MARY
The rumors begin to swirl around court over the next few weeks. I can hear the servants and the nobles talking about my marriage; my husband was seen leaving my chambers after he made love to me only hours after the disastrous privy council meeting. For a moment, I wonder briefly if he's heard the rumors as well. All of court already knows of our estrangement; it's a miracle that the presses haven't raided Versailles just to interview us. I still remember how the media hounded us after Bash's death and the deaths of Catherine and Henri afterwards.
I make my way through the halls in search of Francis. As I pass by various nobles and other members of the court, it is impossible to ignore their curious, but also sympathetic stares. They whisper to one another as I pass. Although I make sure it doesn't show on my face, I am confused by their reactions. What are they whispering about behind my back? There is not a doubt in my mind that it's about my marriage, but what is so bad that my own people are giving me pitiful stares?
My question is answered when I step into the throne room. The hall is filled with members of the court, or to be more precise, various noblemen and their daughters. I push my way through the crowd, ignoring their piteous eyes on me. When I finally reach my husband, he is engaged in conversation with a nobleman and a woman who I presume is his daughter.
"…My beautiful Eva just turned eighteen this month," her father says proudly. "I could go on and on about her, but my daughter can speak for herself." Eva giggles flirtatiously before she speaks. She flips her dark brown hair over her shoulders, exposing her neck to my husband.
"I love poetry and reading," she begins. "I used to be engaged to someone, but it didn't end up working out, so my father decided that maybe it was best that we live in court. My mother was heavily involved in the politics of court before she passed away."
"I'm sorry for your loss," says Francis gently. "I'm sure your mother was a great woman."
"I was sorry to hear about the death of your son," Eva adds quickly. "How tragic…and on top of that, things seem to be rough between you and Queen Mary. Your Majesty, I give you my word that I would never betray you as she did." She places her hand upon his chest and gazes intently into his eyes. Just seeing her with her hands on my husband makes me want to retch. A surge of jealousy fires through my veins. Francis is my husband, not hers. Weeks ago, he was making love to me and whispering words of love in my ear. Against my will, an image of Francis in bed with Eva as he makes love to her comes unbidden in my mind.
I clear my throat and they spring apart. Eva turns around to see me and she bows before me. I plaster a fake and cheerful smile upon my face. "What a surprise!" I gasp. "I didn't realize how well acquainted you were with my husband."
"Well, Your Majesty," she says, "King Francis keeps great company. I hope I get to know him better."
I chuckle. "Of course, nobody knows the king as well as his wife." Eva must realize my underlying meaning behind my words, for there is a flicker of pain in her eyes. I cup Francis's face between my hands and kiss him passionately for all to see. I sense my husband's surprise and hesitation, but it isn't long before he kisses me back. When we finally break apart, we are both breathless. My husband tucks a strand of hair behind my ear as I caress his cheeks with my fingertips.
"What was that?" he asks. Wordlessly, I pull away and I walk out of the throne room. Francis follows me, shouting my name. I whirl around to face him, a sudden fury engulfing me.
"What the hell did you think you were doing with her?" I demand.
"What was that for?" demands Francis at the same time. "Why kiss me? I thought things were over between us!"
"Did it ever occur to you that I hated seeing you with her?" I scream.
"Why the hell do you suddenly care about who I'm with?" my husband retorts.
"Because I love you!" The hall falls silent and my words hang in the air between us. Francis and I stare at each other for several long moments, for we both know that this was the first time I'd said that I loved him since the death of our son. I've been pushing him away and denying my true feelings for him for so long that even I'm surprised to hear the words tumble out of my mouth. My husband rushes forward, cupping my face in his hands, and kisses me passionately. I eagerly return his kiss, the fire between us igniting into an untamed wildfire. The kiss lasts for several long moments before we pull apart. Wordlessly, I take him by the hand and lead him to my chambers.
FRANCIS
Our limbs entangled together beneath the sheets, we lie together peacefully. The only sounds filling the room are the crackling of the fireplace and our breathing. Mary raises herself up on one elbow and gazes at me intently. Her hand glides lightly across my chest and for several long moments, she doesn't say anything and nor do I.
"You stayed with me," she whispers. "You left me after the last time we made love."
"I didn't think you wanted to see me," I tell her honestly. "Mary, do you still blame me for our son's death?"
"Francis, the loss of our son still pains me beyond words," my wife says, "but…I can't do this anymore. Seeing you with Eva hurt me more than I can say." I take her hand in mine and kiss each of her fingers, stopping suddenly when I reach her vacant ring finger.
"You're not wearing your wedding ring." It isn't a question. The ring I gave her on our wedding day, conjoined with the ruby diamond engagement ring I gave her when I proposed to her, is absent from her finger. Mary says nothing, and pulls her hand away.
"After I moved into these chambers, I took it off," she says slowly. She shakes her head. "Francis, what do you want? Where do you want this—us—to go? It's like we're married but unmarried…"
"Mary, you know that I love you," I tell her. "If you want to give our marriage another chance, I'll take that chance with you. I want to take that chance with you." My wife's eyes shimmer with raw emotion. A single tear streaks down her cheek. I reach for her, tenderly wiping away her tear with my thumb.
"I love you too, Francis," Mary whispers. "I do. It's just…Aimi's death. It hurts too much. I know you were just trying to protect us from the Citadel, but it doesn't make it any less painful."
"He was my son too," I say quietly.
"I don't know if I can lose anyone else," my wife confesses. She looks down from me and I gently tilt her head up so she looks back at me.
"You're not going to lose me, love," I assure her. "I promise you." For several long moments, Mary says nothing. She finally gives me a soft, lingering kiss before she rests her head upon my shoulder. I wrap my arms around her and, for the first time in a long time, I feel that there might be hope for us yet.
We spend the rest of the day and all night in each other's arms, making love and slowly coming back to one another. My wife is as responsive to my touch and eager as ever, and I whisper to her how much I love her. Afterwards, we lie together, our limbs entangled beneath the sheets.
"I never hated you, Francis," says Mary softly. "Not truly. For so long, I thought I did."
"It's okay, my love," I tell her. "Let's not talk about the past, okay?" She nods and kisses me softly. I kiss her back, my hands moving into her dark, damp tresses. "I want us to move forward in our marriage."
"I want that too," my wife agrees. "I love you, Francis."
"Where do you want us to go from here?" I ask. "Do you want to move back into my chambers or do you still need some time to think?"
"I'm not ready for that yet," she tells me honestly. "I'm sorry."
"Don't worry about it," I say. "It's okay." As disappointed as I am, I understand. I want us to begin again, but I won't push her to do anything she isn't ready to do. "We'll do things on your time, my love. If it means being with you, I can wait forever."
"Forever is a very long time, you know," Mary says, and brushes her lips against mine.
"I love you forever," I whisper.
"I love you too."
MARY
We make love again and when I finally awaken, I'm disappointed to find Francis's side of the bed vacant. Where he is supposed to be, there is a small note atop of his pillow. I recognize my husband's calligraphic script instantly:
You looked so beautiful and so at peace that I didn't want to wake you. I'll be back soon, my beloved. I've gone to visit our son.
I love you.
Aimi's grave, I realize with a jolt. He's gone to our son's grave. I hurriedly get dressed and make my way to the cemetery. My husband kneels at our son's grave, stroking his headstone with his fingertips. I sit at his side and he looks at me, his eyes pained.
"I don't think I can ever forgive myself for this, Mary," he confesses. "You said it yourself. I took things into my own hands and our son died because of it."
"Francis….no," I whisper. "I said more than I meant. I was grieving and angry." I reach for him and gently rub small circles into his back. "You need to forgive yourself. There is no way you could've known what Serena was going to do."
"She threatened you. She threatened our children," Francis reminds me, "and I still couldn't protect Aimeri." Tears brim in his eyes and spill down his cheeks. "It's my fault. It's my fault that our son is dead. I am so sorry, Mary. I—"
"No, no, no," I murmur, taking him in my arms. "It's not your fault, my love. It's not your fault. I forgive you. I forgive you." I kiss his hair as he begins to sob brokenly in my arms. "Shhh, shhh. It's okay, Francis. I forgive you. I forgive you."
I forgive you.
FRANCIS
My sobs gradually slow to shudders. I pull away from Mary and wipe my tears with the back of my hand. My wife's face, too, is streaked with tears. She takes my hand in hers, gently stroking the outside of my hand with her thumb.
"I love you, Francis," she says softly.
"I love you too," I say. We rise to our feet and make our way back to Versailles, our fingers interlaced together. For several long moments, we don't say anything. It is not an uncomfortable silence, but rather a silence of acknowledgement. The sun begins to rise in the distance, painting the sky in a hue of scarlet and violet in the early dawn. I recognize our surroundings; this is the very same meadow where I asked Mary to marry me all those years ago. My wife's hand drifts to the plane of her stomach, but falls as quickly as it rose. Is she…pregnant? The thought springs to my mind and instantaneously fills me with joy and heartbreak. Joy, because I love her. Heartbreak, because our son is gone from this world forever. I love this woman with all my heart. I love Mary more than anything and I've spent so long convinced that I'd lost her forever. I would do anything for her and the things I've done for love, for her, it scares me sometimes when I think about it. Would I take any of it back? No, not for her. I love her too much.
"Penny for your thoughts?" my wife says, breaking my reverie. "What's on your mind?"
"I was just thinking about…us," I answer honestly, "and how much I love you." I stop and turn to her. "I know that things between us have been difficult over these past few weeks, and I understand if you don't want to do this."
"Do what?" she asks. "I don't understand."
"I love you, Mary Stuart," I continue. "We both know that. I've loved you from the moment I first laid eyes upon you when you returned to court so long ago, and I fall in love you all over again with each day that we spend together. We've been through a lot together, and I don't want to go another day without you by my side." I sink down onto one knee and pull out her wedding ring. Mary gasps and tears spill down her cheeks.
"Francis..."
"Will you marry me again?"
"Yes!" she exclaims. "Oh my god, yes!" I slide her wedding band back upon her ring finger and rise, taking her in my arms as we kiss and laugh together and revel in our joy.