"How do you do this?" The new François XI of France asks, sighing deeply as he lays his body weight on the cold stone fireplace. His body aching as his head rests against the cool stone, a stark contrast to the stifling heat of the room. Is it because it's summer, is it it because the blazer he's been made to wear is made of old school tweed, is his cravat too tight? But is it the shock of the days events, leading him to reach out to the one olive branch that's a thousand miles away?
"Do what?" Queen Mary III of England, Ireland, Wales and Scotland, head of the commonwealth, Empress of India, asks, her voice soft as if she's distracted. The swish of paper he can hear in the background proves it, but he finds that he is not offended. She is a queen, has been since she was six years old after her father had passed away in a car accident that had left her on lifelong crutches. And now he has to admire her more than he has when they were schoolchildren together, has to rule in the way she rules, but alas not in the tragic circumstances as her ascention to the throne. No, his father simple tires of the crown, wishes to retire to Dukely and fatherly duties, and it comes at the cost of the love of his heir.
"Rule." Is the only thing Francis can say. He holds his head, feeling the impending headache brought about by the stresses of his father's abdication. His eyes close and he listens deeply to the Queen's voice, she can give him insight that nobody else can, can comfort him like nobody else can, even if it's a kick to his mother's teeth when he turns to Mary and not her.
"It's not as if we're in the sixteenth century, Princeling. We both have governments and Prime Ministers, they take the edge off. We tour, we shake hands and cut ribbons and donate to charities and help the poor and unfortunate. We make marriages and treaties, but it's not as if people try to kill us or we have scheming Dukes or battles for the thrones. It's not a deadly seat, but you need to watch your words with statements and don't loose your composure. Tighten up on security, and keep a neutral eye on advisors. That's all, you're not going to end up with your head on a stake or anything." Mary sighs, he can hear her fingering through more papers, and he swallows thickly at the premonition. "You have your red box yet?" She asks.
"No. It'll be in the morning." He sighs. "Father says I'm going to have to get married, and soon. He and mother dont want Charlie to be seen as the heir for too long. I'm going to have to marry and have a son, and soon."
"You're sixteen, you don't have to do anything until you're at least well into your twenties. Again, it's not the fifteen hundreds anymore. You don't marry with the first figure of your age being a one. And, even if it wouldn't cause a scandal in and of itself, you're the King, now. You don't have to do anything you don't want to. Hell, you can pull a Henry and abdicate and run away if you want. Can't imagine it'll make you or your Papa very popular, but it's an option." Mary tries her best to joke, and Francis huffs a smile.
"Can I come see you? Where are you?" He asks, rubbing the back of his eyes. "I know they won't be happy, but Bash can't get in with the boys, and I need to get out of this place."
"Up in Hollyrood. We're spending the week in Scotland, trying to repair the image that the politicians gave out. You know, visiting hospitals and donating money, repairing houses and roads, things like that. We're sending out a statement about the food costs rising and energy bills, saying we're going to be slashing the costs and starting a trust fund for the less fortunate areas. You could come and see how we work, might give you a bit of insight to see how things are done." Mary replied, the paper noises ceasing as she presumably finishes her work for the afternoon.
"Yeah, that would be great. They won't be happy, but that's not my fault, father never should have done this. The time to be a doting father is done." Francis turns from the fireplace and looks over his apartments.
"Yeah, he's really given you the short end of the stick. Tell you what, bring the boys, one last trip before everything gets real and demanding. I'll get the girls from their trip to Italy, James can meet you at the airport tomorrow morning. The abdication papers need to be sorted out, nothing you can do there that you can't do here." Mary says, he can hear the chair creak as she gets up from her desk.
"It's a plan. I'll see you soon, love."
"Looking forward to it, darling. It's going to be alright."
YOU ARE READING
You Are My Light Part II
Historical Fiction-Reign Oneshots/Taking Requests- The world can be dark, Mary, and uncertain and cruel. The only thing that matters is that we face it together. No matter what happens, you are my light. Part 2! -Read TEML first!-
