Angry, she stomped out of the castle and straight into Bash. "Woah, there, Mary."

She looked up at the older boy, frowning. He had been gone from the castle lately and so she hadn't expected him to be there. And right now he was impeding her stomping path away from Francis. "Move."

The fourteen year old raised an eyebrow at the six year old Queen of Scotland. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me. Move."

Bash stepped aside, indicating the path was now clear with his arm. "What did he do?"

"Who?"

"Francis. He is the only possible person to make you this angry that is currently at the castle."

Mary huffed, walking quickly away from Bash to the lake (even then it had been their spot), plopping herself unceremoniously on a log. She knew he would follow her – that was without question. So when she heard the footsteps stop, his warmth almost tangible as she realized just how cold she was. She had left the castle without any warm outer garments and it was not yet spring. He must have realized this as his cape soon went over her shoulders and he sat next to her.

"Tell me about it."

"He said I was being stupid. And he locked the door to his room so I can't get in and won't answer when I call."

Bash nodded. "What did he do?" He treated her not like the eight year old she was, but like she was so much older than she was. It made her aspire to be as articulate and grown-up as she could be.

"He was playing with a sword…a real sword. And he cut himself – badly." She closed her eyes, the image of Francis' blood-stained shirt at the front of her mind. "I told him he shouldn't toy with something that could easily kill him."

"A wise thought, your Grace."

"Mary." She corrected automatically.

"Mary."

"That was three days ago, Bash! Why won't he talk to me?"

Bash chuckled. "I imagine he hurt his pride, hurting himself in front of you. I know he's been practicing swordplay so hard lately in the hopes of impressing you. At least, that was his goal before I left."

"His pride? He could have killed himself!"

"We do not all think with our head, Mary." Bash gently reminded. When she looked up at him, he was smirking and his eyes were glinting, showing his mischievous side.

"What?"

"You want to get Francis to talk to you?"

"Yes!"

"And you say he won't open the door for you?"

"Yes!" Mary said exasperated.

"Then you open the door."

"Bash," Mary groaned, "I told you. It's locked."

"Then maybe you should unlock it. Surprise him, demand that he talk to you and don't let him leave until he does."

"How am I supposed to unlock a door I don't have a key for?" She was getting frustrated and was ready to hit Bash for being so elusive. She nearly did when his hands went to her hair and pulled out two pins. How he knew where it locate the pins – and to do so easily was a mystery to Mary. But in many, many ways, Bash would always remain a mystery to her.

"With this." He held up the pin.

"I don't know how."

"Of course you don't. Which is why I'm going to teach you."

He had piqued her interest and he could tell. Chuckling, he explained to her how she was going to learn how to pick a lock. He warned her it would take a couple of days to master, but after that, Francis could never hide behind a locked door again if she didn't want him to.

It was a responsibility and freedom all at the same time. Mary wondered if this was what being a grown-up felt like all the time – a great responsibility to do the right thing with one's freedom. If it was, she thought that she would make a horrible Queen – she would want to choose freedom all the more often than she would responsibility. It seemed like the adults in her life were much too sour, too sad all the time. Maybe it was because they didn't choose freedom enough. Maybe, Mary thought horrified, they didn't have a choice.

"Mary, you're a thousand miles away right now. Come back down." Mary then remembered Bash was sitting next to her, waiting to teach her a lesson. She refocused and nodded, an indication she was back. "Where did you go?"

"The same place I always go," Mary said with a sigh. "The place where I realize I won't have nearly as much fun as I am having right now, with you."

Bash reached an arm around her, pulling her close. "My little Mary, you're much too young to be talking like that. You are, after all, only eight."

"I'm almost nine." She said with an air of importance, snuggling into Bash.

"Well, then, that makes all the difference," he teased. "Now, you remember how I said that my door was always open for you when you came here two years ago?"

Mary could barely believe that it had been two years since she had moved to the Castle in France, but yes, it had been. And soon she would be gone. She knew that after her ninth birthday she would return to Scotland for a time, before moving to a convent for the rest of her education. It was a horrible way to live, bouncing around from place to place, never really knowing if she was going to be safe – but it was all she knew. "Yes," Mary said, responding to Bash's question.

He had promised her that very first night she had come to France, terrified. Francis wanted nothing to do with her and she was in a scary castle without anyone she knew since her grandmother had been delayed in greeting her. The food was different – nothing like her usual Scottish fare. And they didn't like milk. Bash had bumped into her when she was running away, crying, from a dinner. After that, they were friends when she needed him to be, but mostly he was in the shadows, as his place as the King's bastard demanded.

"For the next couple of days I'm going to lock it. I want you to practice and try to break into my room. While Catherine is gone, and her guards elsewhere, I want you to try her room too."

"But she's the Queen of France!"

"Yes, and a lock-picking skill is no good if you can't do it under pressure." Bash pointed out. He did have a point.

"But you're going to teach me first, right?"

"Yes."

"Can we start now?"

"There's my girl!" He hopped up, causing Mary to nearly fall off the log. She had been wrapped up in his cape, arms tucked close to his side, head resting on chest (he was just a bit too tall for her to rest it on his shoulder). But just as she felt herself ready to hit the ground, he had lifted her up, spinning her placing her back on the ground. "Can't have you bumping your royal head, now can we?"

Mary scoffed. "I am no china doll."

Bash threw his head back, laughing. "Of all the things in the world that you are, Mary, Queen of Scots, a china doll is not one of them."

They walked back to the Castle, up many flights of stairs and down many corridors until they reached a part of the Castle Mary had not seen before – and that was saying something. "Where are we?"

"It used to be a servant's corridor but they don't use it anymore. They say they've lose the key." His eyes glinted in the dim light of the hallway.

"Did you steal it?" Mary asked, hands on hips, accusing.

"Now I can't go revealing all my secrets." He handed her the pins. "Watch, and then you try."

Mary was not a natural at lock-picking, something she discovered quickly as she tried to navigate the pins. Finally, Bash, seeing her frustration, took her hands in his, guiding them to twist the pin in just the right way to get the door open. It popped open without much effort. "Try again."

He was patient with her, even when she wasn't with herself. After her fifth round of trying, she was red-faced and close to tears as she kicked the door in frustration.

"Mary?"

"No. I have to get this."

Bash put his hands on her shoulders – something she was instantly aware of as she began to calm down. "We can come back to this." He dropped his hands and Mary found herself missing the touch. She had always been a touch-person, craving the intimacy that she was never able to have as a child Queen in Scotland. Her mother, aloof from the death of her father, and everyone else too afraid of doing something that could be perceived as wrong.

She turned, eyes threatening to spill over as she looked up at him. "Tonight?"

"Not tonight. Tomorrow morning, first thing." He said with a gentle smile. "You'll get this – I promise."

It took her a week (a week in which Francis still was avoiding her, though he had started taking dinners with the rest of the family), but she had gotten to the point where she could easily unlock Bash's door, or really any door in the castle without much time or effort. Of course, she was nervous when she went to see Francis so it took a little more time, but she managed it.

"Mary, what are you doing here?"

"Since you won't come to me, I thought I'd come to you."

"But I locked my door."

"So I noticed." Mary made like she was adjusting her hair when she was really slipping the pins back in.

"I don't want to talk to you. Go away."

It was then that Mary, a year older and at least a foot taller, showed her true strength. "Tough. You're going to sit then and you're going to listen."

He did. And for the first time in Mary's life, she felt the power in knowing she commanded someone. It was a scary feeling – like a river rushing through her all at once, pouring fire into her veins and burning her from the inside out with a passion that made her want to yell and scream but in a voice so deadly that none would question her. It was the first time Mary had felt like a Queen. She liked it. She liked it a little too much.

Author's Note: This one is a short piece, sorry! I wanted to get you all another piece as quickly as possible and have it have some substance more than the "let us delve into inner workings of the mind" that I so much like to write. (That, and writing an eight year old is harder than I imagined.) We're getting into the tail end of my semester so I'll have less time to write as final papers/projects/life begins to crop up, but I hope to have another scene up for you by the beginning of next week.

Also… I would very much appreciate if anyone had suggestions, such as a "Scenes We'd Like to See" thing. Pop me a message or in a review.

As always, thanks for the reviews and the reads!