You Are My Light Part II

269 - Birthday

"Aren't you sweet? Aren't you my beautiful sweet Prince?" the Queen of France cooes down at the blonde haired child in her arms, his beautiful green eyes sparkling in the mid-winter chill. The little boy squeals and giggles when she presses kisses to his cheeks and nose, before planting one onto her lips in all of his slightly sloppy charm. She smiles brightly at her firstborn as he celebrates his first anniversary of birth in her arms, the entire court celebrating with multi-coloured streamers and musicians as the heir to France and Scotland watches the wonders from the lap and arms of his blanketed mother as she makes herself comfortable on an overstuffed chair.

The Dauphin James Henry Phillip Edward of the house Valois-Angouleme and Clan Stuart smiles up at his mother, showing off his newly formed tooth-stub, before cooing  down at her abdomen, smiling at the bulge.

He lets out two breathy syllables.

"That's right, it's your brother in there." Mary smiles, not many people know yet, even though she's got a plump little bump underneath her fine red satin and black tulle gown, black, silver and gold jewels sewn into the black embroidery, hidden by the thick black fur blanket her husband insisted she wear. It was winter, after all, and it was rather cold. "Feel." Mary presses his tiny hand onto her stomach, and smiles when he giggles in wonder. If they're really patient, they can feel the baby move, she's a little under five months gone. It won't be long until this child is announced to the world, and becomes more than just a regular babe, but an heir of royal blood.

"There you two are," the King of France, a truly handsome fellow with curls matching his son's, the brightest of blue eyes and a smile that makes the court ladies swoon, not that he pays them any attention. He only has eyes for two people in this world, and they sit in front of him now. His beautiful wife, and his beautiful son. "I've been looking for you." he states, kneeling down as the baby boy squeals another two syllables, and begins to try and jump into his fathers' arms. King Francis laughs at his boys' joy, and takes him willingly, accepting a small blanket to rap the little pup in to make sure he's warm against the cold.

It's a marvel, really, the baby boy was born during the world snowstorm in living memory, exactly a year ago, and yet this day, the wind is calm and the snow shines like diamonds, and even though French Court can see their breath against their faces, the mulled wine and coco flows freely and the smiles upon the royal couple cannot be taken away. She remembers the whole shebang of her son's birth so well, the chaos and calamity of it all as her father in law hung on just long enough to hold his first grandson, before he took to his grave, that lance in his eye giving him no real chance.

"He's happy to see his Papa," Mary smiles up at her husband. "we all are," she places a hand onto her stomach as she gets up. Puffy skirts with wide berths won't be enough to hide this baby for much longer. "even this little sparrow."

"How are you feeling? Would you like to rest for a while?" the King's concern for his wife is evident in his eyes and Mary is touched by it. The days of being irritated by not being permitted to ride horses in her childbearing months, or ride boats when the child was kicking within her, they are over now.

"No, I'm fine, Darling." she states, brushing a curl away from his face, brushing some snow from his lashes. "We've been enjoying ourselves watching the merriment, haven't we, my sweet boy?" Mary cooes at James, and he giggles in response, hiding his face in Francis' neck. Mary kisses his tiny hands, completley enamoured by this perfect little being with her husbands' curls and his uncles' eyes.  

The baby cooes in response, fluttering his eyes open, and his parents smile at the doe-eyed expression he gives them, red cheeks and nose and all.

"I think somebody's tired." Francis states.

"I do too, is that right, Darling? Would you like to sleep now?" Mary asks her little boy. He mutters something, but reaches for her.

"Sleep with mama?" Francis asks, trying to decipher the child's small voice.

James hums, reaching over towards her. Mary takes him willingly, laying him across her lap as she sits down again. He's wrapped up in blankets, and Francis stokes his hair for a few moments, before the child settles down and becomes limp in his mothers' arms.

"He didn't want to miss any more of the party." Mary chuckles. "He's so beautiful," she whispers, wrapping as much of him up in her blanket as she could, until only his eyes, nose and mouth were visible. "so perfect."

"He is," her husband agrees. "I do wonder what this little sparrow will be like?"

"Our little bird and little sparrow? They'll take over this country with their charms. Nobody will be able to resist them." Mary jokes.

"We can only hope." he snickers, running his hand through her raven hair, fixing the crown she wears. His love for his wife is evident, so pure through his eyes that it sometimes makes the Court ladies swoon, or spit with envy that their husband doesn't look at them the way the King looks at his Queen.

But, speaking of the King looking at his Queen? There are two people looking at the King very, very closely in this moment, when he rests his head upon her own, both of them staring down at the child they made. A girl, with curly dark hair, holding her bastard born baron child in her arms, she stares with wide eyes at the scene of the royal couple's devotion too their child, the envy in her eyes as bright as the snow outside.