"Presenting, His Majesty, the King!"
The page announced and Francis saw before his eyes the double doors leading to his mother's chambers fly open and welcomed the unsurprisingly familiar room. The ever-spacious center was clear of any obstacle and the dead parrots were set aside to a single corner, probably to be taken away before his mother leaves for dinner with the rest of the family. Catherine de Medici's chambers looks like how it is supposed to be—poisonous and intimidating like the woman who calls it home.
Inviting himself to a couch, Francis unceremoniously plopped down on the velvet cushioned seat and heard rattling and clinking of glass bottles. "Just a moment, Francis, I'm just organizing this blasted cabinet," and after a few second of more glass bottle clicking against another, the Queen Mother appeared from a bend, looking regal as ever and sauntered across the room towards the edge of her bed and sat down. "To what do I owe this visit, hmm?" his mother asked pointedly, no beating around the bush.
"It's about Darnley," Francis saw his mother's eyes widen. Little manages to surprise Catherine de Medici, and this event prove to be one of the rare exceptions. "He's already spread out his spies in court, it's far too gone for us to rectify that—however, there is something we need to prevent, and that's Mary's growing acquaintance with him," there was a moment of silence between Francis and his mother. He had half-expected her to go on and ramble about how Mary is committing all the same mistakes she had done before, and yet his mother was silent.
"Is there anything else I need to know besides the things I already know?" the stiff upper body, the cold and rigid eyes. Francis knew one thing for sure, and that was his mother's expressions. She was too stiff, too composed. She knew something as well, and he didn't know what it was.
"Yes," twisting the ring on his finger, Francis stared blankly across the window and gazed at the blue skies. "It seems that Mary found out about the fires, not only in Scotland, but also in France. My first thought was that her informant was Darnley, but the social circle is too wide to close down any other suspicions. She said she's going to visit the old convent, see if the nuns survived the fire, but there's something more to that," there was suddenly a change in mood, something like a nerve struck in the wrong way.
"And why aren't you stopping her? If you're so scared of losing her to Darnley like how you lost her to Condé, then do something about there," Francis felt his mother eyeing him. "And she's pregnant! By God, if she won't tell the people that she's expecting, she shouldn't be surprised if the next person to greet her is a midwife set to check on her because I'll be telling the people!" there was a humorless laugh at the end, a dry and difficult sound to hear and yet Francis found it so hard to remove from his mind.
Was she right? Absolutely—he is scared out of his wits, trying to believe that Darnley has no motives of sweeping Mary off her feet.
"Because I can't! There are too many risks to take if I were to force Mary to stay, or ask Darnley to leave, or tell her of the situation all together," pointing fingers could spark a movement to end all of France. A wrong move could begin an intercontinental war, and while Elizabeth is his ally, there is little assurance that she will join a Catholic cause. "Right now, I'm gathering evidences enough to condemn Darnley so the whole situation could finally blow over—but right now, Mother, I need you to join Mary in her trip to the convent." There was a moment of silence.
"Another trip outside the castle walls? Francis, I'm not sure if you've been hearing properly but Nostradamus himself has said it―Mary's pregnancy isn't the easiest of them all and she's not exactly the healthiest of carrying women. Forgive me for saying this," her tone was far from sorry, though. "Francis, your wife is not fit for traveling! Convince her to stay here! Need I remind you of our last tour outside the castle walls? You nearly lost her and now you're willing to risk her again?" Francis breathed in deep.
"There's political instability and tension with the nobles, not to mention a killer loose and on a rampage for hearts who is possibly working inside the castle, and I don't want Mary to be a part of the collateral damage. I need her to be away from the things that could harm her and the child," Francis looked uncertain, staring out the window as if he was trying to calm himself down. "Besides, the countryside might be good for Mary's health," Francis offered hopefully, but there was doubt in his voice. It was like he was trying to convince himself rather than his mother.
"Please, save the theatrics for someone who's stupid enough to be fooled, Francis, don't insult me by thinking that you can," Catherine de Medici sighed before regally sitting down on a sofa right across her son's position. Clearing her throat, she looked to the side, avoiding the looks her son was giving her. Sometimes, Francis wished that things were different, that his life could should have been something easier and more simple rather than a king baited in politics.
"So, are you going to travel with her?" Francis asked silently, his finger still twisting the ring that decorated his hand, a ring that symbolized the relationship he has with Mary.
His mother looked surprised as if the question took her by surprise. "Well, I couldn't exactly leave your wife to the vultures, now could we?" standing up, Catherine brought herself in front of a mirror and brought with her two article of clothing. "Now, Francis, what shall I bring with me—mink fur or fine silk from China?" Catherine turned to face Francis, whose face was buried in his hands. Silence ruled over the lot as his mother let out a sigh before putting down the red silk.
"It's mink, isn't it? The obvious choice is mink fur."