Tampered Beauty

Concede

"Your highness," Steven said. "The Emperor is here, should he be let in, aunt?"

The Empress of the United Kingdom of Great Britain sat propped up against a mountain of silk and fine pillows. She wore nothing but an ivory nightgown with lace outline and a satin robe. Long hair had been brushed out, falling in slightly greasy waves down to her hips. There were dark circles around her eyes and her face was thinner than usual, a thinner body to match. A thin sheen of sweat across her warm body. She looked exhausted -despite having slept for days- and her lips were chapped, but she was alive.

James sat curled on Mary's lap, a thumb in her mouth, one hand of his mother in his own dark curls. He was asleep, one hand tightly woven into the fibres of her shift, small mews falling from his sleeping lips. Beside them was a table with a pitcher of water and a half empty goblet resting along side, as well as a few slices of bread, fruit, meat and cheese. Being late at night, the fire roared and the candles burned, but all the doors to the balcony were open, refreshing cool air flooding the room despite the fires burning. Long curtains of chiffon danced in the soft wind that was colder than usual, seeing as a storm was approaching.

Near them, Kenna and Greer stood smiling gently. Kenna was donned in dark blue chiffon, Greer in golden coloured cotton, both looking equally exhausted as their ruling counterpart, but both equally as relieved as each other to see said counterpart alive and talking. Mary had woken up mere minutes before, neither being able to deny the relief and exuberance to see those golden eyes flicker open to match their little doppelganger. 

Near, James Stewart sat in an overstuffed arm chair. The young Scot couldn't deny his own relief at seeing his Empress and sister awake and talking, even if she was sickened by means they were well on their way to figuring out. Upon said sisters insistence, he was told to rest and not concern himself with any unnecessary means.

"Yes, I suppose so." Mary said, her voice quieter than usual, a little more horse than what was expected, but a voice none the less.

The door opened. There Francis stood.

Neither of them said anything for a few seconds. 

"Mary," Greer said. The Empress turned to her. "Would you like us to stay?"

"No, thank you. Go to your chambers and rest, I'm sure I've caused lack of rest. Take him to his bed." she replied, gesturing to her slumbering son. Said son's namesake stood from his chair and took his nephew from his sisters' lap, pressing a kiss to her forehead as he rose, twisting the slumbering, limp toddler into his arms. He lay limply in his uncle's arms, large eyes closed, his cheeks looking irregularly chubby in the dim light, his lips plumping more than usual. Mary smiled at him softly as he was taken away from her.

She bid her ladies goodnight. The door closed.

"Mary, I-" Francis stopped talking, his legs moving upon their own accord. He ended up by her bed. "I was so worried." he breathed. "I thought you left me, I couldn't handle it." he added. "I'm so glad you're okay." he leaned in, as if attempting to press his lips to her cheek in a kiss. But, she turned away, her eyes closing. "What's wrong?"

"Lydia spoke to me." she said slowly. "She told me things."

"What things?" Francis frowned. Why was she speaking so stoically?

"Not even an hour after I collapsed, you were seen taking Lola into your chambers." she said, slowly turning to him. "Over and over and over, you've been seen talking to her. Allowing her an extended stay in my court." she said. Now, her voice sounded repulsed, even. "As I lay nearly dying, you were seen going into Lola's chambers, not coming out for hours. And just a few minutes ago, she sent word to Steven. You were seen holding your son in a suspiciously close embrace." she added. "What possible excuse could you have?"