Mary can feel him staring at her. What he's looking at, she's not entirely sure, they've just came inside from the autumn harvest festival to sort a quick squabble with the nobles and the Venezuelan ambassador about the wine shipments from eastern Bauxcloux, and the adjusted prices of goods now that the grapes have been harvested. They've finished a quick late lunch with Catherine to discuss the new shipments of furniture for the Eastern turret, and she's just waiting for him to slip his doublet back into place, she's not doing anything to warrant such a long stare. But, stare he does.
"You know, you've never been good at subtlety, my darling." Mary finally pulls her attention from the festival, the vendors and the nobles and the servents and the peasants and the courtly children enjoying the last breaths of summer air, she can hear the giggles of children as she turns from the window, locking eyes with her beautiful golden husband in his beautiful golden crown.
"You're so beautiful." He breathes. Mary flushes a deep red, almost as deep as her gentle maroon organza gown that leaves her shoulders and neck free, hugs a rapidly growing bosom, lays gently over her arms in a sheer covering and a bell sleeve, but shows off every curve and swell of her large stomach, ripe and fruitful with their long awaited heir. "Seeing you like that, silhouetted against the sunlight, carrying within you everything we have ever wanted." The King of France slowly stalks towards his wife, extending one hand to lay across her substantial bump, the other cupping her cheek. "You've never looked so beautiful, Mary."
She flushed again, leaning her cheek to the weight of his palm, pressing her and across his that lays on her stomach. She can feel their baby kick and turn under the weight, and smiles down at the protruding bump.
She's not long to go yet, according to the midwives. One month, maybe six weeks, ripe and ready to pop. And this week, ending with a ball in honour of Prince Henri's ninth birthday, will be her last of courtly duties until she signs temporary guardianship of Scotland to the Earl of Moray, and takes to her chambers until the baby arrives in winter. She will be churched until the christening, and will hopefully return to duties in the spring, where they will travel across Northern France and take a ship to Scotland to start their yearly half year residency in Mary's homeland and show the people of Scotland their future King. She already itches for the rugged beauty of Scotland, the fresh, crisp air and the striking colours, her people, humoured and strong and brave and now forever more tied to the power in the south, another step closer for the English throne.
"I love you, Mary." Francis brings her out of her reviere, and she smiles at him, turning his face to kiss at his palm.
"I love you." She whispers. "And I can't imagine a more perfect father for my child."
He smiles at her again, bringing her as close as he could with the significant swell keeping them bodily apart.
"You'll be a beautiful mother, my darling." He kisses her then, and pulls back to rest his forehead on hers. "Now, shall we get to the festivities so court can glimpse one last glance at her Queen before she delivers our heir?"
"Indeed. But-" she doesn't let him go when he turns to lead her out of the room. "-in a minute." She pulls him back to her and presses their lips together once more, feeling him smile against her.
The baby kicks and they pull away again, the King of France running his fingers up her belly, before kneeling to his Queen, wife and the mother of his child.
"And you are loved most of all, my little King.
~\~
Sorry for the wait, your girl has been busy. Here's some tooth rotting fluff to make up for it ❤️
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You Are My Light Part II
Historical Fiction-Reign Oneshots/Taking Requests- The world can be dark, Mary, and uncertain and cruel. The only thing that matters is that we face it together. No matter what happens, you are my light. Part 2! -Read TEML first!-
