AN: An AU Francis I/ Henry's sister Princess Mary/Charles Brandon to The Way I Loved You by Taylor Swift. Enjoy.
He is sensible and so incredible
And all my single friends are jealous
He says everything I need to hear and it's like
I couldn't ask for anything better
He opens up my door and I get into his car
And he says, you look beautiful tonight
And I feel perfectly fine
"Enchanté, Princess Marie. If I may say so, you look very beautiful this morning," King Francis bowed over Mary's hand and she curtsied as he kissed it.
"Your Majesty."
"Ah non! Non! Francis, please. Today of all days, call me Francis, sweet Marie."
"As you wish… Francis," Mary murmured demurely, keeping her eyes downcast.
"Come, come! You cannot truly be this demure! Your brother assured me that you had the Tudor spirit in spades! When will you show it to me?" Francis teased jovially. Mary blushed and looked away, unwilling to answer him. Thankfully, Lady Guildford sensed her discomfort and came to her rescue.
"Her Highness is merely overcome by the anticipation she feels for the ceremony that is to take place this morning, Sire," she explained, causing the King of France to laugh happily.
"Oh of course, I should have thought of that. I forgot that you were still so young. Forgive me, Marie."
"There is nothing to forgive," Mary whispered, before Lady Guildford seized her opportunity to say, "With all due respect, Sire, I still have to dress the Princess. And you ought to know that you should not be here. It is bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the wedding."
Francis burst out laughing. "Here in France it is not, Lady Guildford, but since I am marrying an English Princess, I will honour the English customs for now."
With another bow, he lifted Mary's head to kiss her forehead, looked into her eyes, clearly saying silently "I will see you at the altar," and then he was gone.
"There. I told you, Princess. He cares for you. Is he not a kind man? Many girls would think themselves lucky to marry him." Lady Guildford said bracingly. Mary nodded absently, letting her Lady Governess unlace her gown of cherry damask and help her into her wedding gown of the lightest spring green silk.
"I know, Guildford, I know. But oh God! Would that he were Charles! Would that he were Charles!"
But I miss screamin' and fightin'
And kissin' in the rain
And it's two a.m. and I'm cursin' your name
You're so in love that you act insane
And that's the way I loved you
Breakin' down and comin' undone
It's a roller-coaster kinda rush
And I never knew I could feel that much
And that's the way I loved you
Charles Brandon. Charles Brandon, the new Duke of Suffolk. Mary had grown up with him. She'd had to, sharing a palace with her brother Prince Henry. After all, Charles was Henry's closest friend and she his favourite sister. How could they have avoided each other?
And then Henry had become King and, at just thirteen, Mary had been thrown into a whirlwind of festivities and celebrations, all of which she had played a prominent part in. Charles had been there too, slightly on the sidelines, true, but always there.
Mary hadn't paid much attention to him, indeed, she'd found him slightly irritating. But then, at the Christmas masque a year ago, when she was sixteen, something had changed. He had danced with her, treated her as a young woman, rather than a girl. And she had responded. Oh God, how she had responded!
From then on, she hadn't been able to take her eyes off him. He had been her only dance partner other than her brother. They'd ridden out together whenever they could. And with every day, she had felt herself falling more and more deeply in love with him.
She had never loved anyone like she loved him. Not even her beloved brother Henry. It was like he was the North Pole to her magnet; the Sun to her Moon, the ship to her storm-tossed seas.
So Henry's decision to betroth her to the new King of France, Francis Valois, had broken Mary's heart. And ennobling Charles and asking him to escort her to her new homeland had only rubbed salt in the open wound.
He respects my space and never makes me wait
And he calls exactly when he says he will
He's close to my mother
Talks business with my father
He's charming and endearing, and I'm comfortable
It wasn't that Francis was unkind. In fact, he was quite the opposite. It was obvious he'd fallen for her. Mary felt quite guilty about not returning his feelings, but she simply couldn't. No matter how many times he kissed her and complimented her on her beauty; no matter how many times he tried to make her feel at ease around him; no matter how many gifts he showered upon her, Mary's heart didn't belong to him.
Not even the fact that she knew Henry was thrilled about the fact that he had managed to wrangle this betrothal; to persuade Francis to jilt the young Duchess of Brittany in favour of her, his younger sister Princess Mary, helped Mary now. Knowing she was doing her duty by England didn't make this bitter pill any easier to swallow. It didn't hide the fact that her heart belonged to another; to the very same one who now came to the door, preparing to escort her down the aisle.
"Are you ready, Princess?"
"Mary, please." Rising, Mary smoothed the skirts of her wedding gown of the palest green silk and toyed with the emerald that was hanging on a ribbon around her neck. "Charles, you have to call me Mary!"
"I can't! You're going to be Queen of France in a matter of hours. It wouldn't be right to call you Mary!"
"You have to! If anyone has that right, it is you! Or did the voyage mean nothing to you?"
"Of course it meant something to me!" Charles reeled back as though she had slapped him. Mary flung herself away from him, grateful that Lady Guildford was now in the other room.
"What a lie this gown is!" she hissed through her teeth, "What a lie! I'm not as pure as the spring. I'm not as constant as an emerald. Why, I've broken my vows already, before I've even taken them!"
"Hush! You can't speak like that, it's dangerous!"
"I don't care! I don't care!" In her temper, Mary grabbed her hood and ripped it off her head, flinging it to the floor. "I love you, Charles Brandon! I love you and I don't care who knows it! But from the way you're acting, I wonder whether the voyage actually meant something to you!"
In an instant, he was at her side, gripping her shoulders so tightly that she feared he would break them. "How can you even think that? Of course it did! Of course it meant something to me. But we can't afford to tell anyone! Ever! Francis would kill you if he found out! And Henry would kill me!"
But I miss screamin' and fightin'
And kissin' in the rain
You're so in love that you act insane
And that's the way I loved you
Breakin' down and comin' undone
It's a roller-coaster kinda rush
And I never knew I could feel that much
And that's the way I loved you
The storm was raging and every sailor on board the Katherine Philippa was scurrying about, trying to batter down the hatches and pull in the sails before any major damage was done. Unfortunately for them, her most illustrious passenger, the Princess Mary, was standing in the bow, one arm around the figurehead, laughing as the wild winds whipped through her beautiful auburn tresses. Having to step around her and treat her with decorum was slowing the crew down. Eventually, the captain lost patience.
"My Lady, I beg you, get below NOW! As long as you stay up here, I cannot guarantee your safety."
"Oh don't be absurd, Master Swinburne. Go below now? Never!"
"You'll do as the captain tells you!" Charles fought his way towards her, shouting to be heard over the howling of the wind!
"Oh no, I will not, Master Brandon! I am Princess Mary of England, soon to be Queen of France! I don't have to answer to anyone!"
She flung the words at him, lashing out because of all her frustration and pent up tears and every other emotion under the sun; every emotion she'd been feeling ever since Henry had sealed her betrothal to the French King and she realised that she'd be separated from the man who now stood before her.
"You won't be Queen of anywhere if you die now!"
"Who are you to speak to me like that? Duke of Suffolk you may be, but I still outrank you!"
"I'm your escort! I'm the one who's going to have to answer to Henry if you die! Besides which, spoiled though you are, I happen to care for you! I don't want your death on my hands!"
"Care for me, do you?" she shot at him. "No you don't! If you really cared for me, you wouldn't be taking me to France when I don't want to go!"
"I'm doing my duty! My personal feelings have nothing to do with this! Believe me, I'd rather you weren't!"
"Prove it!"
"Oh, for God's Sake! If it will get you below!" he yelled, leaning forward, wrenching her to him and pounding his lips down upon hers in the most passionate kiss Mary had ever imagined receiving.
He can't see the smile I'm fakin'
And my heart's not breakin'
'Cause I'm not feelin' anything at all
That night, Mary sat in her new marriage bed, cream satin bed gown clinging tightly to her clammy skin. Though she would never admit it, she was scared. Not scared of the act itself, God, no, but scared that, despite the cunning plan she had devised, the one that included a hidden vial of blood being spilled over the sheets once Francis had fallen asleep, Francis would realise she wasn't a virgin. Scared that he would realise she didn't – and never would – care for him. Scared that she would betray herself through some word or gesture once they were alone.
A moment later, she was startled out of her reverie by the King coming in, surrounded by his friends and closest associates. The Archbishop of Rouen blessed the marriage bed and called for the courtiers to pray that Mary might prove fruitful, which they did in half-drunken, ringing voices, before Francis shook his head wildly and pushed them all towards the door.
"Get out, the lot of you. Marie's still young. She doesn't need all this ribaldry around her when we're trying to do our duty, thank you."
Bolting the door behind the last of them, he turned back to the bed. "There. We're alone now."
"Yes." Mary agreed, not trusting her voice. Sliding in beside her, Francis reached out to touch her cheek. "Are you scared?"
"A little," Mary replied, carefully omitting to say exactly what she was scared of. After all, she didn't need. Francis, like any other man would do, jumped to the wrong conclusion. And she wasn't about to disillusion him.
"It's natural, Marie. I understand. But don't worry. I'll be as gentle as I can."
"I'm sure you will," she concurred, then averted her eyes and lay back on the pillows as he stripped naked and began to arrange himself on top of her.
"Lie back and think of England."
Her grandmother had suggested she do that when she first complained of the idea of bedding a husband. She had only been thirteen at the time, but it seemed a wise thing to do now, in this current situation, so Mary tried to follow her advice. But the trouble was that thinking of England only meant one thing. It meant thinking of him.
And you were wild and crazy
Just so frustrating, intoxicating, complicated
Got away by some mistake and now
I miss screamin' and fightin'
And kissin' in the rain
It's two a.m. and I'm cursin' your name
I'm so in love that I acted insane
And that's the way I loved you
Swept up in the passion of his kiss, Mary felt herself melting into his arms. The next thing she knew, he was bearing her down the ladder to his cabin, locking the door.
As a Princess, she should have known better, but as an eighteen year old girl faced with the man she adored beyond all reason, there was only one thing she could do.
Tearing impatiently at the laces of her gown, she ripped it off and then, clad in nothing but a shift, sprang into his arms, kissing him rapturously. "Charles! Oh Charles!"
He caught her to him, raining kisses down upon her and carried her to the bed.
Their bodies wrapped easily around each other, as if they'd been made to match. Within seconds, they'd found a rhythm. A hard, driving, passionate rhythm that suited both their natures perfectly.
All of a sudden, Mary felt something hard break inside her and the warmth of blood trickling between her legs. "Ah!" She cried out in a mixture of pain, shock and ecstasy.
At her cry, Charles seemed to recollect himself. He froze, gently withdrew from her and stared at the bloodstained sheets in horror.
"What have I done? Mary, what the Hell have I just done?"
"What I wanted you to!" Shocked that he could hate himself for this, she reached for him, stunned when he pulled away.
"Fuck! Henry's going to fucking kill me! "
"I don't care! Charles, listen to me, I don't care! I loved it! I'm happier now than I've ever been!"
Sensing that he might leave her, she acted on a surge of desperation and sprang up to kiss him. Despite himself, he moved under her ministrations, responding just as she'd hoped.
"See," she purred, "You enjoyed it too, didn't you? You enjoyed all that Tudor passion pouring out into you. I know you did. So take me again, Charles. Take me again."
For a moment he hesitated, but then he groaned. Groaned with desire.
"Oh, what the Hell. Henry's going to kill me anyway."
And then he was on top of her again.
Francis's fumbling was nothing in comparison. Nothing. As Mary endured it, she wanted to cry. She'd had so much better. But no one could know that.
No one could know, and so, though she allowed a tear or two to slip from her eyes; just enough to make people think she'd been crying with pain or fear, she swallowed her despair and tried to reconcile herself to her new life. Her new life as Marie Valois, Queen of France.
Breakin' down and comin' undone
It's a roller-coaster kinda rush
And I never knew I could feel that much
And that's the way I loved you
And that's the way I loved you
I never knew I could feel that much
And that's the way I loved you