The new Queen of France looked up at the sound of the door to her chambers opening. She looked up from the letter she was writing and up to the doorway. Thankfully, it was her husband who'm stood in the doorway. She breathed a sigh of relief, standing up to greet him.
"Francis, you haven't slept!" she breathed, looking at him in all his grandeur. He had always displayed the aura of a King, yet now that he was, Mary only saw the little boy he had once been. She saw the dark circles around his eyes, the exhaustion evident in his dimmed azure gaze. Her heart ached, she wished she knew how to comfort him. She had never known her father, and although at times, her husband resented his father, he had always loved him and respected him. As a child, he had always vied for his father's attention and affection. This blow was stiff, one she had never felt, since her own patriarch died when she wasn't even a week old. She saw the sadness and the grief, even the red rims around the beautiful eyes that she so adored. Mary felt for him, all she wanted to do was wrap him up in her arms and hold him until all was right with the world again.
She got up, intending to do so, but he started talking. Even his voice was exhausted. "The nobles and my father's advisors were in my ear all night." he paused, looking up at her from the floor. "I am the King of France." he said, but said ti so hopelessly that it made her heart ache. He had been trained for this since the day he was born, yet when it happened, he seemed so lost and helpless.
"Yes, you are." she stated, walking around her desk to go over to him. She hadn't seen him since he walked into Henry's chambers as the King lay dying. How the then Dauphine hated sleeping alone in bed, for she had grown so accustomed to having him near her.
"I never wanted it to happen this way." he admitted. Mary's lips parted. She knew. She even understood. Mary never wanted to assend to her own power so young, having to sacrifice the father she had never known. "Fearing my own father, hating him at the end." he shook his head, looking up at her once again. "I saw the bodies of those men that drowned in those boats." he looked out of the window to the water where it had happened, where tens of men had spent hours fishing out the bodies of the dead from the cold water. "Heroes slaughtered." he hissed. She wished she could say something to comfort him, for he felt a connection for those who had fought in Callas. He was one of them, after all. "I saw the way that he touched your face." he hissed with even more venom.
"You were at the tournament?" she asked. As far as she knew, he was rallying up generals to come to their aid to help get Henry off the throne.
He paused. "Mary, I know that you said that my father's death was God's will-" he trailed off.
"Francis, it was." she insisted, walking over towards him, stopping a few feet away from him. "Although some people would question a God who grants us such power, based on nothing but the fortune of our birth." she sighed. "It isn't fair," she stated. Near her, Francis shook his head in agreement. Nervously, she started to pace. "the privileges we are given. And the price we must pay for them." she paused. God, she would much rather be a commoner than a Queen. She and her husband could live life happily away from duty and secrecy and manipulation and murder. "I can feel myself changing." she admitted. Catherine's words and her own from the day before had echoed in her mind all night, penetrated her dreams. "And not for the better." she looked over at him. He stood uncomfortably, looking down at the tapestry carpeting once more, his hands bound and wound around his midsection, over the doublet and clothing he had worn the day before. "Every choice I have made to protect France and Scotland, even you," she looked at him deeper this time. He looked into her eyes, still saying nothing. The words came out and she could do nothing to stop them. "for all of them there is a reckoning. And it's always the woman who must bow to the queen." she humorlessly chuckled. "I feel like I'm killing part of myself. But I'm ignoring my heart until it becomes blind and deaf." the new Queen of France shook her head, finally admitting the truth to the man who deserved it the most. "I can feel myself growing harder and I worry that I... that I'm becoming someone you will not love." she finally admitted the truth after all this time. It was true. French Court had changed her. A better Queen, perhaps. But definatley into a worse and worse person. But what was the goodness of the soul compared to the security of the realm? Or now, realms?
"Then don't." he shook his head, the blonde curls bouncing around his neck and shoulders. He walked closer towards her, taking her hand in his. She relished in the warm comfort and security of the appendage. "Don't grow harder, share your burdens, tell me your darkest truths, and I... I will tell you mine." his voice had changed, leaving her breathless and unsure as of what to say. "So we don't end up married but alone, two people going down separate paths, justifying our sins as acts of survival." he paused. "If we can forgive each other, perhaps we can forgive ourselves." he breathed, tears in his eyes.
Mary breathed out, confused at his statement. She said nothing, simply broke their eye contact to bring their interwoven hands up to her lips. She kissed them in comfort, hoping to provide at least a little to the bereaved man who stood in front of her. She half kissed his hand for comfort, half in respect and fealty to the new King of France and Scotland. She could never disobey him now. But he was so good, so perfect, that she never wanted to cause him even the slightest bit of sadness or distress or anger ever again.
He sighed, relaxing underneath her lips. She looked up, seeing his closed eyes. Unfolding one hand from his warm palms and strong fingers, Mary slowly moved it upwards. She felt his heart racing, knew there was something he wanted to confess something to her. But she couldn't force it out of him. No, all she could do was wait for him to speak upon his own terms.
Besides, the more he spoke, the less opportunity she would have to confess. She knew she should, but she didn't want to. There was something screaming at her to stay quiet, at least for now.
Moving both of her hands, the Queen of Scotland quickly brought the new King of France into her arms. He seemed to fold in her embrace. His knees buckled and he gasped aloud for air, burying his face into the crook of her neck. She cooed at him, sushing the pain he felt as he started to let out choked cries. Mary ran her hands over his back and air, not saying anything as he slid from her grasp to kneel before his Queen.
Mary cooed at her husband, running her fingers through his hair, joining him upon the ground. His body trembled and he clung to her tighter than ever. Mary whispered her love for him as he curled his face into the crook of her neck again. She wans't sure if this was the shock of becoming King or the grief he felt for his father, but she stayed holding him for as long as he'd let her.
When they were upon their feet again, Francis finally pulled his face out from his wife's neck and looked her in the eye. Softly, she tried to smile for him, but it was running her fingers over his cheeks was what she focused upon. She collected and wiped his tears away, trying to comfort him as much as possible.
"Mary," he said softly. "I have to tell you something."
"Alright," she whispered.
"I-I fear you will not love me anymore after I tell you."
"That will never happen, Francis." she said softly. "I will love you until the day I die, and in the afterlife after that." she confirmed. "Tell me, please." she stated.
"Mary, I-I-" he shook his head. "It was me." he revealed.
"What do you mean, love?" she asked him softly, running her hands over his curls, brushing them from his face.
"I-I killed him." he stated. He gulped audibly as she pulled away slightly to look him in the eye.
"What?"
"Yesterday, after I saw my father touch you like that," he subconsciously tensed at the memory of watching his father touch his wife in such an intimate way. It was then he knew what had to be done, what must be done. "I knew he was gone. The man who raised us was gone. I couldn't let him go on any longer, he was going to ruin France, kill us both and gain Scotland to attack England. I-I couldn't let him-" he paused, looking down. "I did it. I took Montgomery's place in the joust. I killed my father."
Mary gasped at him, blinking a few times to process the information that her husband had so suddenly given out. He waited impatiently, his eyes imploring, begging her, to say anything at all.
"Oh, my love." she stated, bringing him closer again. "I understand, it's alright." she said, pulling him into another embrace. Francis relaxed, placing a kiss upon her neck as he burrowed in once more. "I understand, it's okay. It's alright." she cooed into his ear. He held her tightly to him. Mary wasn't scared of him, nor did she think him a lesser man because of what he'd done.
They both held each other in their own little world, blocking out the rest of the universe for a few moments together.
But neither of them noticed the messenger in the doorway as she silently turned away and closed the door behind her, the letter from Lady Lola still in her grasp.
