"Mmm." the King of France moans, turning his head to the side as he awakens from his sleep. The leaves crunch under him as a result, and the heat from the sun can immediately be felt as Francis comes back to earth. He can smell the pond, the french smell of the leaves and the dull scent of the oak around them. The heat of the sun makes it so his chest doesn't suffer from the bareness, and he does his best to ignore the slight pain in his head. But he can smell lavender and jasmine, and a touch of peony and lily. He smiles, opening his eyes.
There she is, tightening up the front of her dress absentmindedly, looking down at the pale gold and burgundy apparel. Francis smiles silently, unable to help admiring the image of a wife he had been blessed with for the last year and a half. She looks like an angel, her hair unwound and loose around her shoulders, slightly damp and curling from their time in the water and on the leaves not that long ago. Mary's backlit from the bright afternoon sun, looking so much younger than before. She isn't embellished by any diamonds or gold, and the makeup she had worn had come off in the water. It isn't a negative thing at all, for the King finds himself preferring the natural beauty of his Mary, rather than the fierceness of his Queen, although both are incredibly endearing.
His stare becomes noticeable, and she looks down at him. Mary smiles gently, her hand extending outwards. She runs the back of her nails through his calloused hand, up his forearm and bicep, and through his hair. It's so soft and beautiful, even if it was ragged by the water.
"Hey," she whispers as he makes a small noise, shifting on their discarded capes. His wife leans down and gently presses their lips together, both sighing in simultaneous delight at the feeling of their lips brushing together once again.
She pulls away first, lightly grieving the loss of the feeling of his flesh on hers, but he more than makes up for it by gripping his wife's hand, and sliding several kisses up her fingers and palm.
"We should get back to the carriage," Mary states gently, "you never know what danger lies in the woods after a while." She muses, brushing her fingers through his hair again. "How are you feeling, is your head hurting?"
"Only a little," he smiles. "but I think I'll live." he adds. Mary smiles at him again.
"For a long, long time, my love." she finishes gently. "here." she fishes into her skirts and pulls out a small glass vial of green liquid held onto a golden chain. "Your mother says it'll relieve your pain." Mary passes the vial to her husband.
"How did you keep that in there?" the King asks curiously.
"Your mother says purses are for servants, and came into our rooms while I was reading myself for our trip, told me that if you didn't come back in one piece, I would have her to face." Mary chuckles. "Besides, I had pockets sewn into some of my dresses, makes for more independence."
"I'm sure." he whispers.
"Come," Mary states gently, finishing her bodice. "I have a horrid feeling the guardsmen are going to come looking for us soon, and imagine the scandal of having a guard seeing the King in his state of undress." her cheeks flush in a way Francis wishes so desperately to add to the scandal and reputation they have in France, but unfortunately, a man has his limits.
"I'm sure they know full well what we did." he grins. Mary giggles, leaning down to kiss her husband, feeling the insatiable, unfillable need to keep kissing and touching her husband at every given opportunity, one she hadn't felt since their wedding tour. It seemed so long ago, but it really wasn't that long at all. It wasn't even two autumns ago.
"Are you tired?" she asks, pulling back. "You fell asleep quickly, my darling."
He goes to say no, but a yawn proves him a liar. Mary giggles as he blushes.
"It's alright, how about we go to the carriage and eat our lunch, and then you can rest?" the Queen of France and Scots asks airily, gently, as she lets herself fall on her backside and pull her legs out from under her to start pulling on her shoes. He stares at her, enthralled for a moment.
"There's something else I'd much rather do-" he cheekily tells her, running his hand over her calf and ankle that were bare to him, for she wasn't wearing her satin stockings anymore. Nor was she wearing a corset, he could see it folded up near her discarded crown and earrings. He smirks at the knowledge, and it only adds to the need he himself has to kiss and touch and take his wife as his own. His sickness had never dulled the longing he had for her, and after their activities in the last two hours, Francis was eager to share his physical love and adoration he had for this beautiful Siren who had pulled him in two years ago.
"Francis!" Mary gasps, giggling out his name as he kisses the smooth skin of her shin, before sitting up to pull on his breeches on. He ends her a seductive grin, before yanking on his leather trousers and hosen over his feet. Mary stands to anoint herself with the gold crown and earrings, bending over to retrieve them both. She catches him staring at her backside with a smirk, and doesn't havet in herself to blush, only giggles as he yanks her to him so suddenly to press another deep kiss to her lips. It makes her want to pull off their clothing and push him down to the dirt and leaves again, but they really don't have the time, she remembers with a mental groan. But, she appeases herself, they have a lifetime to love each other, the time for mourning was over. Now, it was time to dance.
King and Queen finish dressing, and Mary attempts to make them both look more presentable by smoothing down their hair and fanning her cheeks. Francis, on the other hand, doesn't seem to give a damn about propriety in this moment, for he yanks her closer and tangles their mouths for one last waltz in front of the woods. He pulls back, smirking at his wife as she inhales air deeply, before winking at him, a silent promise that they would continue these risque activities in Paris.
Mary slings her discarded hosiery over her arm, and covers them with the cape she had been wearing. She catches his grin, and returns it with a bright smile. Husband takes his wife's hand, and begins to lead them both towards the guardsmen a few yards away.
For now, the Parisian stars await the King and Queen of France and Scotland.
