Francis fell asleep eventually, but it didn't turn out a peaceful rest. When his mother had led him back to his chambers, they had passed dozens of servants, knights,… everyone seemed to be on their feet despite the late hour. Obviously, the French court was not yet ready for their guest, so how was he supposed to be prepared?

Mary Stuart. The name sounded beautiful, wild, and strong. Everything he himself was not, Francis realized when he looked at his reflection in the window. The wind that had held back at night now roared around the castle, chasing clouds and seabirds over the grey sky.
"Francis!" His mother stood at the door. She too was beautiful and strong – and sometimes, Francis knew, she could be cruel. To others, however, not to him or his younger sister. "You look tired. Bash shouldn't have kept you awake for so long."
The queen's eyes wandered up and down, examining every inch of her precious son. By daylight, dim as it might be, Nostradamus' words held less of a threat than they had at night. Of course, Mary would change her son – a man never forgot his first woman, no matter how many he had afterwards, no matter how powerful they made him. Catherine had learned that the hard way with Diane de Poitiers. Not only was that bitch still getting richer, her son had a permanent lodging in the castle. Bash lived right at his future king's side, and Francis downright adored his bastard brother. He had a heart of gold, that boy of hers, in a world where stealth was needed.
"He didn't!" The prince shook his head. "I came looking for him because… I couldn't sleep." He forced himself, as he had seen Bash doing it hours ago, to hold his mother's astonished glance. "I was scar… nervous about today." He swallowed, and for a moment, Catherine's knees went weak with the urge to embrace her son, hide him beneath her skirts so he would never get hurt. He was so young! Six years and already too stubborn to admit he was scared, even to his own mother. He shouldn't be forced to marry that child from Scotland, a child just like him. There were more princesses out there to be wed one day, why on earth had Henry chosen the one whose life was in constant danger and who made Nostradamus stop seeing Francis' future?
"Mother?" Francis looked at his reflection once more. "Do you think she will like me?" Bash's reassurance had helped, but then again, Bash was not royal, not a girl. What did he know about the taste of queens?
"Of course she will!" Catherine shook her head. "Why wouldn't she? Let's go and greet her." With a wink she turned around and led him and her ladies-in-waiting to the courtyard, relieved to see her son's smile returning – and utterly unaware that the reason for said smile was not so much self-confidence but the fact that she had chosen the same words Bash had used last night. One day, Francis promised himself silently, he would tell them – tell them that they were more alike than they knew, and that he needed them to be friends. They would listen to him, eventually. They would have to – he would be their king.

He was still thinking about his glorious future when the royal carriage opened. An elder woman stepped out and then turned back to reach into the dim cabin, ready to help her queen.
Queen. For a short moment, Francis panicked. He was only a prince, he had no idea what to do – did she even speak French? Surely his teachers had told him that, but he couldn't remember… couldn't remember what to say or how to move. Did he have to kneel? Was he allowed to touch her, and did he have to kiss her hand (he hated that)? Francis looked down, praying not for the first time that he'd become invisible. Somebody else should do this, somebody like Bash. He wouldn't lose his head over a carriage.

"Wow!" Claude gasped. "She's… she's so beautiful. Francis, you lucky bastard." Catherine clicked her tongue and threw her an icy glance, but the princess' eyes were glued to the carriage. Francis still refused to look up. What if Mary thought he was ugly? Or stupid? What if…
"Step forward", their mother ordered quietly, "take her hand and lead her to your father. She's under his protection but she'll be your responsibility."
Definitely rather a task for Bash! Francis swallowed. He had never been responsible for anything before!
But one day he would be responsible for a whole kingdom. The thought didn't feel as glorious now as it had only moments ago.

Then finally he looked up, just as the nurse let go of her queen. For a heartbeat, Mary stood alone on French ground, then Francis stumbled towards her, his mouth hanging open.
She looked like an angel. Only... less severe and more beautiful.
Without thinking, he sank down on one knee. "Welcome in France, your majesty."
The girl stared at him, and Francis knew she was as terrified as he had been only seconds ago. Before he had seen her face. It was impossible to look at her and not be happy, somehow. "Don't be afraid", he added, as princely as he could, "we will take care of you."
Mary frowned. "I'm not afraid" she answered pointedly. "You promised you'd keep me safe before."
"I know! I just wanted to say… I mean to keep that promise." Francis cursed himself silently. Take her hand and lead her to your father. Why had he even opened his mouth?
"Oh." Mary quickly looked at her nurse, then bit her lips and smiled. "Thank you then, your… g…"
"Francis. I mean, your grace is alright, I guess. Or just… call me Francis, your majesty." Bash would laugh his head off when he'd tell him about the events.
Again, the queen of Scotland smiled but to Francis' surprise, it seemed genuine now. "Only if you call me Mary."
"Really?"
"Really." She reached out and Francis proudly placed her hand on his arm to lead her towards the king. If it wasn't for Claude's barely suppressed grin, it would have been a perfect moment.

"Francis! What you're doing here?"
"Shh!" He beckoned his brother to be quiet as he stepped close, following the younger's glance through the slightly ajar door to Mary's chambers.
"Francis!" Bash stared at the dauphin in shock. "You can't spy on your fiancée! You can't spy on anyone, what are you thinking?"
"But I'm not spying!" Tears bloomed up in Francis' eyes, it was obvious that thought hadn't even entered his mind. "I just want to know if she's okay! Mother just sent me away when they started unpacking. But she said Mary's my responsibility so I have to make sure she's alright."
"I understand." Soothingly, Bash patted his brother's hair. "Take my advice; start with knocking at the door."
Francis nodded, took a deep breath and then quickly marched towards the door. When he reached out, he turned back. "Bash?"
"Yes?"
"Don't tell her!"
"Of course not." Bash winked. "I wouldn't want your future bride to be angry with your from the beginning." When his younger brother frowned, he added, more serious, "she's away from home for the first time, at a place where she hardly knows anyone. Give her some time."
"Do you think she feels lonely?" The lines on Francis' face deepened. "How do you know so much about her?"
"I don't", Bash smiled tiredly. "But I know how it feels to… be foreign." He had meant to say more, but not today. Probably never.
"I don't want you to be lonely." As usual, Francis had a way of looking past the bastard's mask as if it wasn't there. Sometimes it felt good, but sometimes it was exhausting. "I'm not lonely, Francis. I have father, and sometimes my mother. I have Claude… even if that's not helpful, and I have you."
"And you'll always have me", Francis assured, "I promise. I won't let you be lonely ever again."
"Good." Bash winked. "And now go and tell her fiancée just that. And knock before you enter!"