Francis felt this uncomfortable tightening in his chest when he saw his wife passed out in the arms of Darnley and the people around him talking as his heart clenched tighter at the knowledge that rang loud in his mind when he was told by her guards that Mary and her cousin had been absent from the limelight for quite some time in an isolated hall adjacent to the throne room, a spacious lot where no guards were to patrol or anyone would be too interested to consider.
The thought of his wife alone with Darnley was sending painful thoughts to his mind, and while he couldn't bring himself to not trust his wife due to her hatred of Darnley, he knows too well the romantic dalliances of the English nobleman brought by his appeal. He couldn't help but think that, like Condé, Henry could charm his way into Mary—but all of that thinking was pushed out the window and Francis felt ice-cold water being poured over his body when Darnley's brows furrowed when he placed two fingers on Mary's wrist.
"The Queen," Darnley rasped for everyone to hear, his facial expression showing irritation at the lack of action from the crowd's part, a group of people just standing by and watching intently. "The Queen needs medical attention—call for the Royal physician, now!" Francis felt himself glued to the floor as the people's movements seemed to blur out when only one thing became clear and sharp in his vision, and that was Mary. She is three months pregnant with their first child, the first and most dangerous months for a babe and pregnant woman!
His thoughts raced at the possibility of losing his wife and child.
No, Francis thought to himself, he will not lose his family!
Taking matters into his own hands—literally—Francis knelt down and scooped Mary into his arms and carried her away to the infirmary as guards cleared the way for him. Francis felt his mind rush with adrenaline when he felt Mary gave out a shaky breath and ran to the best of his abilities towards Nostradamus, who came out the double doors with men who took his wife from his arms. "Majesty," Nostradamus bowed his head as the men went ahead, "I will take care of the Queen from here," dipping his head low as he took a step backwards, Nostradamus rushed inside the infirmary, leaving no company to distract him with.
Mary has always been one to reach out for family, especially with the convenience and luxury of letters. Even Elizabeth has been a recepient of Mary's issued letters, and Francis somehow doubts that Darnley, a man so senior in the line of succession, would have been exempted from his wife's outreaching personality—and while he can be sure of his wife's intent in connecting with her extended family, it the ulterior motive that Darnley has yet to show that continous to keep Francis on his toes and frightens him every chance it gets.
Although Francis couldn't bear to listen, let alone believe, in such rumors that Mary has acquainted herself with Darnley the way she had been with Condé, the whispers were growing loud and rampant that it took such control and discipline to stop himself from combusting all of a sudden. Surely, the image of a mad King will need a reason to stem from and as a jealous and insecure husband, it's quite easy to point fingers. His enemies would want nothing more than to dissolve the Auld Alliance—and with simple actions, words, and glances, Francis could easily do his enemies' job without meaning to.
French Court has been no stranger to the disappointment as the government has been no foreigner to bowing down to former enemies as some of the nobles consider the Anglo-French peace treaty a display of inferiority, and for the French, there is nothing worse than bowinh down to the English who's pushed their buttons long enough.
For some of the nobles, destroying an alliance orchestrated by Mary could mean superiority.
"Francis?"
The sound of tapping resounded in his mind. He turned around to see his mother, running towards him, dismissing her guards as she knelt down and caressed his cheek. "Oh, my boy," she muttered under her breath as she watched the infirmary doors. "I told you, I repeatedly told you not to bring her to the banquet!" Her voice was an octave louder than what he was used to. The cringe in his face was enough for his mother to know that he was suffering his mistake bad enough without his mother's reprimanding. "Has there been any news about Mary?" she calmly asked with a deep sigh.
Francis shook his head. "They've been working on her and haven't told me a single thing about her condition. . ." Francis felt himself trail off when he imagined a heartbroken Mary crying and wailing away in the night clutching her stomach. "What if she lost the child? I couldn't handle it if she lost the baby and I would be so powerless as to help Mary—God forbids that to come to pass, but in the event that it should, what could I do, Mother?" Catherine cupped her son's cheeks into her hands and Francis saw his mother's eyes as she stared straight into his.
"We don't know God's plan—that being works in such mysterious ways, Francis—but know this, my golden child, nothing good will come out of cowardice," Francis felt confusion and felt his brows furrow together. "Driving yourselves apart and standing divided will bring you nowhere—instead, stand by her side, support her in every step of the way and love her because together you are a force to be reckoned with and apart. . .well, let's not imagine that, shall we?" His mother tried for a smile and Francis felt himself trying for one as well.
With his mother and Mary by his side, Francis felt like a powerful man. He imagined a France with no turmoil and a Scotland where there is peace. He sees a family practicing values, loving and caring for one another.
"And above all, Francis, you have to believe that she will stand by your side—the Queen of Scots is by your side," the phrase resounded in his mind as his mother instructed him. Mary is by his side and together, everything is possible. While a part of Francis wondered what made his mother forget the rough beginnings and difficult relationship with his wife, he always knew that his mother loved Mary as her daughter—she had raised her together with him and his siblings—and that her trying to drive her away was because of that damned prophecy that caused so much pain.
"I know that, Mother, I believe with my heary and soul," it was a warm sight to be seen, a mother and a son, Francis thought to himself while glancing at the large wooden double doors and he enjoyed the feel of his mother, of Catherine de Medici being the matriarch and family-bound person she truly is and not the cold and ruthless Queen she's made everybody to assume she is.
Francis, however, was jarred back to reality when his mother stood up and he finally heard the coughing beside him. Turning to see the source of the sound, Francis stood up to see a man he didn't want to set eyes upon—Darnley, with his head dipped low.
"Cousins," his mother muttered beside him. "Those people you call family and yet they stab you in the back, those wretched traitors," Francis would have laughed if he didn't want to give their conversation away. "Ah," his mother turned to face Mary's cousin, "Henry Stuart, to what do we owe this pleasure of your presence?" there was a dark look on Darnley's face, an expression Francis couldn't entirely distinguish and nothing but silence followed. "If it's about politics, I'm afraid you'll have to wait—my son is attending to his wife and all affairs of the state, whether French or Scottish, will have to wait," it took a moment to register on his face that he was being dismissed and Francis felt himself so grateful to his mother.
He would gave socked that Scottish Lord, even if the only crime he's committed is to disrupt him and his mother.
"I see that my presence is rather unneeded and unwanted, Your Majesties," he dipped his head again and exited the hall and disappeared into the other rooms, leaving Francis with this unsettling feeling in his stomach.
"I don't like that man, he gives me this feeling your Father often gave me," Francis shot his mother a confused look. "An urge to kill," for once, he wanted his mother to comply with her impulsive and rather rash urges. The ones involving Narcisse, however, he does not want to relive hearing those rumors again.
"Well, let's save the actual killing when we've gathered evidences to arrest him, shall we? Contempt is not enough to condemn a man, even the contempt of a king," Francis saw a look of pride in his mother when she took his cheeks into her hands once again and placed a short kiss on his forehead, something she has not done since he was a little boy, a Dauphin and not the King.
"That, my boy, is what makes you a better King and person than your father," he found himself nodding. He is strong like his father, but he will keep his wife and love her. As Francis continuously swore to himself that he will be the husband his father should have been, he realized that it was the lack of trust and jealousy that drove his parents apart with people like Richard Delacroix and Diane de Poitiers and that feeling he's long felt inside of him was jealousy and his insecurities. During these short moments, Francis realized that his deepest fear is that someone more worthy of Mary will come and sweeo her away, and while it is not rational, what is reasonable with fears?
With renewed strength, he knew what he had to do. He no longer felt threatened by Darnley or the memories of Condé, he felt like the nightmares of Mary turning to another will stop haunting his nights when Mary is not around because while he understands that Mary is his light, she is the sun to many—ranging from the Scottish people to her supporters—and he needs to understand that he needs to survive in the darkness for a short time because she needs to shine upon others who needs her brightnesd and enlightenment.
Francis only needs to hold on to the fact that she will, like the sun, come back and shine upon him again.
With a determined will, he looked straight at his mother. He will not repeat the sins of his father. He is not his father.
"I am Francis II, King of the French and the Scots—and despite what many claims, I am not my father, I am nothing like him and where he has failed I will succeed."