Mary's room in the French castle might have been luxurious, but she struggled to sleep on the first night of her stay.

As she tossed and turned in her bed, she kept thinking about all the recent events that had taken place-her conversation with Francis in the middle of the night, her argument with Catherine, the overheard conversation with Olivia...

Then, just when she started to drift off, she continued to worry about all the upcoming events that she would soon have to face-her inevitable confrontation with the king, her visit to Paris with Francis…

She also couldn't help thinking about her home in Scotland and all the problems that would be waiting for her there-James and Kenna's wedding, her mother's illness, Narcisse's possible plotting…

It was no surprise to Mary that she felt a little groggy at breakfast the next morning. She tried her best to smile over at Francis whenever she caught his eye, as he seemed to be full of enthusiasm about the day ahead and the visit to Paris, but still she couldn't help sighing to herself in between bites of her croissant.

It didn't help matters when she noticed the king swaggering into the dining room, an unpleasant glint in his eye as he looked rather pleased with himself about something.

Mary felt her whole body tense up when he walked in her direction and he stopped right behind her seat.

"Nice work," he told her in a deadly whisper as soon as he was stood close enough for her to hear him.

Mary could tell from his sarcastic tone of voice that he was mocking her.

Discreetly, he placed a folded-up piece of paper on the table in front of her.

As he walked away with a smirk on his face, Mary opened up the piece of paper. It was some sort of online news article, which the king had taken the 'trouble' of printing out. There was a picture of Mary that had been taken yesterday, when she'd just arrived at the castle and she'd been giving a speech on the castle steps.

The Speech of a Rebel? the headline asked its readers.

Mary sighed. It seemed like the words of her speech yesterday had already been misinterpreted.

The king didn't stay in the dining room for long. As he left the room, Mary glared at his retreating back, feeling a rush of fury as she scrunched up the piece of paper in her hand.

In that moment, Mary made a decision. She would have to find out what he was up to. Now, before she left for Paris.

She spoke briefly with Francis, promising him that she would meet him in a couple of hours at the allotted time and place so they could make the journey to Paris, then she headed out of the dining room alone.

Mary stormed across the castle's entrance hall, barely containing her fury.

She was so sick of the way the king spoke to her and looked down on her. She couldn't stand the thought that he was manipulating her mother, her country.

She could barely think straight, but her memory seemed to guide her through the corridors and in the direction of the king's office.

Finally, Mary arrived outside the king's door. Without knocking or waiting, she threw the door open and took determined strides into the room.

The king was sitting at his desk, surrounded by a group of men who were wearing formal suits. It seemed like he'd been having some sort of meeting. He jumped as the door crashed open and he looked up at Mary with a look of mingled horror and fury.

Mary didn't care. "How did you manipulate my family into this matchmaking show?" she demanded of him.

"How dare you speak to me like that?" he snarled at her. "Get out, I'm in the middle of a meeting!" he waved his hand, like she was of no consequence to him.

The men in the room all watched her with curious expressions. Perhaps they were not used to hearing young women scream at their king.

One man in particular seemed to be watching her with what seemed like a look of fascination. Mary couldn't help noticing that he was rather handsome, with short, dark brown hair, a neatly trimmed beard and dark brown eyes.

"Well," Mary snarled back at Henry as she focused her full attention on him again. She was determined that he would not throw her out of the room. "Perhaps your colleagues would like to stay and hear all about how you have lied, threatened and blackmailed my country and my family into taking part in a television show and an arranged marriage…"

The king looked livid, and Mary knew that she was playing a dangerous game. Her words and accusations would have consequences. It was not just her own safety at stake, but her whole family's. But she didn't have many cards left to play, and she was fast running out of options for discovering the truth.

The king sneered at her, but there was a brief flicker of fear in his eyes. It seemed that Mary had struck a nerve-it was unlikely that he would want any of these important-looking men to overhear any rumours about his wrongdoings. Perhaps they would be powerful enough to use the information against him.

"Conde," the king muttered in a low tone, nodding in the direction of the man who Mary had just been staring at, "leave us. I'll meet with you and your colleagues in half an hour…" It sounded like he could barely keep his voice under control.

With obedient nods, the men all started to head out of the room. Mary noticed that Conde looked back at her with a curious expression on his face as he left the room. Mary felt a little self-conscious. She wondered what was so interesting about her that it would cause him to take a risk by walking so slowly out of the office.

"How dare you!" the king repeated, the moment the men had gone. "You know I could have you thrown in jail on the evidence of your past behaviour alone, and still you continue to provoke me. That's right," he continued with a snarl, apparently picking up on the look of horror on Mary's face. "You were there the night of the attack, we all know it. Dancing in the middle of the dance floor, hands risen in the gesture of the rebels, no less. Sharing a few grins with Narcisse as an added bonus, who was later questioned about the attack…It would be all too easy to build up a case against you…"

Ignore him. Ignore him Mary chanted silently to herself. He's bluffing. Don't give him the reaction he wants…Even as she said these words to herself, a part of her didn't believe them. She knew what the king was capable of. No doubt the king had planted these thoughts in Queen Marie's head, too, as yet another 'bargaining tool'.

"Tell me what dirt you have on Scotland," Mary commanded him.

"Or what, little girl?" he spat back at her. "What could you possibly do that would be of any threat to me?"

Mary's hands were shaking, but she tried to keep her voice level. "I will withdraw from this show, this matchmaking process," she told him.

The king sneered. "And how would you do that? Your parents wouldn't allow it."

He was goading her now, Mary knew it. Calling her a coward, telling her she had no real power, to see how easily she would back down.

Silently, Mary went over her options. She could threaten to run away, like she had told her mother that she would do, but there was always the possibility that the royal families would find her and order her back to the castle, and force her to continue with the show.

When she really thought about it, the only way she could truly escape from the show would be to marry somebody else…

"I will marry Sebastian," Mary told the king with a sneer, keeping her own voice low, deadly. She couldn't believe that she hadn't thought of using this threat against Henry and Catherine before.

"Sebastian, who you shared a dance with at the opening ball?" said the king with a mocking smirk. "You really expect me to believe that the two of you are planning to be wed?"

Suddenly, an idea struck Mary. It seemed that the gift Bash had given her before she left Scotland would come in useful after all, although perhaps not in the way that Bash would have planned. Making sure to keep her head held high and maintain eye contact with the king, Mary pulled out the black ribbon from under the collar of her shirt. She held up the wooden ring to the king.

The king's eyes widened as he stared at the ring. There was a fleeting look of recognition on his face, and Mary wondered what is was about the ring that had unnerved him.

"An arrangement has already been made," said Mary, trying her best to sound convincing. "Bash has already given me this ring. If I am not satisfied that you are co-operating with Scotland, Bash and I could be away from the Scottish castle in a matter of hours. I know Scotland much better than you do," Mary insisted, before the king could cut her off with what would probably be another threat, "you would never find me in time. And then Bash and I would be married, in secret, and you would lose your family's claim to the Scottish throne..."

Mary knew that there was a cruelty to all this, in threatening to marry Bash and defy the royal family, especially after Francis had been so kind to her lately, but still Mary felt a twisted sense of satisfaction at being able to blackmail the king, in taking back some sort of control over the situation.

"You can ask your wife for further evidence of the match, if you wish, if you do not believe that there is a possibility of us getting married," Mary added, just to twist the knife further, "it seems she has some rather incriminating photos of Bash and I together…"

A part of her felt a twisted pleasure at the idea of being able to use Catherine's blackmail material against her. But then she felt another unpleasant twist in her stomach as she recalled Catherine's words from last night…

"You and I, we are so alike…" Catherine had told her.

The king's look was positively murderous. Mary suspected he might only be seconds away from upturning the table or throwing things around the room, and yet she felt no fear. All she could feel was anger.

"You're a fool," said Henry, as he jumped up from his chair and gripped the end of his desk. "You would really throw away your country's chance of security, your family's chance of protection, for the sake of marrying a commoner with no fortune?"

'I will do whatever it takes to protect my country!" said Mary, as she slammed her fist down on the desk. "If that means forcibly removing Scotland from France's influence, then so be it!"

Mary almost shocked herself at her own words. She didn't know where this anger, or this fierce sense of pride and patriotism had come from. Normally, it was James who embodied all these values. She wasn't sure what had changed, or when she had changed.

"I will not continue with this process until France's true intentions are laid out on the table. You might all be angry by a marriage with Bash, but what could be done after the event has taken place? It would be too late. So, I'm asking you again," she said, "how did you bully my country into this royal match?"

The king sighed and sat back down in his seat. The look he gave Mary was one of pure hatred. "Your country is in a lot of debt," he finally told her with a sneer. Apparently, he was not prepared to take a risk on Mary marrying Bash. "It seems the Scottish royals have little money left in their funds, and your mother is feuding with the Scottish government; they need money from somewhere-"

"Scotland will have a source of income from England," Mary insisted, as she tried to think on her feet. "Kenna is from a powerful English family, and when James and Kenna are married, they will form a strong alliance between England and Scotland-"

"Ah," said the king with a mocking sigh, "it seems the situation is more complicated than you realise. Has your mother not told you the truth about your brother?"

Mary frowned, and the king smirked.

"Your brother has debts and diplomatic issues of his own. It seems he has turned to various addictions to cope with the pressures of training to rule a country. His gambling debts are particularly high. You see, he often came to France to indulge in his vices. He must have believed that he would be safely hidden away from Scottish eyes over here. But nobody can hide from me in this country…"

"No," Mary whispered, shaking her head. It could not be true. Not James…James, who was so noble, so well-behaved; James who always followed the rules; James who was going to be king; James who always put his duty before his own happiness…"

"Yes," said the king, his tone of voice firm, that glint of malice back in his eyes.

He was enjoying this, Mary realised. He must have known how much she'd idolised her older brother when they were children. And now he was taking a twisted pleasure in tearing him down, shattering all of Mary's illusions. "He had a whole string of lovers over here, too, you know; he left a trail of broken-hearted women in his wake. Your friend Kenna is foolish if she ever believed he would be faithful to her."

"No," Mary repeated, like the word could make all of this go away.

Deep down, she suspected that the king was telling the truth. She had never found out where James had been, on the night of the attack-he had always refused to tell her. But he had been out of bed, dressed smartly, sneaking around just like her that night. He must have been out somewhere when he received the call from Catherine about the attack-perhaps out drinking and gambling.

James had always been rather vague and mysterious about where he was travelling to over the years-Mary had assumed that he had gone to France so often on royal duty, but it seemed she had been mistaken. When she thought about it, James told her very little about his life outside the Scottish castle.

"Rumour has it," the king continued with a nasty smirk, "that not too long ago, he begged your mother to remove him from the line of succession. He didn't want the job as king, Mary," the king went on, speaking slowly, like Mary was an idiot, as Mary continued to shake her head, in denial. "But perhaps your mother decided that there was no…viable alternative." He looked at Mary in disgust. "Either way, he was forced to continue with the role, and to enter into an arranged marriage to smooth things over. Do you have any idea how much information I could use against him? How weak he will look as king?"

Mary's hands were shaking. Her heart was beating fast, and tears were threatening to spill over. She couldn't process all this-had James really begged their mother not to be king? Did he not want the role? Had her mother forced James to remain in the role, against his wishes?

She also couldn't help feeling a little hurt, and disappointed. Why had James not confided in her about all his doubts and his worries? Perhaps she could have helped him, or at least been there for her brother during his most difficult times. Did he not trust her? Why had her mother never told her about any of this? Did her family truly believe that Mary would not have been a 'viable alternative' as queen, in the same way that the King of France seemed to believe it? Mary wasn't even sure why this thought hurt her so much, but it did.

But she couldn't break down-not here, not now. The king almost had her in checkmate, but still she had to stay in the game somehow. For some strange reason, she thought of Narcisse. Narcisse would want her to keep playing, no matter what, even if she had to cheat a little.

"I will not let you get to Scotland through my brother," she said, lifting her gaze from the floor, "I will ensure that England helps to pay James's debts; I will also advise Kenna that she is not to allow any of her future children to enter into marriage contracts with your youngest sons," she added, as another part of the king's plan suddenly came together in her mind. "I could even appoint Narcisse as their advisor, if it becomes necessary," she added with a glare. "He will dig up dirt on you long before you get to James!"

Mary could only hope that her threats were believable; that they would carry some weight with the king. The king obviously had plenty of secrets of his own to hide, after all. Mary knew that she would not be above exposing several of his affairs, if it became necessary, and Narcisse, who had a grudge to settle with the king on behalf of his son, would be all too happy to help.

The king seemed to be considering her. Mary couldn't work out if he saw her as a genuine threat just yet.

"You need Scotland," Mary prompted him.

"I want Scotland," he corrected her. "There is a difference. Scotland needs France."

I will ensure that we don't need you…Mary said to herself.

"You want the power that ruling another country would bring," Mary guessed. Deep down, she had known this all along. The king wanted Scotland for his own family, and he was prepared to go to any lengths to get it.

The king simply nodded.

"You blackmailed my parents with your knowledge of my whereabouts on the night of the attack, and my brother's debts," she added, as she put all the pieces together.

Again, the king nodded. He actually looked proud of himself.

"And you threw in the promise of extra money to seal the deal," said Mary.

"Don't forget the promise of extra security," the king cut in. "In case you haven't noticed, your country faces the threat of an attack on a daily basis. It is only a matter of time before a serious incident happens…"

Mary felt a cold chill rush through her body. She could only hope that he wasn't speaking the truth.

"I'm not sure I approve of your 'security methods'," said Mary.

"Your opinions on how I run my country are nothing to me," said Henry. "Your mother will certainly not disapprove when French security guards are protecting you all."

"My opinions will mean something to you, if I prevent you from getting a foothold in Scotland," Mary shot back at him.

She could tell that he was considering her, trying to work out if she really did have any power to stop him.

"You're planning on using Francis and I, and James and Kenna, as your puppets, aren't you?" Mary demanded of him with folded arms.

The king said nothing. Of course, he would not admit to this. He could not fully incriminate himself.

"How could you ever believe that Francis would go along with any of this?" Mary asked him in disbelief. She knew that Francis could be a little distant sometimes, but deep down, Mary knew that he was not cruel. He was not his father.

"Because," said the king, like he was talking to a five-year-old, "through this marriage, Francis will get everything he has ever wanted-everything he never thought he would have!"

"And what is that?" Mary snapped at him. A part of her was dreading that the king would say something about money, and extra power, and another country to rule over, one day-perhaps Francis was just as 'ambitious' as his father.

But nothing could have prepared Mary for the answer that the king gave…

"He will get to be married to the girl he loves!" the king snapped at her, his voice full of hatred, even as he talked about love. "It is a luxury that hardly any kings could boast of! How could he ever refuse? How would the marriage ever have happened, in other circumstances? Even the possibility of seeing you again was enough to get him on that plane to Scotland!"

Mary felt like she had been frozen to the spot. She felt like all the air had been stolen from her lungs. She couldn't breathe. The room seemed to be spinning around.

What had the king just said?

It could not be true.

"F-Francis is not in love with me," Mary finally managed to stammer out.

It was impossible. Sometimes, it seemed like he didn't even like her that much.

"Do you really think I would make something like that up?" said Henry with a disgusted shake of his head. "Do you think I would want it to be true? You have been nothing but a burden to my country. Luckily for you, Francis's love for you has finally made you useful to me."

Mary shook her head again, unable to speak. She knew she should be angry, but she could barely focus. Of all the information she'd discovered over the past few minutes, this revelation had shocked her the most.

Surely Francis wasn't in love with her?

Before the show got started, Francis had barely looked at her for years. He'd had girlfriends, other close friendships…how could Mary have ever crossed his mind, during all those years they were apart?

How could it possibly be true?

But then, why would the king lie about his son's feelings? He had just made it very clear that he had never approved of how Francis felt.

Yet if it was true, then it meant that Francis had been in love with her all along, even before the show started. She felt like her whole world had tilted yet again.

And still the king continued to ask sarcastic questions about when she was planning on leaving his office, as though he hadn't just changed Mary's whole world with his revelation. It was almost like he assumed that Mary had already known this all along.

"Perhaps we can co-operate, somehow," Mary managed to get out through gritted teeth. "If I decide to continue with this process. I will draw out a list of terms that I am prepared to negotiate with you and your family if you are to have any chance of making an alliance with Scotland-"

"Then I will do the same for you," the king interrupted her ."I will meet all of your demands with demands of my own, and I have been playing this game for a lot longer than you have, Your Majesty. I am warning you, one of my terms of 'negotiation' will involve you sacking your Publicist."

Deciding not to get into that debate right now, Mary turned to leave.

She had all the information she needed. It was up to her now what she did with it. She knew what the king was capable of. Now she knew his plans for Scotland, she was going to wait and see if there was any way she could tolerate working with him. Perhaps she could find some way to minimise the threat of the French royal family's influence in Scotland.

Right now, she had too much on her mind to think clearly. She thought about everything she'd just found out about James; about Francis. She still felt her head was spinning. And now she had to go to Paris, with Francis, and act like she knew nothing about all the king's under-handed dealings.

Francis.

She should be worrying about James, and yet she couldn't stop thinking about him, and about what his father had just said.

Was he really in love with her? Was there a way she could find out? Why did she care so much? Would it change things if he was?

"Oh, and princess?" Mary heard the king call out to her just as she headed out the door.

Mary stopped and turned around to look at him.

"Regardless of whether you marry Francis, or Sebastian, you will still be marrying one of my sons."

With that, he smirked and got up from his seat so that he could slam the door in Mary's face.

Mary stood outside the closed door, feeling more confused than ever.