Bitter Reality

2

The door slammed closed. Mary jumped up from her place on the settee, slowly embroidering an intricate Gaelic design. Her head snapped up, seeing her furious eldest son storm into the room.

"James," Mary said softly. She knelt down to the boys' level, opening her arms to accept his running, flushed body as it pelted into her. She frowned, his body latching onto hers, tightening like a vice. His shoulders shook with son's, hot tears falling onto her bare shoulders. The young beauty responded slowly, comforting her son and heir the best she could. She stroked his back and hair, whispering sweet nothings into his ear, before slowly pulling back to look James in the eye. "What is it, my love? What has you so upset?" Mary asked, voice a mix of gentleness, confusion and rage. Whoever dared make one of her sons unhappy was a dead man walking.

"Papa!" James wined, tears pouring down his flushed face. Mary frowned, wiping the tears from the boy's cheeks with gentle thumbs. What on earth could Francis have done to upset James so?

The King of France had resided in Edinburgh Castle for some months now, in hopes of reconsolidation with his wife and Queen and to know his son's. Mary had no issue with Francis knowing James and Robert, but it went no further, concerning their own relationship. As far as she was concerned, there was none. They were King and Queen and mother and father, nothing more.

It hadn't changed for months. It had been over several months since Francis came to them. In that time, the duo had gone back and forth between the countries they ruled over, allowing them to see the King and Queen and heirs. The boys slowly grew used to their father after the third month, after weeks and weeks of wariness from sons to father.

Although James and Robert were sweet and caring, they were also incredibly protective of their mother, as well as perceptive to all around them. Hell, it had taken them months to grow accustomed to a few nursemaids and handmaidens that their mother had hired, let alone their own father.

The first few weeks were the hardest. Both would tense and wine whenever they were held in the arms of Francis or Sebastian, although they were more comfortable around the latter than the former. The reason was simple, they understood the fact that their father had hurt their mother, the most important person in their young lives. It didn't help that James had seen Mary cry softly to herself when Francis was desperately trying to appease Robert -who had been wining pathetically as he was held by a stranger.

The more perceptive and protective of the two had completely refused his fathers love, screaming out whenever the King of France came into the room, let alone came closer to him. It was far from fear, not too far from anger. The young boy was completely resentful of his father causing his mother so much unaccustomed pain, and allowing another boy to harm his younger brother.

Said younger brother had taken a different approach. He was weary of his father, yes, but didn't react as strongly to him as his twin did. Robert simply wailed and rushed away whenever somebody of French blood in Francis' inner circle came towards him. James accepted Bash more, but Robert was the exact opposite. He'd somehow seen Sebastian with young John, as well as Sebastian with his own father. And, those people made his mother, himself and his brother unhappy. Something that simply couldn't do.

However, that resentment slowly fizzled away after a few months. They called Francis 'Papa' and Sebastian 'Uncle' but they were far from where Mary was with her sons. Said sons adored her, squealing in delight whenever the powerful woman entered a room, in the rare occasion that they were not all together. She was given loving kisses and embraces, comforting cradles and calming snuggles. Courts smiled upon the trio, content in their security with two strong male heirs and a powerful monarch who could produce multiple sons at a time. But, although Francis was no longer refereed to by name, everybody could see the longing on his face whenever he watched his wife sit with their sons laying on top of her and her skirts after a long day of political affairs.