The door opens. His eyelashes flutter at the soft sound that was barely audible to anybody else in the world. His eyes are open -all dark blue and doe-like, sparkling with illness, fatigue and a natural flair- as the door closes behind an apparent new occupant of the royal chambers. He hears the rustles of thick fabric, quiet as though she was trying to keep him asleep, watching the glimmer of dark golden and black come closer and closer towards him. He can hear the click of a heel as she walks forwards, towards him. His head hurts watching the colour move, so he turns his head and looks down at the sleeping ravenette tightly curled to his side.
She's asleep now, and by the looks of things, the flutter of her own lashes, she is deeply asleep. It can't be comfortable, he notes, to sleep in a corset -although loosened- and a fine, expensive gown with even finer jewellery. The earrings probably bite into her soft flesh, and her delicate scalp cannot be happy with a crown nestled tightly to the thick raven fibres. However, she seems peaceful, a rarity nowadays, and loathes to move her, even though it will probably be in her better interest to dress down into a nightgown and remove her gems for a few hours.
He absentmindedly tucks the blankets over her body deeper, making sure that she is being kept warm as the fire dies a dismal death a few feet away from them. The echoing click of a heel and the rustling of underskirts cease. He looks over at the woman in question, her skin weathered by years of neglect by his father and weeks at his own hand, even though she definatley shouldn't have gone behind their back and consorted with an enemy. She seems troubled now, however, her face drawn with misery.
He sends his best attempt back when she sends the filthiest look in his slumbering wife's direction. It seems to chill her. He isn't aware of why any animosity would be aimed towards his wife, providing what she's just done for her just hours ago.
He realises quickly that the Medici lioness may wish to simply take care of her ailing cub, but the lioness had to realise that the cub was a lion now, and the lion had a lioness of his own, and he had his own cub to protect.
He glanced at her again, seeing that the slight curvature of her stomach was hidden by the skirts and her blankets. He thanked the Lord that that bump was there, that there was a chance of them finally having an heir. It had been taken from them twice before, and with his imminent departure from the world of the living, it had to see the light of day.
The first time he had gotten Mary pregnant, the duo weren't even wed. It was the night that Count Vincent had died, their first night of passion where Mary had given him her body as well as her heart and soul. She hadn't known about the babe inside of her until a few days before he returned to the castle, all valiant and reckless and foolish. Of course, by then, the thing with Lola had happened. But Mary was without choice, and she had told him later on that she hadn't wanted one. She had married him not even two months into her pregnancy. She had been just about to reach six months into her maternity before the child slipped from her thighs in stillbirth. The midwives had identified that poison had been the reason for their little boy to leave this world before he had a chance to see it. That had been another reason why he couldn't let her go on that boat to Scotland with the Earl of Moray. He couldn't let her risk her health by travelling to Scotland after just loosing their babe
They had gotten lucky just before he killed his father, after he had returned from Callais. This time, a girl. A girl who had grown in her mothers womb, who had been the perfect distraction for his wife during those months where he tried to save her from himself. Mary aglow with early maternity, so much so that she hadn't even been bothered when he had decided to keep his bastard daughter under his roof. Of course, she had been hurt and hadn't wanted to see young Alana at all, but her own pregnancy had dulled any insecurity about Lola birthing his child and her not being able to. For a while, at least. But then, the Protestants had came to the castle. He wasn't sure what they had done to her, Mary had never told anybody, not even Catherine or her ladies. But she came out of that room beaten within an inch of her life, her child yet again snubbed from her womb. In some ways, that loss had been worse than their first. It wasn't a terrible occurrence brought about by nothing but jealousy and insecurity because of her royal blood and English claim. It was a horrid curse brought about on them both, one that they didn't know how to break. And yes, Mary was aware that it hadn't been anything she had done, it was simply because of the Protestants and their anger directed towards Francis because of Narciesse. But it had been so horrid for them both. Even worse when he had told her the true nature of events that lead to their second stillbirth.
Mary had been furious and heartbroken, a stark contrast to the catatonic little doll she had been for days upon days. She had thrown things at him and screamed until her lungs were raw, unable to believe he had been so foolish, so reckless, to hurt her like that. He had argued back that he had only tried to protect her from Henry and his plot to murder his own son and wed said son's wife. But it hadn't worked, and he couldn't be more sorry. The weeks of physician recovery from the loss and the months of mental recovery had been his penance, for he had never hated anything more than he did watching her suffer from any kind of pain. Her insecurity over fertility had reached such a point that she had risen hands to Lola and demanded that her husband set her up with a foolish, lowly nobleman to take her and her daughter away from her forever. Of course, Francis had obeyed, but the shake his marriage had taken was so horrid that he genuinely thought it was going to be over.
But thankfully, it hadn't come to that. Although Mary couldn't find it to completley forgive him, she did tell him that she understood why he had done the things that he had. That night, they had gotten lucky. She was just under five months now, all he had to do was hang on until they made the announcement. He may never see this child's first breath, but he could protect it for the rest of it's life.
"Mother," Francis wheezed, removing Mary's tight ensnarement from his waist to sit up. "what is it?" he asked.
"I-" she stuttered. "I wanted to sit with you. For just a while. I know what might happen-" she glanced at Mary.
"It's not her fault, mother." he said, turning his head to look at her in the eye. "It's nothing to do with that prophecy nonesence. This is simply the card I have been dealt. We must accept it. Who knows, perhaps it will end up better than you may think it will. We must have faith."
~
Not exactly a rewrite, but an extra scene and a rewrite of Frary's marriage. Feedback and requests please!
stay safe,
love,
me
