The sound of our giggles echoed against the stone walls, and the sunshine that shone in from the tall glass windows warmed our skin. Her hair- long, shiny, and as dark as ever-swayed over her hips as she padded down the hall in her cream-colored dress. I hurried behind her, trying to keep up, but my short legs made it increasingly more difficult the longer we explored the castle. Her shrill voice called to me from her rooms near the end of the hall, and when I did finally turn the corner into the doorway, she was grinning at me from where she stood on the bed.
"What are you doing up there?" I asked.
She laughed, "I have an idea!" Her small hand reached down to me. "Come on! You aren't scared, are you?" Her brown eyes glinted deviously.
"No!" I replied indignantly. I quickly climbed onto the bed and stood, nearly the same height as her.
She swiftly pulled all the pillows from where they lay against the carved headboard and placed them all around our feet. She offered her hand to me once more. "Take my hand," She had said. I did, thinking how strange yet astonishing it felt to feel her slender fingers laced between mine. Her eyes lit up from within in excitement, her cheeks dimpled slightly, and I could see one buck tooth protruding from behind her pink lips. "Now jump!" She squealed.
Our feet pushed away from the soft bed in unison, and our laughter consumed the room. The thin linen of the pillows tore and downy feathers began to spill. Soon, the tufts of white were falling around us, and we laughed even more as they tickled our noses, our cheeks, and stuck into our hair. My feet slowed as I marveled at her face. Her skin seemed to glow from within, her eyes twinkled as the sunlight grazed her face, and her hair slid around her shoulders as she continued to jump. This was the girl I would marry. It was terrifying to think of; how could I marry a girl I barely even knew? When Mother and Father had told me I was to marry the Queen of Scots, dread had settled into my stomach. "But why?" I had asked. My mother had leaned down, her eyes gleaming into mine, "Because one day, you will be the King of France, my son. A King needs a Queen, and once you meet her, I know you will come to see why she is perfect for you."
Watching her now, her giddy laughter filling my ears and the broad smile on her lips, I thought I understand what Mother had meant. It didn't seem so frightening- the prospect of living life with Mary, Queen of Scots.
"Francis, look!" She looked up at the ceiling, "It's like snow!"
I stopped jumping and followed her gaze. It was like snow. The pure white shards drifted down slowly, falling at our feet. Mary spun slowly, her head tilted back as she smiled in wonderment at the feathers, and her palms outstretched to catch them within her hands.
I turned my head to look at her, and she met my eyes as we watched the satiny clusters of alabaster caress our skin, like snow upon our cheeks.
Now, our eyes met from across the room as a cloud of downy white shards fell around us. Her brown eyes glittered as I could only guess she had remembered the same memory from our childhood I had.
My feet began to move involuntarily, and so did hers.
I was transfixed by her-the way her dark hair fell around her shoulders like curtains, the way her full lips parted slightly, and the way her eyes held mine like a beacon in the night.
She was beautiful.
The prospect of marriage had displeased me before, but from the moment I saw her smile at me in the courtyard of the castle, I knew that I could not carry on avoiding it much longer. I could feel my heart begin to open to her- to reach out like a flailing hand in search of another's to grasp onto.
No, I cannot marry her for love! Love is irrelevant to people like us.
Love. Had I just said love? I couldn't possibly love her, could I? I had known her as a child-we had run through the castle grounds, caught fireflies on the South lawn, played games in the gardens, and I had adored her, but I could not love a girl I had just met this same day. It was madness.
We now stood less than ten feet apart, and I had not the slightest inkling of what I had planned to say.
"You dance well,"... "You look lovely tonight,"..."You have taken my breath away,"?
Suddenly, a nobleman walked between us, and the spell was broken as quickly as it was cast. I took a step back and left the ballroom before I could walk over to her and make a fool of myself.
I found myself in the hall, remembering that day in her chambers where we jumped upon the bed and found a form of a winter wonderland indoors. I recalled the way I had looked at her then, unable to understand what it was that I felt towards her; unable to differentiate between what it meant to adore her as a child does their friend and what it meant to adore a girl so much that you would wed her. Now, as a man, I understood. I no longer wanted Mary as my companion or a friend; I wanted her as an equal, as a Queen, and as my wife. I told myself I must continue on with the farce of not desiring to forge a marriage with her unless absolutely necessary, but she made it so damn hard. I was drawn to her as a moth to a flame, and I could feel the urges wrestle within me to feel her skin against my own, to graze her lips, and to cradle her within my arms.
Mary, Queen of Scots would be my undoing, and I was perfectly content with this realization. I was perfectly content knowing that I would marry her, and it wouldn't just be because an alliance commands it. I would marry her because I couldn't get her out of my head; I would marry her because she had captivated me more than any human woman had any right to; I would marry her gladly, I would love her despite my fears in its potency and despite its ability to destroy.
I had once believed that love was a luxury us royals could not share-that it was irrelevant, but watching her spin within the circle of her ladies, her face light up as she laughed, and the feathers falling like snow upon our cheeks, I suddenly knew its relevance.