In what seemed like no time at all, the private jet landed on French soil.
Mary barely had time to feel another rush of nerves before she was ushered towards the plane's exit door.
The waiting journalists and photographers might have been asked to remain at a distance from the private jet, but still Mary could hear their excited chatter, and she could see the constant flashing of the camera lens from across the airfield the moment the plane's door opened.
Mary took a few deep breaths, trying to calm herself as she walked slowly down the stairs attached to the plane, focusing on not tripping over or falling. She knew that she was on display here, representing Scotland on what her mother would call a diplomatic mission. Now was not the time to get distracted and lose focus. The French media would home in on her every mistake.
Francis walked slowly down the stairs beside her. He looked a lot more comfortable than Mary did-Mary guessed that this was because, as the heir to the throne, Francis had a lot more practice at doing things like this in full view of the country's media.
At the very least, he gave her nods of what seemed to be reassurance every few seconds, and Mary felt slightly better.
They were escorted across the airfield by a team of security guards, while the camera crew walked backwards a few feet ahead of them, filming every moment of their arrival.
At the same time, the cameras in the distance continued to flash as photographers shouted their names.
"Welcome to France," Mary heard Francis mutter from next to her.
She looked up at him and noticed that he was smirking. It was so rare for her to hear Francis make sarcastic comments or joke around that Mary couldn't help grinning back at him.
They were allowed a few minutes inside one of the private rooms in the airport, where Mary was quickly surrounded by members of her hair and makeup team, all of them attempting to adjust her hair and makeup so she would look more presentable in front of the cameras after the flight.
Then they were sent out to face the press.
Mary tried her best to remain calm and professional as she moved slowly along the line of journalists and photographers just outside the main airport doors, telling herself that she would only have to do this for a few minutes, and then she would be escorted to the waiting cars nearby.
Francis also moved along the line, switching seamlessly from French to English to Italian, depending on the nationality of the journalist asking the question. Mary could already tell that he wasn't as nervous as she was about speaking to the press here.
Still, Mary tried her best to be diplomatic whenever she was asked any questions about French and Scottish politics, or any questions about her brother's upcoming wedding to Kenna. It felt strange in this moment, to be standing in her brother's place, to have the media focusing on her in the way that they had always focused on James.
Most of the journalists asked fairly standard questions, such as Mary's thoughts about her visit to France, and who had designed the outfit she was wearing, and whether she was looking forward to visiting Paris tomorrow. It was only when she got towards the end of the row of people that one journalist happened to mention 'the recent attack on the French castle' in a casual, off-hand way, like it was nothing.
At the mention of the attack, Mary jumped. Without thinking about it, she reached down and grabbed hold of Francis's hand, like she was unconsciously seeking out some sort of support. As their hands made contact, Mary noticed that Francis jumped, too, like he wasn't expecting her to reach for him, but then he seemed to relax, taking her hand in his.
Mary had to fight off a blush, feeling like an idiot for her reflex reaction, and for breaking royal protocol by grabbing hold of Francis's hand in public, surrounded by cameras, but she couldn't deny that there was something reassuring about the gesture. She kept hold of Francis's hand as she answered the journalists' final questions.
Finally, after they had spoken to all of the journalists, a couple of bodyguards began to lead Mary and Francis in the direction of the waiting cars.
As soon as Mary had taken her seat inside the royal car, she allowed herself a few moments to take a few deep breaths and breathe a couple of sighs of relief. She knew that she would have to get a hold of herself, and quickly-royals did not have the luxury of losing their composure, and the weekend would be full of many more cameras and journalists and awkward questions.
Almost immediately, Francis's phone began to ring. Soon, he was taking call after call as the car began its slow journey towards the French castle-some of the calls were from family members, while other calls seemed to be business calls relating to his royal duties.
Mary didn't really mind too much that Francis's attention was taken up by his phone calls. She had already prepared herself for the fact that Francis would have plenty of work waiting for him when he arrived in his home country. If she did decide to marry a future king, then she would have to accept the fact that they would both have many distractions in their lives.
Mary used the time to look out of the car window, taking in the sight of fields and forests and old country lanes as all of it passed by.
The French castle was situated over an hour's drive away from the capital city of Paris, and Mary suspected that this was more for security reasons than anything else-in the same way that Mary's mother preferred not to live right in the centre of Edinburgh-but she couldn't deny that the French countryside which surrounded the castle was beautiful. She just had to try not to think about the fact that she had once crept through these fields and forests, when she had been running away from the French castle with her brother the morning after the attack.
After what felt like a long time, and also no time at all, the car arrived at two large iron gates, which marked the first entrance to the castle. Slowly, the gates opened, and then the car was winding down the long driveway, through the grounds situated at the front of the castle and towards the main doors.
The castle looked almost exactly as Mary remembered it, with its high grey walls and Medieval style design. The front garden was neat and tidy, with several trees and flowers lining the paths.
As they got closer to the doors, Mary noticed that a large party seemed to have gathered outside on the front path to greet them. She felt yet another jolt of anxiety.
Finally, the car came to a halt.
"Are you ready?" Mary heard Francis whisper to her as the driver got out of the front seat to open the doors for them.
"No," Mary told him truthfully, "but let's go anyway."
With that, Mary was stepping out of the car, hoping that the waiting photographers wouldn't notice that her hands were shaking, and she took a few steps closer to the front doors.
Soon, Francis was standing beside her, and they were taking slow steps down the front path, stopping to greet several members of staff and friends of the French family along the way. Mary felt a little overwhelmed as various people bowed and curtsied and spoke to her in French, but she tried not to show this in her facial expression.
Francis introduced her to several members of staff and friends of his parents, and Mary noticed that he looked a lot more comfortable here he than he had looked back in Scotland.
Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Francis's father, the King of France, walking out of the front door and striding down the stone steps outside the castle. It seemed he had taken his time to come outside to greet her. Before Mary could look away, he caught sight of her staring him and glared at her, his facial expression full of loathing. Apparently, his feelings about the Scottish royal family hadn't changed.
Mary was distracted when Francis's mother, Catherine, walked towards her with open arms. The queen was beaming, looking for all intents and purposes like she was thrilled to see her. She still looked rather imposing, in spite of her grin, dressed in a black trouser suit and high heels, with expensive jewels draped over her neck and dangling from her ears, and her hair pulled up into a tight bun.
"Mary!" Catherine called out with another smile as she pulled a frowning Mary in for a hug.
The second she got closer however, she whispered in Mary's ear, "Smile, look happy, act like we're both thrilled to be here together…"
Mary sighed and rolled her eyes. It seemed that Catherine hadn't changed, either. However, Mary played her part just as well as the queen did. As the two of them pulled apart, Mary smiled for the cameras along with Catherine, the two of them gripping each other's hands as they posed for photos, standing on the stairs leading up to the main doors.
In all of the pictures, Catherine would look like the sweet, doting mother who was delighted to be welcoming her potential daughter-in-law to France.
Mary was briefly grateful for the fact that she was smart enough to see through the act. She couldn't afford to let her guard down when she was around Catherine.
Before they could all head inside, Mary and Francis were asked to assemble on the front steps with the royal family, so that they could all give a few welcoming speeches to the cameras.
Francis stepped forward first, speaking in French to the small group of waiting journalists.
He stood tall, proud, speaking to the press without any hint of nerves in his voice. Mary knew that some day soon, he would be a king who his mother would be proud of. Would Mary really be here, at the French castle, in that imagined future, standing next to Francis as his queen?
Mary tried to concentrate on what Francis was actually saying: she picked up on a few phrases-he mentioned something about how no matter what happened, he hoped to improve relations between France and Scotland, and how he hoped that their countries could work together as allies, going into the future together as friends, rather than enemies.
She couldn't help smirking to herself as she noticed that Francis's father did not look impressed by his son's words.
Then it was Mary's turn to speak. She took a few deep breaths, stepped forward and spoke her opening lines in French, thanking the French royals for their 'hospitality' and the 'warm welcome' (she tried not to sound too sarcastic or roll her eyes in Catherine's direction as she spoke).
Narcisse had advised her to keep her head held high, to look proud and brave, so that people would take her seriously. She could only hope that she looked that way now. She also hoped that her people would see the Scottish ring around her neck, which she had taken care to ensure was visible as she stepped forward to give her speech.
Mary decided to echo a few of Francis's words. She spoke about how she too hoped that relations between the two countries could improve, and how she wished for Scotland to work together with countries like France.
At the very least, people seemed to be listening to her-their expressions were serious as they took notes and recorded what she was saying.
Now that she had everybody's full attention, she couldn't resist adding a few comments about how she hoped that all the people of Scotland and France would feel like they were truly helped and understood by the royals, and how she hoped to do more to assist those who felt like they were not being heard.
She knew she was taking a risk, making a comment that could be interpreted in so many different ways, but she felt like she needed to make some sort of appeal to those who were thinking about rebelling against the crown, to try in some way to let them know that there were other ways of communicating their unhappiness, without resorting to violence.
It was almost worth it, just to see the look of distaste on the face of the King of France.
Finally, the speeches were over, and Mary and Francis were allowed to enter the castle.
For a few moments, the two of them stood around awkwardly in the castle's entrance hall; it was like they didn't know how to act or what say to each other now that they were no longer surrounded by journalists.
Francis even shuffled around on his feet and ran a hand through his hair.
For the first time, it occurred to Mary that Francis felt nervous whenever he was around her. She wasn't sure why this would be the case, as she had never had the ability to intimidate people in the way that James and Kenna could when they wanted to, but lately, the evidence seemed to be pointing that way when it came to Francis's behaviour around her. In a strange way, Mary liked this theory better than her previous belief that Francis hated her.
"Perhaps the princess would like a tour of the castle?" A friendly-sounding voice broke the awkward silence.
Mary looked over her shoulder and she recognised the woman who worked on the French royal family's private jet as a member of the cabin crew.
She smiled at the two of them, a fond expression on her face, and Mary knew that she was trying to help the two of them out, with no hidden agenda. Perhaps she had teenage children of her own, and therefore understood what they were both going through.
"Yes, Mary, would you like to see the castle?" said Francis. He looked like he was trying to regain his composure, or take back control of the situation.
Struggling to hide a smirk, Mary nodded in agreement. There was something endearing about seeing Francis look so nervous.
As Francis led her up and down various high-ceilinged corridors, Mary felt a strange sense of Deja-vu. All of the halls in the castle were familiar, and she could almost imagine that she and Francis had run up and down these same corridors as children, the two of them laughing together, happy.
Mary felt like the imaginary door in her mind that seemed to be guarding so many repressed memories was slowly starting to unlock, now that she was back in a place where she had spent so much time during her childhood.
Francis seemed to have found his voice over the past few minutes-he talked enthusiastically about all of the royal portraits of his ancestors that were displayed on the walls, and he went into detail about all of the royal artefacts and the antiques in various rooms of the castle.
Mary could tell that Francis was genuinely passionate about his royal heritage, his history and the day-to-day life in the French castle. As Francis pointed out the throne room and explained about a few of the royal ceremonies that had taken place in that room, it seemed to Mary that Francis was certain about his future as a king. Mary could only wish that she could be so certain about her own future.
Francis was talking so much now that Mary could almost forget that they were still being followed by the television crew. Still, she cast nervous glances about the castle every now and again-she was half-expecting Olivia to appear from around a corner.
There was only a moment of awkward silence when they passed the ballroom where the attack had taken place two years ago.
Mary felt her heart start to beat faster. She wasn't sure if she was ready to visit that place just yet. Luckily, Francis didn't say anything about that night. Silently, he led her past the ballroom door and on to another part of the castle.
Mary's mood picked up when Francis showed her the castle's main library. She had to stop herself from jumping up and down in excitement as she took in the numerous shelves stacked high with classic novels and history books. She knew that she could spend hours here, reading through all the old volumes.
"Do you like it?" Francis asked her with a grin.
"I like it very much," Mary told him truthfully.
It took a while for Francis to persuade her to leave the library to look at another room.
It was clear to Mary that the lifestyle in this castle was different to life in the Scottish castle. Everything was more elaborate-from the golden statues in the corridors to the dresses of the ladies who walked past them, and even the gestures that people shared, like the way that people greeted each other with two kisses on the cheek, or the way that the men kissed the hands of the ladies they were talking to before they walked away to speak to somebody else.
People conversed rapidly in a mixture of French, English and Italian, and it seemed to Mary like everybody was constantly talking about the next big event, or like there was always gossip to be shared. Mary only hoped that she and Francis weren't the subjects of current gossip in the castle.
As they walked through the drawing room, Mary couldn't help noticing that a few younger women threw envious-looking glares in her direction as she passed. Even if Olivia wasn't here, it seemed that Mary had competition for the prince's heart.
After Francis had shown her around the castle, the two of them were allowed a brief break for drinks and snacks. They ate in a small dining room with a few members of staff and friends of the royal family. There was not much more than a long wooden table in the room, but it looked cozy, at least, and Mary suspected that members of staff had thought it would be less intimidating for her to eat in the private dining room at first.
Francis didn't talk to her too much, and he was often distracted by other people in the room, who constantly asked him questions about his time in Scotland, but at the very least, the silence between them was more comfortable now.
All too quickly, Francis was summoned to a meeting that was to take place in one of the official meeting rooms with his father, and Francis's Publicity Team invited Mary to sit and observe the meeting. Mary nodded in agreement-these were the official royal duties that her mother had wanted her to see, after all.
Almost immediately, Mary noticed that there was an air of tension in the meeting room. The king sat with a frown on his face as he observed the gathered politicians, and as the meeting went on, he became angrier and louder, even banging his fist on the table at one point as he tried to overrule the politicians' new tax proposals.
Sitting in a corner of the room, Mary shuddered at the sound of the king's fist hitting the table. She dreaded the idea of living full-time in this castle while Henry was in charge.
On the other hand, Francis was polite to everyone in the room, never resorting to anger or rudeness in the way that his father did.
Mary even heard him whisper, "Father…" in a firm tone of voice, his expression stern, whenever the king started to get aggressive. The expression on Francis's face was tense, but it seemed he wasn't taking his tension out on the guests in the meeting room.
When the meeting was (finally) over, Mary and Francis were shown into the Throne Room, where they had apparently been scheduled to greet a few visitors to the castle.
Mary stood next to Francis in the middle of the room, trying not to feel overwhelmed as members of the public spoke to the two of them, and Mary was expected to say all the right things and bow and curtsey in all the right places while the cameras continued to film. It was always left to James to greet visitors to the Scottish castle, but Mary knew that this sort of thing would be expected of her, if she did decided to marry the future king of France, and so she would have to get into practice.
Again, Francis's behaviour was something of a revelation to Mary. He smiled at all of his subjects as he greeted them, easily making small talk with everybody in the room, and even abandoning royal protocol at times so that he could shake people's hands or pat them affectionately on the shoulder.
Whenever children were shown into the room, Francis knelt down to talk to them at their level, keeping his voice calm and gentle. Children seemed to be at ease around him, and Mary suspected that Francis had had plenty of practice being around children by taking care of his brothers.
As she observed everything that was going on in the Throne Room, Mary was struck by the idea that perhaps Francis was not cold or distant or stern after all. Here, in his home, surrounded by the people he knew, Francis was kind, and calm and generous.
Maybe Mary had been wrong about him all along.
Francis's smile was even brighter after he had finished his meet-and-greet with his subjects and his mother walked into the room with Francis's two younger brothers.
"Francis!" both boys called out from the doorway.
"Charles! Henri!" Francis called out in return, the moment he spotted them. He held out his arms, and the two boys ran towards their big brother, who pulled them in for a hug.
Mary heard him whisper to the two of them in French about how much he had missed them. Even she had to admit that the scene was heart-warming.
Francis whispered something else to Charles and Henri, and then they were shuffling over to Mary, both of them looking a little shy.
"Bonjour," Mary greeted them with a smile, trying to ease their nerves.
Both boys bowed to her and then greeted her in a mix of English and French. It seemed that they were well practised in their royal duties, in spite of their shyness.
"Perhaps the boys would appreciate a walk outside?" Mary heard Catherine mutter to Francis.
And so, less than ten minutes later, Mary found herself outside in the castle's grounds, walking next to Francis and his younger brothers.
Henri seemed to be the quieter of the two, as he stayed close to Francis, holding his older brother's hand as they walked. Charles was the more confident one, and he often ran ahead of them, before he ran back, speaking in mix of hurried English and French as he tried to catch Francis up with everything that had happened in the castle in his absence.
When Charles started to tell Francis about his 'new girlfriend' Mary noticed the frown that crossed Francis's face.
Mary struggled to hide her grin-Mary recognised an over-protective older brother when she saw one after her years growing up with James.
"You are too young to have a girlfriend," Francis told his brother, his tone of voice firmer now.
In response, Charles folded his arms and stamped his foot. "You had a girlfriend when you were my age!" he snapped at his brother in French. "Everybody says so!"
For some reason, Francis blushed at these words.
Mary frowned. She couldn't remember Francis ever having a 'girlfriend' during his childhood. She wondered who Charles was talking about.
"Go and play a game with your brother," Francis told Charles, before Charles could embarrass him any further.
With a sigh, Charles ran ahead of them again towards the nearest trees. After a couple of minutes, Henri let go of Francis's hand and ran after Charles.
Mary realised that she and Francis were now alone, except for the camera crew, who were thankfully keeping their distance from them in the grounds.
The two of them walked side-by-side for a little while. Mary took the opportunity to get a good look around at the gardens. If anything, these gardens around the back of the castle were even more beautiful than the gardens around the front. There was a large fountain right in the middle of the main garden, and trees and bushes lining the paths. The trees grew taller and thicker on one side of the gardens, and Mary already knew that they led into a small forest. As she thought about the forest, she felt yet another prickle of Deja-vu.
Francis walked with his head held high and his hands clasped behind his back. Every few seconds, he glanced in the direction of the trees where Henri and Charles were playing their game, keeping a close eye on his brothers. A fond smile seemed to cross his face whenever the boys waved to him.
Mary couldn't help smiling as she watched him.
"Is everything all right?" Francis suddenly asked her.
Mary blushed. It seemed that Francis had noticed her smiling.
"It's very sweet, that you and your brothers are so close," said Mary, deciding to just be honest about what she was thinking.
Francis seemed to watch her for a little while before he responded. Mary wasn't sure if her words had been lost in translation, or if he thought that she was mocking him.
Finally, Francis grinned a little, and then he spoke: "I've always enjoyed spending time with them, away from the castle," he told her, "giving them a break from royal duties. If I have children of my own one day, I'd hope to give them something of a normal life, too."
Francis's answer surprised Mary. "Do you think about having children of your own?" she asked him, genuinely intrigued.
Francis hesitated. Mary realised that she'd just asked him a rather personal question, given their royal status. She was just about to tell him that he didn't have to answer when Francis started talking again…
"Yes," he said with a smile. "A boy and a girl. I think about how my wife and I could spend time with them as a family. Maybe we could take them on holidays to Paris, or to other places around the world, or spend Sunday afternoons out here in the grounds…" He blushed a little and went quiet, as though he had said too much.
Mary could relate to his embarrassment-she had been warned since childhood that she should not talk too much to others about her own personal thoughts and dreams; it was not fitting of her status as a royal. Royals were not supposed to long for their own personal happiness.
For Mary, Francis's dream of having children was yet another surprise revelation. Francis didn't talk about children as though they were merely necessary heirs to a throne; a means of carrying on a blood line-he seemed to genuinely want a family of his own.
They walked on in silence for a little, with Charles and Henri occasionally running around them before they ran back towards the trees.
The sun was starting to set, and the grounds looked even more beautiful, but Mary was lost in her own thoughts. The loss of a 'normal' family life had always been something that had put her off from the idea of marrying a royal. And yet Francis actually wanted that family life, with a wife and children and holidays in Paris. But did he want all of that with her?
By the time Mary sat down with the French royal family for the evening meal, she felt slightly more relaxed than she'd thought she would be. She was not even intimidated by the fact that they were now dining in the larger dining room, under the watchful eyes of the king and queen, while they were waited on by many members of staff.
Mary concentrated on using all of the correct knives and forks to eat her meal with, and she tried to ignore the fact that Catherine seemed to throw constant glares in her direction from over her glass of wine. The queen then excused herself from the room before dessert was served, and Mary had no idea where she was going.
Before she could think too much more about Catherine, Mary was distracted by a few other members of the extended family at neighbouring tables, who leaned over to ask her questions about the matchmaking show and her life in Scotland. They talked about the show as though it was nothing but light entertainment, even though it had never felt like that to Mary.
After dinner, it was announced that filming had finished for the day, and Mary was told that she could head to the room where she would be staying tonight.
Just before she left the dining room, Francis moved to stand opposite her. "I'll see you tomorrow, and we'll go to Paris," he told her. His words sounded like promises.
Then, quickly, he gently took hold of her hand and kissed it. He looked a little embarrassed by the gesture, as though he'd done it without thinking; as though they'd once been more affectionate with one another like this and he'd momentarily forgotten all the years of tension that had since passed between them. With a quick bow, Francis let go of her hand and exited the room.
Mary tried to get her feelings back under control, telling herself that it was probably completely normal to kiss people's hands in European courts, and that maybe Francis acted this way around plenty of other girls, but still, she couldn't help grinning to herself as she headed up the stairs. She felt the same way that she had once felt back in the village near the Scottish castle, before the matchmaking show had started, when she'd walked past Bash and he'd grinned and winked at her. Back then, she never would have imagined that Francis Valois would have the power to make her feel the same way.
Mary's happy thoughts lasted for all of five minutes, up until she heard the unmistakable sound of Catherine's voice, coming from a room at the end of a second-floor corridor.
"My dear, there's still time…" Mary heard Catherine mutter. "My sources tell me things aren't going smoothly with the marriage negotiations. His head can still be turned…"
Mary stopped in her tracks. She frowned, trying to work out what this discussion was about. Trying to be as quiet as possible, Mary crept towards the door so she could hear better.
"I'm sure Francis still has feelings for you," Mary heard Catherine whisper.
"I'm not so sure," she then heard a voice with a strong French accent that sounded very familiar respond to Catherine's words.
Taking a risk, Mary leaned her head around the door so she could peek into the room and confirm who Catherine was talking to.
Catherine was standing over on the other side of the room with her back to Mary, leaning over a large antique desk. On the desk stood a laptop computer, and Mary was disappointed but not surprised to see Olivia's face on the screen. It seemed she was on some sort of video call with Catherine.
"Nonsense," said Catherine dismissively with a wave of her hand, "a little scheming on my part, and a little effort on your part, and you could still be the Queen of France…"
Mary felt a twist of anger. She was sick of this. Sick of all the scheming and the politics. Sick of people trying to pull the strings in her life and sabotage her every move.
She was also struck by the very confusing and very frightening thought that Francis could not marry Olivia. Mary didn't know why exactly, but she could not allow it. Suddenly, she didn't like the thought of Francis marrying any other woman, even though she didn't know where all of this was coming from. Perhaps she was just overwhelmed, and exhausted.
In a move that was either very brave or very stupid, Mary stepped right into the room. She leaned against the nearest wall and folded her arms. She glared right at Catherine's back, taking a twisted pleasure in the thought of Catherine turning around and seeing her standing there.
Then, Olivia said something that confused Mary even more…
"The morning after the attack, it was not me he called out for…"
Mary didn't have much time to ponder these strange words of Olivia's, because Catherine suddenly slammed the laptop shut, effectively cutting off Olivia's phone call, and then she turned around and looked right at Mary.
Apparently, she had sensed Mary's presence in the room all along. She had probably wanted Mary to hear what she had said to Olivia.
Mary tried her hardest to hold her nerve and meet Catherine with an equal glare. Catherine was trying to intimidate her, and Mary knew she couldn't back down now.
"Oh, it's you," said Catherine in a sarcastic tone of voice that reminded Mary a little of Kenna. She sneered at Mary as she looked her up and down in obvious disapproval.
Mary tried to match her cold stare, while also trying not to look too afraid at being caught eavesdropping. "Why do you hate me so much?" she asked the queen as she shook her head in disgust.
Catherine sneered. "My dear Mary," she said in a patronising tone of voice, "this is not about love, or hate, or relationships. Surely even you know that."
Mary shook her head, trying to fight off her anger. "Then why are you so against this alliance?" she asked, trying for a different angle. "Why would a match with Olivia be so much better?"
Catherine glared at her for a little while longer before she spoke. "A French noblewoman is a far better option than a Scottish queen I cannot control. And especially a Scottish queen who sneaks around castles poking her nose into affairs that don't concern her, consorts with rebels and pretends to be falling in love with my son for the cameras while she meets with her lover behind his back…"
Mary felt like her insides had frozen. It was suddenly difficult to breathe. There was no 'lover' in her life, but the way Catherine was looking at her-it was like she knew something; something she could use against her. Mary knew she had to say something to defend herself. Catherine was against the matchmaking show. She was conspiring to drive her away from Francis and to put Olivia in her place. She knew too much. Both Mary and her family could be at risk. "I have no idea what you're talking about," she replied, trying to sound nonchalant, but probably failing. Her words came out more like a snarl.
"Oh, really?" said Catherine. She opened the desk drawer and pulled out what appeared to be a pile of photographs. She slammed the photos down on the nearest coffee table, where Mary could see them.
Mary looked at each photograph, her eyes widening in horror. There was a photograph of Mary and Bash at the pub in the village, dancing and laughing together. And another photograph of the two of them outside the hotel on the night of Greer's wedding, standing close together. There was even a photo of them slow-dancing together at the ball on the evening of the opening ceremony of the matchmaking show.
Looking at the photos without context, they did indeed look like a young couple who were flirting with each other behind the prince's back. Had they been doing that all along? Mary felt as though the wooden ring around her neck was actually burning her skin.
This was very bad. Catherine could use all of this against her. Publish the photos to the world's media, make it look as though Mary had been having some sort of secret fling all along. She could jeopardise the television show, ruin everything that Mary's parents had been working towards. Catherine was dangerous, and Mary wouldn't put anything past her.
"I can be sneaky, just like you!" Catherine snapped at her, fury in her voice. "I have my own ways of spying on this process! I will do whatever it takes to protect my country, and its future king!"
At Mary absorbed these words, another horrible realisation hit her. It was like several pieces of a twisted jigsaw puzzle were suddenly sliding into place in her mind. Her thoughts were back in the alleyway, outside the hotel in Edinburgh late at night. "You are being watched…" the voice told her.
"He is a boy with secrets," Catherine snarled at her, temporarily pulling Mary out of her latest thoughts. She looked like she was struggling to keep herself under control as she pointed at a picture of Bash. "An affair with him would be your ruin!"
"Like you care," Mary muttered, not even trying to keep the hatred out of her voice. Deep down, a part of her knew that Catherine had a point about Bash-he definitely had some big secret that Mary didn't know about-but now was not the time to reveal this weakness to Catherine.
"You and I, we are so alike," said Catherine with a sigh, surprising Mary all over again.
"I am nothing like you," Mary insisted.
"Oh, you'll see," said Catherine, cryptically.
Feeling overwhelmed by everything, Mary turned around and started to head out the door.
"My husband may feel like this matchmaking show will be beneficial to France, but I disagree," Catherine whispered to her retreating back. "I will not be humiliated by Scotland."
Mary stopped in her tracks. Slowly, she turned around. She felt no fear anymore, only anger. It was like some sort of dark force had overtaken her body. Perhaps the pressure had finally got to her.
She took a few steps towards Catherine. "I will do whatever I have to do to guard my own happiness, and I will not allow you, or anyone else in this castle to humiliate my country. If all of that means my own ruin, then so be it," Mary told Catherine, her voice unwavering, even as her eyes filled with tears.
"You foolish girl," Catherine muttered as she shook her head, which only caused Mary's anger to heighten.
"And if you ever send any of your 'spies' to watch me or to threaten me in dark alleyways again," Mary told her, pausing for a moment to allow her words to truly sink in, "I will ensure that your actions are exposed to the whole of Scotland, and I promise you that you will face the consequences."
With that, she turned back around and walked out of the room, not allowing Catherine another moment to get into her head.
By the time Mary arrived in her assigned room for the night, she felt like her head was spinning. What had Catherine really meant, about Bash being a boy with secrets? Did she know what those secrets were? Was she really going to use those photos as some sort of blackmail material? Why had Mary not insisted that there was no truth to those images? Had Mary been foolish, threatening to expose Catherine like that? Where had all of that even come from? Weeks ago, she'd just been a second-born princess, hating her title and sneaking out to the local village to catch glimpses of the handsome men there. When had she become so patriotic? So determined to protect Scotland from defeat, no matter what?
She could barely take in the elegance of the luxurious room, with its large, four-poster bed with golden sheets, and the spacious living room with expensive-looking furniture, as her mind was on other matters. All over again, she felt threatened, vulnerable. She felt like she was still being watched, even in this private room. She knew she couldn't afford to make anymore mistakes. Not here.
Mary tried to distract herself by sending a few messages to her mother and brother to update them on the trip to France so far, deliberately leaving out her discussion with Catherine from her messages, and then she opened up her luggage that had already been brought up to her room in advance and changed into her pyjamas, trying not to think too much about all of her current problems as she got ready for bed.
For the next half an hour, Mary tossed and turned in the bed. She couldn't sleep; she couldn't even get comfortable. She kept thinking about everything that had happened recently-her mother's illness and her brother's upcoming wedding and how Kenna had sobbed that James didn't love her. Then she thought about her arrival in France, and how Catherine and Henry had looked at her with such hatred, and how she was going to be travelling to Paris tomorrow with Francis for what might be a date.
Eventually, with a sigh, she pushed the covers one side and got out of bed.
Trying to be as quiet as possible, Mary found a pair of slippers in the wardrobe and slipped them onto her feet. She looked in her suitcase for something warm to wear over her pyjamas. She was only able to find an old cardigan, so she slipped it over her shoulders.
Then, Mary opened the bedroom door, slowly and carefully, hoping that nobody could hear it creak.
She stepped out into the corridor, deciding to take a walk around the castle for a little while, in the way that she always crept around the castle at night back in Scotland whenever she couldn't sleep. Her insomnia had definitely become more of an issue since the attack two years ago, but for the past few nights, she'd also been disturbed by images of masked figures warning her that she was being watched whenever she closed her eyes.
Mary crept up and down the dark corridors, not really going anywhere in particular or paying much attention to her surroundings. The whole castle was silent. It seemed that there were no secrets to be overheard just yet.
She was just thinking about turning around and heading back to her room when she noticed a large window overlooking the gardens below. A few comfortable-looking chairs had been placed just opposite the window.
With a yawn, Mary decided to sit down and rest, just for a few moments, and maybe take in the view from the window as she tried to gather her thoughts.
Slowly, she sat down, and then she stared at her reflection in the glass of the window for a little while.
Mary was so lost in her thoughts that she didn't hear anyone approach. It was therefore something of a shock when she heard Francis's voice…
"Mary?" he said, sounding very confused.
Mary jumped and looked to her left to see Francis, dressed only in black sweatpants and a white T-shirt, with his hair looking ruffled and a sleepy expression on his face.
"Francis," said Mary, shocked. She wasn't sure what she was supposed to do or say. She couldn't get over the fact that the future king of France was standing in front of her, wearing his pyjamas. Then she realised that she was also only wearing pyjamas, and Francis was looking right at her. Mary had to fight off a blush.
"You couldn't sleep?" Francis asked her, his tone of voice sounding soft, concerned.
Slowly, Mary shook her head.
"Me neither," he shrugged, looking a little embarrassed.
"Just tonight, or often?" Mary took a chance on asking him, even though she wasn't sure if that was too personal a question to ask. She couldn't help thinking that Francis wandered these corridors a lot at night, unable to sleep. She never would have believed it, until this moment when she'd seen it for herself.
Luckily, Francis didn't seem to be offended. He simply said, "Often, Mary," in response to her question as he brushed a stray strand of hair out of his eyes. "I'll leave you alone," he added with a polite bow.
"No, wait!" Mary called out to him in a loud whisper, surprising even herself. "You can sit here, if you wish," she added, when Francis turned back around and raised his eyebrows at her.
Mary had a feeling that this was the place where Francis usually headed when he was struggling to sleep, and it seemed wrong not to let him sit here tonight.
"I wouldn't want to throw you out of your usual seat," she offered as a way of an explanation.
Still looking a little surprised, and dubious, Francis took a seat next to her.
They sat in silence for a little while, both of them staring out of the window. Mary thought about how her mother would probably be angry that she had abandoned all royal protocol to sit next to a future king while the two of them wore pyjamas. She would almost have laughed about it, in other circumstances.
In the end, Francis broke the silence: "Mary, if I ask you something, will you answer honestly?"
Feeling a little nervous, Mary turned to look at him. There was a look of vulnerability on his face that Mary had not noticed before.
"I'll try," she told him, deciding that this was about as honest an answer as she could give him. She was already dreading all the possible questions he could ask her. She had too many secrets.
Francis seemed satisfied with this answer. He nodded before he continued: "Are you struggling to sleep because it's your first night in France? Or is this a recurring problem?"
Mary breathed a sigh of relief. It was not as bad a question as she had thought it would be, and there was genuine concern in Francis's eyes. Still, her answer would carry weight…
"I have struggled for a long time," she said, "but it got worse two years ago, after…"
She felt her whole body tense up again as she remembered that terrible night two years ago.
Luckily, Francis simply nodded, and he didn't push her further. There was understanding in his eyes as he looked at her, then he looked away, like he'd only just realised he was staring.
"You can ask me something now, if you want," Francis told her with a smile. "Anything you want."
Mary watched him in surprise for a little while. She was still getting used to Francis smiling and joking around and being affectionate with her. She would never have imagined that he would have been like this, before she arrived in his home country.
Then Mary remembered that he was offering her another question, in exchange for answering his, as part of the agreement they'd made on the private jet to try to be more honest with one another.
"I have already asked you several questions today," Mary told him seriously. "If you answer anymore, I will be in your debt." She'd meant it as a joke, but she shuddered as she thought about how close to home a comment like that was-she was already fairly certain that Scotland was in some kind of debt to France.
Francis seemed to notice the troubled look on her face. "Perhaps we should agree not to keep count, then?" he suggested with another smile.
In spite of all her turbulent thoughts, Mary couldn't help smiling back.
She nodded and paused for a moment to think about what she wanted to ask…
Another question for Francis, one that he had promised to give an honest answer to. The possibilities were endless. She could practically hear the bossy voices of her mother and Kenna and Lola in her head, urging her to take advantage of this opportunity. But then one particular nagging question came into her mind, and she couldn't let it go…
"Why do you not dance with me, at balls or at parties in the castle?" Mary asked him. She felt a bit silly for asking something like that, and she knew that her friends would tell her she had wasted her opportunity, but she couldn't help thinking about the ball, and how Francis had danced with Lola for most of the night, and how he hadn't asked her to dance.
Francis's eyes widened, and Mary could tell that he was surprised by her choice of question.
"I was always under the impression that you wouldn't want to dance with me," he answered her with a very un-prince-like-shrug, which Mary thought was sort of cute.
"But you'll never know, unless you ask," Mary told him, surprising herself with her boldness.
"I'll bear that in mind," said Francis, with another smile.
After that, they fell back into silence for a little while, until Francis's expression grew serious again. Mary studied his face-it looked like there was so much pain hidden just underneath the surface.
"Mary," he muttered, "I know you hate it when I try to give you advice, but we've promised to be honest with each other, and I think you should know-my father is not treating this matchmaking show as light entertainment; he has reasons and motivations for pushing for this alliance; he has found out secrets about your family that he could hold against you…"
Mary felt a pain in her chest that she was sure matched the look of pain on Francis's face. What did the king know about her family? Had he used some sort of threat or blackmail against Mary's parents? It was bad enough that Catherine already had blackmail material against Mary.
"He would be furious if he knew I'd told you this, but I believe you deserve to know, so you can make an informed decision," Francis continued. "If you're serious about continuing with this show, I think you should try to find out exactly what he knows…"
After a long, heavy silence, Mary nodded. As painful as the news was to hear, she knew that Francis was trying to give her a warning; he was trying to protect her, and putting himself at risk by doing so.
She stared out the window, looking up at the moon which shone brightly in the sky.
Finally, she reached a decision. Before she headed to Paris in the morning, she was going to have to find out what the king was up to...