Francis

It's the smell of her breath that breaks me, in the end. A warm, musky smell, it perfectly matches the earthy swell of her breasts as she breathes in and out, and the way her lips darken after they've met with mine. I fill my lungs as I hold her warm body, our damp foreheads pressed together. I never meant for it to go so far, but it's so easy with Lola, so simple, going to bed is just a natural progression.

'I'm sorry,' I say, even though I'm not, not really.

'I know,' she replies.

'I couldn't help myself.'

She opens her eyes. 'I'm glad you couldn't.'

I run my fingers up and down her arm, chasing goose bumps across her skin. 'I don't want to hurt Mary. I promised her that I would be committed to her. I have to try and make our marriage work.'

She raises herself up and props her chin on her hand. 'I don't want her hurt, either. She's my friend and I care about her. But I care about you, too. And you always sound so tired when you talk about her.'

'I guess I am tired.'

'Tell me about it.'

I slip my arm out from under her and roll onto my back with a sigh. 'Sometimes I feel like I'm singing a lullaby to a viper. If I can hit the right notes she's peaceful, beautiful, elegant, but I can never forget that she's got a dangerous bite. She was ready to take everything from me, to strip me of my inheritance and marry my brother, and she very nearly did. I thought our marriage would remake us, unite us, but I feel more distant from her now than I ever have.'

Lola is quiet and still as she listens. She takes my hand. 'You love her.'

'I don't know. Maybe I don't know how to love her. God knows, I've tried. But we are constantly working against one another. Sometimes she feels more like another obstacle than my greatest supporter.' The words come easily, and as guilty as it makes me feel to be talking about to my wife to my, well, to my mistress, I hadn't realised how much I needed to talk about it. I feels nice to be able to air this burden with someone I trust. It feels nice to have someone to trust.

'And you are stronger united. You can't be feuding with your Queen if you intend to stake a claim on the throne of England,' she says softly, and I press my lips into her hair.

'You wouldn't prefer to see us estranged?'

'Not if it would do you harm. You are first the King of France, second Mary's husband, and third, my… my lover, if I can call you that. I am grateful for whatever you have to give me. We can keep what is between us a complete secret.'

As she talks, I sit up and take her face in my hands. 'You have no idea how much that means to me,' I whisper, brushing my lips against her forehead. 'You are the sweetest, kindest, wisest, most beautiful girl, Lola.'

She smiles serenely, but sits up and moves away from me. 'I should probably go. Someone might notice I'm not in my bed.'

I catch her wrist in my hand. 'Please stay the night.'

'I thought we just agreed that we want to avoid becoming a scandal.'

Her skin is as soft as velvet and I nuzzle her neck, breathing her in. 'We can worry about that tomorrow. Tonight, you stay.'

'Francis…'

'Please?'

She sighs, and kisses me. 'Okay.'

Mary

When I eventually sleep, I'm haunted by dreams in dark colours that jerk me awake multiple times throughout the night, feverish and with a racing heart. They fade beyond my recollection as soon as I open my eyes, only to continue unabated as soon as sleep returns. Eventually I can't take any more of it, and I throw back my damp covers. I dress quickly and make an attempt to pin up my wild hair, but I abandon the mirror before long to escape the sight of my puffy eyes. It is probably not the best state to be venturing out in, but I'm long past caring at this point.

As I enter the corridor I'm suddenly reminded of the guards stationed by my doors, and I hurry out with my head down, hoping they won't notice my disarray. They follow, of course, but at a further distance than they usually would, and I'm embarrassed by the thought that it might be intentional, that they might have noticed my need for space. How much longer must I be constantly watched? At what point do I concede that Nostradamus must have been wrong? The hallways are dark in the cool light of the dawn, and I'm reminded of my arrival here by the feeling of being unwelcome that seems to settle over me, as though the walls have turned on me. Because while this may be my home now, it is Francis's home first and foremost. Without the union between us I would have no place here.

And now his door looms before me, and for some reason I feel even more unsure than I did knocking on another door only a few hours before, despite the fact that I will find my husband behind this one. He doesn't answer at my knock.

'Francis?' My voice wavers, and I clear my throat. 'Francis?' I say again, louder this time, and I hear a quiet scuffling, almost whispering, followed by footsteps and the click of the lock.

'Mary, what are you doing here?' Francis peers out at me through the door, which is open no wider than his face.

'I'm your wife. I came to see you,' I say, pushing a stray lock of hair back behind my ear.

'But so early in the morning?'

'Yes, I know it's early, I'm sorry. But I heard a rumour, a horrible rumour that I think has been started because we've been a little… distant from one another lately. So I just wanted… could I come in? I don't really want to have this conversation in the hallway…' I move towards the door, expecting it to open, but Francis doesn't budge. A memory begins to corrode away the edges of the moment.

'Now isn't really a good time, Mary-'

Disbelief freezes me on the spot. I've been in this exact position before.

'-maybe this isn't a conversation to be having first thing in the morning-'

'Who is in there with you?' I say quietly, my voice calm. Francis glances at my guards.

'What are you talking about? I'm the only one here-'

'Then why won't you let me in?'

'Because I'm not going to open my door just because you demand it-'

'Is it Olivia? Or have you found yet another bed warmer?'

'Mary! Not now!' Francis hisses. My eyes burn.

'Not ever. You promised me, Francis.'

'Send your guards away, and then we can talk-'

I draw myself up and take a step back from the door. 'Don't presume to give me orders. We are done here.'

Francis calls after me, but I don't stop, don't turn, I'm all but running now. I can't let him see me cry, not now, not when I should have known all along, when he fooled me into believing he was anything other than that boy who blocked me at his door before. He is his father's son, just another monarch who takes what he wants when he pleases, and I want to put as much space between me, that door and whatever it is that lies behind it as I possibly can.

I'm gasping by the time I make it to the stables, and I take a minute to compose myself, to be still before I enter. I will my breath to slow, my blood to cool, my heart to cease aching so terribly, and as I do I suddenly realise that my guards are new. It makes me feel incredibly lonely, that even my guards, the figures I have grown so used to following and watching me, sharing my every moment, are strangers.

'I don't think we've met before,' I say, a little sheepishly. I have been incredibly self-absorbed this morning. 'What are your names?' They both look quite dishevelled, with untidy hair and uniforms askew. One mumbles something that sounds like 'George'.

'And you?' I ask, smiling at the other one. A dark smudge of stubble shadows his jaw.

'He is mute, your Grace,' the other answers.

'Oh. Well, it is nice to meet you both. You have an interesting accent, are you from the south?' He shrugs non-committedly, and I hold onto the hope that they become a more expressive a pair as the sun climbs in the sky. 'I hope you don't mind going out so early in the morning.' When I don't even get a shrug this time, I give up on making small talk. 'Since this is your first time tailing me I won't report anything to your captain, but in the future I expect you both to be clean-shaven and neatly presented,' I say with a frown, before continuing on to the stables. Later, I may go and find out why this particular duo have been assigned to me in such a state of disarray. Now, I want to ride. Fast.

Sebastian

It's almost dawn when I finally abandon my armchair and my glass. After a night of little sleep and too much drink, my thoughts are frayed and dart about my head like dragonflies. I catch myself dreaming while standing, lurking on the edges of my subconscious while staring into space. I splash water on my face, hoping the cold shock of it will jerk me back to the land of the living, but minutes later I'm still clutching the basin, staring into the mirror as water drips from my face and hair, my stomach lurching, too unsteady on my feet to move. Scotch and blood-loss are probably not an advisable combination. My vision darkens around the edges, like I'm about going to pass out again, and my face in the mirror wavers before my eyes.

Then the image in the glass begins to shift, warping until it no longer resembles a face at all. Shapes emerge where there was nothing before, three figures that begin to take a human form, two standing over another on the ground. They are murky and far away, like I'm watching through a dirty window, but they grow more detailed as I watch, more distinct. The standing figures are men and I don't recognise either of them. One of them appears to be holding something, no, cleaning something. A sword. The other is heaping leaves and dirt over the figure on the ground. A figure with long, dark hair.

The basin crashes to the floor, slopping water down my legs and halfway across my room. I drop to my knees and dry retch, my empty stomach convulsing, my head spinning, my hands trembling with sudden terror. I can feel a presence around me like I could in the bloodwood, a darkening of the shadows in the room, a prickling on the back of my neck, a sense that the very air is not quite what it seems. This is what my blood has bought me, I know it like I knew I needed to draw the blade across my arm. It's an early warning. The assassins are in the castle.

Francis

I am on my way to mass when I am accosted in the hallway. My arm is taken, caught in a hard and unapologetic grip that tugs me from my course, forcing me through a doorway to come face-to-face with my brother.

'Where is Mary?' he says urgently. I wrench my arm away and glower at him.

'Why is that any of your business?'

He takes my shoulders and holds me in place. 'Francis, listen to me. She's in danger. There are two men in the castle who are here to do her harm and we need to find her.'

I eye him carefully before responding. 'What do you know?'

'They are from across the channel. Whether they have been sent by Elizabeth or someone else I don't know, but I do know they are her to kill her.'

'And your source? Are they reliable?'

'Beyond the shadow of doubt.'

He resolutely holds my gaze as I consider his claims. The apparent immediacy of the threat and the lack of detail bothers me, but I can't see what he would have to gain from crying wolf. Is he trying to lure me off somewhere to do away with me? It's not like I'm some defenceless kitten. He can try. 'Alright. Follow me,' I say finally.

Sebastian walks swiftly as we head towards the watch house, and his haste begins to make me anxious. Whatever is going on, he certainly thinks that there is cause to hurry. When we arrive the captain steps out to greet us. He is a solid man, short and hairy with thighs as thick as tree stumps.

'Your Royal Highness, I was about to send someone to find you,' he says.

Dread curls its icy hand around me. 'What's happened?'

'The men I allocated to tailing Queen Mary, they had an incident of… overindulgence last night. I personally apologise for them, they are being dealt with presently. I sent a replacement pair to the Queen, but they are having a great deal of trouble finding her. Do you have any idea...' he trails off, looking from my face to Sebastian's, no doubt seeing matching expressions of alarm.

'Your men haven't found even a hint as to where she might be?' I lower my voice, wary of who might be listening.

'Her horse isn't in the stables, but I'm not sure where she would have taken it. Perhaps your Highness might have some idea-'

'She's in the bloodwood,' Sebastian interrupts, and we both turn to look at him.

'How would you know that?' I ask after a pause.

'Because she's been riding there a lot recently. Ask her regular guards, they'll tell you. She goes when Gilles and Nicholas are with her.'

I don't know if he is trying to stir me up with his knowledge of what goes on in the chateau or if he really is just trying to be helpful. To me it seems like he is paying an inordinate amount of interest in the comings and goings my soldiers. But Sebastian has always payed attention to those sorts of things, I remind myself. Mary is the priority right now, not my brother's potential scheming. 'Of all the places she could go, why would she go there?'

'Her life here sometimes makes her feel suffocated and the bloodwood has a way of making everything fade away until there is nothing left but you and whatever is in those trees. That, and she's reckless when she's upset.'

How does he know Mary is upset? Does he know about our confrontation this morning? What else does he know?

'Have we reason to fear for the Queen's safety, your Highness?' the captain asks.

I take a deep breath before answering, steadying myself for what is to come next. 'Yes. I have information that an assassination attempt is underway. We need to find her. Have your men scour the grounds, and send some into the bloodwood.'

Sebastian grasps my arm. 'I'll go.'

'No.'

'Francis, you know I know the bloodwood better than any of your soldiers. Please, I beg you, let me find her. For you.'

I want to say no so badly. The word balances on the tip of my tongue. Sebastian, racing off into the forest to play the hero, rescuing my wife, my wife, from her would-be assassins and carrying her home in his arms. The only thing I can think of that would be worse is if he didn't bring her back at all. But Mary's words from our recent fight are raging in my ears, so relevant I should almost be suspicious that this whole thing is just a set up so she can prove a point. Don't let your pride cost me my life.

'Go then,' I say finally, feeling like I have conceded something that I will never get back. 'But go now, quickly. And for Christ's sake, bring her back.'

Mary

I know how deep in the woods I've come by how closely the trees grow to each other. They reach from the ground in clusters, fighting each other to reach the sun through the canopy, their trunks dark and covered in moss. As I'm becoming aware of how deep in the woods I am, I'm beginning to wonder why my guards haven't insisted I turn back yet. We are much further than I've ever ridden before. Even Nicholas and Gilles would have begged me to return by now. I ease the horse from a canter to a walk and glance behind me at my trailing guards. They slow their horses in response.

'Where do you think we are?' I call to them.

The taller one, George, smirks at me. 'In the woods, your Grace,' he says, and unease prickles at the back of my neck. Bash would be so angry with me, I think suddenly. I'm deep in the woods with two guards I've never met, with no idea how competent they are. What if they are both useless fighters? And I've been relying on them to keep track of where we are, plunging headlong into the trees with no concern for getting home. What if they are terrible woodsmen? What if I can't find my way back?

I reign my horse in and turn to face them in the saddle. 'I think it's time we were headed back,' I say. The sense of unease grows as neither of them makes the slightest move to turn around. A dark, cruel smile begins to spread across the mute one's face, like spilled wine on a carpet, and his hand moves to his hip.

'I'm sorry to inform you, your Grace,' George drawls, and I realise that he is drawing his sword, 'but you won't be going back.'