. He had Mary off the ground before Tomas had made it a quarter of the way. Tomas stopped and glared. The tension could be sliced with a knife, until finally.
"Mary," Lola stepped forward. "I mean: your Grace. It's quite late, let us go up to your chambers." Mary took her out quickly and left with her friends. Everyone else stayed.
"Francis: come." The king said.
The crowd dispersed and Tomas was left seething.