You Are My Light Part II

286 - Intertwine

"You are beautiful," the King of France whispers upon the bare neck of the woman he truly loves. She sighs in pleasure as his hands travel all over her body, warming her as if the roaring, dancing fireplace they were sat next to wasn't enough. "so, so beautiful." he whispers, as if a louder sound would break the spell they've caught themselves within. "The most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

"I love you." Mary whispers back, leaning their foreheads together. Herr earrings make a soft noise, for all she wears is diamonds and candlelight, much to his enjoyment. His lips travel over the expanse of her neck and throat, fingers delving into the deep raven waves of her hair, thick and vibrant, over the clasp of the gold and emeralds. 

She touches him as he touches her, as if it's the first time all over again, exploring, hearing out for a change of breath or a sigh of pleasure, watching to see if anything had changed between them, listening for a moment of bliss that can only be found in the sweet moment of death they've craved deeper more than ever after being apart for so many weeks like this.

"My only one, my light," he replies, his fingers gaining strength as they touch at her, grab at her, hold her, keep her safe, in a way he's been prevented for so long. "my warmth, my home."

She opens her mouth to reply, her words tempered not only by the way he adjusts her -so close, so near, to the paradise she's craved for such a long time- but by the dramatic swinging open of the doors to the King's private bedchambers, the action allowing the warm air to escape the confinements of the chambers, sending it into a bitter cold of the biting winter, darkened by the sudden loss of candlelight. Darkness covers their bodies, lit only by the wall of flame that refuses to die this night.

"Lola, for the love of all that's good and holy-" the King grunts in irritation, watching as the tearful girl in purple and pink satin slowly saunters into the chambers. Her cheeks are red and puffy, charcoal that once lines her eyes falling down the crimson hollow. She says nothing as the two of them stand from their position against the cot, the King sweeping a silk and fur lines robe of gold and purple over the Scottish Princess' shoulders, before placing a grandeur sweep of crimson and gold against himself.

It's incredible, really, how either of them seem shocked that the King's never was wife (not a grammar error) has now seen the two of them without any modesty, right before another child may be implanted into that Scottish Whore's womb, in fact, they seem simply irritated at her presence. The cheek.

"I won't let you do this to me," she whispers, dropping the piece of parchment in her hands. It flutters to the floor. "you won't, you can't, take my marriage from me, my crown, everything I've given up for this marriage. I-I'm not giving it up!"

"You will, Lola." Francis states evenly. "The Pope has agreed, and since you are proven maiden, there is nothing anybody can do to change his position. Our marriage, whatever that union was, has been burned. You are free to go, and wed who you please. But it will not be me."

"No!" she snapped. "I'm your Queen, not her, me! The woman who sits before you on our thrones is me, not her!" she points at Mary, who slowly ties her robe closed at the mention of her pronoun.  The faster you acknowledge that, the better!"

"There is nothing to acknowledge, Lady Lola-"

"Queen-"

"Lady-" he interrupts sharply. "did you not speak to your Lady that you loathed this marriage, me, Mary, and felt trapped? Well, this is the way out of it. In fact, there is nothing to get out of, because it is done. Pack your belongings, Lola, because your time in French Court is over."

Lola sobbed. "My father will never have me back for not having your son!" she cries. "Couldn't you have given me just one? You gave her four!"

"I gave Mary four sons because she is the one I love, have always loved, will always love. It is that simple. I regret you were dragged into this mess, but it was means out of my control. If I could have taken Mary as my Queen and never have even met you, then trust me, I would have."

"Trust you?" she laughs bitterly. "You're killing me now!"

"I am not!" he cries out. "There has been nothing but a piece of paper between us, Lola. I have never looked in your direction as a husband looks to his wife, you have never seen me as Mary sees me. All I could have provided for you is what I have, and now you have your exit, and Mary and I have our ending. Our sons will be Princes after we announce our intention, and you will have a husband that loves you in the ways I never could. Isn't that enough? Is a loveless crown, a cold throne, worth that much to you? Has it became warm enough over the last year?2

"It has not, you never warmed it." Lola hisses. "But you could have, you could have!"

"I couldn't." he whispers. "On what was supposed to be our bedding ceremony, I told you that I would take you as my wife and Queen, but in name only. On paper only. I could give you riches and jewels and those to bow before you, but nothing more. My heart and my body, they belong to Mary. That's what I swore to you and I meant it!"

"And if she wasn't here?" Lola whispers. "If she and your sons didn't exist?"

Francis winces as if she had struck him, or threw a knee to his gut. "Do not make me think of a future so dark and cold." he whispers. "Do not."

Mary bites her lip and comes to stand beside him, taking his hand, holding it behind him a few inches. She strokes his knuckles silently with her thumb, reassuring him of her presence, reassuring him that she is here, alive, breathing, with him.

"You took a future away from me." Lola whispers, looking Mary in her eyes. "I could have been you. Those boys could have been mine!"

"They aren't." Mary tells her. "This is my life, Lola. Francis loves me and I mother his children. In a few months, I will be his Queen, and you will be nothing but a memory to us."