Tampered Beauty

Intermission

"Mama," the little Crown Prince babbled as he sat on Mary's abdomen. He looked intently down at her. Whilst the boy looked like Mary, his expressions were all Francis. James leaned down and pressed their noses, as if testing if she was pretending to be asleep. Coming up short from his little test, James brushed an errant curl from his forehead, tapping Mary's cheek. "Mama, wake up now." James finished, sitting straight on her hips.

The young Crown Prince had been placed in Mary's chambers the night before, sleeping upon her bed the entire night, their hands tightly locked together. James seemed comforted by the sound of his mother's heartbeat, and those in the room loathed to move him and disturb the peaceful slumber that the tiny boy had finally got. And, nobody could deny that Mary had taken a turn for the better ever since her only child had been brought to her.

The young crown Prince of France and Great Britain had started clinging to his father whenever he wasn't around, especially when his mother was as out of commission as she was. And, as attached to Mary as he was, it was such a hard job getting the boy to settle when he wasn't around her. Even if she was unconscious, he still had to be around her.

The little boy had been carried into the room by the young French King, and his presence seemed to have done wonders. Not just for the morale for everybody in the room, but for his own mother. Gone were the slight expressions of pain and unhappiness, replaced with a more serene look of contentment. Although still unresponsive, the fever had gone down a tad and she was responding to the medications more than the night before. It seemed almost surreal that this tiny little Prince could work more wonders than the most experienced physicians.

"Come on, Mama. Time to wake up." James tried again, running his little hands through her hair, before they settled on her jaw. Little fingers prodded at her cheeks and nose, before settling again, this time on her chest. He waited intently, as if waiting for a response, before huffing impatiently, patting her nose twice.

The young boy was donned in white and blue silk, looking more like Francis than ever as he observed his sickly mothers' frame. Like him, she was donned in soft colours, however she seemed to have improved a little. A tiny sheen of sweat regularly appeared on her skin, not noticeable unless looking for it, and her fever had gone down a little. She wasn't in as much discomfort as she appeared to usually be in, and her breaths were deeper than the others. As if a constriction in her lungs had finally left her.

James stopped his shakes of Mary's limp body and popped up, glancing all around the large chamber, looking for somebody.

"What is it, love?" Kenna asked, rocking Meredith on her lap. The tiny girl in raven silk and golden lace lazily looked over the room, owlishly blinking her green eyes.

"Papa, where's Papa?" James asked.

"He's getting the mean boy's mother to finally go away, little one." Sebastian said, leaning against a chest of draws, observing the scene much like his nephew observed the limp body of his mother.

"Really?" James seemed hopeful.

"Really." Bash clarified. "It's better for everybody."

~~

"Are you still here?" Francis asked. Jumping, Lola turned around from her trunk to the languid form of Francis. This time, he was flanked by a servent and one of Mary's Scottish working girls, a green eyed red head donned in mint chiffon. 

The Lady looked worse than ever. Pale skin, a flush of pink upon her cheeks and her nose, another ill fitting gown. This one, a bright pink figure hugging gown that clearly wasn't worn since before she got pregnant, for it fell horribly on the motherly figure she bore, hugging the wrong places. Her tight curls were messy, she looked exhausted. Eyes were sunken in -as small as ever- and cheeks puffy.