Mary wakes with a start. There's no danger, no assassin straddling her with a blade in his hand's no glass breaking with a flaming arrow. There's nothing of the sort, the room is dark and Sterling is snoring at her feet, keeping her warm.
But the sharp cramp in her belly draws her attention, making her cry out. She hunches over, protecting her cramping abdomen, inhaling sharply as the door is opened and a guardsman rushes in.
Sterling awakes quickly, jumping up and snarling at the frenchman with his sword drawn. He lowers his head in a bow, his eyes large and taking in the withering girl.
"Your Majesty, are you hurt?" He asks, the words taking a moment to translate in Mary's head. She's been rudely awoken, her stomach is cramping and she's frightened. There is no immediate translation.
"Fetch Nostradamus, one of the maesters." Mary orders. "I think I've been poisoned." the Queen of Scots speaks in French, her arms wrapped around her stomach as the dog climbs over to sniff at her.
"At once, Majesty." He says, turning around and rushing out of the room. Mary inhales deeply, in and out, remembering how Catherine had done the same when she had birthed the Princess Magrette a few months ago. It had been a long labour, each child in the nursery (including Sebastian and Mary's young Scottish ladies) had been moved to the Eastern wing of the castle for the night, so they had not heard the screams of the queen of France. It had been cold, there, drafty and dusty, and Catherine had frowned so deeply at the dust in her precious heir's hair.
Of course, she and Sebastian and her ladies had not been allowed in the birthing chamber to meet the newest Princess of France. Why would they be? They weren't children of Catherine's womb, and they all knew it, the scorn and the neglect was a constant source of arguments between the King and Queen. But there's little Mary can do about it, and quite honestly, she does not want to. The days in which she wished for her approval and acceptance are long since gone, as they are for the other non Medici children.
The little queen shifts on the matress, laying flat on her back, Mary frowns as she feels something wet underneath her. It's cold, moist and most definitely does not belong on a mattress. She frowns, reaching down to touch the wet patch, she's confused at the prospect, only to begin to cry out at the sight of blood on her hand.
Mary bursts into tears at the sight, falling back onto the bed, staring at her hand, before pulling back the sheets to look at her lap and the blood that stains that maar and stain the prestine white sheets and blankets that lay over her body. Mary cries, and cries, because she is afraid and confused and just wants loving arms around her telling her it was going to be alright.
"Majesty! Majesty!" Nostradamus comes rushing in, and the young Queen of Scots is startled from her cries at the deep voice. She slowly staggers up to a sitting position, her hands still bloody and cheeks covered in tears, puffy with eyes to match. "What is it? They tell me you are poisoned." Nostradamus pulls the girls hands close to look at them, before his eyes immediately fall onto her lap and sheets.
Mary continued to sob, her hands shaking in the man's large ones as she looks up at him, desperately, confused, afraid.
"Monsieur, do something!" She begs. "I will die with no heir and my country will be in chaos." The Queen cries, her hysteria only growing when Nostradamus doesn't pull any potions from his robes or start to fuss over her.
"Your Majesty, you are not sick. You will not die this night." He tries his best to calm his voice, to match his relaxed posture as he squats to her level. "Calm yourself, sweet girl. Scotland will be strong under your mother's rule once more, I can assure you." He says.
"W-what's happening to me? Monsieur, please!"
"Calm, child. Do not distress yourself. This is natural, God has welcomed you into his arms as a woman now." He reaches out to run a hand over her messy black hair, still knotted and unkempt from sleep and thrashing. "This is a good thing, Majesty, something to be proud of, celebrated, even. Although I am told the pain makes these words absolutely obsolete." The seer says, standing up. "You will be more suited to see a woman about this, Majesty. 'Tis your lot, after all. And I fear I will burn a horrific memory within you should I try to explain."
Mary is confused. "What?"
"My lady, you do not die as we speak. Your body is simply changing from that into a woman. And I feel it be more appropriate for a woman to handle this with you." He says, stepping down from her alter to head for the door. "I will fetch Queen Catherine, yes?"
"No!" Mary recoils in horror. "Your Queen already hates me so, and it upsets the Dauphin to see her treat me unkindly. She tires so from her pregnancy, is unhappy in the mornings when the baby inside doesn't let her sleep. I do not want to give her another reason to hate me because I have you wake her up in the middle of the night to explain a woman's issue. Surely a servant will do?"
"I am afraid not, my Lady. Servants talk, they talk to people who wish to do you harm, and now you can carry life within you, people may want to take that from the Dauphin, and your union." Nostradamus says.
"Like the English? The Spanish?"
"Indeed, Madame Dauphiness. I will fetch your foster mother, she will help you."
Mary feels dread seep into her stomach, joining the horrible aches and twinges and blood pooling in between her thighs. She feels cold, shivery and upset. Her stomach hurts and she feels so sad that tears burn once more.
Her mother is cold, colder than Catherine ever was, or ever would be. But it would be such a comfort to have her here in this moment, to teach her what is happening and what to do to make this horrid feeling stop. She wants Queen Marie de Guise's cold arms to reach across from her from Edinburgh castle, to hold her and warm her and keep her safe.
"Mary." A voice says. Mary cringes and looks up, her cheeks burning with shame as she looks at the disheveled Queen Consort Catherine de Medici, her hair hidden by her cotton sleeping cap, matching long sleeping gown that skims the floor and hugs her growing belly.
"Madame." She tries to clear her voice as best she can, to not murmur and keep the tears at bay. "I am sorry for all of this." She says, licking her lips. "So very sorry."
It's so unlike her to be so meek and submissive and apologetic, but she needs to play this Catherine's way to get the help she needs. And Catherine has always wanted Mary on a keel lower to her, considering all the things the Queen of Scotland possessed that Catherine did not. And how it irritated her so.
"There is no shame in this, Mary." Catherine walks forward, looking down at the child.
Mary is glad that she has been moved from the nursery since she was eleven years old. She can't imagine the shame if all the children saw her in such a state.
The Queen lowers her eyes, not sure what to say.
"I have sent the servants to draw you a hot bath, clean bedsheets, raspberry leaf tea and extra rags. They will help, as well as some sweets left over from the banquet two nights past." Catherine had never been so kind, and Mary's head shoots up as she locks eyes with her.
"I-I thought-"
"We may not see eye to eye on most things, Reignette. But you love my son and I remember being in your position. One day, I will help Elizabeth, Claude and Margret with this, and one day you will help yours and Francis' daughter. There is no shame, it is God's punishment for Eve's sins, although you have been welcomed into a sisterhood of sorts." The Italian Queen Consort says, reaching a hand down. "Come, let's get you cleaned up, and down for some hot chocolate and treats. By then, your bath will be done and your sheets will be clean. You can bathe until your pains go away, and in the meantime we will speak of womanly anatomy and rags. Come, Reignette. My husband and son will be displeased with me if I showed you malice this night."
~|~
I can't believe I never did a chapter on this in the past!
Call me crazy, but I never ever pictured Catherine welcoming little Mary, and never thought she saw her like another daughter. But a little womanly sisterhood never hurt anyone, especially when it comes to stuff like this.
Next chapter, Mistress Mary is back!
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!-
