The Life Of A Queen

Chapter 7

  She exited the room from a door underneath a tapestry painting, the French quickly following behind her. The only light they had was the single candlestick held by the leader. They came into a dark, tiny room in the shape of an L. Mary rested her head against the next door, counting on her fingers the footsteps and how many people there were walking around. She got to four, before feeling the Italian Queen reach for the door. Mary stepped in front of it quickly, shaking her head, before they heard a fifth's footsteps. Once they faded, Mary opened the door quickly, and ran away to the corridor to the right. Henry glanced at the fallen man with a bloody arm briefly, before leading his wife, who held their son's hand in a tight grasp, following the little girl who was wise beyond her years.
They got to the stables in a matter of minutes, after forging through the tunnels of the bottom of the castle and hiding from walking guards, quickly getting on some horses and riding away. Mary lead, Henry followed whilst keeping a wary eye on Catherine and Francis, who shared a horse.
They rode for hours, before coming across a pitch black forest, Mary starting to slow down. Her eyes stung and she was mentally and physically exhausted. It was painful to even think of the capture and execution and all that she'd been through in England. The child wanted to curl up and sob, but the Queen knew her duty to get the French and herself to safety overpowered it. Once they were safe in her homeland, then she'd reign hell on England and once vengeance had been achieved, then she'd cry in grief.
"You alright?" Henry wondered. "Maybe we should rest, we've been riding for hours, you children and Catherine, you need to sleep."
"No, Gretna is close. What we're in now is the disputable regions. We're in more danger here than there. We have to keep moving." Mary answered, shivering from the cold and the wind from riding.
"How far is it?"
"Only a few more miles. We should be there before sunrise." Mary answered, making her horse gallop quicker, leaning down to increase the speed.
When they'd gotten to the castle, the horses were placed in the stables and people rushed to Mary, hurrying to bow before their Queen.
"Your majesty, we received no notice you and your betrothed were in our homeland." The man said in a thick Scottish accent.
"We didn't know. The King, Queen, Dauphin and I were kidnapped by the English." Mary answered, sliding down off her horse, with the help of the Scotsman.
"We shall make chambers for your highnesses, baths to wash the dirt, food to suffice, before calling for your Scottish advisers in the morning."
"Thank you,"
"Come, your highnesses."
They were lead inside the castle, everybody they passed hurrying to bow before their Queen with much more enthusiasm than they did for the French.
A few days later, they were in Edinburgh, Mary's council furious at the actions of the English, refusing to let their Queen, nor the French monarchs, leave until the actions were resolved.
"We need to attack, show the English their actions against our Queen will not be tolerated. French forces attacking the south, Welsh the east and Scottish the north. They will not do this again." Lord Aaran said passionately. Mary looked to the other members of her council.
They all seemed to be in agreement, so Mary ordered the movement of eighteen companies of men to attack from the north, sixteen from the east, and waited in the chambers shared by the French to tell Henry of their decision.
Francis' sleep was disturbed by a loud bang and he sat up, as startled as his parents were, five guards in silver and red rushing into the room.
"Guards, what's happening, what's wrong?" Catherine asked.
"The English have attacked the castle. Her majesty has ordered that you be placed in a safe room underground."
"A coup?" Henry asked.
"No, an attack. They know of her majesties escape from the castle in the south. Come, now."
They were lead to the safe room underground, but they wern't far away enough to not hear the screams of dying men, the explosions of cannons and the screams of swords.
Just before they were locked away, Francis caught sight of his betrothed working a large cannon by herself, letting the fire and explosions kill those who were shooting at her.
"Shouldn't Mary be with us, mother? She's their Queen, she should be kept safe," Francis said quietly.
"Is her majesty being kept safe in this room?" Catherine asked.
The guard who was leading them stopped suddenly. "Her majesty fights with her people, to keep her people safe." was the only response, before the door closed and locked.
It felt like days, but it was hardly more than four hours, before a servant woman let the French royals out and instructed them to go to the throne room, where they saw the entire court standing there, presumably waiting for their queen. Nobles, servants, guards, the privy council and visitors in their nightwear crowded the room, before they heard trumpets and the sea of people split in two, leaving way for the thick red velvet carpet with gold borders.
Francis frowned as his betrothed came into view. She wore a long burgundy gown -the colour of defiance- with a jeweled dark red bodice with a high neck and long sleeves, leaving way for a sea of burgundy chiffon that made up her skirt, the train trailing behind her. Her hair was long and straight, face made up, a crown of gold and rubies on her head, matching chandeliers falling from her ears.
She walked swiftly to her throne, flanked by Rizzio and Bothwell, plus two dozen guards, walking up to her throne, up the stairs before turning and letting Rizzio help her onto it.
She took a few seconds and a breath, before opening her mouth and speaking. "My loyal subjects, I assure you, your queen is untouched from these murderous traitors that attempted to enter the castle tonight. They have achieved nothing, have altered nothing, and will die for nothing." was the quick speech, before she dismissed them all and let them go to their beds.
She took a long exhale through her nose, remembering those hands on her wrists and throat, remembering the weight of the man on top of her, remembering the feeling of his-
"Your majesty," Bothwell said quietly, before she swiftly dismissed him and everybody else, sitting on her throne in silence.
Scotland remains strong.
Wales and Ireland remain strong.
The Queen remains strong.
Long Live The Queen.