"All hail her Imperial Majesty, Mary of the house of Stuart, first and second of her name, Queen Regnant of England, Ireland, Wales and Scotland and it's isles, Queen Regent of France, Princess Consort of Germany, Duchess of Munich, Edinburgh and Lorraine." the herald cried.
In walked the Queen. Donned in an shimmering gown of green with dark green intricate detailing, long black hair fell down her back, half of it up in a rose, a tall crown of gold and diamonds upon her head. On the arm of a tall blonde in white, she walked confidently, albeit reluctantly to be so close, towards her throne. There was only one, a cold comfort. But one of impurity. He wasn't a bad man. But he wasn't her man. Nor her true King.
"Introducing his Royal Highness, Stefan of the house of Schultz, fourth of his name, King Consort of England, Ireland, Wales and Scotland and it's isles, Prince of Germany, Duke of Munich, Edinburgh and Lorraine." the herald cried as the duo walked slowly toward Mary's throne, through the parted sea of French courtiers.
They made quite the pretty pair. Both physically attractive and still clasping firmly onto their youth even with the unmistakable power the duo shared. Beauty was captured by the Queen, handsomeness by the King. It was like a dead ringer for the only true marriage the Queen has ever had. Her only taste of true love and true romance.
They walked towards the steps, a long scepter laying in the Queen's spare arm. It accentuated the growing bump on her abdomen, one that had been seen many times before.
Stefan placed his wife upon her French throne, her chin raising slightly as she looked upon her and her son's court. She saw the slightly aged Valois-Medici family, lead by their matriarch. Young Claude with her French husband, a freshly married Charles and a soon to be wed Henri. Young Margaret and her young future husband. She saw the tired lines upon Catherine's face, grief present from the four months previous death of Elisabeth of Spain, another woman claimed from the issue of childbirth.
Her own children made their way through the sea of French nobles.
"Introducing his Majesty, James of the houses Stuart and Valois-Angulème, sixth and first of his name, King Regnant of France, Crown Prince of England, Ireland, Wales and Scotland and it's isles, Duke of Anjou and Rothsay." James was introduced, the young boy walking confidently down the sea of courtiers, a pretty young thing in white upon his arm.
Mary smiled at her son, remembering when she walked upon her French future husband's arm as a five year old child.
Mary smiled as Edward, Annaliece and Annika came closer to their mother and step father, future consorts in towe. Her eyes trailed upon the nannies as they brought the youngest duo into the throne room.
She and Stefan had wed in the winter following their betrothal. In the last week of December, the Queen reluctantly took another husband. This one, however, wasn't as bad as her previous two, but never could hold a candle to her true husband.
Their agreement was simple. They would rule their countries separately, only seeing each other when it was time to make another heir. And those nights, Mary would take a sleeping drought so she wouldn't remember the night, and this would continue until they had created another child, then they would leave each other again. And in the rare times where husband and wife were together, they had developed a strange friendship. A civil relationship that resembled how she felt about Sebastian in their latter years. Poor, dead Sebastian.
"His royal highness, Prince Henry of the houses Stuart and Schultz, Prince of Germany, England, Ireland, Wales and Scotland and it's isles. Duke of Cambridge and Hans." Their eldest child was introduced. Created on their wedding night and birthed the following September of 1566, Henry was a calm child, his mothers eyes and fathers hair, sweet and delicate and charming. Eighteen months old and adored, he would make a fine man when he grew.
"Finally, introducing his royal highness, Prince William of England, Germany, Wales, Ireland and Scotland and it's isles. Duke of York and Ferdinand." the herald finished. Carried by his nanny, the one year old Prince who looked just like his mother. After celebrating his first birthday in London just before they set sail to France, the boy's mother announced her next pregnancy.
It wasn't the same as it had been with Francis, but it was a hell of a lot better than what it had been like with Henry and James. One day, she would be with her beloved and only husband once more, but for now, Mary could be content with her friendship and her motherhood and her Queenhood.
And she couldn't help but think that Francis would have wanted it that way.