They didn't talk about Bash attending the festivities again – but when she found Francis at the gates, staring south for the fifth time on the day before Christmas Eve, Mary realized he was still counting on his mother to have mercy with the bastard. Or had been counting, judging from the tears in his eyes.
"Maybe you should talk to your mother. Make her send a fast rider so he can be with us… at least for the turn of the year."
"She won't."
"Are you sure?" Mary frowned. "I knew I said it wouldn't help to ask, but maybe… if she sees how much you miss him, and how I miss him and your father, and – and Claude." She couldn't help the testiness in her voice. Her sister-in-law-to-be proved less regal with every day. A few days after the Condé boys had left, she had thrown such a tantrum that Queen Catherine had banned her from her own chambers and had sent her – to Mary. And while it was nice not to be alone at night, it was exhausting to be around Claude at day. From the instant she woke up, she was talking – about nothing important, sometimes not even to herself, as if the only thing that mattered was to drown the silence. A silence Mary had also feared but now desperately missed.

Francis tried to smile. "She can be challenging, I know. But she has a heart of gold. Just like you." He swallowed, and Mary added: "Just like Bash. And you." She had hoped for a smile at that, but Francis' expression was still somber.
"Try it! Ask her, she loves you, she won't want you to suffer that way…"
"I already did!" Francis cried, exasperated. „I asked her, twice before. And a third time this morning. She almost sent me away, too!"
"Really? Why?"
"I don't know." He shook his head, sounding defeated now. "She murmured something about blackmailing, I didn't really understand. But what I heard loud and clear was that if I mentioned Bash's name once again, she would send me into the woods to go searching for him, and that I wouldn't be allowed to come back before next year."
"Yes, but you she wouldn't do that, don't you." Mary pouted. This was a new side of her foster mother, one that absolutely didn't fit with her experiences from the past months. Catherine was not easily angered, or if she was, she knew how to hide it. The only time Mary had seen and felt her rage was after Francis had almost drowned – and then it had been more than justified in Mary's eyes. The nightmares came less frequently by now, but some nights she would still wake up screaming, haunted by Francis' pale, still face. Needless to say that Claude wasn't happy about it.

"I'm not so sure anymore." Francis leant against the wall. "I've never seen her like this. I don't want her to be angry."
"Seriously?" Mary looked at him. „You're the heir of France. She can't just send you into the woods, you could die out there!"
As soon as the words were out she regretted them. That was a new nightmare to come. It was so easy to die. So incredibly easy.
Francis shook his head. "I'm not talking about the queen of France now, Mary." His voice was hard with anger. "I'm talking about my mother. I love her and I don't want her to be unhappy, and I don't want to be the heir of France to her, I'm her son!"
"The son who is the heir of France. Why can't you stop sulking about that?" She rolled her eyes. In the end, Claude wasn't half as annoying as her brother. Francis' perspective of his destiny, of his duty was so different to hers that Mary sometimes wondered how her mother could have agreed to their marriage. Catherine's children – while sure, they had hearts of gold, both of them – were still only that, children, full of themselves and naïve. Mary could excuse that in Claude, but hardly in the boy who was going to be husband.

"I'm not sulking, you just don't get the difference between a queen and a mother."
"Because there is no difference! She is one person."
"Not always! She can choose who to-"
"Of course always!" Mary cried, fighting the sudden urge to throw the prince down the wall. She was trying so hard to become a good queen, a strong and hard and clever regent, and Francis was just… not. And still everyone respected and loved him. Rage mixed with longing and suddenly, Mary felt tears in her eyes that she angrily bit back. Why was it so easy for Francis to be loved? And why did it feel as if nobody loved her?
"And speaking about choice" she was proud of how cold her voice sounded, "don't think for a moment that the queen would choose her son above the prince. You're important only because you will reign one day."
She had meant to hurt Francis but he only shrugged. His voice was even colder than hers: "Don't you think for a moment you know anything about family. Or reigning, for that matter."
Without as much as a look back, he left the wall.
Mary remained frozen, unable to hold back her tears now that nobody was watching. Nobody – because she was alone, lonely in a big castle filled with people. Now they were even more, more cooks and more servants to decorate the rooms; Catherine had promised her that everything would look so fabulous nobody could feel anything but cheerful. Claude had laughed at that promise, a laughter that proved her Henry's daughter – but while it sounded strong and proud with the king, coming from a little girl's mouth it sounded… well, Mary wouldn't have said "crazy" like Francis had, his eyes wide with disgust, but silently she had agreed with him. Now, however, she felt a similar laughter bubbling in her throat – a laughter born by the need not to cry. That it hadn't worked for Mary now was only another sign of how – "France will never, never be home." She whispered it into the cold air, wondering where the words would be carried to. Would her mother hear them?
"I can't be with these people. I don't belong here. They are stupid. And mean. And-" She clenched her fists to stop sobbing. "I will never be happy in France. And therefore, Scotland will never be happy with France."

"Well, let's hope that is not true. Although I admit it doesn't look as fabulous as I had planned."
Gasping, Mary turned around and bowed awkwardly, careful not to step on her coat. "Your majesty."
"My dear Mary." Catherine sighed. "I just saw my son running downstairs, fuming. But of course he wouldn't tell me what happened. Can you enlighten me?"
Mary bit her lips. "I… we were… we had a disagreement."
"You don't say." For a moment, the motherly mask slipped away and showed the queen's frustration, then she smiled again. "Well, at least you keep each other's promises. You trust each other. That's a good start. One of the most important values in a marriage – if not the most important – is that you can trust each other. Always. Do you understand?"
With her lips still pressed tightly shut, Mary nodded. She did understand, and that was the problem: She couldn't trust Francis! Not with her country, not even with his own life, given how careless he was.

"Good." This time, the smile was honest. Catherine reached for her foster daughter's hand. "Then tell me your biggest wish for Christmas. Maybe we can work some miracles."
"My… I don't know, your majesty, I…" Mary stopped dead in her tracks. Was it a trick? A way of testing her obedience? For of course, there was something she wished for, now more than ever, actually, and it would surely be a gift not only for Mary but for the others, too.
"Yes? Say it. Don't be afraid. Quality has its price, but you three are our future. And, more important now, you are my children. All of you. And there is nothing I wouldn't do for my children. So tell me, what do you want?"

"Mary?" His voice was so soft she almost overheard it. "Can I come in? I won't bother you for a long time."
"Come in!", Claude cried before Mary could answer, and ran towards her brother. "It's boring in here. What are we going to do? Can we steal some sweets from the kitchen? I want to-"
"What is it, Francis?" Cutting Claude off was the only way. Mary had learned that the hard way months ago so she didn't feel uncomfortable as she nodded for her fiancé to sit. "You seem happier than this morning."
"This morning where I said a lot of things I shouldn't have said", Francis answered, holding his little sister close but looking at Mary, with that look in his eyes that made her want to be his friend again, always, after every fight they had. Normally, she tried to keep her distance but it was Christmas. Why not make peace?
"I too should… not have said everything I said", she offered slowly. To her surprise, Francis' face lit up. "Well, whatever you said to my mother afterwards, it worked. He'll be here by nightfall."
"Seriously?" Mary jumped up. „He-„
„Yes, I can't believe it myself. He's so close, yet… she really didn't want him to come. But you made her change her mind, Mary. Thank you. Really." He reached for her hand and squeezed it gently.
She couldn't help but smile back at him. "I didn't really do it for you, you know. Not only."
"Fair enough." Francis laughed. „But he's going to sleep in my chamber, not yours."
Mary frowned. "You don't really think that."
„Who are you talking about?" Claude looked from one to the other. "Père Noel is coming tonight? But what is he-"
„Not Père Noel, Claude." Francis was used to interrupting his sister by now. "Better."
„Better than Christmas?" She stared at her brother as if he was a ghost. Or a complete simpleton, which no doubt he was in her eyes.
Francis winked at Mary. "Should we tell her?"
She shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe-"
„Wait." Claude turned around and looked Mary straight in the eye, and for a moment Mary thought to see herself in the younger girl's eyes: for a moment, there was no princess, no egotism or arrogance, no second thought. She was just a girl missing and hoping for her family. "Really?" she asked, almost shyly.
Mary nodded. "It seems like it, yes." She looked at Francis, wanting to make sure they were really thinking the same.
Francis smiled. "Yes. Don't ask me how Mary did it, but Bash will be home for Christmas."