I blinked my eyes rapidly, desperate to adjust to the morning light. The membranes of my eyelids were red, tinted from the sun above.

I snuggled closer to Francis' chest, inhaling his scent like a drug, and sighed.

"Good morning, love." Francis whispered into my hair.

"Morning," I mumbled groggily, pressing my nose against the bare skin of his neck. "We have to get up don't we?" I groaned.

I didn't want to imagine how late it was. All I wanted was to stay here—with Francis.

"Not for a while," he said, pulling me closer to him.

Silence passed between us as we stared up at the pale blue sky. Birds danced above us, humming as they flew, and clouds passed.

"I wish we could stay like this forever," I quietly said as I watched a cloud that looked like a dove go over my head.

"As do I."

But it couldn't last. We both knew it, but neither of us wanted to say it because then, it would finally be true.

"I want—I want to try," I said. "Again. Not now, but soon."

Francis raised his head to look at me.

"Try as in . . .?" He trailed off with a guarded expression.

"I want to get pregnant, Francis. With your child, our child."

I smiled sweetly at the thought. A baby, little and ours. I wanted nothing more.

"Isn't it too soon?"

Francis' eyes shone with concern. He wouldn't push me towards something I wasn't ready for; I knew it.

"Right now, perhaps. But we'll never know unless we try."

"Mary, I won't push you towards something you aren't ready for. You aren't ready. It's too soon."

His eyes pleaded with me, begging for me to see reason.

"I understand your concerns," I said softly. "I would be lying if I said I didn't share those same concerns." I released a harsh breath. "But I want this, and Scotland and France need an heir."

"And they will get one, Mary," Francis promised. "But not like this. Now until you are fully ready," he said with a kiss on my forehead.

"Francis." I sat up from where I laid on his chest, and sighed. "That assertion is under the assumption that one day, I will suddenly be ready for intimacy again."

"And you will be," Francis comforted me as he kneeled beside me. "With time."

"It's been weeks." I frowned.

"And last night you let me hold and kiss you," he recalled with fondness, raising my chin with his thumb. "You are making progress, Mary. There's no reason to be hasty about making decisions like this right now."

"Hasty implies a certain aversion to an activity." I hesitated, afraid to know the answer. "Do you no longer wish to have a child with me? Has something changed?"

Francis' happy expression shifted into one of wary surprise.

"Of course not. What would make you think that?"

He furrowed his eyebrows, clearly taken aback by my question.

"You're right. I'm being silly." I twisted my lips unpleasantly. The words felt foreign coming off my tongue.

"You're not being silly." He kissed my nose. "We will have a child, Mary, I promise. I would like nothing more. I just want to give you more time first. Your well-being is my number one priority. Always," he said, brushing his fingers through my hair.

We didn't speak much after that. There was a silent understanding of where we were, and where we would be, in time. We enjoyed each other's presence for as long as we could, then, like drenching our bodies in an ice bath, we returned to our duties as King and Queen of France.

In our office, where Francis was sitting at his desk, and I was leaning over his shoulder, Bash stormed into the room without warning.

"We have a problem," Bash said with sweat dripping down his forehead.

He was panting loudly, a sure sign that he had sprinted across the castle to get here. Whatever new he brought, they weren't good.

"What's wrong?" I said.

Francis looked up from the finance papers on his desk and frowned up at his brother.

"It's Conde." I held my breath, waiting on knives for him to continue. "Our spies have confirmed there is an ongoing courtship between himself and Elizabeth."

The blood drained from my face. If Conde married Elizabeth, they could take France. He had a claim to the french throne through his bloodline. This was just bad, but dangerous. For all of us.

Francis' eyes quickly grew wide with concern, and he ignored everything on his desk.

"Are they certain?"

Bash sighed. He didn't want to deliver this information anymore than we wanted to hear it.

"Yes."

I closed my eyes, flinching away the truth this news held. War. If Conde married Elizabeth, there would be war.

"Surely this has to be a mistake," I said, glancing between Francis and Bash with desperation.

"I'm afraid not," Bash said. "Our spies fear that this union is a direct threat to the French throne."

"Because Conde's blood gives him a claim," Francis said darkly.

Bash nodded.

"And with the religious discord between Catholics and Protestants . . ." he trailed off.

"France is an easy target in their eyes," Francis hissed, slamming his fist against his desk.

"Isn't there something we can do?" I asked in a quiet voice with the uncertainty of a child.

"Not if he makes it to English soil," Francis said. "This act is an act of treason. We must close off all borders and cut him off before he leaves the country. He will be captured and punished for this. I swear it," he declared, staring at Bash with an unspoken question.

Bash nodded.

"Yes, he hasn't made it out of France yet. If we recruit General Renaude, we should be able to capture him before he marries Elizabeth."

"Good," Francis seethed, pressing his white knuckles further into the desk wood.

"Wait—" The word left my lips without warning. "You want to kill him?"

If Conde was in fact courting Elizabeth, it would be reasonable, expected for him to be hanged for his treason. So why did the thought strike cold panic and fear into my heart? Like his choices, his punishment was somehow my fault.

"Mary," Francis said with little sympathy, "you know the punishment as well as I for treason—"

"I'm not arguing with you, Francis," I said in a soft, longing voice. "I'm processing. I'm processing because somehow, I feel responsible for the events that brought Conde to this point."

Francis' eyes immediately softened with empathy and concern.

"Mary—" He reached for me, but I pulled away.

"It's over, isn't it? That happy, perfect life we dreamed of this morning? It won't be possible for a very very long time."

The more I spoke, the sicker I felt. Part of me wanted to wretch on my beautiful gown, and the other part wanted to scream away every feeling of anger and fear that loomed around the union of Elizabeth and Conde.

There would be no baby—at least, not for a very long time. All I could see was the coming war. A country could not have two kings; war meant death. Either Francis or Conde would live—both could not survive.

But I only needed one of them for my own survival.

"Mary, look at me." I struggled to meet his eyes under the umbrella of my dark mood. "We will have that happy, perfect life we dreamed of. But first," he took both of my hands into his, "we need to deal with Conde and Elizabeth."

My bottom lip quivered.

"But war . . ." I trailed off desperately.

"If war is what it takes to protect you and France, they let it pour. I won't lose to him," he muttered with disgust before wrapping me in his arms.

"You better," I said. "Because I would die before letting him touch a hair on your head."

AN: Was this update expected? No. Was I experiencing very strong emotions in real life that needed to be expressed? Yes.

For those of you still sticking around, I would like to do a character Q and A! What question(s) do you have for the characters?

Hope you enjoyed the update:)

-Elly6431