Mary couldn't stop herself from smiling as she walked through the grand hallways of the French castle, on her way back to her room after her encounter with Francis in the royal gardens.

She knew that it was against royal protocol to grin like a teenager with a crush in the middle of a castle, but she couldn't help it. She still felt a little dazed, and disorientated; it was like everything was happening in slow motion.

As she pressed her finger to her lips, Mary replayed her kiss with Francis over and over in her mind.

Then she thought about the moments just after the kiss, when they had stood still in each other's arms, staring into each other's eyes, the two of them apparently reluctant to move away. She thought about the awkward mutterings about how they should probably get back to the castle; the nervous laughter just before they parted, the two of them apparently still in a state of disbelief over what had just happened.

Now, as she strolled through the long corridors, with sunlight streaming into all of the castle windows, Mary felt like she was walking on air.

The feeling lasted for as look as it took her to return to her room.

The first thing she noticed as she approached the room was that the door was wide open. Mary frowned. She was almost certain that she hadn't left the door open like that.

Almost reluctantly, she headed inside. When she stepped into the room, Mary noticed a newspaper article which had been displayed on her dressing table. Slowly, she walked towards it.

She could almost feel her blood run cold as she read the words of the article…

Royal Wedding Brought Forward! the headline declared.

With her heart pounding against her chest, Mary continued to read the 'breaking news' about how Prince James and Lady Kenna had announced that they would be moving the date of their wedding ceremony forward to next Saturday.

Mary shook her head in disbelief. Next Saturday. That meant that James and Kenna's wedding was less than a week away!

She thought of Kenna, crying about how James didn't really love her. She thought of James, with that pained look on his face that day by the river when the two of them had talked about arranged marriages.

Mary had always assumed that the wedding would not take place for months, maybe even a year. What had provoked this decision? There had to be more to it than simple convenience of wedding dates.

"Perhaps your family has lost all confidence in your matchmaking process?"

Mary jumped at the sound of the voice from behind her. She really had to struggle to hide her gasp of fright at being startled like that. For a moment, she was back in the dark alleyway in Scotland, with a masked stranger creeping up on her and threatening her…

Slowly, Mary turned around. Catherine was leaning against the bedroom wall a few feet away from the door, with her arms folded and her eyebrows raised.

Mary struggled to compose herself. She hadn't even noticed that Catherine was in the room. The queen had managed to sneak up on her again. Mary knew that she would have to be more alert, more ready, better able to defend herself. She could not afford to be taken by surprise anymore.

"What do you want?" Mary asked her, trying to sound cool and dignified, rather than absolutely terrified.

She couldn't help playing the words that Catherine had just said over in her mind. Was her matchmaking process truly going so badly that her parents had had to take other, more drastic measures to ensure stability in Scotland? Was all of this her fault? Had James had any say in this? Where would the wedding leave Mary and Francis when they returned to Scotland?

Finally, Catherine let out a sigh, as though Mary's question was merely a mild irritation to her. "Francis has to stay for another night here in France," said Catherine, her expression unreadable.

"And why is that?" Mary asked her with folded arms as she tried to keep her voice level while trying not to sound like a petulant child. The wave of disappointment that ran through her took her by surprise. It struck her that she did not want to return to Scotland without Francis, not after what had just happened between them.

"His father thinks it would be beneficial for him to attend the Diplomat's Ball at the castle tonight," Catherine told her, still giving nothing away in her expression or her tone of voice. "Francis's appearance may help to soothe a few diplomatic relations in France that seem to have been neglected since your…television show began," she finished with a look of distaste. "And of course, duty will always come first for a future king…"

Mary rolled her eyes. From what she had seen in gossip magazines, the Diplomat's Ball mainly consisted of the rich and famous of Europe showing up on the red carpet outside 'Chateau Valois' so that the tabloids could speculate on all of the current celebrity romances and judge everybody's outfits. Mary really couldn't see why it was so important for Francis to attend.

"Of course," said Catherine, "you are welcome to stay and attend the event with Francis…" Her tone of voice suggested that Mary would not be welcome at all. "But it seems you may have more…urgent business to attend to back home…"

She inclined her head in the direction of the news article.

Catherine had deliberately placed that article on the table, Mary realised. The queen had wanted her to see it today. She was happy for an excuse to get Mary out of the way in time for tonight's ball.

Catherine was definitely up to something, but Mary knew that she could not wait any longer to return to Scotland. Whatever had happened back home to bring about this early wedding, her brother needed her. Her mother needed her…

Mary felt a fresh wave of dread as a new thought occurred to her-had her mother's condition got worse? Was her older brother's coronation imminent? Was that why he needed to be married this week? So that he and Kenna could project a stable image of a king and a queen, ready to rule their country? Was everything about to change in Scotland?

Mary knew that she must return home, and soon. For perhaps the first time in her life, the pull of duty felt stronger than the need to settle petty scores with French rivals.

"You must promise me that Francis will return to Scotland tomorrow," she told Catherine through gritted teeth. The idea that the queen would try some new devious tactic to keep Francis away from Scotland was making her feel physically sick.

Catherine didn't answer her. She started walking in slow circles around the room, picking up the newspaper article to examine it along the way.

As she walked past Mary, she stopped and looked her up and down. "That dress really suits you," she muttered, a tone of surprise in her voice, as though she had only just noticed that Mary was wearing the pink dress that she had left for her as a 'gift'.

Mary said nothing. She watched Catherine suspiciously, like she was a tiger who could pounce at any moment. Yet for a moment, an oddly maternal expression seemed to cross Catherine's face. Mary was reminded of the Catherine of her childhood, who would watch her and Francis with a fond expression on her face.

"It's not easy, having a son who is an heir to the throne of such a powerful country," Catherine told her with a sigh. "Especially when that son could potentially marry a princess from a rival country…"

Mary frowned, unsure where Catherine was going with this little speech.

"Oh, it's easy for Henry, of course," Catherine continued as she picked up her pacing around the room. "But what security is there for me, after my husband is gone? No regency, no defined role…Can you imagine the humiliation of being turfed out of my own home by a daughter-in-law from a weaker country…"

Mary watched her for a few moments, trying not to let the surprise show on her face. Was this a rare moment of vulnerability from the queen?

"I will not throw you out of your home," said Mary. If that was what all of this was about, then perhaps the problem could be resolved.

"The first thing you will learn if you are handed a throne," said Catherine, her expression harsh again, "is that not all promises can be kept. Circumstances change; sacrifices have to be made; pieces have to be moved around on the chessboard. Your brother knows that all to well," she added with another nod in the direction of the news story. There was almost a hint of pity in her tone. "Do not make promises that you have no power to keep."

With that, she turned on her heel and started to head out of the room.

Just before she left, Mary heard her say, "I will ensure that Francis is back in Scotland by tomorrow."

Yet, after Catherine's speech about broken promises, Mary wasn't sure that she could put any faith in the queen's words.

Everything seemed to happen in slow motion as several members of Catherine and Henry's team of staff helped Mary to pack her belongings for her return to Scotland.

This time, Mary was not lost in happy haze of post-kissing joy; she struggled to focus as she thought about the newspaper article announcing James's upcoming wedding, and all the royal duties she would no doubt have to undertake over the next few days.

For many reasons, Mary had never warmed to the idea of James and Kenna as husband and wife. A part of her had hoped that the ceremony would be put off for as long as possible; that maybe it would take years before they all had to face the reality of it, but it seemed that Mary couldn't run from reality any longer.

And of course, where would the wedding preparations leave the matchmaking show?

Then, Mary thought about Catherine's announcement that Francis would staying in France for another night. Mary didn't trust the queen, and she wondered what her true motivation was in getting her son to stay behind…

In what seemed like no time at all, Mary was heading down the stone steps at the front of the castle, heading in the direction of the car that was waiting to take her to the airport.

She couldn't help glancing over her shoulder as the large front doors started to close behind her. She thought about how much had changed during her short stay at the French castle; she thought about all of the secrets she had discovered-some of them good, some of them bad.

The doors seemed to close with a very final-sounding slam. A part of her wondered if she would ever see the inside of the castle again.

Still looking over her shoulder, Mary couldn't help noticing that both Catherine and Henry were looking out of the castle windows-looking down on her; watching her…

"Mary!"

Mary stopped on her way to the car at the unmistakable sound of Francis's voice.

She turned around in time to see Francis running towards her, still looking a little dishevelled. It seemed his royal staff had not had the time to dress him up for this departure. Mary felt a strange flood of relief wash through her. She hadn't even been sure that Francis would say goodbye to her today.

He reached out to take her hands as he approached. He still looked a little nervous to be around her, and the idea made Mary blush, too. "Mary," he whispered, now that they were standing close to one another. "I'm so sorry I can't go back to Scotland with you today…" He really sounded like he meant it, too.

"Francis, it's fine," said Mary, although she definitely didn't feel fine. This last-minute change of plans felt very unfair, especially when Mary knew that she would be returning to face a very difficult week. Since their kiss, Mary had felt an unfamiliar but overwhelming need to keep Francis Valois by her side.

Yet, as Catherine would say, as a royal, it was not her place to complain-duty would always come first for royalty. If she married Francis, she would have to get used to him not always being there for her when she needed him.

"I heard about your brother's wedding," said Francis in another whisper. His voice might have sounded soft, sympathetic, but still Mary felt her body snap back to high alert at those words. She was already dreading her first encounter with James when she got back. "I'll take a flight back to Scotland tomorrow," he said. His words sounded almost like a promise.

Mary studied Francis's face. His expression looked sincere. Mary could only hope that he would keep to his word; that nobody would intervene and force him to break this promise.

Francis must have noticed the pained look on her face, because he seemed to be scrambling for a change of subject. He looked her up and down, smiling a little.

Mary had decided not to change out of her pink dress for the flight home. The castle's staff had offered her several more practical outfits to change into, but Mary had refused them. She hadn't been able to bring herself to change out of the dress that she had worn during her first kiss with Francis.

For a moment, Francis's eyes lingered on the ribbon tied around Mary's neck-it seemed that the key, the ring and the house charm were now fully visible-and his expression clouded. His eyes remained fixed for a little while on the wooden ring, his expression suggesting that he recognised it from somewhere…but then he seemed to regain his composure. "You look beautiful," said Francis, and Mary couldn't help but smile when she saw that he looked a little flustered.

Without thinking about it, Mary made the first move and took a step closer to Francis so that she could be the one to initiate a kiss this time. She needed to feel his lips on hers again, one more time before they departed.

Luckily, Francis kissed her back.

Mary felt a small thrill at the thought that the king and queen were probably witnessing this moment from the castle windows.

Everything would be twice as complicated now that she and Francis had added kissing into the mix, Mary was well aware of this fact, but still she couldn't help but enjoy the moment.

Finally, they broke apart. Sadly, Mary felt like the kiss only made it harder to walk away. Still, she tried her best to keep her head held high as she took the final steps towards the car. She would have to accept the consequences of sharing kisses with an heir to a throne.

As the car began its slow journey down the driveway, Mary couldn't help glancing back several times to look at Francis, who was still standing by the doors, watching her go.

She tried to ignore the fact that Henry was still standing at the first-floor window, smirking at her as she left. His expression suggested that he had some sort of nasty surprise up his sleeve for when she got back home. Mary sighed. Perhaps it was not Catherine who she should be worried about after all.

Mary sat by herself on the private jet as it made its way across the skies back to her home country.

In the relative privacy of the far corner of the plane, Mary was finally alone with her thoughts again for a little while.

In spite of her worries about James, and Kenna, and Francis, Mary couldn't help getting lost in her memories as she stared out of the window of the private jet. She allowed herself to fall back into the memory of the day under the tree with the white petals, back when she and Francis were children-a memory that had only opened up to her after her kiss with Francis.

In her mind, she kept walking through the trees on that same day during her childhood. Now that the memory had opened up to her, she was starting to see everything more clearly.

Later that day, she had been heading back towards the castle when she had stumbled upon her mother lying on the ground, unconscious among the trees. Her mother must have been out in the grounds, looking for Mary and Francis, perhaps to tell them that dinner was about to be served, before she had collapsed. Mary hadn't known it back then, but that moment had marked the beginning of the long illness that her mother would have to face for many years.

Mary remembered how she had been so frightened at the time, seeing her mother like that. That was why the memory of that particular day had closed itself off to her; she had been so traumatised by what she had seen in the moments after her time with Francis.

It was painful, even in the present moment, to relive that memory, but now Mary felt strangely in control, facing her memories head on. She finally felt like she had a clearer picture of her past.

For the last few minutes of the flight, she allowed herself to get lost in happier memories-kissing Francis under the tree with the petals falling gently on their heads; dancing with Francis in Paris; proposing to Francis as a child-she had loved him back then, of course she had, how could she have forgotten?

The skies were grey when the plane touched down on Scottish soil. Mary couldn't help thinking that this was strangely fitting.

Then there was barely any time to think as Mary was rushed from the plane across the airfield and to a waiting car as the rain started to pour down.

As the car made its way back through the Scottish countryside in the direction of the castle, Mary noticed that extra police cars and moody-looking security guards were lining the streets, adding to the general gloomy atmosphere. It seemed that Scotland had stepped up its security. The whole country seemed to be preparing itself for some sort of battle.

Mary hadn't exactly expected a welcome-back party, but the castle felt strangely empty when she arrived.

She dismissed her team of staff from their duties for the day and then she walked aimlessly through the corridors for a while, trying to look for any clues about upcoming events in Scotland. Yet she was greeted only by empty rooms and an almost deafening silence.

Eventually, Mary gave up and headed to her bedroom. She decided that she was only imagining the sound of footsteps and whispers that seemed to follow her all the way to her room.

Her room looked exactly as she had left it. It was almost as though it had no clue how much had changed over the past few days.

Still, there was something warm and comforting about being back in a familiar place, especially when Mary noticed that the castle's team of staff had left tea and snacks for her on the little wooden table in the centre of the room.

With a shrug, she sat down at the table and started to pour herself a cup of tea.

Mary had just helped herself to a slice of cake when she was startled by the sound of knocking on the door.

Mary looked up from her plate of food, half expecting her brother to be at the door, but to her surprise, when the door opened, it was her mother standing in the doorway.

"Mary," the queen of Scotland greeted her with a curt nod.

Mary sat still in silence, taking in the queen's appearance. Her mother looked weak, and frail. Her complexion was pale, and she was definitely losing weight. She even seemed a little unsteady on her feet as she walked towards the table in the middle of the room.

Mary was tempted to cry out, "Mother, you are not well!" but she knew that the queen wouldn't appreciate a comment like that. Still, Mary continued to watch her mother suspiciously as she sat down at the empty seat opposite Mary at the table. Her mother hardly ever showed up at her room for a friendly chat.

"How was France?" her mother asked her.

Mary had just started to launch into a robotic-sounding response about French royalty and royal protocol when her mother held up a hand to interrupt her.

"No, Mary," said her mother, her tone somehow both gentle and firm, "I mean how was France?"

Mary frowned at her in confusion for a few moments. Was her mother genuinely taking an interest in her visit to France?

"I discovered that the country is more beautiful than I first thought," said Mary with a shrug, unsure if that was the kind of answer that her mother was looking for. She wasn't used to sharing personal stories with her family. Then she talked for a few minutes about the trip to Paris.

Luckily, the queen nodded as Mary spoke. She seemed satisfied with her answer.

"I was thinking," said her mother, after a few seconds' pause, "perhaps you should take a day off from royal duties tomorrow?"

Mary frowned at her, narrowing her eyes in suspicion. Her mother was not known to be generous with giving days off.

The queen ignored Mary's suspicious expression. "After all, you must be exhausted after your visit to France. And we both know how busy the rest of the week will be in the run up to your brother's wedding. I've heard your friend Greer with be in town for a little while tomorrow. You could go out and spend some time with her, and take an afternoon in the castle for yourself, to relax; prepare yourself for James and Kenna's wedding ceremony…"

In spite of her misgivings, Mary nodded in agreement. The idea of spending time with Greer and being excused from royal duties for a day was just too tempting. But still, she couldn't help wondering-was her mother allowing her the time off as a reward for doing her duty in France, or was she trying to push Mary into the background, to keep the focus on James for the foreseeable future?

Mary was about to ask her mother for more details when she noticed that her mother was watching her closely, almost like she was studying her, trying to work something out...

"What has changed about you?" her mother finally asked her.

Mary looked down at herself, almost as though she could find some sort of clue to enable her to answer her mother's question.

"Nothing has changed about me," Mary insisted. Surely her time away in France had not changed her, had it?

Her mother didn't look convinced. She didn't push Mary any further, but she continued to watch Mary through narrowed eyes for the next few minutes as they made small talk about the weather and Mary's flight home from France. Mary was grateful that her mother didn't ask where Francis was. Perhaps she already had her suspicions that Francis wouldn't be returning.

Finally, her mother left her alone.

Mary knew that she should feel tired after a long couple of days in France, but she felt too restless to take a nap.

For a little while, she paced up and down the room, driving herself crazy with thoughts about Francis, and what he was doing now, and thoughts about her mother, who looked so ill, and her worries about James. What must have been going through his head, when he made the decision to get married at the weekend?

Unable to take the pacing any longer, Mary headed over to her desk. She found her sketch book with its blue cover and its red heart in one of the desk drawers and she opened it up to a blank page.

She started to sketch, her hand working faster than her mind-it was as though a part of her was desperate to put her inner thoughts on paper.

She ended up sketching a picture of herself as she had looked on the night of the attack on the French castle two years ago-wearing her Venetian mask and a black dress and heavy makeup; disguised, mysterious, a smug look on her face that suggested that she knew something that others didn't. It was almost painful for Mary, to sketch a portrait of herself as she was on that night, knowing now the event that lay ahead, but there was something almost cathartic about it, too.

She made a few final adjustments to the sketch, so that she was standing with her hands held up in the air, like a bird in flight…

It was the perfect portrait of a rebel, Mary realised as she held the sketch away from herself and surveyed it.

Mary hadn't planned on adding another sketch to her book after she had finished, but when she noticed the blank piece of paper next to her most recent picture, her hand seemed to act of its own accord and suddenly, she was creating a whole new picture…

She ended up sketching a picture of herself wearing a white lace dress and a tiara. Her hair was up, and there was an almost regal expression on her face. She had a look of her mother, and of James.

In this portrait, Mary was looking out into the distance, as though she was imagining a brighter future; as though she knew exactly what she was doing.

Mary blinked in surprise a few times as she surveyed the finished sketch. Where had that image come from?

Then she looked from one image to the other.

The rebel and the princess. No, the rebel and the queen. Were these true representations of herself? Could she be both? Was the moment about to arrive when she would have to choose between one or the other? Would she have to decide who she really was?

With a sigh, Mary closed her sketch book and locked it away again using the key that she wore around her neck. She wasn't ready. She wasn't sure if she would ever be ready.

She spent the rest of the afternoon sitting at her window seat with the old, frayed patchwork quilt that she and James had once sewn together wrapped around her body for warmth.

She had a clear view of the royal grounds from the window. She watched as Lola and Narcisse walked through the gardens. Mary could tell from their body language and their tense expressions that they were in the middle of an argument.

Finally, Lola stalked away from Narcisse, throwing her arms up in the air as she went in apparent frustration, while Narcisse hurried off in the opposite direction.

After that, James and Kenna appeared in the gardens, closely followed by a woman carrying a clipboard who was clearly one of their wedding planners. Mary leaned forward a little, trying to get a closer look at her brother.

James definitely seemed to be putting on a brave face, as he nodded politely while the woman with the clipboard pointed at various parts of the grounds, clearly helping them to plan for a pre-wedding party (an event that was traditionally held in the royal grounds), but Mary noticed that his expression soon soured whenever Kenna and their wedding planner looked away from him.

Every now and again, James seemed to glance in the direction of the wall at the far end of the gardens. It was almost as though a part of him was contemplating jumping over it and fleeing. Mary knew that feeling all too well. She thought about everything that Henry had revealed to her about her brother; all the secrets that he had kept hidden from her for so long. Had James really tried to remove himself from the line of succession a few years ago, or had Henry just been bluffing? Had Mary's mother really refused him, on the grounds that Mary would not be a viable alternative as queen, as Henry had seemed to imply?

Kenna also seemed to be playing her part. She walked around the grounds with her arms linked with James's, smiling up at him whenever any members of staff walked past and glanced at the two of them. But, from a distance above them, Mary could see that Kenna kept looking over her shoulder at Bash, who was working outside, whenever she thought that nobody was watching.

As Mary watched, she felt that all too familiar feeling of emptiness, and loneliness. Thoughts of Francis filled her head.

"I want him to come back to me," she heard herself muttering as she leaned against the glass window, with raindrops gently trickling down the glass pane outside. Mary jumped. Those words both surprised and terrified her.

In the end, she made herself get ready for bed. She pulled her bed covers around herself and fell into a restless sleep.

The next morning, Mary was woken up by the sound of angry shouts that seemed to be coming from outside.

Slowly, she sat up in her bed, feeling a little disorientated.

She blinked a few times and then stared in the direction of the window. She had left it open before she went to bed, and now she could hear the distant sounds of an argument coming from outside.

She could make out the sound of two male voices, and she could hear them both shouting what sounded like accusations at one another.

Mary couldn't possibly have known what the argument was about, but still a part of her feared the worst.

Cautiously, Mary got up out of bed and took slow steps towards the window.

The moment she looked out the window to see what was going on, she felt like her whole body had frozen to the spot in horror…

Francis had returned to Scotland after all, but Mary had no time to feel joy, or relief.

She had arrived at her bedroom window just in time to see Francis throw a punch at Bash.