mcrystuartt:
still. life seemed still in those moments, the air heavier around them, as though it was condensing the room with only their own breathings, and mary’s mind was reeling, her thoughts more than unpleasant and changing. she wanted to let it go, forgive him right in that instant and fall back into a bliss she knew, that now seemed to be long forgotten, way in their not so long past, mere history. of course she wanted, but she couldn’t. that’d be a way too simple way around something that had left her brokenhearted, lonelier than ever and ashamed of herself.
a thousand words of reassurement clogged her mind, judgement and weighted on her tongue, clenched jaw tightening as she swallowed harshly through the lump that seemed to have taken up residence there as of late. her mouth opened only for closing again a second later, a delicate frown upon her forehead. her gaze lowered and she swallowed again, leaning in as though she was going to kiss him, trying to fit into the role that catherine had drawn out for her so clearly when she’d ended up on a nearly deathly mission for seeing a specific physician: a compliant wife. but they’d sworn so many times they would never be like catherine and henry, so her lips never touched his.
guilt drew over her features as she looked back into francis’ eyes, her own welling up as her fingers tapped nervously on his chest before she moved away and reached for her robe. when she spoke, her voice was quiet, practically broken, the usual security and certainty all drained out from her demeanor this one time.
‘ i know you were scared… but why say that?? why- why make me feel so… so worthless, francis? you knew–!! ‘
the queen drew in a breath for steadying herself as her pulse started to shake with the anxiety of actually confronting francis, hands busying themselves with pulling on the robe and fixing the collar.
‘ i’m scared now. i’m scared to trust you right now. so what should i do, take a jab at your insecurities? do what you did? ‘
francis knew that simple words wouldn’t make her change her mind; they wouldn’t make her come back to him. no, he needed more than words. he needed to show her that no one and nothing in his life had ever made him happier and prouder than she had. whether it had been for catching more fireflies than him when they were six or for solving brilliantly a political problem, mary always made him look at her in awe.
as she moved closer to him, almost close enough to taste, his heart stopped in his chest. he ran his tongue on his lower lip and waited for hers to press against his mouth, but she pulled away, and his heart sunk. what was he expecting? for her to forgive and forget so easily? that would never be her. and he loved her for it. he didn’t want her to pretend, to be someone she was not, to play a part. god knew how sick he had been of seeing his own parents do so all his life. and how miserable they were.
no, he didn’t want the warm, reassuring embers of a play pretend. he wanted the hot, burning fire that only love could give. love, so raw, so wild, so mary.
and then she moved away from him and left nothing but the feeling of her touch on his skin behind.
but this time he did not let her go. he knew the feeling, and would have preferred to die than to experience that again. so he sat up, the sheets covering his hips and legs, and listened to her with a heart that bled with every word she said. he nodded, he knew, he knew.
then the boy king took his wife’s hands into his own and pressed her palm against his chest; clear blue eyes staring into her dark ones.
“if your desire is to stab me in the very heart that belongs to you, then i will not stop you. if anything, my love, i will bring you the knife myself. there are no words for the pain that i have caused you.”
he moved closer, then, unable to resist another instant without her warmth close to him.
“i did you wrong. but know, please, that i do not believe there is someone in the world that makes me as proud as you do. always. so i am going to ask you once more: come back to me.”
