CHAPTER V - MARY

The horses were drawn in the courtyard and the iron gates had been lifted. The servants were carrying chests upon chests of belongings and items. But what Mary noticed to be most prominent was Francis, holding Jean's hand in his, and looked at everything mournfully.

While Mary prepared her carriage for her long tour of the nearby villages surrounding Chateau de Blois, both her husband and godson remain patiently by the edge. "Mary," Francis began, allowing Jean to roam to a nanny nearby. "If you are upset with me and my decision all those months ago with Lola." Mary's shoulders tensed. It's only been two months but already she's began to feel the weight of having her lady-in-waiting gone.

Admittedly, Mary missed the wry conversations she had with her friend.

"Mary, if you are upset with me, I don't know how else to apologize. Words won't be enough. But don't leave, not on the eve of Michaelmas." Francis pleaded with her and took her hand, stroked the back with soothing circles. "Please stay. Here, with me."

Instinctively, a good-natured laugh bubbled from her throat. "Francis, please." She cupped his cheek. "We have been given a miraculous second chance to be together. I won't be a fool to waste it on hate as if nothing happened the last time it went around." Mary peered over her shoulder and counted the chests being loaded by a young page boy who volunteered to help her. "I won't take you, or our relationship for that matter, for granted."

Francis, in turn, looked confused. "I don't understand. If you're not upset with me, then why are you leaving for Michaelmas?"

Mary chuckled and allowed herself to stand just a bit closer to her husband. "Catherine's agents had whispered of unrest with some villages nearby. Most of the rumors and whispering came from the Crown's inability to serve its people during the plague." A passing servant had a basket filled to the brim with loaves and fruits. "It just doesn't seem right to celebrate Michaelmas with all of this—" she gestured towards the resplendence of the castle, "I just want to give back to the people, Francis."

Francis smiled unwillingly at her. "My generous wife." He muttered under his breath. "Then let me come with you." He persuaded softly. "I can have some of the servants pack in a short moment, and I could bring Bash and some of the council members so we could work during the trip."

"And leave Jean alone?"

Francis paused for a moment. "Well, we could certainly bring him along. He wouldn't be opposed to a trip outdoors." Mary raised an eyebrow at his sudden offer.

But she had none of it. "Francis, there's a raging winter in a few weeks, and while we don't have any intention of travelling for that long, it's better to take precautions. Besides, a small and confined carriage isn't a place to keep a boy like Jean." And just near the halls of the castle, Jean could be seen running giddily away from the nanny Francis had tasked his son's well-being with.

Gently, Mary pressed the back of her hand against his forehead. "Besides, you do know that I can still feel you at night." She warned slightly before gently pressing the back of her hand against his forehead.

"Is there by any chance that what you are feeling is my vigorous attempts to make our nights as enjoyable as it has been for me?" he teased, his lips quirked upwards at his own innuendo, and while her cheeks did flush a crimson red at her husband's less than subtle declaration of their late night activities, she remained calm and composed as she withdrew her hand.

Mary gave a pointed look and her amused expression vanished for a moment. "Francis, you'd get feverishly warm during the nights. Your mother's right, you know, your fever of the brain hasn't completely subsided. You're still in need of rest, and I can't take you away from the comforts of the castle."

Francis looked pensive and sighed. "But you would leave." He pressed his forehead against hers and Mary, slowly, felt her resolve melt. Her husband, it was decided, was an awfully persuasive man. "And you do know that I would prefer to have you over any of the luxuries this castle could afford."

"As romantic as that profession is, Francis, we can't delay it any much longer. Much of the families there have suffered from the plague and risk spending Michaelmas on the verge of hunger. This trip is much more than a vanity project, it's something that transcends publicity, Francis."

Suddenly, Mary felt a jolt of energy through her leg and her head spun to the opposite direction where her godson panted, a satisfied grin plastered upon the small boy's face. "Mary! Up, up!" he chanted, tugging on her gown and raised his hands, wanting his presence to be known,

"Jean," Francis chuckled as he picked his son up. Mary watched the two and her heart warmed at the sight. Her hands nestled themselves just above her abdomen, a discreet smile took over her lips, not wanting to give away her little secret. "Well, now, I suppose I have another supporter in my endeavor to make you stay." Jean nodded along with his father. "Think of poor Jean here, having to spend his first Michaelmas without both his mother and godmother."

Mary pressed her lips into a line, trying to stop an all-too boisterous laughter. "Are you using your son, my own godson, against me?"

Francis had the decency to look bashful. "Is it trying?"

Mary stifled a laugh and gently raised her fingers and pressed them against her lips to hide the ever-growing smile. "Oh, I think you'll do quite well for a few weeks, Francis." She deliberately pressed on his name, noting how Jean quickly averted his attention towards a colorful chest being loaded to Catherine and Clause's carriage.

"You'll be alone." Worry soon became evident in his eyes. "Our decision to renounce your claim to the English throne caused uproar with the people." Francis looked uncomfortable at the sight of the world outside the castle gates.

"And this act of charity will hopefully mend that uproar. And I won't be alone. I have Catherine and Claude with me."

Francis threw her a skeptical look. "They're riding in the next carriage. Should you need help, they won't be able to reach you in time." He gave an awry note.

But she just waved her hand and dismissed the thought. "Nothing but precedence and protocol." Mary could tell that her husband was well aware of the rule, judging from his look of disdain. Mary's eyes strayed towards a familiar chest being loaded inside her carriage and her lips curled upwards. "And to properly address your fears and to appease my dearest husband," Francis smiled brightly, obviously pleased by the mention but still looked incredibly dourly as she remained stalwart on leaving the castle for Michaelmas.

"A trunk of my belongings, perhaps?" Francis asked hopefully.

"No, but a safety precaution." Mary smiled as the servant neatly stored it underneath the bench inside the carriage. "Bash had refurbished a rusted sword. He managed to salvage a decent blade." Mary turned to look at her husband only to find him deep in thought. His brows were furrowed together and his mind was a million miles away.

"A blade?" Francis asked, his tone significantly lighter, his interest now piqued. Mary knew her husband enough to see that he was taken by the idea of making a sword.

"And maybe, when I return, you'll teach me how to better wield it?" she added with a smile.

Francis didn't bother with decorum or propriety when he took her into his arms. "I'm going to miss you." He murmured against a small nook of her neck. "For what is a king without his queen?"

"I'll be back before you know it, my darling." She pressed a kiss against his cheek, letting his hands linger on hers as she pulled back and walked towards the now opened door of her carriage.

"I love you," he blurted out as he helped her onto the carriage. The door now clicked in place and Mary admittedly felt the distance that was now placed between them, the door seemingly much more than a barrier that stood between them.

"I love you, too."

Mary woke up in the dark.

The skies were already dark and everything, save for the horses' hooves galloping against the dirt road, was silent.

A sinking feeling made itself known in the pit of her stomach. Her fingers inched its way towards the seat, just where the handle of her sword touched the pad of her palm. Everything was eerie, she could practically taste the lingering wrongness that hung around her when a bright light came hurtling towards her.

A lighted arrow crashed through the glass, missing her by a hairs-width before more followed and the next thing she knew, her carriage had over-turned and footsteps crunched against the glass that was littered on the road.

"Guard?" she muttered weekly, gasping at the pain when she tried to sit up, opening her eyes at the new, unfamiliar presence.

"Try again, majesty." A gruff accent sounded and her stomach fell. "Stuffy, innit? Why don't we get you out of there?" he carried a blade, one that glinted in the reflection of the fire that burned nearby and she couldn't miss the metallic scent of blood.

Forcefully lifted to her feet, Mary saw the carnage that lay before her. Her footmen were slaughtered, a palace attendant was beheaded. "What have you done?"

"They say good things come to those who wait—" the man smiled a with a wicked gleam in his eyes. "—and, majesty, I've waited a long time for you!"