Mary
I wake. Oh god, why do I wake? In the shadowy haven of dreams I could escape the torment of this moment. There was no guilt, no regret, no notion of sin. There was only what I want. But the full force of what happened yesterday comes crashing down on me as soon as I begin to regain consciousness. I squeeze my eyes tightly against the morning light, as though trying to keep the images in my head from escaping through my eyelids. Did I reach for him first? Did I push us from the high cliffs of morality and send us plunging own? Even if I didn't yesterday, I did in the very beginning. When I kissed him by the lake, so drunk and silly, I never dreamed I'd wind up here. I unleashed an unstoppable force over some petty jealousy. If I hadn't kissed him then, would we still have found ourselves on the forest floor? A tiny, savage voice in my mind whispers that it was worth it, was worth the guilt and shame of today. I want to quash the notion, but it strikes trues to my very core, finding assent in the parts of me that ache from where he has been. The love I've known with Francis has been nothing like this. Just remembering sends heat through my body and I want to say his name aloud, like a vow, like a prayer, just to feel the way it sounds in my mouth. Sebastian, Sebastian, Sebastian.
I hear the door open and shuffling feet and whispering voices enter the room. I cannot bear the thought of facing the day, but it seems the day is ready to face me.
'Mary?' Greer's voice calls softly, and the concern I hear in it squeezes at my aching heart. How do I look at them now, my friends, who I have known for so long? 'We have come to dress you.'
Gathering all of my courage to my chest, I sit up and swing my feet to the floor. I need to assure my court that I am alright now, I need to be seen to be alright, as much as I would like to hide away for the day.
'Thank you,' I say simply and they cluster around me. Lola dabs some of the salve Nostradamus mixed for me to the wound on my forehead while the other two undress me. Kenna gasps as she lifts my nightgown.
'What is it?' I ask, wrenching away from her as I'm gripped by sudden terror. I look at her face and she has tears in her eyes.
'I'm so sorry Mary, the bruises just caught me off guard,' she replies.
'What bruises?' I move over to the mirror and study my trembling body, turning this way and that. There is a dark, greenish-purple bruise on the side of my thigh, and a few angry splotches on my back, I'm guessing from when I fell from the horse, and then of course there is the unsightly gash on my head.
'They will fade though, Mary,' Greer assures me, but I realise that I'm not horrified by the sight of the bruises, I'm relieved. Because for one, shocking moment when Kenna gasped, I thought there might be fingerprints on my skin. I'm relieved because the mirror showed me that, while every inch of my body feels different today, while I was subconsciously expecting some kind of physical expression of the throbbing sensation his hands have left on me, I can see no sign of him on my body. Though I can see him in my eyes.
I turn away from the mirror at the sight of my eyes. 'I know they will,' I say, and my friends finish dressing me, lacing my corset and stays, wrapping me in skirts and silk and lace, coaxing my wild hair into a coiffure of elegance and restraint. I can hide this, I think to myself as I again glance in the mirror. I can hide behind my costume, my dress of auburn, the delicate bodice embroidered in golden thread. I take a deep breath. I already recounted what happened to Francis and his council yesterday, for which I am glad. I was gifted a sort of numbness yesterday that I don't have this morning, a sort of shock reaction I suppose. I only stumbled once, when faced with recounting my rescue, but Sebastian stepped in to tell a perfect, unfaltering report of what happened when he found me. It was so flawless, told with such detachment that I wondered for a moment if I had made what happened between us up on the ride back. It bothers me a bit, now that I am thinking about it this morning. How could he have seemed so composed when I am in turmoil? But at least I can refuse to talk about it all today. The story has been told, now the court gossips can inform anyone who still wants to know, warping it however they may wish. I can remain aloof from it all.
Sebastian
I want her. My thoughts chase each other round and round in circles, a hurricane of desire and self-loathing, remorse and hope, love and pain, spinning faster and faster until just being conscious is enough to make me feel dizzy and sick. Drinking only makes it worse and sleeping brings hot, fevered dreams that are half memory and half invention and always end with me gasping awake, sweating and unbearably thirsty. I know I should leave, but I give myself a thousand reasons as to why I can't. What if someone where to find out what happened and my mother suffered in my place? What if more assassins come for Mary? What if the pagans in the bloodwood need quelling? Francis would need my particular expertise for that. All different disguises for the real reason I cannot leave; what if Mary wants me again? I think she loves me. I could feel it in her, could taste it on her skin and hear it in her voice, and it's tethering me to the spot more surely than any rope or chain. For while such a possibility exists, I'm not strong enough to tear myself away.
And so I stay and watch her. I watch as she presents herself to the court in the days following the assassination attempt: flawless in dress, chin high, voice steady, looking every bit like the experience hasn't touched her. I watch her gestures, her expressions, listening for a quiver in her voice, looking for something, anything, to indicate that I'm there somewhere in her thoughts. Not that I have much of an opportunity to study her up close. As soon as I get anywhere near her she bolts, excusing herself from conversations, leaving rooms without so much as a glance in my direction. She's so aloof, it's hard to believe I ever touched her bare skin. I can't figure out what I'm supposed to do next, so I watch, as I always do, and wait for her.
I watch Francis, too, and I can't help how angry doing so makes me. I would do stupid, mad things to have the right to be the one to comfort Mary after what happened, and he hasn't even attempted to reach out to her. He has barely spoken to her since hearing her account of the assassination attempt, and seeing the lusty glances he casts at Lola makes me want to punch him. The tension between us grows ever more rigid. I feel more like an outcast at court than ever, like a child excluded from a game, just lingering and hoping for a chance to join in. Mary avoids me, Francis is at war with me, my mother pities me, I'm almost glad when my father summons me a few days after the assassination attempt, even though it usually means nothing good. At least someone isn't ignoring my existence.
Mary
It's at least a week before I'm ready to surface from my pool of self-torment. I keep my regular duties and appointments so no one can say I'm not recovered from my ordeal, but I know my real work lies in healing the rift between myself and Francis, and every morning I wake from treasonous dreams that leave me unable to look him in the eye. I have been unfaithful. The thought clatters around in my head, but I'm getting better at countering it. I've done nothing that he hasn't done is the most effective, but still doesn't quite ease the sickly feeling in my stomach. Being unfaithful as a king is nothing, but as a queen it is treason.
So this morning I have set myself the task of reconciliation. I choose a dress in muted colours with few decorations, modest sleeves and a high neckline. I want to seem demure and nonthreatening. A dress won't prove your innocence a voice in my head hisses, but I swat the thought away as Lola arranges my hair. I smile at her in the mirror, but she looks away quickly, concentrating on her work.
I frown for a moment, picking at topics of conversation. Why is it so difficult to talk to my friends?
'So have you met this young man of Greer's?' I ask softly. She smiles in surprise and glances over her shoulder to where the other girls are chatting.
'No, but how do you know she's seeing someone? I'm not even supposed to know.'
'I know everything,' I whisper conspiratorially and for some reason that make her look a little… panicked. 'What's wrong?' I ask, and she looks away.
'Some things are better left unknown,' she mumbles, putting the final pin in my hair and hurrying off, leaving me confused and concerned. It seems I have another relationship that needs tending. But one thing at a time. Today I will focus on my marriage.
When I see Francis sitting at his table, tapping his fingers on the wood and looking agitated, the prospect of reuniting seems as distant as my home in Scotland does. But I have to try.
'Good morning,' I say brightly as I approach him, and he looks at me as he might through a window from the top of the guard tower, as though I am a long way away and almost indistinguishable.
'How are you feeling today?' he asks as I sit down next to him.
'I wish everyone would stop asking me that. I'm not an invalid, I'm fine,' I reply, before remembering that I'm supposed to be the embodiment of reconciliation. He frowns.
'You're fine because sheer dumb luck would have it so. You know you made it easy for them, careening off into the woods as though you weren't a queen and the bloodwoods were a rose garden. And you were the one telling me not to be reckless with your safety.'
I can feel my temper rising and I take a deep breath before responding. 'I know, but I was upset. And I think you'll remember exactly why I was upset.'
'If you want to have this conversation now, I don't think this is the place-'
'No, I don't want to have this conversation now,' I swiftly interrupt. I'm not going to pretend to lecture from my moral high ground when really I'm down in the mud beside him. 'I want to bury the hatchet. Things haven't been right between us since we came back from our honeymoon.' Or on our honeymoon I add silently, remembering reaching out in the night to find cold sheets beside me. 'But we aren't just husband and wife, we are the future king and queen. We need to be on the same side for the sake of France. And Scotland.'
Francis sighs and touches my hand. 'You're right, of course. We have both made mistakes, but revisiting them isn't likely to help. I will make more of an effort to heal the bond between us.'
'Thank you,' I say with a watery smile. It's not much, but it's a start. But then I open my mouth and more words fall out before I can stop them. 'You know it wasn't dumb luck that saved my life, it was Bash.'
Francis withdraws his hand and his body stiffens. 'Yesterday's would-be usurper, today's hero, what will he be tomorrow I wonder?'
I should let it go, but I can't. 'You are holding this grudge against him because of what happened before our wedding, but it wasn't his fault. He doesn't deserve your disdain.'
Francis runs a hand through his hair, his face petulant. 'Always Sebastian. I'm tired of hearing about Sebastian. If my brother seeks my favour perhaps he should come and see me himself instead of sending you as his advocate. I suppose I will have to hear more of the same from Kenna soon.'
I'm about to snap a heated response, but the last part catches me and I pause, perplexed. 'From Kenna? Why would she be Sebastian's advocate?'
'My father is arranging a marriage between them,' he replies dismissively, returning to examining the papers in front of him. Later, I'll be grateful for his waning attention to me, because my expression cracks and for a few, deadly moments I wear my feelings on my face. I feel as though I've just been punched in the abdomen.
'I'll leave you to your work,' I manage to choke out, before I get up and walk quickly out of the room, my shoulders back, my head held high, trying to disguise this horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach that is trying to claw its way out. And before I realise what I'm doing, I've begun looking for him. It's almost funny how hard I've been trying to avoid him when all it took was one sentence from Francis to obliterate my carefully constructed self-restraint. I approach a few different serving staff before one directs me to the gardens because apparently many of the courtiers are out enjoying the sunshine. And I hope he's down there, because running around asking people where I might find him is reckless.
It's a beautiful day. The blue of the sky is a bright contrast against the lush green of the trees, and a soft breeze gifts me the scent of the last of the autumn blooms. Courtiers are drifting across the lawns in pairs and groups, preening their brightly-coloured plumage and twirling parasols. Their voices and laugher reach me, but the words are indistinct and sound more like bird calls than conversation.
Even though he's in the shadows, I can pick him out immediately, as though my every sense is fine-tuned to seek him. There, under the trees, shaded from the sun. But he's not alone. Even from all the way over here I know that Kenna is standing very close to him, and as I watch she laughs and flicks her hair. And Bash is… smiling. Not that he shouldn't be allowed to smile, of course. And not that he doesn't have every right to talk to pretty girls. But suddenly I can imagine it, Sebastian married to Kenna. I can imagine him teasing her, protecting her, brushing her hair away from her face, kissing her the way he kissed me, touching her the way he touched me and I can't stand it. Then he looks across the garden at me and he must be able to see it all in my face, laid out for him like ink on paper, because his expression changes and he quickly excuses himself from his conversation with Kenna. Her eyes follow him as he makes his way towards me and there is a possessiveness in her gaze that makes me feel physically sick. Because there is absolutely nothing I can do about it.
'Is everything alright, your Grace?' he asks, his voice even, calm, detached.
'Everything is fine, just lovely,' I snap. 'Why do you always assume there is something wrong?'
'Have I done something to offend you?'
'No. But you may offend Kenna by lingering with me, so if you'll excuse me-'
His mouth twitches at the corner, as if he's suppressing a smile. 'Do I detect a hint of jealousy?'
My face turns crimson. 'Absolutely not. It is nothing to me who you spend your time with. Absolutely nothing.' I walk away, intending to find a place amidst the hedges press my face into my skirts and scream, but he follows me, and I should stop him in case anyone sees us as we disappear into the trees together, but right now I just don't care.
'At least it got you to talk to me. You've been avoiding me all week,' he says pleasantly, easily keeping pace with my angry marching.
'I haven't been avoiding you, I just have nothing to say,' I reply, my eyes fixed on the path before me, veering off it when I hear voices up ahead. Is there nowhere in this whole damn château where I can be alone?
'I think there might be some things to say.'
'Well perhaps I don't want to say them. Now if you'd just leave me alone-'
He reaches out and takes a hold of my arm, forcing me to stop. When I look at him there are storm clouds passing across his face. I've made him angry. Good.
'Don't walk away from me. You can't just use me and walk away. You think you can sacrifice whoever and whatever to get what you want, no matter the consequences. I let you use me like that once, I betrayed my brother and reached for the throne for you, only to have you discard me when it suited you. But it's not going to happen again. You don't get to just walk away from me.'
His grip on my arm is unrelenting, even when my eyes fill with tears, hot with shame and regret. I can't help but cry, because everything he has said is true. But where does that leave us?
'Bash,' I begin, 'what happened in the bloodwood-'
'What happened in the bloodwood, Mary?' he interrupts, ducking his head to hold my eyes when I glance at the ground. 'What specifically happened in the bloodwood between us that is so unbearable to speak of?'
I keep my eyes fixed on his feet. 'You know what I'm talking about.'
'Do you mean when we held each other in the bloodwood? When we made love in the bloodwood?'
I feel like my whole body blushes as I say quietly, 'yes.'
He puts a finger beneath my chin and forces me to look up at him. 'Was it really so horrible that we can't even speak of it?' he asks, his blue eyes searching mine, enveloping me, absorbing me.
'You know that's not the reason we can't speak of it,' I say, my voice barely a whisper.
His eyes flicker to my lips and I can feel a heady longing pumping through my blood, clouding my senses and making me feel a little bit drunk.
'We shouldn't have come back,' he says hoarsely, before dropping his hand back to his side. 'But we did, and this is how we live now.'
I take a deep breath and try to steady myself, beating back memories of things I cannot have. 'So you are set to marry Kenna.'
This time, he doesn't look amused by the strain in my voice. He just looks sad. 'If my father has his way. Perhaps it's an appropriate match.' He smiles wryly, 'we have a lot in common. We are both in love with people we can never call our own.'
I fiddle with the fabric of my dress, casting around for something more to say, knowing that I should end this conversation now but unable to bring myself to do so. I just want to be near him for a few moments longer. But I'm beginning to understand this hunger now and I know this won't be enough to quench it. The more I get of him, the more I want.
'I should go,' I say, taking a few steps back. 'It's dangerous for us to be seen together, especially now.'
'Sensible as always, your grace,' he replies, bowing deeply. I turn and hurry away, my heart pounding and my skin feverish, half of me hoping he will follow, but when I glance back he's standing exactly where I left him, watching me.
