"Mesdames et messieurs..."
"Je suis très heureux d'être ici…"
"Merci pour m'avoir invité à votre pays…"
Mary paced up and down the floor of the television room, reciting words in French over and over. She knew that she would have to make one or two official speeches in the language when she arrived at the castle in France, and she'd been using every opportunity to practice in the Scottish castle over the few days since she had decided to travel with Francis.
"Well?" she asked her Publicist, when she finally stopped pacing. She was definitely out of practice when it came to speaking French. She turned to look at Narcisse, who was lounging on a nearby sofa, watching her with a contemplative expression on his face.
"Not bad," he replied with a vague nod.
As her Publicist, he had been helping her to prepare for the royal visit, assisting her with her speech-giving practice, going over lists of possible questions and answers when dealing with the media, helping to prepare her schedule for the three-day visit, and even working with Mary's fashion designers to help plan her outfits.
Mary sighed at Narcisse's response. She supposed it was probably about the best she could hope for, given the short amount of time she'd had to prepare. She only hoped that she had done enough.
Narcisse had just started to go over a few not-so-diplomatic topics that Mary should probably avoid talking about while she was in France, when they were interrupted by the sound of a loud knock on the door.
"Can we come in yet?" Mary heard Lola's voice shouting through the door.
"Yes, hurry up, Narcisse!" she then heard Kenna's bossy voice call out after Lola.
Mary rolled her eyes, but she couldn't help smiling at how eager they were to get into the room.
Since Lola had found out that Francis had agreed to take Mary to Paris, Lola had been far too enthusiastic about the whole thing for Mary's liking. Lola had also told Kenna all about it, and Kenna had 'conveniently' arranged a visit to the Scottish castle this week 'to see James'-a visit which had mainly consisted of giggling and gossiping with Lola for the past three days, while Mary tried her best to tell them to be quiet.
"Fine, enter," Narcisse told the girls with a sigh.
The door was flung open, and Kenna and Lola burst into the room, holding various hairbrushes and makeup bags in their hands.
Mary shook her head in exasperation. She had agreed to allow Lola and Kenna to help her get ready for her visit to France in the last hour before she had to leave the Scottish castle to head to the airport, acting against the advice of her hair and makeup team, but now, she was starting to have second thoughts.
They seemed to be acting like Mary was a regular teenage girl who was about to go on a date, and this idea was making Mary feel a little dizzy.
She was just about to warn them not to go over-the-top with her makeup when she caught sight of somebody else standing in the doorway…
"Greer!" she shouted in surprise, before she ran to hug her best friend.
Mary almost couldn't believe it…she knew that Greer was due to leave Scotland for her honeymoon in a couple of days' time, but it seemed her friend had made the time for a surprise visit to the castle in the meantime.
Mary didn't have too long for greetings and exclamations of surprise with Greer-Kenna ushered her into the nearest chair, complaining that they didn't have much time before Mary had to leave, and then Lola and Kenna began to style Mary's hair and apply her makeup, with Greer occasionally helping them out.
After about fifteen minutes, they were interrupted by another knock on the door.
They all turned towards the doorway in time to see Bash enter the room, looking a little sheepish at disturbing them.
As he bowed politely to them all, Mary glanced in Kenna's direction-she seemed to be watching Bash with a curious expression on her face.
"Princess," Bash greeted her with a half-smile, after he had said hello to the others.
Mary managed to smile back at him, but still she watched him curiously, although perhaps for different reasons than Kenna-Bash was still something of a mystery to her; a puzzle wrapped in pretty packaging that she felt like she had to solve.
Discreetly, he nodded his head in the direction of the far corner of the room, and Mary worked out that he wanted to talk to her in private.
Mary excused herself from the 'makeup chair' for a few moments, making several promises that she wouldn't take too long, and then she followed Bash to the corner of the room, just out of earshot of the others. She could practically feel Kenna's eyes on the two of them the whole time.
"I have something for you," Bash told her in barely more than a whisper, the moment they were out of earshot.
With that, he took off the plain and simple ring he always wore on his finger and handed it to her.
"Bash, I can't accept this," said Mary, feeling strangely uncomfortable, for some reason. She started to remind him that the ring had been a gift to Bash from his mother, but Bash cut her off-
"It's only a temporary gift, for your visit to France," he explained. "The ring is carved with all sorts of symbols of Scotland and Scottish royalty-anyone who catches sight of it will be sure you're wearing it as a sign of loyalty to your country. I thought it might help to make a good impression, especially after your last interview…"
Mary couldn't help shuddering as she remembered her recent disastrous interview, and the bird-in-flight pin, and the argument with Francis that had followed. She was still afraid that the public would react negatively to her, believing her to have deliberately worn a rebel symbol on television.
"Thank you," said Mary as she finally accepted the ring from Bash.
She wasn't sure how to feel about it. A part of her was grateful that Bash seemed to be trying to help her to bring about some positive publicity for the Scottish royal family while she was in France-or trying to protect Mary, at least-but another part of her was a little suspicious-why would Bash need to wear something that gave the appearance of being loyal to Scotland in the first place? Was he really full of Scottish pride? Or did he simply want everyone to think that he was? What was he hiding?
Before she could voice any of these concerns, Mary caught sight of Kenna walking out of the room. She looked so distressed that Mary decided she should probably go and check on her.
She thanked Bash again and excused herself. As she walked out of the room, she hurriedly untied her makeshift necklace that she made from black ribbon from her around her neck, and threaded the ribbon through the ring, so that the ring sat next to the silver key. Then, she placed the ribbon back around her neck.
It didn't take Mary too long to find Kenna-the door to the room opposite the television room had been left half-open. Mary walked inside the room and gently closed the door behind her. To her surprise, Kenna was looking very glum as she sat on the window seat and stared out of the large windows with her arms folded. As Mary got even closer, she was even more surprised to see that Kenna was crying.
Kenna was alerted to Mary's presence when Mary accidentally stepped on a particularly creaky bit of the wooden floor, and Kenna jumped at the loud noise before she rolled her eyes and glared in Mary's direction.
"I'm sorry, I'll just, er…" Mary stammered as she gestured in the direction of the door. She wasn't really sure what to do-Kenna was always so strong, so composed, and so sarcastic-she'd never seen her break down like this. She was sure that Kenna never would have wanted Mary to see her like this.
She had just taken a few steps in the direction of the door when Kenna finally spoke-
"What's it like, Mary?" she said, her voice sounding shaky.
"I'm sorry?" Mary asked her with a confused frown.
"Francis," Kenna whispered, like this explained anything. "I've seen the way he looks at you," Kenna finally continued after a long pause, as Mary fought off a strange urge to blush. "And Bash," she added, now looking even more devastated.
"Kenna," said Mary, uncertainly. She wasn't exactly sure what was going on. Did Kenna have a crush on Francis? Or would she have simply preferred a marriage proposal from a powerful future King of France, instead of the future King of Scotland? "Every boy looks at you like that," she insisted. It was true, after all. Back during their school days in London, all the boys had always wanted Kenna.
But Kenna shook her head, as though Mary was wrong in what she was saying.
Mary tried a different approach: "You're engaged to the King of Scotland. You're going to be a queen, just like you always wanted-"
"James doesn't love me," Kenna interrupted her, as another tear fell down her cheek. "Not the way that Francis loves you-"
"Kenna, stop," said Mary. It made her uncomfortable, when anybody talked about Francis having feelings for her, especially when Mary was fairly certain that those feelings didn't exist.
"You all know it's true, about me and James," Kenna continued, apparently misinterpreting Mary's reasons for cutting the conversation off. "I'm sure you and Greer laugh about it together, the way you always used to laugh at me back in London-"
Mary felt a strange twist of guilt. It had never even occurred to her that Kenna could be hurt by anything Mary and Greer said about her-especially as she always seemed to consider herself to be so superior to the two of them.
"He'll be my husband, but not my lover, or my knight, or my prince," Kenna sobbed. "Never that."
Before Mary could say anything in response, Mary caught her staring at the ring that was hanging from her necklace. Bash's ring.
"It must be nice," said Kenna with a sigh, "to have a boy look at you like that, to have a boy take you on a date to Paris…I've always wanted to go on a romantic trip to Paris…"
At those words, and the expression of mingled jealousy and longing on Kenna's face, something suddenly became perfectly clear to Mary, something that really, she had known all along.
This was not about Kenna's feelings for James, or even her feelings about Mary's upcoming weekend with Francis. It was Bash who Kenna had feelings for; it was Bash who she wanted.
In other circumstances, Mary might even have laughed at this revelation. Kenna, who had only ever looked at future kings and powerful politicians. Kenna, who would stop at nothing to marry into a ruling family. And after all that, she had fallen for the boy who worked in the castle stables; the boy who was so poor he could barely afford to buy a ring from a local giftshop. But there was nothing funny about any of this.
"Kenna," said Mary, her own voice shaking; "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry…"
Kenna shook her head and wiped away a tear. "I have a duty to my own country," she declared.
Mary recognised that look-she had seen it on the faces of her mother and her brother hundreds of times-Kenna was steeling herself, pushing her emotions down, preparing herself to do her duty, in spite of what her heart was telling her.
"I have to go through with this marriage," she announced to the almost empty room, her voice sounding hollow, empty.
Mary felt heartbroken just watching her. "You, me and Lola," she said, before she could think better of it, "what a mess we are all in…" It was the first time that Mary had considered the three of them as truly in this together.
Surprisingly, Kenna actually managed a smile at this statement. "That's an understatement," she replied.
Eventually, after several promises that Kenna could finish applying her makeup, Mary persuaded her to head back into the television room with her.
As they walked across the hall, Mary tucked her black necklace into her shirt, hiding the key and the ring from view. After what Kenna had just revealed, she no longer felt so pleased at the idea of Bash giving her the ring.
It turned out that the others had barely noticed their absence from the room-Bash was making polite conversation with Greer about her wedding, and thanking her for allowing him to attend, while Lola and Narcisse were sitting close together on the sofa, holding hands as they pretended to be paying attention to a news report about yet another protest in Edinburgh.
Mary felt a flicker of fear on their behalf, as she wondered what would happen when her mother inevitably found out about Lola and Narcisse's romance.
After Bash had left the room, the girls had a few more minutes to style Mary's hair and apply her makeup, but all too soon, Narcisse was ushering Mary out of her seat, telling her that the flight was scheduled to take off soon, and the film crew was waiting for her.
With a sigh, Mary started to head out into the corridor. Just before she could leave the room, Narcisse took hold of her arm.
"Remember," he told her in a low voice when Mary turned back to look at him, "you are in control of this show-you could potentially be a queen of France…don't spend this whole trip bowing to the king and queen's every whim; you are not their subject."
Mary could only nod-it felt like there were already too many thoughts and plans and strategies in her head at the moment.
It seemed like Narcisse was still treating the matchmaking show as his own personal game. Mary just wasn't sure if he considered her as an ally or merely a chess piece who he could manoeuvre whenever he felt like it; a card that he could deal when he needed to win the imaginary game.
Mary was already nervous enough, so it definitely didn't help that Lola, Kenna and Greer had decided to follow her on her way to the entrance hall, where she was due to meet with Francis.
When she finally arrived at the top of the grand staircase that led down to the entrance hall, Mary spotted Francis immediately. He was dressed in a white shirt and black trousers, with his wavy blond hair perfectly styled. He also looked very regal, standing up straight with his hands clasped behind his back, and a very serious expression on his face…
He was handsome. Mary hardly ever allowed herself to think this, but the truth of it was undeniable.
Mary felt another rush of nerves. Suddenly, her throat felt dry, and her legs felt heavy, along with her breathing. She wasn't sure that she would be able to put one leg in front of the other and walk down the stairs. Even worse, the television crew also surrounded the entrance hall, waiting to capture everything on camera.
"Go on," Lola prompted her, her voice barely more than a whisper.
Mary looked over her shoulder at her three friends (although she wasn't fully sure if she could call Kenna her friend just yet), and they all looked like they were trying not to giggle like schoolgirls.
She might have rolled her eyes at the three of them, but still Mary leaned in to give Greer a hug before she left. She held her tight, trying not to think about how long it might be before she saw her best friend again.
As she willed herself to take that first step so she could walk down the stairs, Mary thought not about Francis-the-future-king who was standing waiting for her; instead, she thought about the boy who had held her protectively in his arms when she'd been crying on the castle roof only a few days ago; she thought about the boy who had allowed her to wear his jumper as he comforted her in the library; the boy who had looked so happy when she'd told him she would go to France with him; the boy who had told her he would take her to Paris.
These were the thoughts that carried her down the stairs towards Francis.
With every step she took, she was grateful that her stylists had decided to dress her in a simple white shirt and black trousers today for the journey, along with a pair of plain black shoes with only a small heel.
Francis seemed to notice her the moment she started walking down the stairs. He stopped looking in the direction of the Throne Room and looked up at her. His stern expression seemed to soften a little, and he even managed a smile.
"Mary," he greeted her as she got a little closer.
Somehow, Mary felt a little light-headed, just at hearing him utter that one word.
"Francis," she replied, trying to sound as dignified as possible.
He held out his hand, silently offering to help her take her final steps down the stairs.
Mary accepted the offer, taking his hand in hers. It would almost have been a nice moment, if not for the fact that several members of the camera crew stepped closer to them, trying to zoom in on their joined hands, and also the fact that Mary really could hear the three girls giggling now, from wherever they were hiding upstairs.
"I'm sorry," Mary whispered to Francis, through gritted teeth.
"It's fine," he replied. Luckily, he looked amused by it all.
There wasn't much time to make small talk, as several members of staff started to usher them out of the entrance hall.
As she started to head outside, Mary looked over her shoulder, wanting to catch one more glimpse of her home before she left the country for a couple of days.
In that moment, she noticed her mother, her father and James, all of them leaning over the wooden railings that overlooked the entrance hall. It seemed that they had forgone their royal duties this morning so they could come and say goodbye to her, in their own way.
When Mary caught her eye, her mother nodded her, and Mary nodded back, before she turned back around and headed out of the door. Something about the goodbye felt strangely final, as though something was ending.
There was a limo waiting in the driveway to take them to the airport. Several members of staff got into the car with them, although Mary wasn't sure if this was a blessing or a curse-on the one hand, it meant she could avoid any awkward silences with Francis, but on the other hand, her Publicity Team talked so obsessively about the trip to France that their conversation only served to make Mary feel even more terrified…
They went over the details again as the car headed in the direction of the airport-there would be photographers waiting, when they arrived at the French airport, and Mary and Francis would be expected to pose for a few photographs for them. Then there would be a car waiting to take them to the French castle. Upon their arrival, Mary would be giving a speech in French to the waiting subjects, in the hope that her speech might help to ease diplomatic relations between France and Scotland a little. Mary would also be expected to spend time with Francis's parents and his younger brothers, and she would have the opportunity to observe Francis and his family while they completed their royal duties, to see if she could fit into their lives, in the way that her mother hoped she would.
After that, Mary and Francis would be visiting Paris, together, on a date, with only a television crew for company.
Mary felt overwhelmed just at the thought of it.
Finally, the limo pulled up just outside the Scottish airport. Another team of staff arrived to walk them from the car across the airfield towards the Valois family's royal private jet.
Mary might have felt a little dazed and distracted, but it was impossible not to be impressed by the interior of the plane-there were expensive-looking leather seats and polished wooden tables with various glasses and plates and vases filled with flowers displayed on top of them; there were a couple of television screens and overhead lights, as well as a dark blue carpet on the floor, and large windows to look out of during the flight.
A member of the cabin crew led her to a seat next to Francis, and then the two of them were alone together-or alone as they could be, anyway.
As the plane's engines roared to life, and the crew prepared for take-off, Mary felt her heart start to beat faster. This was it. It was actually happening. She was really going to France, back to the scene of the attack two years ago. She was going away from Scotland, without her family, with only Francis by her side. She would have to face Henry and Catherine again, in a country that was a rival of Scotland, and she would be going on a date with Francis in Paris, her first real date, and she didn't know how to behave on a real-life date, and the cameras would be filming it all…
"Mary," she heard Francis whisper from the seat beside hers, "it'll be fine. I promise."
He had apparently sensed her nerves.
His voice was so soft, so comforting, in the way that it had been back in the library a couple of days ago. It was a voice that Mary wasn't sure many people had heard before-Francis did not sound so gentle when he was giving official royal speeches. It was a voice that she could believe in.
Mary nodded, feeling more reassured, but she was still finding it a little difficult to speak.
It was only when the plane was finally up in the sky that Francis seemed to realise something; Mary noticed him looking at all of the members of staff from Scotland who were on the plane with them. Then, he frowned, as though something didn't quite add up…
"Where is Narcisse?" Francis finally asked her.
Mary couldn't help frowning in return-although she felt more surprised and confused by the question than annoyed by it.
"I…I thought it would be easier, for diplomatic relations, if Narcisse stayed behind in Scotland this weekend," Mary replied, although she had thought this explanation would already have been obvious. She was already nervous enough about her visit to France, and she hadn't wanted to complicate things further by bringing an enemy of the Valois family into their castle.
"Oh," Francis simply replied, looking a little lost for words. He actually looked grateful that Mary had decided to leave Narcisse behind this weekend.
It occurred to Mary that Francis was genuinely surprised that she had not brought her Publicist with her; it occurred to her that he actually would have accepted it, if she'd wanted Narcisse to accompany her on this visit, in spite of the hatred between the two men.
Before either of them could say anything else, Francis was called away to speak to a member of his own Publicity Team about a meeting that would be taking place in the French castle later in the day, and Mary's team used the opportunity to brief her all over again about the schedule for their visit to France.
Mary tried not to look too exasperated; she knew that this would be the reality of a life with Francis-the two of them would always have duties to perform, people to meet, schedules to keep. They would not always have time alone together, in the way that a normal couple would.
Almost instinctively, Mary took hold of her necklace, which she had hidden under her shirt. She clasped her hand tightly around both the key and the ring.
She had other options. Even though those other options would bring about their own problems and complications. There were still options there, for now. But then she thought of Kenna, and James, and her mother, and the situation in Scotland, and she knew that the other options might not be there for much longer-time was running out. She would have to make a decision soon.
The moment she had tucked the necklace under her shirt again, hiding it from view, Francis sat back down beside her.
Mary stared at him for a few moments, lost in thought. Then, she made up her mind about something; she knew that if she was going to make an informed decision at the end of this matchmaking process, she would need to have as many facts as possible…
"What is the history, between you and Narcisse?" she asked Francis.
Francis visibly tensed at the question, and a look of pain crossed his face.
"I'm sorry," Mary muttered. "It's just…my mother is sick, the situation in Scotland is dire, my brother is about to inherit the throne, and I'm being pressured to make a decision that will affect my entire future. I'm not sure I can do that unless I have all the facts. Perhaps it would be better if we decided to be honest with each other…"
Mary knew that what she had just proposed would be risky-she was making some sort of promise to be honest herself with Francis in return for his openness. Mary had never been very good at being honest and open.
However, her words seemed to do the trick, because Francis took a deep breath, and Mary just knew that he was about to tell her something, at least…
"A few years ago," he started with a sigh, "Narcisse worked as a Publicist and Advisor in France for royals and celebrities alike. He was well-known for his under-handed methods, his back-handed deals, and his ruthlessness. He had a reputation for making problems…disappear…."
Mary turned in her seat so she could look right at Francis and give him her full attention. She saw that he looked visibly uncomfortable at his recollections of Narcisse. However, after a brief pause, he carried on talking…
"He came to work at the castle, on my mother's recommendation My mother was trying to get back at my father for an affair, and no doubt Narcisse was in the right place at the right time. He seemed to be skilled at pushing through not-so-pleasant deals that the two of them had come up with together. They were…close; I don't want to think about how close…"
Francis shuddered, and Mary felt a twist of sympathy at the look of pain on Francis's face. She'd heard rumours that the marriage between the King and Queen of France was not a very loving one, but she'd never really thought about what went on behind the scenes before. Yet it was perfectly clear what Francis was implying about his mother's relationship with Narcisse…
"Our subjects threatened to riot at some of the policies Narcisse helped to introduce," said Francis. "But that was not the worst of it-there were rumours, that he was in with groups of rebels who were in favour of abolishing the monarchy completely. Some said he was hoping to seize power for himself. He and his son had been spotted, now and again, meeting with suspected rebels and criminals in dark corners of dingy pubs in Paris…"
Mary felt a twist of discomfort as she thought about the fact that she had spotted Narcisse hiding in a corner of a dark and dingy Scottish pub recently. She could only hope that he wasn't plotting something in Scotland.
"There was nothing we could do to prove it, however. But then, the…" Francis paused, looking like he was unsure whether he should say much more, "but then the attack on the castle happened…
Mary took a deep breath, trying not to allow the memories of that night to overwhelm her. Suddenly, an image appeared in her head, one that she had barely given much thought to since the explosion in the castle…
A man wearing a mask had smirked at her, when she'd got past the guards that night in France. He'd held up his wine glass to her, in a toast to her success. He'd been pleased that she'd got one over on the royals…
Of course, it had been Narcisse! She could see his face clearly in her mind now. He'd still been working for the French royal family back then. Had he been planning something, even as he'd smirked at her? Had he known that it was a Scottish princess, behind the mask? Was Francis about to tell her that he'd somehow been involved in the attack on the castle that night?
"Many were suspicious that he might have somehow been involved," Francis went on, as though he could read Mary's thoughts, "nothing could be proved to implicate Narcisse directly, but a few days later, private videos were leaked of Narcisse's son, giving anti-royal speeches to rebels-he was heard threatening some sort of attack on the castle, bragging about what he and his followers would do. In my father's eyes, it was enough evidence to place him under arrest. Narcisse was furious, of course. He made all sort of threats, promised to destroy us if we did not release his son. He leaked negative stories about the royals to the press; funds, treasures, important documents, were all stolen from the castle. Until finally, his son somehow managed to escape prison. I don't know how, or where he went, but he seemed to have fled the country. Narcisse wasn't far behind him, of course. He was in disgrace in France-he had helped to ruin the reputation of the royals, and many still suspected him to be behind the attack. Mary, you should know, before he left, he promised one final act of revenge against my family…"
"And then he ended up in Scotland…" Mary finished for him.
Francis nodded.
"And you're afraid that he's planning his final act as part of the matchmaking show..." Mary guessed.
Again, Francis nodded, with a very troubled look on his face.
At these words, an uncomfortable silence seemed to hang in the air between them.
Mary wasn't sure how she felt after hearing this story; it was not the same sob story that Narcisse had told her about being parted from his son. This story was very different. Somebody wasn't telling the truth, although right now, Mary felt like she believed Francis's version of events over Narcisse's.
There was no solid proof, of course, that Narcisse and his son had actually planned the attack, but the circumstances were definitely suspicious. Either way, Narcisse had definitely not been a pleasant character, back in France, and Mary hadn't seen much evidence that he had changed.
"Mary," said Francis, "I can't force you to dismiss him, but you should know, I'm afraid for you..."
In spite of her worry, Mary felt a little flattered by Francis's words-sometimes, it felt like nobody worried about her very much.
She knew she would have to keep an eye on Narcisse when she got back to Scotland. She was already suspicious about Bash and his mother carrying out secret meetings at the pub in the village, and she didn't like that Narcisse could also be up to something there, too. Was Mary inadvertently protecting people in the castle who were working against Scotland and its royal family?
Things would have to change, when she got back home. She would have to be more careful.
But still, Francis had been honest with her-he had allowed her to share in this not-so-pleasant part of his family's past…
"Thank you," Mary told him, and she meant it.
He nodded in acknowledgement, but he still looked a little distressed.
Without thinking too much about it, Mary reached for his hand. She might not have done it so willingly, back at the castle with everybody watching, but here, in the relative privacy of the plane, the gesture felt surprisingly normal. Mary had a strange feeling that she and Francis had held hands often before, back when they were children...
Francis looked surprised for a moment, but then he held Mary's hand in his, and the two of them sat in silence for a few moments. This time, the silence was not an uncomfortable one.
They were interrupted when a member of the cabin crew approached their seats. "We'll be landing soon," the woman informed them. She saw their joined hands and smiled at Francis, looking like a proud aunt who was meeting her favourite nephew's latest girlfriend. Mary tried not to blush too much.
"Thank you," Francis informed the woman with a polite nod, looking far more professional than Mary felt.
As the plane prepared for its slow descent, Mary looked out the window, mentally trying to prepare herself for what was to come.
The sun seemed brighter in the sky now, but the land below still seemed to be cast in shadow, as though it wanted to remain a mystery to her, for now.