Her bedroom in the castle was just as she'd left it.

Mary wasn't sure why this surprised her so much-maybe it was because lately she felt as though every single aspect of her life was about to change, or maybe it was because the thought had crossed her mind, when she'd noticed a map of the world displayed in a meeting room on the first floor of the castle, not long after she'd arrived home from her walk with James, that her parents might have chosen to set her up with someone who was not in fact from Scotland, and she could therefore have to spend time far away from the castle as part of the television show.

She wasn't sure why this thought had never occurred to her before. She worried that there were other things she'd missed about this matchmaking process in her naiveté, and she felt yet another flicker of fear that there would be more nasty surprises waiting for her just around the corner as she embarked upon this strange journey.

Much of her room was decorated in bright red-the walls, the carpets, the red lion print sewn into the golden covers on her four poster bed, depicting a Scottish emblem, along with the curtains surrounding it, as well as several pillows and cushions.

There were also a few weak flames dancing in the fireplace, and a fresh bunch of roses had been displayed in a vase on a bedside table, along with a tray holding golden cups and a red teapot, placed on a little wooden table in the centre of the room, all of which the staff must have taken care of at some point during the morning.

She felt a rush of fondness for the staff who worked in the castle, and all they did to help her and make her feel more comfortable. For all that she complained about life in the castle, and all the scheming and politics that went on within its walls, she had to admit that James did have a point sometimes, when he went on about the perks that came with being a member of a royal family.

Usually, this room was a place where she could find peace. It was one of the few rooms in the castle where visitors and tourists were not allowed to go; one of the places where meetings and negotiations between royals and politicians and diplomats could not take place. This room felt like it was truly hers, and it had become a sanctuary of sorts to her over the years.

Yet today, not even her room could calm her nerves.

Trying to ignore the feeling of tightness in her chest, Mary walked slowly around the large room, taking it all in, the way she had done earlier when she'd been outside, walking through the Scottish countryside.

She glanced in the direction of the right-hand side of the room, where several remnants of her childhood remained, in the form of a toy unicorn that her brother had used his pocket money to buy for her from a gift shop in Edinburgh when they were younger, and a patchwork quilt that she and James had helped to sew when they were children, with the help of several of the castle's full-time nannies, the two of them working together to sew up all the pieces.

A part of her was tempted to grab the blanket from its place on a wooden rocking chair and wrap it tightly around herself; to hide away like a child so she wouldn't have to face the world today. But she knew that the blanket wouldn't really be able to protect her.

There was also the Victorian-style doll's house in the same corner of the room: an old family heirloom that her mother had allowed her to have as a child. The doll's house was one of Mary's most prized possessions, and she had spent many a happy hour throughout her childhood playing with the miniature dolls that she knew were still inside the house now: a mother, a father and their two children-a boy and a girl.

She had loved that little doll family, and had often imagined the happy, normal life they lived in the wooden house as she played her childhood games with them. Now, she felt it would be rather childish and ridiculous to open up the doll's house again to stare longingly at that carefully crafted image of a happy family. Especially on a day like today.

Next, she walked past the bookcase on the left-hand side of her room, running her hands along the spines of all the classic books she'd read and collected over the years since she was younger. For a few moments, her hand rested on a copy of Pride and Prejudice, one of her favourite stories.

Then she couldn't help smirking to herself as she pulled out the collections of more 'modern' romance novels that she'd also stacked on the shelves, placing them between the classics. They were the kind of novels that the nuns who taught at her boarding school would have labelled as 'trash', and Mary therefore felt a twisted sense of pride at displaying them on her bookshelves. The books contained stories of high school dramas and first-love romances, complete with a pile of books about teenage girls falling for stereotypical 'bad boys'.

Mary allowed herself a brief pause to look out through the windows of her balcony doors at the castle gardens and grounds, with their fountains, flowerbeds, neatly-trimmed hedges and freshly mown grass, all of which led towards the more untamed trees in the distance.

Not for the first time, Mary felt appreciative of the fact that her parents had chosen to set up home in the more peaceful and tranquil Scottish Highlands, rather than right in the middle of a busy city. They did own royal property in Edinburgh, where they went to stay when work and duty required it, but for the most part, this castle was their more permanent residence. She knew her mother believed that the rural location was more secure: "Hidden from the view of rebellious eyes!" as she often said.

She was tempted to take a few minutes to go and stand on the balcony, so she could be outside again for a little while, but true to Scottish form, it had started to rain; a few droplets had already started to gather on the glass outside the doors. Her mother would get angry, if she arrived at her makeshift 'dressing room' with soaking wet hair.

After a few more moments of staring out of the windows, Mary headed over towards the desk positioned against the far wall of her room.

Above the desk, there were yet more bookshelves displaying textbooks about history, politics and French language. They had been Mary's favourite subjects at school in London, and she'd always surprised the strict nuns who ran the school when she was consistently awarded top marks in these subjects, as she suspected that most of the teachers had secretly considered her to be rather silly and immature.

Although she had relied on the tutors who were employed by the royal family to assist with her education since she had returned to Scotland two years ago, Mary was still reluctant to part with these school books, just in case she should ever need them one day. She had trouble letting go sometimes.

Mary had placed her laptop right in the middle of her desk, and if anyone cared to try to break into the files she'd tried her best to encrypt, they would possibly find all the documents containing sample speeches she'd typed out over the years in the relative privacy of her room, away from curious eyes, on the days when she'd been feeling particularly resentful about her place in the royal family and the situation in Scotland.

There were speeches written in favour of so-called royal rebels; attempts to negotiate with those who had not agreed with the reinstatement of a royal family in Sctoland; proposals as to what they could all do to prevent further riots and violent protests. There were also documents she'd created where she'd made plans to balance the budget more effectively, and proposals to cut royal spending. She knew her family would be furious, if they ever found any of these documents. But then, it wasn't as though she would ever have a real opportunity to say these words out loud and put her proposals into practice.

Mary knew that the afternoon's opening ceremony was drawing ever closer. She could see from the time displayed on her phone screen, with the minutes counting down at what seemed like an alarming rate, along with several 'important' messages that her mother had sent to her via her phone throughout the day, reminding her that she was expected to go to the meeting with the new Publicist her family had hired to assist her with her television appearances and interviews, and the meeting was to begin two hours before the show started, allowing her enough time for hair and makeup, too.

Do not be late! her mother had told her in her latest message.

In spite of the minutes that were rapidly ticking away, Mary had one more item that she wanted to look at first. She opened one of her desk draws and carefully took out the book she'd been searching for.

Unlike many of the other objects in her room, this book had a blue cover, with the exception of a bright red heart that Mary had determinedly drawn in the top right-hand corner. She'd purchased the book from a gift shop in the village several years ago. On the outside, it seemed rather bland and unoriginal, but the pages inside that had once been blank were now full of her own personal sketches, as well as various newspaper and magazine cuttings that she'd collected over the years.

Slowly, almost reverently, Mary turned the pages of the book, looking at all the sketches and cut-out pictures she'd put there. She smiled to herself as she stared at some of the pictures of handsome men that she'd cut out from magazines, back during her 'teenage crush' stage. Many of these boys wore leather jackets, or posed next to fancy cars or bikes, or they were covered in tattoos. They were all just the type of boy who she had been drawn to when she was younger.

She turned more of the pages, looking at a few of her own personal drawings. Some of her sketches in the book were in black-and-white, and some were in the brightest of colours. There were sketches she'd drawn of herself and James, based on memories of their childhood, and pictures of the castle and its staff members, as well as drawings of the local village and the city of Edinburgh. But mostly, the recurring theme in this book seemed to be one of love and romance.

There were many sketches of couples of all ages and backgrounds, some of them real, some of them imaginary. Whoever the couples were, they all reflected in some way Mary's ideas of a perfect romance-holding hands, talking, laughing, dancing, kissing, just enjoying being together, wherever they were in the world. She rolled her eyes as she noticed a sketch that she'd drawn of one of her mother's teenage crushes, a famous singer with long, blond hair. For all of Mary's father's flaming red hair, her mother had apparently had a liking for young men with blond hair when she'd been a teenager.

Of all the pages in the book, Mary's eyes were most drawn to a picture halfway through the pages. It was a sketch she'd drawn, depicting two children, a boy and a girl, standing under a tree in a forest, holding hands.

Every time she looked at this drawing, she felt the tug of an old memory, the slight pang of nostalgia, but she wasn't sure why exactly. She just knew that she'd seen this picture somewhere before, perhaps in an old childhood picture book, or as part of a painting displayed on a castle wall in one of the many countries she'd visited as part of her royal duties.

She was sure that some image or other had once inspired her to create this picture in the first place, but she couldn't quite place it in her memory. She wasn't sure where exactly to look for the pieces of this memory, but she was determined to find them, one day. Something about the children in the drawing made her feel safe, happy, loved, and she felt almost as though she would discover all these feelings again if she could just remember where she had seen the picture before.

For now, she had left the picture in black-and-white, with a few of the finer details also left vague, in the hope that she would be able to fill in all the colours and complete the picture at some point in the future.

With one last longing look at the picture of the boy and the girl under the tree, Mary closed the book and placed it back in the desk drawer. She only shut the drawer gently, but the noise it made as it closed seemed to echo all over the silent room. She placed a tiny key in the lock and twisted it around, sealing it tight shut with a sad sense of finality.

Today was not the day for love and romance. She would have to keep that part of herself guarded, locked away, for now.

At the last minute, she placed the tiny key on a spare bit of black ribbon, and tied it around her neck like a necklace.

As she left the relative safety of her room behind, Mary made sure to only close the door softly behind her, as though making sure that this room would still be easily accessible when she returned later in the evening. She knew that there were parts of herself that she would have to hide and keep guarded as soon as the cameras started rolling, but she wasn't prepared to lose herself completely along the way.

With a sigh, she started to walk slowly down the corridor that led to the television room on the same floor, treading lightly on the dark blue carpets that were typical of the castle's hallways.

Her mother had deemed the large television room suitable for the initial meetings and preparations for the television show to take place, as there would be plenty of space for hair and makeup artists, as well as clothes racks, and chairs and tables-around which important discussions could take place.

If she hadn't been so nervous, Mary would have found it almost amusing, how she'd sat in that same television room with her brother so many times before, the two of them watching all the live royal weddings on the widescreen television, speculating as to whether the marriages had been arranged, and whether or not each marriage would work out in the long term.

They'd also watched so many reality television shows together, the two of them relaxing and eating popcorn as they viewed all the shows focusing on dating and matchmaking, like all of it was just light entertainment. And now Mary would be in exactly the same position, being watched by others through their screens. She would be their entertainment.

Mary wasn't sure why exactly she was treading so carefully over the carpets, the way she so often did when she couldn't sleep at night and she decided to take her secret walks all over the castle, trying not to get caught. Today, however, it wasn't as though she had to worry about being overheard. However quiet she was, her family would know exactly where she was anyway. She had no doubt that there were guards keeping a close eye on her, making sure she didn't run.

Besides, she was sure that the sound of the Scottish national anthem currently echoing up and down the castle's corridors from wherever it was playing would probably drown out the sound of her footsteps. She wouldn't put it past it mother to have hired a band of professional bagpipe players for the occasion, in an attempt to show today's visitors to the castle who was truly in charge.

As she got closer to the room where the meeting with her new Publicist would take place, she couldn't resist taking a forbidden peek out of one of the smaller windows that looked out onto the front entrance of the castle and the long drive leading up to it, just to see if the mysterious man she was expected to marry happened to be arriving at the castle.

She wondered what it would be like to have a group of close friends around her right now-other girls her own age. Would they have gathered around the window with her? Would they have giggled and laughed as they all gossiped about what the man who Mary was soon to meet would be like?

Mary sighed to herself. It was so difficult, given her place in the royal family, and the busy schedule that went along with it, to find true friends. Back at school, Mary had formed a close bond with her friend Greer, who had already been a prefect when Mary had first started at the London boarding school. Greer had been almost like an older sister to her, and she was one of the few girls at the school who Mary genuinely got along with. They were still friends now, but their time together was often limited, due to Mary's royal duties and Greer's new life with in Edinburgh with her soon-to-be husband and three young stepchildren.

She also couldn't help thinking about Aylee, a young girl who'd worked at the castle as part of an internship only last year. Mary had always enjoyed talking to her, as there had been something so innocent and honest about her, and she'd enjoyed having someone younger around who she could 'impart wisdom' to, after a lifetime of being seen as James's immature younger sister.

They had just started to become friends, but then there had been that terrible day when Aylee had collapsed in the castle's entrance hall. She hadn't survived. Later, they'd discovered that sweet, innocent Aylee been poisoned. It was suspected that rebels had somehow managed to poison several drinks in the castle right under all of their noses. Just when they'd been lured into a false sense of security, thinking that everything had calmed down, that things were starting to change for the better...

Mary still thought about Aylee all the time, still thought about her family, her parents…

No, she couldn't do this. Not today. It would be all too easy, to sink into panic or despair. And she couldn't afford to do that just now. Not when so many eyes would soon be upon her.

After a few moments of attempting to clear her thoughts as she continued to stare out of the dusty glass of the window, Mary's eyes were suddenly drawn to one person in particular outside. She jumped a little in shock and blinked rapidly a few times, like she couldn't believe what she was seeing.

She was certain she could see the young man with dark hair and blue eyes who she'd passed in the village earlier, walking right up the drive leading to the castle, with that same purpose in his step that she'd seen several times before.

Back in the village earlier, he might have taken a path heading in the opposite direction, but he had found his way to the castle after all.

What's he doing here? she wondered to herself as she continued to stare out the window, transfixed. Could it be…?

For a few seconds, Mary allowed herself to consider this wild possibility that he might be the man who her parents were planning to introduce her to later, but then she reminded herself firmly that this idea was almost impossible. For all her mother liked to give speeches about equal rights in Scotland, Mary would be very surprised if her parents didn't attempt to set her up with someone who was from a wealthy background, at least, if not of noble birth. She decided that there must be another reason why this boy was here today.

With a sigh, she ran a hand slowly, almost longingly over the dirty pane of glass, imagining the princesses from her childhood stories who lived in high towers and spent their days gazing out of the tower windows, taking in the brief glimpses of freedom outside.

Then, she noticed several fancy white cars with blacked-out windows pulling into the castle gates at the end of the long drive.

Feeling a rush of curiosity as to who the cars belonged to, Mary tried to press her face even closer to the glass…

"A-hem…"

The sound of somebody pointedly clearing their throat from behind her startled her out of her thoughts and made her jump. Feeling almost guilty, Mary turned away from the window.

Behind her stood a man who looked to be in his early to mid thirties. She supposed he was handsome, with short brown hair, blue eyes and a well-trimmed beard. He was quite tall, and was dressed in a plain black shirt and trousers. He also held a clipboard in his hand, with a phone sticking out of his shirt pocket.

Judging by the way he was dressed, and the clipboard he had hold of, not to mention the fact that he was standing close to the open door of the television room, Mary guessed that this man was to be her new Publicist.

Yet there was something about the way he carried himself, with elegance and grace and a definite sense of self-importance, that almost gave Mary the impression of a man of noble birth who was simply dressing up as a Publicist and a royal staff member for the fun of it, even though this idea was a bit strange. But still, she felt almost as though he expected her to bow to him.

"Your Majesty," he greeted Mary with a quick bow and what looked like a mocking smirk.

Mary frowned at him in confusion. Most of the staff who were hired to work at the castle were well-trained in royal etiquette, and this man looked to be very intelligent, yet he had committed a faux pas in the way he had just addressed her. 'Majesty' was a title for kings and queens, not second-born princesses who would never even have a chance at the throne. She was surprised he didn't know that. It was the sort of error her etiquette-obsessed mother would not be impressed with.

Mary was tempted to discreetly correct him, but something about the way he continued to smirk at her seemed to suggest that he knew exactly what he was saying.

"Mary," she chose to say to him instead, holding out her hand to introduce herself and deciding to do away with fancy titles altogether.

"Narcisse," he responded as he shook her hand like a professional, as though the two of them were carrying out some sort of business transaction. "Stephane Narcisse."

"Are you my new Publicist?" she asked him with another frown, half expecting him to deny it.

He simply inclined his head a little, with that smirk still on his face.

"I thought the groom was not supposed to catch a glimpse of the bride before the wedding?" he asked her with a knowing smirk as he nodded his head in the direction of the window she'd just been looking out of.

Yes, he was definitely mocking her.

"Well, this is not exactly a normal bride-and-groom situation, is it?" she fired back with folded arms and a raised eyebrow.

"That it is not," he conceded with another incline of his head. "But perhaps these…unconventional circumstances will allow us to bend the rules a little at some point?" he asked her with a raised eyebrow of his own.

"Perhaps," Mary replied with a confused frown. She felt almost as though he was testing her in some way, although she wasn't sure how she was supposed to pass the test. She couldn't help feeling a bit relieved though, at the hint that this particular Publicist might not expect her to blindly follow her family's rules.

"It must run in the family," Narcisse suddenly muttered, cryptically.

"Excuse me?" Mary asked him, her expression firm, ready to defend her family's honour, in spite of all the things she'd said and thought about them herself.

He gestured vaguely in the direction of the window that Mary had just been looking out of before he answered: "I've just spied your older brother listening in outside the open door leading to the Throne Room. No doubt trying to catch a glimpse of your future husband for you…"

Mary winced a little at the use of the term 'future husband', but she couldn't help feeling a rush of gratitude towards her brother. She'd asked James over and over if he could perhaps try to find out who her parents were trying to set her up with in advance of the opening ceremony, to reduce the possibility of any unpleasant surprises, but she hadn't really expected him to try.

But then, the more cynical voice in her head reminded her, James could simply be so eager to find out who it was out of his own personal anger that the secret had been kept from him in the first place. As the heir to the throne, he often acted like he was entitled to know about everything that was going on within the castle walls. She'd seen the look of irritation on his face a few weeks ago, when her parents had made their final decision and informed James that it would be easier if he didn't know who would be visiting the palace today, for fear that he would inadvertently reveal the secret too early.

"Shall we?" said Narcisse, interrupting her thoughts. He held an open hand out towards the television room.

Mary stood on her tiptoes and looked into the room, where she could see various people bustling about wearing headsets, talking on their phones and moving clothes rails around. With a shrug, she followed Narcisse inside.

As always, the walls of this room where bright white, spotlessly clean-clinical, almost.

There was also a freshly polished white coffee table in one corner, on which there were several tabloid magazines displayed. Mary noticed that the front cover of the magazine at the top of the pile showed a photograph of her mother at the White House, on her most recent official visit to the USA to meet the President.

This room with its white walls definitely felt like it belonged to her mother, and not to Mary.

She noticed that the old chess set that had been collecting dust in the far corner of the room had been moved to the middle of the floor. She suspected that Narcisse had been playing against other staff members while he waited for her to arrive.

First, he led her towards the clothes rails leaning against the walls, where rows and rows of brightly coloured dresses were hanging. For the past few months, her mother had repeatedly sent her pictures of all of these designer gowns, urging her to make a decision in advance of the opening ceremony as to what she wanted to wear, but in her lack of enthusiasm, Mary had barely glanced at any of the pictures.

Now, she stared at all the expensive dresses, many of them covered in jewels and beads and intricate patterns.

It was tempting, to pick out the brightest, fanciest dress, to use the opening ceremony as some sort of catwalk so she could distract the public from the seriousness of the upcoming event and all the issues in Scotland; to hide herself behind expensive jewels and layers of makeup, but she knew that wasn't an option anymore. Or, more accurately, she didn't want it to be an option. She didn't want to be a silly girl in a silly dress.

Mary felt almost as though she was about to walk onto a battlefield, and she wanted to look like a worthy opponent, even though she was trembling on the inside.

"I want to look like me," she insisted as she pulled out a plain, simple, black lace dress from the end of the clothes rail and glanced determinedly in Narcisse's direction.

"An excellent choice," Narcisse told her as he stood behind her and nodded at the dress. Apparently, she had passed this particular test of his.

The look on his face was calculating, and for a moment Mary imagined herself as a chess piece on Narcisse's own personal chessboard; a piece that he was attempting to manoeuvre into an advantageous position.

After the dress had officially been decided upon, in the face of opposition and several arguments from the stylists in the room, Narcisse showed her to the chairs which were positioned around the chessboard.

He pointed at one of the chairs, indicating that she should take a seat.

Again, Mary frowned. She thought of her mother, and the way that nobody would have dared to sit down at formal events until she gave them permission to do so; how nobody would have told her to take a seat. But she wasn't her mother.

"How are you feeling about the upcoming process?" Narcisse asked her the moment they had both sat down.

For a second, Mary was tempted to lie. She could say that she was fine, that she was excited for what was to come. Or she could at least pretend that she was happy to do her duty to Scotland.

But she couldn't do it; some sort of block in her mind would not allow her to speak those deceptive words at the moment. Nobody else truly understood how she felt, not her brother, or her father, and especially not her mother, and she simply had to be honest with somebody.

"Terrified," she finally admitted after what felt like a long, tense pause. She looked down at the floor, almost feeling ashamed at the admission.

Narcisse, however, didn't offer up any words of judgment. He simply nodded as he stared at the chessboard beside him. Another test passed.

"Your mother has advised," he said, as he glanced down at his clipboard, "that you focus on how beneficial to the royal family you think this process will be, when you give your first interview at today's ceremony…how enthusiastic you are about it all. How much you're looking forward to meeting your 'fiancé…"

His lips quirked into a smile when Mary was unable to resist rolling her eyes at the repetition of her mother's orders.

"However-"

Mary couldn't help looking up at Narcisse's 'however'. Now, he had her full attention. For so many years, she'd been spoken to like a child, but now, this older man was actually talking to her like an adult; an adult who understood tactics and game-playing. An adult who could bend the rules and change the game with him.

"-in light of what you've just said, I thought perhaps we could try another angle-"

"Which is?" Mary asked, full of curiosity.

"You're…intrigued to see where this matchmaking process will go. You're waiting to see how it plays out. You're acting on behalf of Scotland, and you intend to keep it that way. Keep it vague. Make no promises. Don't be rude, but don't give too much away. Do not commit to anything just yet. Let them know that the game might change, if you so choose."

Mary nodded. She liked this method better. It would give her room to manoeuvre; more space to weigh up her options.

The opportunity to back out of a proposal, she couldn't help thinking, although she tried not to let this thought reflect in her facial expression. She wasn't sure yet if she trusted Narcisse or not.

"After the opening ceremony..." He leaned forward now, speaking in a whisper, as though he didn't want this part of the conversation to be overheard by others in the room. "Keep a close eye on everything, so we can see how we can use this matchmaking process to our best advantage."

Mary found it slightly strange, how Narcisse had said 'we' and 'our', instead of 'you' and 'your'.

They discussed the approach that Mary would take in her initial interviews for a little while longer, before they were interrupted by a knock at the door.

Narcisse got up to answer it, but Mary was one step ahead of him. She opened the door to see a young woman with long brown hair that fell in gentle curls over her shoulders standing on the other side of it. She was dressed in a dark blue skirt and jacket, with a white blouse underneath the smart jacket. The colours of Scotland. The outfit might have looked professional, but it didn't completely mask the girl's youth.

Mary's family had been advertising for several staff positions over the past few months, and a lot of interviews had been taking place recently. It seemed as though this girl was new here. Out of the corner of her eye, Mary could see Narcisse watching the young woman with an expression of interest from where he was standing on the other side of the room.

The girl was carrying a cushion with a tiara displayed proudly on top of it. One glance at the glittering tiara and Mary knew exactly who had sent her.

She tried her best to smile encouragingly at her, feeling genuinely happy that for once, her mother had employed a younger member of staff, someone who looked to be around Mary's age, or perhaps only a few years older. Perhaps they might even become friends.

"Your Highness," the girl greeted her with a quick curtsy. She looked tense, nervous.

"Mary," Mary instantly corrected her, trying to put her at ease.

"M-Mary," the girl repeated hesitantly, like she was trying the name out, testing this casual address of a royal to see if it worked. "Your mother's insisting you wear a tiara for today's ceremony. She told me to bring it straight to you and ordered me not to drop it or damage it. Queen Marie is a bit scary," she added in a whisper, before her eyes suddenly widened, as though she couldn't believe that she'd just said this out loud; as though she'd only just remembered that she was speaking to 'Queen Marie's' daughter.

"Just a bit?" Mary asked her with a knowing smirk, trying to lighten the mood.

Luckily, the girl smiled back at her.

"Lola," the girl introduced herself, after she'd handed the tiara over to Mary with trembling hands.

Mary thanked her for the tiara, and Lola nodded her head politely at Mary and the staff in the room before she turned to leave. Mary noticed that Lola's glance rested on Narcisse for a few long seconds before she closed the door.

The next hour passed in a blur of hair styling products and makeup brushes, along with several arguments between Narcisse and the hair and makeup artists, after he'd insisted that they were to keep Mary's hair and makeup simple.

After yet another tense argument, caused by Mary's insistence on wearing the silver key from her bedroom on its black ribbon around her neck for the ceremony instead of the traditional royal jewels, Narcisse and a few other staff members left her alone with the stylists so she could change into her dress.

When he returned, he insisted on placing the tiara on her head, lowering it down slowly, almost like he was at a coronation ceremony, crowning a queen.

When the tiara was firmly upon her head, she heard another knock at the door.

Mary felt her whole body tense. She was expected downstairs at the opening ceremony any moment now, and she had no doubt that this was her older brother, here to collect her, to walk her to her future.

When she opened the door, the first thing she noticed was that James looked much paler than usual. Then, she saw that his eyes were wide. He looked shocked, like he was in a state of total disbelief; like he couldn't believe what he'd just seen. Who he'd just seen.

At the look on her older brother's face, Mary's whole body felt like it had turned ice cold with dread. It was as though she had just plummeted into freezing water. She felt like she was drowning.

"James," Mary asked him, her voice trembling with a fear that she could no longer disguise, "who is it?"