Frary

In a Clearing - Mary POV

Okay, so I said I would write this from Queen Mary POV and I finally got around to it so I hope you enjoy! 💕

I head along the twisting path, the trees rise up and surround me, creating shadows in the sunlight. I smile to myself, at the blessing that has been gifted upon my life in the past few days. More time with Francis, after those few horrific moments I believed him to dead and then Delphine, of all people, healed him, right in front of my eyes.
As much as I enjoyed the sun caressing my bare back as I laid in the tight arms of my King a few moments ago, in the end Francis was still recovering and so the 'forage for food' (heading back towards the carriage to the guards) was left to me. So I had pulled my thin dress over my head, not worrying about a corset, and stuffed my feet into those black leather boots, and set on my way along this winding path, ignoring the regret of the sudden coldness that brushed along my arms once I have maneuvered myself from his touch.
Something about these shadows flickering across the path didn't quite seem safe, and the crunch of a stick nearby (most likely that of an animal) had me quickening my pace, while feeling slightly skitterish. I'm almost to the carriage, so close I can hear the large white horse braying and the clanging metal of their bridles as they flick their heads, but I see them a moment too late as in a second the large males cover my mouth and drag my hands behind my back.
A cold sliver of metal kisses along my throat, and I barely dare to breathe, these men with their thick shoulders and a far away scent of weeks spent mustering in the bottom of a ship are much larger than Francis, larger than Bash even and they have me held captive completely at their command.
The few clipped words I hear are not in French, but something i recognized from translated correspondents from my cousin Queen Elizabeth.
These are English men, trespassers, come to pay me back for my heritage, because I am the rightful queen of England. Elizabeth sent them, I know she did, I must have been too much of a threat in the end, despite my promises to remain here in France with the husband whose extended life I had been gifted merely hours ago.

They drag me through the forest, the blade still pressed against my skin, a shout to the guards, those of which are simply moments away would be all it took but the calloused hand of these Englishmen is still groped across my face as bike rises up in my throat. And if this is payment for the blessing of Francis' survival, it is one I would except.

There across the clearing a blonde head appears, the sun bouncing across the curls as he tilts his head up, his ocean blue eyes reaching mine, and as if time stops, he falters if only for a second and then the peaceful blissed expression that could only be compared to that of an angel, the Valois Monarchs face twists into such utter fury that the river in his eyes freezes over and I want to scream at him to turn back and I want to scream for him to stay safe, that he is not well enough for this.

His hands unsheathe the sword at his side, the sword he guided my hands into using before during a practice, his body pressed against mine, his arms encircling mine and his lips brushing against my ear, whispering instructions that neither of us were paying attention to. The Englishmen notice him the moment they charge, all but one dropping me as the rush to meet the fierce charging King.
With the invasive hand removed from my mouth, I open my lips and scream for help, for someone to save us.
And there is Francis rushing through the clearing, his sword flashes and down falls a guard, and another and another. Each powerful twist of his body hits home as those around his fall and somehow rise up again. He rakes his eyes across the floor and towards me, his eyebrows crushed down in a frown, as I draw in a sharp breathe, the knife still pressing against my throat and I scream for the heavens as a Englishman jumps up and grabs my King.
The sword falls from his hands and crashes to the floor, the familiar glaze of an injury over his ice blue eyes, and I can scarcely breathe, the guard pinning me still dependent upon a command from the commander.
And he fights, Francis struggles in his grip as the pursuer smashes his golden curled head not one, or twice but three times into the ground, and I can hear anything else around me apart from the screams bubbling in my throat, and all I can think about is my king and the supposed future we were newly promised.

His eyes meet mine and there is fear within them that utterly match mine and from someone within that injured body he musters a last breathe of strength as he twists the guard above him into a strategic position, his hands groping along the floor for his fallen sword. The sun bounces off the sword, the same way it does on his hair on a usual occasion like many afternoons spent basking in the sunlight hand in hand in the castle gardens, and he tightens his grip on the handle and brings it up shoving it straight through the guards chest in one single fluid movement.
Then he's up on his feet, and running towards me, with the grace taught only to those expected to rule, his breathing is hard as he pulls the solider holding me captive towards his slim sleek body and drives the sword straight into the mans chest, his hands not even shaking and the blood coats the tip of his sword.
He staggers a few steps away from me as the EnglishMan falls to the floor.

I finally allow myself to breathe, as I look at him, at the ruffled curls crowning his angelic face, at the blue eyes that see straight into my soul, at the mouth turnt up at the corners into a small relieved smile.
His face is pale and his eyes are glazed but we're alright, we made it.

Then he closes his eyes for a second and slips to the floor, the sword dropping from his hands as his body crashes into the grass and flowers littering the crystal, clearing floor.
The relived breathe in my throat stops, my heart plunges into the depths of beyond as the gravity anchoring me to the Earth is ripped from under my feet.