Chapter 20

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She envisioned him. Sending her off with a smile at six years old. A princess without the weight of an attacked country on her shoulders. Constant letters and gifts would be sent to her through her time in France and he'd watch her walk the isle to the only man she'd ever love. He'd watch his grandson grow up with a smile, the Grandson who would carry his name and one day rule an empire, the boys' own father watching him by the side of his wife.

Such a perfect illusion Mary thought, her body starting to relax under the water. She didn't even hear the footsteps that came closer to her, so didn't expect the rough hand in her hair, yanking her up to the surface.

"What do you think you're doing?!" The familiar voice screamed into her ear.

"You think you can do that?! Take all my power away?! Huh?! If you want to die so much, how about I do the honours?!" Bothwell screamed, dragging her towards the bathtub and thrusting her head inside the water. Mary screamed. Bothwell was drowning his wife! His pregnant wife! He was going to kill his own Queen! Her hands balled into fists, nails digging into the palms. How dare he!

Mary had thrashed and kicked just enough to land a shot against his jaw, allowing him to let her go. She fell out of the water, coughing and spluttering, grabbing her throat and placing a hand on her growing abdomen, slowly moving up to wipe the hair and water from her face, slowly crawling to her feet before turning around.

A swift blow knocked her loopy and made her fall onto the floor, a soft whimper leaving her lips as she opened her eyes and saw the blurry image of his boots walking towards the door, before a soft sigh left them, her eyes closing and her body relaxing.

After a few minutes, Mary managed the strength to open her eyes and wipe the blood off her face and head, dressing and drying herself quickly, before slowly walking towards the dressing table and sitting down, a soft sigh leaving her lips. She covered her wound with makeup and her skin with diamonds and gold, placing her crown on her head, reminding her she was the queen and he was nothing.

You want to play games, dear husband? Mary thought to herself, staring into her reflections' eyes. Well, I can play, too.

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