Dread pulled at her, fraying the seams of her already fragile soul, separating her into two halves of a fractured whole. She fought them both, refusing to choose one side over the other, trying to allow her humanity to win out over the anguish that threatened to engulf her. But already she felt the despair of her situation choking her like fingers around the tender skin of her neck, seeping the air from her lungs. Her hands shook, one palm pressed into her shaking lips, hoping to find comfort within the warmth of her own skin. But there was no comfort to be found. Not anymore.
More than anything Mary had wanted to stand her ground, be strong and brave and face Francis and Lola head on. Show them her relief that they were alive and safe. That their child, their child, had made a safe arrival into this twisted world. But the sight of Francis, his arm draped protectively over Lola's shoulder as she cradled their baby, propelled her from their sights, back into the safety of her chambers to be alone.
Alone. She had never felt more alone in her life.
Mary turned to the windows, seeking solace in the crisp morning air, breathing in the salt the wind carried over from the sea. It did nothing to quell the nausea that rose within her. She wanted so badly to be accepting of Francis and Lola's situation, of the new baby that she would have to make a place for in her life as her husband's child, but she wasn't quite ready to be that strong. She wanted a few more minutes to fall apart.
A soft knock sounded on her door and Mary's heart skipped a beat.
"Yes?" Even to her own ears her voice held clear apprehension.
The young guard appeared looking cautious. "Your Grace," he bowed. "King Francis and Lady Lola have not been infected. Lady Lola is resting in her rooms with her babe. She's asking for you."
"And King Francis?" Her voice shook as his name left her lips.
The guard stuttered. "I'm not sure, your Grace."
Mary nodded, pushing down the rise of anguish that threatened to engulf her. "Please tell Lady Lola that I will be down in a moment."
With a nod he closed the door and left her to spend her final minutes of solitude preparing herself for what was about to come. Preparing herself to meet her husband's child.
"I can feel myself growing harder, and I worry that I'm becoming someone that you will not love."
"Then don't. Don't grow harder. Share your burdens. If we can't forgive each other perhaps we can forgive ourselves."
He had made it sound so simple. So easy. But Mary wasn't sure she was ready to forgive herself. Ready to forgive him. The burning hatred inside her had seared itself to her soul in a way she wasn't sure she would be able to rid. Steeling herself with the last ounces of fleeting bravery in her body, Mary swallowed and left the safety of her rooms.
A guard stood watch outside Lola's door and bowed when Mary reached his gaze. "Lady Lola is expecting you, your Grace," he said as he swung the door outwards for her, allowing her a brief glimpse into the room before taking a step over the threshold.
Lola was so engaged in the bundle in her arms that she didn't even notice Mary's entrance, eyes never leaving the face of the baby tucked into the safe crook of her arm, mouth cooing soft noises to shush the silent child. She approached slowly, absorbing the gravity of the moment.
"You look well," she heard herself say.
Lola glanced up, startled at Mary's silent entrance. "Mary!" she proclaimed.
Mary smiled softly and slowly approached the side of the bed, her eyes finding the child for the first time. It was a little thing, pink skin flush against the cotton of the blanket it was wrapped in. Eyes closed, mouth puckering. A soft tuft of downy blonde hair against the crown of its head, little fists in balls against the sides of its face.
"It's a boy," Lola proclaimed with pride and happiness, but quickly stifled her expression of joy at the look on Mary's face.
"Are you well? You and the baby?" Mary asked, her eyes not leaving the sleeping child.
Lola waited for Mary's dark eyes to meet her light, but Mary only had eyes for the baby.
"Yes," Lola said slowly. "Tired and sore. But happy to be home. Thanks to you, Mary. We never would have made it home if it weren't for…."
His name hung in the air between them. Mary finally looked away from the baby at the absence of his name.
"Thank you, for sending help."
Mary smiled. "I tried to come myself. But with the outbreak…" Her sentence trailed off.
"Of course," Lola nodded.
Mary stilled, eyes trailing back to the sleeping bundle. "His name?"
"I thought that Francis might want…." Lola swallowed. She knew that sharing a baby with her best friends husband would not be ideal, but she hoped that the awkwardness would quickly disappear. "We haven't picked anything yet. Everything happened so quickly."
She tried to ignore the pang of hurt the word 'we' caused and managed a small nod instead of words. Hesitantly, Mary reached out a hand toward the child, the back of her index finger softly stroking the new skin of the baby's face. The child stirred at the contact, button nose turning in her direction, feathery eyelashes blinking against the pale skin beneath, stirring from some far off slumber. Mary had plenty of experience with babies before but this one felt different. There was a strange sense of attachment battling against a bitter resentment.
"Would you like to hold him?"
Mary withdrew her hand. "I…" She was at a loss for words. "I really have to be going." She took a step back with regret as Lola's face fell in disappointment. "But I'm glad that you're back, Lola. And I'm glad that you and the baby are safe and healthy. Truly."
She forced a smile onto her face and retreated as quickly as she could without running, blindly turning corners until she found an empty corridor, pressed her back into the cold stone of the castle wall, and wept as she slid into a heap on the floor. Conflict ripped her apart. Mary hated the fact that she resented the child. Hated the fact that she resented Francis for choosing Lola and the baby over her. Over his country. Their country. Hated that she had lost everything decent and human about herself. She longed for the girl she was when she first arrived in France. Young and carefree and wild. Filled with hope about the years to come. Now all she felt was dread.
Tears stained lines down the plains of her face as she tucked her knees into her chest and buried her head against the bones, sobbing into the fabric of her dress.
"Mary." His voice was like a whisper from the dead, far off and dreamlike, a hush of syllables from anguished lips. "Mary."
He crouched at her feet, hands touching any inch of her he could, revelling in the feel of her beneath him again. It had felt like so long that they had been apart.
She didn't dare look up, humiliated by her breakdown. She was the Queen. She could feel his hands tracing circles into the exposed skin of her arms, touching the down of her hair, relishing the feel of her after so long. He hadn't felt at home until the moment he touched her.
"Mary," he pried again, his thumb and finger finding the tender spot beneath her chin and lifting so he could finally see her eyes.
Her sobs quieted while she absorbed the sight of him before her. "Do you hate me?"
Confusion knotted itself between his eyes. "Hate you? Mary how could I ever hate you?"
"I knew that Lola was carrying your child. I knew and I kept it from you."
Francis sighed cupped her face between his palms. "Lola explained everything, Mary. Explained that she made you keep the baby a secret. I don't hate you, Mary. I love you."
Her eyes held a sense of disbelief.
"You must hate me though. For leaving you with all of this on your own. I'm so sorry, Mary, so sorry. You told me that you felt yourself growing harder. In truth I felt myself doing the same. I don't want to be my father. I want to be a good King. I want to be a good husband. And I am going to do what is right by this country, by you. I don't know how, but I will. You told me to stop making you promises that I know in my heart that I can't keep. Here is my promise to you: I promise that no matter what, I will always, always, try to be a good king and a good husband."
Mary was silent, breathing in the weight of his words. "Francis." It was all she could manage. The simplicity of his name held the weight of the world for her. "I love you, I do. But you left me. You left me to go to another woman. And while the reasoning is entirely understandable," she took a deep breath and gathered the words within her mouth, "I'm going to need some time."