A blur of trees pass by the carriage window, a mixture of bare trunks and stubborn greens covered in white. Mary and Francis have been traveling for some hours now, and after bobbing her knew up and down and talking about anything she could think of, kissing some and playing guessing games, Mary's now fast asleep on Francis' shoulder. He wonders, amused, how she even made the journey from the convent back to court months ago, or even more, from Scotland to France as a child; she is so terribly impatient.

It won't be long until they arrive to their first destination now, the scenery outside of the window changing as they get closer. The chateau they will be staying at in Paris overlooked a lake, and although it wasn't small by any means, it wasn't a grand castle. That wasn't what he wanted. He wished to use somewhere intimate, cozy; where they could enjoy themselves with the least possible amount of servants and guards and hosts, and the place he chose as their first stop was perfect. It's a surprise for Mary though, and they'll be arriving any minute now.

The carriage starts to turn on the road toward the gates, and Mary is still resting on his shoulder, her eyes closed and her breath puffing out warmly against him. She looks so peaceful, sleep washing away her worry lines and making her look like just a girl, not a queen with the weight of a country over her shoulders. She's looked this peaceful since their wedding ceremonies, both of them, and he hates to wake her from her slumber. But the carriage is coming to a stop in front of the chateau, and he can already see the servants through the window, carrying their things inside.

"Mary." He caresses her cheek softly, his fingers rubbing the smooth, rosy skin. "Wake up." She scrunches her nose in a way he finds absolutely adorable, but she doesn't open her eyes. And so he decides to take a different, more enjoyable approach.

"Mary." He whispers as his hand holds her head and he leans down to kiss her neck. Her eyes start to flutter open at this, and he continues. "I am pleased to inform you," he kisses her cheek, "that we have arrived." He sucks lightly on the spot behind her ear; the one he knows drives her crazy. She gasps, fully awake now, and he feels a ridiculous smugness at eliciting this reaction from her. Her hand sinks in his hair, and he can't help himself, his warm tongue touching her neck as he kisses her skin with an open mouth. Her eyes fall closed once again, but in a much different way that they were only minutes ago.

"You said we arrived." She gasps out, and he nods against her chest, his mouth traveling the length of her collarbone before she pulls him to her mouth and he complies, kissing her softly, unhurriedly. That they've arrived at their destination doesn't seem like that much of a concern to either of them at the current moment. She sighs against his lips, promptly forgetting the fact, and his thumb runs over her lower lip, coaxing her mouth open so his tongue can slip inside. His hand skims over her breast on its way to her waist and a gasp leaves her lips. The door of the carriage suddenly opens and they jump apart; her cheeks flaming.

The page pointedly looks at the floor as he announces everyone is ready to receive them, and Francis can't help but smile at Mary, despite the almost admonishing frown he receives from her afterwards. He comes out of the carriage, offering his hand to help her down himself. He grins widely at her blushed cheeks and she tries to give him a reproachful look and almost succeeds, but truth be told, he isn't the least embarrassed at being caught in a compromising position. They are husband and wife, just wed. No one can blame them for not being able to keep their hands to themselves. And they truly can't, even when the physical part of their relationship isn't that new in their case. He doesn't let go of her hand even after she comes down of the carriage. In fact, he doesn't plan on letting go of her anytime soon.