Mary's first summer in France was brighter than any Francis could remember. The sun seemed to have fallen in love with the castle, it shone down on the grounds every day, waking both birds and humans too early and heating up the courtyard and the towers. Soon the daily lessons were shortened, leaving Francis with more free time than he'd had since he was four. Fortunately, Claude was too young to stay with him and Mary all day as she slept for hours after lunch. Francis loved his sister, but sometimes she was just… annoying. Sometimes it was hard enough to appear strong and regal without Claude giggling about everything he said.
Mary sometimes fell in with her, but that was different. Francis loved it when she laughed, and even when she – cautiously – mocked him, it never felt as bad as it did with his little sister. Mary didn't feel pleasure at the inconvenience of others like Claude did – probably because she, too, had felt displaced and uncomfortable for the first weeks. By now, however, the queen of Scots seemed to be accustomed to her new home and family. Catherine made sure Mary wanted of nothing, and though she had become stricter towards all of them, she still had a smile and a hug for her children and her foster daughter every day.

"This is not good." Mary, sitting on the windowsill next to him, put her head in her arms. "Why does it have to be so hot in France? I'm melting."
Francis grinned, but deep inside he was shocked. How could Mary, how could anybody not love French summer?
"Is it never hot in…" He broke off, guilt-ridden. He was not supposed to talk about Mary's country, not yet.
"Scotland?" Mary looked up at him and smiled bravely. "Not like that. And it rains more often, far more often." She sighed. "I miss the rain. And the ponds in the forest, everywhere. They were small and shallow and…" Another sigh, as if the weight of the world was lying on the girl's shoulders. "That would be perfect now."
Francis frowned. "You can swim?"
"Yes, of course."
"Can you teach me?"
Mary stared at the prince, delighted at his enthusiasm and aghast at his obvious inability. "How can you live here all summer and not swim?"
It seemed almost like an accusation, and Francis shrugged uncomfortably. "My parents think I… well, I just can. The heat doesn't bother be very much."
"Really? Cause you fell asleep yesterday in Lord Pays' latin lesson and blamed it on the heat!"
On one hand, Francis loved the teasing spark in Mary's eyes – because it was his doing, because she was happy and laughing because of him. On the other hand, he dreaded it – it made him realize how much he had to learn to be a good king. Of course, he wouldn't be crowned until he was fifty (he prayed every night it would happen like that, at least), but even then… sometimes he couldn't help but being sure he'd fail his father, his mother, his country.

"Anyway." Mary jumped to the floor. "I can teach you. If we leave now, nobody will see us. Maybe one of the ponds in the park is deep enough." Shyly, she reached for his hand. "I didn't mean to sound like I did, I guess."
Francis shook his head as he took her hand. "Well, unfortunately, you're right." No, he definitely loved the spark. "And I'd really love to lean swimming. And then one day we'll outswim Bash."
"Yeah!" Mary squeezed his hand. "That we'll do. Show him he's not that good in anything."

It gave Francis a little sting to hear her talking about his big brother like that, but Bash had been acting strangely this spring. He had rarely been in the same room with Mary – the queen's doing, obviously – and in these rare moments, he was mostly talking about what he could do, being older and a bastard and everything; very unlike the protective, serious boy Francis knew. Maybe his father had heard about it, because he had started to take Bash hunting with him. It was the only honor Catherine didn't forbid the bastard, she seemed to be glad about it, even. Probably, Francis realized, because it was another way to get him out of the castle for most of the day. Only that this summer, everyone wanted to be outside the brooding heat of the stones.

"Wait!" He held Mary back as she started towards the park at the southern gate. "There are too many people over there. Let's go", he had to suggest something daring as well, after all, "into the woods."
"Alone?" Mary hesitated, but only for a moment. "Okay. But you have to do exactly as I say, or you're going to drown."
"I promise." Her energy and curiosity had by now completely passed on to Francis. "Let's go!"

"Francis? Francis!" Mary's lips trembled. "Help! Somebody help me, please!"
He had done exactly as she'd said. But something had gone wrong, so wrong… "Francis!" Fully clothed, the queen of Scotland rushed into the water, towards where the prince had disappeared – right in the middle of the little lake. It had looked safe.
"Help…" Mary stopped as her feet lost contact to the ground. She wanted to dive down but was crying so hard she couldn't breathe properly. It had looked safe. And it was so hot, she had only wanted to get away from the heat, she hadn't, had never…

"Arrhggghhh…" Francis dove up, seaweed in his head. His eyes, frantically, searched for Mary. "Get out!"
"I'll help you." With shaking arms and legs, she started to swim. Was she strong enough to pull him out of the water?
"No!" Francis slipped down again, swallowed water and coughed. "Something's here. I-" Then he was underwater again.
"Francis!" Well, she would be strong enough. She had to. Mary forced herself to take a deep breath. She would save Francis, or she would die with him. They were to be together, weren't they?

It was darker than she'd expected, the water stung her eyes and her skirts were tugging at her at once, sliding between her legs and slowing her down. Mary moved forwards, praying that she was swimming at least in Francis' direction. But already she was out of breath. She had to get up again, and then down, and then… something held her back.
Mary screamed, and water filled her mouth. She couldn't get up. She would die, and Francis with her, she had killed him and it was her fault and her head exploded and…

"Francis!" A young voice, as scared as she felt.
"Bash, stop!" An older voice, filled with dignity and anger. Then bodies splashing through water, cold hands grabbing her, pulling her up into a world of coldness and light.
"Mary? Mary, are you alright?"
She was supposed to answer, but she didn't feel her lips anymore. Or her eyes, but she was obviously crying, and after a second she remembered why, because her stupid, stupid idea had killed Francis, the son of the man who was now looking down on her, worry in his face.
"Mary?" Henry turned to Bash. "Ride home, tell Nostradamus to get ready."
Bash's face was as pale as Mary's. He shook his head. "Not until I know he's okay."
At this, Mary started sobbing. "I'm sorry… I'm sorry, it was my f…fault… I…"
"Shh… it's alright." Clumsily, Henry stroked Mary's cheek. She saw the gesture more than she felt it. "You're safe. That's what matters now."
"Francis…"
"Will answer for this", Henry finished the sentence grimly, "but now…"
"Mary?"
Bash was at his brother's side before anyone else could react. "Francis!"
"Is she alright?" The prince's voice was weak with fear.
Bash looked at her. Sobbing haltlessly, Mary nodded. "I'm sorry", she whispered again, but whatever Bash answered got lost in the whirl of darkness that unfolded around her.