Your Infidelity: Allowed It, Because I Love You

Mary, What Happened?

Perspective d' François

My eyes flutter open, and instead of children with Mary, I am greeted by the harsh reminder of the Sun that it is indeed morning.

As kings, mornings mean being informed a lot of problems to by nobles and deputies, and being expected to have the magical brain to solve all of them.

Or, quite frankly, it is not the brain that nobles kiss up on me for, they are the lands and money and titles.

My right arm reaches out for a dark-haired beauty and warm-temperature body beside me, also known as my wife: Mary, Queen of Scots.

My brows furrow to be greeted by her absence. Last night, she said was going to meet me back to our chambers and into our bed after her walk from the castle.

I look near our desk table if she was there arranging monarchy business, or if she left her French coat hanging on the chair. She wasn't.

Her side of the bed wasn't even touched, just completely unmade.

I miss her. It's been three days since we've kissed, or just simply been in each other's arms. She's been cold and distant and deep down hurt ever since I signed the edict.

These many days I'd been pushing her away. In the hers and the eyes of the world I am a husband who no longer loves his wife. Contrary to the ridiculous assumption, I am man in love and in desperate desire to keep the woman he loves alive.

Mary Stuart Valois may be suffering mow without my intimacy or affection, but she would have had the great chance of suffering physically if she had any knowledge of my regicide. Last night, I had found and done a way to put an end to all the lies and and secrets that lead to our life-dulling distance, when Bash killed Montgomery, but it feels like the whole situation has changed, that the problem may have dissolved but a bigger one assembled.

What happened?