There was a tug on Mary's heart as she watched her husband's golden curls disappear in the ocean of people and behind the solid doors. She felt his absence immediately when the cold air crept up to her hand where Francis' fingers were once woven into her's. Yet, despite the longing for her husband's presence, Mary couldn't feel more proud because she sees a man worthy of a nation and the responsibility to govern two Kingdoms—she would gladly bow down to her husband and Lord not because society dictates her to but because he deserves her respect.
As a monarch to another, she feels so fortunate to see a man who is willing to put his love for country first above other, and while she could envy the fervor burning in his heart, Mary couldn't find it in herself to blame him. She is like him in every way regarding their duties—she and Scotland are one and the same as he and France could not bear any differences—and while she is more than aware that he cannot overcome such love for nation, Mary, on the other hand, is willing to finally retire to a role of a wife and of a mother.
She has long dreamt of a girl, not a Queen of anything, being happy with her family. She has long been a pawn and it has been such a long time ago since she has last made decisions for herself and not for country, and while she loves Scotland as its essence flows in the blood that pounds hard within her veins, she could see the wonderful job her brother is doing as regent. While Mary hates to admit it, but she has put Scotland in peril because of decisions, she is more than confident that her brother will satisfy the need of a just ruler in her country.
She loves Scotland—before any prince or Dauphin came knocking upon her heart, Scotland has captivated her dreams and has been the apple of her eyes for so long. Mary would go so far as to say that Scotland is her first and most purest love but Mary is at home. France is her home, Francis is where her heart lays waiting, and while Scotland is her first love, it is her husband and her family who would be her last.
The tapping sound and the creaking of the wooden boards jarred Mary back into reality as she's seen a man bowing in front of her. The foreign yet familiar fashion clicked in her mind as she knew exactly who the man in front of her is.
Darnley.
"Your Majesty, I've heard rumors of your talents in the ballroom while travelling across Europe—I've even had a statue sculpted in the image of your dancing!—but I can now see for myself that the rumors does not give justice," he dipped his head low and flashed his white teeth. "I must say that you and your husband are a pair to be reckoned with—the dance was absolutely wonderful, I was left awestruck at the moment when your radiant beauty graced the hall," he rose from his bow and took further steps yet he stopped when met with the steely gaze and a fixed jaw.
"Flattery will get you nowhere, Lord Darnley—I've never required flowers for words when entertaining audience and you will not hear me utter such unless truly deserved," the look on the English merchant was outstanding! The blown expression sitting on his face paired with the fixed gaze upon the ground was something Mary will often remember. "What is it you want, Lord Darnley? Is it another letter stolen by my husband or is it a message from the Pope instead intercepted by a flawed messenger and you're here to correct it?" with a strained smile, Henry Stuart held his hand out and pointed towards a rather empty hallway inside the room.
"Actually, Your Majesty, I was just wondering if you'd like to continue the conversation we've never had the chance to finish earlier," Mary's eyes narrowed and felt her chest tighten. The nonsense she had been listening to earlier returned to her mind. "This matter is as urgent as an alliance and as a declaration of war—It's best if we finish the discussion regarding Scotland's. . .predicament with France and her allies," Darnley hinted a tone louder than it should have been and Mary felt her blood freeze at a possibility of a panic.
Whether or not the rumors are true, Mary could not allow a hear-say of a possible situation to run rampant in French Court, planting fear in every mind. Besides, Mary prefered having dealt with common threats on hand and not by representation of power like guards or servants.
Even though it was straining her to stand up, Mary gave her guards a tight smile and accepted the offered hand from her cousin and walked towards an abandoned hall where the once friendly Darnley turned different. "It is of the essence that you understand the gravity of the situation, cousin, Scotland is at stake here!" nearing her face, Darnley snarled as his eyes held pure white rage. "I don't want your job, I've never dreamed of such responsibility but if you continue your follies here in France, I've no choice but to take it and do it right—I've never wanted blood staining my hands but I will be willing to dunk my hands into your bloodied corpse, Mary, if you are not willing to do your duties in Scotland as its Queen!" feeling her fingers clump into a fist, Mary stared at the insulting man in front of her.
"How dare you?! I am your sovereign Queen and you will treat me with respect! And how dare you insinuate that I do not take the interests of Scotland into mind?! Let me tell you that although I have been raised in France, my hearts beats for Scotland and her needs!" he scoffed in disbelief before cracking his knuckles in front of her. Mary felt the anger seethe out of him, the aura that was so red with fury. "I will not accept this kind of behavior from my subject!" Darnley gave out a dry and humorless laugh.
"You're no Queen of Scotland, you are just a pawn who is whoring herself and her country to Rome and to France even after those who control you are long gone! You're no monarch until your hands are calloused and drenched in sweat and blood in a battlefield before even considering the option of submitting into an alliance so useless, a treaty that is dooming Scotland to Spain and Rome, those damned Papists they are!" Darnley's knuckles were white when it collided with the wall, sending vibrations if fear throughout Mary, who felt so scared for herself and her child.
"What do you want me to do? How can I act in this patriarchal society with the likes of John Knox who believes in the inferiority of women and continuoisly limits our powers to move around in my court, when you have no proof of your allegations but only your mere words—you couldn't support your claim and yet you judge me for not acting upon something that might not even be true or happening!" feeling her brave façade waver, Mary immediately removed herself from Darnley's company and walked towards the doors separating them from the banquet. "If you weren't a favorite in English Court, I would have had you hanged!" looking at him in the shadows, her vision continuouslu blurred. "But since you play an important part in the English-Scottish peace treaty, I will graciously forgive my disloyal subject—but you may find that for a second time, I am unforgiving," with her legs feeling weak, Mary pushed the doord open and stood by the door.
"If it's proof you want," Darnley hissed at her whilst examining his bloodied fist, "it is proof you'll get and I will personally make sure that you regret not listening to me," Mary finally turned around and left the dark hall, only to realize that the bright lights of the throne room was far too much for her eyes.
As the people bowed down to her, she tried to fix her appearance—tucking a few stray strands here and there, wiping beads of sweat every now and then, trying to normalize her breathing—when she saw the familiar black curls before her vision went blurry as she weakly pushed through the crowd. "Look at her, she's a fright!" she's heard whispers and giggles from those around as she shut her eyes to stop the dizziness until she felt strong arms around her. Then, the people around her was silenced as she opened her eyes to see flashes of Francis running towards her and Darnley holding her in his arms.
And so, we've finally reached the rising action.