Reign 1. Chapter 1

To Love, Honor, Protect and Break

The distance had been eating her alive for some time now. After his fathers death it's as if nothing can bring back the man she fell in love with. She felt like it was her fault that she lost their child, he somehow resented her for his fathers death and the death of their child. Mary tried so hard to be happy and supportive, not let her emotions, her temper or depression get the best of her but seeing him stare dazed into the fire like it held all the answers in the world killed her. She didn't just want to be his queen; Mary wanted to be his partner, his confidant, and his world. When there was a problem she wanted him to consult her before Bash or his privy council. Even thinking the words she knew they were selfish ones. Nobody had to tell her otherwise. She didn't even want to think them but they kept plaguing her mind. Sighing deeply, she spoke with his back still hunched helplessly over the roaring fire. "I love you, I need you to know that," her words were firm and echoed against the stones of the walls. They hung in the air between them before Francis' sleek form finally turned around to face her. His cornflower eyes pierced her dark ones. "I do," was his simple sentiment devoid of all feeling.

His beautiful eyes were dull and flat lacking all emotion. Mary could feel her amber eyes start to glisten over as she spoke the words she had sworn would never leave her mouth, "I want to support you as your wife, as your queen but I can't understand why you would let the murders of that young boy, your cousin walk free. This isn't you." Despite the audacity of her words and the raging emotions within Mary, her voice was fierce and calm. She didn't mean to sound accusatory, bereft or even aloof, but by the way his eyes blazed she knew she needed to tread carefully if this conversation was continuing.

The words left his mouth before he even thought them through in the slightest, "You know the larger issue here." As soon as the fighting words left his mouth Francis wanted to retract them. He didn't want to alienate his wife like his father had done to his mother; in fact, he wished his father could be erased from his memory forever. His anger was at himself and Lord Narcisse, not his beautiful Mary.

As a ruler, Mary understood having to keep France's interests above their own, but she couldn't understand why Francis would bow down to the injustices that were doled out to his family especially when he had always told her they would rule as a team, their rule would be so different from his father and mothers. "I understand that we need to bow down to Catholic nobles who pretend to bow down to us, but you could have held those men accountable. What they did is only going to further inflame the Protestants."

The distressed, longing look in Francis' soulful eyes went unnoticed by Mary though when it appeared as if there was no reasoning with him. In all of their years of knowing each other and their short courtship and even shorter marriage, he had never spoken to her like that. She knew very well that most noble marriages, especially those involving royals were far from loving and romantic but she had thought her and Francis would be different. Despite the warnings everyone had given her, Mary felt incredibly naïve and wounded. "Do not talk to me about larger issues here. My mother had to flee our homeland because of Protestants; my _country_ has fallen to Protestantism. I do not need a lecture from you about the dangers of religious intolerance and what it can do to our people, our nations."

"Mary, I can't talk about this anymore, I am begging you to let it go. The decision has been made." His frustration was mounting at her pressing him and his secrets. Francis wanted nothing more than to tell her the truth, she was the light of his world, but doing so would greatly endanger her. He was trapped in a corner with nowhere to go. The flames of his sins were burning him from the inside out and strangling him.

She couldn't stop pushing him, Mary could feel how close he was to telling her what was really bothering him. She couldn't stand the secrets mounting between them. She felt it hardening them into people they had previously hated. "Why can't we discuss this Francis, we used to," Mary was exasperated at the edginess of her husband.

"It's not always possible to talk everything out-I am the king of France! If my own wife can't respect my decisions how are my subjects supposed to!?" Francis face was a purple, red color with a crazed look in his eye. He could feel the hatred for his father spreading through his veins. Even dead he was still controlling all of his actions. He honestly wished there was a way to spare Mary the hurt he was bound to cause her because of these secrets.

Mary was slowly accepting defeat; her biggest fear was possibly upon them already. The thought of Francis resenting her made her heart shrink and stop beating. In her last attempt to try and reach him she grappled about their times before coronation, "It used to be, you used to tell me everything, no matter what. What's changed Francis? There is something else going on, I know you. You've been distant, acting as though you're haunted by something."

"It was a choice I made as king," he gritted out through his teeth. Finally gaining the courage to look at Mary again, Francis saw the pleading in her dark eyes. She just wanted what was troubling her lover. Francis saw her begin to speak again and knew if he didn't shut this down he would end up endangering his love more than he already had by making under the table deals with Narcisse. The worst part is, is he knew how Mary would react. She would try to save him, save their countries from falling under noble rule again. He didn't want to corrupt her like he had already been. There was no hope in having a different rule from his fathers. That was their fatal flaw. Her fatal flaw still, she thought she could bring justice to France. The situation was getting the better of him, getting the better of his marriage. "I just need peace and quite Mary, please." He was back to begging his beautiful wife to let him wallow in his own selfish mistakes.

Francis knew just by looking at her she was thinking the worse. He wanted nothing more than to be able to take her into his arms and hold her; reassuring everything would be okay and then making sweet passionate love to the woman he would do anything for. He killed for her, for their future and it was now killing him.

Mary honestly didn't understand why Francis was being so secretive. Didn't he realize that all she wanted was to be treated as his equal and loved. She wanted to help him carry his burdens not be treated like a porcelain doll who couldn't handle getting her hands dirty. If she had learned one thing while in French court it was that in order to survive you had to get dirty. "You need to trust me, let me help you."

He turned back to the fire, unable to face Mary and her worry for the pathetic piece of shit he had become in his short rule. Gripping the stone fireplace he was once again leaning into he squeezed his eyes shut in hopes this would all be a bad dream as he let more sharp words fall from his thin lips, "Not everything can be solved by talking, by love, by you. There are things that can't be changed, that can't be undone no matter what. There are things you need to be protected from, I need to protect you," he blurted at the last moment. Francis inwardly cringed at letting his need to confide in Mary get the best of him!

Mary felt like crumbling to the floor in frustration. Her and Francis were literally talking in circles not making sense. He refused to give her a clear answer. Even though she knew she needed to be protected, her pride got the best of her. "I'm not fragile and going to be broken by a few harsh words. I don't need to be kept in the dark. What are you trying to adamantly to protect me from," Mary's voice raised in octaves as the argument continued.

"Stop pushing me Mary, I've said too much already. Please, I'm asking once more, let it go," Francis anger was both growing and diminishing. He didn't know how much longer he could fight with Mary. The stress on the day was wearing on him and he suddenly felt very frail and ill.

She rolled her eyes and scoffed in anger. "You have said far too little actually!" Mary felt like a petulant little girl whose older brothers were taunting her just because she wasn't male.

Francis unintentionally punched the mantle he had previously been clutching for dear life. "Mary, there are things I don't tell you because they endanger you. As queen of not only France but also Scotland you should understand people not telling you things for your safety! It is too risky and if god forbids anything happens, you have to be here. Safe. It's important that you are in the dark on some issues, on dangerous issues. You need to trust me." Mary knew Francis was trying to force her hand here so he could get out of having to explain. If her safety was in danger she had a right to know so she could try and combat the danger herself as well. All her life she had had a knife over her head, even being queen hadn't changed that.

"Whether I am your queen or the queen of Scotland or I lay claim to England there will always be threats and dangers. We are royals by birth and from birth we are expected to know the dangers our positions hold! How dare you treat me like an insolent Francis, you know that I realize the dangers of who we are better than anyone else," Mary's eyes were gleaming with a burning hatred for Francis, for their positions, for being royal at that moment. At times like this, she wished more than anything to be back at the convent, to be a normal girl…

In that moment, Francis became his father. Everything he had ever promised Mary went up in smoke. His anger at the predicament they were in got the best of him. Why had his father gone mad? Why had his father tried to take Mary away from him? "MARY," Francis roared, his anger and hatred matching his wives, "How dare you question the king of France! Do not forget dear wife that you are still in my court at my leisure."

Mary was speechless, she had heard Henry speak like this to many women in her short time here at French court, but never Francis, not even when he was with Olivia and she was irrevocably jealous. Mary's mind was still reeling, playing over the conversation they had just had as Francis paced in front of her vigorously running his hands through his curly, golden hair. She would have been pleased with him for not leaving after their quarrel except it was still too fresh. His biting words still stung and her eyes still glistened with unshed tears.

Mary was trying to make sense of what she couldn't do, what she couldn't help him with when she suddenly gasped, breaking the silence of the room despite Francis' heavy footfalls. His blue eyes immediately met her dark ones, both were haunted, Francis noticed how tense and frigid Mary seemed in that moment. He had never seen her so closed off and lost. She appeared to have shrunk in size. Her plush lips were moving and her eyes were the size of gold coin pieces. Francis desperately wanted her to turn and go to sleep, they would figure it out in the morning, but once she spoke he too froze with the same haunted look on his face. "You said that there were things that I couldn't do, I couldn't help you with… This mystery threat that somehow involves your sons nanny and you skulking around the castle at all hours of the night, something I can't fix and you can't change. The secrets visits to see your son… And the baby that I lost," Mary's dark eyes dropped to the ground as her heart silently broke. She had known all along…

Francis almost dropped to his knees to make Mary realize what she was saying was absurd. Almost. His heart was Mary's for the taking, even in his darkest moments when he thought he lost her, it still beat for her, and without Mary he was nothing. Francis knew if he lost her it would be the death of him. Yet here he was, at a crossroad. He had the option to be honest with her, allow her to judge him for the monster he had become and decide whether he was worth loving, worth staying with or keep her safe at the expense of his heart. Of their hearts, of their happiness together.

Francis realized that as long as Mary was safe and alive, he didn't care if they were miserable together, he would always love her and put her above his own happiness, their own happiness. In that moment, Francis broke his own heart to save Mary from his own faults and mistakes. He had to let Mary rip out his own heart and lie to her to save them.

"Do you worry that I can't bear you a child," Mary's voice was hoarse and the words kept getting caught in her throat. Francis was gutting her with a rusty, dull knife and slowly letting her bleed out on the ground. He had lied to her and said that it would be okay, that they would get through it when he resented her and thought her to have purposely lost their baby, their heir while Lola had no trouble-producing sons at all. "Do you find me so despicable you would cast me off not even a year into our marriage and turn to my lady, my friend Lola to become your mistress because she can give you sons, heirs," the disgust in her voice made him want to vomit and beg her for forgiveness.

Francis swallowed his disgust with himself and saw part of his Mary die right before his eyes. "Yes! I worry because as a King and as a man I want heirs. Is that what you want to hear? Does it bring us closer for you to know that your failure disappoints me beyond words?" He couldn't even bring himself to speak Lola's name for fear the lie would literally strangle him alive. Francis was filled with so much hatred and self-loathing he didn't even realize what he was saying anymore. He didn't realize Mary collapse into the lounge, tears streaming down her face. His stomach churned and he could feel the bile rising in the back of his throat, "Have I answered you fully? Are we done with this relentless interrogation," the grave tone of his voice sounded like death, he felt dead inside.

Mary couldn't get enough oxygen into her lungs; it felt like she was drowning with a lead weight on her chest. Her heart had broken at the hand of the only person she had ever truly loved, "When you told me you hadn't lost hope..."

Her next words made Francis recoil; all he wanted to do was tell his wife it was all a lie. Everything he had said. None of it was true. If all she would do is forgive him he would forever be in her debt and shower her with love and affection and devotion until the day he died. But he couldn't risk having Mary killed because of him. He had to save her because their children, his country would need her but they could easily survive without him. Everyone could survive without him. "I lied. Mary, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have. I wish..." He wished for so many things, if God could grant him one wish for the rest of his life it wouldn't have anything to deal with money or heirs or even his country's well-being, it would only have to do with Mary- each beat of his heart, it said Mary, was for her.

She was still speechless; Mary couldn't believe how easily Francis could lie to her about anything, about seemingly everything. About her greatest fear and insecurity. Mary barely whispered the words out, in fact, she wasn't even sure Francis heard her. "For something I can't give you. Well, I asked you for the truth and you certainly gave it to me. I don't need to hear anymore."

Their hearts were bleeding with no intention of ever stopping or ever healing but for completely different reasons. Francis moved towards Mary sitting down, he didn't care at this point. He wanted her in his arms, he would cry with her, holding her tightly explaining everything if it got that distant, dead look off her face. However, when he moved towards her, she flinched away from him.

Mary saw Francis move towards her and the mere thought of him touching her made her want to cry out in pain like he had whipped her. She couldn't handle this; she couldn't be with him right now. As he moved forward again to sit, Mary stood and walked out. She had nowhere else to go in the castle, but she couldn't stay and go to sleep like everything was fine.

Two royals were in that castle that night, slowly bleeding to death, but not dying.

**So this is my response to what happened in season two, episode five. It just seemed unfinished to me. I've yet to decide if I will continue this as a story or not. Feedback is always welcome! ****J****And any and all errors are my fault; I did not proofread like I should. Enjoy! **


	2. Chapter 2

Francis grappled for Mary's delicate fingers as she bolted from the small couch near their bed. He had never felt so small and pathetic than he did the moment she flinched and bolted from him. The horror struck look was stuck on his face even as the heavy wooden door slammed signally his Mary had left him after their first explosive fight. Francis knew that he should chase after his wife and bring her back to him, but something was stopping him. Was it the fact he could so easily lie to the love of his life or the fact she so easily believed the lies? She was supposed to be his best friend, his lover, his confidant, his world how could she not see the lies and hurt deprived looks imbedded in his soul? Had ruling really made them so desensitized to the others needs and feelings? Francis scrubbed his face, pushing the heels of his palms into his eyes. He hoped they could get past this as he dazed forward letting the tears roll down his cheeks.

Mary moved quickly and sleekly through the castle in her silk nightgown unsure of where she was going. She almost hoped that Francis would be following her to try and stop her, take back his hurtful words. As she rounded a corner, Mary couldn't stop her instinctive reaction of looking over her shoulder- the corridor was dark and lonely, just like her. The candlelight flickered against the cold stonewalls, but there wasn't a certain lanky, young king chasing after her. Her heart broke even further if that was possible, and she sunk into the alcove, praying God heard her and would just allow her to disappear.

Her prayers were not answered; God was only listened to deserving women who could give their husbands heirs that night. Mary shrunk further into the darkness trying to even out her breathing and focusing on not sobbing again until whoever was approaching rounded the corner. As the heavy footsteps kept getting closer to her hiding spot she allowed herself to hope that it was Francis now looking for her. When the owner of the footsteps was in front of her she peeked up from under her wet eyelashes to be sorely disappointed. Instead of the striking blue eyes she was expecting to see, she saw a very similar pair of eyes staring back at her.

Lord Conde had been down in the rotunda drinking with his men and was just coming up to find a young woman to entertain him for the evening when he heard what sounded like a wounded animal coming from the alcove. Upon arrival at the alcove he was shocked to see the Queen of Scotland burying herself in a corner, rocking back and forth with her arms crossed looking like she was trying to keep her chest from ripping open. She looked like she had been crying, but for the first time he didn't see a brilliant woman who was smarter than almost every man he knew nor did he see the powerful, untouchable queen of two countries, he saw a beautiful young woman. He saw all of her hurt and depression and loneliness. He saw how lost Mary, Queen of Scots was, how truly isolated she had become at court. Conde knew he needed to help this woman in whatever way she would allow him. He just wanted to see that taunting smile grace her full lips and the spark in her amber eyes that never failed to dazzle every person in a room.

Kneeling down, he mirrored her, looking from under his thick, dark lashes and lazily smiling at her. "Now what is a lovely woman like you doing here at this hour," he asked cheekily as he extended one of his hands to her. Mary looked quizzically up at Lord Conde, not expecting him to take the time to try and help her. That's when she remembered that she wasn't just some average looking girl at the convent anymore; she was the Queen of France and Scotland. Mary realized how she must look and was immediately embarrassed. She couldn't help the little smile that spread across her lips at his inappropriate comment. Nobody ever treated her like a person anymore, even Francis and especially not her friends. They were so caught up on being formal and perfect they forgot how happy the little things in life made Mary. As Mary grasped Conde's hand she instantly felt better. Her smile slowly grew as they came to their full heights. "Now Lord Conde, I could ask you the same question," she prompted back. "No good and proper gentleman would be up this late unless he was looking for trouble," Mary quipped.

"Now, now my queen, I am just a young man perusing the castle to make sure everyone is safe, I couldn't sleep if I knew some young lady was wandering the castle at this unsafe hour," Conde smiled widely, exposing two large dimples on either cheek. He looked down at their hands which both were still grasping awaiting her response.

Mary knew their flirtatious banter was dangerous and if court got word of this late night conversation Lord Conde's reputation would be tarnished, but being in his presence almost made her forget about her fight with Francis. "How very chivalrous of you my lord, we need more good men like you here I'm afraid. Others in your position would have far worse intentions I am afraid," Mary smirked, winking at him. "Unfortunately, most chivalrous men don't smell like a tavern either," she sniffed the air surrounding them.

Conde was surprised to see this playful side of Mary, he watched at the flurry of emotions were slowly being erased from her facial features, her mesmerizing eyes became far less troubled and whatever was plaguing her seemed to be sliding to the recesses of her mind. He continued to smile as a small chortle bubbled up. "My, my your majesty, you are quite the observant one at this late hour," he responded keeping a respectable distance from her despite wanting to speak much more quietly and intimately but still grasping her delicate, pale little hand in his much larger tan one. He could feel her becoming more open and animated with him and he loved it. Conde never realized how truly remarkable Mary was. He assumed she was cold and calculating due to their previous conversations revolving his many married mistresses.

Mary felt her cheeks heat; it had been ages since she felt like she could be herself around someone. The last time she felt like this was when she was with Bash. A wistful look passed across her face before she masked her emotions and gave a much tighter, formal smile. However, he was so enamoring and really seemed genuine in talking with her. It made her feel so much better than wallowing in her misery. "Drink for your thoughts," Conde offered, giving her an innocent look again. Her appreciation grew even more for this man the longer they talked, God had unknowingly answered her prayers.

"I would love a drink, shall we head to your chambers," Mary asked, taking them both by surprise. "It has been a rather long night and I could use a night cap." She bit her lip, looking at him, "If you don't mind," Mary questioned. "I don't want to pressure you or have anyone talk, it could just be two friends enjoying a drink," she babbled on, realizing how this must look. How she looked, "Never mind, I'm sorry, I should be going," she began to turn, but spun back around, falling into Lord Conde's chest. "Oh I am terribly sorry," Mary's pale cheeks were flaming as she looked at the ground. "Forgive me my lord, I am much to brazen."

Conde was both stunned and impressed. He wanted nothing more than for her to stop babbling. He was reasoning that she was his queen and as such he must follow her requests. "I am not worried what others think of me your majesty, if you would like a night cap I am more than happy to oblige," he stepped back from her to bow, holding the tips of her fingers and kissing them before standing. He wanted her to know that he respected her position, but more importantly, her as a person. He sensed she needed someone right now.

Mary's breath caught as his lips grazed her knuckles, her hand coming up to her throat. She was playing with fire, but it felt so good. She loved that he didn't look at her with disdain or distance and misery wasn't written all over his face every time she walked into a room or got close to him. Louis Conde made her feel alive and made her feel like a human, like she was worth something. Breaking contact Mary backed up, moving closer into the darkness. Taking a deep breath, she looked into his piercing eyes and nodded her head. "Okay," she whispered from the darkness, "If you are-," she cut herself off. If she did this, she could lose her head especially when she was out of favor with the king. Did she really care right now? No, Mary decided she didn't. "The library has an exquisite view of the water at this hour," she smiled, leading the way down the deserted corridor. Looking over her shoulder, she smirked getting a mischievous look on her face. "Are you coming or am I drinking alone tonight Lord Conde," she taunted.

He breathed easier knowing she wasn't going to freak out from his bold display of affection; Conde looked her up as the moonlight glowed on her pale skin. God was a cruel man putting this siren in his presence that he couldn't have, that he refused to have. Biting his lip and shaking his head, he followed her down the hallway to their desired destination knowing he was going to lose his head if anyone found out about this.

Meanwhile, Francis was pacing in his chambers, drinking a decanter of whiskey wondering when Mary would return, when he could apologize and beg her to forgive him. He never should have let her leave. The guilt was eating him alive and the hatred of his situation was killing him. He was turning into his father, breaking every promise he had ever made to Mary. Francis knew that if he couldn't be honest with her he would lose her. They both had made mistakes, his far worse than hers and they needed to resolve them before they became bitter people who couldn't stand one another. Before they did something they regretted, before he did something he regretted. More things that he would regret.

Francis had an anger burning in him that made him see red. Why had Mary had to push him? Why couldn't she leave well enough alone? Why did she have to know him so well? Why couldn't she be the dutiful, well-mannered wife he needed?

Francis' breath caught in his throat. He thought he was choking. His eyes watered again. Shaking his head sadly, what was he thinking? The fact that Mary was stubborn and her own person is what he loved most about her! That she was smarter than any man he knew including himself and Bash, is what made his blood boil and his heart beat for her.

Taking another pull of whiskey he didn't understand where she was, whom she was with, was she in a corner crying, was she cursing his name to God, what was she doing? He couldn't stop obsessing over her. Francis just wanted his sweet Mary in his arms. He wanted to push her against the door and apologize until she believed him. Francis wanted to kiss every inch of her and not leave their chambers the next day. He wanted everyone to know how much he loved and adored his life, that he could never be disgusted with her. She was his life, his world, the reason he got up in the morning.

Sitting down with a thud where he had broken her heart made him all the sicker. Looking at the clock he saw it was passing four o'clock in the morning, she should have been back hours ago. He began pacing again. Francis chugged the rest of his decanter and went to get more when he realized everything was all gone. Frustrated with his situation, Francis chucked the empty glass decanter against the wall. Watching it shatter with bloodshot eyes, he crumbled onto the plush carpets. "Whyyyyy," he screamed, fisting his unruly golden locks. He was sobbing into his knees. Why did he have to love his father, he was an awful man and an even worse father. He tried so hard to please him; everything he did was to make him happy. To make him pay even half as much attention as he did to Bash. Francis was so caught up in his head he didn't even realize he had gotten up and began wandering the halls. Subconsciously he knew he was looking for Mary, but he was even more surprised when he ended up stumbling into his son's nursery.

Sighing and running a hand through his messy hair, Francis growled out for the wet nurse to leave. He wanted to see his son with no prying eyes. When the frightened woman quietly shut the door, he began pacing for the hundredth time that night. Francis knew that he shouldn't be in there and he shouldn't resent this little human being, but he did. He hated the boy in that moment. Looking into the cradle at the same, fragile little boy he felt his heart turn icy. He bent over to get as close to the child as he could without touching him, leaning heavily on the cradle. "Why the hell did I want to be the better man, why the fuck did I claim you," Francis spat venomously at John Paul. "I should have let you and your mother get on that boat with Conde and nobody would ever have had to know. Everyone would be so much happier, I would be happy. The most happy." Francis moaned again, falling to the ground.

He heard a door open quietly and looked up at the intruder. It was Lola with tears in her pretty blue eyes, her delicate hand was covering her mouth to keep from crying out and her tears quickly stopped falling and she turned an icy glare on the drunken King of France. Francis opened his mouth to speak, but realized he had no fight in him. He wanted Mary; he wanted a child with Mary. He didn't want to be the king of France; he wanted to be normal- a normal man or at the least a bastard so he could do as he pleased.

Honestly, Francis felt so numb he didn't even feel sorry for hurting Lola or hurting their child with his words. It was a mistake- the boy was a mistake. The love he originally had for the little boy was slowly fading as he saw how hard it was for Lola to be here and how much it pained Mary. "I'm sorry," Francis stated void of emotion. "I didn't mean it," he continued in the same monotone.

Lola knew Francis was not in a coherent state of mind, she could smell the whiskey radiating off of him, in some small recess of her heart, she felt so bad for him. Her eyes kept darting between the dangerous man sprawled out on the floor and the cradle. As a mother, she just wanted to make sure her precious son was okay, but as a subject of the French court, her duty was to her king. Curtsying, she slowly walked towards Francis hoping not to startle him or send him into another angry rampage. "Good evening your majesty," Lola soothed, coming to sit next to him.

Francis chuckled darkly, looking into Lola's passive stare, "Lola, we both know we are so far past formalities," he grumbled, pointing behind him towards the sleeping infant. "So just stop now, especially now." Francis' monotone cut Lola like a knife. This wasn't the man she knew. This wasn't the man that was her child's father or her friend's husband.

"You are right Francis," she appeased. "Excuse me for prying," Lola hesitated realizing he was very unsteady right now, but continued anyway, "What's wrong, why are you here? It's five in the morning Francis, you should be asleep, you should be with Mary," she added looking at his attire, appraising him. Lola saw him flinch and close his eyes at the mention of Mary; she had hit a nerve tonight. This made her uneasy, her loyalty was to Mary, and she had always been her closest friend and confidant but Francis was the father of her son. She was literally here at his mercy. Lola moved a little closer choosing for the first time to put her relationship with Francis over her relationship with Mary, hedging so their backs were both resting against the cradle and legs stretched out in front of them, Lola hesitantly put her hand on top of Francis'. "You can tell me, I promise I won't breath a word of it to anyone," she continued, praying he would open up. They could talk about her arrangement here another night; he looked like he needed a friend.

Lola was about to continue when he flipped his hand over so their fingers were interlaced. She knew this was a bad idea. The wet nurses would be back soon to check on John Paul, but he needed this. He needed her. He needed _someone_. His words both shocked and made sense to Lola. "Suppose I did something horrible, worse than our mistake and I couldn't tell anyone- not a priest or my mother or Bash and especially not Mary, what would I do? How do I not let it eat me alive and destroy the best thing that's ever happened to me? How do I make sure I keep my promises while keeping her safe," he questioned, closing his eyes and squeezing Lola's hand. The skin-to-skin contact felt heavenly, not in the sense where it was a turn on or sexual, but it made him feel human. His pent up anger was abating and he started thinking clearly again. Francis realized that Lola probably wouldn't respond because he was literally talking in circles.

To his surprise, she broke their contact and cupped his face so he was looking directly into her sapphire eyes kneeling between his outstretched legs, "You need to tell her. If not her, Mary, someone, and someone you trust completely. Someone who won't judge and will hear you out," she exclaimed fiercely. "Mary loves you with her whole heart, she always has, always will. There has never been a time in her life where anyone else was an option, even came close to comparing to you. You are hurting her by shutting her out, Francis, she needs you." Lola hissed out, "You are hurting her worse than we did, if you don't stop soon you will lose her. Francis, you can't lose her. You'll die without each other," she finished, sitting back still facing Francis and the cradle.

Francis was trying to digest what Lola had just said when he heard a little whimper from above them. Closing his eyes, he listened as the whimper got louder and grew into a wail. He felt Lola's skirts brush his leg as she got up to lock all the doors and take care of the baby, their baby. Francis knew he should move and try to help, but he stayed where he was with his eyes closed letting his mind run wild. He thought of when Mary and he have children, he wants as many children as possible, with her. A small smile crept on his face, he could see Mary fussing and cooing over the child 24/7, and he would too. The first few months they would both hole up in their chambers to take care of their newborn. Neither would want anyone else to care for the child even though most nobles do.

They would have a twins and he would be terrified during the delivery. Francis would be in the room when they were born despite Mary telling him to wait outside. He would tell her no and hold her hand as both beautiful children came into the world. Before even seeing the children, Francis would make sure Mary was okay and if he had to choose, he would chose her.

His first glimpse of the children would render him speechless and to shed a few tears- a little boy and a tiny, frail little girl. Francis would love them to the moon and back. They both would. Her name would be Acelynne Keltie; she would have his hair and her mother's big brown eyes. Mary would be enchanted with her and constantly have Acelynne with her. Acelynne would be a miniature Mary in personality and interests. At that moment Francis vowed he would let all of his daughters marry for love, not political gain.

Their son's name would be much harder to decide upon. He wanted Mary to have a say in his name because he would undoubtedly be the next King of France and Scotland. Francis wanted Scotland and France represented in his namesake, not named after anyone. Despite hours of bickering between them, Francis knew that when Mary would undoubtedly suggest Calgary Phillip Sebastian, Cal for short, he would agree. Unlike his sister, Cal would have his mother and uncle's dark hair but he would have Francis' eyes and complexion. Cal would love to help his uncle go riding and would always be getting into trouble just like Francis and Bash and even Mary did when they were younger. He would always protect his sisters and keep order when he has young brothers. Cal would have Mary's compassion, Henry's temper and my intuition.

Francis heard the baby stop crying and the cradle behind him move again. Opening his eyes, he thought Mary was taking care of their children, but when he looked up with a huge smile and glittering eyes as he clamored up he was sorely disappointed when he realized he had just been imagining and in fact it was Lola with their child. Looking between them and the connection they had, he gave them a tight smile before sinking back into his previous position bowing his head and folding his hands like in prayer.

Lola watched the light leave his eyes and the darkness within him plague him again as he sat back down. She wished that he could see how amazing his son was, her only hope was that he wouldn't ignore him or end up resenting him for being in his presence. Once Lola was sure John Paul was asleep again, she went to sit by Francis still holding the young infant. "Francis," Lola sighed, "Why are you here, talk to me. I'm always here for you," she smiled even though he wasn't looking at her. Watching his shoulders shake, she knew he was weeping. Moving her son to the other side, she boldly began rubbing his back. "My mother used to do this to me when I was feeling bad," she confided.

Francis nodded his head, alerting Lola that he was listening to her, mumbling into his hands, he knew he needed to tell her. Looking up, he was met with his son sucking his thumb merely six inches from him. Shaking his head, he gestured for Lola to put him in the cradle before continuing their conversation. Guilt was ripping through him again as he tried to decide where to begin. Lola was more devastated that Francis couldn't look at their son than anything else. She carefully placed him in his cradle before continuing to stand in front of the king of France. "We can go in my chambers, I'm afraid he might wake up again and the new round of wet nurses will be arriving soon," Lola spoke softly as she moved towards a door to the left of the cradle. Opening the door, she waited for Francis to walk through the doorway before closing it and going to get him a drink from the decanters in the corner. "Please sit Francis," she gestured to the several chairs scattered by the fireplace.

Francis collapsed in the nearest chair, crossing his legs and folding his hands again. "What I am about to say cannot be repeated, to anyone ever. I'm going to ask if you are sure before I continue otherwise I will leave and we can forget this ever happened," he rushed out distressed. Lola simply handed him his drink and sat down waiting for him to continue. Francis always had a flair for the dramatics she recalled. Smiling when he didn't continue, she nodded her head. "I need you to say the words Lola, I need you to say I won't repeat what I am about to hear to anyone, ever," he pleaded. Sighing exasperatedly, Lola repeated the words. Nodding satisfied, Francis took a deep breath and told her everything. He watched her critically as he repeated the whole sordid tale of how he had to kill his father and Narcisse got him to confess to John Paul's wet nurse and then had her murdered. When he was done, he began pacing in front of her as he drank the whiskey in three gulps. "Lola, please say something, anything," Francis dropped down in front of her. "Anything," he begged, grabbing her hands.

Shaking her head, Lola was stunned. Francis really couldn't tell Mary anything and it broke her heart. Mary's only wish ever was to marry for love and be happy. With this secret constantly forcing them to be adversaries, Lola didn't know how they could get through it, or if they could. "Francis," Lola stuttered, "I don't, how, why," she couldn't complete a thought- she was too stunned. Francis would literally die for Mary and she would never completely know how far his feelings for her went. Lola understood what she had to do not because he was her king or the father of her child but because he needed someone. "Lord Narcisse has taken an interest in me. He isn't afraid of you, but he does crave power and me," she confessed, wondering if Francis would understand what she was saying. The blank look he gave her answered Lola's unspoken question. "He wants me and I will give myself to him, I will make him fall in love with me," she slowly continued, waiting for him to catch on, "I will get him to marry me in exchange for leaving you alone, for leaving France alone, for allowing you to gain Mary's trust and feelings back," Lola told him. There was nothing that he could do to change her mind. Francis looked shocked, speechless even. He would forever be grateful for doing this for him. He couldn't ever possibly repay you. "Lola, are you sure," he had to ask; he realized how selfish he was being but couldn't bring himself to protest much more than that. "You realize if he finds out or things end badly I cannot help you, I cannot protect you," Francis continued to question.

Lola rolled her eyes, "I understand and I am fully aware of what this means. No one can know, you cannot ask me how the events are proceeding or give him any clue that there is ulterior motive behind it, do you understand," Lola emphasized. "He is a brilliant man and can smell foul play a million miles away," she added before standing and stopping Francis' pacing. Touching his arm, she turned him towards her, pulling him in for a hug. As they embraced, a wet nurse quietly opened the door to let Lady Lola know she was there, but immediately backed out upon seeing the king of France in her mistresses' rooms at this inappropriate hour. She couldn't wait to tell the scullery maids and kitchen staff once she was done.

As they came apart, Francis gave Lola a genuine smile and there was a light in his eyes that had been distinguished for far too long. "Thank you Lola, thank you so much," he beamed as he walked towards the door to sneak back to his own chambers to start his day as it was approaching 8 o'clock in the morning. Lola smiled a sad smile at his retreating form. She knew sleeping with him was a bad idea and she knew it was bad to stay at court and force Mary to keep her secret. She knew it was an even worse idea to listen to Francis and allow him to be a parent to their child and an even worse idea for Francis to claim him. Their son, _her _son, was in for a life of heartbreak and there was nothing she could do about it. She couldn't protect him from and Francis will hurt him so unintentionally it isn't even worth bringing up to him. If she can make Lord Narcisse fall in love with her, marry her, whisk her away from this place, her son has a chance at a happy life where there will be a stable loving father figure for him to look up to. So Francis might be thinking she is doing this for him, but she has so much more to gain from this than he does.

Francis strode confidentially back to his shared chambers with Mary, feeling better than he had since he was crowned. As he boisterously entered his chambers, his heart constricted painfully when his Mary was nowhere to be found, his mood instantly soured and he called for a guard to get him more liquor. Once the liquor passed his lips he realized that if he truly wanted his wife back, for her to love him openly and unconditionally and to trust him, he'd have to fight like hell for her. There was nothing he wouldn't do to make the aching in his chest stop. Never before had he been more uncertain about his future with Mary than he was now.

Mary was laughing loudly at something Lord Conde had just said as she gulped down her seventh glass of wine in as many hours. She knew it was reaching dawn and she needed to get back to her chambers, but something about the twinkle in Conde's warm eyes made her stay and move forward in her chair to be closer to him. "You know, it's really a shame," she slurred as she poured more wine into her chalice. Conde looked at her confused, but waited for her to continue. Mary let out a tinkling laugh, realizing she never finished her thought, hence why Conde was giving her a look that made him look like a monkey. Still laughing, she tried to get her point out. "That you don't live closer, that you can't move in," Mary's dark eyes shined with glee. "We would be such amazing friends, you are the best friend I have ever had," she confessed, jumping up and down in her chair. "Will you stay, stay with me, please don't leave me alone. Everyone always leaves me," she whimpered as everyone who had ever left her flitted through her mind. Her mother, her aunts, her friends, her ladies in waiting, Bash, her dog and worst of all, Francis. The image of him in her head contrasted with the man she now knew to be her husband, it made her feel like some was carving her heart out with a rusty knife. "Don't leave me," Mary pouted, looking into her cup, forcing back the tears. Drinking the rest of the contents, she was surprised when Conde sat right beside you.

Pushing her velvet hair behind her ear, Conde cupped her cheek and pulled her into his chest. She smelt like flowers, lilac and orchids, if he remembered correctly. He closed his eyes and just held her for a moment. Pulling back, he opened his eyes and cupped her ivory cheeks and rubbed the pads of his thumbs back and fourth, catching the tears falling, "I will never leave you my queen, your majesty," he whispered, gazing deep into her mesmerizing amber eyes. Conde noticed how her eyes weren't such a boring color as brown but had the tiniest golden flecks in them and a striking green ring around the outside of them. In that moment, he vowed to fight till the end of time to make her happy, comfort her, be anything, and do anything to make her happy, just to see her smile light up a room; even help her fix her marriage. The last thought made him break eye contact. Tenderly, Mary touched his hands on her cheeks and brought them down so both were interlaced with hers and resting on her silken nightgown. Looking down at them she smiled, her very fair skin contrasted beautifully with his olive-tinted skin. A genuine smile graced her full lips, tugging at Conde's heartstrings. "Call me Mary Lord Conde, please," she insisted shyly. A smile rivaling Mary's tore across Conde's face, unlacing one of their hands, he cupped her cheek again, "My friends call me Louie or Conde," he breathed, rubbing this thumb back and fourth. She had the softest skin he had ever felt and loved how receptive she was to his touch. Her cheeks would blossom with a beautiful tint he noticed whenever she was frustrated or upset or happy. She would look down to try and compose herself but her blush always betrayed what she was trying to hide. It was addicting, she was addicting and he had just taken his first hit.

They knew this was indecent, and both should pull away and get some air, but neither did. They kept their eyes locked on one another, their breath ghosting across each other's faces. "Okay Louie," Mary smirked, thinking it was such a childish name. Conde gave her a puzzled look, asking her to explain her smirk; she just shook her head no not offering him any more information.

Finally pulling back, Conde grabbed his glass, finished the rest of the contents, and looked outside at the moon shining on the water and sighed, scrubbing his face. Mary stared at Conde unabashedly, wondering what his hair would feel like, or the way his scruff would feel on her neck, her stomach, and her thighs… When he looked back and saw her scrutinizing gaze, he shook his head and looked back outside. He had a choice to make, he could continue drinking with her or get to the real problem of why she was huddled in an alcove. Conde knew what he wanted to do, but he sensed it wasn't the best idea. Sighing again, he got up to grab a two bottles of wine, startling Mary who had since been lost in her own thoughts. He opened both and handed one to her. Sitting a good distance from her he drank straight from the bottle, encouraging her to do the same. She obliged and took an enormous drink. "Do you want to talk about what happened," Conde inquired softly, not wanting to push or scare her.

"Conde," Mary warned quietly, shaking her head and taking several gulps from her respective bottle. The pair was quiet for sometime, each caught up in their own thoughts, overindulging in wine. Conde was looking out the window thinking of how he could get her to express the worries that were weighing so heavily on her while she was trying to drown her sorrows in the wine bottle and stop from breaking down. Mary felt the tightness in her throat, choking her airways as her argument with Francis kept playing over and over in her head. She was still so shocked that he hated her that much, that he would rather have Lola, that family than have faith in her. She gasped, grabbing at the neckline of her nightgown to try to force air into her lungs. Conde whipped around, watching her shocked. Setting the wine bottle down, he dropped to his knees in front of her, grabbing at her sides to try and get her to focus on him. "Mary, Mary, Mary," he chanted, panic rising in his voice, "Look at me, its alright, Mary, I'm here, I'm not leaving you," he cooed softly to her, forcing her to wrap her arms around his him and bury her head in his neck. Without thinking about it, he softly kissed her head, holding and rocking her back and forth until she calmed down enough.

Mary swore she heard him whisper something, but she wasn't sure and didn't have the energy to press him on it. She moved her face from his neck and looked at him, he had a crazed, panic look in his eyes and his body was incredibly tense. Conde was clutching at her for dear life, he was afraid that if he let her go she would run. He saw the scared look in her eyes but was so relieved that she was taking deep, calming breaths. Pushing her hair back off her forehead, he had to force himself not to kiss it. "Just breathe and we will talk whenever you are ready, okay? I'll wait with you," he whispered as he molded her back to his muscular body. Mary simply nodded. Neither knew how long they sat, wrapped around each other, but eventually Mary gently pushed Conde away, she smiled her thanks and picked up her bottle of wine.

She drank deeply from the bottle as she stood and walked towards the window. Conde watched her helplessly, thinking she was leaving him without saying anything. Suddenly, in the quiet library Conde felt immense anger towards the King of France. He had the most amazing woman and he was pissing it away. If he had Mary, if he ever had the chance to have Mary he wouldn't let her go.

Looking outside, Mary saw where she had first saw Francis when they were little children, she saw where he had told her they would eventually get married they just had to wait and she saw where she had told him she was with child. She continued drinking out of the bottle as her eyes watered. Looking the other way, Mary saw where she had to chose between Bash and Francis, destroying her relationship with Bash forever, continuing to look, she saw the ships dock where she had to say goodbye to her friend Aiylee as they sent her home in a body bag, she saw where King Henry tried to put his hands on her, she saw where she told Francis Lola's child was his and how he rode off to save her and she saw the gate they opened when Francis, Lola and the baby returned. Worst of all, she saw where she miscarried their child and Conde helped her. With each memory, Mary took a larger gulp.

The window, the memories, they were taunting her. They were haunting her. Turning away from the window, Mary let the tears fall openly, not having a care in the world. Her heart was shattered into a million pieces. Conde looked up at her and stood to go to her, but Mary put her hand up to keep him at a distance. "Why am I here," she asked shouted to the library throwing her arms out and looking up towards the ceiling. "I could be in Scotland right now, my people need me and here I am," Mary quipped, the tears thick in her voice. "I'm with a Prince of the Blood, drinking in a library while my husband," she spat, "Is God knows where, with God knows who after he told me that I am a disappointment beyond words, that he can't even look at me," Conde's eyes widened at Mary's revelation, how could someone, even a king be so cruel to this woman? She was the most selfless giving soul to ever walk the planet.

At Conde's speechlessness, she held up a figure before drinking the rest of her wine and throwing it, watching the glass shatter and cut her feet. Laughing mirthlessly, Mary fell onto the ground, unable to control her inappropriate laughter. Conde immediately ran to her, making sure she didn't hit her head or get cut any worse than she already was. As her laughing continued, her squinted eyes looked at Conde's pitying ones. Shaking her head, she reached for his wine. He sadly gave it to her knowing that no matter how much she drank, her problems would still be there in the morning. Nevertheless, once she took another drink; she batted at his chest with her hand like she needed to get his attention, "The best part is, after he told me all of this," Mary gestured animatedly in a circle still clutching the bottle, "He had the audacity to try and hold me, touch me. Comfort me," Mary whispered as her laughing turned into sobbing that wracked her thin frame.

With raven hair plastered to the side of her face she looked up at Conde, seeing the sad look he was giving her she shook her head in disdain and resentment. "You must think I'm pathetic," she blubbered finally handing him the rest of the wine. "I never wanted my life to be like this, it wasn't supposed to be like this. I was supposed to be happy and enjoying being young and newly married," Mary blabbered unable to control the word vomit anymore. Crawling away from Conde, Mary looked around her in more shame than she had ever felt in her entire life. There was broken glass and blood everywhere, no wonder Francis couldn't stand to be near her, if this is how she acts. "I'm an embarrassment, I am a shit show. Queens do not act like this; they are prim and proper and focus on womanly things not ruling countries or politics. That is a man's job. This is all my fault," Mary continued to wail and talk nonsense.

Stepping in the opposite direction of the very inebriated queen, Conde started pushing the pieces of glass into a circle. "Everything is fine, no one needs to know who was in here drinking, we can blame it on anyone. There are a lot of people in this castle Mary, it will be fine," he smiled reassuringly, continuing to push the pieces together. He stepped over and kept a tentative distance but extended his hand to the broken woman on the hard floor. "Let me help you, you need your cuts cleaned. I'll do it myself okay, you just need to get up, alright?" He encouraged, stepping father back as Mary struggled to her feet. As she walked back to the couch, she hung her head unable to meet Conde's eyes. "Wait here while I get some supplies from over there," he pointed to the corner; she nodded her head in agreement. Rushing over, he grabbed rags and vodka before setting all the supplies down in front of Mary so she could see what he was doing. Inspecting her feet and legs he was thankful that none of the cuts were deep, mostly superficial.

As Conde was focused on Mary's lacerations, she wiped her face and stared wide eyed at Conde bent over her. Tentatively, Mary reached out and ran her fingers through Conde's hair; it was lush and thick with a little bit of wave. She noticed that for a man, he had very silky hair and kept doing it, playing with the waves. Conde was trying so hard to ignore what Mary was doing, but he was failing miserably. Every time she would grab his hair and lightly pull, it felt like a shock traveling through his body. If he wasn't careful, Conde was going to do something that would surely get him beheaded. "Your hair is so soft," Mary, mumbled, her sweet breath fanning Conde's face, closing his eyes he breathed her in, took her in.

"Oh Mary," Conde quietly moaned, barely above a whisper. He was positive she didn't hear me because he immediately went back to wrapping up her cuts. Mary stilled though, the only other man who had ever said her name like that was Bash. Francis had never made any sounds like that, or at least for her. Conde looked up at Mary from under his long lashes, surprised to see how smug she looked. "What are you so smug about my queen," he joked, tickling her foot as he moved away.

She jerked, letting out a screech, "Stop that," Mary stated with a playful glare. "Do you think I'm pathetic," she stood and questioned, twirling again. Conde was shocked, he felt a lot of things about Mary and her life here, but pathetic wasn't one of the things he thought. "What do you think then," Mary asked stopping and looking like a little girl on Christmas morning smiling widely again.

Fuck, he said that out loud. "I can assure you Mary, you are the farthest thing from pathetic," he chose to ignore her latter question hoping she wouldn't notice. "If I may speak candidly," he offered, raising his eyebrows at the beautiful queen. She nodded her head with such enthusiasm, Conde was afraid it would fall off. "The only pathetic one in all of France is the one we call His Majesty as far as I'm concerned," Conde shook his head. His words were like a bucket of ice water to Mary's muddled thoughts. Before she could speak defending her husband, Conde continued, "I mean he gets the privilege to call you his wife and where is he this evening," Conde asked, "He has the most brilliant woman ruling by his side and what is he choosing to do with you? He asks you to be placating and silent instead of helping your country and share your ideas," Conde reminds her. "Now if you ask me that is pathetic. So no Mary, you are the farthest thing from pathetic I have ever witnessed in my entire life." Flashing his gorgeous smile, Conde bowed to Mary, kissing her knuckles again before walking towards the door. "I suggest getting back to your chambers soon or your ladies in waiting and maids will be worried," he offered before strolling out of the library to go get a few restless hours of sleep.

Mary was awestruck as she stumbled back to her room. She was more confused than she was before. Instead of trying to decipher every little detail of her night like she normally would, Mary realized that in order to survive at French court, being a French queen, she would have to close her to Francis to preserve her dignity and sanity. As she entered her outer chambers, Mary had the brightest smile, she recognized that she wasn't dreading getting up in the morning because getting up meant seeing Conde and seeing Conde made her feel human.

**So here is the second installment! I hadn't intended to add on, but inspiration sparked so here we are. Feedback is always appreciated; let me know what you guys think about Lord Conde! ;) Any mistakes are my own making, I'm sorry. **


End file.
