You Are My Light Part II

225 - Assassination

"God, Mary-" the young Dauphin of France gasps, reaching out a bruised hand towards his future wife.His face is bloody, the tears that line his eyes nearly slip down his cheeks as she and Sebastian fall back against the heavy iron door after sliding the iron log through the two loops, protecting them all from the murderous bastards that continued banging against the door from the other side. "you're hurt." he whispers, wrapping an arm around his bruised torso, looking towards his future wife and half brother, as they stagger into the drawing room of the Cathedral de Saint-Germain-en-Laye. They make it to a large, dark wooden desk.

Henry gasps as Sebastian suddenly collapses onto the floor, while the Queen of Scotland winces in pain, reaching inside the drawers, retrieving a handful of sheets of parchment, as well as a quill in an ink pot. She gets her own blood on the parchment, but it doesn't seem to bother her as she coughs more of it up in large, hefy heaves that make his eyes widen again. She begins to scrawl on the paper, not giving a damn about the neatness of her writing as painful grunts begin to leave her lips.

Francis and Henry leave Catherine to tend to the brothers and sisters, who wail and cry out in fear, pressed into a corner, going over towards the most stricken members of the clan. 

"My God, Bash-" Henry gasps, falling to his knees, growing sick to his stomach as he presses his hands against his eldest sons wounds. He swallows down the bile as his hands are almost instantly coated in the blood of his firstborn child. Bash winces and groans, his face strewn in pain as he leans against the leg of the table.

Catherine shrieks as the door begins to bang again. The assailants more than likely having picked up a pugh to ram it against the door, it is useless. The door could withstand anything, it was made of a foot and a half of pure iron. Combined with the log slid within the hoops of the door, it was virtually impenetrable. Sebastian and Mary share a look at the door, but neither moves to defend, there's nothing else to do.

"Mary," Francis whispers to his future wife. She doesn't look at him, continuing to write on the parchment. "you're dying." he realises. Now, Mary does look at him, but it's with a roll of her eyes whenever he wasn't understanding something correctly in the classroom. 

"Yes, of course, I'm dying!" she scoffs. "I've been stabbed, people don't live through that when it happens." she scoffs, tossing a few papers at him out of nothing but frustration at his slowness.

"No, you can't be." he says. "There must be something we can do." he gasps. "There must be something!"

"What can be done when English and Navarian assassins are at the door trying to barge it down and murder us all?" she questions.  "I'm dying, successionship has to take precedence than a stab wound."

"Mary, please, we must-" he says, tears leaving his eyes, sliding into his open mouth.

"Must what? There is no time!"

"We must make time! You cannot die, please!" the thirteen year old begs.

"If there is no time, then there is no time to waste in the disbelief. I think we're beyond that, anyway, Francis." she says, beginning to scrawl again. Francis whimpers at the weight of her words, his mouth matted with the heat and salt of his own tears, jumping when the doors begin to bang again. There's screaming from behind the iron, in tongues he understands and ones he does not, but it all blends the same in the end. Evil people were coming, and they'd already taken good shots at his brother and the girl he was supposed to make his wife.

"Father," Sebastian croaks. "outside, they're English. Mercenaries from England and Navarre, come to end us all."

"No, no." Henry says, cradling his firstborn against his torso, pushing down on the large stab wound that coats his own trousers in his own sons blood.