"Mary, get down!"
But the Princess of Wales cannot have a moment to consider what her long-time-best friend had said, as suddenly, the strength of a bull rams straight into her abdomen, sending both of them sprawling onto the carpeted ground with a grunt. It hurts, the still-but-not-quite Dauphin of France had always been slightly built in the shoulders, but it must have increased in diameter, for the strength he managed to use on her was surprising.
Her head hits the ground hard as they hit the floor, and she hisses in pain, raising a hand to touch the back of her crown when the weight of whatever bull ran straight through her began to shift slightly, but they both jump when, not a moment later, the sound of a bullet wheezes past them and jams into the wall. That sound, that sound is so firmilar now. It really shouldn't surprise them now, but somehow, some way, it still does. A year and a half of war hadn't scarred one tiny little part of their childhood psyche just yet. But there was always time, for the Nazi menace and the gestapo was a ruthless tyranny.
She looks underneath the table they're both hidden by, and sees Timothy Rodgers standing there in the doorway, pistol in hand, tears in his eyes. Timothy, loyal Timothy, so good and true and kind, proven himself tenfold since the Windsor's were eliminated and the Stuarts were crowned the royal family of Britain, Timothy had just tried to murder the heirs to the throne.
"Bastard!" Mary curses him, throwing off the blonde bull that had speared her to the floor a moment ago, and the pain in her head and her ribs are forgotten when she raises her dress' skirt and pulls out a pistol of her own that had been strapped to her thigh, and kneels behind the table, aiming for her fathers' butler.
Her aim isn't tried and true just yet, she's only fifteen, after all, and neither is the spy's in their court, but when she manages to hit him in the stomach, he drops the gun and falls to the ground, choking and grunting. Mary breathes a little easier when the gun drops, and she wishes she could think that that was over now, but the truth is, it wasn't. Any number of people they interact with on a daily basis could be feeding that lunatic information. A year and a half of war, and Mary's still not used to having to look over her shoulder every day of her life, every hour, just to make sure a blade or a barrel isn't pointed at her.
She and Francis slowly get up from their impromptu base and begin to walk towards the man who had betrayed them and threatened their lives, but it is a different feeling than hate they get when they go over towards the body. They cannot see a traitorous spy, they cannot see a vindictive arsehole, they just see a man who was no doubt forced into this by means that don't particularly matter.
"Oh, Timothy, you poor bastard." Mary whispers, looking down at the man. He's older, a few decades older than her father, but he was so good to her in the past that the shakes don't come until she has to raise the gun again, and point it at his head.
"Don't." Francis whispers. "You don't have to-"
"I do." she answers him. "He doesn't deserve to bleed out alone, he's earned that mercy. And you know full well that my hands aren't squeaky clean anymore."
"Why, Timothy?"
"My family, threatened-" he rasps.
"You poor bastard." Mary repeats. "I'm sorry that it came to this, but law is law, and war is war, and I have no choice."
She pulls the trigger again, and blood splatters all over their faces and their clothes. Mary doesn't flinch this time. The man stops moving entirely, and she exhales, placing her pistol onto the nearest table, sagging against it, willing the shakes to stop.
When Francis finishes emptying his stomach in the bathroom -bless him, but she cannot blame him-, he comes straight over to her when the body is being removed and Mary tells her father what has happened. The room is full of people now, and they're surprised the first gunshot hadn't alerted anybody. They talk and they rush around, but the blonde Dauphin of France, a future King with no country to rule, and the heir to Britain, they manage the strength to block out the blood and the voices, and just focus on one another, and its the only thing they can do to keep the tears at bay.
YOU ARE READING
You Are My Light Part II
Historical Fiction-Reign Oneshots/Taking Requests- The world can be dark, Mary, and uncertain and cruel. The only thing that matters is that we face it together. No matter what happens, you are my light. Part 2! -Read TEML first!-
