"It is such a beautiful day out," Mary whispered to Bash, as the court jesters entertained at their feet. It was the fifth day of celebrations, after Bash had proposed to Mary and set the path for France and Scotland to unite under one Catholic ruling pair. The proposal was soft, but sweet, even if the answer was already known. They had been betrothed since Mary was a little girl, an arrangement created by their parents. Her fate decided for her, Mary accepted it without complaint. After all, she was a ruler and was forced to face the realities of a weakened Scotland at a very young age. She reasoned that Bash was fairly young for a ruler, and he didn't drink and gamble as much as other men, a promising start in comparison to other royal pairings.
Mary's eyes wandered around the elaborate decorations placed around the throne room. This is so boring, she thought to herself. I could be meeting with my mother's advisors, or having a picnic with Aylee and Lola... She allowed her mind to wander to better things, understanding that her acceptance of the King's generosity was part of her duty as a ruler. Even if it meant that some might go hungry elsewhere in the kingdom. Her skirts fanned to the floor and the summer heat offered no respite. Mary's modesty meant she refused to wear the more revealing outfits that had recently come into fashion, at the expense of her comfort.
"We should sneak off, go riding," Bash clasped Mary's hand as he spoke, shifting his position to face her. He was much taller than she, even though Mary stood at five foot eleven inches. His blue eyes pierced her chestnut ones, as he gave a small, sweet smile. As the older royal, Bash had made it his mission to make Mary feel more comfortable with him and the life they were destined to lead together. He just wasn't sure if he was being convincing enough yet.
A glimmer arose in those chestnut eyes at the mention of riding. It was something they both enjoyed; something that bridged the gap between the two. Despite her presence in French court for some years, Mary never really interacted with Bash. Except for court-sanctioned events and festivities, she spent her time with her ladies, Aylee and Lola, her dog, Stirling, and the countless visitors to the Scottish queen. Until her sixteenth year, she studied with her tutors for hours on end, where she learned she had quite the knack for languages. Bash, on the other hand, was performing all the tasks of a future King. He was able to tour the villages of France, learning how to navigate the perils of royal hood, and gorge himself on the luxuries of the French Crown. Part of Mary had always been envious; despite her queen status, she was not allowed as many privileges as Bash had. A woman was not given the same treatment as a man. Although she knew in her heart that Bash did not make the rules of society, she slightly resented him. If it wasn't for her gender, there would be no need for Bash to comfort her, as she would have as much knowledge of the ways of royals as he did.
She returned the smile as warmly as she could. Before she could reply, a group of armored men marched into the throne room. Sunlight streamed in through the open windows and bounced off their silver armor. Mary winced at the ferocious brightness as she attempted to stand from her seat. Bash held on to her hand, steadying her, as he faced the soldiers. In unison, the group bowed deeply, their armor clinking as they sunk to the ground.
"Dauphin," began one of the soldiers. Bash snapped his head high, changing his stance from a timid nineteen year old boy sitting with his fiancee to a prince ready to rule his subjects. His shoulders straightened and he hardened his jaw.
"Yes?" Bash forced his voice to go deeper.
"There's been some clashes with the English in Calais. Many have died, and I am afraid the French soldiers left cannot hold off the English for much longer. Because your father and the queen are in Paris, it seems that the reins are in your hands." There was some shuffling within the group of soldiers. It was the smallest gesture, but it echoed in the halls. Clearly, some were discontent with the situation at hand.
Mary looked expectantly at Bash, trying to gauge his response. She wasn't fluent in Bash's body language and she knew that this may be the first test of Bash's potential at ruling. Three companies of French soldiers had just been dispatched to Scotland as part of the treaty. Both Bash and Mary knew that there weren't many soldiers left to spare. Calais was almost considered a lost cause, as the English had ruled it for so long.
As Bash tried to quickly contemplate what to do, Mary gripped Bash's hand harder. He looked down at their intertwined hands and sighed. The relief of someone beside him, no matter how small, was enough to push him into a decision.
"Gather able-bodied men from the nearby villages. Take as many as you need, no more and no less. And fight for your country - your King!" He bellowed, even as his fingers shook in Mary's hand. Her eyes widened, although she tried to hide her surprise. She hoped her gesture would be enough to hold him up once he refused the men. Bash must have known Calais was a lost cause; certainly his training would have prepared him for this. The men bowed down and quickly retreated back to the stables.
"Bash, what were you thinking?" Mary yelped as soon as the room had cleared. She looked into his eyes, hoping to see some semblance of understanding for what he had done.
"Calais must be France's again, Mary," he began to explain.
"No! You are sending those men to their deaths! The English will squash them like bugs!" Mary interrupted.
"If I said no, our future kingdom would look weak," He tried to reason, his voice taking a gentler tone. "I do not want to be a weak ruler. I want to be strong for France. For Scotland." His sky-blue eyes pleaded with Mary to understand.
"But those men...with families. Their lives are not disposable!" Mary ran to the window, desperately seeking air. Her corset was tight on her body and the panic of being responsible for men's deaths was weighing on her lungs.
"Mary, people are always going to die! The English will advance into France and burn villages and kill children once they realize how weak we are!" Bash rushed over to Mary as she gasped out a sob. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she looked out into the open, grassy fields of the court. The sunshine felt more punishing than before. Bash gave Mary a glance over and realized her distress was not just from his orders.
"Mary, what is wrong?" He soothed, bringing himself closer to her. She snapped back.
"I must...I must go to my rooms at once," She cried out, stumbling over herself as she retreated back to her rooms.
_
As Lola unlaced Mary's corset, Mary let out a sigh of relief. Her rooms, painted a decadent gold, were overkill when combined with the streaming sun from outside. Mary turned to face Lola and grimaced.
"I think these rooms are giving me a headache," She complained.
"You were the one who insisted on gold," Lola quipped.
"I wish I was still the girl who came to court on a fairytale," Mary sat on her bed, stretching out her muscles.
"Don't we all," Lola surmised. There was a wistfulness in her tone as she took her place beside the queen.
"How is Colin?" Mary attempted to act interested, but her mind would not let her go of Bash. She clasped Lola's hands in her own, acting the part of concerned friend instead of queen.
"Still in Scotland. I am not sure my parents will approve of this match, Mary. Even if their Queen permits it." Lola bit the inside of her cheek, afraid to say more. "Is something troubling you, Mary?"
"Bash has done something irreversible. He has sent soldiers off to Calais." Mary rubbed off her red lip stain. The berries used to create the stain tasted bitter on her lips.
"Isn't that dangerous?" Lola replied.
"Of course it is! He's endangering the soldiers' lives!"
"But what can you do? He is acting as the leader while King Henry is away with the Queen Diane," Lola inquired.
Mary looked at the exquisite bed sheets, sent over from Scotland by her uncle when she arrived at French court. A token of his admiration and loyalty to the Scottish queen.
"I know." Mary steeled herself for a tough conversation.
_
"Bash! Listen to my reasoning," Mary pleaded. She had come to his rooms to talk about her plan to save the French soldiers, which was still uncouth, as they were not yet wed. Mary believed this matter deserved discretion, especially since she was placing herself at the helm of French matters. Since she was not yet a French queen, some would see this as meddling. And Mary, Queen of Scots, did not need any more enemies.
Bash's coat swished back and forth as he paced around his chambers. Its black colour flitted in the candlelight. He was furious that Mary had gone behind his back. Was this a sign of what was to come?
"I respect you as a Queen, Mary. But this - this is too much. Even for you," He tried to calm himself, but fear was settling in. The Duke of Guise was an unwelcome person in French court, and despite his relation to Mary, that unwelcome manner would continue. Her invitation must be revoked.
"You must call off your uncle," He turned to face her, hoping she would change her mind and send word before it was too late.
But the face he met was firm and unwavering.
"No. No, my uncle will arrive with his army and they will march to Calais immediately."
"His army. Loyal to him. Not France." Bash enunciated every word, trying to get Mary to understand that the French would not like this development. His father would have his head.
"If they recapture Calais, the French will honor him. Your father would be proud," Mary said, replying to Bash's unspoken fear.
Bash grabbed Mary's hand and placed it on his chest.
"You will be the death of me, Mary. I'm sure of it."
She tried not to look into his eyes as she felt the beat of his heart against her fingertips. This was too close, too intimate. Especially with his smoldering eyes staring right through her. She knew, perhaps, deep down that she and Sebastian would make a fine couple. But it wasn't love, and it could never be love. There was no spark. Mary had never experienced such a spark, but she heard of it through poems and Lola, who had already been in love. The most Mary could hope for was a companionate type of love. It was clear to her through Bash's demeanor that this was not requited.
Mary cleared her throat and retracted her hand. "I am going to change before supper. My uncle will arrive shortly and I'd like to greet him as a distinguished guest." She tiptoed back to the door, hoping the servants wouldn't whisper about her impropriety.
_
Mary stumbled back into her chambers, feeling breathless once again. She couldn't get Bash's stare out of her head. He looked at her the way King Henry looked at Diane, his queen. Their love had been written in the stars, and even the tiles of various rooms in the castle. They were lucky; perhaps Bash thought he was as well. Mary closed her eyes, willing herself to list all the qualities Bash possessed. He was kind, he was a good listener, he was attractive...but something was missing. Mary struggled to find a word for it. Eventually, her head began to ache and she collapsed on a chair. She ran a brush through her dark brown hair, allowing her mind to wander aimlessly before she hear a knock on the door.
"Mary?" Asked Aylee as she stepped into the room.
"Over here. I am just getting ready for supper with my uncle."
Aylee walked over to the wardrobe filled with Mary's dressier clothes. She picked out a black and gold outfit, embroidered with white flowers. Its neckline was modest, even if the bodice was tightly fitted to mold into the Queen's figure like a second skin. It was one of Mary's favourites.
"Thank you, Aylee. Please, feel free to borrow something from my wardrobe for tonight's festivities. I can only wear one dress anyway!" Mary and Aylee exchanged smiles as Aylee tried to mutter a "thank you." Aylee was always the shy, humble lady in waiting. Out of all her subjects, Mary always felt a sense of friendship with Aylee, despite the power imbalance. With her mother gone in Scotland, Mary relied on Aylee's guidance and practicality in this strange land where no one was loyal to her.
"Thank you," Aylee cautiously walked back to the closet, almost afraid to choose anything that might be too decadent for a lady-in-waiting. She felt Mary's eyes on her, watching her slow decision-making. Even though Mary was her friend, Aylee never allowed herself to forget that Mary was above her station.
"Go on," Mary tried to encourage Aylee.
"There's just so many choices; I could not even fathom where to begin," Aylee explained, thumbing the silky fabric of a crimson red gown.
"Choose for yourself as you would choose for me."
Aylee pursed her lips. "Mary, what you wear and what I can wear are two vastly different things."
Mary rolled her eyes. It's just a dress, she thought, I'm not forcing her to act as my regent.
"Perhaps the cornflower blue gown gifted to me by the Queen?" Aylee quickly found the garment in question. She eyed the exquisite craftsmenship and wondered how much it cost to make. She quickly shook her head, forcing her thoughts elsewhere. It was rude of her to contemplate such things, even if they occasionally made her ill thinking about the wealth the royals had in their grasp.
"Wonderful! Now go get changed in your rooms before my uncle arrives so we are not late." Aylee started for the door, hugging the large garment to her frame to keep from tripping on it. "And would you mind getting Beth? I think I shall like my hair curled for today's feast." Mary said nonchalantly, as she walked to her dressing table and glanced in the mirror.
_
Despite his previous promise of loyalty, it seemed the Duke of Guise was anything but once he arrived at French court. As Bash, Mary, and the Duke sat around the large dining table, surrounded by his fellow soldiers and scattered royals, Mary had realized what a mistake she had made. The conversation had fallen upon what type of payment the Duke should expect for his army's service.
"That is far too high a price to pay for your army," Bash slammed the utensil onto the table. Sweat formed on his brow, as he furiously tried to keep his tone even. Inside, Bash was panicking, afraid that the army and the Duke of Guise would try another scheme while they were in the castle. His frantic eyes landed on Mary, who seemed extremely calm.
"Uncle, perhaps -"
"Dearie, please let your betrothed and I handle the negotiations," The Duke interrupted, punctuating his order by slicing a cut of meat in half. He did not look up from his plate
"Excuse me? I am your queen!" Mary exploded. Her raised voice caused every person at the table to turn around towards her.
The Duke pursed his lips, obviously unhappy at his defiant niece.
"Your Majesty, this regards matters between France and I, not Scotland."
"I am betrothed to the Dauphin of France. I will be the next Queen. Please do not lecture me on who is relevant to this discussion." Mary's eyes darkened as she spoke evenly. She stole a glance at Bash, who seemed amused at her outburst. Mary's belief of her uncle's loyalty faded, as she realized that the rumors whispered around court were true. Her uncle was a power hungry man, a man who only belonged to himself.
"Sebastian, I assume you will learn how to handle her eventually," The Duke said with a knowing smile, once again ignoring Mary.
"I beg your pardon!" Mary stood abruptly, throwing her napkin onto the table. The rest of the guests, save for the Duke and Bash, scramble onto their feet to honor their Queen.
Mary looked at Bash again, who made no move to defend her. Coward, she thought, the word dripping with disdain. In her heart, she knew she should say it and wash away any hope of them becoming affectionate towards one another. The logical part of her reasoned that she should not lose one of the few allies she had, even if he wasn't defending her at this moment.
"Sit. down." The Duke of Guise clenched his teeth. He took a long sip of his wine, his eyes fixated on Mary as he gulped.
Mary felt her legs lower before she could even protest. It was the obedience in her; the trained skill of compliance that she had learned partly because of her gender. If Bash was talked to this way, he would be expected to throw his weight around. He would have to prove himself. Mary just had to close her mouth.
The Duke unclenched his jaw, trading it for an easy smile. "Well, then. Now that's settled..." He turned slightly to Bash, who had lowered his gaze. He was mincing his meat, dipping it into one of the rich sauces. The argument between Mary and the Duke was of no interest to Bash, who had now realized that his headstrong queen would not appreciate being coddled. Feeling the Duke's gaze upon him, Bash dropped his utensils with a clang.
"Let us get to the actual bargain you came for, Duke." Mary watched Bash's blue eyes turn to steel as he spoke. She fidgeted slightly, afraid of what would come next.
"And what, pray tell, would that be?" Her uncle smiled sweetly, although it felt almost sickly, like when Mary stuffed herself with too much honey on a warm spring afternoon.
"You want to be my advisor." Bash said with a hiss.
Mary's head snapped up, suddenly alert. She raised her napkin to her lips, carefully erasing the remnants of the meal, and threw the napkin on the table. Out of the corner of her eye, she
"This conversation is over," she said cooly, as she sauntered out of the dining hall.