First of all: Thank you for not having given up on this story. Life has turned out to be busier than expected, and I'm obviously struggling with finding time (and motivation) to write. That said, I hope – even if this chapter can't be worth waiting for it for so long – you enjoy it. And once again: thank you!
Oh, and it's not the final chapter yet.

(I've copied the last part of the previous chapter again, since it's been ages)
"Mary."
She wanted to keep her eyes shut as she felt Francis sit down beside her, knowing she would not survive seeing him – him knowing everything she had done – now.
"Mary, please. Let me look at you."
Her need for him was stronger than for life, stronger than for sanity.
"I'm so sorry." Shivering, Mary opened her eyes.

It was him. Alive and more beautiful than she remembered, his eyes wide and awake with joy, sorrow, and something she had just buried every hope for: love.

"My queen." Francis smiled as he carefully reached out to take her hand and kiss it. "Words cannot describe how much I missed you. And how much I admire you for everything you did." His eyes widened in concern as Mary flinched, tears in her eyes. "Are you alright?"
"You have to hate me." She pressed the words through clenched teeth, trying her best not to cry. Everything you did. How could he admire her for sleeping with his brother? This was what Lola had meant when describing this place: it was not predetermined as heaven or hell, it was the road that led to one of those realms – and while seeing Bash and Lola and even the two old queens had given her some kind of comfort, had shown her a piece of heaven, maybe – Francis would condemn her to hell. He had to, after all she had done.

"Hate you?" Francis shook his head, suddenly looking pained. "Why… how could I ever hate you?" He searched for her glance as Mary pulled back her hand but she kept her eyes on the emptiness beneath her. "Because I deserve it."
It wasn't Francis who sentenced her to eternal pain and grief, she realized. It had happened long ago, and it had been she herself. Every day of her life without him – and some days even when he'd been alive – she had caused him pain, had wounded the beautiful, unconditional love he had carried for her.
"I'm sorry." There were no tears left to cry, so Mary just closed her eyes, unable to look at Francis, unwilling to look at anything else. "I know I hurt you. I did terrible things. I should never have left France, I should never have called for Bash and… I'm so sorry. I should have…"
"Died with me?" Francis' voice was flat, tired. She knew that tone, knew it as well as the shape of his limbs, the color of his eyes, the beating of her own heart. He must have had this argument with himself long ago.
"I did." Mary swallowed. "At least…the part of me that believed in beauty, and justice, and… god. That part died with you."
"Well, I'm glad to tell you it hasn't, or you wouldn't be here right now." A gentle brush to her hair, much more real than the sudden light-headed voice. "I would never want you to suffer, Mary. Especially not because of me. Do you really think so little of me to wish you grief for the rest of your life?"
"No, but…"
"I want you to be happy That's everything I've ever wanted, from the moment you stepped out of that carriage looking like a frightened angel fallen from heaven itself!" Francis grabbed both of her hands. "Look at me, Mary. Please. I've missed those eyes for too long."
"I missed yours more", she whispered, and obeyed, only to blink in shock when she saw him kneeling in front of her. "Francis, what are…"
"When I felt I was dying, I thought leaving you was the worst part. Never seeing you again, never feeling you in my arms, never dreaming with you… but I was wrong." He was taking her in, every inch of her as he spoke, his voice shivering with emotion. "The worst part was seeing you suffer. I saw you cry, I heard you, every night… and I could do nothing to help you." Now it was Francis looking away, choked up. "It was like when you were raped", he murmured, "you were in so much pain and I couldn't get through to you. Only that now there was no Condé to save you. God, how I wished for that bastard to return… I would have done anything for you to be happy again. I hoped, prayed, that someone would release you. I tried to talk to Nostradamus in his dreams, I asked him to give you something that would make you forget… forget everything that happened. Us. Me." Francis took a shaking breath. "Anything to see your smile once again. And you really think that seeing you happy, finally, would make me angry?" His eyes found hers, and in them Mary saw the same blending of love, sorrow and rage that used to fill her whenever she thought about him. There was too much pain, on both sides, to be spoken.
But maybe it wasn't too much to be mended.

"I would not have taken it", she said, quietly but calmly. Francis looked at her, bewildered. "What do you…"
"The potion, the herbs, whatever Nostradamus might have given me." Mary waited for a moment to let her words sink in, and a memory came up in her mind: the seer standing in front of the grave, talking about a dream, asking her to allow herself to forget should her mind grant her the chance.
Her answer now was the same she had given back then:
"I would never trade any moment we had. I would not give away any single memory, not for all the happiness in the world. What we had was true, and it was right. Erasing it would have meant erasing everything good in my life, everything good I had become."
"You're wrong." Francis shook his head, but at least there was a faint smile blooming on his lips. "Mary, you were always good. You were always brave, and clever, and protective over those trusting in you. With me, and without me." He shook his head again as Mary wanted to protest, "it doesn't matter anymore, anyway. We're here now. I don't know how you feel about this place, but I'm ready to leave. There is nothing left on earth for me."
She forced herself to smile, burying all the words that still needed to be said. Not now. For reasons she didn't understand god had shown mercy on her, much more than she deserved. If hell would claim her, at least she'd have this: she had met Francis again, and had seen him smile, and had felt his skin on hers.
Not enough, though.

"For me neither. And it hasn't been for too long." She moved forward, boldly at first and then shyly as Francis hesitated for a moment before he moved, too, touching his fingers to her cheekbones and his lips to hers.

"I love you so much." Funny how even in death, Francis' kisses took her breath away. And how her dead body reacted, butterflies dancing, heat radiating through her.
"I love you, my queen. Maybe that is all we are given to do."
Mary frowned. "Since when is that not enough for you?" Just the hint of a tease, but Francis smiled nevertheless. His eyes, however, remained serious.
"I've often remembered what you said when we started over after Condé. I didn't want to accept it while I was alive, but… I've understood by now that you were right." He shook his head, sadly. "I can't save you. I never could. And you couldn't save me, from dying at least. You said this was out of our power, and that all we could do was loving each other. And loving you, Mary Stuart, is what I've done since I first saw you. And what I will do as long as I exist."

"That is more than enough." Mary pulled her husband close, broke every distance between them. Francis held her tightly, as if afraid she would be taken from him again. Her lips skimmed his shoulders, the line of his throat while his found her ear, both eager to lose themselves in each other again, to find themselves again – to regain everything that had been taken by death.

"So… I take it you're… reunited?"
Mary bolted away, heat rushing to her cheeks. Francis grinned. "Bash. You could have knocked."
"You see a door around here?" Bash grinned back at his brother, mischievously like when they'd been children. "And I did clear my throat, several times… you just didn't hear me." His smile didn't fade when he looked at Mary. "I'm sorry to interrupt. But we should go."
"I guess you're right." Francis looked at him with deep affection. "Let's find out what comes beyond the night."