Massacre

1

"Is that what this is about?" he questioned. Mary shot him a look. How she hated being vulnerable, and for some reason now, being vulnerable in front of him was driving her to the point of insanity.

"What else could it be about?" Mary snapped, turning to face him head on. "Don't yup understand what you did? You not only betrayed me, but you got my best friend pregnant! I'm going to have to wake up every day of my wife with the knowledge that I didn't bare you your first born! I may not even be able to birth you a child at all! And if I cannot bare children, then the next trip I am going to be taking is to the scaffold! Are you that ignorant to my strife?" she cried out, stepping away from him as he reached out for her.

"Mary, please. It won't come to that! I'll protect you, from everything and every threat that Lola and I's son may cause. Nothing will happen to you, just tell me what you want me to do to repair what I have broken and I will! I swear it!" he replied.

She shook her head. "No, Francis. You don't know that and you can't. John Knox will use my baroness and your bastard to take my head, any vulnerability I have will be exploited tenfold. I will loose my head because you want to be sentimental." she sniffled. "I can't get pregnant. I can't even give you a politically useless daughter, let alone a son. I can't give you a child and that will be my destruction! And you've illuminated my weakness to the world and expect me to stand by and smile as you put my life and my country in danger." she turned around.

"Please, let's just get you inside. It's freezing out here, we can talk about what's bothering you once you've eaten and drank, okay?" Francis tried again. Mary shook her head, twisting her wrist from his grip.

Is it? Mary thought to herself. In truth, the Queen of Scotland and France felt rather hot.

"Please, leave me me be. I want to be alone now." Mary tried to plead.

"You'll never be alone, you have me." he tried to plead back to his wife, his heart aching at the sight of tears in her pretty, dark eyes. Francis tried to reach over and grasp her wrist again and Mary jerked back again. This time, his pain was replaced by confusion as he watched Mary's eyes become glazed over.

"Mary?" he asked. This time, the Queen of Scotland and France allowed him to come closer to her. She didn't do anything at all. Just stood there. Francis frowned at the sudden change in his wife's countenance. 

"Darling," he tried, placing a large, warm hand upon his wife's cheek. Mary swallowed thickly, turning up to look at him. "you're burning up." he informed her, his heart starting to race. The plague hadn't completley eradicated itself just yet, people still died in their court because of the disease, servants and nobles alike. And to see her, now illuminated by the moonlight, pale and feverish, it startled him. 

Francis drew in a sharp breath, watched her stagger back a step. He wrapped an arm around her waist as she continued still to get away from him. The hand left her wrist and rose to her brow. His own furrowed in alarm as he felt -truly- just how feverish his wife actually was.

"Mary." he tried to get her attention. But, she said nothing. Francis watched, helplessly, as the colour drained from his wife's face even further, the temperature of her skin grow and grow until a sweat appeared upon her brow. The glazed over look in her eyes increased and increased. He swallowed audibly, gripping her tighter as she started to stagger.

"Mary!" he yelped as her body suddenly collapsed. Her knees buckled and her head fell backwards in almost an arch, his arm the only thing keeping her from hitting the ground. Quickly, Francis hooked an arm around her knees and hoisted her up into his arms, the other arm raising to cradle the back of her neck.

He rushed back into the court -promptly ignoring the gasps of various courtiers- and ordered for his mother, his wife's ladies and Nostradamus, storming over towards his chambers where all but the Queen Mother awaited them.

The ladies squealed in alarm as they saw their Queen hanging limply in their King's arms, her skin pale and clammy and covered in sweat. The trifecta of noble women rushed over as Francis kicked open the doors and made fast work of his chambers, laying his wife down on their bed. Mary didn't wake.

"Quickly, undress her," Nostradamus grumbled to the ladies, already mixing various tonics together. "place her in her bedclothes." he ordered. Lola, Greer and Kenna set to work, unlacing Mary's silver satin gown with light blue flowers and lace with trembling fingers when they felt how hot the Queen of Scotland actually was, felt the slickness of her sweat and the wheeze of her breath.

Francis watched as the layers of fine clothes came away until his wife was situated in a white satin nightgown. He matched right up to the bed, taking her hand in his as Nostradamus set to work, forcing various tonics down her throat whilst retracting her blood from the back of her hand.

"What are you doing?" Francis asked in alarm, seeing the crimson liquid upon his wife's dainty hand.

"I must let out the blood, highness. It could cause Her Majesty harm." Francis bit his lip as more and more of the blood left the Queen's palm and fell into a small bucket. He held the other hand, pressing rapid kisses onto the fiery skin. He kissed her knuckles, murmuring his love for her, over and over. And, praying to God if he might save her from whatever plagued her body and threatened to take her from him forever.