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"Let's get back inside! It's freezing!"
"But it's just beginning to snow!" Claude pouted. "And if you moved a little faster, you wouldn't be freezing that much." She raised her hands towards the pale sky, waiting for the flakes. "I like snow."
"I like it, too – yes, I do." Mary sighed at the princess' incredulous frown. "But we still shouldn't be outside, dressed as we are. I don't want you to catch a cold."
"You're not my mother!"
Everyone turned around at the outburst, and Mary blushed. "Please, Claude", she said quietly, "we can come back later but we really should go and warm ourselves up a bit."
"But I'm really not freezing! You can go alone if you want!"
"Ladies, can I help you?" In mock superiority, Francis stepped between the two girls. "It seems we have a disagreement here."
"Yes, we have. Your fiancée thinks she can order me around."
"I was never ordering you, I just…" Mary bit her lips to keep from yelling. Or crying. Arguing with Claude made no sense. Especially when she was right, and this time, she was. It wasn't that cold yet – but Francis was already trembling. He would never admit it in front of the girls, but it was obvious – to her, at least – that he was longing for the warmth of the castle.
"Are you cold, Mary?" He looked at her with actual concern, and Mary bit her lips harder. Since they had almost drowned, she felt guilty whenever she looked at the boy. After seemingly endless weeks, Francis had left his chambers and strolled around again, but by then summer was almost over. Studying had begun again, and the fighting lessons had shown the prince's lack of training and his weakness. Bash, always the stronger one, had stopped fighting with him, not because of Catherine but because the sudden difference in skill and power was too much for both brothers to bear.
And then, two weeks ago, Francis had caught a slight fever again. Nobody knew where it had come from, and Nostradamus had driven it out after a few days, but it was another proof that the heir of France was not fully restored.
And when she had noticed Catherine whispering to Nostradamus, her eyes filled with dread, the thought had crept into Mary's head that perhaps Francis was never to be the same again.
It was all her fault.
And he seemed determined not to see it that way.

"I… yes. A little bit." It was a lie as well, and everything inside her cringed at it. If her mother heard her now, she'd think her daughter was weak.
"Do you want my coat?"
Mary didn't know whether to cry or to laugh. How hard could it be to get Francis out of the cold? Why was he so keen on dying?
Or was he mocking her? Was this his way of payback, to remind her how endangered her life was, thanks to her?
"Mary?"
"Maybe her lips are frozen and now she can't talk", Claude suggested. "Will you help me build a snowman, Francis? Please!"
„If we go in, you'll come with us, Claude", he said firmly, without looking at her. His eyes were still on Mary, confused, concerned and so utterly innocent it hurt. Of course, it was no payback. If she had learnt only one thing about the boy who was to be her husband one day, it was that he always played fair. There was nothing of Claude's spitefulness in him, nothing of the harshness Bash sometimes wore.
He was unbearably good-hearted sometimes.

"Majesty?" One of the ladies in waiting offered a fur-lined shawl. Mary pressed her lips together. She had only tried to save Francis' health and his dignity, and now she was about to lose her own? That wouldn't happen. Not for him, not for anyone.
"No thanks", she said, holding her fiancé's glance easily, "I'm alright. Claude, let's build a snowman!"
"Really?" The little girl beamed.
"Really!"

Later on, all three of them would swear not to have thrown the first snowball – and probably neither of them was lying, because suddenly Marcus, Antoine and Louis Condé were amidst them. The heirs of Navarra, king Henry's nephews, had arrived only yesterday with their mother, and would leave before Christmas. A short and cold-hearted visitation from their parents' side, but that didn't hinder the children from enjoying their time together.
"Three against three, each groups gets one of the girls", Antoine suggested, his eyes blazing.
Francis looked at Mary. "Alright", he said after a moment, "I'll take Mary, you get my sister. Whom of your brothers do you want?"
"Marcus." The answer came so fast that Louis, abandoned by his elder brother, gritted his teeth in anger. Francis and Mary exchanged a quick look. "Great", Francis said enthusiastically, "we're smaller, faster,… you don't stand a chance."
Mary nodded and smiled at the dark-haired boy who quickly had regained his composure. "It's an honor to fight at your side, majesty."
She giggled at the solemn language. In the past months, France had become her home, and Francis' family had become hers – except for Bash who was still more or less banished from everywhere Mary went. Apart from those fearful weeks in summer, when they had promised each other to protect the heir of France, Mary had rarely seen him, although he lived in the castle. But not even Bash called her "majesty" anymore.
"It's…" she wanted to say "Mary", but stopped herself when Francis shot her a glance. "Let's find a place where they close in on us" he said and started to run, causing Mary, silently cursing, to chase after him. So good-hearted, so fragile, and yet when he ran, Francis was invincible. At least to her. Louis didn't seem to have so much of a problem following up to his future king. They charged toward an artificial ruin (another French folly Mary would never understand. Why do you construct new things to look old?) without looking back while Claude was already leading the others to attack: Mary reached the two boys with snow on her back and shoulders, some flakes sliding past the fur and down her neck, causing goosebumps at once. "We need a tactic."
"Indeed we do", Francis grinned, then he looked closer at her and became serious. "But only if you're not freezing too much."
Seriously? Now he was mortifying her in front of his cousin?
"I'm fine." Her voice was almost as sharp as her mother's, Mary realized with a surge of longing – followed by even more rage, this time at herself. "I've been worrying about you, but if you don't care about your health, why should I?"

Silence followed her outburst, just long enough for Mary to regret her words. Then, thankfully, snow started to fly from two different sides. It was a simple method, but it worked – soon enough, there was only one corner for Francis, Louis and Mary to turn to. Obviously, Marcus and Antoine were throwing while Claude was providing them with new ammunition. Mary looked around. They were trapped, and there was not enough snow to fight their way out.
Louis knelt down and quickly shaped three, four, five snowballs. "Great tactic. We're dead."
"We won't die from this", Francis snapped, to both his cousin and his fiancée, and stepped out of the shelter. "Maybe if-"
A load of snow cut him off, thrown full force at his face, and almost took him off his feet.
"Francis!"
She was at his side immediately, leaving Louis to defend all three of them.
Not a great warrior, a familiar voice in her head commented sharply, but Mary ignored it. Her mother had said many things about how a king needed to be, and Mary had promised to keep them all in mind, but surely now was not the right time, was it? Then again – remember that you're a queen. Always. Every breath you take, you take it for your country as well as for yourself. Scotland lives in you, Mary, you are Scotland. No matter where you live.
"Shut up", Mary hissed angrily. Was that the truest memory she had from Marie de Guise? Not a loving mother but always a regent? Every letter was filled with advice and rules for her queen, even the last one! Christmas was near but it seemed as if her mother had forgotten about that.

"I didn't say anything", Francis protested, bringing Mary back to reality. Deeply ashamed at having spoken aloud, she pulled the elder boy to her feet. "Come on, we're-"
"Not yet losing", Louis called from behind her. "But I could use a little help!"
Without a word, Francis pushed past her and knelt next to his cousin. Staring at his enemies, he made fresh snowballs as fast as he could and handed them to Louis, who obviously was as good a thrower as his older brothers, if not better. Still, Mary knew as she knelt down behind them, their wet and cold defeat was only a matter of seconds.
"What do you think?" Francis started throwing again, hitting his little sister and, for the first time, showing no sign of remorse. "I say we hold as long as we can and Mary runs for a better shelter. We can't win."
"I won't leave you here! We're a team."
„Saving the queen, dying like a hero…" Louis acted as if he hadn't heard her. "Not a very original plan, your grace, but I will follow you." He threw a quick look back. "Are you ready to run?"
"No way!" Instead of handing the snowball she had just formed to Francis, Mary buried it in Louis' collar, making him cringe. "I said I will not leave you."
"But maybe you should", Francis mused, slowly drawing back and to the side, urging her out of the ruins and into the open width of the park. "Because if you don't, there'll be no one to avenge us."
"Avenging you won't bring you back! I have to take care of you now, not wait until you-"
"You don't have to take care of anything, Mary, that's my job! Remember? I'm gonna be king. I'm the one the army will listen to, not you!"
"But obviously you have no idea what you're doing!"
"Well at least I'm trying to save you, not sulk around for-"
"Shut up!" Louis cried out, exasperated. Then he quickly corrected himself. "Majesty. Your grace. Forgive me. But may I remind you we're not in real war today? It's just a game, as you can see, we're all… still pretty much alive. And I dare say we shall be alive once this-"
Whatever else he had meant to say was lost in two handfuls of snow Antoine had thrown at him. "Sorry, brother. Of course you're right. But that is no excuse for your language."
"Oh, I liked it." From behind them, Claude appeared, her gloves sticky and heavy with half-molten ice. "I'm just not so sure about the being-alive-thing." She knelt down and skidded fresh snow in her brother's direction, blinding Mary with snowflakes on the way. She closed her eyes, trying to shove the white mist away and hit Francis straight in the face. "Oh god, I'm sorry."
He smiled sheepishly, at all of them. „It's okay. I guess I needed that." He extended his hand to Louis. "Thanks for reminding me. And for trying to save my honor."
"Yours and the queen of Scotland's", Louis corrected. "Always."
„And congratulations to you, gentlemen." He bowed to Marcus and Antoine who, in turn, couldn't help but bow as well. "To your victory and to surviving my sister."
"Hey!" The girl pouted, then a smug smile appeared on her face. "You know what I'm going to do? I'm gonna tell Bash that you lost against me."
At once, Francis' smile was gone. "I hope you get a chance to do that", he said earnestly, then turned back to his cousins again. "Shall we get in now? I'd like to warm up a bit before the rematch."
Louis and Mary exchanged a quick look. "Rematch?", he mouthed, and she shrugged. Louis' eyes didn't leave hers as he asked, „same teams?"
"We'll see." Francis' voice was flat but this time Mary wasn't worried for his health. This kind of illness wasn't deadly, but it couldn't be cured either by medicine. Francis missed Bash. The king's bastard and his mother had been banned from court since late October, and would not return before Easter. Diane's pagan background had allowed the queen to send her and Bash away when All Saint's Day as well as All Hallow's Eve neared, and from there, it wasn't long until Christmas, and from there… But as it turned out, it was long – at least for Francis and Mary. She found herself missing the serious, kind older boy as well. Being around him made her feel much more comfortable than being around Claude, and sometimes it had felt even better than to be around Francis. Perhaps because she hadn't almost killed Bash so far.

"Is this your first Christmas without your brother?"
"What?" Francis, lost in thoughts, looked up to see his fiancée walking patiently beside him. "Oh… the first one I can remember. Diane was never at the feast, but… she's never banished Bash as well." He frowned. „I know his birth means my father has hurt her, but she shouldn't make my brother and me suffer for it."
"And me!"
"Indeed, and you. And Claude." For a moment, his face lit up. „Do you think if the three of us ask her to…" He stopped as he saw Mary's expression. "Perhaps you're right."
"She would only get angry", Mary said softly. „And I…" She shook her head.
"And you what?" Once again, Francis' glance was worried as it traveled over her face. Mary swallowed. "I'm thinking about Claude", she lied, "I don't want her to remember this Christmas as the days when her mother was so angry she didn't speak a word. That's a horrible memory!"
"I bet." Francis laughed. His eyes searched hers again but she stopped and looked back so he wouldn't see the shamed pride.
Claude was dancing beneath the grey sky. Snow had started to fall again, tiny flakes whirling around. The Condé boys had already reached the gate.
Francis sighed. "I hope they don't stay until Christmas."
"Why not? It wouldn't be so quiet, then."
"Quiet? How loud is it in Scotland, this time of the year?"
"I don't know. But… when you're having a feast, the more people there are, the better. And in Scotland, that's what Christmas Day is. A really big family dinner. And we don't let the fire go out all through the day." She frowned. "How is it here? Don't you eat together?"
"Eat? Oh yes, we do." Francis grinned. "I think you will like it."