Mary ran down several flights of stairs and through the castle's entrance hall as fast as her legs could carry her, focused entirely on getting outside and into the gardens.
Already, her heart was pounding, and she felt like she was gasping for air, but she couldn't stop. She had to get outside; she had to find Francis and Bash; she had to stop their fight. With every step she took, she felt a deep fear that she was being watched; that a journalist or a photographer would step out of the shadows at any moment to document yet another moment of shame for the royal family.
When she burst through one of the entrance hall's back doors that led out to the gardens, she couldn't help gasping in shock as the cold air hit her-Mary hadn't had time to get dressed in her hurry to get outside to Francis and Bash, and she was still wearing her pyjamas. She had just about managed to put on a pair of slippers and throw the nearest object she could find over her shoulders in an attempt to keep warm-her old patchwork quilt-before she'd sprinted out of her room. She knew that she must look ridiculous, but she didn't care; she had other things to worry about right now.
It didn't take look for her to notice Francis and Bash. They were still fighting, the two of them attempting to throw more punches at each other as they shouted insults. Mary had no idea what had provoked this fight-she wasn't sure she wanted to find out-but she knew she had to put a stop to it before anyone could take any pictures of the event and sell it to the papers.
"Bash! Francis! Stop!" Mary called out as she ran towards them.
The two young men were apparently so engrossed in their fight that they seemed oblivious to Mary's arrival at first. Bash shoved Francis, almost knocking him to the floor until Francis found his footing and tried to shove Bash in return.
Perhaps foolishly, Mary ran in between the two of them, attempting to push them apart. "Stop!" she practically screamed, almost ashamed at how terrified she sounded.
But it was true that she was afraid. There had to be photographers and journalists stationed all over the castle, here to cover James's wedding. Not to mention all of the members of the television crew who were staying in the castle to film the show. If this moment was captured by any cameras, they could all be in serious trouble. Everything was already unstable in Scotland, and Mary had been warned that she was being watched; they could not afford another mistake.
The sound of Mary's voice seemed to get their attention. The two of them paused in their fight and stumbled back from one another, both of them staring at Mary with wide eyes.
Mary locked eyes with Francis. He seemed to be gasping for air, his chest rising and falling rapidly. His hair was dishevelled, and there was a cut on his lip.
What a way to be reunited…Mary thought to herself with a sigh, as Francis frowned at her, no doubt shocked at the sight of a princess who was wearing pyjamas, wrapped in an old blanket.
For the past couple of days, Mary had felt like she had been in heaven, dancing with Francis in Paris and kissing him under the tree in the royal grounds, with white petals falling gently on their heads. Now, in this moment, she felt very much like she had crashed back to earth.
Francis's momentary shock didn't last long however, and he soon looked away from Mary, and then Bash and Francis were shouting at each other again.
"How dare you try to interfere with this matchmaking process? Francis practically spat at Bash, his voice full of an anger that Mary had never really heard from him before. "Do you really think it was a wise idea to propose marriage, given the current circumstances in Scotland…?"
"And why is that?" Bash retorted, his expression furious. "Does your rank mean that you alone are 'allowed' to marry Mary?"
Mary felt a cold sense of dread as she slowly started to work out what the fight was all about. Henry had said something to Francis about Mary threatening to marry Bash, Mary just knew it. Of course. Why wouldn't he do something to over-complicate things, to pay Mary back for her outburst in his office?
Francis glared at Bash. It seemed like he had wrongly worked out that Bash had proposed to Mary, and Bash seemed quite happy to let him continue to think that.
Henry must have told the story to Francis that way, in order to cause problems between Francis and Bash; in order to put yet another divide between Mary and Francis.
"Regardless of whether you marry Francis, or Sebastian, you will still be marrying one of my sons…"
The words that the king had said in his office seemed to echo around Mary's head. What did those words really mean? She had barely had time to think about it. Yet another secret, another lie, another complication.
Francis was shaking his head. "You have no idea about the situation in Scotland; how unstable both countries are right now; all you care about is your own selfish needs!"
Bash was still glaring at Francis. "And all you care about is power, you entitled son of a-"
"Francis! Bash! Please!" said Mary, her voice shaking as their angry words jolted her back to the present moment. "I was the one who suggested the possibility of marriage!" she admitted.
Even as the words left her lips, Mary was sure that she was going to regret them. Francis recoiled as though somebody had slapped him, and a look of…hurt definitely crossed his face.
Mary felt a bit guilty at that reaction. Since their kiss in France, Mary had started to wonder if something real was happening between her and Francis now; if perhaps true, romantic feelings had started to grow. And, perhaps Francis had started to feel the same way. But now, Mary felt like she was throwing all of those moments right back in Francis's face by telling him that she had suggested getting married to Bash.
But Mary could not allow Bash to take the blame for whatever false information King Henry had told his son. Bash had not actually proposed to Mary, yet if he was accused of this, he did not have the luxury of any royal protection like Mary and Francis did. Mary could also not admit that she had been bluffing about marrying Bash, because then Bash might leave the castle for good, and Mary would lose what little leverage she had against the king of France.
Bash looked confused by Mary's words. He opened his mouth as though to ask her something while Francis looked like he was about to demand some sort of explanation from the two of them-
"What is going on here?"
Mary was distracted at the sound of another voice coming from across the gardens.
Bash and Francis paused for a moment as Mary looked over her shoulder to see her brother running towards the three of them.
James stopped right in front of Mary, one hand holding her back as he held his other hand out as though ready to physically stop the fight if necessary. Ever the protective brother, in spite of the look of fury on his face.
Mary had no doubt that he was convinced that she was responsible for this fight; sometimes, it seemed like he only thought she was capable of making a mess of everything. Yet Mary noticed that there was also another look on his face, too; he looked tired, wary; he looked like he was fed up with all of this.
"Francis. Sebastian. I advise you to separate," he said, his tone barely managing to be polite. He could not really order a future king of France around, but the expression on his face suggested that his statement was not a request.
Mary noticed that a few of James's guards were walking around in the distance, watching the scene like they were ready to step in if James could not get a handle on the situation.
With a wary look over at the guards, Francis and Bash took a few steps away from each other.
"Sebastian, go back to work," James mumbled as Francis turned and took rapid steps in the direction of the castle, still taking deep breaths as he went.
A few of Francis's guards were waiting for him just inside the doors, and Mary noticed that there was a distracted look on his face as he headed inside. He seemed to be lost in thought, and he did not give her a backward glance.
"Mary, we're going back inside," James told her in a bossy tone of voice, a look of obvious disapproval on his face at the idea that Mary was outside in the first place, dressed only in her pyjamas.
As James started to lead her in the direction of the door that would take them back into the castle, Mary looked over her shoulder at Bash, who was taking his time walking back towards the stables.
"You don't have to marry him," said Bash as Mary looked him in the eye. "There is always a way out…"
Mary barely registered where she was going as James led her back through the castle.
It was only as the two of them walked into the television room that Mary started to snap out of the trance that she had been in.
"I have to talk to Francis," Mary said straight away. She wasn't even sure where those words had come from, but she was sure that she hadn't wanted her reunion with Francis after his return from France to go like that. All night she had waited to see if he would return, and now that he was back in Scotland, they had barely said two words to each other, and Francis and Bash had been fighting, and Francis now believed that Mary had proposed to Bash at some point during the matchmaking process…
"Not now, Mary," said James, a hint of irritation in his voice. "The three of you need some time apart to cool off…"
Mary was in too much of a state of shock to offer much protest. She sat down on the nearest sofa, still shivering in spite of the heating in the room, wrapping her patchwork blanket around herself for warmth.
A news report was playing on the television in the room about yet another riot near Edinburgh, but James quickly switched the television off. He asked several staff members who were in the room to go and fetch tea and water for Mary, but Mary had a feeling that he had done this as an excuse to get everybody out of the room.
Within minutes, Mary's mother arrived in the room, dressed smartly in a grey suit, a clipboard in her hand. Automatically, Mary rolled her eyes. Of course, this was going to turn into some sort of 'crisis meeting'. Her mother and her brother would give her a lecture about royal protocol, and then there would be a publicity stunt to smooth things over.
"What was going on outside?" Mary's mother asked her as she folded her arms and frowned at Mary.
"I have no idea," said Mary, trying to keep her expression neutral, her voice monotone.
"Mary," said the queen with a sigh, "Scotland is in dire straits right now; our every move is being scrutinised; the media is trying to dig up dirt to use against us; if that…fight…was about anything other than two young men simply letting off steam after a stressful week then now would be the time to share-"
"How is any of this my fault?" Mary snapped. Within moments, she was on her feet, her expression no doubt furious.
Her mother looked taken aback by Mary's angry words, and Mary couldn't help feeling a little ashamed. She knew that she looked and sounded like a child who was having a tantrum.
In the end, she sighed heavily and sat back down, admitting defeat, this time.
She placed her head in her hands and took a few deep breaths, trying to calm herself down.
When she finally looked up, she noticed that her mother was sitting opposite her, her head in her hands, her body language almost mirroring Mary's.
James stood awkwardly in the corner of the room, looking uncomfortable at having to be in the room with the two of them.
"What has happened?" Mary asked her mother, trying to keep the anger out of her voice.
Her mother sighed. "Putting aside a few disastrous news articles recently, we have political issues at the moment, too. The Scottish Prime Minister will not budge on the budget negotiations, and the English Prime Minister is barely communicating with us. Ideally, I would go to Edinburgh and London for a couple of days to negotiate with them, but with the preparations for the wedding this week, and…other circumstances, there is simply not enough time-"
"I will go," said Mary, without a second's thought for what she was agreeing to.
Her mother raised her eyebrows, looking surprised. "I'm sorry?"
"I will go to Edinburgh, and to London," Mary answered, surprising even herself with those words.
Her mother looked shocked at Mary's suggestion, and James looked very uncertain about the idea of sending his younger sister away to London and Edinburgh in the run up to his wedding. Perhaps he feared that Mary would not return.
Mary's mother seemed to study her for a long time. It was as though she was silently weighing up her options.
"Then that is settled," said her mother, ignoring the way that James was looking at her in wide-eyed shock. "You will go to London and Edinburgh and attempt a political negotiation. You will have one day tomorrow to prepare, and then you will leave the following morning. I can only allow you two full days and one night, and then you must return in time to prepare for your brother's wedding."
Mary nodded in agreement. She knew that the trip would be hard work, and tiring, but a part of her felt relieved at the prospect of getting to go; at being trusted with this task. She knew that she could dismiss this as an offer to make up for the incident that had just happened in the garden, or put this down to the prospect of getting away from the castle for a few days, to avoid a few of the wedding preparations, but another part of her felt the call of responsibility; she really wanted these negotiations to go well; she felt like this visit to Parliament would be some kind of test.
Her mother gave a nod, like the decision was final.
Mary had just dared to allow herself to hope that the matter of Francis and Bash's fight would not be mentioned in light of this recent decision, but then-"
"Of course," said the queen, "we also have a few issues to take care of with regards to the matchmaking show…"
Mary took a few deep breaths, steeling herself for whatever her mother was about to say.
"That behaviour, outside in the castle grounds, was not acceptable, Mary," said the queen, her tone firm, final. "It cannot happen again."
Mary nodded her head, ready to agree to anything so that they could move on from this discussion.
Her mother sighed, and then she shared a look with James, as though the two of them were silently deciding on how much they should say to Mary right now.
"My plan is to continue with the show for as long as possible, perhaps with a little more assistance from your PR team to get things under control again after this morning…but, I also feel it is my duty to share with you," said her mother, now sounding very hesitant, "that a Louis Conde has expressed an interest in dating you…"
Mary shook her head, unable to process what her mother was telling her. She continued to glare at her mother suspiciously.
"In fact," said the queen, "he has put himself forward as a potential suitor for you. His only condition would be that you remove yourself from the matchmaking show before you start to date him…"
"Why are you telling me this?" said Mary, feeling an irrational, unexplained anger starting to boil up inside her. All of the effort, all of the heartache that Mary had gone through, and only for her mother to try to completely change the game just before the last round.
"I am simply giving you options; giving you a choice," said her mother with an irritated-looking frown. "A possible way out, just like we agreed. We can no longer deny that James will soon be king, and now I need you to consider your own future, too; your own security. I would have thought that you would have been thrilled at the possibility of escaping from the television show..."
But why now? Mary wanted to scream at her. Why now, when I am already in so deep? Why now, when my heart is involved in this show, along with my head? Why now, when it is almost too late?
Her mother held up her hands in what looked like a gesture of surrender. "I am simply offering you an alternative, Mary, should everything with Francis not work out over the next few days. We are all under a lot of pressure with the upcoming wedding, and I cannot afford another humiliation, along with a lost alliance. Conde has a lot to offer; he has political links in London and abroad; he has connections to the British royal family; he has access to money that could be used to aid the crown-"
"Stop. Just stop," said Mary through gritted teeth. She pulled her tattered blanket tighter around her body, as though it could truly offer her any kind of protection; as though she could simply hide away in a patchwork cocoon and emerge when this nightmare was over.
She could not bear this any longer; weighing up men on the basis of their political power and connections and wealth. She could not stand the feeling of weakness at not having this power for herself; she hated that her feelings and her emotions were disregarded, looked down on in this matchmaking game. And, after her kiss with Francis, Mary was not so sure that she could simply put her feelings for him to one side.
Luckily, her mother didn't push her any further. She got to her feet with a sigh (Mary didn't miss her mother's wince of obvious pain as she tried to stand up gracefully), and simply said, "I just want you to think carefully about your options. But for now, go and enjoy your afternoon with Greer. Tomorrow, we will discuss the show, and your visit to Parliament."
"I want to see Francis by the end of today," said Mary quickly, before her mother could leave the room. Her tone of voice was firm, commanding. She did not say out loud that this was a condition of her behaving herself for the next few days, carrying on with the filming of the show and quietly preparing for James's wedding while she played the role of the good little princess who was on a negotiation mission in Parliament, but she was sure that her tone of voice was enough to make this unspoken condition clear.
"I will try to arrange for Francis to speak with you by the end of the day," said the queen. With that, she walked out of the room, leaving Mary and James alone.
"Mary," said James, the second their mother had left, "I think you should accept Conde's offer…"
"What?" said Mary, unable to keep the shock out of her voice.
"This…this matchmaking show, everything with Francis," he said, now sounding slightly hysterical, "it's clear it's not working out."
"And how would you know that?" said Mary as she cast her old blanket to one side and got to her feet, feeling that now all too familiar rush of anger. "You are judging the whole show based on one minor disagreement in the gardens…"
"You and I both know that it goes beyond that one fight," said James, that bossy-older-brother tone back in his voice that had always irritated Mary so much.
Before Mary could say anything else, James sighed and reached for a few documents that were piled up on the coffee table in the room.
As Mary frowned at him, still feeling confused, James handed over several pieces of paper to her.
With shaking hands, Mary looked down to see a few printed-out news articles, all of them focused on last night's Diplomat Ball in France, the ball that Catherine had thought it was so important for her son to attend.
There were pictures of the event in every news article, and almost every picture seemed to feature Francis and Olivia, standing close together, smiling as they posed for the photographers.
Mary felt her hands begin to shake. The pages in her hands might as well have gone up in flames, because Mary felt like she would get burnt if she held them for too long.
"This is nothing," said Mary as she put the pieces of paper back down on the coffee table, glad to finally get them out of her hands. "This is just another one of Catherine's games, designed to get to me, to keep me away from her son…"
Mary felt like she was trying to convince herself more than she was trying to convince her brother. Rationally, she knew that Catherine had been planning on doing something devious like this as soon as Mary was out of France and far away in Scotland, but still, it hurt, seeing Francis in photos with another woman so soon after Mary and Francis had kissed goodbye yesterday afternoon. But she could not let that hurt show on her face; especially after so many people had warned her that this was one of the perils that came with dating a prince.
"Regardless of whether this has been set up by Catherine," said James, his expression agitated, "I think you should take this as a clear message, Mary; Francis is still considering other options; the French royal family are still making plans in case this matchmaking process does not work out, and I think that it would be wise for you to do the same."
Mary shook her head, trying and failing to push her anger down. "Why are you and Mother doing this to me now, James?" she asked, struggling to keep her voice level. "After you both practically forced me into this show; after you have barely allowed me any breathing space for weeks, let alone any possibility of escape, and now all of a sudden you want me to forget any of it ever happened and just walk away from all of this, from the show, from my life as a royal?!"
Mary felt furious tears well up in her eyes, but she fought them down. She could not cry, not now; not when she was so angry.
"Mary," said James as he watched her with wide eyes, before he shook his head. "I am doing you a favour in allowing a match with Conde!"
Mary sighed to herself as James continued to talk, feeling a sense of despair wash over her. James didn't get it. He was never going to get it…
"I am taking on the burden of an arranged marriage and an unstable kingdom," he continued, "but now you don't have to!"
Mary watched him, horrified. There was almost a crazed look in her brother's eyes. It seemed that the pressure was truly getting to him.
"Mother was right-you should be happy at the chance of a way out of all of this. Accept Conde's offer; remove yourself from the show and an arranged marriage; get away from the constraints of life in the castle, Mary, and…and save yourself from this mess!"
"You don't understand!" Mary finally screamed at him, unable to hold back her anger any longer. "How could you possibly understand?"
James jumped, and then an expression of shock, or maybe even horror crossed his face. Mary never shouted at him like this; her angry outbursts were always saved for her parents. For years, there had been an unspoken agreement between sister and brother that they were in this mess together; that they had to defend each other against everyone else in this strange world of theirs. For all of their minor disagreements, Mary had never pushed things too far with her older brother. But all of that was over now. Mary could feel something break between the two of them as they glared across the room at each other. They might as well have been standing miles apart; already, they were standing in two different worlds.
"You have no idea about love, or feelings, or emotions, James! You only care about pretending to do what is right while you sneak around Scotland and France, keeping secrets!"
Mary hadn't wanted to say any of this to James, but now she couldn't hold back her words.
"What are you talking about?" said James, his look of irritation only goading Mary further.
"You think you will be such a hero," Mary practically snarled at him, "marrying Kenna and taking the crown-a crown that you don't even want, with a woman you do not love! But then what will you do, James? Throw you own sister out of her home? Allow all of Scotland to judge me for failing to find love on their television show? Swan around Paris with your mistresses behind your wife's back as you gamble your country into more debt?"
Almost as soon as the words were out of her mouth, Mary almost wished that she could take them back. But it was too late. The damage had been done.
The look of horror on James's face suggested that Henry had been completely right in all of the secrets he had so maliciously shared with Mary about her brother.
"Get out," said James, turning away from Mary, like he couldn't stand to look at her right now.
"Gladly," said Mary, still trying to keep what was left of her dignity as she turned on her heel and stormed out of the room, leaving the old patchwork blanket behind on the sofa; the blanket that Mary and James had once sewn together was now so frayed that Mary was sure it was damaged beyond repair.
Mary almost felt relieved at being able to escape the confines of the castle at midday.
As she took slightly unsteady steps down the castle's front drive, in the direction of the large front gates, she tried to ignore the fact that her hands were still shaking, and her breathing still felt heavier than normal.
Yet, as she headed through the tiny village not far from the castle, on her way to meet her best friend, she decided that she was going to try to forget the morning's events, at least for the next few hours, anyway, and she was instead going to pretend that she was just a typical eighteen-year-old girl. She had even dressed in casual clothes this afternoon-black jeans and boots and a red jumper, with her hair tied up loosely into a bun, trying to look as 'normal' as possible. In fact, if it hadn't been for the team of castle guards who were following her from a short distance away, Mary would almost have passed for just another teenage girl who was strolling through the village.
She shivered as she entered the village; she wasn't sure if it was due to the cold weather, or the strange, tense, atmosphere that seemed to be in the air today. A lot of people were talking in low voices, averting their eyes from Mary and her guards, or looking down at the ground as they hurried along past her. Mary wasn't sure if she was imagining it, but everybody seemed to have something to hide.
When she finally spotted Greer, who was waiting for Mary outside the local village pub, Mary was more than happy to see a familiar face.
"Greer!" she shouted as she abandoned all royal protocol and ran towards her friend to hug her.
"Mary, it's so good to see you!" said Greer as she hugged her back.
For the first time all day, Mary was actually able to smile, even though her smile felt a little forced after everything that had happened in the morning.
She couldn't help noticing however that Greer looked a bit sad. Mary was almost afraid to ask her friend if anything was wrong.
Instead, she settled on asking her friend where she wanted to go to get something to drink. Greer simply shrugged and told Mary that she could choose. And so, Mary started to lead her in the direction of the one place she knew very well in the village.
Greer seemed amused by Mary's choice of the local village pub. She giggled as she looked at the large Scottish flag, and the old paintings, and the groups of older men who were huddled around tables, playing poker.
As Mary led Greer towards a table near the back of the room, she spotted Narcisse, who was back at the pub again, talking in hushed tones with a group of men. He only managed a quick nod at Mary as she walked past his table, but Mary continued to watch him suspiciously for a few moments. Why was he here again, acting so secretive? What had his recent argument with Lola been about?
For about half an hour, Mary managed to enjoy her drinks with Greer in relative peace. They laughed and joked about their school days and life in London while Mary tried her best not to think about Francis and Bash's fight in the gardens, or her argument with James, or the photos of Francis and Olivia that were no doubt all over the Internet by now…
A few times, Greer tried to ask Mary what was wrong, but Mary brushed off her questions, putting her guard up, the way she always did.
Eventually, Greer's expression grew serious. "Mary," she said, "Aloysius has been offered a presenting job at a top television studio in London…"
"Greer!" said Mary with a smile. "That's wonderful news!" Mary knew from listening to the kind of people who her mother spent time with that television jobs in London were lucrative; Aloysius and his family would have the benefit of the financial security that went with that kind of job.
"It is good news, isn't it?" said Greer with a smile. "However, it means that it would be more practical for us to relocate to London. Aloysius and I are planning on moving there with the children…after he has finished his final filming for your brother's wedding, and the last episode of the matchmaking show, of course."
"Oh," said Mary, as her smile faltered a little.
Of course, Mary should have anticipated that this would happen. It made sense, for Aloysius to relocate to London, to be close to work, but still, now that Greer was saying it out loud, it made it all seem so real. Greer would be moving permanently to London. Even further away from Mary than she was now. Over the past couple of years, it had been difficult for Mary to see Greer when she had been living in Scotland; but with her living in England, Mary was sure that she would see her even less. Not to mention that Greer's words had just reminded Mary that Aloysius was waiting to film the finale of the matchmaking show; that the country was still waiting for Mary's decision on who she wanted to marry, and soon.
"Greer, I'm so happy for you," said Mary, as she tried her best to smile at her concerned-looking friend.
Mary was thrilled for Greer, she really was, but still she felt like she was putting on a brave face as they finished their drinks. With her brother not talking to her and her best friend moving away, Mary now felt an almost overwhelming sense of loneliness.
In spite of everything, Mary tried to spend an enjoyable afternoon with Greer. They walked around the village, talking and gossiping the whole way about Mary's visit to Paris with Francis, calling into some of the shops with royal guards in tow, and stopping at a few more pubs and coffee shops for drinks as Greer showed Mary pictures of some of the houses she had been looking at in London.
All too soon, the afternoon was over, and Mary and Greer stood on the outskirts of the village to say their goodbyes.
"I'll see you at the wedding on Saturday," Greer whispered in Mary's ear as she hugged her, serving as a painful reminder to Mary that they would all be attending James's and Kenna's wedding in a matter of days.
Almost reluctantly, Mary started to walk back in the direction of the castle, with her guards still keeping a reasonable distance as they walked behind her.
A few groups of people passed Mary as she walked towards the village signpost. They were all walking close together, their heads bowed as though they had something to hide.
As usual, Mary watched them all curiously from a short distance away. She noticed that a few people in the group had their sleeves rolled up, no doubt to cool down now that the weather was starting to get a little warmer.
Mary's attention was drawn to a few of the tattoos that were currently visible on the arms of some of the men in the group. She squinted, trying to work out what exactly the tattoos were.
She could make out the heads of birds, and a few wings, spread out on bare skin as though facing towards the sky…
Birds in flight…
Suddenly, something in her mind clicked into place.
"Mary, that's a rebel symbol…" Bash had told her.
Mary took off at a run, determined to get back to the castle as quickly as possible. She ignored her guards, who kept asking her why she was running.
Mary took determined steps towards her mother's office. She wanted to shout, to throw the door open, but she knew that that sort of behaviour would get her nowhere-she could not appear to be irrational, in light of what she had just discovered.
Instead, she settled on knocking on the door almost frantically several times, waiting until her mother called out, "Enter!" before she went in.
Mary was only mildly surprised to see that her father was also in the office today, siting behind the desk and apparently helping his wife with her paperwork.
An expression of concern crossed his face as Mary walked towards the desk.
"Mary, are you all right?" he asked her with a frown, looking like he was only seconds away from offering to make her tea.
"There are rebels, all over the village," said Mary breathlessly, before her father could ask her anything else. Just saying it out loud made the idea seem even more terrifying.
"You are being watched…" that masked person had told her in the dark alleyway.
"I beg your pardon?" said her mother, looking at Mary as though she had lost her mind.
"Rebels," Mary repeated, struggling to compose herself. Perhaps the pressure really had got to her; perhaps she really was losing her mind, seeing things that weren't really there. But for now, she had to assume that everything she was seeing was real. "Here, in the village…so close…I saw them…in groups…by the signpost…"
"Your evidence that these people are rebels?" her mother demanded with a raised eyebrow, apparently not prepared to accept Mary's story just yet.
"I saw their tattoos," said Mary, trying to keep her voice calm, authoritative, even as she realised how strange she must sound. "The bird-in-flight tattoos, on their arms…it's a rebel symbol. Rebels have been plotting against the crown for years, but now there are so many of them, so close; only minutes away, in the village!"
To her surprise, Mary was feeling more than just blind panic right now; she felt a sense of duty, to protect the castle and the crown; to keep her family safe. If there were rebels stationed all over the village, then they would have to do something about defending the castle…
"How do you know what that tattoo represents?" the queen asked her with a frown, ignoring Mary's father's mutterings about how Mary should maybe sit down and get some rest.
"I heard it somewhere," said Mary, trying to sound vague, "or perhaps I read it somewhere, I can't remember..."
Why are you doing this? a voice in her head seemed to be asking her. Why are you protecting Sebastian?
Mary wasn't even sure that she had the answers. How had Bash known what the bird-in-flight symbol meant in the first place? Should Mary not say something to her parents about the fact that he understood this symbolism? Would it look suspicious?
And yet Mary held back. She had a feeling that after his behaviour this morning, Bash was only one step away from being dismissed from his job at the castle. Mary could not be the one who was responsible for somebody losing their job, based on just a theory, a coincidence. Still, she knew that she would have to keep a closer eye on Bash; she would have to find out more about him.
"We should station more guards in the village," Mary suggested to her parents, "bring in extra guards outside the castle…"
"Mary," said her mother as she held up her hand, "I can assure you that even if your theory is correct, the castle is well protected. The guards are working day and night to ensure that we are safe," she continued, before Mary could interrupt her, "and I regularly send guards to patrol the village and the local area. Please try to put this out of your mind-I would suggest that you have other things to worry about at the moment…"
Mary sighed, knowing that it was pointless to argue right now; but still, she could not let this drop. The sight of the bird-in-flight had unnerved her; it was a little too close to home. Even if she had to take action herself, Mary would find a way to increase the castle's protection.
"Mary, said her father, his tone of voice softer, more soothing, "it is still your day off-why don't you go and spend some time relaxing in the television room? In fact, I think an episode of the royal matchmaking show is about to start," he continued with a chuckle, "perhaps you would like to see how all the scenes you are filming are put together-I daresay you could use a laugh…"
Mary didn't have the heart to admit that the last thing she wanted to do right now was to watch herself on a dating show. Her father looked so eager for Mary to head to the television room that Mary suspected there was some sort of hidden agenda on his part.
"I'll walk you there," her father offered.
They both knew that Mary was more than capable of walking to the television room on her own, but Mary had a feeling that her father wanted to talk to her about something, so she nodded in agreement.
For a few minutes, the two of them walked through the castle hallways in silence. Several members of staff greeted Mary's father with a smile as they passed. Her father was kind, and generous, and he was loved by those who worked at the castle, even though they sometimes laughed at his more eccentric behaviour.
"Your brother," her father finally mumbled as they approached the television room, "he has a lot on his mind right now, Mary; I can only ask that you take that into consideration before you judge him too harshly…"
Mary sighed, but she could not bring herself to argue with her father in the way that she would have argued with her mother. "Fine, whatever," she said, hating that she sounded like a petulant thirteen-year-old.
In truth, the memory of her recent argument with James was already causing her to feel an almost physical pain in her chest.
The moment she stepped inside the television room, Mary noticed that Francis was in there, waiting by the sofa and looking rather handsome in one of his typical white jumpers and casual trousers, with his wavy hair looking slightly dishevelled, as though it had not been formally styled by his team of stylists this afternoon.
Mary had long since realised that she found Francis especially handsome when he was dressed in casual clothes, but she had too much on her mind to really focus on that right now.
She also tried to ignore the fact that the cut on Francis's lower lip was still visible after his fight with Bash.
When Francis noticed her arrival, he bowed to her.
Mary found it rather odd that Francis was still keeping to royal protocol, in light of everything that had happened between them recently, but still she managed to bow in return.
Mary briefly glanced over her shoulder in time to see her father grin at her.
Mary rolled her eyes at him, but still she nodded, silently letting him know that he could leave the room.
The feeling of relief at having Francis close to her again was almost overwhelming. Mary wasn't sure how or when this feeling had crept up on her. Despite everything, Mary was glad that her father had arranged for Mary and Francis to spend some time together today.
As the door closed gently, Francis started to speak: "Mary, I'm so sorry," he said.
Mary wasn't really sure what to say, or what exactly Francis was apologising for-for fighting with Bash? For agreeing to pose for photographs with his ex-girlfriend at a royal event after he had kissed Mary? A part of her was afraid to ask, so she simply nodded. Feeling a little too nervous to look him in the eye, Mary averted her gaze. Her eyes fell on the television screen, where she noticed that an episode of the matchmaking show was about to start.
It was very strange, to see herself on the screen, to know the backstory behind all of the edited moments they showed on television. Up until now, she had been purposely avoiding watching too much of the show.
On the screen, Mary was walking down the stairs into the castle entrance hall, and she quickly realised that this episode was going to document her visit to France.
Francis seemed to be looking at the television, too. "You always knew how to make an entrance," he muttered as they watched while Mary took her final steps into the entrance hall on the screen, then he looked embarrassed, as though he had just said something he shouldn't have said.
Mary couldn't help smiling, in spite of everything. "Will you watch the show with me?" she asked Francis. She had nothing else to do this evening, and it would be nice to sit down and relax, and she knew it would be something of a novelty, to watch the show as a viewer, to see what the rest of Scotland was seeing.
Francis nodded, and the two of them ended up sitting next to each other on the sofa, watching the episode together.
It was definitely strange, Mary decided, to be seated next to the future king of France, the two of them dressed casually as they watched themselves on the screen. The two of them even started to give a running commentary as they watched each scene play out, talking as though they were merely watching other people's lives on the screen and not their own. Mary suspected that they were both deliberately avoiding talking about other issues. On the other hand, Mary also sensed that this was exactly what they needed to break some of the tension between them.
"He should have held her hand," Mary whispered almost teasingly to Francis as they watched the scene that showed the two of them descending the stairs of the private jet just after the plane had landed in France, with Mary looking a little unsteady on her feet and Francis looking back over his shoulder at her, his body language protective.
"Perhaps he is nervous," Francis replied, surprising Mary all over again, as he often seemed to do.
Eventually, the show focused on their day in Paris. Mary watched as one of the scenes showed her and Francis meeting each other outside in the castle grounds, just before they travelled into the capital city. She hadn't even realised that that moment was being filmed, but it seemed that the camera crew had been filming the gardens from one of the upstairs windows.
"Smooth," Francis muttered with a grin as the scene showed Mary awkwardly asking Francis if he thought that she was under-dressed.
Mary pretended to glare at him from her side of the sofa. She knew that he was teasing her. Mary liked it, when she got to see this side of Francis. She would have laughed along with him, if her head hadn't still been full of images of Francis and Olivia, standing side-by-side last night at the Diplomat's Ball.
"Very smooth," Mary mocked him in return as the next scene showed Mary and Francis in the car with Charles and his 'girlfriend' as they made their way to the station. Francis seemed to be very deliberately looking out of the window and away from Mary as Charles held hands with the little girl sitting next to him.
Mary and Francis continued to watch as the next few scenes showed their time in Paris. Mary had to fight off a blush as she watched the two of them walking around the Louvre gallery together-a look of fascination was written all over Mary's face as she listened to Francis talk about the paintings and the portraits.
Still, she felt almost content as she watched all of their moments together in Paris play out on the screen. She had been so happy with Francis that day, just the two of them, together, away from the castle…
"Will you go to Edinburgh and London with me?" Mary heard herself blurt out during a commercial break.
Francis turned to look at her, a very confused expression on his face, and so Mary was left to explain about the upcoming political visit to the two cities that her mother had agreed she could go on, and she asked again if he would accompany her.
"Are you sure?" Francis asked her, sounding a little uncertain.
Mary could hardly blame him. Things had seemed so perfect, when they had been kissing under the tree in the French royal gardens, but since they had both come back to reality, things seemed to have tilted between them again. Francis's photos from the Diplomat's Ball and the confusion about the alleged proposal between Mary and Bash had placed yet more obstacles between them.
"I'm sure," Mary replied. She wanted Francis by her side; she felt like all of her negotiations would be easier if he was there with her. She knew that she was setting a dangerous precedent by even thinking this (she was afraid to get too comfortable around Francis Valois, in case he decided to leave her at the end of the show), but right now, she wasn't thinking about the future.
And, as unprofessional as she knew it would sound if she said it out loud, a part of Mary really wanted to recreate their time together in Paris.
"Then it is settled," said Francis, as the show started up again and the two of them returned to watching the screen.
Francis was going to London and Edinburgh with her. Mary felt more relieved than she knew it was safe to feel at the moment.
It was only when the show ended and a tense silence seemed to descend on them that Mary decided that she wanted to say something to try to clear the air; she could not bear for the memories of recent events to hang over them while they were in Edinburgh and London together.
"Bash and I used to walk past each other sometimes in the village, before this matchmaking process got started," said Mary, speaking quickly before she could change her mind and deciding that she wanted to be as honest with Francis as possible. "I was always happy to see him, even if it was only from a far; he was a reminder that another life existed outside of the castle. I thought that he was handsome. I was happy, when my brother employed him to work at the castle…"
"Mary," said Francis, "you don't have to do this…"
"I want to do this," Mary insisted. "I still want us to be honest with one another, like we agreed…" As Francis nodded, Mary prepared to continue. She wanted to be honest, but she didn't feel ready to ask Francis about Olivia yet; she wasn't sure if she was ready for Francis to be honest with her in return.
"When he gave me his ring as a gift to wear while I was in France, it seemed like the perfect opportunity to imply that there was some kind of engagement agreed on between the two of us, as a bargaining tool to use in 'negotiations' with your father, and my mother," Mary sighed. "Or a threat, if I'm going to be really honest. But it seems as though it has all backfired…"
Francis nodded, accepting her explanation. Mary couldn't help noticing that he almost looked relieved at the idea that there was no definite engagement agreed on between Mary and Bash.
Still, Mary felt like she was not being entirely honest. At the very least, Francis knew some of the story about the ring that Mary wore on the black ribbon on her neck. She was dreading having to tell him the story of the house charm that she also wore around her neck.
"Still, there is…something between the two of you," Francis eventually muttered. "Some kind of attraction. At first, I tried to pretend not to see it, but it is there…"
"Francis, no," Mary interrupted him, not sure why she was in such a rush to deny what he was saying.
"Mary," he said, his voice softer now. "I'm not judging you for it. It's true I lost my temper with Sebastian, and I was angry with him for trying to interfere with my country's…negotiations, but the reality is that you had little choice in being a part of the matchmaking show; I would be naïve to think that you had no other suitors in your life; I would be foolish to imagine that there would be no other men competing for your hand. We both came into this process with a history…"
Mary felt a prickle of discomfort at Francis's words. Not for the first time, she found herself wishing that they could both leave their history in the past.
Francis went silent for a little while. Mary guessed that he was trying to find a way to put his thoughts into words.
"Although it goes against all royal protocol for me to say this to you," he finally said, still looking like he was debating saying anything at all, "and perhaps I would not have said this, before your visit to France, but when the time comes for you to make your decision, my only hope is that you don't make that decision based on a crown, or a kingdom, or a political alliance, or on what is good for a country…"
"Meaning what?" Mary asked him with a frown, not really understanding what Francis was asking of her, and feeling like something had changed again in the rules of the royal matchmaking show.
"What I mean," said Francis, now looking a little flustered, and like he was struggling to put his thoughts into words, "if you choose me at this end of this process, I would want you to have chosen me based on what is in your heart, and not based on the crown that I have no doubt you will one day wear on your head."