Okay, guys last chapter. Once again I would like to remind you that my non-completed Tudor stories are over on Archive of our own under the same pen name.

Please excuse me for tooting my own horn but...

14,000 words! A new record! 18 chapters! A new record! Over 100,000 words! A new record! I am celebrating!

February 6 1564

Scotland

Queen Mary of Scots had been a widow for almost four years. She was now searching for a second husband among Europe's princes. The only suitable prince England had to offer was the Prince of Wales who was soon to be eighteen.

However, her councilors, even those who were Protestant, were not keen on her marrying a prince who would one day becoming the king of another country especially a country that had been their enemy for centuries.

As for Mary herself, she longed to marry a Catholic prince who could help her rid her country of hearsay. But her half-brother, the Earl of Moray saw things differently, believing that uniting England and Scotland in bounds of matrimony was the best course for his queenly sister. Despite the fact that he was of the reformed faith, Mary knew he was firmly loyal to her and she was always willing to hear his thoughts on the matter, assured that he was not trying to undermine her.

"Your Majesty, Scotland is not France, much has changed, more and more of your subjects have turned to the reformation and they look at you as an enemy. If you marry a Catholic prince, they will view it as an act against them and it may incite them to rebel against you," James told her. "King George has been tolerant with his Catholic subjects, not even the Pope's bull of excommunication caused him to lash out at them. If you were to marry his son, your Protestant subjects would begin to accept you once they realize their faith isn't in danger."

"Including yours," Mary pointed out, an eyebrow raised.

"I do not deny that I will benefit if you choose to be more tolerant towards the Scottish reformation but I also know that things like faith are never as simple as people believe they are," James declared, not at all offended by her suspicions. In fact, if anything, he was pleased that familiar bounds did not blind her, proving that she had a good head upon her shoulders. "If you want to win your subjects' love, compromises must be made."

Mary sighed, her brother's words were too true to be dismissed. Growing up in the French court had already made her a little better than a foreigner to her subjects and the fact that she was Catholic did not help her imagine among her people when the majority had accepted the Reformation or at the very least were leaning towards it.

"I shall think about it," she decided.

Her half-brother smiled sadly at her, half-wishing he could hold her hand or embrace so she would feel comforted but she would not appreciate him acting as though she was a child who needed to be held. "It is not easy to hold the crown but I promise you that I shall be by your side, severing you loyally until the end of my days," he proclaimed, making a deep bow.

"Were our father married to your mother, I am certain you would not have to deal with as much opposition as I do," Mary remarked bitterly, knowing that half of the dislike she got was because she was a woman and therefore "unworthy" to be the sole ruler of the Scots.

"We can never know if that would be the case and I must say, dear sister, I am glad that our father did not marry my mother because then you would never have been born and that would have been a great tragedy," the earl declared.

Mary wasn't quite sure she believed him, after all her brother was not so altruistic that he would not jump at the chance of being king but she gave a grateful nod anyway. "Send for William Maitland and tell him that I am sending him back to England, this time to start marriage negotiations."

"As you wish, my Queen," her brother replied, bowing again before leaving her apartments, leaving her to mull over what he had told her.

She did not need to know that he had secretly been in communication with the Lord Chancellor of England, discussing the match between Prince Henry Francis and Queen Mary for the past two years.

The Earl of Moray had not been lying when he told his sister that he was worried that her subjects would rebel against her if she pushed the Counter-Reformation on their country. However, he was not so blind to realize that with a powerful Catholic husband, she might succeed in banishing the true religion from Scotland, causing rivers of blood to flood Scotland.

May 1 1564

Scotland

The Mayday celebrations were quite grand this year even without the joust-after what had happened to her former father-in-law and to the Duke of York, the Queen of Scots decided that her court would not partake in such a dangerous sport anymore. Thankfully the tennis match and the masked ball that followed was more than enough to make up for the excitement of a joust.

As a young widow not to mention queen, Mary was expected to join in on the fun, although her jeweled tiara gave away who she was and it seemed that every young gentleman was eager to win a dance with her.

Mary was now on her fourth dance partner and she had no intention of slowing down. Although, she could not see his face, Mary was intrigued by her new dance partner as she was certain he was English and she had a hunch he was not part of the English ambassador's entourage.

"So tell my lord, what brings you to my country?" Mary asked.

"To meet you, Your most Graceful and Lovely Majesty. I have heard tale of your breathtaking beauty and your guile spirt and I just had to meet you," the red-haired man replied, his eyes twinkling merrily as he spun her around.

"You are as charming as you are a good dancer," Mary complimented him, her curls bouncing as she laughed. "But I feel that you have an advantage that I do not. For while you know who I am, I know nothing but the country of your birth."

"Ah but would that not ruin the mystery of the masquerade, Your Majesty?" the stranger pointed out, his smile now mischievous.

"True but at least give me your name so I may call you something other than my lord and good sir."

"Francis but my uncle calls me Franny," the man replied, grinning wolfishly.

"Your uncle sounds like he is quite a character," Mary remarked.

"Oh, you have no idea, Your Majesty," the man replied, laughing fondly. "What he lacks in mobility, he more than makes up for in personality."

Mary almost froze, a suspicious eyebrow shooting up on her forehead. There was not a person in all of England, Ireland or Scotland who did not know of the Duke of York's lack of mobility and most were aware of his chipper outlook as even those who were openly mocking of the Tudor brood admired how he did not allow being an invalid stop him from living his life to the fullest. And there was only one nephew the Duke of York had whose name was Francis.

"Tell me your full name," Mary commanded, guessing that this was no coincidence.

"Prince Henry Francis of Wales, at your service, Your Majesty," Henry Francis answered as the song ended and he let go of her to making a sweeping bow.

Mary placed her hand on his arm, allowing him to lead her to a corner of the room so they could continue their conversation. She ignored the eyes of her courtiers watching them curiously, gossiping over who the Queen's mystery companion was and what the significance of her wishing to speak to him privately was.

"What were you trying to achieve by hiding your identity, Your Highness?" Mary inquired, although her tone was playful as she was certain he had not meant to offend her. "Was this some devious plot to charm me into revealing my secrets?"

"I can assure you that my motives were purely altruistic. I merely wished to get to know you and hear your honest opinion on myself without worry that you would guard your opinion," Henry Francis explained, beaming at her. "Of course if you want to know my opinion of you, I can assure you that I shall be brutally honest in telling you just how charming, witty and lovely I find you."

"You are a shameless flatter. I beg of you, don't stop," Mary giggled, unable to stop herself from smiling, enjoying his praise.

"When I first learned that my father was in negotiations for us, I was going to write you a letter but then I found myself unable to find anything to write to you about as I felt I knew nothing about you so I decided that I would have to meet you. That very next day, I left Ludlow and traveled to Scotland as fast as I could," Henry Francis continued. "I think Lady Margaret Howard was quite shocked when I arrived at her door but thankfully the good countess was willing to allow me to stay for a few days after giving me a bit of a tongue lashing about my lack of etiquette."

"She dared scold the Prince of Wales," Mary repeated in disbelief.

As the niece of the late King Henry, half-sister to the late King James and married to the English ambassador, Thomas Howard, the Countess of Orkney was well-admired but she still ranked below Prince Henry Francis and Mary could not see her aunt being so bold.

"Well I didn't obtain permission from my father to come here," Henry Francis admitted, having the decency to look somewhat abashed. However, that only lasted for a moment before he grinned again. "However whatever punishment I face from my father will be well worth it for spending an evening with you."

"You are charming as you are bold," Mary laughed, lapping up the compliments he lavished on her eagerly.

They spent the rest of the evening talking about mundane topics and by the time they parted Mary decided that perhaps marrying him wouldn't be so bad.

June 14 1564

England

King George had not been pleased when he learned his son had traveled from Ludlow to Scotland on a whim, forgoing his duties to go court the Scottish queen. However, he found that he could not stay mad at his eldest son who pointed out that if he stayed in Scotland for a few weeks, he could work on winning over the people of Scotland as well as their queen.

Eventually Henry Francis returned to England, having spent an entire month as a guest in the Scottish court, getting to know not only Mary but her people.

Before returning to Wales, he had decided to make two detours: one to London to apologize to his father inn person but firstly he went to visit Hatfield to visit his younger siblings.

After years of being an only child, the birth of Princess Annette had been the first of four more siblings for the Prince of Wales. After her birth she was followed by Princess Elizabeth, Princess Madeline and Prince Charles Edward.

(Before the birth of Charles George, King George had been torn choosing between Charles George and Edward Owen. Upon hearing this, the Duke of York had asked what George would do if Marguerite had already given birth to three sons taking the names of their fathers and brothers; to which Henry Francis had replied, perhaps he would have chosen something more original. Luckily the king was too busy fretting over his wife to take any offense).

Although the Prince of Wales could not claim to have close relationship with them as his father did with his siblings, a rather unfortunate consequence of the large age gap between them, Henry Francis still doted on them and went out of his way to spend as much time with them as his duties as the head of the Welsh council would allow.

However, on this particular day, it seemed that he was not the only one who decided to visit the royal children.

"Push me faster. The Princess Madeline wants to ride on her uncle's lap and she isn't expecting a leisurely stroll!" Edward admonished the groom pushing his wheelchair. "Goodness knows this is the only way I can play horsie or in my case, I suppose it would be playing carriages."

"It's my turn next!" Bess cried, running alongside her uncle and her sister.

"Harry!" Annette exclaimed. At the age of twelve, she did not partake in her sisters' fun, feeling she was too old for such childishness. And yet, she still ran into her eldest brother's outstretched arms, beaming at him as she kissed his cheeks.

"You!" Edward exclaimed in mock anger, jabbing his finger at his oldest nephew. "I am furious with you!"

"Hello Uncle Ned, it's good to see you too," Henry Francis greeted him pleasantly, making sure to give Madeline and Beth kisses as well before turning to the Duke of York. "What have I done to displease you?"

"You took off to Scotland, incognito, telling barely anybody where you were going and you don't think to include your favorite uncle in your little escapade," Edward exclaimed.

"Well Uncle Robin was busy," Henry Francis replied, his brow furrowed in mock confusion as if he thought the Duke of York was really talking about Robert Dudley instead of himself.

Edward gaped at him as his nephew and nieces tried not to laugh. "Why you cheeky little welp," he grumbled.

"Forgive me, Uncle, it was an impulsive decision and I didn't want anyone outside my circle to know in fear that Father would find out and put a stop to my plans," Henry Francis explained.

His uncle did not look as though he believed the young prince but before he could say another word they were interrupted by a newcomer having just woken from his nap.

"Harry! Harry!" Charles shouted from his governess' arms as she brought him to his siblings. Even at the tender age of two, Charles revered his older brother and was overjoyed whenever he saw him.

Henry Francis smiled lovingly, picking Charles up and swinging him around to which Charles responded with much laughter.

"It's good to see you, little brother. Is it just me or have you gotten taller than I last saw you?" Henry Francis asked, trying not to grimace as he felt the small bump on his brother's back.

Whether it had been complications in his mother's pregnancy or if it was merely a genetic defect that both her ancestors and the ancestors of her husband had been known to suffer from, Prince Charles George had been born as a hunchback.

However despite his deformity, he was a healthy boy, energetic and clever. God willing, much like their Uncle Edward, Charles would not let his disability impede his life goals and he would become either a formidable solider or a crafty statesman.

"Harry, will you tell us about your trip to Scotland?" Madeline asked eagerly, getting off her uncle's lap-not even noticing that Bess had quickly taken her place, having not forgotten that it was her turn.

"Oh yes, I want to hear all about the Scottish Queen," Annette said, intrigued by the prospect of a woman ruler.

Soon Henry Francis was sitting with Charles on his lap, Annette and Madeline on either side of him, Edward and Beth sitting near by as he regaled his time in Scotland.

Meanwhile over at Hampton Court Palace, courtiers were ambling about in the Great Hall, most in different little groups discussing trivial things.

"It is like they are their grandfathers reborn," John Dudley remarked as he watched the Duke of Wiltshire and the Duke of Norfolk whispering together, glaring at Sir William Cecil and Nicholas Bacon as if they had personally offended them.

Robert glanced up at the two young dukes. With George Boleyn and Henry Howard dead, their sons had inherited their titles and they had expected to inherit their royal favor as well.

Unfortunately for them, despite their family ties and their noble ranks, King George preferred his council being of men who had worked hard to get where they were and would continue to work hard. He had no plans on making two of councilors give up their posts to make room for Thomas Howard or John Boleyn, regardless of their blood relation to him.

Of course to them, this was the fault of the two men who would most likely lose their spots on the King's Privy Council. Instead of waiting patiently until those positions were vacant, they choose to sulk about it like petulant children.

"It's probably not helped by the fact that we have the states of office, their fathers and grandfathers once held," Robin remarked.

"Speaking of you, my son, I hear they have started a rumor saying that your place on the council is only for show that everyone knows that your wife uses you as her mouthpiece," John jested, giving his son a sly grin.

"Then they are fools for Elizabeth does not need to use me when she can just go tell her brother her opinion," Robert said coolly, fighting the urge to roll his eyes.

Elizabeth was certainly a strong outspoken woman but she would lord her higher status over her husband. Although Robert could not deny, that most of his decisions, he had a lengthy discussion with his wife first but she had done the same when it came to matters of statecraft where the people of her duchy were concerned.

He treated her with the respect and loved she deserved and in return she did the same for him.

Speaking of Elizabeth, she was currently in Pembroke, taking care not only their estates but also their children.

Robert could not help but miss them greatly especially when he had to put by with so many nobles turning up their noses at him.

"Forgive me, Father, but I think I have a toothache so perhaps I should retire," Robert lied, wishing to return to his rooms so he could read Elizabeth's letter again as she detailed how Owen, Robert and Edward were shaping up to be skilled swordsmen and how little Mary was learning faster than most girls her age and how she was so sick of being pregnant.

"Don't forget to send my love to my daughter and grandchildren," John told him with a knowing smile, clapping his son on the shoulder to show that he was not put out by Robert's blatant lie.

Despite having seven living children, only John, Robert and Mary had given him any grandchildren. Although he loved them all, especially the children of his heir, the Duke of Northumberland could not help but be slightly prouder of Robert's children as they had royal blood flowing in their veins.

"I wouldn't dream of forgetting, Father," Robin laughed as he walked away, maneuvering around the courtiers who stood between him and his apartments.

Once he arrived at his chambers, he sat down at his desk to write a letter to his wife, assuring her that he would be home in a fortnight and they would greet their next child into the world together.

The royal gardens were as lovely as they always were especially at this time of the year and it might have been George's imagination but the flowers were looking especially lovely today. He had asked the gardeners to pick out a bouquet of the finest flowers they could find, intending it to be a gift for his lady love.

Once he had a bouquet of roses and daisies in his hand, he quickly made his way to his wife's rooms, fully prepared to remind Margot of his love and devotion to her. As he entered, he remembered a conversation they had almost a decade ago, about how in twenty years, he might find himself falling for another woman. How glad he was to prove her wrong.

He waited until the ladies-in-waiting had left the room before kneeling down before his queen, presenting her with flowers.

"For the queen of my heart," he gushed.

Margot beamed at him. "These are beautiful, my love, thank you," she said sweetly, kissing his lips before taking the flowers from him. She then quirked an eyebrow and gave him a knowing look. "Is there a special occasion or has Elizabeth spilled my secret?"

It seemed that Margot knew him too well. George sighed, taking a seat next to his wife, with a somewhat embarrassed expression upon his face.

"I can count, Margot, and I know that I have not been out of your bed once for the past four months and as you have made no announcement, I put two and two together," George explained, still being vague as he did not want to call attention to the fact that his wife was now experiencing menopause.

"I actually did think I was pregnant at first. After all, Charles was a surprise so maybe we were in for another surprise. I admit I get excited and I wrote to Elizabeth, believing we were pregnant at the same time for once but then the doctor told me I wasn't pregnant and I would never get pregnant again," Margaret admitted, looking down at the flowers so her husband wouldn't see the unshed tears in her eyes.

"Why didn't you tell me?" George asked, reaching out to stroke her hair.

"Because I know you will coddle me and even if I weren't five-years-older, I would still find it stifling," Marguerite explained, cupping his face with her hand and stroking his cheek. "Don't get me wrong, my love, I adore you and it makes me happy that you love me so much that you can't go a minute without lavishing me with gifts and affection but there are times when it feels like you are treating me like a child."

"I'm sorry, Margot, I don't mean to make you feel like that," George apologized earnestly.

"I know you don't that's why I try not to feel annoyed when you do. And if I do get annoyed, I think about a certain four-year-old boy-" Margot began.

"Oh no," George muttered, guessing where this was going.

"-who was so nervous when we were dancing that he kept looking at his feet and yet somehow he kept stepping on my foot and my dress," Marguerite continued, her tone teasing.

"Four-year-olds are not known to be good dancers," George defended himself, praying that Edward never found out otherwise he would no doubt it would find its way into the play he was writing.

"I had no idea what would come from that but I knew I wanted to befriend you so I made sure you knew that you could always be open and honest with me even if it meant my dress would be stepped on," Margot teased him.

"And do you feel that you can't be honest with me?" George asked.

"Of course I know that but sometimes I think you do too much for me. Remember, when I first came to England, twenty-years-ago and we went to Ludlow, I found out that you had imported tapestries from France, made sure that the kitchens were stocked with my favorite food and had made sure that daisies were everywhere in the garden. You told me that you wanted me to feel at home and I loved you for that," Marguerite remembered. "But you don't have to keep reminding me how much you love me every day. You have already made it clear."

"I'm sorry but while I promise that I'll try not to go overbroad with gifts, I am afraid that I cannot stop showering you with affection," George said softly. "However, I do promise that I will stop treating you like you might break. I know I can get fussy to use Edward's word."

Marguerite smiled at him, kissing George's lips. "I would have told you eventually but I felt it was a small matter."

"With you there are no small matters," George informed her.

"You are incorrigible," Marguerite giggled. George suddenly stood up and scooped her up in his arms, causing her to lose her grip of the flowers sending them tumbling to the floor. "George, the flowers."

"Someone can pick up the flowers later, right now, I wish to lavish you with affection," George told her, wiggling his eyebrows.

"Well if my king commands that he wishes for us to forsake our duties for the day and return to bed than I must obey," Marguerite said coyly, wrapping her arms around George's neck as she kissed him again, this time passionately.

Meanwhile miles away at Pembroke Castle, Elizabeth Tudor frowned at the letter from the Duchess of Suffolk. It seemed that Johnny was making a nuisance of himself, getting into an argument with Sir Nicolas Bacon, believing he had stolen the position of Lord of the Privy Seal, believing that because his father and grandfather had those exhalated positions, he was owed that position. He seemed to have forgotten that it was not a hereditary position and ultimately it was up to the King to give out these posts to whoever he felt was fit for the role instead of just hiring his relatives.

She was certain that if Uncle George and Aunt Anna were watching from heaven, they would be shaking their heads at their son's behavior. Uncle George in particular would be aghast at his son acting like his father.

Elizabeth smiled sadly as she thought of her uncle. Despite the many loses in his life, the late Duke of Wiltshire had never stopped being the fun-loving man she remembered in her childhood.

When he died, it had been like losing her mother all over again.

"Your Highness, there are some petitioners requesting an audience with you," her steward announced, bringing the princess out of her thoughts.

"Thank you, Roger. Please make sure that the kitchens have prepared two baskets each of victuals for them to take home to their families," Elizabeth commanded, placing the letter down on the desk before making her way to her audience chamber.

Although she was a mere duchess and was aware that every decision she made would have to be approved by her nephew-as head of the council of the Welsh Marshes-not to mention her brother, she still enjoyed using the power she did have to make her subjects lives easier. She considered herself the mother of the people of Pembroke as much as she was the mother of her children.

The first two petitioners were two brothers; the younger one, a merchant, explained that his brother could not speak English and he was here to translate before Elizabeth could inform him that she spoke Welsh, the older brother said something to his brother that if he knew Elizabeth could understand, she doubted her would have said it.

"Where is her husband? Shouldn't he be the one we should be talking to?" the Welsh shopkeeper asked, sounding more confused than annoyed.

"She is the Duchess of Pembroke in her own right," his brother pointed out. "Lord Dudley is just an earl."

"But surely he is the one who makes the decisions."

"I can assure you gentlemen that my husband's status has nothing to do with how I handle the statecraft of my domain," Elizabeth explained in Welsh, suppressing a smirk when she saw the looks of horror on the men's faces. Ten years ago, Henry-Francis had expressed an interest in learning Welsh, Elizabeth had decided to learn alongside him, wanting to be fluent in a language that her Tudor ancestors had once been fluent in. "I can also assure you that my gender will not impede my ability to help you."

"Forgive me, Your Highness," the shopkeeper apologized, bowing deeply, having the good grace to look ashamed.

Elizabeth just waved her hand dismissively; he was not the first and would not be the last to express such thoughts-although she did wonder why those who came to see her still didn't realize she was fluent in Welsh. It would save them the embarrassment when they said something impolite in front of her, believing she wouldn't understand.

March 29 1565

Scotland

"This is absurd. You have nothing to prove," Mary told him firmly.

"This isn't about proving anything- although I have no doubt that if I don't show up today, your suitor will waste no time calling me a coward," Henry Francis pointed out, a frown on his face as he practiced his lunge.

"I could have him arrested as duels are illegal," Mary pointed out.

"And then people will say you are protecting me from a fight you believe I would lose," Henry Francis countered. Mary let out a huff and turned her back on him. The Prince of Wales put down his sword and wrapped his arms around her. "Mary, my queen, I do not want to do this but my honor is at stake, I cannot let his insults stand."

"What good is honor if you are a dead man?" Mary scoffed but she did not fight his embrace and instead sank into it.

In February, Mary had met the son of the Earl of Lennox, a distant cousin of hers. She had found Henry Stuart charming and handsome. Had she not been otherwise engaged, the young queen would certainly have married him instead.

However, she soon realized how lucky she was to have met Henry Francis first, as her refusal of his proposal brought out a darker side of Lord Darnley. He soon proved himself to be bad-tempered and arrogant, publicly decrying the Prince of Wales, calling his grandmother a whore, his father a weak heretical fool, his uncle a foppish cripple and perhaps worst of all, mocking his three-year-old brother for being a hunchback.

Henry Francis was not a man who could get riled up-he and his father rarely ever showcased the famous Tudor temper-but once Darnley challenged him to a duel, the Prince of Wales agreed much to Mary's displeasure.

"Have some faith in me, my sweet. Darnley will not win this fight. I shall beat him," Henry Francis told her gently, kissing her cheek chastely before brandishing her ribbon. "For I have a good luck token from the Queen of Scots herself. I shall win the duel in her honor as well as my own."

A sardonic laugh escaped Mary's lips before she let out a sigh. "Just be careful, Henry, I do not want to lose another man I love most ardently," she whispered as she turned around and pressed her forehead to his.

"I promise you that I shall not let you down," he murmured, wanting nothing more than to kiss her lips but he doubted their chaperones would allow this.

One of the Mary's ladies announced the arrival of one of Lord Darnley's grooms.

"Your Highness, Lord Darnley is ready whenever you are," he proclaimed.

As Queen, Mary could not watch the duel as it was illegal and she at least had to pretend not to know what was going on. However, she sent her half-brother to act as Henry-Francis' witness and second.

When Henry Francis, two of his grooms and the Earl of Moray arrived at the clearing where the duel was to take place, Lord Darnley was lounging against a tree, joking around with his friends.

Despite this being an illegal event, Henry Francis could see courtiers wondering about the grounds pretending to be just walking instead of deliberately stopping so they could observe the duel.

"Good marrow Your Grace, I hope you are well," Henry Francis greeted Darnley with false cheer. He knew that so-called nobleman would not return his polite greeting but then one of the things he liked doing was being unflinchingly polite in the face of Henry Stuarts' rudeness as it often made him look worse than his boorishness already did.

"I'm surprised you came, Your Highness, as I thought you had returned to England to hide behind your mother's skirts," Darnley jeered.

"Why would I do that?" Henry Francis drawled, affecting confusion. "Is that what you do when you are asked to defend your family's honor?"

Darnley's eyes flashed in anger as those who heard Henry Francis sarcastic response tittered in amusement.

"Let's just get on with this," the Scottish lord snarled, taking out his sword and walking towards the Prince of Wales.

Henry Francis nodded before taking out his own and getting into the right stance.

Darnley sneered at Henry Francis as he threw an overhand cut to which Henry Francis parried quickly, reflexively. Darnley continued to throw overhand cuts to which the Prince of Wales continued to parry.

As they kept moving back and forth, their swords clashing, Henry Francis knew he had to start thinking instead of continuing to deflect the same blows over and over again. The same blows. Lord Darnley kept using an overhand cut, not even trying another move. Well it was time to use that against him.

With the next cut, Henry Francis parried high, thrust the point of his sword leaving a nasty gash on Lord Darnley's face, causing the man to leap back in both pain and surprise, knocking the bloodied sword away from him. But Henry Francis was not deterred and he lunged forward, closing the line and pushing Darnley backwards until he was against a tree with Henry Francis' sword at his throat.

"Do you yield?" Henry Francis demanded.

"Scotland will never accept an English King of on the Scottish throne," Darnley spat, blood running down from his cheek and dripping until the sword against his throat.

"Unlike you, I have a kingdom to inherit and therefore I have no need to take my wife's kingdom," Henry Francis pointed out. "Besides what makes you think that Scotland would accept a arrogant knave like yourself as their king."

Darnley growled and headbutted Henry Francis, knocking him down to the ground much to the shock of the crowd.

The Scottish Lord then stood on Henry Francis' hand when the prince tried to grab his sword, swinging his own sword over his head, his eyes murderous. Seconds before he could drive his sword into the Prince of Wales' hearth the Earl of Morley decided to intervene.

"Enough! Lord Henry Darnley, on orders of the Queen, I am putting you under arrest for breaking the law against dueling!" he exclaimed, snapping his fingers so the two guards who had hidden themselves among the crowd of spectators could come disarm Darnley and grab him.

"What about the Prince of Wales? Why hasn't he been arrested?" Henry Steward demanded, not even strolling against the guards, perhaps knowing that resisting arrest would only make things worse.

"Because he is not one of Queen Mary's subjects and therefore it is not her place to punish him," the Earl of Morey replied, his tone bland.

Henry Francis doubted there was a person there who didn't see through that excuse-furthermore they could also guess that King George was unlikely to call for his son's arrest even if the Queen of Scots demanded it-however Lord Darnley's underhanded and nearly murderous actions were enough to keep them from grumbling.

As for the Prince of Wales, he was escorted back to the Queen's apartments where she embraced him lovingly.

"Are you all right?" she asked worriedly, studying him to make sure he had no scratches. There was a bruise forming on his forehead and his hand had a partial boot print but other than that he was no worse for the wear.

"I am fine, dearest as I told you I would be," Henry Francis assured her, not even admonishing her for her intervention as she had never promised not to arrest Lord Darnley after their duel was over. "But I admit I am thankful for your brother as he saved my life. It seems that Lord Darnley is very much a poor sport and was unwilling to lose."

"Well I shall be sure to exile him from the court until his behavior improves," Mary said, her mouth a thin line before her expression softened and her tone turned regretful. "Unfortunately, to keep up appearances, I will have to banish you for a short time just so it won't look like I'm playing favorites.

"I know, Mary, and although I will hate to be away from you, I know that even if you didn't exile me, my Father will no doubt punish me by forcing me to stay at Ludlow for the foreseeable future," Henry Francis said with a sigh.

He had decided not to mention the duel to his father, knowing King George would be fearful for his son's life and he would order Henry Francis not to go through with it. Once news reached the English court, the Prince of Wales would be summoned to be taken to task over his actions.

"Well we might not have to be apart for long. I was thinking that perhaps in a week or two, perhaps I could make a state visit to England and perhaps stay in Ludlow for a while," Mary suggested with a coy smile.

Henry Francis grinned at her before kissing her passionately, chaperones be damned. This woman would one day be his wife and together they would bring the golden age to England, Scotland, Ireland and Wales.

July 24 1568

Spain

Queen Annette of Spain, Naples and the Low Countries was on her knees in the great chapel of the Royal Alcázar of Madrid, tears flowing down her cheeks as she begged God not to take Carlos away. She was here without her husband's consent or knowledge, lying to the guards that he had given her permission.

Neither she, Ferdinando, Isabel nor Catalina were not allowed to see their brother. Carlos' wife Elizabeth and their daughter Anna were allowed to visit him. While Annette had understood her husband's decision as her stepson had become increasingly erratic and violent over the years, he had always been kind and gently with both her and his wife.

However, she could not forget that the reason he was being locked away was because of his threats to commit regicide against his own father nor could she forget the conversation she just had with her stepson.

"I'm sure that eventually your father will let you out of here," she lied comfortingly, holding his hand in hers, squeezing it gently. Philip had made it very clear that he believed that his son had the same sort of madness Queen Joanna had and therefore it was better for everyone if the Prince of Asturias was kept locked away.

"No, he won't. He hates me and wants me dead, Mother," Carlos contradicted, his tone cold with a trance of sorrow. "He hates me for he believes I am a monster. Perhaps he is right. Perhaps I am a monster."

"No. I don't believe it. You are not a monster. Perhaps a little troubled but I don't believe you truly wanted to kill your father," Annette told him firmly. "You are a good boy, I know you are."

"You and Elisabeth are perhaps the only ones who don't see me as a monster," Carlos said, his lighting with a smile before it turned into a dark grimace. "But in truth, Mother, I do not deserve your love as I have tried to murder my brother and sister."

Annette felt as though Carlos knocked the wind out of her lungs. "What?"

"When you were pregnant with them, I was so afraid that they would take you from me so I hit you in hopes you would miscarry," Carlos admitted, speaking as calmly as though they were discussing the weather.

"You were a child, Carlos, only five, there is no way you could have possibly wanted them dead," Annette protested, almost trying to convince herself of that as much as she was Carlos.

"Oh but I did, Mother, I remember feeling that hatred, that rage and I remember hoping that I was harming your child every time I hit you. I learned to love them because I knew you wanted me to but that doesn't change how I felt that day," Carlos told her, burying his face in her shoulder like he did as a child. "Do you hate me?"

"No, never," Annette replied, closing her eyes so she could shut out the horror she felt as what Carlos just told her.

"I am sick, Mama, very sick. I don't think I'm going to live for much longer," Carlos continued. "Will you take care of Elisabeth and Anna for me?"

"Of course I will," Annette promised, stroking his hair as they sat together.

Then he closed his eyes and minutes later, Annette found herself unable to rouse him.

Prince Carlos' birth mother had died when he was a babe in her arms and he died in his stepmother's arms.

January 31 1569

Sweden

Ten years ago last November, his mother had died; two years later, his father had joined her. King Gustav laid between his two wives, Katrina to his left and Mary to his right.

King John bowed to his father's coffin before kneeling down in front of his mother's tomb, addressing his words to her alone. As he spoke, he fingered the beads of her rosary, one that he had to keep hidden as many viewed it as proof of his Catholic allegiances.

"Did you ever regret giving up England so your half-brother could rule it?" John asked. He knew how much his mother loved his Uncle George but despite this he knew she often worried for England's soul as it continued to push the religious reforms. "Do you ever wish that you had instead fought for the crown? I realize that you lacked the means, Mother, but if you had them, would you have done it?"

He received no answer but then again, he didn't expect any.

"Like Father before me, I have liberated Sweden from a ruthless tyrant but I am unsure that everyone in Sweden agrees. They have elected me King but God only knows if I will be able to stay. I do what I can to preserve myself and my children. You chose my wife well, Mother. Whenever I ruffle the feathers, she smooths them over. Our children will be taught to be reformists like her but I shall be Catholic for I love you, Mother and I will not take a chance that I won't be reunited with you in heaven where I hope to meet my grandmother for I know she is as dear to you as you are to me."

John paused as he wiped his suddenly moist eyes. "You were always so strong and brave. Willing to bend when you needed to but still never betraying your faith or your principals. Father was a good king but if I wish to survive, I shall be more like you, doing the best for my country even if I disagree with the religion. I will be a King who you would be proud of, I promise."

February 14 1569

Spain

Infante Ferdinando, Prince of Austria, could not contain his scowl as he watched his father dance with his new queen. Not even a year after his mother's death, his father had remarried to his niece, the one who had supposed to be Ferdinando's bride.

No wonder William the Silent's instance that King Phillip had poisoned both Carlos and Annette were so believed when his father had scarcely mourned either of them.

Unwilling to be in the room a moment longer, Ferdinando got up, rather nosily and stormed out of the Great Hall, not caring that all eyes were on him as he left or that his father would be furious with him.

He could hear footsteps behind him and a delicate hand grabbed his arm, gently guiding him to her apartments, knowing full well that the king was more likely to leave his son alone if he found that he was not in his apartments but with his wife.

Isabella de' Medici was nine-years-older than Ferdinando, chosen in haste so Phillip's heir would not wifeless. She was to be married to Paolo Giordano I Orsini but rumors of a romance with her cousin had caused her betrothed to reject her. She was related to the Pope and the Queen Regent of France but she was not royalty herself. And yet his father had chosen her as his heir's bride.

When Ferdinando had first learned of this, just two months after his mother's death, he had been incensed and accused his father of doing this just to spite Annette who despite only being Carlos' stepmother and being the last person to see him alive was never suspected to having a hand in his death while Phillip was.

In fact, when Annette died just a short while afterwards, people claimed she had died of grief as it was well known how close she was to Carlos.

Still grieving his mother and hurt by his father's actions, Ferdinando had outright refused to marry a woman he believed was beneath him.

But in the end, he married Isabella and soon found himself attracted to her blithe spirit.

"You shouldn't get angry, Nando, you know that your father believes that he must have more sons so he can be sure that his dynasty will secured," Isabella told him softly, gently stroking his cheek.

"He never loved my mother and while I don't believe he killed her, I know he's glad she's dead," Ferdinando grumbled.

"Perhaps but that doesn't matter. What matters is we focus on our own children," Isabella pointed out.

"Was that an announcement?" Ferdinand asked hopefully, his eyes lighting up.

"I'm afraid not but eventually we shall have children and when we do, we will be as great as the last Ferdinando and Isabel," she prophesied. "And your mother's legacy will live on through them."

"I know you are right but for now I will just grieve my mother while everyone else toasts the new Queen Anne," Ferdinando muttered, trying to push down he felt towards his new stepmother.

Although he held no ill will towards his cousin, having befriended her when it was still thought she would be his wife, it still irked him that his mother was being replaced by a woman who had her name.

To him, there was only one Queen Anne and she was not the girl dancing with his father.

November 21 1569

England

It had been almost a decade since he was excommunicated and the Catholics had kept their peace but now they chose to act. Instead of being outraged as he had every right to be, King George felt rather bemused that they had waited so long.

Perhaps it had to do with the fact that after many years of negotiations- and one attempt by a few Scottish lords led by Lord Darnley to abduct the Queen of Scots- Queen Mary and Henry Francis were finally married.

Or perhaps it was the Duke of Norfolk, fed up with not getting what he believed he was owed just by being a high ranking nobleman, that he chose to plot against his royal cousin instead with the help of Thomas Percy who had not learned from his father mistakes and the Earl of Westmorland.

Or perhaps it was the rumors that King Phillip was planning on invading England in the name of Prince Fernando who was an heir to the English throne through the late Queen Annette.

Whatever it was, thanks to the efforts of Sir Francis Walsingham and Duke John of Wiltshire, the rebels were quickly ambushed and taken prisoner with the conspirators captured and locked away in the Tower of London.

One glance at across the table, George could see that his cousin looked particularly smug, and not unreasonably so as he managed to play the part of double agent brilliantly and had won the prestige he so desperately wanted while the Duke of Norfolk was now disgraced and being charged with high treason.

"Gentlemen, while it disturbs me that despite being a loving king to my subjects even to those whose religion I loathe, they chose to attack me. When men rebelled against my father, they were all killed as my father refused to let any who defied him live," George recalled, causing the Duke of Northumberland to grimace. Perhaps he remembered how his father had been executed for no other reason than because King Henry had wanted a scapegoat to blame for his father's harsh taxes. Although George would not label his father a tyrant, he still found the idea of killing every single rebel far too bloodthirsty for his taste. "I have chosen to go a different road. While the leaders will be executed and their land and titles will taken from them, I shall spare those under their command if they swear their loyalty to me as their king and the head of their church."

Those who did not were the ones he could not trust and they would be executed along with the leaders of this rebellion. As for the rest, they would be sent back to their families, with warnings that if they joined another rebellion against the King, he would not be so merciful.

"Despite what many think it is not a sin to be merciful," the Duke of Northumberland remarked, his smile more genuine now.

"Even if I did not want to be merciful, I believe that the political climate demands it. I will not give Catholics reason to turn against me. Peace and prosperity have graced England because we have not participated in wars," George said firmly.

"If King Philip has his way, we might have no choice but to do so," William Cecil pointed out with a frown. "I would suggest setting aside some money so we may have a navy that will be able to defeat the Spanish armada."

"The Earl of Clinton is already seeing to that," George assured him, nodding his head. "We will not unprepared."

"And what of Scotland? Are they willing to help us win the war against Spain?" the Duke of Wiltshire inquired curiously.

"Gentlemen, this is mere speculation. We have no idea if King Philip is planning to invade or not," George said, tactfully avoiding the question.

After years of back and forth, Scotland had finally accepted Henry Francis as King Consort, making it clear that while they would accept him as Mary's husband, they would not allow him to rule them.

The last thing George wanted to do was muddy the waters by requiring them to help him in any wars. The two countries were not united yet and it would take time for them to overcome years of constant fighting. Being asked to participate in a war that only had to do with them because their queen with married to England's future king could make them frostier to the marriage, perhaps enough for rebellions to start.

If Scotland wanted to offer their men and guns when it turned out that Spain was indeed attacking, George would be grateful but he would not take advantage of his daughter-in-law for his own ends.

Especially when there were other alliances which would help him against Spain. His oldest daughter Annette would soon be married to the Crown Prince Henry of Navarre, Madeline would be married to Prince of Orange's oldest son and Bess would marry the Elector of Saxony's son. Dynastic marriages that would make the late Earl of Essex very proud.

England had gone through scares before, mostly horrible people who dared attack his innocent mother. If Spain attacked, then just like the crazy eyed groom who still hunted his nightmares even through decades had passed, they would be stopped by any means necessary and England would continue flourish no matter what tricks those despicable Catholics tried.

December 2 1569

Owena Tudor, the only child of the Duck and Duchess of York. Her father doted on her as much as he could and while her mother had loved equally as much, she was always careful to curb any bad behavior that Edward had caused by indulging their daughter too much. Although Owena knew full well how much of a prize she was on the marriage market, she had decided years ago that she would stay unwed. She had many suitors, both foreign and local but Owena was not so naive that she didn't know what they were really after her vast inheritance.

Her father was no miser but he was not as foolish as his detractors often portrayed him. If he gambled, it was never large amounts and any amount he on lavish parties would be made up by the money he had put in trade and other investments.

Eventually Magdalena's good sense rubbed off on Edward and in recent years he had stopped throwing so many masquerades and instead decide to write an epic, locking himself in his rooms for hours as he wrote.

As for Magdalena, she would often focus on statecraft or in working on building churches and hospitals in her husband's name.

Sometimes Owena would look into their studies and find that they had both fallen asleep at their desks.

Not wanting to disturb her father by ringing the bell for a groom to come and get him to bed, Owena gently shook her mother's shoulders.

"Mother, wake up, it's almost midnight," Owena called. As if on cue, the large grandfather clock in the study chimed loudly, starling her father into waking up as well.

"Whose idea was to put that in here," Edward grumbled as he rubbed his neck.

"Yours, dear," Magdalena replied. "You're the own who insisted on redecorating our entire palace, remember."

"I am in a wheelchair, all I can do was stare at those moth-eaten tapestries and those ragged old drapes," Edward griped, grabbing the bell so he could summon his groom to get him so he could be made ready to put into his bed. He then smiled at Owena and beckoned her to come to him, taking her hand in his. "Come here, my darling, girl, I have finished the first part of my epic. It is all about Owen Tudor and how his married a Queen and started our dynasty."

"Oh, are you going to write about all the Tudors, Father?" Owena asked curiously, wrapping her arms around her father's neck.

"From Owen to whatever great-nephew your cousin manages to sire," Edward replied, grinning. "This will be my masterpiece. I shall write our family history, showcasing the drama, the romance, the political intrigue. In a thousand years, it will be up there with Thomas More's Utopia and Niccolò Machiavelli's Prince."

"Isn't that what you said about the play you have yet to finish?" Magdalena inquired with a raised eyebrow, a ghost of a smirk on her face.

"I am almost finished with the play. Is it my fault that I have been distracted with some many amazing ideas that have caused me to put my old work to the side?" Edward protested, causing Owena to bury her face in her father's shoulder so she could hide her smile. "Besides, George has forbidden me from basing any more characters off of our family members. So I must take out the scene where young Edward III steps on the feet of the Lady Phillipa while dancing."

"You could stick to historical accuracy, you know," Magdalena suggested.

"And where is the fun in that?" Edward asked, winking.

"All right, I think we should all go to bed. After all, we'll be leaving for court in a few days and I would like it if we got everything we need to do done," Magdalena decided, glancing over at the groom standing nearby. "Come here, darling and give your mother a kiss."

"Did you think I wouldn't, Mother?" Owena asked sweetly, stamping down any annoyance she had at being spoken to like a child. As her mother's only child, Magdalena was in rush to see her grow up, perhaps trying to pretend that in a few months her daughter would turn eight instead of eighteen.

"Well goodness knows, your father is trying to turn you against me," Magdalena drawled as Owena kissed her cheek. "Always making me out to be too serious."

"Maddy, Maddy, you are too serious. However, we love you in spite of that," Edward assured her, taking her hand in his, pulling her downwards so he could lay a kiss on her lips.

December 23 1569

Scotland

Snow floated down onto the ground as the courtiers stayed warm indoors with both fur and wine as they celebrated Christmastide.

Now that he was King Consort of Scots, Henry Francis had left the Council of Welsh Marshes in the capable hands of his Aunt Elizabeth while he split his time between the English court and the Scottish court.

It was decided that the newlyweds would spend their first Christmastide in Stirling Palace and the next year, they would spend it with the English court.

Henry Francis had made friends with some of the Scottish courtiers and was having a spirited tennis match with James Hamilton. Despite being ten years older, James Hamilton still won the match.

"From now one, every time I play a tennis match, I shall insist you be my opponent until I can beat you," Henry Francis declared, shaking the man's hand. "It was an honor to play with you, Your Grace," he quickly added, just in case the Scotsman took his words to mean that next time he should lose on purpose. "At the very least, I can say I lost to a skilled player."

"You are not so bad yourself, Your Highness," the Earl of Arran told him with a smile. "I will be honored to be your opponent for the foreseeable future. Perhaps we could play a game of chess sometime and see if we are matched intellectually as well as athletically."

"I would be delighted," Henry Francis replied before the two men grabbed the towels from the steward standing nearby and wiped off the sweats before they left the court to change back into their regular clothes.

Once Henry Francis arrived back at his apartments, he found his wife waiting for him.

"My queen, are there any laws on defeating the King Consort? Because if so I believe the Earl of Arran is due for a punishment. Perhaps we should conveniently forget the gift we bought for him," Henry Francis jested, fighting a grin.

"Although I would most certainly draw up a law that panders to your wounded pride, I think perhaps the punishment is a little too harsh," Mary teased, beaming at him. "However, since you mentioned gifts, I wanted to give you yours a little early."

"Oh? Well I certainly will not say no to a gift," Henry Francis assured her. "I must admit though, I don't think you will be able to top what you got me for my birthday that falcon was a beauty." He had named the fine bird Bullen as a nice nod to his grandmother's family's crest.

"I think my gift is ten times better than a falcon. Unfortunately, I won't be able to give you your gift for another seven months," Mary told him, smiling coyly.

Henry Francis's eyes widened and he dropped to his knees, putting his hands on her belly, looking up at her for confirmation. When she nodded, Henry Francis leapt to his feet, grabbing her hands and laying kisses on them.

"Oh my love, my love, this is perhaps the greatest gift you have ever given me," Henry Francis proclaimed.

"A prince for both of our kingdoms," Mary declared.

February 10 1570

Henry Francis was not a man who got angry easily. People used to say he was even more sweet-tempered than his father. But rage almost clouded his vision when he learned from a servant that there were men outside with barrels of gunpowder ready to blow up the house he was staying in.

He fought to keep himself calm as he ordered his groom to alert the guards before ordering the servant to take him where he had spotted the men, grabbing his clock and sword before he left.

It was still early dawn and most of the occupants of Old Provost were still asleep. Henry Francis had only woken up a few hours earlier and gotten dressed, deciding it was too lovely a day to waste a moment in bed. He had barely broken his fast before he was notified by a servant over what he had stumbled on.

The leader of these traitorous men was the Earl of Bothwell, another one of suitors, who was clearly unhappy with Mary's marriage to the Prince of Wales. It seemed that he could not live with the fact that not only was another man Mary's husband but also she was pregnant with his child, a boy who would God willing tie England and Scotland together.

It was bad enough that these men would harm innocent people just to kill a man they considered their enemy but if their plan succeeded, they would also kill their queen and her unborn child.

"May I help you gentlemen?" Henry Francis asked coldly, deciding to stall these men until his guards arrived. He didn't care if they attacked him, he needed to be sure that they didn't have a chance to blow up the house.

His grooms stood behind him with their swords drawn. While the men outnumbered them five to three, Henry Francis was certain that they could subdue the conspirators long enough for the guards to arrest all five.

The Earl of Bothwell and his men stared at the Prince of Wales in shock, having not expecting him to have caught them or perhaps to have the courage to approach them. They overcame their shock quickly and soon the peaceful morning was filled with shouting and swords clashing.

"Stop! I order you all to stop!" Mary shouted. Although she was wearing a robe, it was clear that she had rushed outside with barely any care of her appearance.

"Your Majesty, I-" James Hepburn began, looking aghast at how quickly his plot had gone from bad to worse. "Lord Darnley said you had departed to Holyrood."

Once again fury filled Henry Francis as he realized at once what must have happened. Instead of seeking to kill their queen and heir, the conspirators had only wanted him dead, either so Mary would be free to marry again or in hopes that England and Scotland would remain at odds. However Lord Darnley either in retaliation for being rejected or because his father would be Scotland's next king, meaning he would be next in line for the throne had lied to the conspirators that Mary was safely away from her husband, in hopes they would kill her along with her husband.

Never before had the Prince of Wales had such a desire to drive his sword into someone else's chest.

"What in heaven's name were you thinking?" Mary demanded once she and Henry Francis had returned to their lodgings. She had her secretary write a letter to her brother so he could arrange for the arrest of Henry Stuart and whatever other conspirator named by the Earl of Bothwell. "You could have been killed."

"What was I thinking? You just came out on a cold morning wearing next to nothing," Henry Francis pointed out.

"Do you really think that my appearance is important right now?!" Mary snapped.

"Of course not. I meant you could catch the death of a cold," Henry Francis told her, fighting with himself to remain calm. Mary wasn't who he was angry at and it was clear her anger came from worry over his well being. "Mary, you are with child for goodness sake. What if you become sick and both you and our child die because you were being careless?"

"Careless? Forgive me for being so concerned about my husband being killed by men whose entire purpose for being here was to blow you up!" Mary shouted.

"Thomas and Arthur were with me. I would have been fine," Henry Francis assured her, taking her hand in his. "I was afraid that the guards wouldn't get there in time and they would have succeeded in blowing the house up in which case there was a chance that I could lose both you and our son. I wasn't about to let that happen."

"Sometimes I wonder if you have any sense of self-worth at all," Mary muttered, although she was a bit calmer now.

"Of course I do but if I had to chose between myself and you, I would pick you every time," Henry Francis admitted.

"You are a hopeless man," Mary teased him before placing his hand on her swollen abdomen. "Just be careful, my love, our son needs our father as much as I need my husband."

"I swear I shall always be there for our son," Henry Francis promised her, kissing her lips sweetly.

February 15 1570

England

When the Lord Darnley had attempted to abduct the Queen Mary, he had only been pardoned when his father had begged for leniency. Now not even the Earl of Lennox could prevent the punishment he would receive for the attempted regicide.

The Queen had left his and his fellow conspirators' trials in the capable hands of the Earl of Morey before traveling with her husband to the English court where they were greeted with great cheer.

"Oh my poor boy, are you all right?" Queen Margot asked worriedly, embracing her son as soon as they were away from the prying eyes of the court.

"I am almost a man of twenty, why am I constantly be fussed over as if I were a child," Henry Francis wondered even though he hugged his mother back.

"Maybe because sometimes you act like one. It is not your job to confront criminals especially ones who mean to do you harm," King George admonished his son as his wife hurried over to her daughter-in-law to give the girl the same treatment she had with her son.

"I am not going to hid just because I am a prince instead of a solider," Henry Francis said firmly. "I have a duty to protect my wife and child."

George sighed but decided not to press the issue.

After speaking with his parents and making sure Mary was settled in her apartments, Henry Francis decided to visit his siblings, wanting to make sure that they had not become frightened by the news of the failed plot against him.

Charles was the first to reach him, practically barreling into his older brother's arms.

"I wish I was older; then I could challenge that Lord Darnley to a duel just like you did and defend your honor," he said determinedly.

Henry Francis could not help but smile at his brother's righteous fury, touched by his loyalty. His sisters were not so touched.

"He's been going on and on about how he would love to go to Scotland and teach the Earl of Lennox a lesson. It took us nearly thirty minutes to remind him that he's still a child and hasn't yet learned how to use a real sword," Annette huffed annoyed.

"Well I should learn. Harry is my brother and I want to be by his side, facing whatever challenge he faces united like the brothers of York!" Charles proclaimed.

"Er, Charles, how far are you in your history lesson?" Henry Francis asked, slightly teasing.

The younger prince rolled his eyes. "Obviously it won't be exactly the same, Harry. I might have a crocked back like him but I will never be like the Duke of Gloucester or the Duke of Clarence for that matter," he said firmly.

Henry Francis smiled, ruffling his brother's hair before turning the conversation to his sisters, wondering if they were excited to be aunts in just a few months.

February 28 1570

Elizabeth did not consider herself a vein woman but there were times when the power of being in charge of the Council of Wales and the Marches went to her head and she felt she was the queen of her own country.

"Queen Elizabeth does have a nice ring to it," Robert laughed when she told him.

"Hush before someone overhears and tells my brother that I am plotting against him," Elizabeth hissed but her playful tone contradicted her harsh words.

"I think King George trusts you too much to listen to such nonsense," Robin assured her, taking her hand and kissing it. "Besides you are a queen of something: my heart."

"Even now that I am old and scarred from smallpox," Elizabeth teased him. She frowned when she lifted her free hand to her cheek where her makeup concealed her scars.

Robert grimaced at the mention of the smallpox epidemic that had carried off his older brother, one of his sons and almost his wife. "You look as lovely as you did when we were married nearly twenty years ago."

Elizabeth smiled at her husband as her thoughts turned to what could have been. Twenty years ago, she would have either been married to either Erik of Sweden or Fredrick of Denmark, becoming queen to either a madman or a womanizer.

Neither of them would have treated her as her Robin did and she doubted she would have been as happy as she was now.

What was better to be a queen in an unhappy marriage or a duchess in a happy marriage? As Elizabeth was concerned it was the latter.

June 19 1570

Scotland

King George and Queen Margot had not wanted to miss the birth of their first grandchild so they traveled to Edinburgh Castle so they could join the Scottish court is celebration of this wondrous day.

The Scottish courtiers and the English courtiers were mingling nicely, any arguments were smoothed over quickly. God willing, this was a sign that the two countries would be able to coexist as one nation peacefully.

When her daughter-in-law went into labor, Queen Margot acted as though she was a lady-in-waiting, wiping the swear from Mary's forehead and whispering words of comfort in her ears.

"You are doing very well," Margot assured her, clasping her hand with Mary's hand. "Just a few more pushes and you will have a baby to hold and love." She didn't say son, not wanting Mary to feel pressured, making her already difficult job harder. "

There was a bark and all of a sky terrier poked his head from under the sheets, surprising his mistress and the other ladies of the birth chamber.

Despite being in considerable pain, Mary laughed. "I once said that Skye was the only one I could count one and here he is, eager to prove his loyalty," she jested, using her free hand to pet his head.

There was no time to remove the little dog as Mary had only two more pushes before the baby came into the world.

"What is it?" Margot inquired rushing over to see her grandchild as the midwife gave the baby's bottom a sharp slap, freeing the air from his lungs.

"Her Majesty has given birth to a healthy son!" the midwife announced before hurrying to clean the child up.

"A prince for both England and Scotland!" another woman exclaimed.

Margot beamed at her grandson, eagerly taking him from the midwife and walking slowly over to her daughter-in-law, greedily studying the baby, committing his features to memory.

She gently laid him in his mother's arms, making sure to kiss his dower forehead before letting him go.

Mary smiled lovingly at her son, the boy who would one day rule over the continent of Britain. King James the First of England and Ireland and the sixth of Scotland.

Her father had lamented that his dynasty would leave end with a lass just as it had started with one but surely even he would be happy that his grandson would be the start of what one day could be an empire.

She just hoped that he would prove to be as prudent as his grandfather when it came to politics and religion.

"Make way for the King of Scots!" a herald called out moments before Henry Francis strode into the room, grinning widely. He made his way to Mary's side, waving off the maids who tried to remove Skye from the bed. "I take it, he was reluctant to leave you in your time of need."

"The best part is knowing even realized he had gotten in here until he poked his head from under the sheets," Mary informed him, using her free hand to pat the dog's head before returning her hand to her son much to the dog's displeasure.

"If only I could have snuck in here as well," Henry Francis said regretfully. "Then I too could have brought you comfort."

"Your mother and my ladies help enough," Mary assured him. "Besides any pain I went through was well worth it for it got me our son."

"He is such a handsome boy. A true Stuart as well as a Tudor," Henry Francis declared, stroking his son's head. "You did very well sweetheart. I don't think there will be a single person in our kingdoms who will be unhappy tonight."

That was a bit of a stretch and both of them knew it. There were those who did not like the idea of Scotland and England being joined together under one ruler. And some who did not like the religious settlement and would prefer a Catholic heir or perhaps even an heir who didn't have a Catholic mother.

However now was not the time for such unpleasantness. Not when they had so much to celebrate.

Prince James was the start of a new future, a golden age for the two kingdoms.

September 30 1574

England

Fifteen days ago, Queen Marguerite had died of a stroke and King George had not left his rooms, not even having the strength to get out of his bed. At first it was just grief but when he began to complain how hot he was, the royal physician realized that he had a fever.

The fever grew worse and it soon became clear that the King would not live to his forty-sixth birthday.

In a way King George was grateful that he would not have to remain king without his beloved wife by his side.

His children's futures were all secured. Henry Francis and Queen Mary were married and had a son. Annette was married to the King of Navarre (a part of George hoped his daughter would also become the Queen of France like her mother had wanted). Madeline and Bess would soon be married to their own husbands. As for Charles, who had been created the Duke of Somerset and he would marry a daughter of an Irish lord in hopes it would work to improving diplomatic relations with Ireland.

Like his father before him, George felt that his country was secure enough to leave it in the capable hands of his son. So he closed his eyes and waited eagerly to reunited with his beloved Margot.

October 1 1575

"My brother is a devoted husband," Edward remarked. "He refused to allow death part him with his queen."

"Father!" Owena exclaimed aghast that he would make a joke at a time like this.

"No, no, I think we needed to hear that," Henry Francis assured his cousin as his aunt comforted his younger sisters and his brother. "Although it grieves me to know that both of my parents have been taken so suddenly, knowing that they are together makes me feel a little bit better."

"At least they will be watching over us in heaven," Elizabeth assured her nieces and youngest nephew.

"I think I should go continue writing," Edward declared, his tone now somber. "Whenever a writer has strong emotions bubbling up in them, they should always write it down. I think I'll write a poem in his honor: King George the Peacemaker."

Owena quickly followed her father outside.

"Are you all right, Franny?" Elizabeth asked, looking over at her older nephew.

"I have to be, don't I? Did Father break down when his father died?" Henry Francis asked, trying not to sound as devastated as he felt.

The Duchess of Pembroke did not reply, she just gave him a pitying look.

For six years, all Henry Francis had was his parents. Even when they became King and Queen, they still managed to find time for him. And then in flash he had lost them both.

February 8 1587

"How are things in Scotland, dear niece? Is James progressing well on the council?" Elizabeth asked as she and Mary walked through the garden.

"Very well," Mary answered. "I have no doubt my advisors are hoping I shall abdicate the throne so they may keep him in Scotland."

"You'd think by now they'd learn to share," Elizabeth jested.

"Well in all fairness, Wales is being run by a very capable woman where I must split my time between Scotland and England," Mary pointed out.

Upon his father's death, just fifteen days after his mother's death, King Henry had decided that he and his wife would be the new Isabella and Ferdinand, making his wife the Queen Regent of England instead of just Queen Consort.

Even though her husband had no right to the Scotland throne, Mary had managed to convinced Scotland to do the same making her husband King Henry the first of Scotland as he was the ninth of England.

"That is true but I love my great-nephew so much that I wish to see him as often as I can," Elizabeth remarked.

"And he loves you in return," Mary assured her, finding herself smiling at Elizabeth who had become more of a sister than an aunt to her over the years.

Together they walked in the garden, arm-in-arm.

March 17 1587

"I have done it!" Edward proclaimed. "Nephew, I have done it!"

"What have you done, Uncle," Henry Francis inquired, stopping so the Duke of York could reach him without having to shout at his groom to hurry it up.

"I have finished my masterpiece!"

"The epic detailing the history of the Tudors?" Henry Francis asked curiously, his brow furrowing in confusion as he had thought his uncle was only half of the way through with it.

"No, I mean the play I was writing. You know the one where any similarities to real life is completely coincidental," Edward explained with a smile.

"Of course, uncle, of course," Henry Francis replied, struggling not to laugh.

"I have even found an apprentice playwright. He's going to help me finish my epic and he will star in my play," Edward continued. "I tell you this boy has much talent. He has actually written a few plays himself."

"Well I shall look forward to meeting him. After all anyone who has the Duke of York's stamp of approval is obviously someone to take note of," Henry Francis said.

"His name is William Shakespeare and he will be eagerly awaiting for your summons," Edward assured him. "Now my creative mind is whirling a mile a minute so I must ask to take my leave of you."

As Henry Francis watched his uncle be wheeled away, he couldn't help but think how young and carefree his uncle was despite now being over fifty-years-old. After everything that happened, the Duke of York still smiled.

Without the guiding hand of his father, King Henry Francis found himself grateful that he had both his uncle and his aunt at his side. Although he also had his wife and brother, he sometimes felt that without them, he would have cracked under the reins of ruling.

Henry Francis went into his audience chamber, knowing that his brother would soon arrive for his audience.

"The Duke of Somerset," the herald announced as Charles walked into his brother's private audience chamber less than fifteen minutes later.

"Charles, it is good to see you!" Henry Francis greeted him cheerfully, throwing his arm around his shoulders. "How are my nephews and how is Ireland?"

"Ireland, you mean the country you sent your brother to despite knowing how bad the political climate was and knowing how I am hot-tempered. If I was a suspicious man, I would think you did it, hoping I would fail," Charles told him, his eyes narrowed.

"Charles, yes you have a temper but you also have a shrewd mind and with father marrying you to Ellice O'Neill that much like Thomas Howard, you would improve relations with my Irish subjects," Henry Francis reminded him.

"Unlike the Countess of Orkney's husband, I am not an ambassador, you sent me to rule people who are not happy with the Tudor's conquest of Ireland especially when they are mostly Catholic."

"Which despite being raised Prosatant, you are," Henry Francis reminded him. It had been quite a scandal when the Duke of Somerset had declared that he had converted to Catholicism. Despite the religious settlement started by King George, Catholics and Protestants were still at each other's throats. However, Henry Francis trusted his brother completely as much as he trusted his wife.

"Perhaps the only reason I haven't crossed swords with those stubborn louts," Charles continued.

"Charles, what is the matter?" Henry Francis asked, knowing full well that his brother hadn't just wanted to see him to complain.

"Ireland has a rich culture that is constantly being threatened by Englishmen trying to force their culture and ways on Ireland. Father worked hard to make sure that Scotland understood that they would not be forced to become England anymore than England would become Scotland. If you want peace in Ireland, we must do the same. Allow them to do thing their way without their lands being taken from them by Englishmen," Charles implored him.

"And what if they continue to flaunt our authority, should we just let them?" Henry Francis inquired.

"Then I shall live up to my moniker as the ill-tempered duke," Charles assured him, clapping him on the back. "I am your brother first, you know. Whether it be Spain or Ireland, I shall fight in your name."

At first the threat of Spain had been naught but speculation based on King Phillip's character and his son being a Catholic heir of the house of Tudor. But once England had joined forces with the Dutch Rebellion, the Angelo-Spanish aggression had become more heated and war was becoming a certainty.

July 6 1587

"Singeing the King of Spain's Beard is what some people are calling it," Prince James reported with a smirk. "I'd say Sir Francis will arrive in England to a hero's welcome."

"If my father was alive, Sir Francis would be receiving a very cold welcome home for provoking the King of Spain," Henry Francis told him gruffly, not sharing his son's views over the situation.

"I suppose Grandfather thought peace was better than war," the seventeen-year-old remarked, sounding doubtful.

"My father, God rest his soul, made sure every one of my tutors drilled into my head what the cost of each war was. War doesn't sound so glorious when you knew how much money and men were lost in each one," Henry Francis snapped, before letting out a heavy sigh. "Forgive me, James, I seem to be in a bad mood today."

"It's all right, Father, I suppose all this war talk has you on edge," James said, sympathetically. "It was bound it happen eventually. With the Pope backing Prince Ferdinand's claim to England, the Catholics are hoping that soon England will once again be under Rome's thumb." To his surprise, his father laughed at that. "Did I say something amusing?"

"It just occurred to me if it weren't for the Bishop of Rome, I wouldn't be here in the first place."

There was some delicious irony in all of this. Spain, with backing from the Pope, was attacking England in the name of his aunt's son. Aunt Annette would never have been born if it weren't for Pope Clement deciding to retaliate against Charles of Spain's attack on Rome.

Had Pope Clement not decided to give his grandfather an annulment, King Henry and Anne Boleyn would never have had his father who wouldn't have married his mother and had him.

Everything that had happened from King George, to England and Scotland united to the reformation would not have happened if it weren't for Pope Clement, deciding to punish the Emperor by giving King Henry an annulment.

How could Henry Francis have anything against Catholicism when the head of the Catholic Church had started the events that led to him being born and then becoming the King of England and the husband of the Queen of Scots?

God's will really did work in mysterious ways.

By the by, Margot and George's second son is based off of RL Margot's son with the Duke of Savoy.
King John of Sweden's section was one that I could have left out but I wanted to show that because Mary managed to wise up and be far more pragmatic, her son chose the same path. That and I thought it was sort of sweet to show that there was something aside from her mother who was compleatly devoted her.
I am sorry that I had Anne's death be off-screen. Originally she was to die the same day as Carlos and it was supposed to be a hint that someone had poisoned them both but I felt like if I did that, leaving it unsolved would be a rather cheap ending. Also you'll notice that I mention that Infante Carlos had a daughter and yet her uncle was her father's heir. As far as I know Aragon was only female friendly if their were no males at all to inherit while Castile was different. I'm just gonna assume that no one would want a repeat of what happened with Joanna and her father so it was easier for Infante Ferdinand to become King of Spain and Portugal. Speaking of Joanna of Spain, as far as I know her husband had no claim over Spain and yet he is listed as King Philip the First of Spain and so I figured if he was able to do that, Henry Francis should be King of Scotland in the same way.
As an aside that I was sorely tempted to put in the story as an epilogue, thanks to the fact that Ferdinand and his wife were not closely related, their children managed to starve off the decline of the Hasburg rulers of Spain for at least a hundred years.
Also yes Edward did eventually publish both of his works and yes in his play the characters are based off of George and his court for no other reason than Edward thought it was funny. Also he and Elizabeth will eventually live together when they outlive their spouses.
Spain will attack England as they did in history and just like history the armada will get lost because of a storm which by coincidence is what kicked off this story's plot in the first place.