MARY

It doesn't take long for me to accommodate myself in my new chambers, away from Francis. The servants help me unpack my belongings and help me get settled in, but it can't help but feel strange to me. Five years of marriage…gone. Already my husband feels like a stranger to me, and I can't even look at him anymore without my grief and anger threatening to choke me.

"Do you need anything else, Your Majesty?" one of the servants asks me.

"No thank you. I'm fine," I answer. I offer her a smile before dismissing her and the others. This is for the best, I tell myself. My marriage is in shambles. There is nothing for me here in France, except for my children. I step outside the balcony, looking over the kingdom of France. The sky is a red-purple hue as the sun sets in the horizon. Francis and I would often look at the sunset after making love. His arms would be wrapped around me while he would whisper words of love in my ear. I am unable to get it out my head: the memories of us together and madly in love, his hands exploring my body as we move together as one between the twisted sheets.

I shake my head furiously. Of course it's natural for a wife to miss her husband, but what Francis and I share—shared—together was different. I don't know how to really explain it in a way that could be understood. I pull out a small box from my bedside table and just as I'm about to place my ring inside of it, the sun's rays shine upon it and on the inside, I can make out some markings. Markings? I turn my wedding ring around in my fingers. The markings are an inscription in beautiful calligraphy, etched in the ring: mon amour. My love. Oh god. Tears burn in my eyes and I hastily put the ring inside the box, throw the box inside the drawer, and close it before my emotions have the chance to overwhelm me. I make for the door, but when I open it, my children are at the door. Their eyes are wide and curious, but with a tinge of sadness.

"Mommy, what's happening?" Anne asks. "Why are you and Papa so sad?" I kneel down so I'm level with her and her siblings. "Do you not love Papa anymore, Mommy? Why don't you live together anymore?"

"Ever since Aimi went away," I begin, "it's been hard on me and Papa."

"Are you getting a divorce?" James chokes, tears filling in his eyes. Next to him, Catherine and Anne look as though they are about to burst into tears at just the word divorce.

"No, no, no. No, darling, Mama and Papa aren't divorcing," I assure my son. Even as I say the words, I can't help but feel an emptiness on my left hand where my wedding ring is supposed to be. Could I truly bring myself to file a divorce? Could I do that to the children? Could I honestly do that to Francis? "Do you remember the story of Swan Lake?" My daughters' eyes lighten up with excitement and they nod enthusiastically. "Aimi's…departure is an evil spell cast upon us by a group of very bad people," I explain slowly. "It won't turn me into a swan, of course, but it's still keeping us apart."

"Won't true love's kiss break the spell?" Catherine squeals. Oh, how I wish it were that simple…but I'm not sure if Francis and I are meant to get our happily-ever-after. Not after all that's happened.

"Maybe," I manage. I ruffle her hair, and that of her brother and sister as well. "I love your father…and I think I always will." But Francis and I aren't Derek and Odette. What we're going through is not because of an evil spell that can only be broken by true love's kiss. Our lives are not a fairytale. What we're going through is real and one kiss won't make all of our problems go away. "Run along now, darling, and have fun." I kiss her hair and hug the rest of my children goodbye. I watch as they run off together, playing and giggling together, before closing the door to my rooms behind me. I sit down by the window, letting my thoughts drift. I must have dozed off eventually, for when I awake, Francis is in the room, putting logs and kindling into the fireplace.

"Francis, what are you doing here?" I ask groggily.

"I wanted to check in on you and see how you were settling in," my husband answers. "Are you cold? Is there anything you need?"

"I'm fine, thank you," I say, not unkindly. "How long are we going to keep playing this game?"

"I don't understand." Francis is unable to meet my eyes while he lights the fire. I bite back a sigh before I continue.

"I told you that we would lead separate lives, and yet you come here with something to keep me comfortable," I point out. "You don't say anything, but I can feel you pressing me to talk…and it's only been a couple of hours since I moved into these chambers."

"You're wrong. I don't expect you to do anything you don't want to do," Francis tells me. "If I could undo the decisions I made all those years ago knowing the consequences, I would do so in a heartbeat – but I can't."

"No, you can't," I agree.

"Mary—"

"Please, get out." I say the words shortly, rising from my seat at the window. "Francis, you're not making this any easier. Get out and just leave me alone. If there's anything I need, I'll send for you. Please…go. Just go." My husband reluctantly obliges. He looks over his shoulder at me one last time before he closes the door behind him.

FRANCIS

The days pass quietly. I distract myself from my thoughts and from Mary by throwing myself into the politics of court and spending time with my children. Mary is with them sometimes, and yet, the distance between us only grows with every passing day. I feel as though I'm a stranger to my own wife; the only thing keeping us bound to one another is our love for our children.

"Your Majesty, did you hear me?" one of the noblemen asks me. My small council, the noblemen, my wife, and I sit at the table in the councilor's chambers. Sitting across from me is Mary. My wife has refused to look me in the eye the entire time the council has been in session.

"I'm sorry. I've just been distracted," I say hastily. "What is it?" The noble looks at me wearily.

"Some of us are concerned that the alliance with England has cost France too much financially," he says. "England is allegedly the wealthiest kingdom and most powerful, with or without the French-Scottish alliance."

"Be that as it may, my lord," Mary interjects, "I have the feeling your reservations about the alliance are more than just the financials. What's really bothering you?" The nobleman fidgets, visibly uneasy with the prospect of giving voice to his true thoughts.

"I-I fear that Queen Elizabeth may turn her sights to conquering France," he stammers. "There have been rumors that she is no longer satisfied with the treaty."

"And just where have you heard these rumors?" I press him. No answer.

"Francis," my wife says warningly.

"Should I leave you two alone?" the nobleman asks. He looks awkwardly between the two of us. I can feel Mary's concern radiating off her; there's no doubt that the rumors will begin circulating around court after this.

"Please," Mary answers curtly. He and the other members of the council exchange puzzled looks before taking their leave of us. Once the room is empty, Mary rises out of her seat. "What the hell do you think you're doing, Francis?" she demands.

"I'm trying to help you," I reply. "I realize that you want us to live separately, but we can't be apart in all things." I rise from my seat and circle around the table so we're face to face with one another.

"I'm well aware of this, thank you," my wife snaps. "It doesn't mean I like it, though." She shakes her head. "I'm sorry," she says quietly. "I didn't…I shouldn't have said that."

"It's okay," I whisper. "Mary, we can't do this forever."

"I know that, Francis. I know that."

"Then why won't you let me help you?" I ask.

"Francis, when I look at you and I see your love for me in your eyes…it hurts," Mary murmurs. "It hurts, knowing how much you love me and how it was that love that brought us here."

"I'm so sorry." My voice is just above a whisper and for a moment, I'm not sure if Mary has even heard me until she draws closer to me. I take her hand in mine, stroking her hand with my thumb. My wife's eyes are closed and her breathing is uneven. I have become so attuned to her responses to me that I know she feels the pull between us despite her efforts to push me away. I reach for her, brushing a knuckle down her cheek.

"Francis," she breathes. She holds my wrist in place as she melts into my touch.

"I love you, Mary," I say quietly.

"I know," my wife says. I stroke her jaw with my thumb, running my fingers down her lips. She opens her eyes and stares at me intently. The tension between us simmers in the air…and then Mary grabs my face in her hands and kisses me.

MARY

I can no longer resist the cosmic pull between us. Francis returns my kiss with a passion equal to my own, his hands entangling in my hair. His lips move to my neck as he unzips my black leather jacket. I roll my shoulders and my jacket glides down my arms, falling to the floor with a sigh.

"Francis," I moan. I break our kiss before taking him by the hand, leading him back to my chambers. I kick the door closed behind us before reaching for the hems of my tank-top and pulling it over my head. I toss it to the floor and Francis's mouth is on mine once again. I reach underneath his shirt, stroking his sculpted chest with my fingers before helping him discard the unwanted material. I immediately drop to my knees, peppering his chest with kisses. I've just barely begun to fumble with his belt buckle when my husband takes my hands in his and pulls me to my feet.

"Mary, my love," Francis says gently. "You are a queen. You are my queen. You don't belong on your knees." He takes my face in his hands; the air between us is electricity and charged with sex. "It is I whom should be on my knees before you. Worshipping you with my mouth. Loving you." He gently spins me around so my back presses against him. His arousal presses against my ass and I bite my lip. Slowly, my husband unclasps my bra all while his lips brush against my back. I remove my bra and toss it to the floor, baring my breasts.

"You are my beloved," he murmurs into my skin. "My soul is yours." I close my eyes as I lose myself in the sensations of his mouth and hands on my body. I am dimly aware of anything else as Francis rises so we are level with one another, his lips and hands never leaving my body. "I love you, Mary." Words elude me, so I capture his lips in a kiss. I take several steps backward, guiding us to the bed. Francis gently sets me down so I'm lying with my back pressed to the mattress and he kisses me again. Our passion ignites into an untamed wildfire and we are soon skin-to-skin, as naked as we were the days we were born. My husband breaks our kiss and gazes into my eyes, stroking my face with his palm. I hold his face between my fingertips as he runs his thumb down my lips and to my chin. He bows his head to kiss me; it isn't long before I am overcome by the sensations brought about by his hands and mouth.

Francis kisses my neck, just below my ear, and I arch in pleasure. My fingers entangle in his lush, golden curls as I urge him lower. My husband kisses every patch of skin he passes; he doesn't dare leave one part of me that is not worshipped. A wordless sigh slips past my lips as he works his way down my body.

"Francis," I whisper. "Please, I need…" My husband rubs his nose in my chest, his mouth gliding effortlessly over my bare skin. "I need you," I murmur. "Please." My pleas are answered as Francis kisses the insides of my thighs before prying my legs apart. He buries his head between my legs and laps insistently at my clit, driving me insane with desire. I throw an arm over my head as a powerful orgasm washes over me in waves and I scream in ecstasy. My husband becomes one with me, our bodies joined together in passion, and begins to build a steady rhythm in his thrusts. Our legs entangle together beneath the twisted sheets and I eagerly meet his thrusts with my own. I kiss my husband feverishly and our tongues engage in an erotic tango for dominance. Our lovemaking is urgent and desperate and passionate with an unspoken need for one another. Every moment spent apart is sheer agony for us both and yet, the loss of our son is too much to bear.

Francis whispers words of love in French into my skin and my body ignites at his every touch, his every kiss, and his every caress. We make love until our world explodes in passion and we fall asleep in each other's arms.

FRANCIS

I watch my wife as she sleeps in my arms. How did things get so fucked up between us? I can vividly remember when we were nothing but a boy and a girl in love – and things were so much easier. I brush my lips against Mary's neck before gently shifting her out of my arms. I am no fool; she will not want to see me still in her bed when she wakes. She still blames me for our son's death and in spite of our lovemaking, she has not yet forgiven me for my part – and truth be told, I haven't forgiven myself either. I get dressed and quietly leave my wife in peace, closing the door behind me.

MARY

When I awaken, I am dismayed to find that Francis has left me. I reach a hand out to the other side of the bed, only to feel the impression in the mattress where my husband should be. My body aches and tingles from our lovemaking. All I can think of is how much I miss my husband…and not just because of the sex. When we were making love, Francis's eyes were filled with such love and awe that my heart broke.

I still love you, Francis.