Disclaimer: I do not own Reign.

This is my first Reign fanfiction, and I am truly a Frary shipper. Don't get me wrong, I adore Sebastian, but not for Mary. Since I feel like there is a lack of Frary fanfiction, I decided to finally publish one of my own. It is a one shot. I do have some other ideas floating around in my brain for fanfiction, but we'll see how this one goes first. Reviews and comments are appreciated. Hope you enjoy! :)

It was pouring, rain falling in heaps across the dark green lawns of the castle's grounds. She was covered in a cape, hooded, and traveling swift-footed through the dark and empty passages of the castle. It would take her longer, but if she took the prolonged route, she could make it to his suite without detection. She thought she heard a sound and stopped, concealing herself behind a pillar. Thankfully, it was just the rain pounding against the block of the castle. She breathed deeply and kept moving.

She delicately opened the heavy wooden door and closed it neatly behind her, leaning her body into it. Behind her, he waited, stoking the fire. When she entered he turned to see her, looking over his should as she removed her cape and came closer.

"Hello." He said quietly, watching her. She swung the cape over his table and ran her hands through her hair as she walked toward him. As she approached she reached for him, and ran her palm down his arm, putting her body in front of his. He put the stoker down and gathered her in his arms. "Were you seen?" he asked. She shook her head no. "Good." He smiled and leaned down, taking her lips into his own. Their hands quickly wound around each other, and he walked her to his bed, laying her down. "I have missed you." He whispered.

In the early morning hours of dawn, Mary could just begin to see the light from the sun change the sky. She was wrapped up in his arms, facing his windows, knowing it was time to go. Their naked bodies kept each other warm in the cold dawn. She heard his sigh, and knew he must have woken.

"Time to go?" His raspy voice questioned.

"Yes." She turned in his arms. "But I wish it wasn't." She smiled and leaned up to kiss his lips. "I must return to my room." She pulled her languid body out of his embrace, dropping the sheet as she stood before him in her naked glory. She caught his smirk over her shoulder as she walked toward her discarded clothes. It was funny to her how she had been so bashful at the beginning, wanting to hide her nakedness. Now she just wanted to watch his eyes rove her body appreciating and loving it. "This will have to stop soon. I am going to be married in three days." She found her silk robe strewn underneath his bed.

"What? The Queen can't take a lover?" She looked over at his sarcastic face and smiled.

"Not if the Queen wants to keep her head." He scooted towards the edge of the bed, leaning on his side, watching her.

"He would never hurt you."

"Maybe, maybe not. Power does funny things to people." She found her shoes. "We still need to stop." She said longingly. She bent her head down, "But I don't want to." He withdrew from the bed and approached her, taking her hands in his own.

"Neither do I, my love." He took one hand and held her chin up to gaze into her eyes. "I'll never stop loving you, no matter who you marry." He kissed her lips gingerly. "I only wish we could continue."

"Me too. But we have to be careful; we've already tested fate with meeting like this. If anyone were to know, it would ruin me." She kissed him back with a smile. "We'll just have our memories."

"And stolen glances." She laughed and kissed him again.

"Goodbye my love." She said pulling out of his arms and disappearing through the door.

The next night found them again in each others' arms. Clothes were scattered throughout his room lit dimly with few candles. His body was reaching to meet hers, and she grabbed his sides, throwing her head back, lips parted and eyes fluttering closed. He admired her moonlit bathed body upon its final release, and she relaxed falling down on his chest, their bodies heaving together.

His head was rested on her bare stomach, and he faced perpendicular to her. She gently fingered his blonde curls, and his hand rested on her raised thigh. He couldn't imagine ever being without her. She sighed.

"What is it?" He asked, turned to look at her face. She smiled.

"I was just thinking if we were to have children, I hope it would be a boy, just like you." He grinned.

"Not a girl?" He asked, turning to look at her sideways. She shook her head.

"A girl would be your end." She winked. "She would wear your stubborn heart down."

"You're right, especially if she looked like you. I would be powerless against her. And if we had a boy?"

"I would raise him to be a gentleman and strong like you." She touched the side of his cheek. They were silent before she spoke again, and his hand drew lazy circles on her hip. Her sentence started with a laugh, "Do you remember almost sending me to my death?" His brow creased in confusion. "Remember? You pushed me out of the tree!" He lifted his head.

"I pushed you?" He questioned. "You fell!" He countered. "You wanted to keep climbing, and I told you no."

"Big mistake," she giggled. "It's all your fault." She laughed. He lifted his body up over hers and he hung his head over her own.

"It's my fault? Hmm?" He began to tickle her, and she squealed and squirmed underneath his touch. "My fault?"

"No! Stop! Stop!" She protested in a fit of laughter. "Okay! Okay." He stopped tickling her.

"I changed my mind." He said suddenly watching her face change from that of glee to slight confusion. "I would want to have a daughter. A daughter who is exactly like you." She placed her palms on either side of his face and rose to meet his lips with her own.

On the third and final night of the rendezvous, they were nestled tightly under furs in front of the fire. He stroked her hair and kissed the top of her head. Their other hands were intertwined. He thought of that night, hours earlier, when he watched her dance with his own brother. She was smiling and seeming to enjoy herself in his arms. It had bothered him immensely, far beyond jealousy.

"Mary?" He asked.

"Hmm?" She responded.

"What is it like kissing him?" She stiffened against him, not wanting to even broach the subject she knew he was heading toward. He had previously tried to bring this up, but she had stopped it fast.

"Please, don't ask me that." She answered softly.

"I think I have a right to know, since I love you." She adjusted her body, moving slightly away from him.

"If you want me to tell you what my feelings are for him, they are not the same as mine for yours." She said matter of factly. He dragged his index finger down her bare arm.

"And his arms, when they hold you?"

"They're not yours." He leaned down and kissed her shoulder, and she slowly began to lean back into him. "He isn't you. You know that." He kissed her neck, brushing back her hair to provide for easier access. She turned her body to face him, her back facing the fire. She searched his eyes to understand his emotions. "He'll never be you." He smiled at her, and leaned down to kiss her.

On her way back to her room in the early morning dawn, she cried. Tears fell down her cheeks silently as her thoughts beat her brain. When she finally entered her chambers she fell against the door, clutching her stomach, and salty tears leaked out of her eyes. She slid down the door to the floor. She was marrying a man tonight to save the man she loved. She was forgoing her own happiness and love with a man, to pretend for the rest of her life with another.

Mary was being summoned to the King's private rooms to discuss a matter. She had been anxious all morning in preparation for her wedding that evening. Her mother, Marie de Guise, was nowhere to be found, and she desperately needed her help. She picked up the skirt of her black dress and hurried to the King's room. She didn't have time to discuss politics.

She entered, and found not only the King, but her mother and Francis in the room speaking. They turned to look when she shut the door behind her. Confusion set in, what on earth was her mother doing here? And Francis?

"Mary, welcome." The King acknowledged beckoning her towards them. He didn't sound particularly thrilled to see her, and she wondered what could have possibly happened now. Her mother stepped back, and Mary cast Francis a sideways glance. "I've asked you to come because we have some important matters to discuss before the nuptials." Mary nodded; she looked over at Francis again. "The Cardinal will be here any minute, and I'm going to need you to make a decision."

"Alright, but why is Francis here?" She asked. The King looked at her, his eyes squinting.

"Well, Sebastian cannot be legitimized."

"Why?" Mary asked quickly. "That was the plan; it is what we agreed upon."

"You are right, but that was before I knew of your relationship with Francis." Mary's mouth dropped open slightly, and her head spun towards Francis, her eyes widening. "Yes, I know all about it. Francis has brought it to my attention." Francis stared into Mary's eyes, watching them go from shock to darkening in anger.

"So what? It is before my marriage to Sebastian." Mary asserted tersely looking back at the King.

"Mary, it is not so easy for the Vatican to ignore your lack of virtue. But it is even harder for them to ignore that you may be carrying the present Dauphin's child."

"We don't know that." Mary answered rapidly.

"You're right, but once I tell the Vatican of this, they will not be thrilled. In fact, they will most likely agree to a forced marriage between you and Francis." Mary's hand went to the side of her head.

"This can't be happening." She uttered faintly.

"Mary, I am not happy with this situation; you two are extremely irresponsible to commit to such a relationship, especially since you have fought your marriage to Francis prior." Mary ignored him and turned her body to face Francis. She balled her hands into fists.

"How could you tell him?" She asked angrily. "You know my reasons!"

"Mary, I understand your desire to protect me, but I need you to understand my obligation to protect the line and my birthright." He responded calmly. He could feel her anxiety and loss of control.

"Francis, the prophecy! Francis, I cannot do this, I will not." She pleaded.

"What prophecy?" The King bellowed. Mary shot Francis a warning glance, one that begged him to keep quiet, but he ignored it.

"Father, there was a prophecy predicted to Mary." The King nodded. "She would be the cause of my death." The King crossed his arms.

"From Nostradamus?" Francis nodded. The King looked at Mary, who was now wringing her hands. "You have led me through this maze of dramatic intervention on your own marriage for a prophecy?" Mary could sense his anger. "For a queen you are quite foolish." Mary straightened her back preparing to fight back. "You should learn, Mary, of your place, which is to protect your country!" He turned away from them and slammed the table. They waited silently, Francis drawing closer to Mary. They heard him take a deep breath. He turned around and looked at Mary. "Your care for Francis is sweet, but Scotland must come first. Francis is the rightful heir to the throne, and he is who you will marry."

"And my claim to England?" She asked defiantly.

"If you don't claim England, I will destroy you and Scotland." She heard her mother gasp.

"Father," Francis started.

"Mark my words Mary; you will learn to keep your alliance." The Kin threatened.

Mary sat huddled at her desk, tears dropping from her eyes onto the surface before her. She heard her door open and looked up to see her mother. She tried to wipe her eyes quickly and sit up straight.

"Mary." Her mother sighed softly. Mary lunged into her mother's arms. "I know my darling."

"Mother, he will die if I marry him. I cannot lose him." Mary cried.

"Mary, perhaps fate can be changed." Marie offered. "Remember, above all you are Queen of Scotland, and unfortunately you cannot live and breathe by the words of a prophet. You must do what is right for Scotland, which at this point is to marry Francis." Mary sniffled. "If the prophecy is true," Mary let out a cry, "then you will be saddened, but you will survive and Scotland will still have France." She paused, petting her daughter's dark hair. "You must protect Scotland. Your life is tied to it, not Francis." Mary pulled away searching her mother's eyes.

"I love him, and I would do anything to protect him."

"I understand, but he is not your first priority. Do you understand?" Mary nodded. "It is time to grow up. Be happy with Francis with the time you have, and maybe fate will bestow happiness on you both for much longer than you thought." She leaned down and kissed Mary's forehead. "You must do this."

"I will." She pulled out of her mother's arms. "Please help me get ready." Mary asked with a small smile.

Walking towards Francis down an aisle strewn with white petals was not as difficult as Mary had expected. Her eyes were teary, but not from the predictions of his death, but more from his face. His eyes had captured hers and she was floating toward him. Francis was enamored with her beauty; the contrast of her dark hair against the cream silk was beautiful. He could only imagine her as his.

When Francis put the ring on her finger, he bent down gently to kiss it. He knew he was breaking tradition, but she needed to know that he was okay with their marriage and more importantly, in love with her. She had tears in her eyes when they were given permission to kiss, and his lips felt warm and loving on hers. His arms steadied them in their embrace, promising to hold her forever as long as he could.

That night, after their consummation, Mary and Francis lay intertwined in each others' arms, facing each other. They were silent, finally relishing in the feeling of being alone from observing eyes. He reached up to brush her hair off her face, she smiled at him.

"Are you alright?" He asked concerned. "With this, I mean."

"Yes." She took his hand to her lips and kissed it. "Yes, I am."

"Good. I only want you Mary." He reminded examining the depths of her eyes. "I don't care about France or Scotland or England, I only care about you, and us." He paused and brushed his fingers over her swollen lips. She was silent. "Whether I live for a moment or for an eternity, I don't care, as long as it's with you, only you." She smiled and tears came to her eyes at his proclamation.

"I love you." She declared gently.

"And I love you."

Fin.