The Life Of A Queen

Chapter 3

Things start to change. Her betrothed acknowledges her and talks to her more often, and the language barrier is quickly broken. She is fluent in English and her native language, having to learn the language of her enemies, so she learns the language of the people who were around her. It's easier, anyway. It was exhausting wondering if they were plotting. So, she is taught by him. 

He tells her why he pushed her away. He was taught by his father that she was only there for political gain, that she was going to be his wife. So, the child thought all marriages were conducted like how his parents' own were. So, he treated her like his father does his mother, until, surprisingly, his mother who clearly disliked her, reprimanded him and forced him to change.
She teaches him her language, as the future king, he should know the words of his future subjects and his enemies that no doubt want his head for his allegiance to the girl. They become close, laughing with each other as they play games and run around the castle.
They become children, something neither had been allowed to do before, before their quick unification is halted by an emergency trip to Scotland for it's little Queen.
It didn't take a genius to figure that it was a trap. Just three days after she'd touched the soil that she was birthed upon, the realization dawns on her. It was a coup, and the clansmen were going to see her dead. Her mother defends her for as long as she could, but the clansmen just keep coming and coming, until mother and child are seperated and she is gripped and held as she thrashed, as people pledge loyalty to Scotland and hold up their daggers to the cornered Marie de Guise. The little girl desperately cries and screams, covered in maroon silk, thrashing and screaming in her captors arms as the angered traitors laugh and wave their swords in the air.
"No! No!" she screamed, her captor not allowing her to move an inch as her mother is pushed in the middle of their circle. They yelled something about their homeland, before the first dagger is sheathed through Marie's body. Her little daughter screamed, thrashing in her captors arms.
"Mama! Mama!" she screamed, tears sliding down her cheeks as her mother is stabbed over and over and over.
One
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Nine
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Thirteen
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Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-one
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Thirty
Thirty one
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Forty
Forty one
Forty two
Forty three
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Forty seven
She hears the sounds of horses galloping in the background, so she's slammed down onto the ground, not looking up as the murderers flee, instead sobbing loudly, crawling over to her mothers corpse. She trembled violently, almost gagging as she collapsed on top of her mothers' still chest, sobbing loudly, screaming in anguish as the burn of grief set her insides alight. Letting out cries of 'mama', she placed her head on her mothers' chest, as if looking for a heartbeat, her dress starting to get covered in her mothers' blood. The body was limp as it's daughter cried into it. She didn't stop when the door opened and twenty men came rushing inside. They silenced at the hart breaking scene.
She opened her tear filled eyes and looked at the Lord of Bothwell, not removing her head from her mothers' chest.
"She's dead!" she screamed, tears burning her pale cheeks. Grief burned her insides and clenched her throat. "They killed my mother!" she sobbed, collapsing on the limp, bloody corpse.
Seventeen of them rushed to where the murderers left, whilst Bothwell and two others came closer.
"Mary, i know this is hard, but we must leave. We must get you to safety."
"I can't, my mama," she sobbed, clinging to her corpse as tight as she could.
"We must get you to safety. It's what your mother would have wanted, little one." he reached his arms out to her, but she shook her head and clung tighter, tears choking her.
"I am not leaving her. They killed her," Mary sobbed.
"And they will pay, but they haven't left yet. They could come back and you could get hurt. We must get you out of here and back to France, to safety. That's why you were sent there in the first place," Bothwell said, kneeling on the other side of the bloody corpse.
"No," she sobbed, shaking her head, pain filling her body, tears streaming down her face.
"We have to," he said, reaching to her again.
"I am not leaving her." she demanded.
"We have to," Bothwell said, wrapping his arms around her.
"No!"
"I'm sorry, i'm sorry," he lifted her from her mothers' bloody corpse. Mary started screaming and thrashing in the elder man's arms as he took her away from the gruesome body.
"No! No! Put me down! Mama! Mama!" she thrashed and screamed, hair and silk flying everywhere, hyperventilating in her devastation.
He held on tighter, taking small steps towards the secret passage that granted them a path to safety, not letting up until all the fight had drained from the broken little girl and she desperately thrashed once more, before starting to sob into Bothwell's neck. He wrapped his arms around her, putting her in a more comfortable position, not holding her back against his abdomen with a rough arm around her waist, but holding his arm around her back, sitting her on his hip as she sobbed into his neck, wrapping her silk covered arms around him, letting out muffled cries of 'mama'.
"I know, little darling. I know." he kissed her head and fixed her crooked crown, walking with his men down the secret passageways after they'd cleared away the body. They put her on a white horse and Bothwell got on behind her, holding her tightly to him as they went towards the safe house.
The little queen watched as sixteen of the seventeen heretics were hung in front of her people. She didn't show one emotion as men died in front of her, nore did she when their bodies were slung away, still covered in the late Queen Mothers' blood. She walked numbly to her horse, before being lifted onto the white stallion, Bothwell taking her and many others to the docking port.
When they returned to France, everybody was gloomy. The sun shone brightly, but every Scotsman, Welshman and Irishman was in black, not speaking. The little Queen was carried by Bothwell, her dress black, matching her long raven hair and her dead eyes. The bodice was made of black velvet, with a wide skirt made of many layers of black chiffon with silver floral embroidery that went up in long lines all the way to the waistline. In the front there was a slit leading up to a long triangle of two layers of black velvet with ruffled hems. The sleeves were black sheer, an enormous wrist hem bellowing over Bothwell's black leather ensemble. She let her head rest on his chest, crown made of twisted silver and a large pear cut diamond resting on her forehead resting securely on her head. She was limp in his arms, dark circles under her eyes. It made the King, Queen and Dauphin of France frown. What had happened?
"Her Majesty, Queen Mary of Scotland, Wales and Ireland, Duchess de Lorraine." she was announced. Francis cocked his head. Duchess de Lorraine? That was her mothers' title, she the only eligible heir.
Bothwell walked over to them, placing the little Queen onto the floor, her black silk court shoes clicking against the stone. Her knees were weak from exhaustion and grief. She let out a wine and walked to the little Dauphin. She let out a whimper and embraced him tighter than ever before. Her sobs could be heard from his cloak as he embraced her back, thoroughly confused.
"What happened to her?" Henry asked, baffled.
"Scotland is a very fragile place at the moment, and the de Guises have suffered a loss at the hands of Protestant rebels. Mother and child were in her mothers' chambers, when the castle was stormed, and Marie de Guise was murdered in front of her eyes. Stabbed so many times." Bothwell said, keeping his eyes on his little Queen. Henry looked at Catherine, stunned. "This is all my Queen tells me, there is no doubt more horrific things her majesty saw."
Henry walked over to the little Queen, lifting her up gently, laying her head on his chest. He wrapped her arms around his neck, sitting her on his hip. She was limp, but accepted the embrace.
"Let's get you in the carriage, little one." he nearly cooed into her ear. The little dauphin's eyes shot up. His father had never, ever cooed at him, to his knowledge. He'd never shown him the pride that he did when his betrothed swung her sword and flew her bows.
He watched silently as the little queen was carried over to the carriage and was made to lay down on the seat, before his father came over to him, kneeling to his height.
"Francis, go to the carriage. Your Queen is very sad and needs to rest. See if you can lift her spirits whilst I and your mother talk to the lord of Bothwell," he nodded, walking over to the carriage, crawling to sit next to her. She didn't look up in his direction, nor raise her eyes to him. It sent a chill down his spine.
They made the long ride in silence. The only sound that could be heard was Mary's hushed breaths and soft sniffles as she curled up to her betrothed's side. He let her rest on his chest and the crook of his neck, arms wrapped tightly around her. Occasionally, he pressed soft kisses to her hair and stroked the soft raven waves, as if to comfort her, and when they got back, Catherine had the little girl compose herself for a few minutes, to get through the obligatory introductions, before sending her to her chambers with one of the servants bringing her some soup and bread every few hours, as she had been instructed to leave the child alone.
She wasn't alone for long, however. That would never happen again.