He's back at the Louvre. He didn't fight back. My hand goes to my cheek and a sharp pain squeezes the side of my face. I stand up and check the mirror. Yes, it's bruised.

"Your Majesty."

Mrs. Wilson is standing in the doorway with a tray full of food, I frown at it, feeling like liquid.

"Give it to my ladies," I answer.

"They ate hours ago, Madam," she swallows, "Lady Greer and Lady Lola are embroidering in the garden."

"Ah."

My mind strays to Lola and her tears, and I realize how wicked I've been.

"How is Lady Kenna?" I ask.

"Lord Abernathy arrived this morning and they are," Mrs. Wilson pauses, "sword fighting."

I nod.

"Lady Aylee is entertaining Lady Abernathy," my housekeeper continues, "she arrived with her son and wanted to talk to you, but–"

Walking over to the window, I look for Greer and Lola. The two pink dresses on the lawn tell me they've settled out front.

"Majesty?"

"Yes?" I croak.

"Will you speak with Lady Abernathy?"

I really should. She's obviously here for a reason.

"She can come up to my meeting room," I decide, "I shall get ready."

Mrs. Wilson seems to be satisfied with that and sets down the tray. I put on my dressing robe and rinse my face. Then, I put my hair in a simple braid down my back and grab my slippers.

Lady Abernathy makes no attempt to hide her surprise when I arrive in very few layers, but she stands anyway and curtsies.

"Majesty, Queen Catherine sends her apologies–"

I grunt.

"Along with Nostradamus."

I freeze.

"The Dauphin has also sent you flowers."

I look at the vase on the table. Red roses. Pitiful. In a moment of anger, I knock over the vase, then I feel guilty. Lady Abernathy is suddenly not surprised.

"Your cheek, Madam," she reaches out, "may a mother's touch caress it?"

I let her, turning my head so that the green and blue blemish appears under the sun's full midday light.

"That monster," Lady Abernathy sprawls her hand out above the hand-shaped mark on my face, "no man should ever do such a thing."

My voice sounds gruff, "I agree."

Aylee gasps, and I turn to her annoyed.

Her eyes go wide, "Francis is here."

I scoff.

"He is," Lady Abernathy agrees, peaking close to the glass, "and he looks upset."

"Obviously."

"Mari," Aylee clasps my arm, "you only think you don't want to see him."

Deep down I know she's right, but my pride will never let me admit that out loud.

"Your Royal Highness–"

He must be inside now. I should really do something. Make a move. Decide if I'm angry at him or if his face will make me cry.

"Your Royal Highness–"

I look at the roses on the floor, the rug they landed on is wet and the vase has shattered.

"Your Royal Highness–"

"Meri!"

I close my eyes and swallow the lump in my throat.

"Good Morning, Francis."

The Dauphin doesn't move when I look at him. He's staring at my face, then the roses, then my face, then my state of undress, then my eyes.

"Your cheek is bruised."

I walk past him. I cannot be mad at Francis for what his father did. I should focus my rage on the King of France.

"Meri–"

My back tenses, as does my hand on the door handle to my bed-chamber.

"Meri–"

Francis' arms wrap around my waist and his head falls in between my shoulder blades.

"Please."

He is so close that goosebumps appear on my skin. My neck stays warm after his breath has dissipated on my skin.

"Francis," I inhale, "I am not mad at you."

I open the door to my bedroom, the Dauphin doesn't let go.

"We'll talk in here," I whisper.

I sit down at a side table and gesture across from me. Francis' eyes flick to the bed first, I heave a sigh of disappointment, which turns his mouth into a line and spurs him to sit across from me.

"What is your father's stance?"

Francis swallows, "He will allow you back if you come of your own will."

I lean back.

"He has agreed to apologize." The Dauphin winces.

"His apology should be a bride price instead of a dowry."

Francis' eyes flick to mine, "You want him to pay you to marry me?"

"Instead of me paying to marry you," I contradict, noticing the tension in his voice, "I am Scotland's only ruler."

The Dauphin opens his mouth to argue. I don't let him.

"I know your father wants to claim land in my name," I remind Francis, "but I can claim that land on my own."

The Crown Prince of France leans back, his posture turning commanding and aggressive although he sitting.

"I see."

I place a hand on my forehead, "The problem is, Francis, I don't want to do it without you by my side."

After the words leave my mouth, I remain in the position I am. Redheads are very good at blushing, but I really wish that wasn't my best skill, especially now.

"You had a spay at that meeting."

I raise my head, "I overheard it."

Francis frowns, "They didn't notice you?"

I smile and walk over to the chest at the end of my bed. With a wink at the Dauphin, I reach in and take out my pair of trousers.

"I may have looked slightly different," I stand, holding the pants up to my body, "you can't blame the guards."

The Dauphin looks so horrified it's adorable. I burst out laughing so hard I stumble against the bed, slapping my hand on the post as my chest heaves.

"Meri, I'm serious–"

"So am I, Francis," I huff between baels of laughter, "dear God, now I want to see your face when I wear them!"
The Dauphin responds with a strangled noise in the back of his throat.

"I'm just kidding," I gesture, regaining my composure and turning my face back to Francis, "I wouldn't scandalize a pretty French boy."

Francis is now smiling, not condescendingly, but with humor, "You couldn't scandalize me if you tried, Meri."

I straighten, taking the challenge.

"I sure as hell could," I announce, pounding forward and wagging my finger.

The Dauphin swats my wrist.

I get angry, "You're gonna regret that."

Then, in full Highlander fashion, I tackle the man with my six-foot frame, sending the Dauphin to the floor with the wind knocked out of him.

"Ha," I bark, once I see his eyes have regained focus, "that'll track ya tae pick a fight with a Scotswoman."

Francis blinks, "If that is a kind of Scottish fighting I would like to import it to my chambers."

Unthinkingly, I slap Francis. Then the door bursts open, and a worried Lady Abernathy rushes in.

"Majesty," then she freezes, sighs, and restarts, "I thought you were angry?"

"I am angry." I puff.

"She did just slap me," Francis adds before, rather unhelpfully, adjusting me so that I'm sitting up on him, "and I really liked it."

"You're disgusting," I spit, face red, "what is your problem, Francis?"

"If you stay here the wedding's off," the Dauphin sobers quickly, "that's my problem."

I gape at him.

"I suggest you go back to the Lovre, Majesty," Lady Abernathy smirks, "Lord knows what'll happen if ye nae marry the Dauphin, and yer so close to marriage anyway, if you know what I mean."

Remembering our I position, I blush.

"Do ye ken yersel funny, Lady Abernathy?"

"Aye, Madam," the Scotswoman grins, "hilarious I am."

I sigh a long and exasperated withdrawal, and I feel Francis making pressure right up against me. I leave my head for a moment, going out of my eyes and seeing stars. I briefly register Lady Abernathy's naughty goodbye before Francis tugs me down to him.

"Kiss me, Meri," his stare is so intense it makes me squirm, "kiss me right now."

I know what a kiss will do, but I kiss the Dauphin anyway. Closing my eyes as my lips meet his soft mouth. The blood rushes through my body as Francis squeezes my backside and pushes me down onto him.

Once we separate, I ask him if that's what marriage is. Smirking, the Dauphin answers it's a little more than that.

I blink, biting my lip, "More?"

"More," Francis adjusts me so that my neck is above his tongue, "and I can tell you're going to like it."

"Obviously," I snort, "and you–"

The Dauphin is licking my breastbone, biting softly, and pulling my chemise off my shoulders.

"Francis," my legs loosen around his waist as he grounds his thumbs into my thighs, "Francis, I like this."

"I knew you would," he stops as he reaches the curves of my breasts, waiting for instruction.

"It will look weak if I come back after one day."

The Dauphin groans against my skin.

"I will write to your father saying the wedding is back on," I stroke Francis' hair, "but I'll stay here for a couple of days."

Francis is still, still warm through my clothes.

"But I can do that later," I whisper in his ear, "show me some more, my betrothed."

A low growl tumbles onto my chest and I feel myself squinch with excitement.

"As Her Majesty wishes," the Dauphin stands up, cradling my body into his hands, "but I must request somewhere more comfortable."

I fall between my sheets as Francis' shirt goes over his head.

"Like that too?"

I catch myself looking at him, the strength of his body, the tightness of his stomach, and the damn broadness of his shoulders.

"Don't be mean," I whine.

Then the Dauphin kisses my neck and I giggle, writhing on the bed as I feel heat growing in my most sensitive places.

"Shh," Francis whispers into my ear, "be quiet, Meri."

But then my hand falls on the button of his pants, and I shiver with a malicious grin on my face.

"Hm," the Dauphin muses, "interesting."

"I know it's early," I look away from him, knowing what all my Bible tutors have always said, "don't think less of me because of this."

Francis turns my chin so that I can face him, "I could never think you anything less than perfect, now please, no more games."

I nod, "No more games."