Mary awoke amongst furs and pillows finding herself in Nostradamus's infirmary bed. She was surrounded by her ladies Kenna and Greer, the only ones present in the castle. Catherine too, was hovering some distance away. Greer was the first to notice that she had awakened.

"Mary! Oh, thank goodness you are alright." she said immediately and hugged Mary tightly. Greer was looking lovely in her dress of green silk and she smelled of cooking herbs. It was a pleasant smell; it reminded Mary of a domestic life she could never have. The young queen smiled and hugged her friend back.

"Of course I am alright," Mary said, forgetting her whole ordeal in the passageways. "I never left."

Kenna came and sat down on the other side of the bed. She lightly touched her hand to Mary's forehead. She looked very bewildered.

"Nostradamus said that you had a spout of memory loss is all. He said it comes along with stress and anxiety." she stated and brought her hand back down into the folds of her skirt.

Mary cocked her head to the side, thinking on Kenna's words. It is true that she had been very frazzled of late.

"Is that all?" she asked.

"Yes, for the most part." replied Greer who was looking rather distracted at the moment, staring off into the hallway. Mary could tell she was contemplating something. Greer was always pondering questions. She was the most intelligent of her ladies.

"Bash had found you Banthos's stall." Kenna added somewhat quietly.

"Sebastian?" Mary was surprised, although she really should not be. Of course Bash had known where to find her. He knew her almost better than anyone, apart from Francis. But even Francis did not know all her wants and desires. He had never inquired on the subject, never asked about her hobbies or pastimes. He presumed that she liked to do what every woman enjoyed, or was supposed to enjoy, embroidery, gowns and gardens.

"Yes, he—" Kenna began.

"He found Mary in the stables. End of story." Catherine interrupted and all of a sudden the life was sucked out of the room. "Mary, I must speak to Mary, alone."

Both Greer and Kenna gazed at one another skeptically. They were used to Catherine's antics by now. They were used to her dismissive tone. They rose from the bed slowly and cast sad glances in Mary's direction. Clearly, they did not want to leave her alone. Both curtsied and left the room. Catherine let out a deep sigh and took Kenna's place at Mary's side.

Mary stared at the widowed queen, a question playing in her eyes. She was still suspicious of Catherine. She always would be.

"My dear," she began, placing a cold hand over Mary's warm one. "There has been news of Francis."

Mary sat up quickly, struggling against her pillows.

"What news?"

Catherine did not look pleased. Whatever trouble her husband had gotten into was not to Catherine's liking. Mary could only hope she had not discovered his true reason for leaving. That was a conversation Mary was not looking forward to.

"He has traveled to one of the more infected towns." she said. "I fear for his life."

"You have no reason to feel that way." Mary replied.

Catherine shot daggers in her direction, suddenly rising to her feet. The French queen looked menacing in her lavish getup of orange and red. Mary could not help but compare her to a dragon; a dragon that spit fire when enraged.

"I fear for his life because he has no lineage. He has no son, no heir, not even a legitimate daughter! If he dies of the plague the whole line is lost."

"You have your other sons." Mary snapped.

"They have no idea how to rule, they no longer have a father!" Catherine said, striding towards the wooden doors.

"I know you are frightened Catherine, but that gives you no right to talk to your Queen like that." Mary said calmly.

Catherine stopped in her tracks. She turned around. She struck Mary with a hard look.

"I am nobody's subject." she said in a deadpan voice and swept out the doors.

Mary did not move for several long moments. Scenarios ran over and over in her head of Francis's betrayal, of Francis's deception. If she could not produce an heir when he returned he might just turn to Lola's child. Mary thought of Henry VIII's daughter, Elizabeth, a woman and a bastard at the time. Mary, without a child, could even be undermined by an infant girl; if that is what Lola gives birth to anyways.

Mary rose from the bed and scanned the room for Nostradamus who was not to be found. She would talk to the prophet later. Light-headed and slightly deprived of energy, Mary slowly walked out the doors and into the hallway. She was feeling famished and could not recount the last time she had eaten. Making the conscious to appease her appetite, she made off towards the kitchen.

The kitchen was situated in the east wing of the castle and Mary had no trouble reaching it, not when she kept her head down and posture bent. It was amazing the attention self-confidence attracted. Mary shouldered through the wooden door and was met with warm aromas. It was not crowded at this hour, although it was hard to tell with one's head slightly down. She was making her way down to the fruits when strong hands grabbed her shoulders. She knew better then to squeal.

She knew those hands.

They were strong, gentle, diligent hands.

Mary was uncertain of what she might face if she looked up. Guilt, dishonor, heartbreak – her own betrayal – all of these things, these emotions, had been pushed down for so long. She had smothered them against the very bottom of her soul. Mary was not sure she had much of one left. She was no longer the person Bash had fallen in love with.

For it was Sebastian who was holding her at arms' length.

Sebastian, the keeper of her innocent heart.

Sebastian, the only flicker of her once wholesome self.

He could not love her. He would only cause himself pain. Mary was the harbinger of anguish. God only knew she wrought enough sorrow onto her own country by not being with them, by not being able to lead them.

She could not look up.

"Mary. . ." There was a deep-rooted torment in his voice. It struck her like a knife to the heart.

Mary did the one thing she could do. She made herself inhuman. She numbed herself to her own emotions. She shut them out like squalors out of a home. Then, a beautiful thing happened; Mary was freed. That is the price for rule; you cannot lead with your heart.

Bash gently cupped her face, his thumbs brushing against her soft skin. He made her look at him. Her eye's met his, the light drained from her irises while his were aglow with sealed desire. He should be ashamed. A bastard should not covet his queen.

Sebastian searched his face for a Mary he would not find. She stared back at him, her eyes and heart cold. Her soul, however, flickered ever so slightly.

He dropped his hands to his sides and frowned. Mary squared her shoulders preparing for this conversation.

"Mary – I – " he began.

She quickly raised her hand, silencing him.

"What is it Sebastian?" she barked.

"I must speak with you."