“Francis, would you come to see Jean for tonight?” The statement from Lola made both his and Mary's head turn towards her, though the ravenette barely stopped for a beat, before resuming to saunter through the halls, barely even sparing him a glance.
“Mary wait,” He says, though his wife probably hasn't even heard his interjection having been long gone. Lola's hand on his arm tightened, and he was deterred from making a move to follow her. “Was this really the appropriate time to ask your question?” he sighs.
All the court has heard about his bastard— of how he rode of so bravely despite the plague, all alone without proper protection; without sensible pensive, really. He heard the words paternity and he blanked despite all of his wife's pleas. Marking his first actions as a ruling monarch driven by that of carelessness and sentiments, leaving behind his country stricken with plague and unbeknownst wether the same horrors will reach the castle walls. To his knowledge, it did. His brother and his wife, Bash and Mary had done an excellent job at containing the sickness that ravaged the court, and instilled order despite more than the destructive threat of plague; of nobles wishing to cover up their crimes, of plotting and murder. Because French court wouldn't be French court without it's lavish insanity.
Catherine loved him to a fault, but he felt her palms kiss his cheeks after embracing him into a tight and relieved hug. He was sheltered from every sickness that could be a threat to his mortality, and his actions of bravado has cost his wife and mother many nights of sleeplesness. He had gotten a well deserved earful, save from his wife who barely says a word.
Within the two week period he's returned back in French court, amid the litany of court precedings, he's spent a great deal of his leisure time with Jean Philippe. His son was especially quesy; as if feeling the hostility, even the maids has graced him with, the gossips that court whispers of him. The boy was difficult to put to sleep, and would often fuss even feeding from his mother's. He tries to be present where he couldn't make up for how others act around him, he also makes up for other aspects with due diligence, trying to accomplish his christening within the closest following dates and taking it a step further and allowing Jean to use his own crib and gown he was christened with, an act emphasising the bastard borne's importance to him.
Though the notion in itself has put him at odds with Mary, spurred an unreasonably loud arguement in the middle of the night, verses thrown in the midst carelessly trying to make each of their points known.
For Him, it seemed like the obvious thing to do; his son, and any children his wife may birth him, will use his crib.
For Mary, it made all the difference; He wasn't made to use Bash's used crib as a child. It was more than the object, but what it represented, that he fails to understand which irks Mary so.
It seemed he had fanned the flames further. The ravenette storming the halls with stubborness in her gait, never once looking back since that unfortunate night. However, how could he be anything other than upset when it was her strong heart, the same fearlesness; her wild and unconstrained spirit that he fell inlove with. Hook, line and sinker. The same aptitude engraved deep in her bones, made her punish him in kind. Mary has refused to lie with Francis since the first night. It may have been more of a thought in his head, but their bed seemed stiff and colder without her in it.
Catherine had warned him, and it seemed as if his mother's words were a premonition. A cruel one.
“I'm sorry,” Lola utters defensively, and he glances with a frown at the hand to his arm. She remained impassive, “But Jean's so used to you already that he refuses to sleep without your presence.”
Francis sighs,“I will try to make it tonight,” albeit unsure wether meetings with ambassadors would keep him pre-occupied. But he intends on keeping his promise. “You still haven't found a suitable hand to help?” He asks. Few days ago, he's sent for suitable candidates for his child's nanny but Lola insisted, she knew a maid who recommended a better skilled one. The hunt for a nanny was then, postponed with her notion. She was, afterall the other parent and he heeds her input as much as possible.
“None that suit's Jean yet.” Lola smiles, “I'll be expecting you.”
./.
“What an adoring family unit,” Catherine muses with hints of ridicule as she approaches Mary. The latter merely ignores her words and continued to read through papers that were handed to her for signature. “We as women, should be given more credit for being civilized.” She smiles, “Wouldn't you agree Mary?”
Mary looks up from her seat on the table, Kenna and Greer quieting down as the Medici matriarch and Mary gazed upon eachother, “I would hope so.” She replies after a few moments, smiling decently. “They say the female of the specie, is afterall, deadlier.”
Catherine's smile widens just a bit, “I'm ever astouned with your wisdom.” She pauses, “And your temper. I couldn't fathom being even tempered as you are, while your husband and lady plays house.” the provocations made her other ladies shift in their seat uncomfortbaly. Mary straightenes in hers. “Such grace and bearing truly belongs to the Queen of France.”
Mary flinches the slightest, hand crawling towards her abdomen, a movement so small it was overlooked. She breathes through her nose, and ignores Catherine all together as an attempt to gather her bearings. She's lived through, so it seemed a lifetime of tense and spiteful quarrels that she tries to evade confrontations— a rule that she now, very recently, imposed on herself.
The copper haired older woman tilts her head with a certain light crossing her eyes, as Mary ignores her words and refused to dignify her with an answer. It was no longer interesting to meddle with she and Francis' affairs without so much of a snark response. “As you were.” and she saunters past their crowd to another.
“How bitter, and distasteful.” Kenna scoffs. “You wouldn't believe that Lola is truly making a pass at Francis, would you?”
Greer kicks Kenna's foot under the table, as if it weren't already obvious that Mary wasn't in the proper mood to talk about the whole indescretion ensemble. The couple have already enough problem as it is.
“Francis wouldn't bring another Diane into this court,” Greer smiles comfortingly towards Mary. “He loves you too much.”
Mary returns the smile, “You're a true friend Greer.” She utters sincerely, while her eldest friend squeezes her hand.
Though the statement held meaning which made Kenna silent; she congratulated Lola with baiting Francis and implied to keep him in her bed. She wonders if Mary know? She glances towards her ravenette friend, Queen twice over and watches with rapt attention her unfeeling expression as she takes in food elegantly. The female of the specie is deadlier. Kenna looked down at her own food wordlessly, feeling her own guilt and- and terror rack her body.
