A tune wafted through the air as concern rushed in Francis' mind while supporting his wife. "You don't have to do this, Mary, I'll explain everything and they'll understand your situation," resisting the urge to hold up his hand as Mary shook her head at his attempt. "You're not well enough, Mary—let me take care of this," despite feeling the heaviness and pain surge in her head, Mary smiled. "What?" seeing the smile that brightened up her face and lifted the heavy weight in his chest.
"Why wait for our time at the Louvre Palace when we have now?" Mary took her husband's hand and lead him to the spacious center of the hall. "I've learned that there is no better time than the present," holding her hand up to his lips, Mary took a step back and started circling her husband with a hand held across his palm. "I've got such a perfect husband and wonderful music—why on Earth should I throw away this opportunity to enjoy a simple dance with you when we know that with a blink of an eye we could lose each other just as easily as a prophecy can foretell your death?" Francis inched closer to her and placed a hand on her waist as he lowered her back.
"Because there is no magic but only what we make for ourselves," hearing Mary's breathing quaver, Francis secured his hold on her back and twirled her with his fingers holding her hand firmly, supporting her to the very best that he can when they faced each other and lowered her back. "We are the makers of our own destiny, Mary, and we don't need to rush it—we have our whole lives ahead us and I intend to take our sweet time in enjoying it," with his hand supporting Mary's weight, Francis raised her back up and spun her away from him.
"I'm just saying that we shouldn't take things that may seem small and insignificant—like time—for granted, Francis," with a small smile, Mary spun right back into her husband's chest, something that made Francis' heart skip a beat as he felt her skin and the whiff of her distinct perfume reaching him made it easier for Francis to forget the troubles with the Vatican and Spain's King Philip brought by the new English alliance.
"All I'm saying is that I am most willing to wait for you, may it be for a dance in the Louvre or for the next life as we start anew," placing her hand on his cheek, Francis smiled cheekily and lifted her up in the air gracefully, taking the moment to study his wife, her every feature. "That's why I have to end our little dance because I have to wait for the right moment, and while I know that being patient or waiting was never your forte in life, we will always have our little things to enjoy before our big dance," with that being said, Francis bowed down to one knee and gently brought Mary's hand to his lips and placed a soft, sweet kiss on her skin.
With a thankful and grateful smile on her lips, Mary placed her other hand on his cheek. "Francis," it was a weak voice, he was so sure as worry filled his mind, but the smile and the joy he sees in her eyes and the love and adoration woven into her voice. It gave him such strength and made him believe. It gave him enough power to fight for whatever it is they need to overcome.
'The fear of death, may it be their unborn child, his or her life, the upstaging, no-good Darnley to name a few,' thoughts that ran through his mind as the crowds clapped at the scene they've created, the epitome of love and the personification of their union they're yet to know when there was a small rift in the crowds, only to reveal his mother.
The sharp look on the Italian Queen Mother of France's face yelled one thing out loud and very clesr for her son, the King of France—it is time for the pregnant woman to stop dancing and to start resting.
"There is no distance too great or time too long for me, Mary, not when it comes to you," Francis whispered while getting lost in the brown orbs that hypnotized him, a color that cast a spell upon him, a trance he would never wish to be broken. If he could, Francis would have this moment in time frozen for it is a moment he could treasure and replay for all of eternity and his love for the memory imprinted in their minds would never grow out or fade away. The memory would, he decided at the moment, will be one of their most precious experience shared together in their second chance.
Feeling the loose hold on his hand, Francis was jarred back to reality and guided his wife to the sturdy throne that stood proud beside his. He would never grow tired of the scene where his wife would assume her role as Queen of France. It is a moment where he could feel his heart swell with such pride and joy in letting the world know that it his wife sitting beside him, albeit tired and displaying fatigue.
"Perhaps one of the great distances to be considered is the space between the center of the room to out thrones?" though tired and dizzy, Mary found herself grinning at her husband's attempt to lighten up the mood. After all, Francis saw an opportunity and he took it before the smile slowly faded away from his face.
"What's wrong?"
Francis saw Bash, his brother. Normally, he would be ecstatic to hear about his dearest friend and closest sibling, but knowing that he sent him just earlier on a mission, one has to wonder why. Aside from his presence, Francis noted the grim look on his face that minggled with the disappointment and irritation on his face. "Bash," the King stood up to greet him as a brother would—with a warn embrace. "What's wrong, what happened?" with a small nod of a head, Bash bowed and dipped his bead low to the Queeb before whisking away the King of France.
"There's been another attack by our heart thief, and now that Delphine has removed herself from our services because of what happened in the village with Greer. . .I'm afraid I have to abandon my other obligations to secure that fiend's arrest—although I'm itching to go on riding with that bastard behind closed bars, I'm afraid I have to ask for your company, brother, to discuss sone things," Bash gave Mary an expectant look and Francis felt himself being torn apart by his two great loves. Is he to stay by his wife or to attend to his country?
But something rang in his mind, the fear that he felt when Mary was lying motionless on the hospital bed. He remembered the fear that coursed through his body when he felt so helpless. "I can't, Bash, not now—perhaps later?" there was a look of both understanding and disappointment in the Deputy's face. "As much as I would love to spend some time in your enlightening company, I would rather spend it with my wife when she needs me," there is no greater pain than being helpless in situations like Mary's abduction. It would be his greatest regret and his last mistake.
He will not leave his wife's side anymore.
"I understand," giving a tight and understanding smile, Bash stepped off the stairs and gave a bow before turning on his heel.
"No, Bash—wait!" the soft voice sounded beside Francis when he turned to face his wife. Feeling his gaze upon her, Mary slowly faced her husband with a loving and supportive smile. "You don't have to stay here in this banquet if only for my sake," with gentle nudging, Francis was put up to his feet and standing a few steps before an exhausted Mary. "You should attend to those issues because you have to be the leaders we've dreamed ourselves to be," with a small smile on his face, Francis dipped his head low and stepped down the trail of stairs.
"If it so pleases you, Your Majesty," Bash stepped forward and bowed low in front of his friend as Francis stared at his wife in awe. Not so willing to leave his wife just yet, Francis allowed his brother to go ahead of him to his study, earning a confused look and a hearty chuckle. "I just wanted to say to my wife, without the smirking audience that is my brother, that she is uncommonly desireable and that I love her before my duty completely whisks me away." With the rolling of eyes, Mary's laughter filled the atmosphere.
"So, what's more pressing than the heart thief?"
Bash stood in front of him, his gaze was fixed and distant and it made Francis worry. "As you know, the public announcement of your peace treaty with England was not so well received as we've hooed it would be," a grimace appeared on Francis' face as his brother placed an envelope in front of him. "Some were disappointed that Mary would not overthrow Elizabeth and others were furious about a treaty with a Protestant country, let alone England!" Francis felt a heavy sigh escape his lips as he's realized that the racial discrimination between their countried are far from over. "And others are angry just because," Bash motioned for the letter and suddenly the feather-like weighted letter began to feel heavy!
Removing the wax seal, Francis fished out a red strip of cloth. "What's this?" then, when Francis turned it around, he saw the painted words that made his blood freeze.
Death to the Valois and their crooked path!
The look on Francis' face screamed confusion and he felt as if the world was turned upside down in worry for his wife—Mary. Francis immediately regret the decision he's made to leave her. "Who sent this?" Bash's face darkened and the atmosphere became heavy. "You said that this man's hatred for the Valois isn't directly related to the peace treaty—why only send the threat now?" questions rummaged through Francis' mind and the worst theory began to entertain itself on his mind. 'Perhaps Darnley has learned of Mary's pregnancy and he wishes to eliminate the competition for the Scottish throne,' it would have been a suitable hypothesis and yet why include the Valois?
"I've got a suspicion, and while it's not solid, I can see no other candidate: The Red Knights," Francis tried to rack his mind but it was not familiar. He had no clue as to who they were! "Father was always so impulsive and he didn't consider Catherine's council as much back then," Francis could paint a familiar scene in his mond where he would just hear his parents' fights as he retreated into the familiar arms of Olivia D'Amencourt. "Father owed a mercenary group money and instead of paying them, he had executed them—I can still remember the haunting glint in his eyes as he forced me to look at their corpses," Bash shuddered as Francis was pained to admit that it was, in fact, their father.
"And this is their revenge?" he connected the dots.
"Yes," it was a grim statement and Francis knew what had to be done—he needed to get to his wife.
The music was still loud and cheerful when the doors to the throne room opened. He could still see the people dancing, eating, drinking, and chatting around as the hours seemed to fly by. It was clear ro Francis that his mother could truly plan a party so extravagant to scandalize even the French nobility and aristocrats.
However, it was not the fact that the banquet is still ongoing but the fact that Mary's throne was empty. Francis could have easily thought of Mary retiring to their chambers but their guards were still stationed by the doors. Shaking the weird feeling, he sat on his throne as his eyes racked the crowd in search for his wife, but when he couldn't find hee, Francis motioned for a guard to inch closer to his side. "Where is the Queen?" the question was supposed to be casual and easy but it came out strained and clingy.
"Talking, Your Majesty, with her cousin, Henry Stuart, the Lord Darnley."