*Notes/warnings: This chapter contains references to fighting, violence and a terrifying event for the characters. This is another dark chapter in Mary's story, but its events finally lead her towards a few realisations about herself, and those around her. There will be light at the end of the tunnel soon.
The flames continued to climb higher, rapidly spreading from the curtains to the ceiling.
People continued to scream and shout in their state of panic.
The bird-in-flight symbol continued to burn bright at the back of the room.
And Francis continued to run towards Mary, but now his path was impeded by the crowds of people who were all running in the opposite direction, trying to get out of the room. As the smoke got thicker, it was becoming increasingly difficult for Mary to see him.
Mary knew that she had to take action, that she had to do whatever she could to get herself and others out of this room if they were to have any chance of getting to safety. She wanted to run to Francis, to run to her family, but still she remained frozen to the spot for several seconds, just like she had done last time, in the middle of the last disaster. Her fear was threatening to win out over her bravery, forcing her into inaction; an inaction that could prove to be deadly.
At the very least, other people in the room were moving around now, starting to take action to ensure their escape.
Mary noticed that Catherine had managed to wrench open the two wooden doors at the back of the chapel, allowing for an escape, while Lola and Greer, in a show of strength that even Mary couldn't have predicted, managed to prize open a side door in the middle of the room that had been locked a few minutes ago, providing yet another exit, before they bravely ran across the smoke-filled room to open a similar looking door on the opposite side of the room.
James had been shouting instructions at the guests as to which exits they should head over to, while at the same standing in front of Kenna, still protecting her, even as their wedding ceremony was lost in the flames. As a few more guests headed out through the main doors, James ran over to a small side door next to the altar and wrenched it open, which would allow one more small exit, if another escape route became necessary.
Catherine and Henry seemed to be trying to get to Francis now, their faces the picture of fear for their son. Mary knew that the moment they got to him, they would do whatever they could to get him out of the room and to safety, whether Mary was with him or not.
Francis was not only their eldest son, but he was also the heir to the French throne, a future king; to them, his life was too precious to be taken away as a result of a rebel attack in Scotland; the future of France rested on them getting Francis Valois to safety.
Rapidly, guests were leaving the room, exiting through the open doors on all sides. Only a few people remained now.
Suddenly, Mary's family was standing in front of her.
"Mary, let's go!" Mary heard her father yell at her, even as the smoke got thicker around them.
Mary could also see her mother, beckoning Mary towards her so they could all get out through the doors that the guests had escaped from.
It was the first time that Mary had seen true fear on her parents' faces. She knew that they had refused to leave the room until they were certain that their children would leave with them.
But still Mary could not take those steps forward just yet. She took a step back, trying to get a better view of the room. Where was Francis? Had he got out? The smoke at the back of the room was so thick, and Mary could barely see a few feet in front of her.
Vaguely, she was aware of the sight of James, pushing Kenna towards his parents.
"Protect her! Make sure she gets out!" Mary heard her brother asking, no, begging his parents.
Mary suspected that the moment they got out of the room, if something more deadly was discovered out there, then James was going to run off and play the hero, trying to rescue as many people from the disaster as he could, even if he could not save himself. Even though he was not romantically in love with Kenna, he still wanted her to be okay; he was depending on his family to protect her as if she were their own, should he be separated from them at any point.
It turned out that taking a step back proved to be an unwise, almost fatal move for Mary. Above all of their heads, the room's chandelier had already caught fire. In a matter of seconds, it had detached from the ceiling, and then it began to fall.
Mary's parents and James and Kenna only just managed to jump out of the way in time before the chandelier crashed to the floor.
Mary let out a scream at the sound of the chandelier's glass shattering. She was really panicking now; she was back in the French castle on that awful night; she was back in the dark place that she had been in at the age of sixteen.
In a matter of seconds, a line of flames had emerged on either side of the chandelier, blocking Mary's path. It seemed that the floor had also been doused with whatever flammable liquid had been used on the bird-in-flight symbol at the back of the room.
She could hear her mother's screams from the other side of the flames. She was separated from her family now, and the line of flames had cut her off from the chapel's main exits.
"Mary!" she heard her father and Kenna call out to her, their voices sounding desperate.
"Mary!" she then heard her brother's voice call out to her, his tone insistent, commanding; "get out of the room through the side door to your right! Go! Now! You can still get out of the castle that way!"
It seemed like so long since James had spoken to her that the shock of it snapped Mary into action.
"I will go!" she called out to her family, before she had to pause to cough. "But you must all go, too!" she continued. "Get out of the castle! Save yourselves!"
The flames were so thick now that Mary could no longer see her family. She could only hope that they had followed her command.
The main doors would have provided a quicker route to the castle's main entrance and out of the castle, but that escape route was no longer an option to Mary. With the flames continuing to spread, and with no clear idea as to whether her family or Francis would be able to get to safety, she was left with no other option but to run in the direction of the tiny side door to her right; the door that her brother had opened only minutes ago.
Before she left the chapel, Mary allowed herself one more glance over her shoulder. Although visibility was poor through the thick cloud of smoke, she noticed that the room was empty now; everybody seemed to have got out of the chapel; nobody appeared to have been hurt by the fire.
Although she felt relieved, some deep part of Mary felt unsettled; something about the rapid evacuation had been a little too…easy, a little too simple. It was clear now that the fire in the chapel had been planned by rebels-the bird-in-flight symbol was a dead giveaway-and yet everybody had managed to get out...Did that mean that there was something else, waiting just beyond the chapel doors? Something even more sinister?
But still, Mary ran through the tiny side door next to the altar and emerged in the adjacent corridor, willing herself to keep moving forward, even if she was only heading into more danger. What other choice did she have?
As Mary ran down the deserted corridor just outside the chapel door, the sense of blind panic really started to set in.
Only meters behind her, one of the castle's great rooms was on fire, and unless the fire was put out soon, the flames were going to spread.
Mary was all on her own, at the mercy at whatever else was waiting for her in the castle's long hallways. Already, she imagined that she could hear whispers and footsteps in the corridors ahead.
The lights had started to flicker, with the power starting to trip in and out, probably due to the interference from the fire and the smoke nearby, and Mary was terrified of the castle descending into darkness.
She had no idea where her family or her friends were; she didn't know for sure if they had got out of the castle.
And then there was Francis…
Where was he?
If anything happened to him…
"Guards!" Mary heard herself scream as she continued to run.
This was who the royals called out for, when things went wrong, when there was any kind of disturbance.
Normally, they came running at the slightest cry from anyone in the castle.
Where were they now? As much as Mary had complained about the guards' heavy-handedness over the years, right now, she would give anything for them all to come running, with their weapons at the ready to defend the castle; she would give anything for them to help deal with the awful, confusing things that had just happened and help get everybody to safety.
"Guards!" she shouted again as the corridor behind her started to fill up with smoke.
She needed them; she needed somebody to come to the rescue…But nobody came.
Still running, Mary rounded yet another corner, trying to put as much distance as she could between herself and the chapel while at the same time trying to stay on some sort of path that she knew would help lead her out of the castle, even if she had to take the long way round.
Her bridesmaid's dress was restricting her, the long skirt and the heavy fabric making it more difficult to run. Mary knew that she might soon be forced to tear the skirt to shreds, if it would help her to run faster. What did pretty dresses and jewels matter…what did any of it matter, when it was life or death?
Mary turned to her left, heading down a long corridor that she knew led towards the back of the castle. High above her, a window stood half open, its glass panes broken as though somebody had forced entry.
There were shards of glass all over the floor by Mary's feet. A strip of white fabric was hanging from the window's latch; it seemed that somebody's shirt had caught on it while they were trying to get out, or into, the castle, and a strip of fabric had been torn off as a result.
Mary paused for a long moment and glanced up at the window. She was not sure which part of the grounds it would lead to, but this window would provide some sort of exit from the building, if she wanted to try to take it. It was clear that somebody else had managed to get through the window frame, so it was possible that she could, too. A few slabs of stone stuck out on the wall-they would provide some sort of ladder, if Mary had strength enough to climb.
Mary put one foot on the stone wall, discreetly testing its sturdiness.
It was tempting, but Mary hesitated at the last second. What would happen, if she managed to get outside, only to see that her family wasn't out there? What if Francis wasn't out there? The wait in the gardens for her loved ones to emerge would be unbearable. And what if they didn't emerge? If there was any possibility that they were still trapped in the castle, in danger, then Mary had to do her best to find them.
Besides, if she couldn't make it to the top, if she fell and hit the stone floor and the shards of glass, then she would be putting herself at an even greater risk. She was on her own, with nobody to assist her, inside a castle that was at great risk of burning to the ground, and she could not afford an injury; she could not afford anything that would impede her eventual escape.
And so, with one last glance at the window, Mary kept running.
Mary had no sooner headed into another corridor when she heard voices a few feet ahead of her, coming from just around the corner.
With her heart starting to beat fast, Mary came to a stop and flattened herself against the wall, so she could peer around the corner to see who the voices belonged to.
A couple of guards appeared in Mary's line of vision, fully dressed in their official uniforms. So there were some guards still in the castle, after all. Where had they been? Why hadn't they been in the chapel during the wedding ceremony? What were they doing now, hanging around the corridors at the back of the castle? Did they not know that the chapel had been set alight, right in the middle of James and Kenna's wedding?
Mary was just about to call out to them, to explain what had happened, to beg for help, when suddenly, she recognised one of the guards as the man who had appeared at the television room door just before Mary's disastrous interview, holding a bird-in-flight pin in his hands and insisting that Narcisse had asked Mary to wear it.
Her surprise at seeing him again after he had seemed to vanish for weeks rendered Mary momentarily speechless.
In those few seconds of silence, she saw the same guard reach out and drag Henry, Francis's father, into view from around the corner on the opposite end of the corridor.
Before Mary could shout out, express surprise at what she was seeing, the guard took a knife out his back pocket, and, in one swift motion, the king of France fell down to the floor.
Mary let out a terrified gasp; she almost screamed in horror, but she managed to put her hand to her mouth and silence herself at the last second.
More guards arrived on the scene. Several of them had their sleeves rolled up, as though they were preparing to dispose of a body. From a distance, Mary could just make out the tattoos on their arms; they all had bird-in-flight tattoos…
Mary had to fight off another scream of fright as her mind started to connect the dots.
Rapidly, Mary darted back around the corner, desperately trying to hide herself from the guards' view.
The other guards were laughing now, as though they had just witnessed a wonderful piece of entertainment.
Mary would have felt disgusted, if she had been able to feel anything other than blind panic. She knew that she had to move, to keep running, but she felt frozen with fear.
"Is he dead?" she heard a guard ask in a gruff voice.
"Yeah," another guard confirmed, causing Mary to feel a shock wave that brought on both panic and despair.
The king of France was dead. He had been murdered.
For all of her own personal dislike of the king of France, he was still Francis's father. What would Francis think, when he found out?
"Good riddance," another guard spat, as a few other guards murmured in agreement.
Mary covered her mouth with her hand, covering another silent scream. She had almost called out to those guards; she had almost revealed to them that she was there, just around the corner, in the same way that she had called out to the guards as she ran out of the chapel. If she had called for them, then no doubt she would have been lying next to the king now, dead. Those few seconds of hesitation had spared her life.
"Let's go and get the rest of them," said another guard. "They're all around here somewhere, running in panic from the fire; they should be easy to find; they won't even see us coming…"
These words sent a fresh wave of fear over Mary, finally causing her to act.
She had to get out of here. These men were rebels, and they had just killed someone; they had just killed a member of the royal family. They were planning on killing again. If Mary stayed here, then she would be a sitting target. It was clear now, that she had so much more to fear than the fire.
Slowly, carefully, Mary pushed herself away from the wall.
She took a few steps backwards, backing away from the wall as silently as possible, terrified that even the sound of her heavy breathing would give her away.
She crept to the end of the corridor, fighting an urge to simply run and risk being overheard, putting as much distance as she could between herself and the guards first.
With each step, another sense of dread set in. If the guards had managed to capture a member of the French royal family, then where were the other members of the Valois family? Were they somewhere close by? Would they be the next targets? Where was Francis?
In that moment, it struck Mary that she was not sure if she could survive this, if Francis didn't. This feeling was almost enough to overwhelm her. She was not sure that she had felt anything this intense before. What a time to discover it!
When Mary finally reached the end of the corridor, she ran. More than ever, she understood that she was running for her life.
Mary ran and ran, her heart pounding, her muscles screaming in protest.
Smoke was starting to seep into a few of the surrounding corridors, making it more difficult to breathe; the fire was spreading.
She was sure she could hear voices, and cruel-sounding laughter, getting ever closer.
With each gasping breath, all of the pieces started to fit together, like shards of glass as sharp as knives that would cut anybody who tried to put them back together, drawing blood in the process.
The castle was under attack by rebels. The fire in the chapel had been planned; it had been a premeditated attack designed to sabotage James and Kenna's wedding and cause panic and chaos in the process. More than that, the burning room had been a trap; a trap designed to lead everybody into the castle's maze of corridors, where the wedding guests would be an easier target for the rebels in their panicked and confused state. Mary had thought that it had been a little too easy for everyone to escape from that chapel; her instincts must have been correct. Perhaps her instincts had been correct all along.
It was all starting to make a twisted kind of sense. The enemy had been within, the whole time. The guards in the castle had been in on it all, secretly sporting rebel tattoos on their skin as they went through the motions, pretending that they were here to protect the royal family, when really, they had secretly been plotting against them.
Mary remembered that so many new members of staff had been recruited to work at the castle, just before the matchmaking show got started. How had so many false allies slipped through the net? How had the royal family been so easily deceived?
And then there had been all those whispers, and footsteps…and, of course, the way that the media seemed to know their every move; the way that those photos of Mary and Conde had mysteriously appeared on Mary's desk. The enemy had been so close, the whole time.
As Mary rounded yet another corner, still alone in this part of the castle, she allowed the feeling of regret to consume her. How could they all have been so naïve? How could she have been so naïve? She had seen those tattoos on the people in the village; she had heard the anti-royal murmurings in the local pub. She had never even considered that the anti-royal sentiments expressed at the pub ran this deep. How the rebels must have laughed at them, knowing that they were able to plot against the crown from so close to the castle!
All the signs had been there-the masked stranger who had cornered Mary in the alley, warning her that she was being watched; the guard who had shown up at the dressing room door and told Mary to wear the rebel pin and then mysteriously vanished; all the information that seemed to get out to the press at convenient times-information that only somebody who was within the castle walls was likely to know. All the signs had been there, and Mary just hadn't put two and two together.
She had never for a second believed that the guards would be disloyal to her family; but now, it seemed she had misplaced her trust.
With another gasp, she thought about how she and Bash had managed to climb over the castle wall to sneak out to the village the day after the matchmaking show got started. It had been difficult to get over the wall, but certainly not impossible. And, if they could get out, then it must have been possible for rebels to get in that way. Mary had been meaning to mention the wall to her mother, but with everything else going on in her life, it had slipped her mind.
And, deep down, it had not really occurred to her that anyone would have got away with entering the castle's gardens by scaling the wall; she had always believed that the guards would have been waiting to meet any intruders in the gardens. But what happened when the intruders were the guards themselves?
Then Mary felt another fresh wave of regret as she pieced something else together-two guards had accompanied her to her meeting with Conde in London, along with Narcisse. At the time, Mary had doubted Narcisse's ability to keep quiet about the event, but it had never even crossed her mind that the two guards sitting opposite him had sold Mary out. All the guards had seemed so disinterested that night too, barely even noticing that Mary had been sneaking past them in the hotel corridor on her way out, as though they couldn't have cared less about protecting her. Yet another sign that Mary had missed.
The smell of smoke seemed to be getting stronger now.
Mary's limbs felt like they were getting heavier.
A part of her felt like all of this was hopeless; if the flames didn't get her, then the rebel guards surely would. Surely it was only a matter of time before she hit a dead end, before all the dark forces of the castle finally caught up with her.
But still she couldn't give up; she had to keep going. A queen would have fought a battle to the bitter end, even if there had been no chance of victory.
And, a greater part of Mary knew that she could not give up until she had found Francis again, even if she only got to see him one last time before the rebels caught her.
Mary was right at the back of the castle now.
She noticed that the door to a small room at the end of a corridor was hanging open. Mary knew that this room was one of several meeting rooms in the castle; she had attended several meetings in there.
She also knew that there was a back door in this meeting room that would lead out into the gardens, if it wasn't locked and she could get it open.
Still unsure what she should do, still unsure if she was ready to take a chance on heading outside on a vague hope that her family and Francis would already be out there, Mary crept towards the open door.
She peered around the doorframe in time to see that three people were already in the room, standing with their backs to her.
They were engaged in a hushed conversation, saying something about the guards and the castle's exits.
Mary recognised their voices-these people were not guards, but they were employed by the castle as members of staff. Mary knew that the woman in the middle of the small group worked for the administration team, and the man standing next to her was one of the castle's gardeners, while the woman standing on the right usually organised conferences and meetings within the castle.
Yet, one quick glance at the small, sharp knives that they all held in their hands was enough to tell Mary that they were not on the side of the royal family. She could even make out a tiny bird-in-flight tattoo, displayed on the forearm of the woman in the middle of the group.
Silently, Mary crept away from the doorway and back out into the corridor, before she broke out into another run, trying to get as far away from the meeting room as possible and thanking her lucky stars along the way that the three members of staff had happened to have their backs to the door at the moment Mary had stumbled upon them.
As Mary was forced to run back in the direction that she had just come from, with her heart beating so fast that it was becoming increasingly difficult to catch her breath, the realisation started to hit her that it was not only the guards who had betrayed them. Other members of staff were in on this attack, too. Anyone could be carrying a knife up their sleeve, ready to stab her in the back…
Mary's thoughts were abruptly cut off when she ran headlong into somebody who must have been running in her direction from the opposite end of the corridor.
The impact of the collision caused Mary to lose her footing; she fell backwards onto the floor, struggling to catch her breath as she forced herself into a seated position, trying to ignore a sharp jolt of pain in her side.
The corridor had started to fill with smoke, making it difficult to see clearly. She could just make out the outline of the person standing above her…
She let out a gasp of fright as she realised that the person she had just run into was male, well-built, and taller than her. What chance would she have, if she had just run right into a rebel guard?
As fast as she could, Mary leapt to her feet, desperate to defend herself in any way that she could, even if her efforts would prove to be futile. She could barely even catch her breath; she wasn't sure if this was because she had been injured by her fall, or because the smoke was getting thicker.
Finally, the smoke seemed to clear a little, and that was when Mary finally saw him clearly…
Sebastian was standing opposite her, taking deep breaths. His white shirt had been torn, so that his chest was partially visible. On his chest, Mary could see the tattoo, drawn in black ink; it was a tattoo of a bird-in-flight…
Frozen in fear, and shock, Mary looked up at Bash's face. What emotion was that intense expression of his trying to convey? Was it shame? Anger? Fear? Triumph? Mary couldn't yet tell.
Bash looked Mary right in the eye.
Neither of them said anything.
The two of them continued to stare at one another, both of them taking deep breaths, with so many unspoken words passing between them.
So Bash had been one of them all along. He had been in league with the rebels. The tattoo on his chest seemed to say it all. No wonder he had been so eager to flee from the castle when Mary had told him of her own plans to leave!
He must have been the one who had climbed through the window earlier-the strip of fabric hanging from the window frame exactly matched the shade of white of his shirt. But why had he climbed through the window of a burning building? Was he here to help everyone to escape in a moment of redemption, or was he here to help the rebels?
Mary half-expected Bash to leap forward, to try to attack her, but still he did not move.
In the heavy silence that passed between them, Mary thought about how Bash had met at the local pub with people who were not sympathetic to the crown. She thought about how he had instantly known the meaning of the symbol that Mary had accidently worn for her interview. She thought about how she had been certain that she'd noticed the top of a tattoo on Bash's chest only yesterday evening, before she'd convinced herself that she'd only been seeing things.
Perhaps, somewhere deep down, Mary had known all along that this was who Bash was. Perhaps she had simply entered into a deep state of denial, because she had not wanted to believe it.
In the distance, Mary was aware of the sound of voices. It sounded like they were gradually getting closer.
But still she could not move. Her head felt like it was spinning with this new revelation. The walls of the castle seemed to be closing in on her. She did not know what to do, what to say. She did not know which direction she should run in to best protect herself.
The sound of footsteps from just around the corner seemed to snap Bash back to his senses. He looked over his shoulder, a frantic expression on his face.
Then, he looked back at Mary.
Mary tensed, wondering if he was about to give her up to the rebels…
"There's nobody here!" Bash suddenly called out, his tone of voice and his accent a perfect imitation of the guards that Mary had heard in the corridor earlier. The guards who had killed the king.
"Mary, go!" Bash told her, his voice an urgent whisper.
Mary didn't need to be told twice. She turned away from Bash and ran, back in the direction that she had just come from.
She did not look back over her shoulder at him. She knew exactly who he was now. He might have just saved her life, but she had no guarantee that his loyalty to her would win out for a second time.
Mary kept to the outer corridors of the castle, as it seemed that the smoke was not as thick here as it was further into the castle.
Perhaps the smoke was not too heavy at the moment, but a fresh wave of guilt was threatening to consume Mary instead.
She had known all along that Bash had secrets. Catherine had even confirmed this to her during one of their confrontations. She had been suspicious enough of him that she had asked Kenna to follow him. She had briefly considered confiding in her parents about his knowledge of the rebel symbol. Why had she not said anything? Why had she not listened to her gut instinct? Why had she always been so determined to deny the evidence that was in front of her?
Her silence had protected him, Mary understood that now, even if that understanding felt more painful than the lingering pain in her side. If Sebastian really was working with the rebels, if he had accepted the job in the stables to get close enough to plot against the crown, if he hurt anybody in the castle tonight, then some of the burden and the responsibility for his actions would lie on Mary's shoulders. Already, the burden felt like it was too much to bear.
Suddenly, another thought occurred to Mary, one that she was surprised she had not already thought about; Francis Valois was now the king of France. His father's murder had converted a prince into a king in a matter of seconds, as quick as drawing breath.
This would mean that Francis would be an even greater target to the rebels now; if they had been so determined to kill one king, then they would not hesitate to kill another; they would not want to let any king walk free tonight.
Mary had to find Francis; she had to see him; she had to tell him that she…
Out of nowhere, a dark shape appeared in front of Mary. In one swift movement, she was slammed against the stone wall. The surprise attack and the strength of her attacker left her unable to fight back.
She let out a scream-whether it was a scream of pain or fear she wasn't exactly sure, and then she felt a hand around her neck.
Already, Mary's breathing had been affected by the smoke in the corridors, and the added weight of a hand around her neck caused her vision to go out of focus.
She could just make out a figure wearing a guard's uniform standing only inches away from her, their face covered, a bird-in-flight tattoo visible on the hand that was wrapped around her neck.
So this was it. She had been caught. She had managed to evade capture several times since she had escaped from the chapel, but her efforts had been futile, in the end. She had only been buying herself a little more time before the inevitable happened.
"The next queen of Scotland," she heard a male voice tell her in a deadly whisper. The tone of voice was mocking, scathing, sarcastic. It seemed that the rebel was going to taunt her before he destroyed her completely. "That's what some of them are saying, in secret corners of the country. They're all fools!" the rebel practically spat at her, his grip tightening on her throat. "All of them taken in by makeup and pretty dresses and scripted speeches and a fake romance played out in front of the cameras. You're just as useless as the rest of them…"
Mary's heart sank as she took in the rebel's words. Perhaps what he was saying was true; maybe her role in the royal family really was as pointless as she'd always thought it was. She could only feel more guilt at the idea that people out there in Scotland seemed to have placed some kind of mistaken faith in her. She had let them down, the way she always let everybody down, in the end…
"Francis, I'm sorry," Mary made sure to say out loud. That was all that she could do now; choke out words of apology into thin air, to somebody who would never hear them. She took some comfort in the thought that Francis's name would be one of the last words she said.
Mary could see the silver glint of the knife the rebel was holding. The blade was getting ever closer. This was how it was going to end. There was no escape now; there had never been an escape.
Mary couldn't bear to look; she closed her ears, bracing herself for the moment that the blade pierced her skin…
"Hey!" she heard a voice call out; a voice that definitely didn't belong to the rebel.
She felt the rebel's grip loosen around her throat.
"Get away from my sister!" the voice continued, sounding just as deadly as the rebel's.
Mary opened her eyes in time to see her brother grabbing hold of the rebel and moving him forcibly away from Mary, almost slamming him into the opposite wall. Then came a sickening crunch as James's fist made contact with the man's face.
James's face displayed an anger that Mary had never seen in him before.
In spite of everything that had happened before the wedding ceremony, Mary had never been more glad to see him.
The rebel tried to fight back, swinging his fists and aiming his knife in James's direction, but James's surprise attack had caught him off guard. James managed to aim several more punches to his face before he could even make a move to retaliate.
As Mary remained up against the wall, frozen in shock, she saw James continue to fight.
Somehow, the rebel managed to remove himself from James's grip. He staggered away from James and Mary, moving at a surprising speed considering that he was clearly injured, managing to disappear around a corner before James could grab hold of him again.
Mary's saw her brother's gaze follow the rebel, the expression on his face still furious. He seemed to be debating going after him, but then his eyes moved back to Mary, and he seemed to make a silent decision that it was more important to stay close to her, to protect her from any further attacks.
With a sigh, he let the rebel run away.
"James," Mary managed to splutter out, in between her gasps for breath.
James took a step towards her, and next moment brother and sister were hugging, with James holding Mary tight.
It was as though their recent argument had never happened; it was as though months of tension and disagreements had melted away. At a time like this, when it was a matter of life or death, it all no longer seemed important. Mary was just a young girl, seeking her big brother's comfort and protection.
"I was looking for you, all over the castle," James muttered as he continued to hold her tight. "I was so scared that…" He couldn't seem to bring himself to finish his sentence.
Mary allowed a few sobs to escape her as her shaking hands gripped tight to her brother's shirt.
She was still in a state of shock, but the realisation that she had been only moments away from death was now rapidly starting to hit her. If James had not arrived just in the nick of time, she would surely be dead now.
Only the thought that she did not yet know the fate of Francis, or most of her family and friends, and the reminder they were still inside a burning building that was crawling with rebels, finally pushed Mary to step out of her brother's protective embrace.
If they were lucky, there would be time to talk about everything later.
"I have to go back and find Kenna," James told her almost immediately. "We were separated not far from the chapel, and I can only assume she's still around there, if she hasn't…if she hasn't managed to get out already; I haven't found her in any other part of the castle. Mary, I have to make sure she's okay…" His face was the picture of duty again. In spite of the circumstances of their arranged marriage, James still cared about Kenna's wellbeing; it was clearly weighing on his conscience that he didn't know whether she was all right.
"I'll go with you," Mary told him, making her decision.
"Mary, no," James told her, as a new look of fear seemed to cross his face. "It's too dangerous; there's a door that leads out to the gardens in the next corridor; you should get out now. I'll go and find Kenna, then we'll get out, too…"
"James, I have to go with you," Mary insisted. She might have only just escaped death, but a voice deep within her was telling her that she could not run away and leave her brother to face this alone. She couldn't run away when Kenna might still need her help. And, if Francis was still inside the castle somewhere, then she could not head out to the gardens only to not find him out there; she had to try to find him, while she still had the chance. "James, please; I haven't found Francis yet, either…"
Finally, although he looked as though the decision went against his better judgement, James nodded in agreement.
Together, they ran in the direction of the centre of the castle.
"The others?" Mary asked James, trying to keep her voice level as she ran through the corridors with her brother, the two of them heading further into the castle, rather than trying to escape from it. She felt sick with dread at what James might tell her.
"I'm not sure where everybody is," James finally replied, as a look of fear crossed his face. "We were attacked by rebels seconds after we left the chapel. The attack took us by surprise, and they managed to separate most of us. It ended up turning into a fight between rebels and guests in the corridors near the entrance hall. I tried to fight the rebels off, to protect the guests, but I couldn't protect all of them," James admitted, as a look of mingled guilt and despair crossed his face.
So several of the wedding guests were already dead. How many more had become victims, in the time it had taken for James to find Mary?
"And our parents?" Mary asked as they rounded another corner.
"Last I saw they were close to one of the castle's exit doors," said James. "I begged them to get out, to save themselves…I promised I would follow them, when I found you and Kenna…I can only hope they did as I asked…"
Mary was provided with some small fragment of relief at the possibility that her parents might be safely out of the castle by now.
"A-and Francis?" she asked, trying to keep the tone of desperation out of her voice.
"I don't know," James admitted to Mary's intense disappointment, looking disappointed in himself for not having something more substantial to say. "I last saw his family just outside the chapel; Francis seemed determined to get back inside the chapel, but they were pleading with him to get out. I lost track of them after the rebels started attacking…"
"Francis's father is dead," Mary told her brother as he paused for a moment to look at her on hearing this news. "I…I saw the rebels kill him…"
A look of foreboding seemed to cross James's face as he took in the look on his sister's face. Mary wondered if he could see her desperation. He seemed to understand the exact reason why Mary was so terrified; if the rebels could so easily kill the king of France, then there was a high possibility that Francis was at risk of meeting the same fate.
The air was getting thicker, heavier now. Mary knew that they were close to the centre of the castle.
Minutes ago, they had been far away from here; running around the outskirts of the castle, where the flames had not quite reached, but instead of running even further away from the danger when they had the chance, they had run back into it.
Mary was just wondering if she was crazy to be taking a risk like this when two rebels suddenly appeared at the other end of the corridor that she and James had just been about to run through.
They were dressed in guard's uniforms, with the rolled-up sleeves revealing their tattoos, and their faces were covered by what appeared to be balaclavas.
Mary barely had a moment to gasp in fright when James sprang into action, reaching for what looked like a long, metal rod that appeared to have been stashed behind one of the suits of armour in the corridor and wielding it like a sword as he fought the two rebels single-handedly.
It seemed that James had been well-informed about the hidden items in the castle that could be used for self-defence.
Perhaps the smoke had already weakened the rebels, because it didn't take long before the two of them were doubled over on the ground, reeling from the injuries that James had just inflicted on them.
"Let's go," James told Mary, looking like he was deliberately trying not to look at the rebels on the ground.
James started to walk away, and Mary followed him. As she stepped over the rebels, Mary noticed that one of them had dropped a knife on the floor. Quickly, Mary knelt down, picked up the knife and hid it up one of the sleeves of her red dress.
As Mary and James turned into the next corridor, Mary thought about what an act of cowardice it was, for the rebels to fight with knives that they concealed within their clothing. Knives were not as visible; they could easily take an opponent by surprise. Knives were not as traceable; they were easier to hide after the damage had been done. The use of large, loud weapons would make it more obvious to the authorities that a deliberate attack had taken place.
The wider details of the attack were starting to make more sense to Mary now; she could see what the rebels had planned; they were hoping to pass all of this off as a tragic accident; they were hoping that by the time the police arrived, the castle would have burnt to the ground and all the deaths would be recorded as accidental. They would say that a fire had inexplicably broken out in the chapel and then quickly spread, killing everyone it its path. By the time anyone started to question this version of events, the rebels and their knives would already be far away, leaving little evidence behind. Mary would not let that happen; she would make sure that the truth was known; she would tell the people of Scotland that all of this had been planned for months. She owed them her honesty, at least. She just had to live long enough to tell the tale.
A few moments later, Mary and James came to abrupt halt when they suddenly caught sight of Greer a little further down one of the corridors. Greer was not alone; two members of staff who were working for the rebels had turned on her and were trying to get the better of her.
Greer was holding her own, defending herself with a large block of wood that seemed to have fallen from the wall or the ceiling, but Mary could tell that it wouldn't be long before the rebels overpowered her, especially as Greer was outnumbered.
James and Mary ran towards her, with Mary gripping her newly acquired knife tightly in her hand.
The rebels were so focused on Greer that they didn't see them approach. James managed to grab hold of one of them and throw them into the nearest wall, while Mary reached her hand up to block the second rebel's fist from connecting with Greer's face before James returned to grab hold of him.
Mary and James fought side-by-side, with Mary relying on what she could remember of the combat training she had received as part of her royal duties from an early age. As a child, the training had always seemed like such a boring chore, but now, she could only wished that she'd worked much harder at her training; she understood now that she would have to learn to defend herself more effectively-James would not always be there to save the day.
For a moment, Greer looked shocked at the sight of Mary and James, but it wasn't long before she recovered herself, and then she joined James in his attempt to bring one of the rebels to the ground.
Soon both rebels were falling to the floor, seemingly unable to fight back anymore, but not before one of them managed to take a swipe at James's arm with their knife, tearing the sleeve of James's red shirt. James gritted his teeth, like he was trying to stop himself from crying out in pain.
Without doing much to tend to his injury, and without turning back to survey the damage he had inflicted on the rebels, James urged Mary and Greer to keep going.
There was no time for long conversations, but Greer held Mary's hand as the two of them followed James.
Mary squeezed her hand in return. Somehow, she felt a little better, with Greer by her side.
"Mary, I'm so sorry," she heard Greer whisper to her, although she had no idea what Greer was apologising for.
The three of them were suddenly brought to a halt by the sound of screaming. The screams seemed to echo all the way up and down the nearest corridor.
It didn't take long for Mary to realise who the screams belonged to.
"Kenna," said James in barely more than a whisper, confirming Mary's suspicions.
Trying to be as quiet as possible, Mary, James and Greer followed the sound of the screams.
The noise led them to a corridor that wasn't too far away from the chapel.
They stopped at the end of the corridor, and James's eyes fell upon a wooden door about halfway down the corridor.
Loud cries could be heard from the other side of the door, along with what sounded like somebody banging on the door repeatedly.
Mary had an idea what had happened; the room only looked like a storage room from the outside, but Mary knew that a secret passage that led out of the castle was also located at the back of that room. Kenna would have known that too. No doubt Kenna had found herself separated from everyone, and in a state of panic, she'd headed into this room to make a quick and discreet escape. But someone must have watched her, must have followed her, because it looked like she'd been locked in. No doubt the secret passage had also been blocked from the inside, too, preventing any possibility of escape. Perhaps the rebels had planned to return and 'deal' with her later, after they'd dealt with the rest of the Scottish royal family.
Mary, James and Greer started to take rapid steps down the corridor, all of them desperate to help their friend. Still they had to be cautious and move slower than they would like, in case this was also some kind of trap.
They had only got about halfway down the corridor however when two of the large portraits on the wall crashed to the floor in front of them, along with several suits of armour, temporarily blocking their path.
Mary wasn't sure if the items in this corridor had been rigged by the rebels to fall like that, or whether the fighting that must have already occurred in this corridor had caused the pictures and the suits of armour to dislodge, but there was no time to think about that now.
Frantically, James, Mary and Greer worked on removing the damaged portraits and suits of armour from their path.
Mary noticed that one of the paintings was an old, priceless portrait of a Scottish king. How many other priceless artefacts had also been destroyed since the fire had broken out? Not that any of that mattered to Mary right now. She would trade all of it, to keep Francis alive.
Before they could clear enough space to get through the pile of broken objects and get closer to Kenna, Mary spotted Bash at the other end of the corridor.
Mary's heart started to beat faster in fear. Bash was closer to where Kenna was than Mary, Greer and James were, and Kenna was still shouting as her fists pounded against the locked door; Bash would know instantly where she was.
As though confirming Mary's fears, Bash quickly came to a halt, looking like he was listening intently to the sounds in the corridor, and then his face seemed to register some kind of recognition as he heard Kenna's screams.
Instantly, he started to run towards the locked door, calling out Kenna's name, arriving at the door while Mary, James and Greer were still trying to move fallen objects out of the way.
"Kenna, it's all right!" Mary heard Bash tell Kenna. For his part, he genuinely did sound like he was worried about her. "I'll get you out! Stand back from the door!"
Mary had originally made plans to use one of her hair clips to try to unlock the door-a trick that James had taught her during her childhood-but Bash still seemed to be relying on strength for now. After kicking the door a few times, he resorted to slamming his body into it. When the door still didn't budge, he picked up a few heavy items and used them to try to force the door in.
Without thinking about it, Mary reached for the knife that she'd hidden up her sleeve and gripped it tight. Bash might have saved her before, but she could not guarantee that Bash would do the same for Kenna. Kenna had been about to marry the future king of Scotland after all, and the bird-in-flight tattoo on Bash's chest all but confirmed that he was on the side of the rebels. What would he do, if he managed to get Kenna out of the room, and the two of them were face to face? Would he betray her, moments after winning her trust?
Finally, James managed to clear a space in the middle of the pile of rubble that was wide enough for the trio to get through.
Wordlessly, Mary started to walk through the cleared path, motioning for James and Greer to follow her.
The three of them moved down the corridor, towards Bash and Kenna.
Bash was now trying to force the lock open by hand. Mary doubted whether he would be successful, but somehow, he finally managed to break the door handle off entirely before he gave the door one final kick, which caused it to burst open. Perhaps his time with the rebels had taught him a few things, Mary thought bitterly.
"Bash!" Kenna called out as she ran out of the room, her tone of voice a mixture of surprise and relief. Then, apparently oblivious to the fact that Mary, James and Greer were only standing a few feet away from her, she ran right into Bash's arms.
Mary tensed, waiting for Bash to suddenly turn on Kenna, but the moment never came. Instead, Bash held her tight, offering her comfort after her ordeal.
"It's all right," Bash muttered to Kenna, his tone of voice soothing, "you're going to be all right."
Bash had made an attempt to cover his tattoo with the fabric of his shirt in the time since Mary had crashed into him in the corridor, but Mary doubted that Kenna would have noticed it, even if the tattoo had been on full display. She looked up at Bash with a look of awe on her face.
For now, Bash was Kenna's hero; he was the man who had saved her from a terrible fate; he was her knight-to-the-rescue who she had always longed for.
As the two of them looked into each other's eyes, Mary almost felt like some kind of moment was passing between the two of them.
Mary also felt a tug of sadness and guilt as she wondered what would happen when the illusion finally shattered and Kenna found out who Bash really was.
Still holding Kenna, Bash looked up and his eyes fell on Mary.
An awkward, tense sort of moment seemed to pass between them as the two of them held each other's gaze. Mary could tell that Bash was waiting for Mary to announce his secret to the others; he was expecting all of them to turn on him.
Mary felt conflicted; a part of her felt like she should do just that, but Bash had just saved Kenna, in the way that he had saved her from being captured by the rebels. Mary had no idea what his motivation had been for doing those things, but surely they counted for something? Besides, the castle was still burning, and it was still full of rebels, and time was not on their side. They couldn't afford for a fight to break out between James and Bash in the corridor; they had to get out.
"We'll take care of Kenna now," Mary announced to Bash, her tone of voice firm. She hoped he understood her bargaining for what it was; if he handed Kenna over to them unharmed and fled, then she would not set the others on him in this corridor.
James looked a little confused by the exchange between Mary and Bash, but he stayed silent, apparently trusting his sister to handle this.
Bash nodded, accepting her terms. "Kenna," he muttered, "I have to go and find a few of my colleagues. You'll be safe with Mary; go with her…"
Kenna looked reluctant to let go of Bash; she held onto his shirt for a little longer before she finally let go.
"I'll see you outside," Bash told Kenna as she started to take slow, tentative steps towards Mary. Mary wasn't sure if Bash would see Kenna again, but she knew that he would say anything right now to ensure that Kenna got out safely.
Kenna nodded, then she stepped into Mary and Greer's waiting arms.
"I tried to g-get out," Kenna sobbed into Greer's shoulder, "but they'd already b-blocked the passageway, and they locked me in the room…"
Bash shared one more quick look with Mary before he ran away.
Mary and Greer tried their best to whisper words of comfort to Kenna, but the three girls were only allowed seconds to share an embrace before James reminded them that they had to keep going.
"The entrance hall isn't far from here," said James. "If we can make it there, we can try to get out through the main doors…"
Mary nodded in agreement, and then the four of them started to run in the direction of the entrance hall, where they all hoped they would find an exit.
As Mary's feet pounded against the floor and she gasped a few times for breath, her chest felt even tighter as she thought about how she still didn't know where Francis or her parents were.
But she had not found them in this part of the castle, and she couldn't abandon the others now. Her hope now rested on getting outside, where she would be able to check whether they were out there.
The scenes in the entrance hall were chaotic.
Groups of people with bird-in-flight tattoos were fighting against others without tattoos who were also dressed in guards' uniforms.
Shouts and angry cries could be heard all around the room as people used knives and fists and whatever other objects they could get hold of as weapons.
Mary, James, Greer and Kenna were only able to hide around the corner of the corridor that led into the entrance hall just in time before they were spotted.
Every now and again, they chanced a quick glance around the corner at the entrance hall.
As Mary frantically scanned the room, she worked something out; not all of the guards had turned on them. There were those who were still on their side, and now that they had finally been alerted to the danger going on inside the castle, they had come into to the castle to fight the rebels. This thought served to reassure Mary a little.
The rebels had thought that they had been clever in using knives as their weapon of choice, but the lack of more sophisticated weapons meant that they were easier to overpower; the loyal guards seemed to be gaining the upper hand.
From their hiding place, they continued to watch the scenes of combat play out, their faces showing matched expressions of worry and resignation. They were so close to a viable exit now, but there was no way that they would be able to get through the entrance hall and out of the main doors unscathed. There might have been guards fighting on their side all over the large room, but those guards would not be able to protect them all. The moment they stepped into the entrance hall, they would be instantly visible, and they would be obvious targets for the enemies all around them.
Suddenly, Mary was struck by an idea; Kenna's rescue from a room with a secret passage had got her thinking about it.
"There's another passageway out of the castle, a couple of corridors back," Mary whispered to James, Kenna and Greer. She couldn't help noticing that James was holding a shaking hand over the part of his arm that a rebel had injured with a knife. He had put on a brave face up to now, but he was clearly in pain. He needed to get out and seek medical attention, and fast. "If the rebels haven't already found the passageway and sealed it up, we could use it to get out…"
Mary could see that Kenna and Greer had their doubts as to whether the passageway remained undiscovered by the rebels, especially after Kenna had discovered for herself that one of the other passageways had been blocked, but what choice did they all have? It was either that or take a chance against the rebels and their knives in the entrance hall.
Finally, the others nodded in agreement with Mary's plan, and they all crept back down the corridors.
They made it to the corridor where the secret passageway was located.
James was just pulling back the tapestry behind which the passageway was concealed when Mary heard a female voice calling out her name.
She jumped and looked up in time to see her mother staggering towards her from the opposite end of the corridor.
"Mother!" Mary called out frantically before she started to run towards her.
James wasn't far behind her.
Mary's mother held out her arms as her daughter and son got closer, and the three family members practically fell into each other as they embraced. Mary's mother hardly every shared affection like this with her children, but right now, it seemed that their roles and royal protocol did not matter.
"I've been looking for you both everywhere!" Mary's mother gasped into James's chest, still somehow managing to sound like a stern parent who was scolding her wayward children. "When I couldn't find you outside in the gardens, I ran back into the castle to find you; I wasn't going to leave you behind…"
Mary shook her head as she tried not to sob. She wasn't sure whether to be angry or relieved. Her mother had already been ill for a while, and she was clearly weakened and exhausted by the rebel attack, but it seemed that she had refused to abandon the castle until she had found her children, even though James had instructed her to get out. For all of Mary's issues with her mother over the years, right now, she saw her not as a queen but as a concerned mother who'd thought she'd lost her children.
"The passageway's clear!" Greer informed them all in a loud whisper, bringing everybody back to reality. It seemed that Greer had gone inside the passageway to inspect it while James and Mary had been running towards their mother.
James started to steer his mother in the direction of the passageway.
"Where's Father?" Mary instantly asked her mother, unable to hide the panic from her voice. If he was still in the castle somewhere, then Mary could not leave him.
"He's already outside," her mother replied. Something about the expression on her mother's face told Mary that there was something else that her mother wasn't telling her, but there was no time to push for more answers now. "You should all go," the queen continued, sounding like every word she spoke was costing her a great effort. "You will get out faster without me; I'll only slow you down…"
"Don't be ridiculous," Mary cut her off, her tone firm. "We're all going together."
James and Mary had to support their mother as she staggered towards the tapestry. Mary suspected that she was only minutes away from passing out. Now that she had found Mary and James, what remained of her strength seemed to be leaving her.
James also winced in pain with every step he took. The added weight of his mother's arm around his shoulders must have been aggravating his injury.
Greer also seemed to notice James's predicament, because the moment Mary and James approached the tapestry, Greer reached out for the queen, indicating that she would take James's place in supporting his mother.
At first James tried to refuse, but Greer insisted, and so he moved out of the way so that Greer could stand in his place.
James glanced quickly at Greer as they all stepped into the passageway. Mary could tell that her bravery this evening had impressed her brother.
They descended a wooden staircase, with Mary and Greer struggling to hold Mary's mother up. Then they took slow, tentative steps along a dark corridor.
Mary could fear the fear emanating from everyone in the group. It was as though they expected the passageway to cave in at any moment, or for rebels to jump out and attack them in the dark. But in spite of their fears, they kept moving forward.
Mary could see that Kenna was still shaken up from her ordeal of being locked in a room. She tried her best to throw a few reassuring glances over her shoulder at Kenna as she continued to support her mother.
Every step that Mary took felt heavy. A part of her wanted to run back, to continue her search for Francis, but she couldn't abandon her mother now.
If Francis was not outside, then Mary did not know what she would do.
At last, they reached a flight of old, stone steps.
They all managed to stagger up the stairs, and, to Mary's immense relief, after James had given the door at the top of the stairs a few good, hard shoves, it opened with a loud creaking sound.
They emerged into the castle's front garden, not too far from the main driveway that led up to the main doors.
They all practically toppled over one another as they moved as far away from the burning building as they could.
As they staggered onto the grass close to the driveway, they had only seconds to take several grateful gasps of fresh air before they all seemed to be struck by just how much the garden had descended into chaos.
Most of the wedding guests seemed to be outside, some of then doubled over, nursing injuries, others lying in the grass.
A glance up at the castle showed that the fire had spread upwards, as flames could be seen on a couple of the top turrets of the castle. The night sky only seemed to highlight the intensity of the bright red flames.
There was also a slight overspill from the entrance hall, as some of the guards were staggering down the castle's main steps into the gardens.
Mary watched them for a few moments, trying to work out whether the guards were fighting on the side of the royals or the rebels, but then something caught Mary's eye that caused a fresh wave of despair to wash through her body; her father was lying in the grass a few away from them. His hands were clutching his chest, and Mary could see a lot of blood staining his white wedding shirt. He was surrounded by a group of his friends who had been invited to the wedding, along with a several members of staff. They all wore matching expressions of fear, and they all seemed to be trying to think of something they could do to help him. A few of them were using the fabric from their own clothes to stem the flow of blood, while others were shouting out for the medics, but Mary wasn't sure if their shouts would be heard over the other cries of pain and fear that were echoing around the garden.
Mary's mother was already crawling towards her husband, fighting against her own injuries. James wasn't far behind her, his injured arm still bleeding as he struggled to stay on his feet.
The queen had already known about the state her husband was in, Mary realised. Only a terrible injury would have stopped Mary's father from following his wife back into the castle to find Mary and James. Mary's mother had had to make the agonising decision to leave her husband injured outside while she went back to search for her children.
Mary, who had been kneeling down in the grass, trying desperately to catch her breath, finally managed to get to her feet. "Father," she whispered, her voice catching on a sob. She wanted to run to him, to join her family, to try to do anything she could to help, but deep down, she knew that she also had to check whether he had made it out of the castle first….
Frantically, desperately, Mary scanned the garden.
She could see wedding guests, and members of staff, and guards…but there was no sign of Francis, or Catherine.
Mary's eyes scanned the same people over and over again, but he did not appear. She was spinning around in circles, trapped in a nightmare, unable to find Francis.
Greer also seemed to be frantically scanning the gardens, no doubt searching for Aloysius, who Mary had not seen since they had all been in the chapel.
Mary was distracted when she spotted a French security guard. Quickly, she held out a hand to stop him as he ran past her. "Have you seen Francis?" she demanded of him.
"No, Your Highness," he responded in a thick French accent, looking as terrified as Mary felt. "We 'ave been searching all over the castle…but there is no sign…he was last seen near the throne room…"
With that, the guard ran back towards the castle, talking frantically into his radio in rapid French.
Mary glanced in the direction where she knew the throne room to be located, on the right-hand side of the ground floor of the castle. It was on the opposite side of the castle from where Mary had been running through the corridors, before James had found her.
If Francis was still somewhere close to there…
A side door was open on the right-hand side of the castle. Mary knew that the door marked an entrance to the building that was usually used by members of staff, but no doubt it had been used as an exit tonight, and it had been left open; it could provide her with another entrance…
A thousand different thoughts seemed to run through Mary's head as her heart seemed to be pushing her to make some kind of decision…
She had got out of the castle, against all odds.
She had looked death in the eye and only just escaped it by a mix of chance and good luck.
Others had risked their lives to save her and to try to find her in the castle.
Now that she was outside, in the relative safety of the gardens, her chances of escaping the rebels were even greater.
If she ran back into the castle to find Francis, she would potentially be throwing all of that away, and insulting all those who had tried to help her in the process.
But then she thought about how she had felt earlier in the day, when she had believed that she had lost Francis for good. The emptiness; the guilt; the loss; the unbearable idea of living the rest of her life without him. If there was any chance that she could find him…
Out of the corner of her eye, Mary saw the flash of blue sirens, and a flash of red from a vehicle belonging to the fire services. She looked around and saw several police cars screeching down the castle's long driveway, closely followed by an ambulance. The emergency services had arrived at last.
Several medics started to run towards Mary's father, while a group of armed police were running towards the castle, shouting out orders. They were quickly joined by several members of the castle's security team.
Mary was fairly certain that the moment the guards or the police caught sight of her, they would surround her and her family, keep them in place for their own protection. If she was going to do this, then this would be her last chance…
Mary looked in the direction of the open castle door, and then she glanced at her father again. In spite of his injuries, and the distraction of all the people around him, he somehow managed to look right back at Mary. Slowly, discreetly, as though Mary alone was supposed to see, he nodded at her. Mary wasn't sure what the expression on his face conveyed-was it acceptance? Fear? Disappointment? Resignation? Whatever it was, Mary's decision had just been made.
Mary started to run in the direction of the side door to the right of the castle. She would have to put her hopes on the emergency services putting out the fire and tending to her family. There was only one person she wanted to run to now.
"Mary!" she heard James call out to her, his voice already sounding far away.
His voice sounded so angry, so worried, so desperate; he was pleading with her to stop running and come back to them, but, as much as it pained her, Mary kept going, moving even faster now.
The open door was in sight…
"Mary, no!"
She heard her mother's screams in the distance. The words seemed to pierce Mary's heart. She could not look back at her, or this would be too difficult. Her mother had made a similar decision, less than an hour ago; surely her mother would understand why Mary had to do this…
Mary kept running.
Finally, she was through the door. She was back in the castle.
Mary forced herself to keep running through the corridor that led away from the door, looking out for Francis and trying not to think about what she had just done. It was difficult to push down the doubts that were starting to take over her. If this didn't work, if Francis was not here, if she got herself trapped, or killed, then what good would come from this decision? Would her family ever forgive her? Had Francis even tried to look for her? Or had he and Catherine simply got as far away from the castle as they could and not looked back? Mary knew that there would be no James to save her here, if a rebel caught up with her. There would be no other friends to come to her rescue; almost everybody seemed to be outside now. Mary was on her own. She alone would have to face the consequences of this decision.
One small mercy was that the fire had not yet spread to this part of the castle. There was no strong smell of smoke, or a hint of flames dancing in the distance.
Still that did not mean that Mary was completely out of danger. The corridors seemed darker in this part of the castle, as though the power had almost completely tripped out, and fallen portraits and tables and artefacts littered the floors, along with many shards of broken glass. There even seemed to be marks across the walls that must have been caused by the slashing of knives. It was clear that several fights had recently broken out in these corridors; the rebels had already been here, which meant that there was still every chance of them reappearing from around a dark corner.
As though confirming Mary's fears, it wasn't long before she heard the sound of voices in a corridor behind her…
"They were saying that she ran back into the castle through that door over there…" Mary heard a deep male voice announce.
"She can't have gone far," said a female voice, sounding equally menacing. "We can still get her, same way the others got her father…"
The wave of fury that Mary felt at the woman's words overpowered her fear. It gave her enough of a rush of adrenaline that she was able to run and start putting some distance between herself and the two rebels.
The rebels must have worked out a few short cuts however, because the sound of their voices seemed to get closer with every step that Mary took.
After a few minutes, she found herself in a corridor with large windows placed at an equal distance along the walls. The windows looked out on the gardens at the back of the castle, which now looked dark and empty. It seemed that Francis wasn't out there, either, in the same way that he hadn't been outside at the front of the castle.
Mary could still hear the sound of the voices, getting closer. What should she do?
A wooden balcony on the first floor overlooked the hallway below. There was a large clock up that, just big enough to hide behind. A chandelier hung from the ceiling that Mary knew had not worked for several months…
Mary was struck by a sudden idea. The pieces of a plan that were formulating in her mind could either result in an action that was very brave, or very reckless, or maybe a bit of both.
Carefully, Mary crept up a narrow wooden staircase to the balcony above. She could just about reach the chandelier from here, if she leaned over the balcony a little…
Mary took out the knife that she had 'borrowed' from the rebel from the sleeve of her dress and held it tightly in her hand.
Slowly, she started to cut the chain that was connecting the chandelier to the ceiling. It took a lot of effort, but finally, the chain came loose. The chandelier crashed to the floor with an almighty bang as glass shattered and bits of metal scattered everywhere.
Mary had just enough time to hide behind a large grandfather clock on the first floor before she heard the sound of footsteps below.
The rebels had arrived.
The plan had the desired outcome: "False alarm," one rebel told the other, sounding a little out of breath. "Just the sound of something else breaking in this godforsaken place…"
"The infrastructure of this place is a joke," the second rebel spat. "The rumours must have been true about the royals being strapped for cash; not that that'll matter soon…"
With that, they turned back in the direction they had just come from and started to walk away. It was clear that they assumed that no one would be stupid enough to deliberately make that level of noise and cause a scene in a place where they were trying to hide. They had played into Mary's hopes about how they would interpret the fallen chandelier, and at least for now, she had driven them away in the opposite direction.
Mary remained in her hiding place for a little while, just to make sure that they had gone. The sound of the grandfather clock ticking however served as an uncomfortable reminder that time was still ticking away, slipping through her hands like grains of sand in an hourglass, and she still hadn't found Francis.
She stood up and moved out of her hiding place. It was time to head to the throne room.
Mary was just getting closer to the throne room when she suddenly felt her chest getting tighter. She had to pause for a moment and lean against the nearest wall, trying to catch her breath. She worried that the smoke inhalation from earlier was truly getting to her now. Already, she felt weak, dizzy, and her throat felt dry. How much longer would she be able to last, before she succumbed to exhaustion, or worse?
Suddenly, Mary was snapped back into survival mode at the sight of a knife flying through the air towards her.
Mary gasped, and she only just had enough time to throw herself down on the floor, with every muscle in her body seeming to scream in agony and protest along the way, before the knife sailed over her head and lodged itself in the wall behind her.
Still taking short, sharp breaths, Mary looked up from behind her hands to see a woman standing at the opposite end of the corridor.
She was dressed all in black, and she had hazel eyes and long, dark brown hair that was falling loosely over her shoulders.
Mary felt a familiar flicker of recognition. This was the woman who she had encountered during the meeting at the pub when the matchmaking show had just got started, the woman she believed to be Bash's mother. Had she been planning this attack the whole time, from the back corner of the local pub? Was that what those meetings had really been about?
But no, it was more than that…
As though the events of the evening had given Mary a sharper focus and unlocked something deeper in the back of her mind, she was now able to put a few more pieces of her memories together…
This was the same woman who had been at the French castle on the night of the attack, dancing with King Henry. How had Mary not made the connection before?
Had this woman been the king's mistress? This theory would make sense-Mary remembered what the king had suggested, about Bash being his son. A part of Mary had thought that the king was making this rumour up to try to confuse her, but now she wasn't so sure about that.
Had the king started to push this woman away, after she had got pregnant with Sebastian? Had she only been allowed to visit him in secret over the years?
Was she so bitter and twisted about her failed romance with the king that this was who she had become as a result?
Did she not yet know, that this attack had resulted in the death of her former lover and the father of her son? Was it truly worth enduring so much loss, just to get to the Scottish royal family? Did the rebels hate them that much?
Mary was abruptly snapped out her memories when the woman reached into her pocket, as though searching for another knife.
As fast as she could, and trying to ignore another jolt of pain in her chest, Mary pushed herself up off the floor and started to run away.
Mary might have had a slight advantage over the rebel leader due to her in depth knowledge of the castle-she was able to take a few twists and turns and surprise short cuts to try to throw the woman off-but the woman had the advantage of speed, and a body that wasn't drained of energy after a long evening of running from rebels through smoke-filled corridors.
The woman also must have had sharp hearing, because any noise that Mary made seemed to draw her closer. Mary resorted to taking slower, quieter steps, pressing herself up against the walls for fear of knives in her back.
"Come out, come out, wherever you are…" she heard the woman mutter in a sing-song voice from just around the corner, taunting her, like this was all just some sort of game.
Mary started to run faster.
It wasn't long before she reached the throne room. She wasn't sure how much danger she was putting herself in by stepping into this room, but she also wasn't sure if she had many other options left. If she kept running through the corridors, then it would only be a matter of time before one of the woman's knives connected with her body. The fact that the room had more than one exit provided her with some sort of hope that it might turn out to be safer than the corridor she was currently standing in.
Quietly, she opened the door and stepped inside.
She had originally planned to carry out a quick search for Francis in this room, but now, the throne room had turned into her own temporary place of escape; yet another last hope.
Francis wasn't in there. Trying not to feel crushed by the weight of this new disappointment, Mary was just trying to formulate some sort of plan for her next step when the door burst open.
Bash's mother was standing in the doorway, a menacing look in her eyes.
Mary ran for the concealed doorway that she knew to be on the opposite side of the room, but a glance over her shoulder told her that she would not get there in time.
The woman had another knife in her hand, and it was clear that she was about to throw it.
Mary just managed to jump behind the throne that James normally sat on for his official appearances when she heard the sound of the knife connecting with the wood on the other side of the throne.
She knew that she would not have survived it, if that knife had hit her.
The woman let out what sounded like a scream of frustration, then Mary heard the sound of her footsteps, walking towards her.
What now?
Mary was trapped.
She would not make it to any of the exit doors on time before this woman reached her.
In that moment, Mary made a decision. Saying a silent prayer, she stepped out from behind the throne. No matter what happened, she would rather face the leader of the rebels head on, rather than hiding behind a throne like a coward.
"You won't win this…" the woman told her in a deadly whisper when she caught sight of Mary, a look of hatred on her face.
"Don't you see," Mary replied, trying to hold her nerve, "no matter what happens in this room, you've already lost. The rest of my family are already out of the castle; the heir to the Scottish throne is still alive; the police are here, ready to make arrests; the survivors know the truth, about how you all planned this attack; you have only succeeded in tainting the reputation of anyone who might wish to rebel against the crown; even if you survive this, you and your remaining 'guards' will have to go on the run now…"
"You're bluffing," the woman told her with a snarl.
"You know I'm not," said Mary, sounding more confident than she felt.
The woman started to run towards Mary, her hands raised and ready to attack.
Just before she could get close however, Mary saw someone else come at the rebel leader at a rapid speed and shove her to the floor.
The room was dark, and Mary could not yet make out who the other person was-the person who might just have saved her life-but she could hear the sound of screams, and she saw fists connect, and the mysterious stranger even slammed the woman into the wall a couple of times.
Within moments, the woman was lying on the floor, knocked out cold, the slow rise and fall of her chest the only indicator that she was still alive.
As Mary's eyes adjusted to the dark, Catherine slowly came into view. She was kneeling over the woman with a look of hatred in her eyes as she took several deep breaths.
Mary watched her with wide eyes, unable to believe what she was seeing; almost unable to believe that Catherine was here, alive, in this room with her; unable to believe that Catherine had just saved her life.
Slowly, Catherine got to her feet. "You foolish, foolish girl," she said as the looked right at Mary.
Then Catherine started to walk towards her.
Mary half-expected Catherine to hit her, but, to Mary's utter astonishment, she opened her arms and pulled her into an embrace.
Not really knowing what else to do, Mary simply hugged Catherine back.
"Thank you for coming back to find my son," Catherine sobbed into Mary's shoulder, still holding her tight.
So Catherine knew that this was why Mary was here; Catherine understood her motives.
"D-do you know where he is?" Mary asked Catherine the moment she stepped out of the embrace.
When Catherine shook her head, Mary had to choke down a sob of her own.
"We all got separated in the chaos outside the castle," said Catherine, sounding more vulnerable than ever before. "He was desperate to find you," she added.
Mary wasn't sure if these words reassured her or not. She just wanted Francis to be safe.
"Catherine," said Mary hesitantly, "Henry…" She didn't know how to finish that sentence, but she felt like Catherine deserved to know the truth about her husband…
"I know," said Catherine, before Mary could finish her sentence. A mixture of emotions seemed to cross her face; emotions that Mary couldn't quite read.
They heard the sound of heavy footsteps in the corridor outside the throne room, along with several shouts of, "Police!".
"Let's go," said Catherine abruptly, echoing Mary's own idea. "If we're to have any chance of finding Francis, then we have to keep moving. The authorities will deal with Diane," she added with another disdainful look at the woman on the floor. Mary got the impression that there had been a long-standing rivalry between the two women.
With that, they slipped out of the door at the back of the throne room before the police could notice that they had been there.
Mary and Catherine ran through several of the rooms that were connected to the throne room hand-in-hand, the two women united at last through their love of Francis.
Mary found renewed hope in the idea that Catherine was still alive, as it meant that there was still a chance that Francis would be, too.
It was as they emerged from a small meeting room and back out into the corridor that disaster suddenly struck.
Two large portraits fell from the walls above, connecting with a suit of armour and a table full of ornaments on the way and bringing everything to the floor. The portraits had probably already been dislodged by several of the rebels' knives earlier in the evening during a fight in the corridor, and the slamming of the nearest door as Catherine and Mary emerged from the meeting room had probably been the final straw.
Mary felt Catherine push her out of way of the falling portraits, but Catherine herself did not get out of the way on time.
She took most of the impact of the fallen objects as one of the portraits fell right on top her, knocking her unconscious as she hit the floor.
Mary also found herself falling to the ground when Catherine pushed her firmly out of the way, but not before the corner of one of the portraits clipped the back of her head before it crashed to the floor.
As she fell, Mary grabbed hold of a long, golden curtain that hung next to one of the windows in the hallway, trying to ease her fall, but she only succeeded in ripping the curtain off the curtain rail, and then the golden fabric almost covered her completely as she connected with the floor.
Mary lay face forward on the floor, certain that she was trapped in some kind of state between consciousness and unconsciousness.
Through a tiny gap in the fallen objects, she could just make out the outline of Catherine, who was still out cold.
Then time seemed to move forward again as next minute, Mary opened her eyes to see Catherine being carried, by Sebastian of all people, in the direction of what Mary knew to be a passage that led back towards the front garden.
Mary's thoughts felt foggy, and she struggled to process what was happening. She just about managed to work out that Bash must have heard that Mary had run back into this part of the castle, and he must have gone in after her. But, it was clear he hadn't seen her-the curtain and all the fallen objects between her and Catherine must have hidden her from view. Instead, he must have believed that he had only stumbled upon an unconscious Catherine, and, in yet another strange act of redemption, he had decided to help her. He clearly didn't know yet that Catherine had just attacked his mother.
Mary considered trying to call out to Bash, to let him know that she was here, too, but she decided against it at the last moment-if Bash came back for her, then he would take her out of the castle, and that would be it; she would no longer be able to search for Francis. Not to mention that he could abandon Catherine and put all of his focus on saving Mary.
Catherine would want Mary to keep searching, she decided, especially as Catherine was no longer in a fit state to keep looking.
Slowly and carefully, Mary pushed the fallen curtain away from her body.
She was sure that the now all-too-familiar smell of smoke was starting to fill the corridor. She had to move.
As she tried to push herself up, her body felt heavy, and she felt a sharp pain that seemed to run all the way from her head to her chest. Her dress had been torn-she hadn't even noticed the damage until now-and there were patches of dirt on her arms and chest. It was a far cry from the immaculate-looking princess who had walked towards the chapel earlier in the evening; she felt like a different person now.
Mary had only managed to walk a few steps when her vision started to go blurry. Everything swam out of focus, and next minute, she felt herself collapse to the floor again.
She was slipping in and out of consciousness; she was so tired, so exhausted. She did not have the strength to keep going. She started to think that perhaps she should just give in to the darkness that seemed to be sweeping over her…
"Mary…?"
Mary was sure that she only imagined the voice above her. Perhaps this was some kind of hallucination brought on by the smoke.
"Mary!"
The voice was louder this time, more frantic, more insistent.
She felt a hand on her arm; it felt oh so familiar…so real.
Mary blinked rapidly a few times, before she forced herself to open her eyes.
It could not be…
Francis Valois was kneeling over her, his dishevelled hair and his ripped shirt and the frantic look in his eyes suggesting that this was perhaps not just some beautiful hallucination.
"Francis?" Mary managed to get out, even though her throat felt dry, and it was difficult to talk.
"Mary, I've been looking for you," Francis told her gently, looking like he was struggling to hold back some sort of emotion.
"You came back," Mary managed to get out in her dazed and confused state, unable to hide her own surprise.
"Mary, I never left," said Francis, as though this were the most obvious thing in the world. "I've been searching the castle; I've been looking for you everywhere."
Calling on a strength that Mary had thought had long since left her body, she managed to push herself up into a sitting position.
She sat still and looked at Francis for a few long moments, still hardly able to believe it. He was here, with her, in this corridor. For so long she had been looking, and she'd thought that they would never find each other on this dark, terrible night, but now Francis was here, right beside her; Francis had been looking for her, like she had been looking for him.
"Can you stand?" she heard Francis ask her. Despite the mess and the chaos all around them, Francis looked at Mary like she was the only person he could see.
With Francis's help, Mary managed to get to her feet.
He led her over to the nearest window, and he managed to wrench it open. It was too small for them to escape from, but still Mary took grateful gulps of fresh air as a gentle breeze travelled through the open window.
With a little of her strength restored, Mary looked at Francis, and he looked back at her. So many unspoken words seemed to pass between them in that long look.
Mary stepped into Francis's arms, and he held her tight for a few moments. Mary even felt his lips brush against her hair.
"Francis, I thought I'd lost you…" Mary gasped, as she leaned in closer to his chest.
"I'm here, Mary," Francis said in reply, his tone soothing. "You have no idea how desperately I've been trying to find you..."
They held each other for what felt like long moments before Francis suddenly seemed to tense up again.
"Mary, we have to get out of here," Francis whispered into her hair. His voice was still gentle, but Mary could hear the firm, decisive tone of a king now.
Mary nodded, her focus returning to their survival.
The view from the window gave Mary an idea. "There's a set of large windows not too far from here," she explained to Francis. "If we could get to them, and get them open somehow, we could get out into the back gardens of the castle…"
Francis nodded, his body language looking decisive. "Lead the way," he told her.
Mary held Francis's hand as they headed back in the direction of the large ground floor windows that overlooked the back garden. It was as though the feeling of Francis's hand in hers was somehow renewing her strength, and her will to get through this.
This was what the two of them did best; when there was a crisis, they always ended up at each other's side, no matter what else happened to be going on in their lives at the time. When they were on a battlefield, there was never any doubt about their loyalty to one another.
Mary tried not to think about the pain that would be waiting for them outside the castle, or what would be waiting for them when all of this was over; she tried not to think about the pain and the uncertainty that they and the rest of Scotland would wake up to in the morning…if they all woke up in the morning. There would be time for painful conversations later; there would be time to think about the future later. For now at least, Mary and Francis were reunited; Mary had found him, and they both had a chance of getting through this together.
They reached the large windows, the two of them gasping for breath as they came to a halt.
They both tried the windows' locks, but they wouldn't budge.
Mary was starting to feel a little faint, and a little breathless again. They had to get out, they just had to.
Mary could barely concentrate now, but she was vaguely aware of Francis grabbing hold of a large item of furniture and throwing it at full force against the glass.
The grass cracked, then it shattered, falling to the floor like a waterfall.
Mary had never before felt so relieved to see glass break.
Francis helped Mary to climb up through the window, and then when she out, Mary reached back and put her hands through the broken window, helping Francis out in return.
By some miracle, the two of them were out of the castle and in the gardens.
The gardens at the back of the castle were much quieter than those at the front. In the dark, Mary could only see a small group of wedding guests huddled together further down the gardens, looking lost and confused. Aloysius Castleroy was sitting among them, staring into the distance, looking like he was barely aware of his surroundings, like his mind was somewhere else. Mary wondered if he had seen Greer yet. Did he even know that Greer was still alive?
Beyond Aloysius, Mary could just make out the clusters of trees further down the garden. For a moment, she was sure that she saw shadows beyond the trees, moving in time with the rustling of the wind, but then she told herself that her eyes were playing tricks on her.
"We should try and put some distance between ourselves and the castle walls," Francis whispered. He still looked tense, and Mary guessed that the quietness of the gardens had unnerved him. It was almost a little too quiet…
Mary nodded in agreement-they were not out of danger yet, and by staying close to the castle, they were at an increased risk of exposing themselves to more flames or wayward guards who might jump out of the window at any moment. Almost instinctively, Mary reached for her knife, but it was no longer hidden up her sleeve. She realised that she must have dropped it when she fell to the floor. She had no weapon to defend herself with now.
Francis gestured in the direction of one of the fountains that was located about halfway down the gardens. "You need water," he told her.
Mary knew that he was right. Now that she was out of immediate danger, Mary was becoming increasingly aware of the burning sensation in her throat, and how hot and dry her skin felt, along with every ache and pain in her body. The part of her neck where the rebel had put his hand on her earlier was now starting to ache; Mary was sure that she would have a horrific bruise there by morning.
Staying close to one another, Mary and Francis started to walk towards the fountain.
They'd almost got there when they were both distracted by the sight of two other people in the gardens who Mary had not spotted at first…
Lola was lying on the ground, her eyes closed like she was unconscious (or at least, Mary hoped that she was just unconscious). Narcisse was kneeling over her, his hands pressed over her chest.
For a moment, Mary tensed, imagining that Narcisse was inflicting some kind of injury on Lola, but as she took a few steps closer, she realised that Narcisse was trying to administer some sort of CPR. Lola must have fallen unconscious in the smoke-filled castle; Narcisse must have carried her outside… Narcisse was trying to save her.
"Please, Lola, please…" Narcisse whispered, a look of desperation on his face. "Please, God," he then muttered as he looked up to the sky, "do what you must to punish me, but please let Lola be okay…"
Mary chanced a glance at Francis. His facial expression seemed to be fighting a war between his concern for Lola and his hatred of Narcisse.
Suddenly, Lola's eyes opened as she spluttered and coughed. "S-Stephan?" she gasped after she'd finished coughing. She looked confused, and exhausted.
"Oh, thank God!" Narcisse cried out, sounding genuinely relieved.
Again the thought occurred to Mary that Narcisse really did care about Lola, in spite of all of his other flaws.
Lola managed to sit up, and Narcisse took her gently in his arms, and then the two of them embraced.
He might have had Lola back in his arms, but Mary noticed that Narcisse didn't hold her as though the two of them had just been reunited, but rather as though he were about to say goodbye to someone he did not wish to be parted from.
From over Lola's shoulder, Narcisse started when he noticed that Mary was standing only a few feet away from him, watching him.
A look of great pain suddenly seemed to cross his face. "Forgive me, Mary, for what I have done," he said.
Mary frowned at Narcisse in confusion. What was he talking about? Had Narcisse been behind this attack? Had he known about it all along? Had he headed to the local pub so often to help plan this? Had he allowed the rebels to sneak in somehow? Or was he talking about something else? Had he actually been the one to sell the photos of Mary and Conde to the press, in spite of his protestations of innocence?
Francis threw Narcisse a look of utter loathing, before he turned back to look at Mary, and his expression changed to one of concern.
"Mary, you need water," he repeated as he gestured his head in the direction the fountain.
They ran the rest of the way to the fountain.
As she ran, Mary glanced over her shoulder. Narcisse now seemed to be trying to carry Lola through a narrow passageway that would lead towards the gardens at the front of the castle. Mary had a strange suspicion that Narcisse would leave Lola there to get medical help and then run away…to where, Mary didn't know. Aloysius and the group of wedding guests also seemed to have vanished into another part of the garden.
Mary took several grateful gulps of water from the fountain the moment she got close enough to reach in and scoop up the water in her hands. She felt very weak now, and she had to lean on the stone structure of the fountain to support herself. Francis placed a hand on her back, helping to hold her up as he also picked up a handful of water to drink.
When Mary had gained a little more strength, she started to splash water over her face and arms and chest, trying desperately to soothe the hot, prickling sensation all over her skin.
She had just reached for another handful of water when she saw it…
A knife was flying through the air towards the two of them, coming from the direction of the cluster of trees further down the garden.
She had barely managed to share a wide-eyed look of horror with Francis when she felt Francis's arms grab tight hold of her, and then somehow, Mary found the strength to push the two of them out of the way.
The two of them got out of the way just in time before the knife connected with the stone fountain, with the sound of metal hitting stone seeming to reverberate all around the gardens.
Frantically, Mary's eyes scanned the trees in the near distance. The shadows behind the trees were moving again; she could see another glint of metal; she had not imagined any of it…
Of course, this garden was not a place of sanctuary after all. How could she have been so naïve, so foolish? This was another trap...
"Run!" she screamed at Francis.
They had to get out of here, and fast.
But Francis's eyes were fixed on something beyond Mary; something that Mary somehow hadn't noticed yet…
Another knife was flying towards her at high speed…she had no time to run, to get out of the way; her only hope was to duck, to drop to the ground…
The knife was only inches away from her now…
Then everything seemed to happen in slow motion.
Before Mary could move, Francis dived in front of her, his arms held out to protect her, to stop the knife from piercing her skin.
But the knife connected with someone else instead, perhaps in payment for Mary being spared yet again against all the odds.
She heard Francis's cry of agony as the knife connected with his side, and then he went heavy in her arms as the two of them fell to the floor in a tangled heap.
Mary started to scream as the realisation of what had just happened started to hit her.
Desperately, she looked down at Francis as she held him in her arms. He was still alive, thank God-his eyes were still open, and he was still breathing, but he was clearly in agony.
Already, Mary could feel his blood on her hands.
Mary looked around the garden as she cried out for help. In the distance, she saw several rebels move away from their hiding place behind the trees as they ran in the direction of the wall surrounding the gardens and started to climb it. It seemed they had achieved what they had set out to do-perhaps they believed by the sound of Mary's agonised screams that she too had been wounded-and now they were going to run away like the cowards they were.
There was nobody else in the gardens-Narcisse and Lola and Aloysius now seemed to have vanished completely.
No! No! No! a frantic voice in Mary's head seemed to scream, over and over. This could not be happening, not now! They had got out; they had survived everything else that the castle had thrown at them, in spite of all the odds being against them; they had embraced and held hands, reunited in the middle of the battlefield…only for this to happen when they'd finally thought that they'd escaped. She could not lose Francis now, not now that they had finally found each other; there was so much she still had to tell him; so many feelings that had gone unspoken…
Out of the darkness, Mary suddenly spotted a man running towards them. She held Francis a little tighter, terrified that this was yet another rebel who had returned to finish them off.
As the man got closer, he came into clearer view. It was Sebastian.
"Bash, please," Mary begged him as she looked up at him. She wasn't sure what exactly she was asking of him; she just needed someone to help save Francis, even if that someone could potentially be on the side of the rebels; right now, saving Francis was all she cared about.
Bash took one look at Francis and his face seemed to go pale.
He ripped another piece of fabric from his own shirt and placed it on Francis's side, using it to attempt to stem some of the blood flow.
"I'll go and get help," he told Mary, his expression firm. "I'll get the medics to come around here…"
Mary could only nod. She felt too weak to stand now; she was starting to feel dizzy; she could barely move, let alone stand.
As Bash started to run away in the direction of the front gardens, Mary was painfully aware of the fact that Sebastian was now her last hope of saving Francis. If he decided to run away and not come back, then it was all over; there would be no other hope.
"Mary…" she heard Francis whisper to her; his face was pale, drawn, and he sounded like he was struggling to catch his breath.
"F-Francis," Mary replied, her voice trembling as she looked down at him. "Please try to hold on; Bash has gone to get help; the medics will be here soon; you have to keep fighting…"
"Mary, I'm sorry," said Francis. "I'm so, so sorry about the matchmaking show...about everything…"
"Francis, please," Mary begged him, not wanting him to hurt himself any further by trying to talk. "There will be time for apologies later. Please try to save your strength…"
Francis however seemed desperate to say whatever he had to say, as though he believed these words would be his last. "I should have been more honest with you," he continued quickly, like he was rushing to get the words out. "I should have t-told you everything from the s-start…"
"Francis, please, it's okay," Mary heard herself sob. It was clearly painful for him to talk right now, and all Mary cared about was his survival.
"Mary, it's you," said Francis, undeterred. "It's always been you. You've always been my dream, from the moment we agreed to marry as children in the gardens. Olivia knew…that's why we didn't stay together. She heard me calling your name over and over in my sleep after the attack in the French castle; that was when she worked it all out, and I could no longer deny it; we broke up only days later…later we tried getting back together, but things were never truly the same after that..."
At any other time, Mary would have been surprised, astounded even to hear this revelation-she never would have imagined that this was the reason why Francis and Olivia had broken up-but now, she was much too concerned about Francis's laboured breathing and the pained expression on his face to think about anything else.
"For years I tried to hide my feelings, to push them down," said Francis, sounding like he was gasping for breath now. "I told myself it was for the best; I had my duties as a future king; we were from rival countries; I was sure that you would have a long list of suitors who would make you their priority and always put you first. But maybe I was just a coward; too scared to talk to you, t-too nervous to be around you for too long, too afraid of rejection. And then I let petty jealousy take over when I saw those pictures of you and Conde. I looked for an excuse as to why we couldn't be together, so I wouldn't have to face up to the truth that you are what I want more than anything in the world…more than the crown; that was what made my family so afraid, the idea that I wanted you more than any of that; that was why they tried to bring it all under control and later try to convince me that it would all be a terrible mistake. And I let them, Mary, because the fear of taking a risk with my heart and then potentially losing you as well as my country was just too great…"
Mary continued to sob. All of Francis's words were resounding somewhere deep in her heart, but she was too worried about his wellbeing to truly appreciate what he was saying to her.
"Francis…" she whispered, as more tears fell down her cheeks.
"I've been such a fool, Mary. I've always hidden what was in my heart; I've always tried to put the crown first, I've always wanted to be a great king…but what does it even matter, now that I'm…now that it might not happen…"
Mary felt a fresh wave of dread at Francis's words. "Francis, don't talk like that!" she interrupted him, trying to keep her voice firm. This could not be a goodbye speech; Francis had to fight for his life.
"And now it might be too late, and I haven't had the chance to tell you that…"
Words suddenly failed Francis as his eyes closed and he fell into unconsciousness. His breathing seemed to be getting shallower.
Mary had to stifle another scream.
Within moments, the garden suddenly seemed to come alive again as people materialised all around them.
Mary felt sick, dizzy; the noise and the chaos was too much; she was barely even aware of what was going on around her; she barely even cared; everything seemed to be spinning around…
She saw a team of medics running towards her and Francis, shouting out words that Mary could not make out.
Her vision was really starting to go blurry now.
Through a few gaps in her blurred vision, Mary saw Bash, surrounded by several police officers. He had been handcuffed, and they were leading him away.
He was closely followed by Diane.
Next she saw Narcisse, also being led away in handcuffs. Wherever he'd been trying to hide in the gardens, the authorities had found him.
Mary could barely even begin to put all the pieces together, to process it all.
What confused her the most was the sight of Aloysius that appeared in her now hazy line of vision. He was also in handcuffs, and he was being led out of the gardens by several police officers.
Mary wanted to call out, to tell them that they had got the wrong man, but she no longer had the strength to form words; all of her strength had left her the moment Francis fell into unconsciousness.
There were more people running towards them, but Mary could not make out if they were friend or foe. There were other people shouting, but Mary could not hear a word they were saying.
Her chest felt as though it had been tied in knots. All of her limbs felt heavy.
Within moments, her vision went black.
Mary collapsed onto Francis's chest, saying one more silent prayer for his survival before she allowed unconsciousness to take her.