War of Hearts || Reign || REWRITE

Chapter 15

Warning: Spicy Chapter

July 8th, 1562, Chateau de Fontainebleau

The next morning, I woke with a start in Francis's arms.
Sunlight crept in through the gaps in the heavy curtains, and panic struck the moment I realized—it wouldn't be long before his servants arrived to wake him.

I bolted upright, the sudden movement rousing him.

"What is it?" he asked groggily.

"It's morning," I whispered, already pulling my robe from the back of the chair. "Your servants will be here any moment. If they find me here, I'm finished."

That woke him properly. He sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed.

"The guard shifts change at first light," he said quickly. "You have two, maybe three minutes to disappear. I'll check if the coast is clear."

He disappeared into the audience chamber. I heard the soft creak of the door opening. A heartbeat later, his voice came back, urgent but quiet.
"Now. Go."

I rushed into the chamber, pressed a quick, deep kiss to his lips—a mistake, because the second I felt him again, I wanted him more than ever. Especially after everything we had done just hours before.

Without another word, I slipped into the corridor, then into the hidden passageway.

When I reached my rooms, they were still empty. I threw my robe over a chair, climbed into bed, and pulled the covers over myself—just in time.

Moments later, the door opened and shut gently. Curtains were drawn.

"Good morning, my lady," Claudine said, bright and oblivious.

I faked a yawn as I sat up. "Good morning, Claudine," I replied with an innocent smile.

"I'll prepare your bath. What gown shall I lay out for you today?"

I paused a moment, pretending to think. "My deep green velvet," I said finally. "The one with the gold embroidery."

"Very well, my lady," she said, already bustling about.

Once Claudine had dressed and prepared me, I made my way to Mary's chambers, where she was surrounded by her own ladies-in-waiting. From there, we walked together to the chapel for morning mass.

The king entered shortly after us, the queen on his arm, followed by Francis, Claude, Diane, and their entourage of trusted courtiers. We all took our places, the seating.

From my place among the ladies, I watched Francis at the front, standing beside his parents. Hands folded. Head bowed. A perfect image of royal devotion.

But I knew better.

He didn't look at me. He couldn't. But I knew he felt my gaze. I could feel the tension in the way he held himself.

I couldn't stop thinking about him—about what we had done.

Even here, in God's house, I didn't ask for forgiveness.
Because I knew I was willing to commit a thousand more sins if it meant being his again.

When mass ended, we exited the chapel together. The king announced that the entire court would breakfast together.

It wasn't unusual. Occasionally, he requested a communal meal—no one questioned it. But today, I welcomed it. Any excuse to be near Francis, even in public. Though private would always be better.

The tables were arranged in a grand U-shape, with the royal family seated at the head. Francis sat at the king's right, Mary beside him—undoubtedly the king's arrangement. On the left sat the queen, with Claude at her side. I was placed farther down the table, among the queen's ladies-in-waiting. Across from us sat the king's inner circle.