Bitter Reality

1

The young French King sighed softly, leaning his head against the cold glass of his workroom. He watched his court enjoy themselves in the warming spring heat, unable to un-see the face that wasn't there, smiling with her court. His cobalt blue eyes caught his child, observing how the fair haired little boy stood on unsteady legs, holding onto his mothers' hands with chubby little fingers. Seeing the child brought such joy and pain to his heart.

The child neared his fourth birthday, content and happily oblivious to the amount of scorn he received on a daily basis. He shouldn't exist, but he did. It was because of his father that he existed, but it was because of his father that she wasn't at his side.

Time had simultaneously flew and dallied, over the last fourteen months. It had seemed so recent that his father had died -at his own hand- and plague spread across the Kingdom. He had ran head first into the disease, away from his country and his castle and his responsibilities and her.

The French King knew -now- that he shouldn't have done it. He knew he shouldn't have left her side -even for a moment- now that he knew the consequences of his impulsive actions. He sighed again, closing the windows.

His wife and his mother had handled the plague well, he had been told. Only, just before it's complete eradication, rebels had stormed the palace and removed her at sword point. Nobody had seen her since.

Except, he acknowledged, those who had kidnapped the Queen of France and who hadn't returned her. 

He had been told immediately after returning to the castle. It -now plague free- had been in an uproar, as, try as she might, the Queen mother hadn't been able to handle court without either of it's rightful rulers. Catherine had been stunned, hearing the news of the new Queen's abduction, but hadn't let it effect her as much as her son had. 

Immediately after the plague had died -his mother wouldn't allow him to put himself in any more danger than he already had done-, he had been out there again, four dozen guards at his side, looking for the woman he loved. A constant flow of men had been on the lookout, observing every inch of the country, it had felt like, only to come up empty handed each time.

It seemed as though she had vanished into thin air.

The young King sat at his desk and placed his head in his hands. He felt extraordinarily guilty. Men had broken into his castle and had taken his wife. And, day by day, people had lost hope that the Queen of France and Scotland was even alive. A desperate, dying light of hope was still in his heart, that the woman who held it still walked with the living.

He should have protected her, he was well aware. He should have stopped them and had them killed for daring to attempt to hurt the Queen. But, like his foolish heart told him to, he wasn't there. He was riding around the country with his wife's best friend and their bastard child. 

Only God knew how frightened she must have been, he thought. Only God knew how frightened she must still be. If there was any chance she was still alive -somewhere- then he knew she would be terrified. He had to believe she was alive, he clung to the belief. He clung to her professed love, and hoped she loved him enough not to leave him.

The way you left her. An angry voice spat at him, from inside his head. He winced as if the voice had actually spoken. 

"Francis." a stern voice suddenly said. The King jumped and looked up, seeing his mother saunter into his study.

"Mother, what is it?" he asked.

"Bash's search party have just returned." she informed him. "They went south, coming back empty handed." his mother said, looking down sympathetically as her eldest sons' shoulders slumped down. "I know this must hurt, my child. But, Mary has been gone for almost four years. Less and less people think she be alive everyday. It is only a matter of time before she is declared dead, and you must find a wife. Another to give you heirs." Catherine said, as gently as possible, placing a hand on his shoulder. He looked up fiercely, jerking his shoulder away from his mothers' touch.