The morning after Greer's wedding, Mary practically ran through the corridors of the Scottish castle, taking short, sharp breaths as she turned corner after corner and slammed doors behind her.
She could barely think right now, and she was sure her hands were shaking (out of fear or anger, she wasn't exactly sure), but still a part of her was strangely focused; right now, she only had one objective in mind, and she knew exactly where she needed to go to ensure her plan was enforced. All other rational thought had been abandoned in light of recent cirumstances-it was as though her mind wouldn't allow her to concentrate on anything else, apart from her one goal to put all of this chaos and confusion to an end.
She knew that she couldn't stop, couldn't allow herself to get distracted; if she did, then the images of a menacing figure wearing a balaclava would appear in her mind again, and she would see them jumping out at her in the darkness; she would hear that cold voice, warning her...
Shaking her head as though to clear it of these dark thoughts, Mary kept moving.
Finally, she arrived at her mother's office. Mary had hoped to speak to her mother after the wedding in Edinburgh, but the guards had informed her that her mother had returned to the castle to prepare for a meeting early in the morning. And so Mary had decided to follow her back here, ordering the castle's staff to prepare a car for her to return to the castle herself.
Abandoning all protocol, Mary grabbed hold of the door handle and pulled it down, hard, forcing the door open.
The door practically fell off its hinges as Mary stormed over the threshold and marched inside, only to be greeted by the bewildered stare of her mother, who was sitting behind her desk, a pile of paperwork stacked in front of her, all-business as usual.
With a disapproving glance at her daughter, Mary's mother opened her mouth, no doubt to tell her off for not knocking before entering the room, but Mary was too quick for her...
"Call off this matchmaking process!" Mary demanded of her mother, her voice somehow sounding both shaky and furious at the same time.
"Excuse me?" the queen asked her, folding her arms and raising her eyebrows, an expression of disbelief on her face. It seemed that she was more distressed by the interruption than Mary's obvious state of distress.
"You must end this show, now!" Mary continued to insist.
She knew that she wasn't thinking or acting rationally right now, but she didn't care. Last night's threat had completely unnerved her. She had been playing the words of the mystery attacker over and over in her mind all night...
"You are being watched...be very careful about your next move..."
She didn't want to be watched, to be seen, to be noticed. She just wanted to hide, to get away from all of this, and the only way to do that was to avoid being seen on every television screen in the country almost every day. This was her only chance at escape.
"Whatever's the matter with you?" the queen asked, a hint of agitation in her voice, apparently not taking Mary's demand to call off the matchmaking process seriously.
"I was threatened," said Mary, reluctantly, as she was finally forced to fully re-live yesterday's events out loud. "Last night, at the wedding..." She had to pause to take a few deep breaths, to try to collect herself. "I went outside, alone, just for a moment, and there was somebody out there-"
"I have told you, over and over, that you are not to wander off on your own without the castle guards!" her mother snapped at her, her face now a reflection of the mingled anger and fear that Mary was sure she was displaying in her own expression.
"That is not the point!" Mary argued back with her, feeling a fresh wave of fury, although she suspected that this probably was at least part of the point. Even now, she was thinking about how reckless she had been, heading outside on her own at night, especially given the fact that she was a member of the royal family, and the fact that they received weekly threats from rebels and anti-royalists.
"The point is," Mary continued, before her mother could take over the argument, "I was told I was being watched; I was told to be careful! It was a warning! You have made us all more visible than necessary with the television show, and now those who despise us are fighting back! This show is not bringing any peace to Scotland! You are bringing more threats to our doorstep! More rebels, more spies..."
Mary knew that she probably sounded paranoid, but she really felt deep down that all of this was true-right from the first day of the matchmaking show she'd had a strange feeling that she was being watched, and the words from the person who had vanished into the night yesterday had only confirmed this to her. "I've suspected for weeks that we were being watched. All over the castle I hear whispers, and footsteps, as though people are here, hiding, spying on us..."
"Nonsense!" her mother retorted, making Mary feel even more as though all of these threats were merely a figment of her imagination. "You are tired, and you have been under a lot of pressure recently. You are simply seeing things that are not really there..."
"You are not listening to me!" Mary screamed. "You never listen to me!"
And then, in her anger, Mary picked up a few of the folders from her mother's desk and threw them across the room with another scream of anger. She knew she looked like a spoilt child having a tantrum, but she couldn't control herself right now-she was so scared, and angry, and ashamed, and nobody was listening; nobody was taking her seriously.
"All you care about is your throne!"
She kicked a few of the folders and piles of paperwork that had fallen to the floor in her outburst. She wanted to continue to yell and scream and destroy things. She wanted to let out all her anger-anger at her mother, her father, her brother, the royal family, Francis's parents, the matchmaking show, the situations she had been placed in, the way her mother never seemed to care.
To her surprise, her mother did not get angry in return, or shout at her. She simply sat back in her seat, watching Mary with a contemplative expression on her face.
"Call off the show!" Mary repeated, almost wanting, or needing, a stronger reaction from her mother in light of everything she was saying. It would be easier, in a way, if her mother would get angry in return, if she would fight back. "None of this would have happened if my face hadn't started to appear on every television screen in Scotland and all over the magazines! You are making all of us a target for rebels!"
"Mary," her mother said with a sigh, apparently choosing to ignore Mary's demands, "I'm going to need you to continue with the matchmaking show." There was almost a look of resignation on the queen's face, which only caused Mary's anger to increase.
She struggled not to let out another cry of anger or to ask her mother why she wasn't paying attention to her.
"Why?" she demanded instead with a frown. She resisted the urge to start screaming again at the idea that her mother was closing off yet another escape route.
She still felt furious, but now she couldn't help feeling like something was not quite right-there was something suspicious about the look her mother was giving her. "Why is it so important to you that I remain on the show? Is a reality television show truly more important to you than your daughter's safety?"
Her mother remained silent for what felt like too long before she spoke.
Finally, with another sigh, she said, "I'm sick again, Mary."
Mary felt like she had frozen to the spot. She stood still, shocked, staring at her mother, trying to work out what she was actually telling her. She had not anticipated a response like that.
"W-what do you mean?" she asked, a strange sense of forboding already starting to overtake her.
"It is the same as last time, Mary," her mother told her, her voice sounding surprisingly level. "The same sickness, the same threat..."
"B-but, the doctors will cure you, just like last time. We are royalty-we have some of the best doctors in the world-"
She knew how awful this would sound, how selfish, but in the moment, it didn't matter. For as much as she had despised certain aspects of life as a royal, she had always assumed that one of the privileges of the role involved access to the best doctors and healthcare in the country. They had cured her mother last time, back when Mary had only been a child...
"We may be royal, but we are human first," said the queen. "Money cannot buy everything, or solve every problem. Besides, it is worse than last time-I cannot be certain that there will be a cure this time."
"No," Mary whispered, as though this statement would make her mother's illness go away.
This could not be happening. She could not be facing the possibility of losing her mother. Their relationship had been so strained for so long, but still, this news was no less devastating.
"If anything should happen to me in the near future-"
"No!" Mary insisted this time, even louder. All she was short of doing was placing her hands over her ears like a child and shaking her head in an attempt to block out the words.
Her mother ignored her. "If anything should happen," she repeated, "your brother will be King of Scotland. He will marry Kenna, and the two of them will rule the country, along with any children they may have. Your father will most likely be appointed as James's chief advisor. Already, I have started to hand over a lot of my duties to them; your brother and father have headed to London this morning to attend a meeting on my behalf. I am sure that your brother will not throw you out of the castle, but your place here, your role, will be a lot less certain after James becomes king."
"No," Mary continued to repeat, pathetically. This could not be happnening. Not now. She had always thought that she would have years before she had to consider any of this. And now, it seemed like everything was changing, almost overnight. She was going to be left all alone, with only James and Kenna and her father for company, all of whom would have roles and priorities of their own...
She sank down into the nearest chair, feeling like she no longer had the strength to stand.
Her mother continued to stare at her in silence for a couple of minutes, as though contemplating her next words.
Mary could barely look her in the eye.
Finally, she continued, "A marriage to Francis and an alliance with France would give you other options and make your position as a royal much more secure-"
"Francis and I cannot have a conversation without arguing!" Mary cut her off with a glare. "We are barely even friends! I don't know for sure if he will ever return from France. I will not marry someone simply for an alliance-"
"You must try harder with Francis," her mother interrupted her, a note of desperation in her own voice now. "Life will not be easy in Scotland, with France as an enemy..."
"You only care about making Scotland's position more secure!" Mary was unable to resist snapping at her.
"Mary," her mother sighed, looking more weary than ever, "now is not the time for arguments..."
"I could leave," Mary muttered, not really sure if she was offering a threat, or a warning, or a suggestion. All she knew was that her mother was trying to force her into this 'alliance' out of fear, and desperation; she was not even considering the fact that life in Scotland would not be easy anyway-not with rebels watching their every move and trying to bring the royal family down. James would only inherit the same problem, regardless of any of Mary's decisions.
"I could run away from the castle with Sebastian," she whispered, as a tear started to fall slowly down her cheek. She didn't bother to try to wipe it away, and her mother didn't comment on it-she was too busy frowning at Mary's words. "I could start a new life, somewhere else in Scotland; somewhere far away from here..."
It was tempting, oh so tempting. The thought of just running away from all of her problems. Especially when she had had no contact with Francis for days. Bash would would run away with her, she was sure of it. But then, she had once been so sure that her brother would run away from the castle with her, and he had proved her wrong, again and again.
Her mother continued to watch her, looking lost in thought. When she spoke again, her words surprised Mary: "I'm going to make a deal with you," she said.
Mary frowned at her, feeling confused. She didn't understand how her mother could still treat all of this like some kind of political negotiation, in light of what she had just revealed. Was her mother not afraid? Was being a queen really more important to her than being human?
"If," her mother went on, without waiting for Mary to speak, "at the end of this three month process, you decide that a relationship with Francis will not work out, then I will allow you to leave the show..."
Mary stared at her in disbelief.
"You can choose to date others, or remain single, or even run off with that boy from the stables, if that's what you want..."
As her mother rolled her eyes at her own words, Mary struggled to keep her expression neutral, so as not to unintentionally give anything away.
"What is the catch?" Mary asked, suspiciously, after a few moments of silence. This 'deal' of her mother's seemed far too good to be true.
"You must promise me that if and when he returns here from France, you will truly give Francis Valois a chance; I want you to give him serious consideration as a potential husband. This is not about Scotland's security, I'm thinking about your security after I am gone."
Mary opened her mouth to say something, but the queen held up her hand to stop her.
"And by 'taking this process seriously'," she told Mary, her tone firm, "I don't just mean performing well in front of the cameras as part of the show. I'm talking about you spending time with Francis, away from the cameras; getting to know him as a person. The two of you are to go out on dates, talk, find out if you are compatible. Try to talk, instead of argue. This deal would also involve you spending time with Francis and his family in France. You need to have a good idea as to whether you could take on royal duties in France, should the two of you decide to marry. And if, after all that, you still wish to withdraw from the matchmaking process, then I will allow it. I will also ensure that your father and brother allow it...if circumstances are different, in a few months' time-but only if we are all certain that you have tried your best."
Mary took a sharp breath, not wanting to think about how 'circumstances' could be different in a few months' time. She thought about the deal that her mother was offering. She hadn't asked for any of this; she hadn't wanted any of these awful things to happen, but perhaps this was the best offer she was going to receive. Now, there was finally a way out, if she chose to take it.
"I accept your deal," Mary informed her mother with a curt nod. She tried her best to hold herself together, as though her world wasn't currently falling apart.
"You're really going to make an effort with Francis?" her mother asked with a raised eyebrow, her tone doubtful. "You're going to do your duty and fully participate in the show?"
Mary nodded.
"Good. Then I must prepare for a meeting this afternoon," said the queen.
Taking this as a hint that she was being dismissed, Mary got up from her chair. Her legs felt like lead.
"Oh, and Mary?" her mother called out to her, just before Mary reached the door, as though she had just remembered something.
Slowly, Mary turned back around to face her, just in time to see her mother place a piece of paper on the desk. It was clearly a newspaper article that had been printed out.
Mary moved closer to look at it.
The Rebel Princess? the headline read.
Underneath the headline was a long, detailed article, as well as several pictures, all of them of Mary.
There was a picture of Mary walking through the local village, the hood of her coat only partially covering her face. Her expression looked secretive, like she had something to hide. It was clear that she wasn't supposed to be there.
There was another picture of Mary at the local pub, the evening she had gone there with Bash.
There were a couple of pictures of Mary standing in the background looking bored as her mother and brother took on royal duties, then there was the infamous picture of Mary during her most recent interview, with the bird-in-flight pin pinned to her shirt.
All of these moments that Mary had always assumed had been private ones, and all this time, there had been someone there, spying on her, taking pictures, twisting all of these words and images in an attempt to discredit her, to put the theory out there that she was somehow working in support of the Scottish rebels. There were people watching her after all. Mary felt a prickle of fear just at the thought of it.
Apparently, her mother was worried about the article for entirely different reasons: "All of this," she said, her tone of voice warning as she pointed at the article, "is not the behaviour of a potential future queen. Rebels don't make good royals, Mary..."
Mary continued to stare at the pictures, still feeling ashamed. Her mother knew that she had been sneaking out, visiting the local village and the pub. How long had she known? Had she known about Mary's secret visit to the castle in France, on that awful night? Why wasn't she furious about it all?
"There may come a time when you really do hope to marry the future king of France, and there may be a few decisions that you regret. You should take more care with your words and actions if you're planning on an official visit to France soon. I might have allowed your Publicist to return, but I will not tolerate any more articles like this one-and believe me, the king and queen of France are less tolerant than I am."
Mary could do nothing more than nod, trying not to feel overwhelmed by yet another threat of danger, of yet another breach of her privacy.
Finally, she turned around and left her mother's office.
Just before she left, she was sure she heard her mother mutter something that sounded like, "You and I, we are so alike."
Mary walked slowly away from the office, as though in a daze. She felt almost as though she were back on stage on the first episode of the matchmaking show, when she'd first caught sight of Francis-it was like everything around her was happening in slow motion, and all the typical sounds of the castle were muffled. She even felt a little dizzy, and like she was struggling to think clearly. She felt detached from her own body.
All these weeks, all these months, her mother had been sick, and she hadn't realised. Once or twice she'd thought she seemed a little tired, a little under the weather, but then she'd dismissed those thoughts. Had she really been so lost in her own world and her own worries that she hadn't seen the signs?
Her feet seemed to be carrying her forward, although Mary couldn't think properly about where she was going.
Eventually, she arrived at the foot of a steep spiral staircase that she knew led up to the castle roof.
The roof had always been a place of refuge for Mary over the years, ever since childhood-a place where she could take in the view, get some fresh air, clear her thoughts.
Yet today, she was certain that the rooftop location would provide no comfort to her. It would simply be a place to hide away, if only for a little while; a place of escape.
It was only as she started to climb the stairs that the full weight of everything her mother had just told her finally started to push down on her. Her mother was sick. She didn't know how long her mother had left to live. James could soon be king. Kenna would be his wife. Her father would be James's advisor. James and Kenna would have children-a family and priorities of their own. Mary would be all alone.
For all of their conflict and disagreements over the years, Mary couldn't imagine what life would be like without her mother there.
As she stepped out onto the castle roof, Mary was vaguely aware of the fact that the weather was still a little misty today, but she barely noticed her surroundings.
Without looking around, she walked quickly towards the castle wall, trying her best to take deep breaths of cold air as she looked down at the gardens.
She noticed Lola and Narcisse, down in the gardens, walking hand-in-hand among the trees in the distance.
She became aware of a low voice coming from the other side of the roof, but she didn't turn around to see who was talking. She assumed that it was probably a guard, on a routine patrol; she wasn't even sure she cared that much.
She looked down at the garden again. To her surprise, she saw Kenna and Bash, standing a few feet away from Lola and Narcisse, apparently playing some sort of game of football together as they kicked a ball from one to the other. Kenna looked a lot more relaxed than usual, dressed casually in trousers and a flowing white shirt, with a flower pinned in her hair. Mary would never have pictured her like this, smiling and carefree, even giggling a little as she passed the ball to Bash with surprising skill, while Bash grinned back at her, his expression softer, kinder than Mary had seen before. Perhaps this was who Kenna really was, when she didn't have to put on a show with James.
Something about seeing the four of them, looking so happy, so close, so sure of who they were and where they were going, made Mary feel even more unsure, even more lost and alone.
Suddenly, the full impact of everything that had happened over the past few weeks, the past few days, the past few hours, finally hit her. She had to lean on the castle wall for support as she began to sob, unable to stop the tears from falling rapidly down her cheeks.
As she cried, she couldn't stop the flashbacks from the night before-the figure appearing out of the darkness, backing her into the wall, telling her that she was being watched.
She really was being watched. Her mother might have said that she was only imagining the whispers and the footsteps in the castle, but the threat last night and all of the pictures in the newspaper article surely proved that somebody was following her, and that she was in danger.
She remembered how afraid she had been last night; how she had been unable to move, to react in her shock. It hit her just how much danger she had been in; how vulnerable she'd been; how much worse things could have been; how it could happen again soon...
Her tears continued to fall. Her hands were shaking. She could barely stand.
She thought again about her mother, about how she was sick again. She remembered how it had been last time, years ago, when her mother had looked so weak, so frail. All of it was going to happen again.
She thought about James, how he wasn't even here. He was away doing his duty, as usual. For so long, it had felt as though the two of them had been drifting apart. And James had been looking so unhappy recently. He must have known about their mother's condition-he had to have known already, if the queen was already starting to hand over her royal duties to him. And he hadn't thought to tell his sister.
She thought about Francis, how he had left, how they had argued so much since the show started.
Her sobs were coming out in loud gasps now. The tears wouldn't stop.
"Mary..."
Mary heard a voice, softly whispering her name. For a moment, she was sure that she had only imagined it, but then she heard it again.
Then, her eyes still filled with tears, she saw a flash of blond, wavy hair...
Mary blinked rapidly, almost unable to believe it.
How could he be here, up on the castle roof? He had gone to France; she had been so sure he wouldn't come back.
"Mary?"
She heard him say her name again, the tone of voice full of concern. No one had spoken to her with that much concern in their voice before, and this idea only made her cry even harder.
"F-Francis?" she managed to gasp between her sobs, still almost unable to believe that he was right here.
"I'm here," he whispered, his words sounding tentative, but still concerned. His voice was so soft, so calming.
He looked right at her; he reached out a hand as though he wanted to comfort her. But still he kept a little distance between them, as though afraid to get too close; like he was afraid that Mary might push him away.
Before she could think about what she was doing, and before she could remember all of their recent arguments and disagreements, Mary took a step towards him, and then he was wrapping his arms around her, holding her almost protectively as she continued to cry.
Mary knew that she must look a mess right now, but she didn't care. She just needed someone to be there for her in this moment of despair.
In spite of the awful circumstances, there was something strangely comforting about being held in Francis's arms. He felt powerful, strong. She felt safe.
Perhaps they had once been affectionate with each other like this, back when they were children; perhaps they really had been as close as her mother always insisted they were, once; perhaps, for all these years, Mary had been missing something that she hadn't even known she had lost.
"You're shaking," Francis muttered. He still sounded scared.
Scared on her behalf, Mary realised, as he continued to hold her close.
Mary could only nod as she held Francis even tighter.
"Mary, are you sure that you're all right?"
For the past few minutes, Mary had been staring down at the white jumper she was wearing over her clothes, until Francis's question interrupted her thoughts.
Francis's jumper...she silently reminded herself, as she thought again about how strange that was.
After she had stopped crying, she had been unable to stop herself from trembling.
Francis had insisted that they both go back inside, and so they had taken refuge in a dusty old corner of the library, away from the prying eyes of others in the castle, but not before Francis had gone to find a warm item of clothing for Mary to wear.
And so Mary had ended up putting on the white jumper that Francis had worn when they'd first shared a conversation after the opening ceremony.
She pulled the jumper closer to her body, as though the item of clothing alone could provide her with comfort. There was something oddly soothing about it, even though Mary wasn't sure what it was. She liked that it was a little too big for her, how it seemed to wrap her up like a blanket. She liked the way it smelled, fresh and clean, even though this thought made her want to blush.
Relising that she was still staring down in fascination at the white item of clothing, Mary forced herself to look up at Francis from across the polished wooden table in the library, where they were sitting close to one another.
Closer than they had been for weeks.
"No," Mary told him with a sigh, deciding that she might as well be honest, after the state that Francis had just seen her in. For perhaps the first time ever, Mary realised that she was sick of all the lies; sick of all the covering up and the sneaking around. "But I will be, eventually," she added, trying her best to smile. For the first time in a long time, she could actually allow herself to believe that she might be okay, in the end.
Francis nodded, apparently appreciating her honesty, but there was still a concerned frown on his face. Mary guessed that he didn't really know what to do, what to say-there was still a sort of awkward tension between the two of them, with so much left unsaid.
But still, Mary was grateful that Francis was here, that he was staying by her side, that he actually cared enough to not leave her alone right now. He had even requested that tea be brought to them in the library, ignoring the disgruntled muttering of all the staff at the unusual request. He seemed to think that the hot drink might help Mary to feel a little better.
And so there was now a tray containing a large pot of tea and two cups on the table between them.
Mary was almost tempted to laugh about all this-a part of her wanted to send a message to Greer, to tell her friend that she was currently sitting across a library table, facing the future king of France, wearing his jumper, the two of them drinking tea together, surrounded by the old books that Mary had once searched through to find out the meaning of the bird-in-flight symbol. If this were actually a date, then it would be a pretty strange one. Greer would no doubt find it all hilarious-bizarre, but hilarious.
But then Mary shook her her head, fighting off a sudden urge to blush as she poured tea into her cup to distract herself. This wasn't a date; she and Francis were barely even friends, and nothing about this situation was funny. She knew that later tonight, she would feel mortified, humiliated that Francis (a future king; the son of her mother's rivals) had seen her in tears; embarrassed that she had lost control like that.
Perhaps she really had gone into shock, or maybe she was delirious, or hysterical with everything that had happened recently.
Feeling suddenly serious again, Mary decided she should try to make conversation, now that there seemed to be this new-found peace between the two of them:
"I-I wasn't sure that you would come back from France," she whispered, breaking the heavy silence. "After...after everything."
Francis looked surprised at these words. He seemed to be studying her closely, like he was trying to decide how much he should tell her. "My father was very ill," he said eventually, with a pained expression on his face. "I had to return to see him. He has recovered, slightly, enough that I felt comfortable enough to return...I was always planning on returning...but the doctors say it's only a matter of time before-" He went quiet, looking uncomfortable, as though he had given too much away.
"I'm sorry," Mary told him, and she genuinely meant it, although she'd never been much of a fan of the French king.
A part of her was surprised that Francis really had had a genuine reason to return to France-that he hadn't just wanted to run away from her, and another part of her was trying hard not to think about the implications of what Francis had just revealed-if his father really was that sick, then it meant that Francis could be king a lot sooner than Mary had thought.
"My mother is very ill, too," Mary told him. She hadn't planned on telling Francis this, not today, and she knew how risky it would be, to place this information in the hands of a rival country, but she decided that she had to try to trust Francis, if she really was going to continue with this matchmaking process like her mother had asked her to do. Besides, the two of them were equal now, after what Francis had just revealed to her; after he had comforted her like that on the rooftop; after he had trusted her with the information about his father.
And she just needed to tell someone, to ease the burden a little.
Still, it didn't stop her eyes from filling with fresh tears as she said the words out loud.
"Mary, I'm so sorry," said Francis. And he looked it, too.
"That-that was not the only reason I was so...distressed today," Mary told him, hurriedly, before she could talk herself out of it. Still, she had to fight off another blush at the thought that Francis Valois had seen her cry like that. Her hands also started to shake again, and she had to place her cup of tea back down on the table.
She paused and took a few deep breaths while Francis waited patiently for her to speak.
"I...I was threatened, last night, at the wedding," she told him, in barely more than a whisper. "I went outside for just a moment-" Mary trailed off, unable to talk about it anymore, half-afraid that Francis would lecture her about how irresponsible she had been, the way her mother had done.
"Mary, are you all right?" Francis asked her again. The expression of real concern, of genuine fear, was back on his face again.
Suddenly, to Mary's surprise, Francis was out of his chair and kneeling in front of her, the way he had done in the television room after the opening ceremony, when he'd been trying to comfort her and trying to apologise to her for having to participate in the show.
"I will be," she tried to insist, ignoring another tear that travelled slowly down her cheek. As awful as it was to talk about last night, a part of her felt relieved at being able to share this with somebody; with somebody who actually seemed to care about her wellbeing. She almost wished she could thank him, for actually checking that she was okay, rather than treating the threat as a political issue. She was not used to this caring behaviour from members of royal families.
"What would you do?" Mary asked him tentatively, deciding that she really was going to make an effort to work in partnership with Francis now. "If this had happened in France, I mean?"
She noticed the subtle change in Francis's expression, and she knew that she was now seeing Francis-the-future-king, instead of the concerned childhood friend.
"We would increase security, both inside the castle and out," he told her, his voice professional now. "We could provide you with bodyguards from the French castle, if you wish. We would launch and enquiry to catch the culprit, perhaps put a few trusty advisors on the case. But, Mary, I would advise you not to hide away; don't let them think that they've got the better of you...You will win this-not the rebels, not the anti-royalists, not even the snakes who hang around the Scottish and French castles..."
Mary stared at him in surprise. She had half-expected him to say all of those things, but still, in this moment, Francis reminded her a lot more of his mother than his father, who Mary had always assumed he took after. This resemblance would have been amusing too, in other circumstances.
Eventually, she nodded. It was a gesture that she had been taught by other royals-acknowledge that the advice has been heard, without making any promises to follow it.
To add to her surprise, she realised that in spite of his impassioned royal speech, Francis was still kneeling down beside her. He was still worried about her.
Somehow, the two of them had ended up holding hands. Suddenly, Mary had a vague recollection of them being affectionate with each other like this before, back when they were children. Perhaps they had held hands several times in the past, and the hidden memories of those moments had unconsciously brought them back to that gesture.
Mary stared at their joined hands, lost in thought. She knew that in a crisis, Francis was the person to be around. He was brave, selfless. So many times, his hand had reached out to hers, ready to catch her before she fell.
But a relationship involved so much more than fighting together on a battlefield. If she really wanted to see if something could happen between them, then Mary would have to take that step into the unknown; she would have to get to know Francis-the-boyfriend, rather than Francis-the-king. She would have to see who he was when he wasn't being a king; who he was after a crisis had passed.
Eventually, she made a decision.
"Perhaps it would be a good idea to get away from here for a little while," she said, slowly. "To get away from Scotland, I mean."
Francis looked up at her, surprise and confusion written all over his face. "What do you mean?" he asked her, gently.
Mary took a few moments to think before she spoke again. She thought about how big a step this would be. But then she thought about the deal she'd just made with her mother, and everything she'd promised her she would do, in order to give the matchmaking process a real chance. She had agreed to all of it, in order to ensure that by the end of the process, the decision could be hers.
"What if we filmed the next episode of the show in France? At the French castle?" she clarified.
Francis looked visibly shocked by this proposal. Mary could tell that he hadn't expected her to ever suggest it.
She almost felt shocked herself. Only a week ago, she would probably not have agreed to this. But now, with everything else that was going on, the prospect of a visit to France didn't seem so terrifying anymore. She was almost looking forward to getting away from all of the problems in Scotland for a little while.
"You would really want to do that?" he asked, as though he didn't dare believe it.
Mary nodded. The small smile on Francis's face at her response almost made this daring step worth it. It made her feel slightly less terrified, at least. Even Bash had never looked this happy at the prospect of getting to spend time with her. Did Francis really want to give the matchmaking process a chance, too?
"I'll make sure it goes as smoothly as possible," Francis promised, as though he still needed to persuade her to agree to this. "I know how...interesting the French royal family can seem, to those who are not part of it. If at any point you need to get away from them for a little while-"
These words (and the promise of not having to deal with Catherine and Henry twenty-four hours a day) made Mary feel brave enough to make her next suggestion...
"Well, perhaps you and I could go somewhere alone together-as part of the show, I mean-if filming at the French castle gets a little tedious after a little while..."
She knew that the public had been demanding that the two of them spend more time alone together in upcoming episodes, after all, and she knew it was only fair to honour their requests, as part of her promise to the queen of Scotland.
"Like a date?" Francis asked her with a grin.
Mary could tell that he was teasing her, but still, there was something about the look on his face that made Mary think that perhaps he was interested in trying something like that.
"Mary, I'm joking," Francis told her quickly, like he'd interpreted the embarrassed look on Mary's face as reluctance. "But, if there is somewhere you'd like to go in France, anywhere, then name it, and we can go and film there."
"Anywhere?" Mary asked him, almost smiling now.
"Anywhere," Francis replied, looking like a king again, a king who had the means to deliver on any promise, any request; a king who had a whole country at his command.
Assuming that he was joking, just trying to make her feel better and forget about her problems, Mary decided to play along: "I've always wanted to go to Paris," she told him with a raised eyebrow. "And I mean really go to Paris, not just as part of a royal visit."
Francis stood up and smiled at her. "Then we shall go to Paris," he announced.