The silence and lack of servants did Mary a lot of good—she had grown sick of the people attending to her, and while she appreciates the effort they put into their jobs, Mary has often found herself fighting the urge to proclaim that she's not helpless and that she can do things for herself.
Soon, she cringed. If being a Queen of France meant such attention, Mary thought to herself, then how will they behave around me if they find out that I'm carrying Francis' child? After all, in this day and age, becoming pregnant and delivering a child is the greatest honor and a woman's fulfillment of her duty.
Removing this sudden thought, Mary welcomed the cool sea breeze as the wind blew gently at her face while she greatly enjoyed the view of the open sea. It gave her such joy knowing that in this political world of back-stabbing and treachery—and even murder—there was a peaceful retreat merely adjacent to French court and Mary rejoiced in the fact that even though it was near that palace filled with memories of difficulties, it couldn't reach the banks of the sea where she enjoyed the sight of her husband preparing their small picnic as he battled the wind blowing through his blonde curls, trying to fix them once the strands reach his face.
"You look deep in thought," Francis smiled at her as he sat down beside her. "Tell me, what are you thinking about," Mary opened her mouth to try say something but fell flat silent when Francis grinned excitedly and cut her off before even uttering a single word. "No, wait, let me guess—it's about a surprise announcement of your pregnancy and you're going to tell me before sharing the good news with the rest of the castle?" Mary found herself laughing as tears sprung to her eyes. Her husband, she can be sure of, is a hopeful man.
Placing a hand on his, Mary fought back a smile before shaking her head sadly. "You know that I can't, not just yet anyway—even after weeks of this trimester, as Nostradamus calls it, I could still easily lose the child and I don't want anybody's sympathy or criticizing eyes should it happen," the conversation took a more serious tone as Mary looked deep into her husband's blue eyes. "I just need you to wait a little longer," with a tight smile, Francis brought her hand to his lips and placed a soft kiss.
"You know that I will—even a thousand years go by, I will still wait by your side with faith or trust unwavering," Mary had let out a soft gasp or something like it. It was the only response she could come up with as something in her rib cage—something like her heart—had melted from the words she just heard.
"Well," Mary leaned close to her husband, merely inches apart from his lips. "Know that I am quite satisfied with you by my side for a thousand years," and with that being said, Francis had leaned down and captured her lips in a sweet and gentle kiss that would have melted her resolve to keep her pregnancy a secret. Who, in their right mind, would want to deprive such happiness to a man who could kiss like that?
Breaking apart from the kiss, Mary scrunched up her nose as she smelled the familiar scent of her herbal tea. "No," she shook her head softly as her husband took it out the basket. "None of those," she tried to get away from her husband's grasps, but he was far too strong. His hands had enveloped her all around as she squirmed, trying to break away. "Please, that mixture is wretched! Even Catherine's poisons tasted better!" Francis raised a brow and Mary remembered the days when Catherine de Medici wanted to get rid of her because of a prophecy that depicts his death.
"Well, it's your words against your's, Mary—your trimester isn't finished and the tea gives you the vitamins and nutrients you need," stroking her cheek gently, Mary sighed and took the cup into her hands. "Look, even color has returned to your face and your morning sickness has been more mild," he pointed out and as much as Mary wants to throw the cup's content into the sea, Nostradamus has been constantly telling her of the tea's marginally beneficial effects to the child she carries in her womb.
And as it turns out, Mary's love for her child was far greater than her love for her taste-buds.
With a smile on Francis' face—surely, he considers her drinking as a small victory—Mary made a face. "Now that tea time is done and over with," Mary pushed herself to her feet, much to the chagrin, worry and protests of her husband. "You have got to attend your meetings," Francis' eyebrows had scrunched up together. "You're the King of France and while you've made several excuses to limit my duties and activities, I'm afraid we can't deprive France of both her King and Queen," Francis stood up and applied a gentle pressure on her shoulders, a force that implied her to sit down again.
"Always so righteous and generous," he muttered under his breath as looked deep into her eyes, a gaze that made the whole world around Mary disappear. "Have you grown tired of my company already?" It was a teasing tone and Mary placed a hand to his cheek, although Francis removed his hands from her shoulder to bring Mary's fingertips to his lips. "When will you realize that I will put my wife first, that it is you who I prioritize above all," Mary let out a hearty sigh.
"Francis, you know that I love you and but you should know that I heard you," confusion was written all over her husband's face as a smile smile settled on her face when she lead them both back into a path, a narrow gravel road leading back to the castle.
"I don't quite understand," Francis muttered.
Mary started walking back to the castle. "Remember when I've just returned from the convent? There was this prophecy and your mother tried so hard to avoid the the supposed results," although confused and lost, Francis nodded and Mary smiled. "I remember that as one of the events that truly made me fall in love with you—I remember approaching you to share my suspicions about Catherine terrorizing me to abandon the engagement," Mary stopped in her tracks and turned around to face her husband. "I don't know why I attempted it, but I wanted to intercept your mother and give her a piece of my mind but then I heard your voice, don't you remember the conversation you had with her?" The cluelessness on his face spoke volumes and Mary stifled a laugh. "You said that, one day, you hoped that you would make a good king—"Mary was cut off by a simple sound from Francis and she smiled.
He remembers.
"I hoped that I would make a good King by making sure that I put nothing, no love, above my love and duty for France—I understand why you're doing this now," Mary smiled as they reached the palace doors. "I really do hope that one day both France and Scotland could see how lucky they are for having such a giving Queen," leaning down to capture her lips, Francis whispered softly. "Because you are all I see," a wide smile stretched through Mary's face as she realized that they were already by the doors to the meeting hall.
Fixing his shirt's collar and straightening the ruffles of his coat, Mary tip-toes to place a kiss on his cheek. "Show these men that a king can love both his country and wife at the same time," Francis nodded gently and soon, the guards and crier announced her husband's arrival inside the room.
Now alone—not counting the guards posted by the doors of the meeting hall—Mary was rather surprised and irritated when someone was whistling a tune. "That was a rather touching and romantic parting of husband and wife," the voice made Mary's blood boil but remembered Nostradamus' advice of not having any extreme feelings of hatred. Calming herself down, Mary calmly turned around to face the man who threatened her just weeks ago. "Majesty, aren't you glowing? Perhaps a common side effect of being young and in love?" The voice sneered as Mary felt a rather forceful tug by her arm.
Immediately, the guards tensed up.
"Unhand the Queen, Lord Darnley, or we will be forced to subdue you," the more fierce-looking stated firmly. Darnley merely laughed and grinned.
"Oh, this? This is absolutely nothing," the grip on Mary's hand quickly was loosened up. "You see, the Queen asked for something the last time we've talked and it's by the courtyard, arrived finally from Scotland—Her Majesty loves everything Scottish, she's patriotic—and she' eager to see the evidence that I've kept my word of bringing her a sight from her country," immediately, after remembering their conversation, Mary's eyes narrowed. Grinning to her, Darnley offered his hand to Mary. "Remember, it's to die for, Your Majesty," rejecting his hand, Mary went ahead to the courtyard.
"What is this?"
Mary rushed forward to the injured children and stopped in her tracks when she saw bodies covered in gauze and white cloth. It pained her to see children being carried out of the carriages, the white shrouds were stained with crimson red—blood. "You see this?" Darnley walked to her side as she covered her mouth with her hand. "This is the evidence I've told you about," looking smug when he peered over her face, Darnley snickered before crossing his arms. Mary's blood boiled at the sight of people suffering, their nationalities or where their loyalties lied suddenly mattered little or absolutely nothing.
Mary felt for the children who were badly suffering and anguish for those already motionless inside the shrouds they never deserved at such an early age. Then, Mary couldn't see such logic in the scene before her: there were suffering around the courtyard and yet the guards were doing nothing in the endeavor to help a single soul. "By God, guards!" The armoured men came rushing to their Queen. "There are people—children—dying in front of you and yet no one, not a single well-bodied man, helping them!" Mary's feet carried her to a wounded girl whose skin was burned and her injuries possibly infected. "Get them to Nostradamus or to anyone who can tend to the sick while the others can get a priest to pray for them," Mary was pained to look at the un-moving bodies piled together.
Feeling lightheaded, Mary turned away from the sight when she heard the suddenly familiar tapping of boots. It happened to irk her that she's become so familiar with Darnley that she didn't have to turn around to know that it's him. His presence had both angered her beyond reason and scared her beyond her wits. He angered her because he was capable of such marginal damage and she was scared because he's capable of such marginal damage that he could easily harm her and her unborn child. The possibilities ran wild and Mary grew more terrified of him.
How could a man be so heartless as to do this to children?
"What have you done?" She whispered harshly as she fought the tears from springing to her eyes. Mary could not afford to look vulnerable to Darnley now, of all moments. "Are you so hell-bent as to prove how powerful you are that you have to bring these innocent children to your war with me?" Covering her lips with the back of her hand to hide up the quivering and to prevent the sob from escaping her, Mary refused to look at the man in front of her. "You are despicable and I will take personal satisfaction as to see you pay for the deeds you've done," instead of seeing the smug and proud look on his face, Mary saw anger to match her's.
"What have I done?" He said through gritted teeth in hushed tones. "Mary, you should ask yourself because everything you've set your eyes upon was completely your doing, cousin, and know that the spilled blood of the innocent is stained on your flesh and no matter how many times you wash your hands of it like Pontius Pilate, you've killed those children along with the people you call your friends, your allies—the Pope and King Philip II—aided you in your righteous mission, you so-called 'Defenders of the Faith' when you've done nothing but executing people by branding them as heretics before leaving them to die in a fire!" Mary gasped. Burned because of religion?
"But do you have proof to show that this is caused by my greatest allies? I cannot break away from them only because of the words of a man who could be a Protestant Knox-supporter?"
"These children are from Edinburgh and Lewis—places where they get their food by shipping and where the Vatican's peace keepers are depriving their allies of their needed supplies! And what's worse is that you damned Papists wouldn't leave it at hunger but they have to burn them!"