"Your Majesty," a young male page says, stopping in his frantic footsteps to bow at the Queen of Scotland as she silently stares into the mirror of her vanity. Mary looks up at him, her face drawn in a slight frown as he looks up from his bow. "word from the King, my lady." he hands her a letter folded up and held together by his seal on red wax. She waves a hand, and he scurries off to his duties.
She sighs, her thighs aching slightly from the amount of time she and Sebastian had spend on saddle the week prior, adjusting herself on her chair, before she snaps open the candle wax.
Queen Mary,
ugent summons regarding the line of succession.
HR
Mary sighs slightly, finding it slightly startling at how easily she reads his code when just the month before, it was harder to crack than the logic behind Nostradamus' vague wording. Now, both were are as clear to her as a looking glass is to any other man, or woman, in the world.
So, she follows the code, ending up in the King's study room. She goes to knock on the wooden door, but remembers with slight malicious content that she is equal to King Henry, she is no Catherine de Medici, she doesn't need to be granted permission to enter a room. She is of royal blood, nobody can nor could take it away.
"Queen Mary," the French King states, acknowledging her presence with a tone that Mary cannot yet distinguish as easily as she had done so with his letter. She bites her cheek, giving him a nod, but her steps are haltered when she notices blonde curls sitting in front of the King of France. "sit." he states, nodding to the table in front of him.
"King Henry," she states. "why is-"
"My son is here because he brings me information most valuable to the line of succession." he says it with malice, and Mary begins to grow unnerved at the look in the King's dark eye. But still, she walks closer to the King and his heir, but she refuses to sit. Mary also acknowledges that Francis looks at her, but he refuses to stand in either his fathers', or her own, presence. She blinks, he had always been one for propriety.
"Oh?" she asks.
"Yes." he states, sitting down in front of the blonde Prince. "I've asked you to come, as we have important matters to discuss regarding the upcoming nuptials." he starts. "The cardinal will be here any moment, so I have made my decision." Mary's chin raises. "I have given your question much thought, indeed." he now looks at the Dauphin, who himself keeps his steely gaze trained on Mary. She grows nervous in the line of those brilliant blue orbs, and bites her lip to keep herself strong and steady against whatever Francis has up his sleeve. "Sebastian cannot be legitimized." he states.
Mary's head snaps over towards the King of France.
"What?!" she snaps. "We had an agreement-"
"Yes, we did." he interupts. "However, that was before my son brought it to my attention that you and he have shared a rather, carnal, relationship before your exit from court eight days ago." he says, turning to the Queen herself again.
Mary's stomach drops. "What? I-I never-"
"We have the word of the Dauphin, my lady. The morning after the visit by the Venetian count, you and he shared his bed. And the servent girls who change his sheets notice a crimson stain." he states, his words dripping with the superiority that a chess master feels when he has his opponent beaten and buggered.
Mary's heart stops, she swears it. But, she tries her luck anyway. "So, what? It is before I am wed." she sticks her chin up, in defiance, the last mode of defence she has.
