Mary might have slept soundly through the night after her return from Paris, dreaming of stars and ballrooms and flowers, feeling more relaxed than she had felt in a long time, but the next morning, she woke up earlier than she had planned. She felt like her sleep had abruptly been disturbed, and she was sure that she had heard the faint sound of footsteps on her bedroom floor only a few minutes ago.
She sat up, groggily, feeling a little disorientated for a moment by her surroundings-she was still getting used to waking up in the French castle.
As she sat up, she could make out the faint orange light of the sun through the window as it rose in the sky.
Suddenly, Mary looked to her left as something caught her eye. She noticed a tiny black jewellery box on her bedside table.
She blinked in confusion a few times. She had been very tired by the time she'd arrived back at the castle after the day in Paris, but she was certain that the box hadn't been there last night.
For a moment, she felt a little suspicious. But then she heard the now-familiar voices of the castle's cleaning staff just outside her door, and she relaxed a little, deciding that one of them must have brought the jewellery box into her room. She wasn't sure why, or who it was from.
With shaking hands, Mary reached out for the box. Slowly, she opened it. After she had let out a gasp of shock, she stared at the tiny silver charm inside the box, trying to process what this gift could mean.
The silver charm was in the shape of a tiny little house-when Mary looked at it closely, she realised that it was almost an exact replica of the picture of Louis Conde's house that he had shown her yesterday.
Mary let go of the jewellery box, letting it to fall to her bed, almost as though it would burn her if she held onto it for too long.
Conde had intentionally had this particular charm sent to her this morning, she just knew it. He had seen something in her face yesterday, when she'd been staring at that photograph. Perhaps she should have guarded her emotions better, because now she felt like he was trying to lead her into some sort of temptation.
Cautiously, Mary took the silver charm out of its box. She lifted it up, examining it for a while, like it would contain some sort of secret code. She should put it away, she knew; she should hide it, somewhere she would never find it-but the charm was beautiful, and she couldn't let it go just yet.
There was a small silver loop at the top of the charm, right on the silver roof of the house. Mary reached for her black ribbon that she'd left on the large dressing table in the bedroom. She untied the knot and fed the ribbon through the silver loop. The charm slid effortlessly onto the ribbon, and the house moved into place next to the key and the wooden ring.
Mary picked up the necklace and placed it around her neck, trying it on for size now that something new had been added to the ribbon-a new secret on the hidden necklace; a new offering.
Take it off! a little nagging voice in Mary's head that sounded suspiciously like her mother told her.
She would be opening herself up to all sorts of complications if anyone discovered the gift or if anyone found out who had sent to her. Not to mention that she was most likely tormenting herself with a future that would never be possible.
The doll's house; an escape from royal duties. It was oh so tempting...She couldn't take the necklace off. Not yet.
Mary stood up and walked towards the full-length mirror on the other side of the room. She stood in front of it, taking in her reflection.
Strangely, as she looked in the mirror, she pictured Narcisse's chessboard. By sending her this gift, Conde was intentionally adding himself to the game-another piece, another component to consider. He was offering her…something…some sort of alternative to the standard rules of the game.
Last night, everything had felt so perfect, and now Mary felt confused all over again.
The moment Mary turned away from the mirror and towards the window, she caught sight of Francis, who was outside, walking in the grounds.
He looked as handsome as ever today, dressed in dark trousers and a light blue shirt that seemed to make his blond hair look even more golden. Yet, there was something unsettled about him today; something that was far from calm and peaceful. He seemed to be pacing up and down, looking lost in thought, and like he had a thousand things on his mind. His steps were rapid, and his hands seemed to be clasped tightly in his pockets.
After a couple of minutes, Francis headed towards the trees at the end of the gardens. It seemed like he was heading somewhere more private.
Mary was overcome with a burning curiosity; a deep desire to follow him in the way that she had always followed him around London.
Almost absently, she placed a hand over the objects on her necklace. The key. The mysterious ring. The house. Francis. Bash. Conde.
If Francis really did love her, would Mary even consider the others? At the start of the matchmaking show, she still would have considered other possibilities, no matter what…but now, she wasn't so sure. Last night, when she'd been dancing with Francis in Paris, Mary had felt like she didn't need anybody else...
She needed an answer, she decided. She was leaving today to return to Scotland. As much as the thought of asking him terrified her, she had to find out, now…
Hurriedly, she looked for something presentable to change into. She did not have time to call on a team of staff to apply her makeup and get her hair to look perfect and fasten her into to an intricate dress designed for a princess. This was no show, and there would be no cameras today.
When she opened the wardrobe door, Mary spotted a dress hanging there that hadn't been there yesterday.
The dress was light pink, and it looked just like the typical style of dress that Mary had worn on her visits to France during her childhood-back when she'd preferred light blues and pinks and ribbons in her hair; before she'd started to wear black all the time.
She frowned. Not many people would have known about the style of dresses she'd worn a decade ago.
As she took the dress off its hanger, a small note card fell to the floor. It had the official French royal stamp at the top, and a signature. Catherine's signature.
With respect, Catherine had written on the card, cryptically.
Mary frowned and shook her head in confusion. She had no idea what she had done to merit any sort of respect from Francis's mother.
Mary checked the dress for any signs of sharp needles or poisonous powder or other hidden traps, but everything seemed to be above board.
She still didn't know why Catherine had sent her a gift, but she didn't have time to think about that right now.
In a matter of minutes, Mary had got dressed. She attempted to fix her hair, and then she headed out to the grounds.
She ran across the gardens and towards the trees, still not entirely certain where she was going or what she was doing.
It was easier that she'd thought it would be to trace Francis's steps. He'd left footprints in the ground that Mary could follow.
With every step she took deeper into the forest, Mary was overcome with a strong sense of déjà vu. Once upon a time, she had visited this place; she had walked this path many times before; it was all becoming clear now.
Finally, the trees opened out into a clearing. In the middle of the clearing was a tree. On the tree were hundreds of white petals. It was beautiful. Mary knew that she should have felt a little surprised at discovering such an unusual tree, but she had seen it before-she had been here many times as a child, she remembered. She had stood under this tree, and its petals had fallen gently on her head…the memories were desperately trying to reveal themselves to her, now that she was here.
She had been here with Francis. She had always been happy here. It had been one of her favourite places in the world. And yet there was a sadness about this place, in the trees, further into the forest; another dark memory that Mary couldn't quite access; something that was still blocking an important recollection of this place.
Mary noticed that Francis was standing underneath the tree with the white petals, his back to Mary. She got the impression that he still came to this place a lot-perhaps to think, to escape, to remember…
As though in a trance, Mary took a step towards him. In her hurry, she stepped on a loose twig on the floor.
At the sound of the wood breaking, Francis jumped. Slowly, he turned around to face her.
Briefly, there was a look of surprise on his face at seeing her here, then confusion. He didn't exactly look upset by her arrival, but Mary could sense that he had so much on his mind; it was like he was wrestling with several emotions at once; there was conflict written all over his face.
"Mary," he whispered.
"Francis," Mary replied, feeling lost for words all over again.
They stared at each other in the silence for a few moments.
Francis took a step towards her, but then he stopped. It seemed like he was acting like a future king again, silently telling himself that he could not get too close.
So Mary took it upon herself to move closer to him. She still wasn't quite sure where she was going with this meeting in the middle of the forest, but she knew that there was something important she had to find out before she left for Scotland.
"If I ask you something," she said, her voice trembling as she repeated the words that Francis had said to her the night before the visit to Paris, "will you answer honestly?"
Francis seemed to contemplate her question for a few moments, but finally, he nodded. For the first time ever, he looked scared, vulnerable...but still, there was something determined in his expression as well.
Mary took a few deep breaths. For the past two years, she had been so afraid, but now, she really wanted to be brave…
"If I was just a girl, and you were just a boy, not a future king of anything, what is it that you would want?"
Mary's question seemed to light a spark in Francis's eyes. His expression of fear changed to one of determination. Right now, Francis did not look like a king. He was a lost boy, walking around London, desperately trying to find something.
Still, there was silence.
"Francis, please," Mary practically begged. "I have a decision to make soon, and I have to know the full story..."
Francis took a step towards her. Then another, his movements rapid.
Oh, Mary suddenly realised, as it became startlingly clear from the look on Francis's face exactly what he had been searching for in London. Who he had been searching for; the reason why he had looked so uncomfortable when Mary had first asked him about his London walks. What a miracle.
Francis was right up close to her, in her space. His hands were on her face.
Mary was frozen to the spot, unsure exactly what was happening, only knowing that she was standing in exactly the right place.
Francis hesitated for a moment-he looked right into her eyes, as though silently asking permission.
Mary nodded.
Then his lips were on hers, and they were kissing. Francis was kissing her. And Mary was kissing him back.
The kiss was only slow at first, sweet, but then it quickly grew in intensity.
Mary parted her lips, allowing Francis better access, and then there was nothing sweet about it.
Francis kissed her like he was desperate, like he had to put everything into this kiss before they parted; just in case he never got to kiss her again.
Mary had no clue what she was doing, but here, with Francis, she was able to act on instinct; it was as though her heart had this boy memorised, somehow.
Francis didn't seem to be complaining. He took control of the kiss, pulling Mary closer to him, and Mary took whatever she could get from him.
The moment was perfect. She didn't want it to end.
She lifted her right hand and ran it through Francis's soft curls, trying to hold him even tighter; trying to bring him closer to her.
So much pain, so much distance between them over the years, and yet, this kiss felt like the most natural thing in the world. Mary felt like she was back home.
It was like the rest of the world slipped out of focus. There was only Francis, and this kiss, and a few white petals from the tree falling gently onto their heads…
And suddenly, like a key turning in a lock, a memory opened up in her mind, now as clear as day…
She was six years old. She had spent most of the summer with the Valois family at the French castle. She was happy, being here. She always told her parents that she liked it here because she enjoyed playing outside in the castle's grounds, and because there were horses in the stables, and the food tasted nice, and she was allowed to eat sweets and chocolate and cake, and she had even been allowed to dance in the ballroom with the grown-ups, but really, it was the presence of the boy with blond curls who was making her feel so content.
Francis always seemed pleased to spend time with her, and the two of them spent their days running up and down the castle's corridors, and running hand-in-hand through the gardens, giggling and laughing at each other's jokes at the dinner table, sharing their food, and even sneaking out into the corridors at night, where they crept around the castle and shared whispered conversations. Already, Mary was dreading having to go home-she didn't want to leave Francis.
Catherine pretended to get annoyed with them sometimes, especially when she caught them jumping on the beds or having pillow fights, but then Mary would catch her smiling affectionately at the two of them, and she guessed that the queen's anger was just for show.
Mary spent many evenings in her room, writing her and Francis's names in her journal and on various royal notecards, always writing his surname next to her name, and the other way around. Then she would write their names all over again, surrounded by little red hearts. She liked the look of their names together.
And so the summer days went on. Once or twice, Francis danced with Mary in the ballroom when all the adults threw their extravagant parties. Most evenings, Francis kissed her on the hand before she went upstairs to her room, the two of them giggling as they mocked the gestures of all the adults, and then when the sun rose in the morning, they continued to explore the castle together.
Mary's favourite place to go with Francis however, was in a clearing in the forest that surrounded the castle. The two of them had found a little tree which flowered with beautiful white petals every spring. Sometimes, the petals would gently fall down onto Francis and Mary's heads when they were sitting under the tree. They would spend hours there, in the afternoons.
Time seemed to move forward a little in Mary's mind, and suddenly it was the end of the summer. She still didn't want to go home to Scotland. She didn't want to leave France. She didn't want to leave Francis…
However, she had a plan; she had a plan for their future. She would ensure that one day, they would not have to part like this.
It was the last day of her family's visit to France.
Mary walked through the forest towards the tree with the white petals, feeling very sure of herself. She had arranged to meet Francis here today, and she had a very important question to ask him. She had to get an answer before her family left to go back to Scotland.
Francis was already waiting for her under the tree. He grinned at her as she approached. He always looked happy to see her. He was her best friend in the world.
Mary took determined steps towards him, getting as close to him as she could before she stopped.
Then, she got down on one knee.
"Francis, will you marry me?" she asked him.
She wanted Francis to be her husband, one day. She had decided it for sure, over the summer. She was only six years old, but she had never been so certain of anything in her life.
Francis's eyes widened as he looked at her in shock. It was not quite the reaction that Mary had been hoping for.
"Mary," he told her, shaking his head, "we can't get married! We're only children!"
Mary was confused for a moment. She hadn't thought about that. "But we'll be grownups, one day," she told him, trying to be logical, "and we can get married then!" She smirked to herself, feeling sure that she had just given a very clever answer.
Francis, however, did not seem convinced. "You won't want to marry me when we're grown up," he told her with a sigh.
"Why not?!" Mary demanded of him, as stubborn as ever.
"Because you will be in Scotland, and I will be in France, and one day you will forget about this marriage proposal. And then other boys in Scotland will want to marry you, and you will marry one of them."
"No, I won't!" Mary responded, feeling a little upset now. "I don't want to marry a boy in Scotland! I want to marry you! Do you not want to marry me?" she asked him, feeling a little confused now, and a little hurt. She had thought that maybe Francis loved her too, but now she wondered if maybe she had been wrong.
"Of course I want to marry you, Mary," he told her, grinning now.
"Then, what is the problem?" Mary asked him with a frown.
Francis went silent, looking like he was really thinking about it.
"Okay," he finally said with another smile, "if you still want to marry me when we're older, then I will marry you."
"Of course I will still want to marry you, silly," Mary told him with a giggle.
Francis looked happy, but he still didn't quite seem convinced yet.
"Francis," Mary told him, trying to look serious, like all the grownups in her life, "I promise you that I will remember this moment; and I promise you that one day I will come back to France, and we will get married."
And so Francis smiled, and he gave her a hug, and he kissed her hand, and then they spent the rest of the afternoon sitting under the tree, fashioning wedding rings out of twigs and fallen leaves, and taking turns to practice proposing to each other formally, like all the adults in the royal family did…
Mary was back in the present, still kissing Francis, holding on to him for dear life.
She blinked a few times, wondering how she had ever forgotten that memory; she wondered what terrible moment had happened around the same time to cause her to repress it; she thanked God and whoever else might have brought that memory back to her that she had finally been able to unlock it. She felt almost complete, as though a part of herself that she'd lost over the years had finally slid back into place.
Who has the key to your heart? Conde had asked her.
Mary placed her hand over the key as Francis kissed her more slowly now, the kiss becoming a lot more gentle.
When he pulled away, Mary had to resist the urge to chase after his lips with hers.
Luckily, he didn't move too far away. His hands were still on her face, and he was gazing right into her eyes, a look of wonder on his face, as though he couldn't believe that this had just happened; as thought he was trying to memorise every detail.
He was crying, Mary realised. She had never seen him cry before.
As he moved a hand to brush away a tear from her cheek, Mary realised that she too was overcome with emotion. She'd been so lost in the moment that she hadn't even noticed when the tears started to fall.
Time seemed to stand still as they continued to hold each other, their lips only inches apart, Francis gently brushing a few stray white petals out of Mary's hair.
"This," Francis told her in answer to a question that Mary had almost forgot. It felt like he was whispering his secrets to her, and to this place where they had shared so many happy moments. "You."