Chapter 6: The Talk.

Months. That long has it been since Mary had become Empress of the Holy Roman Empire and Queen by Charles' side. Things had gone smoothly, they spend most nights together, by day they would go to church together and pray side by side, cleaning her soul of the impure thoughts she felt every night when Charles would call off their servants to be the one to help her undress; for that only meant one thing.

And yet, Mary felt that their relationship had reached a halt. And while her position at Court seem only to grow, Mary could only think about what would happen to her if she was not able to produce an heir soon, despite Charles already have one. Discussions have been discussed behind her back, that she is aware, as her husband would tell her briefly. The king wasn't expected to get any more children, specially no more sons as he would wish. An heir and a spare, that's what a king need. Henry only had her brother Edward, and children barely survive their first years.

So, they discussed her role in the future. They say, she would need to step and take the throne, like her grandfather before her. By right of conquest if that is what it needs to be done. But she knows what that had done to her family; always looking behind their shoulders, afraid of the impending beheading.

"If you were to have a child, your father would perhaps rekindle you to the line of succession." More of it was a son, but Charles didn't need to speak of that for her to know what he meant.

Mary kept her hand on her stomach, feeling in the dilemma that plagued her mother. An heir to the throne of England. "And to secure Spain's future in England as well." For Mary is not dumb, her mind not a weak thing. She knew politicians, and their desires. If she had an heir born of their union, it meant Spain would have a claim to the English Throne as well.

Charles looks over to her from his desk, blue eyes finding blue and Mary keeps herself steady to control the feverish sensation she holds on her belly at the sight. He was a very intense man. Both in politics and in personal affairs. Luckily it seems, so was Mary. "Indeed."

She isn't sure how she feels about that. Though she knows how her people would. "English people would never agree to a Spanish ruler. And if England has the desire to join crowns with Scotland, it would be advised that things were kept as they were." Scottish people hardly liked the English. But Spain? That would be unthinkable. Mary thinks, eyes drifting elsewhere as she thought. "If I were to have a son who would rule England, he would need to detach himself from Spain, adopt an English name and be raised there." She would not have the English people doubt her son, if she was to have one.

Charles understands, his silence more telling than anything else. "That would not bother the affairs in here, mi perla." He had chosen to call her such, despite being the translation of what her father called her as a child. Unsurprisingly enough, she finds it more endearing in Spanish. "I have sons. Philip will be King of Spain. And the position of Emperor will go to who they seem fit."

After that talk, Charles stopped visiting less and less her chambers. Her maids would say he had a mistress, which she did not found surprising. He had no love for her, not yet and who knows if ever. She was but a child in his eyes. And he had his future and Spain's settle, unlike hers. Mary simply ignored her tears when she confirmed the rumors of a lover to be true.

She felt like her mother. Alone in a foreign court, the pressure of an heir put on her head and belly, the future of her country at her hands, a husband who share her bed still but seem to drift elsewhere. How did her mother bare for twenty years?

Mary avoided the eyes of the woman once in court. One of her ladies in waiting, a young girl named Isabel told her so, out of the goodness of her heart. The woman saw her staring and bowed her head. Mary could've laughed right there, she had enough respect for her to bow but not to not sleep with her husband. And yet, how can you say no to a king and emperor? But Charles noticed as well, and at least, he had the goodwill of looking ashamed of himself.

That night, he visited her.

Mary had retired early and was already in bed. To say she missed him unlacing her dress was a minimal detail. She missed him. In fact, foolish young heart of hers, might had fallen for the man. Fool indeed.

In her hands, lay her mother's bible. His eyes drift to the chemise she is wearing and the book itself and has decency to look disappointed. Had he thought she would wait for him when he hasn't showed up in weeks? Neither of them spokes for what it felt like minutes, until, Mary decided to put down her book and blue eyes look back at her husband.

"Did you wished to say something, my lord?" and she keeps her tone polite, gentle. She will not raise her voice, she is not Anne Boleyn. She will not fight when she knows servants are outside her room, expecting her to fail. When she is at risk.

Charles move forward toward the bed. Mary shifts an inch on her side of the bed. "You've been distant, Maria. And today I found out why." So, this was the reason. She looks down and closes her eyes. They will have to talk then. This is the moment he will speak of not stopping his urges for her. This is her saying she will look the other way if it needs to be done.

But she needs to make things clear.

"Do what you must, for you are King, Charles. Have many women as you desire." She spoke then, leaving the bed at last as she takes hold of the small cover at the end of the bed to give herself some warmth. "I am my mother's daughter. I'm hardly the first queen to find out her husband has mistresses." Not the first or the last for that matter.

"Maria…" But Mary raises a hand as she approaches him. For the first time in a long time, Charles things she truly looks and behaves like her mother. A powerful force. Warm and cold. Polite but stern.

"I will not, however, be put to public humiliation. Not like my mother did. If you wish to cast me out, I will fight back with the force of a thousand ships. And win, by God's will." She ends up, perhaps too dramatic but it makes the point clear. She will not allow another woman to take her place.

She, like her mother, would die for her place as ruler.

Charles takes his time to deliver a response as they stan beside one another. If he kept staring as he did, Mary felt she would lose all her bravado. "Maria, I do not wish to cast you out." He starts then. "I thought I wished for a mistress. But what I had was nothing more, nothing less, than me ending the relationship with the girl, before the banquet."

Oh.

She does have a hard time believing it and he notices, for he enters her personal space in a blink on an eye that makes her throat close as she gasps, his hands, cold form the air touching her warm cheeks to keep her from looking away. "You are a wonder, Mary. I'm too old now. And I do not wish to have as many women as I please, for I only want one woman."

Oh. And her cheeks turn red, crimson as her mother's hair. As her very own.

"Then, why have you not visited?" She asks then.

"I wished to. But you seem distant and I thought, you wished your space." Good enough of an answer for now. Mary wished to kiss him. To make him see that she didn't want space or distance from him, not when all she desires is to have someone close to her that understands.

So, she does. Feet on their toes, Mary pushes upwards to kiss him. He loses some balance due to his bad leg, but his arms seem to find her body with ease, flushing their bodies together. Her hands coming in a bold search for his shirt, un-tugging them from his trousers. His hands, calloused as she remembered them, sneak under the loose cover she was using to keep herself warm and it falls to the ground.

It would never get easy to be like this with him. Exposed. Their lips break apart and Mary looks up, hating how she leans forward, wishing to continue. "How could I ever deny you, when you are so eager, Maria?" And she is in luck there is no light for he would see the blush on her cheeks.

But he leans forward and captures her lips in a quick, if not forceful and passionate kiss, eyes burying themselves again into her own, foreheads pressed together. "As I am eager for you, querida. Never doubt." He encourages willingly. His body pressed against hers, she feels the risen of the familiar sensation by her abdomen, his body reacting to their proximity and intimacy. It strokes her ego as a woman.

And it encourages her to move forward, releasing her body from the trap of the gentle chemise that falls to the ground with ease, her body uncovered for his eyes alone. Her hands explore his abdomen under his shirt, eyes glued to his. "Then have me. And I will have you."

And mouths join again in the sweet torture, her body picked from the ground as he wraps her legs around his waist, pushing them forward to the bed, as she barely notices when they fall on the mattress. She is breathing heavily, as his mouth explores her jaw and neck, finding one sensitive spot behind her ear that makes her moan. He is proud of it, and she is ashamed, but none has time to dwell on it, too consumed for them to interrupt.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

A month had passed since that conversation. And while Charles didn't share her bed all nights, he always went to say goodbye or spend a moment with her. It's also been more than a month without her month course, and she had been feeling ill. Food tasted different, and she felt her breast swollen.

God willing, she speaks as prays for a child, as the doctor examines her properly. The old man finishes his work and lets her wait until he is done. "Please, doctor. What is the news?" She asks, hands over her stomach as she holds her mother's rosary.

The doctor, an old man close to sixty stares back at her with green eyes and nods. The hint of a smile visible under the white beard. "Only the fairest of news, Your Majesty. You are with child. Thirteen weeks. And it seems your body is adjusting just fine to the change, my Queen." And she breathes out of relief, smiling herself as the ladies approach her in joined joy.

"Can I tell the news to the Emperor or shall I wait?" Her own mother waited another month until she told her father, knowing he would be disappointed if she lost the child. But she isn't her mother. No. And Charles isn't her father, that is certain.

"I'm sure the Emperor will be joyful of the news, Your Grace." And the doctor leaves the room as her ladies smile and cry in joy with her.

Later that day, when she pronounces the words "I'm with child", she can see Charles' face bring a smile, one she haven't seen since she arrived at court. And as he picks her up and hugs her, a kiss to her forehead and lips, she knows this will work.

It has to. For everyone's sake. For England.

Another month passes and Mary writes a letter to her father. Short, and simple. She feels a pinch of satisfaction after she finishes.

Your Majesty,

I write to you as a loyal subject and your daughter, who you once called the most precious pearl in the world. I write with good news that I wished to share with you and for you to tell the people of England. I am expecting a child. I received the news a month prior, but we wished to be certain the child is growing strong. The doctor has told us indeed it is, and we pray for a boy. With your permission, I wish to name him, Henry, after you and your father before you, to continue the legacy of strong men. It seems tradition here to have more than one name, and we thought it proper to name the child after his grandfather and great-grandfather; Henry Ferdinand. If a girl, we shall call her Elizabeth, for the great-grandmothers, Isabel of Castile and Elizabeth of York.

I wish to travel to England soon, if you would have me, Father. I would wish for the child to be born English as I am. Charles also wishes to visit soon, to discuss the ongoing conflict with France and Scotland.

God save you, Father.

Your dutiful daughter,

Empress Maria.