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Chapter Text

The French Court was born in light and glory. The Louvre glistens shyly in the quiet morning sun, her pristine ivory walls standing aureate attention. As we pass below the elegant gate, I catch sight of guards with blue feathered plumes saluting.

“That’s for you, Mari,” my Lady Aylee sighs, “can you imagine?”

“It’s for us, mes petits oiuseax ,” I giggle, letting the velvet curtain slide back, “we’re together now.”

“I’d much rather be a little bird than a nun,” my Lady Kenna retorts, referring to my comment, “that convent was dreadful.”

“Kenna,” Lady Aylee hushes, “people will think you’re a Huguenot!”

“Don’t say things like that, Aylee,” my Lady Lola instructs, “that’s intolerant.”

“And there will be Protestants at court,” I add, grinning as trumpets blare, “we can’t make enemies with our allies.”

“ Whit’s fur ye’ll no go by ye .” my Lady Greer reminds in Scots before repeating accented English, “what’s meant to happen, shall happen.” 

I straighten, “Then let’s greet the day as it comes, won’t we, girls?” 

A footman opens the carriage door and I step outside. The scene before me is extravagantly splendid and I try to contain my surprise, but my palace in Saint Germain en Laye was never so beautiful.

“ Keep yer heid, Mheri, ” Lola whispers in my ear, pretending to play with my hair.

I raise my eyes to King Henri the Second of France, he tilts his body in a bow, and I hold a long curtsey in response. 

“Who’s that,” Lola questions as I stand, “ I dunnae ken seeing her before .” 

The slim brunette who has arrived next to the King smiles sweetly, gazing down at me with laughing eyes as she takes the King’s arm.

“Diane de Poitiers,” Kenna answers, “she came to the convent once, likely to spy on us.”

“She said it was tey pray fer her son’s health.” Aylee counters.

“Don’t believe everything ye hear in France,” Kenna grins, “me Da said it was a Godless country when we left.”

“Greer, ye Bonnie dear,” I gasp, “are those all dresses?”

“Some wer sent frey yer Ma, Majesty,” Greer winks, “according te the messenger they’re fulla shoes, tartans, and jewelry.”

“Who’s that?” Kenna squeaks, looking at a handsome brunette by Diane.

“That musta be the son, Sebastien” Greer answers, “and if ye don’t stop ogglin’, Kenna, I’ll gie ye a skelpit lug right now.”

Trumpets blare, and a woman I recognize from her bi-weekly visits to Saint Germain en Laye struts forward, stopping just after the King so that she stands at the front of the French pack.

“Queen Catherine has quite the gall,” Lola observes.

Aylee gives a little gasp, “Lola, haud yer wheesht.”

I give a small laugh, “I don’t believe Queen Catherine would be offended by such a statement.” 

Looping an arm through Greer’s, I step forward to approach Her Majesty when the trumpets echo once more, but no one comes from behind the King, who turns just to make sure.

“Mari,” Aylee squeezes my right arm, “Francis is coming from the gardens.”

My head is pulled by Aylee’s giggle and I lay eyes on my future husband for the first time in twelve years. His blonde curls have grown out since our days of cache-cache on the palace grounds, but their shine is so visible even at a distance he couldn’t hide even if he wanted to. The Dauphin is most certainly taller than when I last saw him. I myself am nearly six-foot, the tallest out of all my ladies, yet my guess is that my betrothed isn’t a ghastly amount shorter than I am. 

Kenna swoons, “What roses.”

My husband-to-be bows and smiles warmly.

“It’s good to be reunited with Your Grace.” a nod.

“Please,” I light up, “call me Mari.”

“Then these are for you, Marie,” he hands me a bouquet of red and white roses, “and call me Francis.”

I smell the roses, “ Merci, Francis, I’m fair puckled by yer gesture.”

Confusion traces across Francis' face and I giggle.

“You have captured my breath with your gesture.” I translate, embellishing the words to fit the French manner of life.

The Dauphin’s eyes gleam as he takes my hand, “Let’s hope that happens often.”

I grin in response, and Francis offers me his arm. We drift over to the King and Queen while my ladies glide behind us.

“Welcome to the City of Dreams, Your Majesty,” King Henri smirks, “I suggest you adjust quickly from country living.”

I blink, he clearly meant to offend, “I believe I shall, Your Majesty, with the excellent example set before me by yourself the Queen.”

Diane snorts. King Henry outright laughs.

“Words as lovely as you are, Child,” spit jumps from King Henri’s lips, “please, your cousins the de Guise family eagerly wait for you beyond the gate.”

“I look forward to greeting them,” I reply.

My grandmother, Antoinette de Guise has fierce eyebrows and fair lips which jump to see me offered the King’s arm.

“Marie, ma chere ,” my grandmother curtsies before taking my face in her hands, a feat which she has to lift her arms for, “you shine as lovely as a diamond.”

“I only reflect the splendor around me, Lady Grandmother,” I glance toward the King and Queen, “such beautiful bounty is humbly received upon our arrival.”

“Ah, yes,” my grandmother glances at my ladies, stopping at Kenna, “Livingston, yes, I recognize your tartan.”

“Your Grace,” Kenna curtsies.

“And you, a Fleming?” 

Lola curtsies, “Your knowledge of Scotland is welcomed, Your Grace.”

Antoinette de Guise huffs a little laugh, “I am grandmother to your Queen, Lady Fleming, I have learned a thing or two, though I am a Frenchwoman.”

I clasp hands with my Uncle Francois, the Duke of Guise, and my Uncle Charles, the Cardinal of Lorraine before being pecked on both cheeks by my Aunt Louise.

“We are so pleased to have you with us, Marie.” she glows.

“I am pleased to have such familiar company,” I reply.

“Come,” King Henry shouts, “I am cold, let us go inside.”

So the court goes inside. I can’t stand long to gawk at the palace, but the hand-blown glass windows of shimmering blues so dark they were obviously expensive catch my eye. Francis has gone over to whisper with Sebastian, so I link my arms with Kenna and Lola.

“Such a bonnie building,” Kenna nudges, “I didnae ken such elegance existed in this world.”

“Em quite the gallus folk,” Lola muses, eyes on the King and Diane, “their voices carry down the whole hall.”

As the crowd disperses, Queen Catherine approaches us.

“Queen Marie,” she grins, “before you retire to your chambers, there’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

Obediently, I follow my future mother-in-law to an enclave decorated with the mystique of the unknown and presumably magic belongings.

“Nostradamus!”

The man who appears has mangled brown curls and deep, dark eyes that, after being rubbed from sleep, sparkle at my presence.

“You must be, Queen Marie.”

“I am,” I nod, “and, may I ask-”

“Nostradamus is the court fortune teller and a good friend,” Queen Catherine glances sideways at me, “he gives quite good advice as well when one is in need of company.”

“Ah,” a question seeps into my voice, “I’ve never met a mystic before-”

“When the lion and the dragon met they were not allies,” Nostradamus interjects, “yet now we think of them as one.”

Queen Catherine laughs, “How wise, Nostradamus. Queen Marie, I shall see you tonight, yes?”

“Of course, Your Majesty.”

The Queen of France smiles cooly, “Charles’ engagement banquet will be filled with other foreigners, I hope to see you bloom, Your Grace.”

I blink, sensing an ulterior motive, “I shall, Queen Catherine.”

My quarters, unsurprisingly, are decorated with even more splendor than my rooms at Saint-Germain en Laye. My ladies, who lived at a convent and were only allowed to visit once a week, take great pleasure in having beds with silken sheets. The bedframes, made of oak wood, are carved with floral motifs and decorated with embroidered taffeta drapes to match the duvet covers. Mine is a soft pink, my ladies' pale greens.

“Your Ladyship?”

I turn two girl children, about ten years old, shake in uneven curtsies.

“We’re Rose and Helene Devearoux-” the first one speaks,

“Your maids.” the second one concludes.
Their eyes dart between us all, finally settling on me.

“Lovely names,” I comet brightly, “Rose, would you mind showing my Lady of the Bedchamber, Lady Fleming, my outer chambers?”

Rose, the first one, curtsies eagerly and gestures to the door.

“If the Lady Fleming pleases, the carpet in the lounge room is Turkish.”

Lola smiles, joking that it must be delicate to clean, Rose nods, smiling herself before opening a pair of engraved doors.

“And you must be Helene?” Greer turns.

“Yes, my Lady.”

“I am Lady Beaton, Mistress of the Robes,” Greer winks, “would you mind updating me on the progress of her Majesty's trunks.”

Helene takes off, making sure Greer knows I have a whole ten wardrobes for my clothing. In Saint-Germain, I needed five. 

“Have you any task for me, Mari?”

I smile kindly at Aylee while Kenna flops down on her bed.

“Well, for one, you could remind Kenna we have a party tonight and outfits need to be arranged.”

With that Kenna straightened, “Our first soiree at the French Court!”

“We’re celebrating the young Prince’s engagement.” I remind.

My Lady Livingston jumps up, “I shall assist Greer.”

Just then, a familiar face pops out from a panel in the wall.

“Dear Eilish,” Aylee gasps, “ye frightened me, ye shoulda gave the door a chap.”

Grace MacAlister, my second Scottish maid from Saint Germain, tumbles out of the passageway behind Eilish.

“Majesty,” Grace smiles, “yer a bonnie sight frae ma eyes, a mouse scared me on ma way over.”

Eilish rolls her eyes, “I’m sure ye scared it much more than it scared ye.”

Grace slaps Eilish’s arm, “That’s nay true!”

“Lassies,” I grin, “I suggest ye go nextdoor and meet yer new aditions.”

Eilish and Grace look at one another, “Majesty, I dunnae ken what yer sayin’ in that fancy folk speech, please, speak plainly.”

“There are two lovely Sassenach girls who are ma maids now,” I tell the veterans, “make nice now, ya hear?”

“Of course, Majesty.” Eilish tries to curtsey but stumbles onto her hands and knees.

“Ha,” Grace barks, “Hell min ye, Eilish MacNeal, hell mind ye.”

“Oh, leave her be,” Aylee picks Eilish off the floor, “go on now, be on wit ye.”

My trunks are then brought into my room and while I gasp at every treasure within, Greer is giving orders to the maids as to how they will be arranged, with Kenna flocking between them to compare swatches. Aylee is taking great care with my jewelry when Lola pulls me aside.

“Mari, they didnae gie ye a desk for correspondence, and yer receiving room is small.”

Unconvinced, Lola has to show me the truth before I see it.

“It appears, though I be Queen of Scots,” I frown, “I am not the French Queen.”

“Nay, Majesty.” 

I sigh, placing my hand on my bodice.

“I shall visit Francis.”

Lola grabs my shoulders as I make to turn.

“ Mheri ,” she gazes sternly, “ye cannae be serious, what will the court think?”

“Why would they care?”

“ Mheri ,” Lola speak slowly in Scots, “they could think you wanted to see him for romantic reasons.”

“Oh,” I blush, “but I don’t know him.”

“Tongues always wag, we’ll be gubbed so early on!”

“Lola,” I take my ladies’ hands in hers, “I shall keep what you said in mind, but I dunnae ken who else te ask.”

Frowning, Lola steps back and crosses her arms.

“Fine,” she smirks, “but take Kenna.”

I blanch at her and my lady laughs.

“Good luck gettin’ him to understand ye.” Lola winks.

I gesture grandly, “We’ll speak French.”

It takes a good five minutes to figure out where Francis’ room is. When I do, I knock on the door. Kenna steps back, likely intimidated by the significance of all this.

Sebastian answers the door, and suddenly, Kenna is right next to me.

“Majesty?”

“I am so sorry to bother you, Monsieur-”

“How do you do, Monsieur?”

I give Kenna a shove, “If the Monsieur wouldn’t mind-”

“You have such lovely eyes, Monsieur-”

Sebastien laughs.

I clench my teeth, “I need a desk, Monsieur, if you wouldn’t mind.”

“A desk,” he tilts his head, “has Her Grace not been provided with one?”

“Unfortunately not,” I sigh, “but if you were to bring me one you would get to see my Lady Kenna here.”

The Dauphin’s brother turns to Kenna.

“Kenna, you say?

My lady curtsies, “Feel free to call me whatever you like, Monsieur.”

“Well then,” Sebastien steps forward to take Kenna’s hand, “call me Bash.”

Francis has appeared in the doorway, looking quizzically at his brother and Kenna. My cheeks turn pink when I see him, and I change my focus back to my lady.

“Monsieur, Bash?”

Francis’ brother looks over at me as if just remembering I’m there.
“Will you do us the honor of delivering me a desk?”

Bash looks back at Kenna and grins wickedly before giving me a bow.

“Of course, Majesty.”

Chapter Text

Kenna was giddy the whole way back to my rooms, and for long after, her glow had only slightly dimed down by the time we were ready. Tonight I’m wearing a white dress embroidered with red interlocking roses on the bodice. I’m wearing my tartan as a sash across my chest, to keep clear of my gold belt to match the circlet on my head.

“Scotch pearls?” Greer suggests.

“Scotch pearls.” Kenna agrees.

Lola layers a collar of the glowing treasures on my neck, and I smile at myself in the mirror. All four of my maids sigh.

“You look lovely, Mari.” Aylee winks in agreement.

We’re announced before we enter the ballroom, that’s when my nerves swipe at my heart, but I do what my mother always told me to do, to smile.

“Marie, dear,” my grandmother takes my hands in hers, “you look lovely this evening.”

It’s on our way to the couches that my grandmother whispers we arrived after the French King, and he’s very prideful. I nod, gesture sweetly, and pay Antoinette de Guise an unnecessary compliment. She knows I understand.

Aylee is on a floor cushion at my feet, while Kenna and Greer are on my left and right. Lola leans down, pretending to brush my hair aside.

“The English Ambassador is here,” she growls, “his name is Simon Hawthorne of Kent.”

I raise my eyes to the Ambassador, grinning politely and tugging lightly on my tartan.

“Queen Marie!”

I turn with wrapt attention to the King of France.

Henri stares at me pointedly, “We are so glad you decided to join us.”

“Forgive us, Your Majesty,” I place a hand to my chest, “we were just exploring the beauty of your residence.”

“Yes,” the King smiles predator-like, “I heard about your adventures.”

Slowly, I reach for Kenna’s hand.

“I hear you met Dear Nostradamus,” Henri laughs, drawing venom on the name, “speaking of, I would like the fortune teller to read your futures.”

That got the court excited, although, as the Seer approached, I felt suddenly sad for him. He was a prisoner here.

“Your Graces,” be bowed, “ladies.”

Aylee offers Nostradamus an apple from the side table set apart for us, their hands touch.

“The virtue of kindness is a blessing in the Den of Lions,” he blinks, “if one must be the gazelle remember her agility.”

The crowd oos in response, Queen Catherine claps. Kenna goes next, Nostradamus accepts her arm with a kind laugh.

“A fierce heart, my dear, you shall beat loud as a bodhrán .”

Kenna giggles shyly, Lola rubs her back and Nostradamus catches her sleeve.

“The enemy of my enemy is my friend, however the love of a friend may not be as it appears.”

The court jostles at the fortune, whispering of possible betrayal and love. When Greer places her hand in between Lola’s and the Seer’s, Nostradamus goes still.

“Never was a marigold more fragrant than those of Inverness Castle.”

“A marigold,” King Henri waves, speaking sourly, “how like a woman.”

I stand up abruptly not realizing my anger. Quickly, I readjust to face Nosttradamus, but I’m sure many have figured out I did not like the King’s words.

Carefully, the Seer takes my arm and turns it over, placing a finger on my wrist. Many ladies gasp in horror.

“She stands behind you,” Nostradamus’ eyes go white and he steps back, frightened, “should Elizabeth Woodville have wielded Excalibur then the Isle would have seen no more Kings.”

Bending down on his knees, the Seer begins to shake.

“Let the new Rome be formed of the free soldiers and barbarians, may she live to see the red-handed dragon imprint upon the Jack.”

I stumble backward, Aylee and Kenna catch me, hands holding to me tightly. Greer looks at me worried, mouth agape. All too loudly, Lola gasps. Nostradamus is on the floor, bleeding. In an instant, Queen Catherine stands.

“What is the meaning of this!” she yells, storming forward.

I latch onto Kenna, worried the Queen is coming for me, but instead, she kneels before her friend.

“Nostradamus?”

The Seer is rolled over to reveal his eyes bleeding and his face white as a sheet.

“A Healer,” the Queen calls, “I need a healer.”

Some men rush out from the crowd and Nostradamus is carried away, the queen and her ladies after him. Then a hush falls over the crowd, I see why when, out of the corner of my eye, I see the King coming towards me.

“Long may yer lum reek.” Kenna whispers, releasing me.

“Have no fear, young Marie,” King Henri takes my hand, “Nostradamus likes to put on a show. Come, let us dance.”

Musicians begin in earnest, and a local French dance adapted for the court plays. Thankfully I know it, for my mind is far too preoccupied to count my steps.

“Do not let your brow furry, Marie,” the King tells me, “you look far prettier with your smile.”

I blush slightly and return to the moment.

“Thank you for your advice, Majesty,” I reply, “I wouldn’t have noticed.”

King Henri laughs deeply, saying of course I wouldn’t notice things, I’m a woman. Unfortunately for him, I notice his eldest son watching us behind his back. Francis catches my eyes and I hold them a little longer than I should.

“You know, Marie dear, I think our agreement should be delayed.”

I look up at the King, searching his eyes.

Smirking at me, King Henri huffs, “Yes, Marie, you heard me right, I feel that the recent skirmishes on the Anglo-Scottish border don’t give me a confident feeling about strengthening our alliance.”

This is news to me, I frown. I knew of the current troubles in Gretna Green, but there has been troubles there commonly since before I came to France.

“Braxton, Marie,” he speaks with condescending eyes, “you did not know?”

“I-,” the song ends, “if you’ll excuse me, Majesty, I must see my Ambassador.”

The Scottish Ambassador to France is an old man, Lord MacDougal is firm, but fair, and I always thought he had a soft spot for me. His mother’s family is French, like mine, but he moved to court with me, so he shouldn’t be hard to find.

I cursty to the King, then make my way over to my ladies.

“I shall meet with MacDougal tonight,” I tell Greer, “make sure he knows.”

Greer skirts off, and I turn to Aylee, who’s eyes are wide.

“Lang may yer lum reek, Mheri .”

I turn to face Simon Hawthorne of Kent, English Ambassador to France.

He bows, “Your Grace.”

“My good sir, how do you do this evening?”

“As well as you are, Madam,” the Ambassador smirks, “although I suppose the Seer gave you a shock.”

“He did.” I nod honestly.

“My mistress, the Queen of England, hopes you find happiness within your new borders,” Ambassador Hawthorne’s face goes serious, “as the Queen of Spain she shall always keep you close at heart, even if the Pyrenees are tall.”

“We are pleased by cousin feels this way,” I smile, and just to add a bite, “we wish her  healthy soon in return.”

I leave without excusing myself, taking my ladies with me. I hold out my arms and clasp hands with my grandmother.

“Has my uncle, John Stewart been to court recently?” I ask.

“He arrived late this afternoon,” Antoinette de Guise frowns, “I heard he went to see your Ambassador.”

I turn to Kenna, “Take Aylee and find my uncle, tell him to meet with me and MacDougal this evening.”

As my ladies go off, I watch Bash’s eyes follow Kenna.

“Sebastian is keen on your Lady,” my grandmother observes, “he has the King’s eye and the Dauphin’s hand.”

“I shall keep that in mind, Lady Grandmother,” I wink, “and if you don’t mind, I could use some womanly advice.”

My Grandmother laughs, though clearly intrigued.

“Come sit with me.” I offer.

We do, and Lola passes us cups from a servant. I lean my head on her shoulder and tell her of what the King said, and how I didn’t know abut it.

“The Great Men of the Realms think they don’t need women in government,” Antoinette de Guise growls low, “especially here, at court, King Henri has said he prefers his mistress Diane for she stays out of the stateroom.”

“My mistress did not have a desk in her room upon arrival,” Lola kneels at my feet, somehow holding a bowl of fruit, “she and Lady Livingston had to ask for one.”

“Ah, that’s what that was.”

Across the room, I see Greer walk along the edge of the hall, coming towards us.

“Lady Grandmother,” I sigh, “I feel I have been slighted.”

“You have,” Antoinette de Guise agrees, “but we come from a long line of women who refuse to be slighted, do not break that chain, Marie.”

Greer makes her way to us, picking up a small table and placing it by Lola, who unloads the fruit.

“I shall attend that meeting,” my grandmother decides, “with you and your statesmen, I’ve heard my presence instills fear.”

I lift my head and kiss her cheek.

“Now, Greer,” I turn, come and join Lola and I.”

My lady does, telling me that most of the other Scots are in a portion of the palace with small rooms and poor views.

“Eilish found them earlier,” Greer explains, “MacDougal has lesser rooms than the English Ambassador.”

I am not pleased at that.

“You must make Francis’ heart your own,” Antoinette de Guise observes, “he shall help guarantee your safety and status.”

My Aunt Louise and Uncle Francois make their way over to us.

“Mama dear, you can not hog Marie all to yourself.” the Duke of Guise teases.

The musicians begin a new song, a cheerful dance for four. 

“Do you like to dance, Uncle?” I ask.

“I do, Marie dear.”

My Uncle leads me out onto the dance floor, and I take Lola as the other female dancer.

“We shall need a fourth,” she observes.

“How fortunate I am then.” 

I turn, my Uncle’s mouth twitches, but he shakes hands with the man.

“Madam, this is the Lord de Narcisse, Marquis of Rouen.”

I hold out my hand, “I suppose we must get acquainted through dance, my lord.”

The Lord kisses my hand, “I suppose we must.”

The four of us dance, and I let go of my worries for a brief moment. The Lord Narcisse is here with his son and daughter, the latter who is new to court. My Uncle Francois doesn’t seem to like the idea that I should spend time with her, but Lola agrees we shall find her some friends. I spin and clap, twirling with my lady a for two beats longer than the dance requires, but I had fun doing it. 

We all clap after the dance is done, and the Lord Narcisse beckons his daughter over. 

“This is Elodie.”

The girl curtsies, she has the Lord’s raven hair and dark eyes, but teh curve of her face is much kinder than her father’s, as are the arches of her brows. She is younger than we are, likely fifteen, she has the faint remnant of a blemish on her chin.

“I am honored to make Your Majesty’s acquaintance.”

“I hope to get to know you better, Lady Narcissse,” I smile kindly, “this is my lady, Lola Fleming, she shall introduce you to Greer.”

Lola takes Elodie and I excuse myself from the men, saying I must find Kenna and Aylee. I go in search of the pair, finding Kenna next to Bash, and Aylee off to the side, watching them. I approach my most sweet lady first.

“How goes my Uncle.”

She jumps slightly.

“Aylee, darling,” I link my arm through hers, “I did not mean to startle you.”

“I dunnae mind, Mheri ,” Aylee swallows, “I was just thinking of something Grace showed me.”

“Oh?”

Aylee lowers her voice, “There be passageways in the castle, I went through one wi’ Gracie, it was black as the Earl of Hells Waistcoat.”

“I hope you were nae too frightened.” I reply, rubbing my lady’s arm.

“The one from your meeting parlor leads to your Uncle’s bedchamber, he should be able to come easily to tonight’s meeting.”

“That’s good,” I smile, “and before I fergit, we have a new friend, Elodie Narcisse, she’s with Lola and Greer now.”

Excited at the prospect of a fellow flower-picker, Aylee skips off to meet Elodie. I now have the hard part, going up to Bash and Kenna, who are leaving only a slim space for the holy ghost.

“May I interrupt?”

Kenna’s face is bright with blush and her smile sings as she turns to me.

“Why, Mari, how good to see you.”

Unable to resist, I grin.

“Oh yes, because I’m sure you were thinking all about me while with Monsieur Bash here.”

Kenna bites her lip and shrugs.

“Just Bash,” the King’s son corrects, “and if I may, Your Majesty, your dutiful lady was just further inquiring about a desk.”
I clutch the pearls at my neck, “I see, how thoughtful of her.”

Kenna loops my arm through hers, “Tomorrow morning you shall have your desk, Mari.”

I nearly laugh, “Thank you for your efforts, Kenna, they are much appreciated.”

“Anytime,” my lady winks, “Majesty.”

We bid Bash goodbye and glide over to the rest of our group. My grandmother and Aunt Louise have moved to join my Uncle Francios, Lord Narcisse, and a man I do not know.

We talk with Elodie until late in the evening, and after Queen Catherine retires, tired of seeing Diane walk around on the King’s arm, my ladies and I retire also. Helene setss up chairs my for my guests and I, while Grace and Eilish go to collect our guests. Lola, sits off to the side, ready to record the most important details from the meeting, and I ask Rose to fetch some leftover drinks. As I wait, Greer and I help Aylee and Kenna undress for bed.

“ Mheri ,” Greer comes to the door, speaking smoothly in Scots, “your guests are here.”

Chapter Text

Calmly, I sit down on my throne-like chair at the front of my meeting parlor. Waltzing in with a haughty air, my grandmother takes the seat on my right. 

“Uncle John,” I hold out my hand, “thank you for meeting me on such short notice.”

John Stewart kisses my hand, then Lord MacDougal does. Lola takes her seat in the corner.

“We have become aware, Lord MacDougal,” I begin, “that there have been skirmishes along our border, in Braxton.”

“Aye, Madam, there have been,” my Ambassador nods, “but do not heed them-”

“Lord MacDougal,” I frown, “we learned of this through the King of France, it was rather embarrassing.”

“My apologies, Madam,” MacDougal gives a slight bow, “but his Majesty was likely trying to test you.”
“Then I have failed,” I bristle, “I would like to see you every day before the evening meal, Ambassador, you shall tell me anything I might need to know of home.”

“Yes, Majesty.”

“Uncle John,” I turn, “I am new to the French court, is there anything I should know of anyone.”

He pauses then slouches.

“Madam, the Queen keeps a close eye on everyone, but she is especially proactive of the Dauphin.”

I nod, “I would imagine.”

“But she is fierce and vicious,” my Uncle continues, “more so than any mother, Lord Narcisse is a common conspirator of hers.”

That explains Elodie.

“We shall tread carefully with the Lady Elodie, then,” I pause, “and Uncle, I should like to meet or have correspondence with every Scottish noble in France.”

John Stewart straightens, “That shall make us very busy, Madam.”

“Aye,” I agree, “but I am of age now, I am at the French court. I am going to be just as feared as Queen Catherine.”

The men look at each other.

“Such a goal is admirable, Marie,” my grandmother tells me, “do not forget, however, that you must make as many friends as enemies.”

I thank my grandmother for her advice, then thank the men for helping me rule my people justly from afar. When everyone has left, I turn to Lola.

“Ambassador MacDougal shall see you every day before the evening meal,” she repeats, “and your desk should be here before your Uncle brings a list of names.”

I stand up and embrace my lady.

“It’s been a long night, Mari.” she sighs.

“That it has.”

Greer, Lola, and I change for bed while Aylee and Kenna giggle in the window seat.

“Any special news from Sebastien, Lady Livingston?”

Kenna blushes.

“He’s asked to see me tomorrow, for a walk in the gardens!”

“We shall allow it, won’t we ladies,” I wink at Greer, “I do sincerely hope, however, that Monsieur Sebastien is gentlemanly.”

“Oh, Bash is a gift,” Kenna leans against the stone, “we played panache this evening, and whoever lost had to tell a story about themselves.”

Aylee giggles.

“Bash used to climb trees with Francis, apple ones, and they’d eat the fruit at the top and hide all day.”

I turn to Lola, she scribbles something down.

“Kenna, no giggling in the middle of the night,” I instruct my lady, “ye hear?” 

 “Yes, Mheri .”

I awake in the morning to a soft humming, and I roll over to see Kenna making her bed.

“Ye needn’t do that, anymore, Kenna,” I whisper, “yer nae at the Convent now.”

“I ken what yer sayin’, Mari,” my lady sighs, “but it’s a habit, just like waking when the sun is just peeking through the horizon.”

I look out the window, it’s true, it is still very early.

“Kenna, will you wake me in about an hour?”

“Of course,” Kenna smiles, “I shall pick out a day dress for you.”

I roll back over and close my eyes. Over the next hour, I hear Greer and Aylee wake up, dress, and decide to redecorate. Lola is sitting up in bed when I finally give up on going back to sleep, and she smiles at me brightly.

Kenna and Aylee help us dress while discussing the day’s tasks. 

“The desk,” I recount, “correspondence, breakfast, and Lord MacDougal.”

“Yes,” Aylee has made a list and checks it over, “and redecorating.”

Once we’re dressed, I ring for a maid, and the Deveroux sisters arrive.

“Helene, would you please go tell Lady Elodie that we will collect her about midday for a picnic?”

My maid curtsies, which may have improved since yesterday, and goes off. While Rose empties the chamberpots and the other does morning cleaning, Eilish and Grace arrive. Kenna jumps when Grace mentions servants are bringing up a desk.

“Oh,” I smile, “I think this is very welcome news, Grace.”

I have four rooms in total. My bechambers are connected to the lounge room, which is connected to the receiving parlor, which is connected to the meeting parlor on the other side. On my way through the lounge, I notice Aylee has picked four vases worth of marigolds and I smile softly. Aylee never forgot my favorite flower. The Turkish carpet below my slippers is gold, blue, and white, so the tapestry on my wall is the one from Saint Germain. It’s white with an aureate Celtic cross woven in gold.

“You’ve done a lovely job, Ladies,” I comment, surprising them all in the receiving parlor.

“It’s all fer ye, Mari,” Aylee claps, gesturing to the Stuart tartan hanging in an alcove, “that was my idea.”

“Thank ye kindly, ladies,” I grin, “now, what’s the status of our desk?”

That’s when the door swings open and Bash and Francis come in carrying a desk. Seeing the Heir to the French throne sweaty and carrying a desk twice his size makes me smile, and he’s very handsome. That’s the difficult bit. 

“Alright, Bash?”

“Let’s set ‘em down, Francis.”

Francis looks at me directly, “Where’d you like this, Marie?”

“In front of the tartan,” I can feel myself turn red, “please?”

The boys set the desk down in front of the tartan, and I can’t help but smile. 

“It’s lovely, and there are drawers!”

Kenna laughs, “Yes, Mheri , that’s common for desks.”

“Well,” Greer urges, “sit down!”

I do. Francis and Bash have left space for a chair that Lola brings for me. My desk is a lovely oak with subtle engravings of vines of flowers. 

“It’s so pretty,” I squeal, then remember I’m speaking to my betrothed and gather myself, “thank you, Prince Francis.”

The Dauphin’s eyes sparkle, “You’re welcome, Queen Marie.”

After a moment, Bash clears his throat.

“If I may Majesty, I would like to steal Lady Livingston from you.”

“You may,” I lean forward, elbows on my desk, “please bring her back for the midday meal.”

Bash bows, “I shall.”

Then Bash carries a giggling Kenna out of the room bridal style. Lola sighs.

“Aye,” Greer agrees, “we’ve been here a day and she’s aff her heid for that boy.”

“Such an interesting accent,” Francis teases, smirking at me through the side of his eyes, “do you talk like that, Majesty?”

“Ay, bonnie Francis,” I blush, “when I’m wi’ me ladies I gie it ladly.”

The Dauphin offers me his arm, “I must learn more of this strange language, come breakfast with me, Marie.”

Without thinking, I take his arm.

“We’ll keep an eye out frae yer Uncle, Mari,” Lola says, “go enjoy yer meal.”

I get her meaning once we’re down the hall, but surely, if my Uncle John knew I was breaking bread with the Dauphin, he would reschedule our time together.

“So,” Francis pats my arm, “what does ‘fair puckled’ mean.”

I laugh, load, and unbound.

“I suppose,” I swallow, “it means something similar to ‘hard to breathe’.”

“So that is how you felt when I gave you flowers?” 

Francis’ eyebrow is raised, his eyes clearly looking for an answer. 

I squeam slightly, “Yes, Francis, that is what I meant.”

Chuckling to himself, the Dauphin straightens his posture, clearly proud of himself.

Breakfast is an unusually small affair. The King and Queen are in attendance, but so is my Aunt Louise, her husband the King’s chief advisor, as well as Lord Narcisse, his son, and Simon Hawthorne.

“What’s this?” the King asks upon seeing me, his grin lopsided and lousy.

“Marie is coming to breakfast with us,” Francis pulls out a chair, and I sit, “I have invited her.”

I smile at the Queen, hoping my fear doesn’t show through. I have a feeling it does. 

“Queen Marie,” the French Queen smirks, “how are you this morning?”

“Well, thank you, how is your Majesty?”

The Queen looks at her husband, trying to frown.

“You just missed a very interesting argument, Queen Marie,” Catherine de Medici raises her chin, “my husband is of the opinion that a woman should not take part in politics-”

“And I stand by it!”

“Whats say you, Majesty?”

Lord Narcisse leans forward. I risk a glance at my aunt, her hands have gripped the arms of her chair.

“Well, I think if a woman has something to say, she should say it.”

King Henri crosses his arms, rather prideful, “When do women not say anything?”

I pause for a moment, “When the moment calls for nothing to be said.”

The King throws up his arms and makes a comment about the riddle of women, but Queen Catherine looks at me sharply.

“When comes such a moment?”

This is a trap. I know it is. So all I can do is answer, but not correctly.

“I do not know, Majesty,” I admit, “the poets and bards would know better than I.”

“And the mystics,” Francis picks up a glass, smiling at me, “how is Nostradamus, Lady Mother?”

“Well,” the Queen stabs her food, “but I think he should read Queen Marie’s future.”

I fluster.

“But, Madame,” my Aunt Louise clutches her pearls, “can that be done?”

“Of course,” the Queen chews, “one gets their palms read and draws cards.”

“Utter nonsense,” King Henri comments, “but I’d love to know why a desk is missing from Madame de Poitiers’ chambers?”

I turn to Francis, who smiles knowingly at me. I shake my head slightly and pull my eyes away before I go salmon-colored.

“Marie needed a desk,” the Dauphin explains, “and Bash needed an excuse to see his favorite of Marie’s ladies.”

“His favorite of Marie’s ladies,” the French King muses, stirring his drink, “now this is a story I wish to hear of.”

I glance at Francis, who nods.

“Bash seems to have taken a liking to my Lady Livingston,” I shrug, “it must be the sweet scent of your court, Majesty.”

King Henri laughs, “How cute.”

Finally, I’m allowed to eat, but I only get some bread and cheese down before my Uncle John enters.

“Jean Stuart,” King Henri waves, “I was not aware you arrived at court.”

My uncle bows, “Forgive me, Majesty, I arrived late and had to see my niece.”

“Of course, of course,” then, the King of France sits up, “is that the seal of the Duke of Norfolk?”

“Yes, sire,” my Uncle approaches me on my write, “but it is for my Queen Marie.”

The King’s eyes climb to his hairline as I open it. He’s offering his services to me, in cruder terms, he wishes to be a spy. He feels England has become a vassal state to Spain, and my cousin has come down with a cold, the Duke has many friends who want to bypass Lady Elizabeth for the throne and give it straight to me.

“Marie?”

I look up, Francis is staring at me.

“Do excuse me, your Highness, I must not be rude,” I smile softly, “thank you for your kind invitation.”

I stand and take more letters from my uncle, walking towards the backdoor closest to my room. Besides the Duke of Norfolk, I have letters from Lord Dunaway of Bordeaux, Lord MacMartin, and Lady Abernathy.

“Uncle John,” I look up, “please send for my grandmother.”

My uncle bows and leaves, and when I arrive back in my rooms, I ask Aylee to fetch my stationary. As I sit down, Greer places an apron over my dress.

“To catch any spare ink,” she explains.

Lola comes over with a quill and I hand her the letters from the Scots.

“I know Lady Abernathy,” Lola observes, “she is my Father’s godmother, her late husband used to be our ambassador to France.”

“Lord MacMartin is head of your treasury in France,” Greer explains, “I asked him to place the order for the ghillies you wished for.”

Aylee gasps, “Dancing shoes?”

“Of course,” I take my stationery from her, “a lady must always have dancing shoes.”

I shuffle the papers around, asking Lola what she thinks Lady Abernathy requires.

“It can’t be funds,” Lola muses, “but social connection may be something she needs to rekindle.”

I nod. First I shall deal with Norfolk, then MacMartin, the Dunaways, and Lady Abernathy.

“Marie dear, is it true?”

My grandmother has burst through the door face in full shock.

“Aylee, close the door please.”

Uncle John steps in, then she does. Lola, taking the hint, draws the curtains and has Greer post Eilish outside the lounge door, Grace outside the receiving room door, and keep Helene and Rose in the lounge darning some socks. 

“And make sure Grace and Eilish keep busy,” she orders.

Then we begin.

“The Duke of Norfolk has written to me, and we have much to discuss.”

Chapter Text

“He feels England is a vassal for Spain” I frown, explaining, “he speaks of giving me the throne before my cousin is even dead.”

Aylee blanches.

“What’s more,” I continue, “if he feels England is a vassal for Spain, if I marry Francis, who’s to say it will not be the same but for France?”

My grandmother raises her eyebrows, “Perhaps we should show him that and still see if he offers his services.”

I nod, “Lady Grandmother, who are the Duke of Norfolk’s friends?”

Frowning, Antoinette de Guise confesses she does not know, and my mind begins to spin.

“I do need allies in England,” my fingers drum on my desk, “should I write to the Countess of Lennox?”

“Your Aunt?” Greer questions.

“ Mheri ,” Lola reminds, “they were exiled for aiding the late King Henry, and your aunt almost married twice before your Uncle, she seems very ambitious.”

“Then it is fortunate she has no country,” I reply, “she’s nae Scottish because my mother says so, but she’s nae English because she has a claim to their throne, making her an enemy of whoever wears the crown.”

“That is very wise, Mheri ,” John Stewart paces around the room, “you could seek a connection with your aunt, offer her something she cannot refuse. I may even suggest reaching out to Lady Frances Grey, mother of the deceased Queen Jane.”

I make a list of all my relations in the English court, then hand the paper to my uncle.

“Tell me who my best chance should be, Uncle John,” I turn to my grandmother, “and I think I shall send Norfolk a reply, but I can’t decide how to frame it.”

Antoinette de Guise straightens, “What flowery wording does the Duke use.”

I look down, throwing out words that seem interesting in the context.

“Marie,” my grandmother is horrified, “he has proposed marriage to you.”

My head whirls, “But I'm engaged to Francis.”

“He wants that to change,” my Lady Grandmother observes, “he’s bidding to become King of England.”

“By marrying me,” I look down, “he sees me as a woman he can manipulate.”

“Then manipulate him back,” Lola grins, “be the unsure maiden in need of rescuing, we could always trap him that way, if he’s any clearer, your cousin could arrest him for treason.”

“Then I shall be the Princess in the tower,” I smile, handing Lola the letter, “Greer, you have had contact with Lord MacMartin, what do ya ken?”

“He’s a very direct man,” my lady comments, “he seems to prefer numbers to people.”

I open his letter and my face drops.

“We are nearly bankrupt,” I announce.

“What of that winery we gave your mother when she married,” Antoinette de Guise urges, “the Dunaways run it.”

I pick up my letter from Lord Dunaway and show my grandmother the seal.

“For God’s sake,” my uncle stutters, “read it, Mari .”

I look down, eyes gracing the page.

“We have plenty of goodly stock,” I observe, “but the French are not interested in so-called ‘Scots wine’.”

“A party,” Aylee suggests, “the King loves to drink.”

“Aye, that he does,” agrees my uncle, “he often wakes afternoon because of it.”

“I’ll ask him to taste my wine, make a party of it.”

“Good idea, Marie,” my Lady Grandmother admonishes, “but there is the chance he will not like it, and we are low on funds.”

I lean on my desk, “If the King likes tae drink, has he ever sampled Scotch Whisky?”

“Malted barley would do well in the French climate,” John Stewart jumps at the opportunity, “and it is currently cheap due to imported grain from the Hapsburgs!”

I begin drafting a letter to Lord MacMartin, “In the meantime, we should not spend much.”

“Not unless appearances require it,” my grandmother counters, “the French cannot find out you are poor.”
It is getting close to the midday meal when we finish, but by then I have three letters written. One for the Duke of Norfolk, one for Lord Dunaway, and one for Lord MacMartin. My Uncle sends off the second two and tells me to bring two of my male servants that can be spared. 

I turn to Aylee, “Have Eilish take Rose and Helene to meet Master Ross and Mistress Wilson.”

I came from Scotland with more servants than I have now. Many were sold to other masters when it became apparent that I would not marry Francis at 12 as our agreement had originally stated. Through it all, Master High Ross has been the head of my male servants, and Mistress Wilson, my female servants. All of them can fit at a family supper table, but still, my mother has always been firm on keeping rigid to earn the French King’s respect. 

“These two servants shall accompany the royal cipher,” my Uncle tells me, “all three will have a false copy of the letter, but only one will carry your real letter along with the decoy one.”

As I go about the rest of my day, I can’t help but think about Norfolk’s letter. Even when Lady Narcisse joins us for games on the palace green, I seem to find myself unnaturally quiet.

“Are you alright, Majesty?” the new lady asks.

“Yes,” I sigh, “I seem to be daydreaming Saint-German.” 

“Was it different from court?” Elodie asks.

“A little,” I comment, “I mainly miss the homely aspect of it, I think it was the most Scottish place in France.”

Kenna laughs, “The dancing boards certainly think so.”

“Dancing boards.”

“Part of a Scottish traditional dancing, dear Elodie,” Aylee grins, “we use them to practice-”

“Lest we break the floors.” Greer winks.

Lady Narcisse places a hand on her chest.

“Are traditional Scottish dances so vigorous?”

Kenna laughs, sprawling on the grass when Aylee shoves her.

“I’m afraid they can be,” Lola answers, “some peasant girls train for years and compete in the yearly games.”

Elodie grins at Lola, “And do your ladyships consider the dancing too competitive for a Frenchwoman to learn?”

Lola shakes her head, glowing pink, “I do not think so, but it would require an overcast day so as to not ruin your complexion, Lady Narcisse.”

Elodie snorts, then covers her face.

“Do not mind that, Lady Narcisse,” Greer waves, “you should hear the way Scotsmen laugh.”

“Well, then I guess it is fortunate my complexion is as perfect as laugh.”

I notice Lola smile, and I think she might venture a reply, but she doesn’t, and my girls and I go into a calm silence.

“Does anyone wish to return to the picnic,” Aylee asks, “or should I have it returned to the kitchens?”

“Returned to the kitchens,” Kenna answers, “French pastry is too delicious.”

As my eyes graze over the palace green, I notice my uncle John Stewart walking with Lord MacDougal through one of the flower paths.

“Kenna,” I turn, “I wish to bother my uncle and Lord MacDougal, come and join me.”

Groaning, my lady sits up and picks grass from her hair.

“Lola dear,” I smile, “do keep Lady Narcisse happy in our absence.”

My Lady Fleming swallows and Kenna slaps her on the back.

“Maybe you should teach her to breathe, Lady Narcisse.” Kenna winks.

As we walk over, I tell Kenna an English Lord has written to me and we are fashioning to send it off.

“Which lord,” Kenna asks, “a powerful one?”

“Yes,” I answer, “one that my cousin should trust.”

Kenna tenses, air running through her clenched teeth.

“Rich men and their loyalties.” she sighs.

“Political women and their struggles.” I agree.

For the benefit of all present, I tell my Uncle I saw him from my picnic and had to come to see him. Lord MacDougal’s eyes flick to Lady Narcisse.

“I see,” he smiles, “so kind of you, niece, do take my arm?”

Kenna trails behind on my left side, and Lord MacDougal on my uncle's right.

“The tree messengers shall be sent to Dunkirk and set sail for Lowestoft, but their paths diverge in some places,” Uncle John narrates, "we hope this shall confuse French and English spies they may encounter.”

“French spies?” I ask.

“The King is very noisy,” Lord MacDougal comments, “and Queen Catherine has to know everything somehow.”

“When will they leave?” I ask.

“Starting this afternoon,” my uncle answers, “we hope the journey should take around a week.”

This time, when I leave the men, I try to get our secretive work out of my mind.

“Lady Narcisse, do you play pinochle?” 

We play until the sun becomes too hot and Greer fears for my complexion. Kenna seconds that, stating that while my hair is fair, it would not look good with a sunburn. 

“That is true,” I stand, “Lady Elodie, will you be at the banquet tonight?”

“Yes, Majesty,” she straightens, “may I be blessed with your presence?”

Kenna snorts.

“Well, no one can really be blessed with Kenna’s company,” I say, “but I’m sure Lola will be happy to see you this evening.”

Taking Elodie’s arm, Kenna pulls Elodie off to the side, speaking loudly.

“Just so you know, I make wonderful company.”

The six of us walk back towards the palace, giggling as we tease one another about utter nonsense and inconsequential matters. I watch as Elodie squeezes Lola’s hand before turning down the hallway to her brother’s rooms, a moment which Kenna seems to ponder delightfully at Lola’s annoyance.

“I think that was a rather successful morning ladies.”

“I’ll say.” Kenna loudly proclaims.

“Oh hush,” Greer waves, “you were not the one who wrote letters of state before dinner, all you did was spend time with a man.”

“A handsome man.” Kenna corrects, grinning like a fool.

Kenna volunteers to help Greer do an intake of my wardrobe while Aylee and Lola talk with me about Lady Abernathy.

“You were right, Lola,” I read, eyes laughing, “Lady Abernathy and her son wish to come to court.”

“It would be nice to invite them,” Aylee agrees, “it is so unfortunate she’s alone.”

“I’m sure Lady Abernathy is a lion of a woman,” I counter, “especially if she writes to me this frankly, and I imagine being an Ambassador’s wife requires some courage.”

“Then she would do well here,” Aylee continues, building off my words, “what do you think, Lola?”

“As she’s my father’s godmother we can’t say no,” Lola agrees, “but I never actually met her.”

“Then this shall be exciting,” I comment.
As I write my reply to Lady Abernathy, Aylee studies the curtains behind me.

“I confess I think them slightly ugly.”

“They are ugly,” Lola states, “the sage is a nice color, but the pattern is disgusting.” 

“Let’s paint it,” Aylee says suddenly, “we’ll turn them inside out and paint them.”

While my happiest lady runs the idea by my most frivolous one, Lola reads over my letter and takes it to a messenger.

“ Mari ,” Greer sighs, “Kenna is too fond of Aylee’s idea.”

“I’m nae fond,” Kenna corrects, “I’m enamored.”

Smiling to myself, I remind all my ladies that I need a supper outfit for tonight, it’s not a banquet, but there’s no courtly meal that isn’t formal. An hour later and after a quick meeting with my ambassador that brought nothing new, I’m laying on my bed in a dressing gown when a knock shakes the door from the lounge side.

“Queen Marie,” Rose breathes heavily, “he’s coming-”

“Two minutes, Majesty,” Helene finishes, “the Dauphin.”

That gets me up faster than a fire, and Kenna and Greer rush to put proper clothes on me. Lola thanks the maids and goes out to wait for Francis’ arrival. Aylee busies herself with clearing our grape bowls off the beds.

“How do you do, Your Highness,” I hear Lola curtsey, “it’s quite a surprise to see you.”

I stumble, yelping as I roll my ankle and slide to the floor. Kenna covers her laugh with a cough, and my face burns scarlet. I know Francis has heard us.

“Why of course, my Queen can make time to see you,” Lola says loudly, “she shall be right out.”

Aylee helps me stand and leans me on Greer. Kenna opens the door for us.

“Francis.”

My betrothed smiles and my stomach clenches tightly.

“Marie,” he extends his hand, “I was hoping you’d sit with me at the meal this evening.”

My stomach continues to twist so much that it hurts.

“I suppose I can do that, Francis,” I sigh, “thank you for such a kind invitation.”

“Do not worry,” the Dauphin grins wickedly, “I’ve had to push Bash down next to Kenna.”

My lady gasps.

Greer rolls her eyes, “Honestly, Kenna.”

“What?”

Shaking her head, “A skinny malinky longlegs does ye nut in on our first day at court.”

“Greer,” Kenna fidgets, “he’s nae that tall.”

Greer, aiming to argue back, lets me lose slightly and I slip forward.

“Careful, Marie,” Francis catches me, hands on my waist, “I thought I heard you take a fall.”

  I blush redder than should be possible, but Francis doesn’t seem to mind, he guides me onto one of the sofas and sits down next to me. His left and is still on my waist, and I can’t bring myself to look at Kenna because I know she will tease me about this for years.

“Lady Lola,” Francis begins, “does Her Majesty have time in her schedule to be seen by a Humble Prince tomorrow afternoon?”

Lola raises an eyebrow, “I believe she does.”

“Then the Humble Prince is pleased, and he has much to plan.”

Francis stands, and I manage to look at him without looking like a little girl with a crush.

“I’m sure Her Majesty is quite possibly looking forward to it.”

The Dauphin stares at me, taking time to smile at my eyes as my words sink in.

“So is the Humble Prince.”

He leaves and I swear to God, as soon as that door closes I faint.

“Oh, so nows how’s aff her heid?”

Chapter Text

I’m shaken awake by a kindly Aylee who tells me it’s been twenty minutes since Francis left. She helps me stand and takes me into the small closet in the back of our bedroom. Kenna laughs as soon as she sees me.

“Dinnae tell yer Granny tae suck eggs, Kenna,” I huff, trying to control the heat in my cheeks, “you don’t need to tell me something I already know.”

“Oh, Mheri ,” my lady grabs my hands and spins around, “I’m so pleased fer ya!”

“Now, now, Kenna,” Greer chastises in Scots, “let Mheri focus on picking out a dress.”

“A dress,” I gasp, muttering in my native tongue, “I shall need the most beautiful dress, what’s the Dauphin’s favorite color, does anyone know?”

“ Mheri , keep yer heid,” Lola places her hands on my shoulders, returning to French, “why don’t we wear green. It shall go gloriously with yer hair.”

So I wear a green gown with long sleeves and gold embellishments. I wear my most precious necklace, sent by my mother, a gold chain with three emeralds, and Greer does my hair so that some of it hangs down in curls.

“Majesty!” 

Grace opens the door and holds up a box.

“They’re ghillies, Madam!”

All of us ladies are thrilled. We try on the shoes and help each other tie them.

“Ah,” Lola smiles, “this is a real shoe.”

“We should wear them tonight!” Aylee claps.

I agree immediately, and I change my stockings for long, knee-high, dancing socks below my dress.

“Here, Mari,” Kenna walks over with an aureate circlet made of twisted vines, “you should wear this.”

I look at Lola, who grins proudly. I courtesy and let Kenna place the crown on my head.

“You look glorious, Mheri ,” Greer takes my hands, her soft pink dress flowing behind her, “I am glad to see you happy.”

“You make the most beautiful Queen,” Aylee agrees, showing me my glowing reflection in the mirror, “the whole world is lucky to have you.”

Kenna agrees, flipping her hair over her pink-shouldered dress, “Wait till he sees you.”

The sun begins to set and my ladies and I go through a side way into the banquet. I look at the head table first, and Francis is the first one who sees me. He smiles slowly, the warmth in his eyes palpable from across the room. I take my arm and loop it through Kenna’s pulling her along with me. Bash notices us next, and his face goes giddy like his brother’s. That’s when most of the court notices and the talking dies down.

Descending the stairs, I let my head dip slightly towards the head table, hopefully, the King takes notice.

“Queen Marie!”

I think he does.

As I cross the main floor, walking through the dining tables up to where the King sits, I catch sight of my Uncle whispering to the Ambassador. I curtsey to the head table, making eye contact with Queen Catherine rather than King Henry. They both notice, and the King glances cheekily at his wife.

Francis then stands and comes forward to take my hand. While we walk to my seat in between the Dauphin and the Queen, the whole court erupts into commentary. 

“My court,” King Henri stands, “let us truly welcome Queen Marie of Scotland to France, shall we?”

There is cheering and polite claps as Francis pushes my chair in.

“Quite the show.” the Dauphin nudges me.

I smile at him, “Do you like my dress?”

Francis looks me up and down, and I admit my breath catches.

“Yes, Marie, I like your dress very much.”

As we eat we talk about the games we used to play as children.

“I could never find you at cache-cache,” I sigh, “always the master at hiding.”

“And you were the easiest to find.” Francis counters.

“That’s because I couldn’t stand it when you lost,” I argue, “you took way too long to find me when I hid in the tower.”

The Dauphin smiles into his drink and I grin.

The King looks over, “Queen Marie-”

That’s when the gunshot goes off. Everyone screams and I rush under the table faster than Francis. I tug him down with me.

“How,” I ask, looking around, “from where?” 

That’s when I see the blood on Aylee. I scream and crawl forward, rushing to her side as she bleeds out from the floor. It’s her shoulder, the bullet is lodged in, I grab a steak knife and a candle.

“ Mheri .” 

I hand Lola the candle and rip Aylee’s sleeve.

“Mòrachd, banrigh Mheri,” Lord MacDougal's voice calls, “he’s reloading!”

Kenna pulls me back under her table just in time. A bullet slams into the floor where I was standing. Aylee’s body racks in shock.

“Cunningham, gabh seo !” 

Footsteps, then a javelin. I don’t come out until I hear the handcuffs. It’s my Uncle John who helps me stand, pulling me close as Lord MacDougal goes to see the offender. 

“Uncail,” I tug his arm, looking at Aylee, “mo bhean-uasal.”

I rush to my lady, still holding a dinner knife in my hand.

“Aylee, stay still,” I whisper.

Lola comes up beside me, “Mari, we have physicians now.”

I look up, the King of France is watching me intently. Then, in a flash of tartan, Grace and Eilish appear.

“ Mòrachd,” they say, addressing me by my title, “we done heard screams.”

“Take Aylee to the physicians,” I order, my voice leaving no room for argument, “then have Rose and Helene ready.”

When they whisk Aylee away I realize I’m angry. Standing, I let my eyes find the offender. He’s an old man, with blonde-gray hair and black eyes. He’s currently fighting with Lord Cunningham, the head of our security detail, the sly fox we never see.

“ Mheri ,” Lola grabs my arm, “she will be alright, and we are fine.”

I sense Francis near me and I turn, he’s at my elbow.

“Marie, we’re all going to be alright,” he mumbles, but his grip on my arm is tight.

I turn to the man who tried to kill me, and as I see him, his eyes meet mine.

“Keep your country,” his Geordie accent is thick and riled, “don’t take ours!”

As he struggles against Cunnigham, Lord MacDougal punches the offender so hard it echoes.

“Did yer mother nae teach ye tae respect a Queen?” he spits.

“Guards,” the King shouts, “take this criminal below, we have a party to continue!”

I don’t realize I’m shaking until Francis pulls me to him, and in his embrace, I calm down.

“Musicians,” Queen Catherine claps, “play a waltz for the Dauphin and the Scots Queen!”

They do, and Francis pulls me onto the floor.

“Just focus on me,” he whispers, “my father acts like this, but the guards are swarming now.”

So I focus on Francis, and my anger dies down. It’s replaced by fear.

“I have been attacked before, Francis,” I admit, “but that man really wanted to kill me.”

“His mind has been twisted by powerful men,” Francis sighs, “when I am King I won’t manipulate my people like that.”

I stare up at the Dauphin, “That tells me you’re honest.”

Francis nods, a smile tugging at his lips, “I try to be.”
We continue to dance even after the music has stopped, we didn’t notice until the musicians began playing to match our dance. I notice it in Francis’ eyes just as he does. We slow down, separate, and I curtsey.

Applause rings out, and I circle back to my remaining ladies.

“You love him,” Lola looks me in the eye, “and now the world has seen it.”

“Is that worrisome?” I question, looking over at the Dauphin and Bash.

“No, because he cares for you too, France has much persecution power,” Lola takes my hand, “Mari, I’m worried about your heart.”
I look back at my lady, “I appreciate your concern, but I shall be alright, Francis is good.”

Lola nods, but her face still shows anxiety.

“Of course, Majesty.”

We retire early that evening. Rose and Helene draw me a warm bath and I sink into the steamy water. Greer goes to check on Aylee, while Kenna gets in a tub across from me. I don’t know where Lola is, but as my Principal Lady In Waiting, she is likely dealing with the aftermath of this event.

“Mari,” Kenna looks up, “this was worse than that time at Saint Germain.”

“How,” I shift in the water, “it didn’t result in a wound that needed to be cauterized.”

“ Mheri , I just meant-”

“I know, Kenna,” I sigh, rubbing the mark just above my left collarbone, “with all those people, what he said, and the blood on Aylee.”

Kenna shivers, hugging her legs.

“I should thank you more often for staying by my side,” I realize, “the only reason I have this scar is because you jumped on that crossbowman, throwing his aim off.”

“ Mheri , we are your friends, besides your subjects,” Kenna softens, “and so many people care for you, you saw how quick everyone was to act.”

“We heard Scots Gaelic today,” I blink, “I haven’t heard that since my time on Scottish soil.”

Kenna nods, silent and lost in memory.

“And Greer, she caught that false salesman when he tried to scam us.”

“Aye.” Kenna whispers.

“And I wouldn’t be anywhere without Lola’s assistance,” I lean back, “and Lady Narcisse was at your table, I was her age when I got this scar, she must’ve been so scared.”

Rose knocks on the door and pokes her head in.

“Do your ladyships require towels?”

“Yes, please,” I glance at Kenna, smiling sadly, “my skin is beginning to wrinkle.”

“Mine too.”

Helene and Rose come to wrap us up, and when I do I find Grace and Eilish pulling out nightdresses.

“Lady Greer went to bring Lady Aylee her dressing gown,” Eilish explains, “it’s very cold in Nostradamus’ apothecary.”

My eyes slim, Nostradamus is a physician too, I should remember that.

“Let us help you dress, Mòrachd ,” Grace pleads, “Lady Lola hasn’t yet returned.”

“Alright,” I nod, “Rose and Helene shall help Kenna.”

That night I brush my hair in the lounge, near the fireplace, so that it will dry faster. Greer is bathing and Kenna has gone to see Aylee, so I’m alone when Lola walks in. Her face is flustered with hope, the corners of her eyes heavy with tears, and her chest heaves with breath. I can’t tell if she’s relieved or reproachful.

“Lola?”

She jumps, surprised to see me.

“I did not mean to frighten you.” I frown.

Lola swallows, “Majesty, I must be frank.”

Straightening, I tell her she always is.

Lola closes the door and kneels at my feet, “I believe myself in love–I am, in love.”

I tilt my head, examining my lady’s face. She has not spent time with any nobleman that I know of.

“I have kissed Elodie Narcisse,” Lola purges, her voice shaking, “and she admits she cares for me too.”

My jaw falls open.

“I admit I was nae expecting that, Lola,” I swallow, “and I’m not sure I know how that works, but today I realized your help has been invaluable to me, and knowing you are happy brings me much joy.”

“Oh, thank you,” Lola cries, falling into my lap, “thank you, Mheri .”

“You are my Principal Lady, Lola,” I stroke her head, “you are more of a help daily than I can articulate, take time for yourself, and take time to care for Elodie.”

“You are most kind, Majesty,” Lola whimpers, “we fear her father’s reaction.”
“He shall not know,” I tell her, “and you shall be able to spend time with Elodie.”

We all begin the night in my bed, the largest one by far. We talk long into the night, but we spoke of nothing important, we only said things we all already knew.

Chapter Text

I wake up long after the sun has risen. Breakfast should’ve sensibly been eaten hours ago, but we have been asleep. Greer is tumbling around the room in her dressing gown, flittering back and forth between the closet and the vanity. When she sees me awake, she tiptoes over.

“The assassin was interrogated,” she kneels, “your Uncle says the Church of England sent him.”

I blanch, “Is my cousin not the head of that establishment.”

“Aye,” Greer continues, “but because she’s a Catholic she doesn’t care for it, that man likely wants Elizabeth on the throne.”

I frown, “How much more difficult men make things.”

“Aye,” my lady nods, “what should we do, Mari?”

I growl, clutching my sheets, “I need to be seen alive and well, outside, perhaps by peasants.”

“Certainly by them,” Kenna agrees, sliding over with a blanket around her, “I’m sure we are in need of something.”

“A white dress, Greer,” I turn, “with gold embroidery, and red roses.”

As my Mistress of the Robes goes to the closet, I turn to Kenna.

“Today all of your should wear gold dresses,” I instruct, “and I think we should go shopping.”

Kenna giggles and Lola stirs.

“Get dressed and summon Lady Narcisse to do the same,” I sit up, “and tell her to bring her brother.”

Lola wakes up as I get dressed, and she smiles shyly at me.

“Good morning, Lady Fleming.”

“Good morning, Majesty.” she blushes.

After dressing, I rope in Grace and Eilish to go with me to see Aylee.

“She was pale,” Eilish tells me on our way, “but she was so well taken care of.”

“Lady Aylee is strong,” Grace assures her, “and far too kind to be lost.”

Unfortunately, Grace makes me even more nervous. I never considered losing one of my ladies. I don’t think I could manage it. 

The Physicians work in a part of the palace above the kitchens, where it is constantly warm and dark. I myself think there should be more candles here, but apparently, the heat makes the air too sticky for patients to breathe.

“Your Majesty,” a man bows, “your Lady is recovering well, allow me to take you to her.”

Aylee is groggy when we enter her small recovery quarters. She has a large bandage on her shoulder and an unsightly red mark on her neck I hope won’t bruise.

“ Mheri ,” my lady shifts, speaking its Scots Gaelic, “you were so brave yesterday.”

“Oh Aylee, you were even braver,” I tell her, cuddling up to her side, “you are too good for this world.”

Aylee smiles softly, responding she’s happy I’m well.

“I will be happy when you are well,” I tell her, “I look forward to having you by my side again.”

On our way out, we pass a heavy oak door carved with strange symbols and unnatural flowers.

“That’s the Seer’s room,” Eilish whispers, “he walks around a little, then goes back inside”

I nod.

“Twas nae your fault, Queen Mari,” Grace takes my hand, “he only did his job and reacted.”

Back upstairs, my remaining ladies are dressed and Rose and Helene have arrived.

“We brought flowers,” Rose grins, holding up a vase of marigolds, “we know you like these.”

“We hope you are well, Majesty,” Helene continues, “we will help in any way we can.”

Grace takes the flowers and I embrace both maids, an act which surprises the sisters.

“I appreciate your generosity,” I step back, “and as we are going out today, we shall need you to come as well.”

Rose gasps. Shocked, Helene manages to ask if she heard correctly.

“You did, I have decided,” I glance at Kenna, “to embroider a pillow for Prince Charles, and I find myself in need of thread.”

The room bursts into excited noise, running around collecting things while discussing how cute I am.

“Have I missed something?” Elodie asks.

Dressed in gold, Lady Narcisse is standing in the doorway, a quizzical look on her face.

“Mari is going to make Prince Charles a gift,” Greer answers, “and we are going to town to buy thread.”

Elodie gapes, and Lola has to tease her slightly before she becomes self-conscious enough to close it.

“Forgive me, Madam-”

“Do not worry,” I wink, “I shall send you in the carriage with Lady Lola, so she may show you how to hold your face.”

Rose and Eilish go with my lady lovebirds and I assign Grace and Helene to Greer and Kenna.

“My brother can be your escort,” Elodie offers, “he’s waiting in the main foyer if you accept.”

“I should like to meet your brother,” I reply, “let us go.”

We take two carriages down to a square filled with wealthy merchants who often visit the palace. Luc Narcisse points out a fruit stand, and naturally we all have to stop there first.

“Majesty,” the man bows deeply, “what an honor it is you have come to my humble stand.”

“Well, sir,” I grin, “I am in dire need of strawberries.”

With a laugh, the man offers me the best of his bushel, and my ladies and I buy some for our trip. 

“Have you ever had a strawberry, Eilish?” I question.

The maid, who is staring in wonder at the little red fruit, turns it in her hands as she feels the seeds.

“Try one, Eilish,” Kenna suggests.

She does, and the look on my maid’s face after she has tried one is pure joy. Rose, Helene, and Grace try them too, and all gush about the sweetness. Rose even got some juice on her apron she was so pleased.

“There, Majesty,” Elodie gestures, “a sewing shop, I’m sure they’ll have what you need.”

On our way towards the store, I notice people staring.

“Ladies,” I smile, “should a beggar ask for coin give them more than what they ask for.”

Greer hands a mother with three children some francs without being asked, and the woman’s eyes fill with tears.

“Enjoy your day, Madame,” she concludes.

“God bless you, Your Ladyship.

Kenna waves at a little boy, and he waves back.

“Your Majesty,” Luc holds out his hand, “may I help you up?”

I take it, “You may.”

Lola and Elodie are glued together, and because I have a feeling Greer is looking for our wardrobe, I rope Kenna into shopping with me and Luc.

“Your Majesty, I’m afraid I won’t be much help,” he confesses.

“I know,” I tease, “you are just here to hold my purchases.”

“As you wish, Madam.”

At his engagement banquet, I overheard Prince Charles tell Lady Madeline that his favorite color was green, that’s why he was wearing it. The Lady told him he looked handsome with the silver accents, so I make a point to pick out green and silver for his design.

“Do you think it shall be a handkerchief or a pillow?”

“I was thinking a pillow,” I reply, “a small one, but I wish to have enough for a pair of birds.”

The shopkeeper, who is overtly helpful, laughs to hear I am making a gift for one of her princes.

“It’s very kind of you, Majesty,” she nods, “you are ever so thoughtful.

I give a little laugh, “Well, I only hope it pleases him.”

By the time we arrive back at the palace, I am enamored with the idea of a meal. Greer and the maids take our stuff back to our chambers, while Kenna goes to fill in the day’s events to Aylee. Lola and Lady Elodie venture off with Luc, who grins to see them gesture excitedly at one another.

“Majesty,” Helene scampers up to me, “the Duke of Guise has left a note.”

Taking it, I can sense my Uncle’s displeasure in his words. 

“Tell Lady Greer to join me,” I hand Helene the note back, “we’re going to lunch with my uncle.”

My Uncle Francois looks tired, as does his wife, Marguerite, who I remember from her random visits to Saint Germain. My Aunt Louise says her husband is dining with the King, so she will be alone today. My Grandmother arrives in the arm of a holy man I’ve never met before, by the look of his red robes, I’m guessing he’s a Cardinal.

“Marie,” Antoinette de Guise smiles, “your Uncle Charles, Cardinal of Lorraine, has come to visit.”

“Welcome, Uncle Charles,” I hold out my hand, “it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

In the usual fashion of a man devoted to God, my Uncle Charles nods politely but says nothing.

“Charles,” my grandmother nudges, “your niece is happy to see you.”

“And I am happy to see you, Marie,” the Cardinal replies, “it’s been a long journey and you remind me of your mother.”

I give a small chuckle at that, I haven’t seen my mother in years, but I’ve been told I have everything except her nose. I have my father's nose, and the Tudor red hair my cousins are so famous for.

“Marie,” my Uncle, the Duke begins, “there is a rumor that our vineyards are losing money.”

I frown, “Do we know who started this rumor?”

“We think it was Queen Catherine,” my grandmother stares me down, “have you angered her?”

“No,” I shake my head, “but, you did tell me she is protective of her children?”

“Yes.”

The whole table seems to swerve, so I steady myself by grabbing the table.

“Is she mad that someone tried to shoot me when I was near Francis?”

“It’s likely,” my Uncle Francois agrees, “and I believe she saw some of your correspondence somehow.”

I shake my head, “It couldn’t have been breakfast, Uncle John was careful with the letters.”

“Then she must have snuck into your room.”

I gasp, “But that’s so underhanded, I thought the Queen was just cunning?”

My Aunt Louise laughs, “Oh, Marie, some say the Queen is a witch.”

I frown, thinking of my assassin, “Then she must be a very powerful woman indeed.”

“She is,” Antoinette de Guise agrees, “and that is why you must be careful.”

“I want to please her,” I confess.

“That shall come with time,” my grandmother promises, “but for now, try not to get in her way.”

I nod and bite my tongue. If Queen Catherine has read my correspondence, then I really should make an effort to get in her way. 

Attempting to console my family, I tell them of what I wrote to the Dunaways.

“That is good,” my Uncle agrees, “I shall mention it to the King, he does love wine.”

After lunch, I ask Greer why she remained quiet the whole meal.

“I have a list,” she glances around, “starting with how we should hide your correspondence.”

Lola is pleased with Greer’s idea, and while I sit at my desk preparing for the afternoon, they begin looking for a location.

“Mari,” Kenna knocks on the door from the lounge side, “I’m going out with Bash, but your Uncle John is here, should I let him in?”

I nod, “Please.”

My Uncle pulls a chair and sits across from me.

“I have that list of English relatives you should write to,” and sets down a piece of paper, “and I crossed it with known associates of the Duke of Norfolk.”

I open the letter. The list includes Henry Clifford, the Earl of Cumberland, and his wife, my aunt Eleanor Brandon. They have a daughter Margaret, who is apparently superstitious. Second is, of course, my uncle Matthew Stuart, Earl of Lennox, and his wife, the daughter of Margaret Tudor, my aunt Margaret Douglas. Their son Charles is rather young, but my cousin Henry is thirteen. I could bring him to court soon if I needed. The third is Charles Neville, the Earl of Westmoreland. He is a well-known Catholic, and as brother-in-law to the fourth Duke of Norfolk, he would be close. The fourth is Henry Fitzalan, the 12th Earl of Arundel. 

“Thank you, Uncle John,” I look up, “I shall keep you updated on any avenues I pursue.”

My uncle bows, leaving Lola standing at my side.

“This paper says the Earl of Westmoreland has four daughters,” I turn to Lola, “when we get Norfolk’s reply they might come in handy.”

“I agree,” her brow furrows, “and if I may, your cousin Henry Stuart could be made into a loyal follower, he’s young enough and the perfect candidate.”

I stare at the paper, thinking of all the possibilities that could arise from any action I take.

“Marie?”

I look up, Francis is in the doorway. Greer, who is right behind him, holds her hands up in a gesture that says “I tried.”

“Francis,” I stand, handing Lola my paper, “what a surprise.”

The Dauphin raises an eyebrow, “A surprise?”

It takes me a second, then I remember, and a smile warms my face.

“Ah, so not a surprise.” Francis teases.

I walk forward, trying to ignore the butterflies in my stomach, and hold out my hand to the prince.

“Are you ready for our outing?” he asks, sliding his thumb over the back of my hand.

My stomach churns in delight. I like him so much it hurts.

“Yes, Francis,” I manage to breathe, “where are we going?”

Pulling me towards the door, the Dauphin grins.

“ That is the surprise.”

Chapter Text

Francis takes me to an alcove of trees where a picnic has been set up, but that’s not what catches my attention.

“A swing!” I clap, running towards it.

Laughing, Francis follows behind me. I turn back and see him shaking his head, blonde curls bouncing delicately. I slip into the swing seat, too busy looking at Francis to notice where I’m going. The Dauphin runs over to catch me, kneeling in front of me and hugging me from behind.

We’re silent for a moment, then Francis clears his throat.

“Almost fell down there,” he offers a smile, “want me to push you?”

I nod, and Francis spins around to push me, keeping his hands around my waist the whole time. Hopefully, Francis can’t see me blush, Kenna once told me I look redder than my hair when I’m shy. Which is a strange thing, because I’m never shy.

“Marie?”

Francis’ voice pulls me out of my thoughts and I tilt my head around to face him.

“I’ve noticed your ladies say your name differently.”

I chuckle, “That’s an accent, Francis, Mari is the Scots way, and Mheri is Gaelic.”

“Ah,” Francis gently shoves my hips, “I’ve never heard Gaelic.”

“Well, I only know a little Scots Gaelic,” I confess, “most of my education was in Scots, except when it was in French or Latin.”

I can hear the Dauphin grin, “I hear you also speak Spanish.” 

“Only at parties,” I grin back at Francis, “but I’ve been told my accent is terrible.”

“Can’t be that bad,” the Dauphin laughs, “it took me years to learn how to negotiate a treaty.”

I frown, I can’t negotiate a treaty in Spanish, but I do know enough Spanish dances to flirt with an Ambassador.

“Francis,” I use my feet to stop the swing, “do you ever feel like everyone wants you to be bigger than yourself.”

“Isn’t that the fate of an heir?”

“It's the fate of a monarch too,” I look down, “I can’t remember the last time I’ve been allowed to have fun in public.”

“If you like fun,” Francis grins wickedly, “take my hand and join me at our picnic.”

I do, feeling slightly reckless when my hand slips into Francis’s.

“A pastry for her Majesty,” he winks, “I’ve heard you favor strawberries.”

Giddy I let the pastry slide into my fingers. Taking a bite results in a gentle sweetness that melts in my mouth. Warm and soft, I swallow the dessert before smiling at Francis.

“Better than the strawberries at the market?”

Pretending to be surprised, I place a hand on my chest.

“You heard about that?”

“What I want to know is,” the Dauphin leans forward, sliding one arm around my shoulders and the other on my lower back, “why didn’t you get me a gift?”

I raise an eyebrow at him, the playful slight of his lips tells me he’s not serious, but his eyes are impatient. I blush, and with lack of an answer, I respond by kissing the Crown Prince of France.

He’s surprised, but very happy with the outcome. Francis lowers me slightly, angling my chin so that our mouths lock together smoothly. His lips, once playful, are now serious and focused, they make me sigh and I lean back on the blanket, breathing more heavily than a lady should.

“Marie,” Francis grins, nuzzling my neck, “I want to do that again.”

“I’ve been here what,” I roll my eyes, “four days, less?”

“Doesn’t matter,” the Dauphin plants his plush mouth against my collarbone, “I want to know you better.”

His hands apply pressure as his body fully sinks on top of mine, and I give a bashful groan as Francis finds the ache in my shoulders that carry my breasts every day. It takes a moment to realize that my shoulder shouldn’t be out.

“Francis.”

The way I say his name sounds more like a pleasured gasp than a reprimanding command, and something rumbles in the Dauphin’s throat.

“Francis,” the words finally heave out of my chest, “we’re not married.”

My betrothed gives a disgruntled groan before sliding off of me, joining me on the picnic blanket stomach facing up.

I place my hand on his arm, “Francis, do you know why your father doesn’t want us to marry?”

The Prince turns to me, leaning on his elbow to see my eyes directly.

“He said that.”

“Well,” I shuffle, uncomfortable under his weighted gaze, “he said he didn’t think strengthening our alliance was a good idea because of the border skirmishes.”

“Ridiculous,” the Dauphin lies down, “he just doesn’t want to commit to something that could go wrong.”

“Go wrong?”

“Not like that, Mari,” Francis rests his cheek on my bare shoulder, “he likes everything to go his way and thinks everyone should bow to him because he’s the King of France.”

“You know,” I look down at the Prince, “my vineyard in Bordeaux has some wine I think the King should sample, he would be more likened to our cause if he had wine.”

“Our cause?”

Once I register Francis’s gleefully evil tone, I give my shoulders a little shimmy.

“Our marriage,” I roll up onto my side, “do you want to marry me, Francis.”

As the Dauphin is about to answer, a gunshot goes off, and because I’m sixteen and possibly a lovesick fool, I throw myself onto Francis and brace for an attack that will never come.

“Mari,” I can hear him smile as he rubs my back, “we’re near the target practice.”

“Oh,” I sit up, embarrassed, “sorry, I should’ve known, broad daylight.”

“It’s alright,” Francis lazily trails his fingers on my hip, “I really hope you are feeling safe after last night.”

I respond without thinking, “With you, always.”

The way Francis looks at me then is like he’s cradling me with his eyes. His heart is leaking through his face, easing into love gently like a slow waltz between lovebirds.

“Francis.”

Sitting up faster than I knew possible, the Dauphin kisses me roughly, intending to mark his scent on my clothes, in my hair, on my lips. I feel him find my bare shoulder again, and feel his hands leave my lower back as we both realize how we’re sitting.

“Oh, I-”

“Mari,” Francis looks up at me, “we are going to be married, however long it takes, we have to be.” 

“That would please me very much, Francis,” I kiss my betrothed before gently sliding off into the grass, “shall I see you at dinner?”

“As long as you’re there.” the Dauphin promises.

Sliding in and out of my romantic daze of a daydream, I pick roses through the garden and hum lightly on my way up the stairs. Opening the door to my room, I find Kenna sprawled on her bed, giggling to herself.

“I’m going to marry that man, Lola,” she sighs, “I’m going to marry that man.”

“Kenna, ye cannae marry the first man ya meet.”

“Oh but, Lola,” Kenna rolls onto the floor, “his soul kens mine.”

Greer bursts into laughter.

“Kenna, ma bonnie dear, I love ya, I do,” Lola huff, “but, and take heed when I say this, yer bums oot the windae, you just met him.”

“Oh, Lola,” I sigh, flopping onto my own bed, “she’s just a lassie in love.”

“Oh don’t you start too, Mheri ,” Greer jumps in, “I willnae have a queen aff her face for a blonde Prince.”

“But, Greer,” I whine, “ye dunnae ken him like I do.”

“Jesus Christ,” Lola puts down her drink, “ye done gone drunk fer him.”

I begin to giggle, gasping as my hiccups turn to laughter. Tears stream from my eyes as I roll around on my duvet.

“I love him, Lola,” my chin goes wet with saltwater, “I love him and it makes my bellyache.”

Kenna heaves a breathless gasp and her body begins shaking with sobs.

“Lola, it’s like he’s stuck in my heid forever,” Kenna bangs a fist on the floor, “I nae have no gumption, Lola, I want to make him a meal.”

“Kenna Livingston,” Greer’s shocked tone emulates through her body language, “ye cannae even cook.”

Rolling over, Kenna sobs some more. Once it becomes clear she will not get off the floor, Lola and Greer half-drag half-throw her onto her bed.

“He has the most beautiful eyes,” I reflect, going into my memories, “I want him to look at me forever, so I can look back.”

Looking between Kenna and I, Greer announces it is time food a Siesta. As Lola gives instructions that we are to sleep and not talk to each other, I realize why they call it lovesick.

“Ye hear me?”

“Yes, Lola.”

My Principal Lady In Waiting looks between us, “Greer will be in the lounge mending. Mheri , I will wake you before the Ambassador comes.”

“Thank you, Lola,” I whisper, my throat strangely rough.

As Greer and Lola leave, I find myself focusing on the surroundings of my room, trying to reorient myself.

“Mari,” Kenna whispers, “I cannae believe this is happening to me.”

“It must be both a blessing and a curse,” I agree, “I never would’ve thought this possible.”

Our whispers die down as the weight of the day settles on us, and I drift off to sleep dreaming of Francis, feeling like I know what I want now. 

“ Mheri ,” Lola mumbles quietly, “ye must get up.”

I whine.

“Pass the time so ye can see him again,” Lola offers, “the Ambassador will be here soon.”

Forcing myself to sit up, I let my lady fix my hair and put my dress back on before going to meet MacDougal in the receiving room.

“Your Majesty,” my Ambassador bows, “John Stuart told me of your plans to write to your English acquaintances, I must say I think we should do it soon, we need all avenues open for when Queen Mary dies.”

I sigh, “I suppose you are of the opinion the Lady Elizabeth is dangerous to me.”

“Aye, Madam,” he nods, “I myself am not the most religious man alive, but I do know that manipulators use religion to achieve their ends.”

“So you want me to reign over England?” I ask, fishing for answers.

Lord MacDougal’s eyebrows jump up, “If your Majesty wants to, you are high in the line of succession, but Scotland has more need for your attention now.”

“I agree,” I sit down at my desk, “have there been any more skirmishes?

“No, Madam,” the Ambassador frowns, “but we are low on soldiers, and we need to be secure.”

“Would the English Queen not see this as an act of aggression?” I wonder.

“We would not be raising an army,” MacDougal explains to me, “we might have to ask our French allies for some.”

My skin crawls at asking King Henry for anything.

“King Henry probably sees me a corn stock doll,” I frown, “he’s also uncommonly smart for a heavy drinker.”

Lord MacDougal snorts.

“I don’t want to ask Francis,” I shake my head, “do you think Queen Catherine would listen to me?”

Lord Macdougal says she could, but that is a long shot.

“When does my Mother need the soldiers by?” I ask my Ambassador.

“By the wheat harvest this autumn,” he answers, “tensions are always rife around then.”

“That is four weeks from now,” my eyebrows scrunch, “am I right, wheat was planted in the Spring?”

“Aye, Madam.”

“We should send them in a way it cannot be inferred as aggressive,” I think out loud, “what if it were for a festival?”

“Beltane Day is in early May this year, Madam.” MacDougal offers.

I huff, “That gives me a week to ask and prepare, and then three weeks to send them.”

I take out a piece of paper and make sure to ask after the Queen. 

“Now I wish to write to my mother,” I tell my ambassador, “do you think I should write to the Lennoxes as well, maybe the Cumberlands as well?”

“Definitely the Lennoxes,” the Ambassador stands, “the Earl of Cumberland is a Protestant, and he could be religious, he might feel it is a heavenly order to report you to your cousin the Queen.”

“Then I shall focus it on family affairs,” I conclude, “I shall be friendly, build a relationship before I ask for anything.”

MacDougal leaves and I write to my mother, spending a few lines gushing about Francis before getting back to the business of ruling Scotland. Then I write to the Earl and Countess of Cumberland, making sure to mention I should love to have a kinswoman as a friend, and beckon Lola to the door.

“My Mother, and the Earl of Cumberland,” I tell her, “take them to the Royal Messengers, please.” 

“One for each?”

I pause, “One for each, I will write to the Lennoxes soon, that will require more secrecy in transport.”

After Lola leaves, I hear Greer wake up Kenna and they begin to coordinate our outfits. I put down my quill and spend a few minutes fawning with Kenna over my date, after which she tells me about hers. Apparently, my lady likes to climb apple trees now.

“Ladies, ladies, please,” Greer waves a silk shawl, “I cannot decide what metallic accent to add to Mari’s gown.”

We decide on gold, navy, and gold for my dress, and silver accents on baby blue gowns for my ladies. When Lola returns, she brings a letter with her.

“Lady Abernathy,” she announces, “shall I read it to you?”

“Please, do.”

“If it pleases Her Most Scottish Majesty,” Lola raises an eyebrow, “my son Garrett and I humbly accept your invasion to visit the Queen at Court.”

Greer laces me in, while Lola reads, not too rough to tight lace me, but just enough to feel comfortable with my body.

“More pleasantries,” Lola summarizes, “oh, she suggests her good friend Lord Castleroy as an excellent merchant of fabrics and furs.”

“Write that down,” I advise Lola, “and I wish to meet with Queen Catherine.”
The whole room freezes.

“I shall explain myself, Ladies,” I gesture, “and no, I am not mad.”

Chapter Text

“So you want to meet with Queen Catherine,” Kenna frowns, “why?”

“She hasn’t really been welcoming.” Greer agrees.

“A multitude of reasons,” I admit, “but mainly diplomacy.”

Lola bristles, “I shall ask one of her ladies at the party for a meeting.”

“You won’t be alone, Lola,” I tell her, “I’ll make sure of it.”

We leave just as dinner starts so we can spend a couple of minutes with Aylee. She’s happy to see us all together, and, most excitingly, she’s sitting up.

“I’m so glad to see my guardian angel with her wings again.”

Aylee blushes, “Oh, Mheri .”

Kenna sits down on the edge of Aylee’s bed and tells her both she and I went on dates.

“Each with our respective sons of the King.”

Greer snorts.

“We both had wonderful times,” I tell my lady.

“Aye,” Lola agrees, “ne’er have I seen those two glaikit over a lad.”

“Um nae glaikit.” Kenna huffs.

“Maybe, but ye’ve gone screwball fer him, Kenna,” Lola wags her finger at me, “and ye too, Mari.”

I sigh, “I’ll admit to it plainly.”

Greer gives Aylee a kiss on the head.

“We must go now, Aylee,” she winks, “our lassies have to see their lads.”

Because we enter from a different door, we’re not announced by a crier, although it feels like everyone in the banquet hall is looking at us. I smile pleasantly, hoping the few whispers I see being exchanged are less than cruel.

“Marie!” 

The Duke and Duchess of Guise embrace me warmly, three small children just behind them.

I bend down, “Are these my cousins? They are quite beautiful and well-mannered children.”

“Louis, Antoinette, and Henri,” my Aunt caresses all their heads, “I am glad to be reunited with them again.”

I boop Louis’ nose and give Antoinette a ribbon from my wrist. The baby, Louis, can’t be more than two and reaches out to me.

“They’re so wonderful,” I smile at my aunt, “congratulations on such a happy brood.”

My Uncle offers me his arm and my Aunt takes the baby back. As I walk with the Duke of Guise, he tells me that the King has heard I’ve spent alone time with his son.

“Then the Queen will have too,” I interpret, “I have a plan, don’t worry, we shall not be enemies.”

I can tell when I go greet my Uncle Charles and Grandmother that they too have heard this rumor, and Antoinette de Guise gives me a trace down the chin. My Aunt Louise comes over with her husband and introduces her three children: Charles, Renée, and Katrine. All are under five, and I find them all so adorable I kiss them each.

“I’ve never seen children at court,” I observe.

“This is supposed to be a more relaxed dinner,” Aunt Louise grins, glancing at her husband, “our as relaxed as court can be.”

I notice Lord Cunningham in the corner, so I wink at my Aunt and tell her I’ll keep her insight in mind. 

“ Mo Thigherna ,” I say, addressing Cunningham by his title in Scottish Gaelic, “I wish to thank you for yesterday’s efforts.”

“It is my duty and pleasure, mòrachd ,” he bows, “Lord MacDougal has told me you went to town this morning?”

“Aye,” I nod, “I made sure to have an escort, I just had to be seen.”

“I do not question your judgment, Banrigh Mheri ,” Lord Cunningham assures me, “I only care for your safety.”

“And I thank you, sir,” I nod, “for the wonderful job you have done so far.”

I’m not sitting at the head table tonight because all the seats are taken, I scooch in next to Kenna.

“If you don’t mind, Majesty,” Bash appears from another table, “may I sit there.”

I grin, “Well, maybe you can, Greer, make some room.”

I move across the table and sit with my other two ladies, nudging Lola good-naturedly.

“People noticed you did that, they may think you’re a pushover,” she responds.

I pick up my goblet, “Let them try me.”

I cheer my glass with Kenna’s and Greer pulls my hair back.

“Their Majesties the King and Queen of France!”

We all have to stand, it’s the polite thing to do, but I admit I stand to see if Francis is behind them.

“His Highness the Dauphin of France.”

I find his eyes as he sits at the main table, he smiles at me and I wink back at him before turning to face Kenna and Bash. The former looks shocked, and the latter looks thrilled.

“Their Highnesses Prince Henri and Princess Elisabeth of France.”

We all sit down as Henri takes his seat, and I let my eyes glance over his face. He has the King’s dark brown hair but the Queen’s brown eyes. He’s a child, but he already seems to know how to brood.

“So, Marie,” Bash begins as the food is served, “I hear you like strawberry pastries.”

“Do you not,” I question, “Bash?”

“No,” Kenna shakes her head, “he prefers another fruit.”

“Apples.” he clarifies.

Lola sighs.

“I know,” Greer chimes in, “fortunately I see the Narcisse children coming our way.”

Luc and Elodie join us, Elodie next to Kenna and Luc next to Lola.

“Fast friends with Narcisse blood,” Bash passes Luc a serving platter, “your father works fast.”

“Kindness works faster,” Luc counters, “if Her Majesty wasn’t so kind to my sister to find her a friend in Lady Fleming I don’t know what we would’ve done.”

Kenna leans back on Bash, angling herself so she can lean on him.

“Did you enjoy the fabric you got, Elodie?”

“Oh yes,” the youngest of us blushes, “Lady Lola helped me find a ribbon to match it.”

“It really looks lovely on you, Elodie,” Lola comments, doing a good job of keeping her face steady, “we should go shopping more often.”

“We should.” Elodie smiles softly.

Bash offers Kenna a forkful of food, she takes it from him.

“You know, Mari,” she swallows, “I miss haggis.”

Greer shivers, “Why?”

“It’s nae that bad, Greer,” Lola places a hand on Greer’s arm, “just do think about where it came from.”

“Where does haggis come from?” Luc asks aloud.

“Meat pudding,” I answer, grabbing my goblet, “served in the stomach of the animal that gave the meat.”

Luc blanches.

“It’s Scotland’s national dish,” Lola explains, “and it gives foreigners a great sense of how Scottish folk do culture.”

I sigh.

“It’s actually delicious,” Lola explains, “but Kenna seems to miss it because she’s extra meaty.”

Kenna blushes, moving away from Bash more than a little too fast. I laugh out loud, covering my mouth more than a little too late. The sound echoes across the banquet hall and my Grandmother raises an eyebrow at me.

“Excuse me,” I cough, “that wasnae funny.”

“Yer damn right it wasnae,” Kenna huffs, “I didnae ken that could come out of yer geggie.”

Bash blinks.

“Would you like me to translate for you, Bash?” Lola smiles.

“No,” Kenna glares at Lola, “you’ve done enough translating for tonight.”

“Oh my,” I pretend to be distressed, “what shall I do with ladies like these?”

Luc chuckles, and Elodie pipes up.

“Is Lady Aylee well,” she asks, “I’ve heard you’ve been to visit her.”

“She is doing better,” Lola tells her, “she sat up today.”

“That’s good news,” Lady Narcisse grins softly, “I don’t want to learn that Scottish dance without her guidance.”

Luc looks at his sister, “Do not learn a Scottish dance.”

“Why not?”

“Elodie,” Luc pauses, “Scottish dances are-”

“Gloriously fun,” I answer for him, “not to mention it would shock your Father.”

Elodie blinks, “Really?”

“Yes,” Lola winks, “so much kicking and jumping the likes the French Court has never seen.”

I chuckle, twisting my fork around.

“You know, Bash,” I look at Kenna, “my lady would be happy to teach you Scottish dancing.”

“I’d like to learn Scottish dancing,” Francis sits down next to Bash, pushing him over, “but I’d like you to teach me, Meri.”

I clutch my pearls as Francis smirks at me from across the table, and he’s just so charming I have to grin back.

“Fortunately I am an excellent dancer,” I tell the Dauphin, “but I do always prefer dancing with a partner.”

We stare at each other for a little while, raising our eyebrows at one another and trying to outdo the other’s facial expressions.

“Oh my God,” Greer whistles, “three days in.”

“Quite the record.” Elodie agrees.

“I don’t know, Bonnie Elodie,” Lola rests her head on the backs of her hands, “Kenna and Bash may be poised to beat them.”

Kenna and I make eye contact, both grinning like giddy clowns.

“Wow.”

“Awful.”

The rest of the evening meal goes by too quickly, but Lola sneaks off to the room for a minute, though I catch her in the lie when I see her talking to Queen Catherine while we walk into the ballroom. 

“Meri.”

I turn back to Francis.

“I love how you say my name.”

“I combined the two different ways your ladies do,” the Dauphin explains, “I’m glad you like it.”

I blush, “It comes from you, Francis, there’s no way I couldn’t.”

The ballroom is beautiful, and I love how the candles glisten high up, allowing light in without it being too hot.

“Would you like to meet my Grandmother?” I blurt.

Francis grins, “I’m met Antoinette de Guise before.”

“Oh I’m sure, Your Highness,” I spin, grabbing the Dauphin’s hand, “but now you get to meet my Grandmother.”

My Uncle Francois is overjoyed to see the Crown Prince hold my hand on his arm, and he is more than kind to the Prince. My Aunts are more subtle, but still in awe. It’s my Grandmother who is hard as a rock.

“Madame de Guise,” Francis bows, “I’m glad to meet you again.”

“Is that so?”

“It is,” the Dauphin smiles politely, “Meri adores you.”

I turn to Francis, going red very quickly.

“Well I adore my granddaughter,” Antoinette de Guise takes my hand, “she seems very happy to be around you.”

Francis glances my way, smiling knowingly, “I’m happy to be around her.”

Music begins, and everyone is surprised to see the King and Queen on the dance floor. As the whole room watches, King Henri and Catherine de Medici smirk at each other, clearly loving being the center of attention while possibly scheming.

“Come,” Francis whispers as the music dies down, “let’s see my mother.”

My nerves go ecstatic at the thought, and my whole stomach is full of fluttering birds as we approach.

“Mother, Father,” the Dauphin addresses the King and Queen so calmly it’s mortifying, “you remember Meri.”

King Henry gazes down at me in a way that hopes to be condescending but is really just amused. I go into a full-court curtsey, lowering my head slightly to break eye contact.

“Your Majesties,” I look up, glancing at the King for less time than the Queen, “tonight I wish to approach you not as a Queen, but as a young woman, and I am always eager for your good opinion.”

“You are,” Catherine de Medici questions, “I always liked red-haired women, fiery though they be.”

King Henri II laughs, offering me his hands and pulling me upwards.

“Marie, darling, you are a seraph, muse, and rose all in one,” he spins me around, “you make a lovely Queen of Scotland.”

I thank the King most kindly for his compliment, blushing a pretty pink and keeping my eyelashes low to appear modest. 

I put my hand on Francis’ arm, “It has been a joy living at your court, Majesties, and I feel I have received a warmer welcome than Charlemagne did upon entering the Kingdom of Heaven.”

The King of France likes that, he likes that a lot.

“Catherine,” he turns, “I am going to have a talk with my son, walk with Queen Marie.”

Chapter Text

Queen Catherine makes no attempt to be subtle.

“Your lady said you wanted to speak to me,” her eyes slither over me, “and I take it this has more than to do with my son.”

I make no attempt to lie, “You would be correct.”

Francis and the King have gone out into the gardens, and the Queen pulls me up onto the dais. Plopping herself on the King’s throne, she grins and waves at Diane immaterly.

“Sit down, Marie,” the Queen turns to me, “that’s my throne, and I don’t mind.”

I glance at Catherine de Medici, and I decide then that she must be some level of chaotically evil. 

“As you wish, Your Majesty.”

And I sit on her throne. I hear the whole room go silent as I adjust, turning to angle myself towards the Queen of France.

“I wanted to speak to Your Majesty for two reasons,” I admit, “one of which, as you have guessed, is business.”

Catherine de Medici hums gleefully, “And the second.”

“Francis, Majesty.”

The Queen faces me, lounging on the throne so that her back is on the arm.

“Tell me, Marie,” she grins like a shark, “why do you want to marry Francis.”

Without thinking, I soften, “He’s perfect.”

The Queen begins laughing, a long, extended period of laughing that sends her beckoning for a drink.

“You there,” she points, “bring Queen Marie some chardonnay!”

Picking up the after-dessert snacks on a tray next to her, the Queen waves at me.

“Continue.”

“Your Majesty,” I smooth down my skirt, “I want to be a King, but I want to be a woman.”

“A Woman King,” Catherine de Medici wiggles her eyebrows, “you want to be like me, but with the divine right to rule on your own.”

“I will not be taken seriously, Madame,” I tell the Queen, “I may never well be, but I know Francis could support me through all of that.”

“And what of his kingdom?”

“Your Majesty,” I raise my eyes to the Queen’s, “I have not been to my homeland in twelve years, I am sixteen and a stranger in a foreign land, I do not know if I will ever go back to Scotland, but it is my job to ensure my children will, and I don’t want to attempt that without your son.”

Catherine de Medici has gone from a viper to a housecat, her leg dangles lazily as she hoists it over the throne arm.

“My blessing for your wedding cannot be final,” the Queen examines me, “why not ask the King.”

“Dare I say it, Madame,” I swallow, “but in my esteem, his blessing is worth less than yours.”

The Queen’s eyebrows raise.

“The King is giving me a thing,” I explain, “you are giving me one-third of your security.”

“Ah,” Catherine de Medici sighs, “the worth of a son.”

“Aye, Madame,” I wait till the Queen looks up at me, “your Majesty is also the most cunning of all the women at court-”

Catherine de Medici shrugs, “Your grandmother may beg to differ.”

“You see things in many layers,” I remind her, “the King sees me only as a plaything for his son.”

“So you’ve noticed,” the Queen huffs, “that is why you’ve come to me for business.”

I nod, “Correct, Majesty.”

“Then spit it out.”

I straighten, gaining confidence that adjusts my posture. I sit straight, albeit sideways, with my legs at an angle.

“Madame, Scotland is in need of soldiers.”

“You always are.” the Queen gestures.

Ignoring the slight, I force myself to continue.

“We celebrate a festival called Beltane in early May, if your Majesty agrees to send French soldiers to Scotland, we could pretend they are there for a parade-”

“As to not aggravate the English,” Catherine de Medici finished, “very clever, Marie, but you have not told me what you mean to offer me.”

I shiver slightly, feeling goosebumps appear on my arms.

“Your Majesty holds my future in her hands,” I remind her, “I cannot marry without your word, and that gives you power over me.”

Queen Catherine lets her eyes dwindle, going away to search my soul for intent as I sit here squeamish.

“I shall accept that as payment,” the Queen sits up gracefully and holds out her hand, “I shall decide when your wedding is, and all details are up to me.”

I raise my hand from my lap, “There will be a few ceremonial nods to Scotland.”

“Naturally,” Catherine de Medici clasps my hand, “I wish you well in the French Court, Marie.”
I shake the Queen’s hand, thanking her for her time.

“Well, would you look at that!”

The King’s voice echoes loudly throughout the ballroom, and the whole room turns to look at him.

“Women doing business like men, what a laugh!”

Then he begins to laugh, and forcefully, the whole court follows suit.

Turning to Queen Catherine, I give her a polite nod, “You are most gracious, Majesty.”

“Go on, Marie, the world needs more chances for women kings.” is my reply.

Stepping off the dias, I make a full curtsey to the King from across the room, hold it, then walk over to my grandmother’s entourage. My ladies come up to me, and I ask my Uncle de Guise loudly if I can play with the children. He agrees.

Slowly the party goes back to normal. The King and Queen bicker over if she should move so he can sit on his throne. Diane de Poitiers gets bored of their antics and retires. I dismiss Kenna early when I notice Bash has gone for a long walk in the garden, and my Grandmother remains stern, watching the whole party.

“Do you remember Princess Elisabeth de Valois,” my Uncle Charles asks, “you and she were good companions when you were younger, she spent many days at Saint Germain?”

“Of course,” I smile at the Cardinal, “she helped me practice dancing in the French way.”

“Well, she is standing alone in the corner behind us,” my Uncle notes, “watching you.”

I nod bid Renée goodbye and take Lola on my arm. Greer follows behind us as we walk near Leeza, and I turn ever so slightly to catch her eye. The Princess smiles warmly at me and we cross over to her.

“Your Majesty.” She curtsies.

“Your Highness,” I respond in kind.

“It has been a while,” Leeza smiles, “I believe you have grown taller than when we last met at thirteen.”

“I should hope so,” I smile, “I believe it has helped me come into my dancing shoes.”

“But you danced so lovelily with my brother yesterday.” Leeza winks.

I chuckle satirically, scanning the room for Francis.

“He stepped out for a minute,” Leeza grins, “but I’m sure he’ll be back for you.”

I blush, hating that my childhood best friend has gotten to me.

“Greer, Lola,” Leeza nods, “it’s been a while.”

Both my ladies greet the Princess politely, they never really cared much for Leeza, and I will admit, she can be very vain.

“My sixteenth birthday is in a couple of weeks,” Leeza begins, “you were sixteen last January were you not?”

I affirm Leeza’s statement, asking why she would bring that up.

“It took so long for you to come to court,” the Princess observes, “you would’ve met Olivia if you’d been here last January.”

“Olivia,” I ask, “who is she?”

Without missing a beat, Elisabeth de Valois grins, “My brother’s old flame, we all thought she would be his mistress, but fortunately, that was six months ago, and it looks like my brother’s mourning period is over.”

I blink, that can’t be true.

“You’ve been here for three days, right?”

Elisabeth de Valois picks up a glass, “If you’d been here more you’d know that we gave up on the Scottish Alliance long ago.”

I go cold and Leeza walks away.

“Bitch.” Kenna growls.

I turn, “Where did you come from?”

“My date, but I heard enough,” Kenna continues, “if she’s expecting a French lady she should know Scotswomen aren’t pussies.”

Lola is horrified, “Kenna.”

“We nae are,” I agree, looping my arm through Kenna’s, “you know, I think we should make the most of that unfortunate Sassenach .”

“Oh?”

Lola’s voice is stern, “ Mheri .”

“Let’s retire,” I tell Greer, “there’s much to do.”

It’s only nine o’clock, but my ladies and I sneak out. Our presence will be noticed later.

“What is it?” Lola questions.

“We must write to the Lennoxes,” I say, “and the Earls of Westmoreland and Arundel.”

In my room, we craft a letter to Westmorland first. Introducing myself and thanking him for his efforts to my cousin and her loyal supporter, the Duke of Norfolk. Then I write that France doubts Scotland’s alliance, but I know I can count on England and her love of the Tudor Rose. I ask about his daughters and his plans for them, expressing interest in their futures. Then I ask him to kiss the Duke of Norfolk for me, in a very clever jest that makes me laugh every time. 

Arundel’s letter is much the same, although I ask him about his little girl’s options, alluding to marriage, in a court where she must keep her faith a secret. Secondly, I ask if the Duke of Norfolk is in contact with my mother and her ambassador to England, I remind the Earl that a Queen needs advisors and that I would be happy to assist him to a good position if he proves himself worthy.

“And the Lennoxes?” Lola asks.

“Uncle John suggested I mold Henry to be my loyal knight,” I speak in Scots Gaelic, “should I write directly to him?”

“That’s genius,” Greer grins, “his parents will be thrilled.”

So I write to my Dear Cousin Henry about the beginning of my adventure at French Court, making sure to include that there is a very low reel dancing skill in this country. I also tell the teenager that I should like a brother to act as my guardian from the unnatural French way of decadence, and I would be happy to get to know a clansman in England who understands the trials of young adulthood and nobility.

“Wow, Mari,” Kenna winks, “laying it on thick.”

I laugh and seal the letters while Greer goes to get Ambassador MacDougal.

“His Lordship, Charles Neville, Earl of Westmorland,” the Ambassador reads, “His Lordship, Henry Fitzalan, Earl of Arundel, his Lordship, Henry Stuart, Lord Darnley.”

Looking at me, my Ambassador remarks that I am a natural at what I do.

“Thank you, Lord MacDougal,” I smile, “let me know as soon as any reply arrives.”

“These shall be sent with all confidence,” he promises, “can you spare any more of your male servants.”

I nod, “I can.”

Chapter Text

It’s not until the next morning that I feel uneasy. Francis and this Olivia. Should I be concerned? Of course, I’m concerned. Leeza– Princess Elisabeth knew I would be. I’ve shown the whole court I love Francis, I’ve been so foolish, I’ve opened myself up to attacks.

“Mari,” Greer comes back, “Lord MacDougal is preparing the messengers, so I went to visit Aylee.”

I sit up.

“She’s healing quickly,” Greer continues, “but it will be a while before she’s able to play again.”

Aylee spent much of her time at the Convent strumming a guitar. She told the Nuns it was so she could play prayer, but music gives her such happiness that I know Aylee needed to keep the loneliness at bay.

“Poor Aylee,” Kenna sighs, “she wanted to learn the fiddle.”

“We should be as kind as we can when she returns.” Lola states.

I look up, “Did the Physicians give you a date?”

“Yes,” Greer grins, “she should be out at the end of the week.”

Kenna claps, “That’s wonderful news!”

“It certainly is,” I’m elated, we shall be whole again, “we should welcome her back with something special.”

That night I dream of Francis, but he’s with a blonde woman. I watch as he kisses her, and in my dream, I beg him to tell me he loves me, but he doesn’t. I wake up crying.

“ Mheri .”

Lola rests on the edge of my bed, gripping my hand tightly.

“Did you have a nightmare?”

“I want to believe that Leeza was wrong,” I tell her, “but I know she’s not. Men can do that you know, have freedom.”

“I do know, Mari,” Lola shakes, “once, at the Nunnery, I confessed that I didn’t blush after boys the way other girls did.”

I frown, unable to understand.

“The Nun I confessed to,” Lola swallows, “she was like me, and I knew the way she hugged me was wrong.”

It takes a second, then I gasp.

“Oh, Lola,” anger courses through me, “you should’ve told me.”

“She was accused of witchcraft a week later,” Lola explains, “I told the man who was prosecuting her, but he was so condescending.”

“Lola-”

“I’m telling you this story so you don’t get taken advantage of,” Lola comes close to me, “and that includes Francis.”

I exhale, “I have to ask him, it may be awful, but I have to know.”

“That sounds like a worry for tomorrow,” Lola wipes my forehead with her sleeve, “tonight you need your rest.”

I try to get back to sleep for hours, and when I finally do, I awake a handful of hours later with sunlight in my eyes.

“ Mheri ,” Lola is at my bedside, “we shall have fun today, rest, we’ll wake you when it’s time.”

So I go back to sleep. I think it’s about eight o’clock when Lola nudges me softly.

“Come on, Majesty ,” she grins, “Kenna has decided we’re to teach Elodie how to dance.”

I get dressed in traditional Scottish costume, I haven’t worn it since before we left for France, and as I slip on the long socks, it feels far too long. I’m wearing green and white, Lola is in Fleming blue, and Greer, who I find preparing for a morning on the lawn, is in Beaton blue.

“I suppose Kenna must feel fortunate her tartan is red,” I smile, tying my ghillies, “the color does wonders for her.”

I dawn a long, burgundy cloak to shield me against the morning dew, and let my ladies lead me down to the grass lawn in the back of the castle. I gasp as a familiar face waves to me from a chair.

“Aylee!”

Choosing to wear her tartan instead of the traditional dancewear, Aylee is wrapped up warm under a damask pavilion. Next to her, the Deveroux maids are setting up our morning meal, and a little ways away, Grace and Eilish are chatting with an elderly woman with lines of grace on her face and a young man with a mop of copper hair. I smile.

“Lady Abernathy,” I hold out my hand, “I am so glad you came to court!”

“Well, we couldn’t refuse Your Majesty’s kind offer,” Lady Abernathy’s raven hair is streaked with white that matches her teeth when she grins, “and who could waste such a braw day?”

I notice Garrett Abernathy glancing at the wooden boards that have been set down on the green.

“Lord Abernathy, do you dance?” I question lightly, very giddy with my gestures.

Young Garrett does, and naturally, this favorite is the Highland Fling.

“Oh my,” Elodie treads through the grass, calling from far away, “this all looks very Scottish.”

I introduce Lady Narcisse to Lady Abernathy and her son, both are happy to hear she came to court with her father and brother.

“Luc should be here soon,” Elodie grins at Lola, “Lady Fleming was kind enough to invite him.”

Lola shrugs, a sloppy grin marking her face, “We do need enough partners.” 

I suggest we all sit down to eat. As I much on sweetmeats and crunchy bread, I learn about the Abernathy’s journey here.

“It is wonderful to hear Scots again,” Garrett gestures, “you never hear it the way it’s supposed to be spoken at University.”

“Do they use it scholarly?” Aylee asks.

“To better understand Chaucer,” Garrett nods, “as strange as using the Scottish language is to study an English text.”

“The French,” I sigh, “unaware that our Island is more than Hampton Court.”

“This is very true,” Lady Abernathy agrees, “how I long for some proper shortbread.”

Kenna nods.

“I must ask,” Elodie begins, “what is Scotland really like, here we only hear of miserable weather and ‘savage barbarians.’”

I laugh, “We do have terrible weather.”

“Dear Elodie,” Lady Abernathy’s eyes go wistful, “Scotland is beautiful in the Summer, with fields of heather and the tallest mountains on the Isle of Britannia.”

That word catches my ears. Britannia, the word used by King Arthur for the whole of his Kingdom. England, Scotland, Wales, and Ireland. I admit all my mother’s pride has ever wanted is to make me Queen of Britannia and Queen Consort of France. I do not know if that shall ever take place, but I do know that my actions have already laid the seeds that could sprout that possibility. Norfolk, Westmoreland, Arundel, Cumberland, and Lennox. 

It strikes me that I need solid allies in Scotland. I shall write when my messenger lads come back.

“Mari.”

I blink.

“Luc has arrived,” Greer announces, “Elodie, have you convinced him to learn?”

Lady Narcisse smiles, “let’s hope so.”

Lord Narcisse shakes hands with Garrett Abernathy, who introduces himself as his instructor in Scottish dance.

“I shall be a most eager student.” Luc Narcisse grins.

Grace hands Aylee a guitar hidden in the long grass. 

“Bonnie, Lady Aylee,” Garrett Abernathy frowns, “can ye play wit yer shoulder?”

“I can try,” my lady admits, “we dunnae have pipes, so we must do our best.”

Lady Abernathy opens a fiddle case.

“I shall assist the Lady Aylee,” she grins, “it has been a long time since I’ve played a reel.”

“A reel,” I clap, “we must start with a reel!”

“Excellent idea, Mheri ,” Kenna winks, “we have to warm up after all.”

I grab Lola and pull her onto the dance floor, Kenna jumps up right beside me. Greer links her arm through Garrett’s and the Narcisse siblings meander after us.

“You’re seven,” Lady Abernathy realizes, “Eilish, go join your mistresses.”

My maid giggles and holds Greer’s hand, blushing slightly as she holds on to Garrett’s with her left.

“Dancers, show the Narcisse siblings some grace,” Lady Abernathy winks, “we begin with the Round Reel of eight!”

It is the greatest understatement in the history of time to say that Luc and Elodie are confused. The stepping in patterns unnatural to them make the dance almost impossible, but Elodie and Luc are vigilant. We go through a couple of rounds of them fumbling before Luc manages to get the hang of the rhythm. Elodie just seems to like spinning with Lola. As the song ends we slow, chests heaving heavily and eyes watering with laughter.

“Mari, Mari,” Kenna spins me around, “the Highland Fling.”

“Kenna,” I sigh, “we need swords.”

Thankfully, Garrett Abernathy pulls out his blade and lays it on the floor before my feet.

“If Her Majesty must dance we should all assist in her efforts.”

“I agree,” Luc unsheathes his sword and passes it to Garrett, “may her Majesty and Lady Livingston enjoy.”

As Garrett places the sword in a cross at my feet, Kenna walks around to the other side, feet pointed in anticipation.

“First,” Lola tells Elodie, “the dancers bow to one another.”

Kenna and I make eye contact, bending at the hips while keeping our backs straight and our heads up.

“Then they begin.”

The purpose of the Highland Fling is to flick off the English as done before a battle, but now it’s become a part of the culture .

“Gaun’ yersel,” Grace cheers, “kick hard, Majesty!”

“Jump Kenna,” Eilish bangs the table, “you’d be pure, dead brilliant if ye just jumped!”

“What was that spin, Kenna,” Greer shouts, “are ye steamin er somethin?”

“Step it out, lassies,” Lola laughs, “step it on out!”

I can hear Aylee strum violently, harmonizing with Lady Abernathy’s lead tune on the fiddle.

“What’s this?”

If Kenna and I could freeze mid-jump, we would’ve.

“Your Royal Highness,” Lola curtsies, “we didn’t see you there.”

“You have very strange dancing in Scotland,” Leeza huffs, “and what are you wearing?”

I slip my hand into Kenna’s. Bash is behind Elizabeth with Lord Cunningham, I try to make him meet my eyes, but he’s looking above us. I turn to see what he’s looking at, and it’s the King and Queen of France. I turn and curtsey immediately.

“That’s certainly a strange dance,” King Henri grins with a lousy smugness, “but every country showcases their lady legs in different ways.”

I blink, then look at Kenna. He did not just say that.

“Queen Marie,” Queen Catherine interjects, “I see Lady Abernathy and her son have joined you.”

“Aye, Madame,” I respond, standing and trying not to shake.

“I should like you to bring them to tea this afternoon,” Catherine de Medici grins, “you will be happy to know I considered your request.”

I thank the Queen of France.

“It shall be done,” Catherine de Medici’s eyes glimmer in the morning sun, “how I am excited to see what you do.”

Then she leaves, and I am scared. More than scared, I am horrified.

“She’s planning something.” Lady Abernathy mumbles.

Leeza laughs at me, loudly proclaiming the grotesque nature of my shoes. Lord Cunningham is angry, but he holds his brows even.

“Madam,” he approaches, “your Uncle wishes you to know the status of your correspondence.” 

I take his arm, telling my maids to clean up.

“They traveled for three days straight,” he nods, “they’ve arrived in Framlingham.”

I smile, Framlingham is where Norfolk’s castle is located.

“Your Mother should receive your letter in two days, as well Londesborough Hall, Cumberland’s current residence.”

“And the rest?” I ask.

“The Lennox Letter is crossing the Channel,” Cunningham tells me we paid to see them off, “the rest are in Le Havre.”

“Two days, three days, four,” I tell my security guard, “thank ye kindly.”

I hear Kenna thanking the Abernathys for coming, and I hear Garrett slight the King of France, a feat which his mother doesn’t scold him for. Lola comes over to me and I meet hher halfway.

“The food will go to the lounge,” she tells me, “I’ve sent Greer up to assemble a tea outfit for you.”

I nod, glancing over at Aylee.

“She played well today,” I comment.

“I agree,” Lola sigs, “unfortunately this will affect her confidence.”

I frown, “It will for all of us.”

My Principal Lady-In-Waiting has Lord Cunningham take me upstairs while she finishes down here. I take Aylee with me, wheeling her chair as she gives me directions. It’s not until we get back to the recovery room that Aylee starts to cry.

“How dare they say that about us,” she sniffles, “they’re so rude.”

“The French are rude to anyone who isn’t French,” Lord Cunningham replies, helping Aylee to bed, “they are prideful and see themselves as superior.”

I kiss my lady’s head and draw the covers up over her.

“I will send someone to visit you today,” I tell her, “and don’t worry, French pride will not make us run scared from this country.”

“Aye, Majesty,” Lord Cunningham seconds, “ Wha duar meddle wi me .”

No one can harm me unpunished. The motto of Scotland, my Scotland.

“Leeza won’t be cruel to you anymore,” I promise Aylee, “I’ll make sure of it.

Chapter Text

Tea will be held in one of the Queen’s rooms. So I ascend to the royal corridor, the one with all the personal chambers of the French royals. I look around, unsure of where to go, when a blonde saunters out of a room I know to be Francis’s. I watch her short stature skip over to the  guards in front of what must be the Queen’s chambers. 

In a flash of anger, I walk over to the Dauphin’s room and push open the door. Francis is sitting at a desk, sketching something. He doesn’t look up when I enter.

“What a liar the Dauphin is.”

That gets his attention, and, mouth agape, he stares at me.

“How wonderful it must be to go through life as a man and have the power and protection a woman in your position would never have.

“Meri-”

“Queen Marie,” I correct the Dauphin, “and if your Royal Highness planned on making me a whure, I suggest you return to your empty-headed French lady and release me from our engagement.”

Francis stands.

“I have many more Kingdoms on my mind than France,” I tell him, arms crossed and petty as a wicked child, “your little joke has not been appreciated, and it is definitely not funny.”

I leave, making my way to the Queen Chambers in a foul mood.

“Queen Marie of Scotland!”

Olivia, the blonde woman, looks straight at me. I stare back. My scowl seems to make her smug, but I decide to turn to the Queen.

“Your Majesty,” I curtsey, “I thank you for your invitation.”

“Of course, Queen Marie,” Catherine de Medici smiles with venom in her teeth, “women have to look out for each other, no? Let me introduce you to your rival for my son’s affections.”

Olivia stands, flutters her eyebrows, and curtseys higher than she should’ve to a Queen. She notices me notice and sits down.

“I thought Your Majesty would look more French.”

“You must be confused,” I tell her, “if you think that greeting is appropriate for that of a Queen Regent, of course, as a woman whose only use is to be a plaything must have never conceived of a woman ruling kingdoms in her own right.”

Olivia narrows her eyes, face fuming.

“My island has more than English Roses,” I inform the girl, moving to use my height as an advantage, “now that you’ve met a Scotswoman, I’d say you’d be safer to stab yourself to sleep at night.”

“That’s not true, Olivia,” Princess Elisabeth calls from the other end of the table, “no one in their right mind would fear Marie.”

I sit down next to the Queen, “And no one in their right mind would think you have the head for governance.”

Leeza’s lip curls, “We received the same education.”

“Really,” I switch to Scots, smiling as Olivia finches at my vocabulary “I wasn’t aware you spoke my mother tongue?”

The room is silent.

“Perhaps, Scottish Gaelic then,” I switch to the language, pretending to be kind, “you must be very fluent if you had our education.”

No one speaks.

“Do you speak Welsh?” I ask, using the only sentence in that tongue that I can say.

Still, everyone is quiet.

I shrug, “Oh well, I suppose we did not receive the same education then, dear Marguerite, what do you think, you save the same Governess as your sister and I did.”

Seven-year-old Marguerite de Valois looks up from her embroidery, smiling haughtily.

“Madame says she likes me better than Elisabeth.”

Leeza coughs, “She said that to Claude too.”

Claude de Valois is the third sister, she was also sent to a convent when I was about ten. I guess she still must be there.

“Have you come to berate my daughters, Marie,” Queen Catherine inquires, “or have you come for some other purpose?”

“I have,” I straighten, “I came to thank your Majesty for the soldiers you sent Scotland.”

“I have ordered them,” The French Queen corrects, “they have not been sent.”

Olivia looks between me and the Queen.

“Let’s have tea,” Leeza waves, “I don’t want to be here.”

I glare at Olivia so long my eyes hurt, and she dares to tell me that my behavior is unbecoming of a Queen.

I drop my spoon. It clatters.

“And how would you have me receive you?” 

“Gracefully,” Olivia stands, showing off one of Diane’s favorite dresses, “women are always grace, even when they lose.”

That angers me more than any words can express. My hands clench my napkin so hard it tears.

“You’ve loved him three days,” Olivia continues, “I’ve loved him for years.”

“Do not presume to know who gets my love,” I bristle, “but you should know I have none for you.”

I stand and turn to Queen Catherine.

“Thank you for tea, it really has been lovely.

Then I turn my back on the women and leave. Leeza gasps. My steps speed up as I pass Francis’ room and they don’t stop until I get to my Grandmother’s room. The tears spring up as soon as I see her, and I collapse into her arms, crying.

“Marie Stuart!”

“Grandmére she’s come back!”

“Marie-”

 I wail, “Francis doesn’t love me!”

“What,” my grandmother takes me into her lap, “no, Marie-”

“They’ve brought his mistress back,” I sob, “he has a mistress.”

Antoinette de Guise goes feral with curses no noblewoman should know.

“Olivia, this is obviously the King and Queen,” she mutters, “the bastards want to delay your marriage.”

I sink into my grandmother’s arms, “I can’t do this Grandmére-”

“Marie Stuart-”

I tumble to the floor, “He said he wanted to marry me-”

I gasp roughly and a fit of coughing shakes my body.

“He was lying!” I finish, hot tears catching my tongue.

“Marie-”

I keep sobbing, wailing until three sets of feet scamper into the room.

“Get Lady Fleming,” my grandmother orders, “and prepare a bath for the Queen.”

I hear the feet thunder off, but my stomach bracing the floor, I don’t bother to raise my chin.

“Everything he ever said-”

“Marie!”

Antoinette de Guise is iron and my muscles have no choice but to obey her.

“Marie, you will marry Francis, and-”

“He doesn’t love me, Grandmére!” I shout, pounding my fists on the floor.

“Marie Stuart, do not act like a child,” Antoinette de Guise commands, “men have mistresses, society practically makes them do it-”

I roll over, eyes blurry.

“How I wish I were a man, Grandmére.”

Antoinette de Guise heaves a sigh of labor.

“There is no woman in this day and age who hasn’t wished that, Marie, you must be strong.”

“Everything would’ve been easier if I were a man,” I continue on, feeling my face puff up with blotches, “Scotland would be better off for it.”

“That may not be true, Marie,” my Grandmother counters, “you can serve your country as a woman, at this point, Scotland is lucky to have you.”

“But I am a worthless woman,” I throw my arms out, “my own Ambassador had to be reminded to tell me things.”

Antoinette de Guise stands so fast that her chair skids on the floor behind her, “Marie you are not worthless, you are the combination of the hopes and dreams as well as sufferings and pain of hundreds of women, we have manipulated the rules of men to give you power. Never say you are worthless again.”

Like a slap echoing in my skull, that knocks some sense into me.

“You will get in the bath, Marie Stuart,” she tells me, “and you will recover.”
I do get in the bath, and not only does Lola come but Greer does too.

“We’ve come to help.” my lady says solemnly.

“It’s true,” Lola agrees, “and that lassie will regret much this day.”

In the bath, I tell my grandmother I want dinner in my room tonight.

“That is not possible,” Antoinette de Guise refuses, “show them you are unafraid.”

So two hours later I’m sitting next to Francis on the royal dias. In a deep purple gown with the Crown of Scotland on my head. I am practically bathed in pearls and my hair is so complicated it’s almost tacky.

“You didn’t have to be so rude to her,” are the first words the Dauphin says to me.

“You didn’t have to lie to me.” I remind him.

Francis shifts next to me, “I didn’t lie to you.”

The King of France stands up and reaches over to Queen Catherine, taking her hand.

“There is news,” he calls, waiting for the room to quiet before he continues, “the King of Spain is making his way to England, and he intends to stop here!”

The room bursts into noise, mostly excited, because the king of Spain is coming. A young, married man with a lonely wife and immense riches and titles. How lovely.

“He shall be here in the Spring,” King Henri exaggerates loudly, effectively shutting everyone up, “There shall be a great celebration in his honor!”

Now there is cheering, and I clap politely, still in a bad mood. The King sits down, and, after a rather large bite of venison, turns to me, chewing openly.

“It shall be fun to have another monarch in our midst,” he comments, “and a man at that.”

I pick up my goblet, “Am I not good enough as a man?”

The King of France pretends to be wounded, “Marie-”

“Because if that is what you meant, I disagree.”

“Well,” King Henri finishes chewing, “women are prone to emotional swayings of the heart that mess with their mind.”

I know he is referring to monthly blood, but even with the terrible pain I receive every thirty days, I believe that statement false. I believe it false with my every being.

“You know,” I smile, picking up my goblet again, “they say my ancestor Elizabeth Woodville was an enchantress.”

“Ah yes,” the French King nods, “the Countess who enamored the King of England.”

“I love how her daughter, Elizabeth of York, was the daughter, niece, sister, and wife of Kings,” I take a sip, “tell me, do you think she too was an enchantress? I mean, to survive in the world of men she must’ve been at least a witch.”

King Henry leans back, clearly intrigued by my question.

“Elizabeth of York a witch,” he repeats loud enough for the first few tables to hear, “what do you think Marie?”

“I know her mother was called ‘The White Queen’ and I know we remember Elizabeth of York as ‘The Good Queen’,” I place my cup down, “but if any Tudor woman was an enchantress, I think it was my grandmother, Margaret Tudor.”

I notice more courtiers listening, and judging by the King’s face, he wants me to continue.

“The firstborn granddaughter of a witch through the maternal line,” I pick up my knife and decide to cut a slice of meat, “not only that, the English Queen of Scotland is buried in Methven, near witch lake.”

I take a small bite of the venison, then pat my lips.

“They say she cursed Catherine of Aragon to miscarry a son after the Battle of Flodden because she was so enraged with the murder of her husband,” I face Francis, “of course, a woman is only a witch if a man calls her as such, much like a similar word used to describe dogs that rhymes with the label.”

King Henri snorts.

“How interesting a conversation, Queen Marie,” taking his wine, the King nudges Francis, “do you know what she’s getting at?”

“My point is that women are just as capable as men,” lowering my voice, I narrow my eyes at the King, “I did not appreciate that slight you decided I was worthy of, in my opinion, I am far better than manipulative misogyny.”
My Grandmother is at the front table and knowing she hears all of this gives me strength.

“I only meant to peeve, Your Majesty,” King Henri responds, light-heartedly reaching for his wine and missing, “if anything, you are perfectly suited to this business. You seem to be nasty enough at the negotiation table.”

I smile, taking the backhanded compliment, “Thank you, Your Majesty, all the women in my maternal line that can be traced back to Garsenda of Forcalquier are honored by your statement.”

“Your grandmother certainly is,” Queen Catherine interrupts, raising her goblet at me, “you give quite stirring speeches, Meri.”

My smile becomes sincere at the name, and I nod respectfully at Queen Catherine, showing her my heart.

“She will end up like your mother.” The King of France mutters dryly to Francis.

“She already is,” Francis replies, his eyes searching my face, “I seem to wonder where her heart has gone.”

Chapter Text

That wounds me, and everyone at the high table knows it. Leeza on the far side, Queen Catherine next to her, The King, and most especially Francis.

“Ah,” King Henri grins, “the woman does have a heart.”

“She does,” I answer, staring down Francis, “and it is filled with her country.”

After dinner, there is dancing, and the Dauphin dances with Olivia. I do not weep. I turn to my grandmother and ask for female spies.

“Good idea,” she answers, eyes on the Prince, “and how will the Abernathys serve you?”

My eyes find Garrett Abernathy, nineteen and smart.

“Lord Garrett is a good dancer,” I answer, “so he must be a good swordsman.”

“And the mother?” Antoinette de Guise continues.

I raise my chin, scanning the room, “I need someone to be my link with Queen Catherine.”

“I know a woman who can send you some girls,” my grandmother nods, “a woman needs an army just as much as a man.”

My eyes fall on Kenna, she’s in the corner flirting with Bash. Then I look to Greer, who is talking with Lady Abernathy and Garrett. Lola is with Elodie by the sweets table, both are smiling. All of a sudden, I am struck by an old Scottish Tale my nursemaid told me.

“Grandmére,” I smile softly, looking at my ladies, “they say the Vikings were fearful to invade Scotland, the tale goes that a Battle of Shieldmaidens was so bloody it grew the first field of Heather flowers.”

My grandmother turns to me, more confused than intrigued, “Battle of Shieldmaidens?”

“A shieldmaiden is a woman warrior in the service of the Queen, they get their names from the shields they carry into battle to protect their mistress.”

Smiling at Antoinette de Guise, I tell her I want a shieldmaiden.

“Marie Stuart-”

I look at my ladies again. Kenna has her head tilted and a hip jutting out. Even from behind her I can see the raised eyebrow of the face I know very well.

“Kenna,” I stand, “it shall be Kenna.”

Bash bows when he sees me coming, and I’m surprised to watch him leave.

“This Olivia is putting a damper on our relationship too,” Kenna whispers, “Bash stands up for Francis when he shouldn’t.”

“Perhaps I need a shieldmaiden to stand up for me,” I tell her, eyes glowing like cunning jewels, “in fact, I wonder if you are up to the task.”

Kenna grins, leaning back against the wall, her arms spread out.

“Me,” she muses, “a shieldmaiden?”

“You have the muscle and the vigor for it,” I wink, “besides, what will the Mother Superior say when she hears of your daring exploits?”

Kenna raises her chin, “She will say good riddance.”

We laugh, unbound, and proud of ourselves. Linking arms, we saunter over to Greer and the Abernathys.

“Lord Garrett,” I begin, “do you think a woman can fight?”

“Most certainly,” he replies, glancing sideways at his mother, “they are known for fighting.”

Lady Abernathy huffs.

I lower my voice, “How would you feel about making Kenna a swordswoman?”

Garrett’s eyes go wide and he looks at her.

“Well, unusual your request may be, Majesty,” Garrett shakes his head, “I would hate to meet Lady Livingston on the battlefield.”

Kenna giggles.

“Sall we dance, then,” she shimmies, “there are many details to work out.”

“I agree.”

My Uncle Francois approaches me then, and I take his arm when he offers it.

“We do not like Olivia gaining presence where you should be.”

“Neither do I.”

My Uncle takes me for a spin, “With the King of Spain coming, anything could happen.”

I twirl.

“Norfolk has received my reply,” I tell him, “if the King of Spain is coming, it is good I have written to the Isle.”

“Who else?” questions the Duke of Guise as he sidesteps me.

“My Mother, Uncle Cumberland, Cousin Darnley, the Earl of Arundel, and the Earl of Westmoreland.”

Francois de Guise grins the way his mother does when something goes his way.

“Go for the Greys next,” he tells me, “they say the Queen is rather fond of the younger sisters.”

I nod, “I must be vigilant, Scottish lords may be useful too.”

The dance finishes, and I curtsey. Next, I make my way to Lady Abernathy.

“Networking are we?” she smiles.

I frown, “Is it that obvious?” 

“You are talking to your friends closely,” she observes, “try someone new.”

“I shall,” I smile, eyes finding Elodie and Lola with a woman I don’t know, “and I suggest you make friends with the Queen.”

Lady Abernathy clicks her tongue, “True scorpions, her ladies are, they will consider me a spy.”

“Maybe you fall in with them on accident,” I suggest rather non innocently, “right place at the right time.”

I take my leave, finding Greer halfway to Lola and Elodie.

“Olivia just kissed Francis’s cheek,” she sighs, “in public, right now.” 

I turn and see the Dauphin smiling.

“We should have fun,” I force out, my eyes sad, “something fun.”

“A dance?” Greer ventures.

“No.”

Olivia sees me looking and pushes herself onto Francis, I turn immediately.

“Pig,” Greer spits, “a pig with doe eyes.”

Tightly I grab Greer’s arm and pull her over to Lola and Elodie.

“Let’s invite Olivia on a hunting trip.”

Elodie blanches.

“That is the worst idea I’ve ever heard.” Lola agrees.

“But, we could bring Garrett, Luc, Francis, and Bash,” I explain, trying to keep my voice even on the Dauphin’s name.

“ Mheri ,” Lola exhales, letting her Gaelic come out fluidly, “do not push yourself.”

“I have to try,” I respond in kind, taking her hands.

So, that evening, we tell our maids to get the page boys to prepare for a hunting trip. By the morning meal, everyone has heard what we’re doing, even though we haven’t left our rooms. Olivia received an invitation I hand-wrote to her, and Lord, never has acting condescending been so fun.

Eilish squeals, “You look lovely, Majesty.” 

I do. A forest green ensemble complemented with silver accents, and, quite scandalously, I’m wearing leggings under my skirt and coat.

“You’ve changed, Mari,” Kenna comments, “Her Majesty is bold in a way I’ve never seen.”

Glancing in the mirror, I notice it too. In the way my shoulders bear pride, in the way my lungs are full of sweet air, and in the way my hips and knees move together in strong femininity.

“Ladies,” I announce, “I am going to hunt me a man.”

Greer snorts, and Kenna outright laughs, falling against the wall. It’s Lola who reminds them that this could possibly be dangerous for me.

In response, I give a little shimmy, “You cannae roll dice if ye have no playin table.” 

With a sigh, I take my three ladies down to the main foyer, where Luc and Garrett are waiting.

“I didn’t know you hunted, Majesty,” Lord Narcisse nods gracefully, “although I am grateful for the invitation.”

“I’m glad of it,” I smile, “the larger the party the better.”

Bash comes down next, and his face completely changes when he sees Kenna. He manages to hide his smile, but his eyes glow with adoration as he holds her face. Slowly, he approaches Kenna, who holds out her hand.

“Quite the surprise, eh, Bash?”

“A welcome one.” he responds, kissing my lady’s hand.

Then a high-pitched giggle erupts from the top of the stairs. It’s a giddy, bashful sound with vowels shaped like honey. My insides grow cold at the thought of Francis romancing Olivia, and all of a sudden I feel as though my value has slipped away. Olivia and Francis appear on the stairwell, and with a prideful flourish encouraged by Olivia, they descend. 

I meet the Dauphin’s eyes as he looks up, and my whole demeanor melts. He called me heartless yesterday, I prayed with tears he didn’t mean that.

“Queen Marie.” 

I swallow, “Your Royal Highness.”

Silence follows, but I gaze at him, and he gazes back at me. The seconds seem to stretch so long that I feel I should say something, so I open my mouth to speak.

“Francis,” Olivia flirts, a slight edge in her voice, “aren’t you going to come down the stairs?”

I close my eyes. The Dauphin stopped in his tracks when he saw me. He stopped for me.

“I’m coming.”

But the Dauphin’s eyes don’t leave mine until he’s reached the lower floor.

Olivia tugs his arm, “Francis?”

Only then does he look away from me, letting his focus turn to Olivia.

“Will you teach me how to hunt, Francis?”

Before he can reply, Kenna interrupts him.

“Mari can’t hunt either, but she can sure as hell shoot.”

Francis turns to me, and I blush.

“She’ll be fine,” Olivia huffs, “this was her idea.”

Francis looks at me still, Bash has to smack his arm to get his attention.

“Let’s go.”

So we go out to the main gate where eight horses are waiting, along with my Uncle John.

“MacDougal insists I come with ye,” he apologizes, “there are bandits in the forest.”

Kenna frowns, “We can take good care of Mari.” 

“I know, Lady Livingston,” John Stewart gives the French the side-eye, “but we Scots take care of our own.”

Garret offers me his hand, and I take it, but then realize I must ask my uncle a question.

“Must I ride sidesaddle?

“Aye.”

I let Garrett lift me onto my horse, trying to spread my cloak so it covers the fact I’m wearing trousers. My ladies do the same, and Olivia looks at us strangely.

“Uncle John,” I turn, “where should we go?”

Olivia snorts, “The forest, obviously.”

My Uncle ignores her.

“I ken the French enjoy venison, let’s venture into the southern area of the woods.”

So we go, Olivia bumbling questions at Francis the entire way to the woods, and Kenna and Bash make a game of rolling her eyes at her.

“Honestly, Lassie,” spit jumps from between John Stewart’s teeth, “just shut it will ya!”

Olivia gapes.

“We all know yer a whure, ye dunnae need to act like a lady.”

I can’t help it, I burst out laughing. Shrill and hearty I have to lean onto my horse’s mane it begins to hurt so much. Kenna is laughing with me, and even Greer is chuckling, but Francis glares angrily at my uncle.

“You must understand, Your Royal Highness,” Garrett chips in, “where we come from, that is the common tongue among the aristocracy.”

Bash snorts, “What interesting tongues on the Scottish nobility.”

“I could show you how interesting Scottish tongues are.”

John Stewart sighs, “Lady Livingston, I’m gunna pretend I didnae hear that you say that.”

I laugh again, throwing my head back.

“ Uncail ,” I grin, “while you are here there shall be no spoiling our fun.”

“ Mheri ,” my uncle raises an eyebrow, “I used to rub fronts with Livingston’s nanny.”

Kenna gasps in delighted horror.

“You didnae!”

I shake my head, “Uncle, please, stop talking.”

“That explains a lot if that’s true,” Lola tells Luc loudly, “I was made to see the Mother Superior once, likely about that nanny.” 

Bash snorts, “Kenna, I can’t imagine you in a convent.”

“Don’t,” Greer offers, “she was nae a willy-willy.”

“I don’t know what that word means,” Bash admits, “but I won’t push you any further.”

“Good choice.”

Olivia huffs.

“You, John Stewart, should apologize to me.”

My uncle outright barks, “Ha, I’ve sailed across the sea, been to battle, and met the King of France, but one thing I’ve never done is apologize to a whure.”

I give one chuckle before swallowing my humor.

“Do not worry, Olivia,” I smile brightly, “my Uncle will nae call you a whure again, you have my word.”

Grunting, the Frenchwoman mumbles the day she takes my word is the day the plague leaves for good.

I respond simply, “That would nae be a bad thing.” 

When we arrive in the forest, Garrett gets off his horse and bends in the dirt.

“These can’t be animal tracks,” he comments.

My Uncle squints, “Aye, lad, that is no beastie.”

That’s when the gunshot goes off.

Chapter Text

I rear my horse and take off northwest, in the parallel direction of the shot. Kenna calls after me, but I let myself focus on what’s in front of me. It takes a couple of seconds before I hear the horse hooves behind me, and then I spur my horse on faster.

“Meri, Meri, it’s me!”

I slow down, but not fully. Still, a second horse comes up beside me. Francis, the rider, looks at me sternly.

“No one was trying to kill you.” he thunders.

I gape, “But-” 

“We’re in the forest, near the shooting grounds.”

I freeze, then my hands start shaking and my vision goes blurry.

“Meri-”

I slip left, and the Dauphin has to pull me onto his horse behind him.

“Meri,” he whispers softly, his hand on my knee, “you’re alright.”

Unfortunately, my anxiety has made me practically hysterical with paranoia.

“Meri, you’re safe with me-”

I manage to spit the word “bigamist” through my gasps. And after that, I feel the Prince sliding off the horse. I cry harder.

“Meri,” Francis takes me into his arms, cradling my head to his chest, “you do not trust me now, I know, but I would die before I let anything happen to you.”

I calm down slightly, regaining slight normality in my breath, but that’s when I hear the sound of another horse.

“Don’t let me die,” I beg, gripping tightly to the Dauphin.

The rider stops, I hear no noise, then, the animal snorts and turns the other way.

“Meri,” Francis whispers, “breathe deeply, there is no danger.”

Then I hear my name being called, in Scots Gaelic.

“I’m here, Uncail !” I reply, voice shaking.

John Stewart stops upon seeing me on the ground with Francis.

“You are alright, Mheri ?”

“Yes,” I nod, trying not to quiver “what was the shot?”

“The palace shooting grounds,” he answers, “I’m afraid we made a circle.”

I swallow and make a smooth effort to stand elegantly, steadying my breath, I raise my head and push down my shoulders.

“Uncle John, I wish to go back.”

“Of course, Mari,” John Stewart dismounts, “I shall get your horse for you.”

Francis stands and dusts off his pants, then, when my Uncle leads my horse over, he lifts me onto it.

“I shall see you at the evening meal, yes?”

“Yes,” my voice is small, “thank you, Francis.”

John Stewart doesn’t speak until we are out of the Dauphin’s earshot.

“He clearly cares for you deeply,” my Uncle observes, “it doesn’t make sense that Olivia is here.”

I respond curtly, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

After we’ve all changed, Lola suggests we find an exposed lounge to embroider in, to quiet the whispers of why we’re back so early. So we do, ending up on the main floor surrounded by fresh fruits and sweet-smelling drinks. My muscles seem to relax as I begin to sew Prince Charles his present, and I notice Greer is sketching out new dress ideas.

“Those look lovely,” I comment, “will you take Lady Abernathy’s advice and visit her merchant?”

“Perhaps,” Greer concentrates hard on her design, “but I want to have a sturdy amount of pieces before I go.”

“You must take me with you,” Kenna winks, “imagine a whole room filled with silks.”

Lola sighs, closing her book.

“Mari, may I go see Aylee?”

I nod and remind my lady to invite Elodie to join us. Lola smiles shyly, and I wonder how she and her lady love are doing. I would’ve never thought my Lady Fleming would fall in love with Lady Narcisse, but then again, I didn’t notice Elodie liking her back. 

“Mari,” Kenna waves, “may I introduce you to Lady Baglioni?”

I look up, a young woman curtsies to me, clearly a year older than I, but her silence gives me pause.

“Your Majesty.” 

Lady Baglioni sounds nervous, never has someone been nervous to meet me before.

“Please, stand,” I tell her, “it’s a pleasure to meet a friend of Lady Livingston’s.”

The Lady blushes, “It is Lady Livingston that had been a good friend.”

“Oh?”

“Cadenza is new to the court,” Kenna explains, “but she plays the flute and is Italian!”

I snort,” Dear Kenna, I know you’ve always wanted to learn, but be more subtle, will you?”

Greer laughs.

“Lady Cadenza, may I call you that,” I ask, continuing without waiting for an answer, “please join us, I see you have your instrument handy.”

Visibly relieved, Lady Baglioni sits down against Kenna’s chair, because she is embroidering a rose, my Lady Livingston asks Cadenza to play a song about roses. Her music is lovely, vibrant, and lively while easing the stiffness in my posture.

“That’s beautiful, Cadenza,” I clap when she finishes, “keep playing.”

So while Cadenza plays, Greer designs, Kenna embroiders, and I pop a blueberry into my mouth. I feel calm, and safe, waving to Aylee as Lola pushes her chair over to us. Cadenza stops her tune to complement the sheet music in Aylee’s hand.

“Oh, thank you,” my Lady Seton squirms, “your tune is so languid for the staccato notes.”

The two introduce themselves and talk music a little more before Elodie appears on Lola’s arm.

“I brought my easel,” she smiles at my lady, “I hope that’s fine.”

“Of course it’s fine,” Lola grins, “it’s more than fine.”

Lady Fleming pulls over a chair for Elodie and helps her set up, I wink at Aylee, who beams so strong it rivals the sun. I push Aylee over next to Cadenza and Kenna, the latter kisses Aylee’s cheek.

“Loch Lomond, Aylee,” Kenna sighs, “if I can’t be home then I will admire it from afar.”

I stitch a couple more threads before the singing part begins.

“By yon bonnie banks, and by yon bonnie braes,” I breathe, “where the sun shines bright on Loch Lomond.”

I close my eyes and smile, “Where me and my true love will ever want to go, on the bonnie, bonnie banks of Loch Lomond.”

“Oh ye’ll tak the high road, and I’ll tak the low,” Kenna hums, “and I’ll be in Scotland before ye, where me and my true love will never meet again-”

I harmonize, “On the bonnie, bonnie banks of Loch Lomond.”

Aylee picks up the tune from there, her voice soaring gracefully as Ben Nevis but gentle as a summer gael. Tears spring behind my eyes, so I lean back on my chaise lounge.

“Oh ye’ll tak the high road and I’ll tak the low,” I can hear Greer smiles as she joins in, “and I’ll be in Scotland before ye, where me and my true love will never meet again-”

“On the bonnie banks of Loch Lomond.”

The five of us, harmonizing on the last line of poetry, makes me sob, a small little sound that causes the tears to spill.

“Do you remember, Aylee,” Lola sighs, “when we ran barefoot through the heather as little girls?”

“The Queen Mother was furious-”

I smile at that, picturing my mother’s face.

“We had the wind in our hair and the sun on our faces,” Greer continues, “and she was worried about Mari getting freckles.”

“And the mud on our soles,” I remind my ladies, eyes still closed, “Kenna, do you remember how we climbed that tree.”

“Our first and last time.” Kenna agrees.

Sitting up, I wipe my eyes.

“Scotland is romanticized in my mind,” I admit, “but it has been so long since I was on my own soil.”

“You will be there again, Madam,” Lady Abernathy’s voice promises, “as will the three hundred soldiers leaving for Edinburgh.”

I exhale, asking her if it’s true.

“Aye,” Lady Abernathy nods, “the Dauphin voiced his mother’s support. We shall be prepared if there is ever a skirmish again, Majesty.”

I soften into an elated grin, “That pleases me, Lady Abernathy, knowing that I have supported my countrymen.”

“It will please them too,” she assures, “and sent as a festival gift for Beltane, how clever.”

That is all I can do, provide and protect from afar.

“One day you shall see bonnie Scotland again,” Lady Abernathy assures, “it’s almost impossible you don’t.”

Lady Baglioni is the daughter of an Italian Duke sent to marry a French nobleman. More than anything, she wants to make her mother proud, but she misses Venice.

“Perhaps one day,” Elodie stares off into the distance, “it shall be much easier to be a woman.”

“One day.” I second, thinking of all the men who my birthright for themselves.

We disband to get ready for dinner, but I make sure to invite Cadenza to join our circle for dancing after the meal. Kenna helps me get ready today, and i confess to her what happened when Francis rode after me.

“It was Olivia, Mheri ,” Kenna explains, “she rode back to the palace ahead of us because she was so upset.”

“I don’t understand Francis,” I shake my head, “I don’t understand us.”

“Have no fear, Mary,” Lady Livingston takes my hands in hers, “no one can harm you unpunished, and as your shieldmaiden, I mean any type of harm.”

I embrace Kenna, “I thank you, I should’ve headed Lola’s advice.”

That night at dinner, Olivia is placed on the right of the King of France and the left of the Dauphin, I am to his right. At the other end of the table, Catherine de Medici and Elisabeth de Valois plot about Spain. 

I hardly eat. Every time Olivia speaks I flinch, why is she here, and at the head table? Francis said he would die before he’d let anything happen to me, but did he also say that to Olivia? As if to background my thoughts, the musicians begin a lamenting waltz.

“Ah, music must be female, no, Olivia,” the King leans over, “she is so emotional?”

“She must be,” Olivia agrees, “men don’t have that range of emotions.”

The King laughs, but Francis doesn’t. Instead, he looks over at her, his heart bleeding into his eyes, killing me silently through every piece of my soul.

“Dance with me, Olivia.”

They get up. They walk to the floor. They dance. I watch them. I watch them talk, bodies perfectly in sync. They know which way the other will react. As I watch them, I realize their connection must’ve been deeper than I thought. I have not been a week at court, yet Olivia has clearly given herself to Francis.

I can’t take this. I stand up and leave. I turn my back to all the eyes on me and try to manage a normal pace as I make my way out of the room. Once I clear the doors I begin running to nowhere. Stopping to wail against a column, my ragged breath is not the only strange breathing I hear.

“It is difficult to pull the sword from the stone,” Nostramus frowns, “for it requires great strength.”

Bracing my back against the marble stand, I let the tears run freely down my face.

“I-”

“Do not speak, Your Majesty,” Nostradamus holds a vial to my tears, “you must breathe.”

The shaky air in my lungs doesn’t stop moving.

“The British Empire doesn’t cry,” he tells me, “the Isle is made of warriors so fierce the Vikings feared them, do not mourn when your world is about to dawn.”

My crying stops and my breathing slows.

“Now you are Scotland,” Nostramus explains, “but soon you will also be Ireland, then Wales, and one day, England too.”

As if he knows I don't believe him, the Seer shakes his vial.

“Look.”

In the waters, I see a coronation, but I am not the woman walking down the holy aisle of Westminster. She has red hair like I do, but her eyes are a deep brown, and she is holding so many more noble-looking relics than any that I have heard of at an English coronation.

“Not an English Coronation,” Nostradamus corrects, “a British one.”

Then he slumps to his knees. With a shriek, I jump back, watching in horror as the vial rolls away, golden liquid now filling it.

Chapter Text

I run scared from what I assume is Nostradamus’ corpse. I go upwards, climbing stairs fast as my long legs can carry me. I stop to breathe for a moment, then see a head of blonde curls open a door. My resolve hardens, and I follow the Dauphin into his room.

“If you do not love me,” I announce, “I shall take my business elsewhere.”

Francis freezes, “What.”

The words rush from my mouth, “Because I need a partner, Francis, not a King who sits beside me with his heart somewhere else!”

“Why,” the Dauphin takes a step closer to me, “why, after all, that I’ve said, do you believe I do not love you?”

Without hesitating, I answer his actions.

Taking a step forward, Francis levels me with his eyes, “My father brought Olivia back, I didn’t want her here, I felt sympathy towards her because I ruined her reputation-”

I step back.

“But, Meri,” the Dauphin takes another step towards me, “I told her to go tonight.”

I shake my head, “Before you danced, the way you looked at her-”

“I can look at you better.”

I freeze, holding his eyes.

“Francis, I saw your heart in your eyes.”

“If my heart was ever in my eyes it was for you,” Francis argues, slowly bringing his hand to my wrist, “Meri, you are magnificent.”

I scoff.

The Dauphin’s whole posture changes at that, melting into a sympathetic kindness of stance, “Meri, no one else moves like you do,” Francis eases himself against me, “no one acts with your quiet strength or your infallible bravery-”

I pause.

“Meri, you could tell me the sky was green and I'd believe it,” tucking his hand behind my neck, he continues, “you could say you wanted the moon and I’d climb the heavens myself to grab it for you.”

I gape.

Then, I sigh, “All I wanted was your love, Francis.”

The Dauphin’s eyes liquefy into fresh pearls, and his posture snaps as he falls to his knees and takes my hands.

“You already have it.”

My chest flutters as fast as my eyelids.

 “Francis, but-”

“At court, it’s dangerous to give someone your heart,” the Dauphin says, hands beginning to sweat, “but I’ve never cut it out of my chest and handed it to someone before. You made me do that, Meri.”

The Crown Prince pulls me towards him.

“Meri, Meri, tell me you feel the same.”

I swallow, “I wouldn’t have cared this much if I didn’t.”

Relief sighs onto Francis’ face.

“Meri,” he breathes, “I’m going to kiss you.”

Except I wrap my arms around him first. Clearly startled, I also kiss him first too. He’s sweetly delicate with me at first, brushing my hair with his fingers and tugging me gently.

“Meri,” the Dauphin’s lungs heave in his chest, “I’m going to kiss you now.”

He does, and I‘m so shocked at his ferocity I stumble back towards the wall. Francis then brushes his tongue on my bottom lip and I groan at the feeling. As soon as I register it, I know no lady should ever make that noise, but the Dauphin groans back at me, lowering my body at an angle so that our faces are level.

“Francis,” I sneak in the air as his lips slip onto my jaw, “what now?”

The Crown Prince of France does something then I’d never guess he’d do, he wraps me in his arms and holds me tightly.

“Now I ask for a wedding date.”

My face flushes, but mainly because I feel Francis change. His muscles tighten and I can feel his chest heat up under his shirt.

I try again, “Francis-”

“Don’t say my name, Meri,” he grunts, “please don’t.”

The please catches my attention, and as soon as I realize why, I freeze. The King of France loves to make inappropriate jokes at dinner, but I think now I understand what one of them meant.

“I,” I stutter, “you, really want to marry me.”

Smiling softly down at me, Francis says he does. Slipping away from me, I find my pulse mourning his connection. The way he looks at me brings tears to my eyes, and I feel like such a relieved little girl. 

“I’ll show you the passageways to your side of the castle,” he kisses my forehead, “no one can see us at this time of night.”

The hidden corridors between the castle walls are dour and chilled, keeping myself pressed to the Dauphin’s back, I clasp hold of his shirt so I don’t lose my way in the dark.

“We’re nearly there, Meri,” he whispers, “you’ll see.”

If that was meant to assure me, it only half works. I grip Francis’ shirt tighter and focus on anything but the spiderwebs on my skin.

“Here,” Francis whispers, knocking on something sturdy, “this is where I leave you.”

It creaks, and Kenna stares back at me wide-eyed.

“Mari, thank the Lord!”

“Get out of there,” Lola grabs my wrist, pulling me sideways so that I fall onto my bed with an oof.

Then, my Principal Lady in Waiting turns to the Dauphin.

“I’m going to marry her,” Francis promises, “I’m going to ask for a day now.”

“You’d better,” Lola threatens, “or else it'll be war.”

Kenna smacks her arm. I glance over at Francis.

“I’d bet my life on it,” he states again, “we are getting married.”

Then he closes the painting, and I feel sad that I can’t see him anymore. Then I begin to cry, but I think it’s from relief this time.

“Oh, Mheri ,” Kenna falls into bed next to me, “congratulations.”

“Wedding Bells,” Greer agrees, coming out of the closet with my nightdress, “always a good sound.”

That night I dream I’m getting married to Francis, and the first thing I do in the morning is grin. 

“There’s the bride,” Kenna winks, “how is Your Majesty this morning?”

“My love is like a red red rose,” I sigh, “my love is like a melody that’s sweetly played in tune.”

“Oh, no,” Aylee’s voice gasps, “she really is enamored.”

I sit up quickly. My Lady Seton is standing upright, no sling on her arm, with both hands on her chest.

“Aylee,” I whine, “if I don’t marry him I shall die.”

Greer laughs, “I suppose I should ask for wedding dress requirements.”

“You should,” I agree, climbing out of bed, “I want to play today.”

Lola raises an eyebrow, “Play?”

“Come on, Lola,” I wink, using the Scots Gaelic on my tongue to ease the motion,“you can bring your lassie and we’ll show her a good time.”

Lola tries not to blush, swallowing heavily in the process.

“Mórachd,” she uses my title to tell me I’m serious, “we shall have to go somewhere Leeza can’t find us.”

Kenna pulls out my pair of ghillies.

“I know a place.” she smiles, eyes glistening with sly humor.

I spread my arms wide, “Then we shall go.”

We’re dressed in traditional costumes again because even though Aylee felt shy, I reminded her that we can not let anyone make us shame our heritage, even if that person is the Princess of France.

Kenna leads us down a backway and begins jumping over puddles of muddy slush. Without hesitating, I follow, even when we go off the path and the morning dew stains my socks I follow.

“Here,” Kenna announces, hanging her cloak on a low branch, “among the flowers and close to where the soldiers train.”

Aylee blushes.

“We won’t bother them,” Greer assures, “I’m confident their swords are too loud for them to notice us.”

Quicker than lighting, Kenna takes off the small head-covering she was wearing.

“Hùg air a' bhonaid mhòir,” she jumps between us, “cuiribh oirre 's leigibh leatha-”

Aylee wiggles her arms in front of Kenna to distract her, but my lady won’t let her take the bonnet away.”

“Ooh, the bonnet song,” Lola claps, happy as a child, “we used to play this at Falkland!”

I grab at Kenna and she springs back. Then the chase begins. We switch in and out of the tune, all of us huffing as we try to catch Kenna.

“Bhonaid a bh' aig Dòmhnall Bàn,” I spin, wondering who Donald Ban was, “ann an Bothalam na tàmh-”

Kenna is fast, and Greer has given up, kneeling on the ground to catch her breath. Lola goes on one side, and Aylee on the other. The surprise of being surrounded gives me a chance to dash in and grab the scarf.

Proud, I hold it up, “Mary Mac’s mother is making Mary Mac marry me-”

Aylee claps, “My mother’s making me marry Mary Mac-”

Then I’m off, kicking grass up as I sprint down the green.

From afar, I hear Greer call the nonsense chorus, “Doo doo doo doo, doo doo doo doo-”

Then, all of a sudden, my hand is empty.

“What do we do with a drunken sailor,” Lola winks at me rather pridefully, “what do we do with a drunken sailor, what do we do with a drunken sailor early in the morning?”

And we’re all running again, but although her song choice is fun, Lola doesn’t retain the handkerchief for too long.

“I met a girl one Friday night, in a bar in Glasgow town-”

“Greer!” I blush, knowing the tune has two versions, one far naughtier than the rendition my lady is singing.

Kenna laughs.

“She poured me up a whiskey and told me to sit down.”

My Lady Beaton runs for a solid two minutes, dodging both Kenna and Lola before Aylee snags the head-covering out of her hand.

“A ‘níon mhín ó, sin anall na fir shúirí,” she serenades, “a mháithair mhín ó, cuir na roithléan go dtí mé-”

Lola turns to Greer, “Seaweed?”

“It’s an Irish courting song, Kenna,” Kenna huffs, “don’t take everything so literally, Lola.”

Poor Aylee squeals when Kenna jumps close to her, and my shieldmaiden uses the surprise to grab her scarf back.

“The Dashing White Sergent,” Lady Livingston gasps, “let’s dance the Dashing White Sergent.”

My whole heart is in agreement, even if my head is not, and I get my ladies in a circle faster than anyone can disagree.

“Isn’t the Dashing White Sergent usually with six?” Greer points out.

That’s when I see our answer.

“Bash!”

The Dauphin’s brother turns from his practice with a soldier who is clearly surprised.

“Come dance with us!” I call.

Bash’s eyebrows draw close, and I can tell he’s debating it.

“It’ll give ye better exercise than a sword,” I add, “we’ll teach you how to properly dance with Kenna.”

My shieldmaiden tries to look furious, but really, she thinks it’s a great idea. Bash passes the other soldier his sword and runs over to us.

“We’re gunna teach ye the Dashing White Sergent,” Lola explains, “it’s a Scottish favorite.”

We begin by including Bash in our circle, then we show him how to skip evenly so we all move in the same direction. Then, because we’re cruel, we switch directions.

“Now we break off,” Greer instructs, and four of us will dance in pairs.”

By way of where we’ve broken off, Lola and Kenna kick at each other while Greer and Aylee do the same. Then, in the diagonal switch, I dance with Kenna while Lola waits on the side and Bash dances with Aylee while Greer waits on the side. Then we switch again and in lines of three, one line goes over while the other ducks under the arms of the other line of dancers.

“Back to circling again,” Aylee says for Bash’s benefit.

That’s when the clapping starts, and I see we have an audience. The entire yard of training soldiers has come to watch us.

“Are we going to keep going?” Bash coughs.

“I’m surprised your stamina can’t handle it.” Kenna teases.

An idea grows in my mind and my eyes flash.

“Lady Livingston,” I wink across the circle, "would you dance Caledonia with me?”

Kenna grins happily, “Does the moon return nightly, Majesty?”

The four other dancers give us some room, and Greer finds a stone large enough to drum her hands against.

“Help them out, Lassies,” she yells to Lola and Aylee, “give ‘em a good, strong beat.”

Hands clap, Kenna and I bow, then the jumping begins. We kick and toss our arms up, circling each other with a wide berth so we can raise our pointed feet into the air. Next, we clasp hands up high and spin.

“ Mheri ,” my dance partner breathes, “the Fling pattern.”

So we move to stand diagonal from one another and place our hands on our hips.

“Bash,” Lola grins, “the lassies are in need of two swords.”

The Dauphin’s brother unsheaths his weapon, “I’ve only got one.”

“Fortunately,” Francis’ voice shouts, “I’ve another.”

Aylee takes the weapons and lays them down correctly.

“Am bheil thu ullamh, mhòrachd?” Kenna grins, using Scots Gaelic to ask if we can begin.

“I am ready,” I tell her in Scots, “let us dance.”

From the time we begin till the first wolf whistle is blown is a shamefully short amount of time, but Kenna and I don’t mind, we’re too busy focusing on mirroring each other. And maybe showing off for our beaus too.

“Oi, what the heel are ye doin’ slacken off?”

We keep dancing, but Lord Cunningham cuts through the crowd.

“Majesty, Lady Livingston,” he sighs, “you are distracting the men.”

“Oh, but my lord,” I huff, “we’re having so much fun.”

“And we didn’t mean to,” Kenna seconds, “We just wanted to dance.”

“Lady Livingston the day I believe that is the day pigs fly.”

I begin to slow down as the laughter rages on, and Kenna, face flushed with joy, does the same. Unfortunately, neither of us can stop the loudness of our heaving lungs in the morning air.

“Come on, men,” Lord Cunningham claps, “let the lassies cool down.”

I glance up at Francis, whose impressed smile electrifies me from spinning head to tired toe. Cheers go up, and I turn to find Kenna sucking Bas’s face off.

Aylee prays to Jesus, Greer laughs.

“Meri.”

I turn, and all of a sudden, Francis is kissing me. Right now. In front of everyone. It’s not a long kiss, because I’m still struggling to breathe, but the whole crowd goes crazy with hollers and brazen clapping.

“Oi, that’s enough now,” Cunningham claps, “let’s go!”

Chapter Text

My feet ache but my heart is soaring. Francis kissed me. God, I turn into a puppy whenever he does that.

“Queen Mari,” Ambassador MacDougal greets me from behind my receiving room doors, “the Duke has responded.”

I straighten, pausing to realize how significant this moment could be.

“Majesty,” Greer grabs her sketches, “I shall sit outside the door.”

“I shall go with her,” Aylee pipes up, “and I shall bring my guitar.”

Kenna says she must go in search of Lord Abernathy for that task I assigned her.

“Dunnae haste ye back,” I tell her, “learn.”

Lola has prepared my desk and is sitting off to the side with a piece of paper, waiting for instructions.

“Majesty,” my Ambassador hands me the letter, “there is also one from your mother.”

I nod, accepting both letters, but opening Norfolk’s first. My eyes scan the page.

“He repeats his earlier offer with more clarity,” I smile, “should the need arise we can accuse him of treason.”

Lola draws a noose on the page looped around an N.

“He assures me not to worry about France in any capacity,” I continue, brows furrowing, “wow, that is a condescending sentence.”

The Ambassador grunts.

“He reminds me that my cousin is very Catholic and wishes to preserve what remains of the religion,” I tilt my head, “he must have snother meaning?”

“Majesty,” Ambassador MacDougal sighs, “is there any wording about the ‘Queen’s condition’?”

“Yes,” I scan the letter, then my eyes widen, “she is not pregnant, and there will likely be no heir.”

The room goes quiet and my mind spins.

“How far would my cousin go to protect her faith,” I wonder aloud, “would she send soldiers, give me relics, split her kingdom even?”

Ambassador MacDougal tilts his head.

“Ireland is very faithful to the Pope, for the most part, I think,” I shrug, “and they hate the memory of King Henry as much as we do. If I could take Ireland from my cousin, and liberate it from English interference, they may be grateful to Scotland.”

“And then we have more men.” Lola agrees.

“And wealth,” the Ambassador sighs, “Lord knows we need it.”

I nod.

“Oh, Mari,” Lola interjects, “Greer told me on the way up, Lord MacMartin is hopeful on our plan with the wine, and crates should arrive within the week.”

I sigh, “We do need the money, we shall have to pay those French soldiers and support our farmers.”

“Aye,” Lord MacDougal huffs, “not to mention that bad winter that just passed.”

I turn to Lola, “Can we through a party, is there any significant event upcoming?”

My lady blinks at me, “Easter, Madam.”

 “We shall ask the King if we can through the Easter Banquet,” I suggest, “then we can sneak the wine in.”

Lola scribbles.

“MacDougal,” I turn, “do you think I can write to both the Queen of England and Norfolk?”

The Ambassador breathes breathes, “It could be dangerous, tell Norfolk though, so it does not come as a suprise.”

I spend the next two hours writing to the Duke of Norfolk and the Queen of England, and the amount of paper I use on the later is positively frightening. I thank the Duke for his offer of assistance, and I accept any wisdom he can give a poor young woman. My letter to Queen Mary is different, I appeal myself to her as her sister in faith and heart, telling her she may always call on her kinswoman should she need. Throughout the letter, I make little references to Ireland, as I am especially greatful to my tutor who taught me Irish and Scottish Gaelic. I sign it with my royal signature, and then MacDougal takes it.

The letter from my mother can be read with my ladies, so I bring Greer and Aylee in.

“My mother wants me to marry Francis as soon as possible,” I review, “she has set aside a portion for my dowry, but you know we always need money.”

Greer huffs, “Aye.”

“Our plan is to get the King to like our wine,” I remind my ladies, “we are going to ask to throw an Easter Banquet.”

“Mari,” Aylee’s eyes go wide, “that will be so much work.”

“In other news,” I lower my voice, “my Grandmother has procured me female spies, their names are Geralidne and Louise, and they are on their way from Rouen.”

“More ladies,” Lola asks, “will others be suspicious?”

“No,” I shake my head, “they are going to pretend to be maids.”

“We need as much loyalty as we can get,” my Principal Lady agrees, “things can turn so quickly here.”

I include Geraldine and Louise in my letter to my mother, and add that Queen Catherine seems to like me enough to let the wedding go forward. That’s when footsteps pound down the hallway outside, and quickly, I hide the letter.

“Your Highness, you can’t go in there, please-” 

The door burts open. My heart lurches at the utter joy on Francis’ sweet face.

“Meri,” he comes forward, his voice strained with excitement, “the wedding will be in June.”

I openly gape, then, childish as it is, throw myself into the Dauphin’s arms.

“We’re getting married,” I whisper against his chest, “we’re finally getting married.”

“We are,” Francis raises my chin, “we should celebrate!”

I giggle.

The Dauphin clears his throat, “Ladies, will you give us a minute.”

The room clears without a second thought.

“Meri Stuart,” Francis smiles, “you are an absolute blessing to have in my life, you are beautiful and kind and impossibly good at aggravating my father-”

I laugh.

“Meri,” the Dauphin wobbly gets down on one knee, “will you do me the honor of making me your husband.”

An unnaturally strangled sound come from my throat as I look at the Crown Prince of France on his knees in front of me.

“Say yes, Meri!”

“Yes,” I swallow, “yes, Francis, I will make you my husband.”

Barking with elation, the Dauphin picks me up and spins me around, chanting my name as he holds onto my back. I feel lightheaded, but in the most wonderful way possible.

“Oh my Gosh,” Kenna bursts my door open for the second time today, “you’re getting married!”

I nod, clinging to Francis tightly with my head on his shoulder.

“Congradulations,” Aylee clapped, “you will be so beautiful in your dress, Mheri .”

“Oh, the dress,” Greer nearly faints, “we must get started immediately.”

Bash is leaning against the doorframe, a shit-eating grin on his face.

“Ladies, I think we should break into those wine crates I saw downstairs.”

“Those are to get your father drunk on,” I tell him with a shrug, “we seem to have a backlog of supply at my winery and we’re giving them to His Majesty as a present.”

Francis blinks down at me, nuzzling my cheek, “Really.”

“Cause we’re getting married.”

The Dauphin kisses my cheek, his mouth way too close to my ear.

“We’re getting married.”

“Oi, Francis,” Kenna shouts, “the wedding’s in June!”

It takes me a second to get her meaning, but as soon as I do I’m horrified. Bash sees the look on my face and laughs.

“Don’t mind them,” Francis winks at me, “let me.”

I blush and look down. Bash and Kenna cheer.

“Honestly, Kenna,” Greer spits, “I’ll gie ye a skelpit lug for impropriety!”

To which Kenna replies, “Frankly, Greer,” a little too slap-happy, “I just don’t give a damn.”

Lola sighs, “Dear, Lord, Kenna, you’re gonna get somethin’ one’a these days.”

Bash wraps his arm around my shieldmaiden, who is stil sweaty from what I hope was time spent training.

“Oh, Mheri ,” Aylee gasps, “we have to get you dressed for dinner.”

“Aye,” Greer falls against the wall, “at dis ma nut in.”

“Keep yer heid, Greer,” Lola offers, “We have the ribbons from the store, remember.”

“Dinnae teach yer granny tae suck eggs, Lola,” Greer gestures, eyes still closed, “I’m picking a color.”

“No jist haud on,” Lola raies her hands, “I’m nae tryna fight here.”

“Ladies,” I interrupt, “gold.”

Silence, then Kenna bangs her hand against the wall.

“Aye, Mari,” she drawls, “Greer, geeza haun, red and white accents, aye.”

Greer opens her eyes, “Aye.”

“Well,” Bash puts his hands on Kenna’s shoulders, “since your speaking Scottish I figure it’s time to go, Francis.”

“Aye,” he winks at Bash.

We all laugh.

Francis turns to me, “That is what it means right?”

I grin, “Aye.”

There’s a loud smack then, and I know in a second I will never live down what the Dauphin has just done.

“Francis,” I try to fight a smile, “yer a eejit.”

Moving his hands off my backside, the Dauphin shrugs, walking backward toward the door.

“I don’t know what that means!”

Stupidly, that makes me smile, and knowinh what’s coming, I shake my head. I can hear Bash cackling from the other side of the doors, and this time, I really do feel cross.

“Oi, Bash,” Kenna shouts, “git yer arse outta here, go on, git.”

The Dauphin starts laughing and I hear a shuffle, he must be having to drag his brother.

“Ow, I think,” I place my hand to backside, “no, definitely ow.”

Aylee is horrified, Lola looks clearly conflicted, and Greer grins like a madwoman. Kenna, well, Kenna laughs at that.

“Aylee,” I swallow, moving my hand, “will ye draw me a bath?”

My lady nods, leaving quickly.

Kenna winks at me, “Say ‘aye’ one more time, Mheri .”

I follow into the bathroom, “Shut it.”

When I’m in the tub, I grab Greer’s wrist.

“I want to look like the most powerful woman in the room.”

“ Mheri ,” Kenna languidly lifts a leg up onto my tub’s brim from hers, “you are the most powerful woman in the room.”

“Ne’er forget that,” Greer agrees, “even the King of France only rules one kingdom.”

I stit up, accentuating my shoulders and raising my chin.

“Then I need one hell of a dress.”

“And you shall have one.”

I am wearing three petticoats over the bum roll that Kenna insited would even out the dress and elevate my bahooky, to which I replied that I don’t need any. My Lady Livingston gave a wolf whistle.

“Long live the Queen of Scots.”

I stretch my arms out, ready for the gold bodice that matches my outer skirt.

“Hear, hear,” Greer slips the bodice on, “may she be as brave as Boudica and beautiful as Guinevere.”

“That’s certainly relevant,” I tell her, “I’m certainly going into battle today, although I can’t figure out which of my future in-laws it will be.”

Lola laughs as she helps Aylee with my accessories.

“Robert Burns once wrote ‘to see her was to love her’ and Mari,” my Lady Fleming winks, “everyone who sees you tonight shall fall in love with you.”

I raise my chin, “That’s a promise.”

Chapter Text

I look glorious. My dress is golden from head to toe, it’s tight around the hips and a little low in the front, but fortunately, lace accents provide false modesty. My hair is braided with pearls and red and white roses, while I wear a choker made with Stuart plaid under a crystal casing. In case of any special dancing, I am wearing gillies, but I hardly think this birdcage I’m wearing will allow it.

“ Mheri ,” Aylee brings over the mirror, “take a wee look at yerself.”

The woman in the mirror is valiant and could never falter at the sight of a man. I smirk at myself.

“I am Mari Stuart, Queen of Scots.”

“Long may she reign.” Lola praises.

“Long may she reign.” my ladies echo.

I let my hips sway as we walk, my ladies all in matching white dresses with their clan tartans draped as shawls.

“Her Majesty, Marie Stuart, Queen of Scotland.”

I take a minute to smile at the crowd, letting my eyes gleam as they fall over my Francis. Then, daintily, I bow my head and descend the stairs. A chair scrapes, then another, and many more. I look up through my lashes at the head table, the King is standing, and Francis is walking towards me. I wait at the bottom of the stairs for him, clasping my hands in front of me demurely.

“Meri,” Francis takes my hand and kisses it for longer than is socially acceptable, “you are beautiful.”

“I’m flattered, Your Royal Highness,” I speak loud enough for bystanders, “have you saved me a seat?”

I rub my thumb on the back of Francis’ hand for good measure, so he knows I’m teasing him.

He gazes at me sharply, his eyes burning, “Anything for the Lady.”

We walk up to the front table, and those who have stood do not sit until I pass them. I give my Uncle de Guise a polite nod before looking up to the head table.

“Queen Marie,” the French King is so amused his voice runs smoother than a stream, “I hope you don’t mind sitting in between my son and me tonight.”

My shock seeps into a slightly exaggerated woman’s excitement I allow to bless my cheeks, “I would be honored to keep such extravagant company, Majesty.”

King Henri hums, placing his hand on the empty chair next to him.

“Francis,” I turn, “take me up, will you.”

The Dauphin is clearly loving this flirting as much as I am, that, and the fact that I used his name in public.

“Of course, Meri.”

He even pulls out and pushes in my chair for me, which I thank him for, calling it thoughtful.

“Her Majesty seems to be in a good mood today,” Queen Catherine draws a finger on the rim of heroine glass, “what seems to have brought this on?”

She already knows, there’s no way in hell she doesn’t.

“I think I’ve succumbed to the spell of France,” I say for the King’s benefit, “as well the charms of Your Majesty’s manner I seem to find sitting on my right.”

King Henri barks a laugh and calls for the food to be served, but Catherine de Medici raises her glass at me, and that makes every nerve I’ve felt in my stomach worth it.

“Meri,” Francis puts his hand on my arm, “my father is serving your wine tonight.”

I give a small gasp of glee, and the King has a pitcher of wine set in between him and me.

He takes a sip, and his eyes glaze over my face. I keep calm by putting a hand on the arm of Francis’ chair.

“Marie,” he loudly proclaims, “this wine of yours, I like it, undeniably flavorful, just like you.”

I chuckle, “Your complement brings unimaginable pleasure, Majesty.”

“Uh-huh,” he puts his cup down, “as sweet as you are Queen Marie, you should save that pleasure for your wedding night.”

I hate that. I hate that the words came out of his mouth. I hate that he thought that was okay to say out loud in front of the whole court. I also hate that he said that to my face.

“The Wedding is in June,” I turn, Francis has his cup in the air, “but I shall toast to my bride anyway.”

The crowd erupts into cheers and chatter, and I watch Francis drown his glass.

“Slow down,” I advise him.

He looks at me. His icy gaze stark, and bright. It takes a long few moments of him looking at me for me to realize he took that out of context.

I sigh and lean into him, “Whatever scenario is in your head is not helping right now.”

The Dauphin gives a low hum and kisses me, boldly and shameless in front of the entire court. Methodically Francis slides his tongue into my mouth, making sure that I know it’s coming by snipping at my lower lip. My mind goes blank, and it takes a whistle from King Henri to break us apart.

“Francis,” my voice is low and breathy, “now is not the time.”

He answers me with the one word that I didn’t expect but makes perfect sense.

“Aye.”

With an exasperated smile, I lean back into my chair.

“Music,” Queen Catherine yells, “the lively kind!”

Musicians begin and I feel warm in my stomach as I chew steaming steak. I get a few bites in before the King asks me about the Duke of Norfolk.

“Did you reply to him,” he fishes, “what did he want?”
“He sends my cousin’s well wishes,” I lie, hoping King Henri doesn’t see my eyes slant, “and was the usual condescending a man generally is when talking to a woman.”

“Ah,” the King leans back, “we know well you prefer yourself a woman of politics, but we are family, so you can tell me the truth.”

Drat.

I give King Henri and his smug face a tight-lipped smile, “I should have something concrete to tell you the day after the wedding.”

The King leans back.

“Of course, it’s not as if we sent you soldiers.”

“Your wife sealed the deal when she sent them,” I counter, “you can’t bargain with something that has already been paid for.”

His Majesty hisses through his teeth, so I return my focus back to my food.

“You’ve got a tough one, Francis,” the King huffs, “good luck with her.”

“I’ll take my chances.” the Dauphin sips his wine.

I look over and smile at him, mouthing a quick ‘thank you,’ to show my gratitude. 

The party goes long into the night, and after hundreds of well wishes and handshakes, I’m thoroughly exhausted. My family is, of course, thrilled for me only slightly less than themselves, but I embrace them all anyway.

“Remember what you can and can’t do,” my grandmother whispers to me, “please, Marie.”

I nod, smiling, not sure what I can’t do until I take the Dauphin’s arm.

“I shall be very hungover tomorrow morning,” I confess to lighten the mood as we leave arm in arm, “my poor ladies.”

Francis snorts. We round a corner and he opens a painting. I’m not glad to be in the passageways, because I know what Francis wants.

“Meri.”

His voice confirms it, husky yet breathless. I stay still.

“Meri,” he reaches for me, and his hands slip along my body, “Meri, you’re gorgeous.”

I have to focus on steadying my breathing before I can reply to him, his hands have found the front of my thighs.

“Francis, we can’t-”

“I know-”

With a sigh, I struggle in the Dauphin’s grip.

“But there are other things we can do.”

I begin to ask him what, but then I’m against the passageway wall, Francis directly behind me. He’s moved his hands to my hips, clenching them tight as he rocks slightly.

“Francis-”

He moans into my ear. My name. And I stir feral in a way I didn’t know my limbs could react. What makes it worse is I feel his body clenching against my arse, and my front tingles like a spider web, crawling slowly into the dark crevices of my body.

“God, Meri,” Francis twitches, “I can’t wait to marry you.”

He releases me slightly and I slip to the floor.

“Meri-”

“Don’t do that to me,” I moan, palms shaking and pressed against the wall, “that’s not fair. We can’t.”

The Dauphin inhales, and I feel him stiffen.

“That wasn’t right of me,” he admits.

“Two and a half months, Francis,” I force my hands to freeze, “two and a half, then we can do that whenever.”

“Meri,” the Dauphin swallows, “can I pull you up?”
I say he can, then he asks if I will face him. I say I will.

“I’m sorry, Meri,” Francis’ eyes drop, “I just, you, you make me-”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” I hold up my hand, “you’ll weaken my resolve.”

The Dauphin’s eyes are straining to keep still, and I know he’s borderline irrational somewhere in his mind.

“I am still, sorry.”

“That’s not wrong,” I tell him, “just count the days.”

“I shall,” he promises.

Then he bows to me and points in the direction of my room. I bid him goodbye and turn around.

“Don’t think differently of me, Meri,” he swallows loudly, “I, I love you.”

I freeze, unprepared for the severity of his words.

I glance back, “You have my heart, Francis, and shall always.”

Then I climb on shaking legs to my room, pausing every once in a while to hope I’m going in the right direction. Lola is waiting for me when the painting in my room opens.

“I didn’t,” I speak before she can, “don’t lecture me.”

Lola blinks, “I wasn't going to.”

I sigh and sink onto my bed. Aylee and Greer are putting clothes away, Kenna looks up from the jewelry box, and I see in her eyes that we made different choices. Worry overwhelms me, and I ask her to help me take my dress off.

As soon as Lola goes into the closet I ask her. She did. She said that it felt like the best thing she’d ever done at the moment, but now she felt scared. No one could know or her life would go down the gutter. 

“I almost feel guilty,” Kenna admits, “not because of what I did, but because of what could happen to others because of me.”

“You shall be alright,” I promise, placing my head on hers, “we’ll stay together.”

“But-”

“Sh,” I whisper, “there are some things I can’t do, but keeping you safe is something I can do.”

“Tapadh leat, Mheri,” Kenna’s breath is shaky, “thank you.”

Chapter Text

I wake up uneasy, but glancing over at a sleeping Kenna, I realize what we fear may not happen. It’s a little after dawn, but I get dressed as much as I can by myself. Aylee is the only one who doesn’t drink, and while my headaches slightly, I know there’s a lot to do.

The first thing I do is open the window behind my desk, admiring the new curtains Aylee fashioned, then I finish my letter to my mother, telling her of the marriage. As I guessed, my Lady Seton is up first, her dressing gown drawn nightly around her and blonde hair sticking to my face, she asks what my plan is for the day.

“Letters,” I stand, “I should write to the Dunaways and MacMartin to inform them of our success, and naturally, now I have to do wedding invitations.”

Aylee helps me into a comfortable dress this morning and I help her. When Eilish comes in with the Deveroux sisters to clean, I ask her to set up the table in the meeting parlor with breakfast.

Greer stirs in her sleep, likely dreaming of the many ways lace can be used on a wedding dress. We all wake up slowly, Lola comes in the room next, asking to spend the morning with Elodie.

“Of course,” I smile, “and if you see Cadenza let her know she’s welcome to drop by.”

When Greer wakes, Aylee helps her dress. I kneel down next to Kenna.

“Mo charaid,” I whisper, “my friend, wake up.”

My lady groans and stretches for a second before twitching.

“Ow.”

“Kenna, it’s Mari,” taking her hand, I ask Kenna if she’s alright.”

“I feel unspeakably wonderful,” she blushes, voice low, “why are men allowed to do such things when we aren’t.”

I sigh, “I don’t know.”

Kenna rolls onto her back.

“Aylee, Greer,” I call, “check and see if Eilish has brought up our meal.”

Once they’re gone, I make to help Kenna stand, but she brushes me off.

“I am fine,” she assures me, “women have been physically capable of what I’ve done for centuries.”

Helping Kenna dress, I suggest she wear a thick partlet or a wrap around her neck.

“This looks like it will bruise,” I warn her, then, quietly, “was it really wonderful.”

My lady leans her head back and exhales slowly.

“The more I think about it the more likely I am to do it again.”

“Be careful, Kenna,” I advise, “I know what other people think has never been your top priority, but for others it is.”

‘I know,” my lady waves, then flinches slightly, “God my neck is stiff.”

I pause, thinking of what I can do, “I shall a list of Scots noblemen to invite to my wedding, could you stay and make me one?”

Kenna sighs, “That is a lot of people.”

“But you know everything about everyone,” I counter, a small grin on my face, “I shall need you by m side at parties.”

“Alright,” Lady Livingston feigns a struggle, “I shall research your party guests so our soiree will be grand.”

Greer will be in the room with her, sorting through fabrics and dresses and ribbons and lace for new gowns.

“You're about to become the Dauphine of France,” she reminds me, “you need the most fashionable wardrobe in the whole country.”

After breakfast, I take Lola and Aylee downstairs with me, my De Guise relations want to speak with me. Obviously. When we enter the room I assume we shall be using, I am slightly surprised. This is an official meeting room, clearly, this is no longer a family affair.

“I’m glad you brought your notepad, Lola,” Aylee whispers, “this looks serious.”

“It is serious,” my grandmother gestures to the seat across from her far end at the table’s head, “Marie is getting married.”

Politics. That is why I’m here. 

“There will be treaties,” Francois de Guise informs me, “banking deals, new royal appointments, and new duties for you.”

As the meeting draws on, I realize my family is ambitious. They want more power in the French government, and they see me as a way to achieve it.

“And Scotland?” I ask.

The Cardinal of Lorraine freezes.

“What about Scotland?” he gestures.

“I am the Queen of Scots,” I remind him roughly, “I have more to focus on than just France, I have my homeland.”

The table is uncomfortably silent. It’s my grandmother who speaks.

“Scotland cannot give you what France can, Marie.”

I straighten, aggression clearly showing on my face.

“I am not going to throw away my country just because France has resources,” I snap back, “Grandmére, my people only have me to advocate for them.”

Antoinette de Guise heaves a long sigh, “Then you must be prepared to fight the King of France for anything you can get.”

I focus on my breathing, I can do this. I am Scotland, and Scotland is nothing if not strong.

“Lola,” I turn to my lady, “did you make a list of tasks.”

“ Tha, Mheri, ” she answers confidently, “yes, but it is long.”

I take a look at it.

“Aylee, find Cadenza,” I order, “if she knows any talented musicians, tradition has to be upheld.”

Slightly uncomfortable with all the eyes on her, Lady Seton stands.

“Thank you,” I say in Scots, squeezing her hand, “there’s a certain bridal reel I want played at my wedding.”

It’s only after Aylee leaves that the Duke of Guise stands up.

“Marie, we have helped you get here, you have our blood,” his hands grip the table, “do not disregard your family when they deserve something in return.”

I look at my grandmother.

“Has your help been to your benefit or mine?”

Antoinette de Guise doesn’t miss a beat, “Ours.”

I nod politely, then take my leave. On the way back to the room my head hurts at all this new information. However, I refuse to acknowledge the heavy thud in my chest, even when Lola prods.

“We need a plan, and we are on our own.”

Greer uses some extra pins to hang Lola’s list from the wall. Kenna’s list goes up next to it.

“An invitation to each clan at court,” she states, “some families will require multiple, secondly, the Scottish Papal representatives must come, government ministers if they’re important enough, important Scots in France, and finally, the Protestant Church of Scotland representatives.”

“Is my mother still on shaky ground two years after her official resignation?” I question.

“I don’t know,” she admits, “but I would venture yes, your half brother, the Lord James, is technically your Regent.”

Stationary. I will need lots of stationary. 

“I can order you some more stationery,” Lola offers, “Greer, MacMartin works at a French bank on the other side of Paris, correct?”

“Aye,” my seamstress answers, “about 500 will do.”

“Easy,” I agree, “and those new ladies, Louise and Geraldine, we shall put them on less political duties, like flower arrangements.”

Kenna shakes her head, appalled by what my Uncle said.

“They are trained spies ordered by my grandmother,” I announce, “you know they will be trouble.”

As Lola prepares for her journey, I take Kenna to her shieldmaiden training.

“Right now Garrett just has me running a lot and practicing sword grip.”

“Stamina and skill,” I shrug, “I will admit I know nothing of weapons.”

“You can shoot.” Kenna offers.

“Guns and daggers,” I frown, “that is why I need a lady with a sword.”

My lady Livingston hums, “Now you’ve got one.”

Garrett greets me warmly, excited for his apprentice.

“Have fun, children,” I tease, “and Kenna, please be careful.”

She winks at me, and I saunter off, smiling to myself. I shall be busier than ever. Climbing the main staircase, I spy a sight I didn’t expect to see. The King of France, his top advisor who happens to be married to my Aunt Louise, Lord Narcisse, businessmen, Francis, and other nobles chat loudly as they file into a room. Most of them are loudly congratulating Francis, but I believe I know what this is. 

Running back to my chambers, I get a quill, ink, and a small booklet.

“What’s wrong?” Greer gasps.

“Lola’s fine,” I tell her, “I saw her on the way out, but then men are having a meeting without me.”

Greer’s eyes narrow, “What’s the plan?”

“I’m going to sit outside the door,” I vow, “but I can't wear a dress.”

Lady Beaton has turned into a wicked creature, and her skills with a needle know no bounds. I am wearing trousers and a men’s tunic. I tie my hair under a cap while Greer adds leather accents to my outfit. 

Stepping back, my lady admires her handiwork, “You are a page boy.”

“Let’s hope they haven’t started,” I pick up my things, “wish me luck.”

They have started. Drat. There is one soldier outside the front doors, but God is on my side because there is a small alcove between the inner wall and the outer wall. Quietly, I settle myself down and open the book.

“Now, Gentlemen,” King Henry’s voice is unnaturally loud, even for him, “our first item is Scotland and her merry little Marie.”

Laughter echoes through the wall. Lord, can that man do anything political without being misogynistic at the same time?

“When I agreed to this union, years ago, it looked like the good ground for a land investment,” the King’s voice lowers and I place an ear to the wall, “not only is she Queen of Scotland, but Marie is currently, depending on your faith, first or second in the Line of Succession to the English Crown, and, therefore, by extension, Ireland and Wales.”

So the King of France wants to build an empire by making me a broodmare and erasing my name. God, if the first word that came to mind wasn’t ‘pig’ it would be ‘fucking bastard’. And yes, I can swear. Lord Mackenzie accidentally said the ‘f word’ in front of me when I was three, and I have known what it means since.

“But if Marie dies without an heir-”

Ah yes, the currency of the realm.

“I still want to have the leverage to take Calais back and seek revenge on England.” 

My heart twists when I hear Francis say, “And Scotland?”

“Propaganda son,” the King of France sighs, “a young woman forced into an unnatural position of power, many feel sorry for her already.”

Mother–

“She’s not helpless, Father.”

There the Dauphin goes, standing up for me at the most basic level and making me somehow want to swoon.

“Not, but that’s where you come in,” I can just see King Henri wiggling his eyebrows, “keep her busy so we can take over the ruling of her country.”

Oh no, you don’t. Satan is going to beg forgiveness before I let anyone rule for me.

“What about the Duke de Guise and his brood?”

That’s Lord Narcisse, and the fact that he is in that room and knows of the King’s plans makes me want to boke. His daughter is a gift from heaven, but he clearly is not.

“Jean is married to Louise,” King Henri gestures, “the Duke won’t get any secrets out of him.”

Oh my, do I have information. Their meeting then turns to bank business, which I stay for, and farming taxes, which I don’t. My oh my, it’s time I raise some hell. Smiling to myself, I open a painting and crawl behind it, the world isn’t ready for Mari, Queen of Scots.”

Chapter Text

Back in my chambers, there is as much giggling as there is plotting, and I must say, one should always have lady friends to conspire with, it really soothes the soul. That and unbuttoning tight trousers after a long time sitting on the floor.

“He’s gunna hate me alright,” I grin wickedly, “and I can’t wait.”

I have discussed with Greer and Lola, the latter who has returned, task completed and we decided that I must meet with Lord MacMartin to discuss how France has been lying in trade with Spain and Scotland, and how we can make money off it. Next, I am going to meet with, more likely vent, my Ambassador over the King’s words.

Lola however, then decides to ask a most important question, “And will you tell your family about the banking business only giving loans to businesses that lie in their ledgers?”

I swallow, “The one bank mentioned by name is half financed by my Uncle Francois, it was an agreement made when my Aunt Louise married that eel of a Royal Advisor.”

Greer groans.

“Mari, this is awful,” she huffs, “is all politics like this?”

“It probably is,” I guess, “but honestly, the way the French King talks, I don’t want it to be true.”

Lola snorts.

“Come, Greer, your hands must be exhausted,” I take her away from the skirt she is hemming, “let them rest, we should take lunch somewhere.”

“By Kenna and Garrett,” Lola suggests, “our lady does love an audience.”

I nod in approval and Greer ring for Eilish. While my ladies discuss the warm state of the April weather, I write a letter to MacMartin, requesting a longer meeting at his Paris residence. By the time I send it off to be delivered, our picnic is ready. 

“Let’s go find them,” I shimmy, “shall we?” 

On the way downstairs, we pass Elodie on the stairs, and she and Lola gaze at each other with vivacious eyes.

“You know, Lola,” I smile, “I think you should accompany Lady Narcisse to an afternoon snack in the woodlands-”

“I agree!” Greer interjects quickly.

“Here,” I reach into the basket, “take these little cakes with you, it shall be fun.”

Giving them no time to argue, Greer and I skip off into the distance.

“This shall be exciting.” my lady muses.

“Aye.”

We find Kenna and Garrett out behind the guard training area, where we danced just the other day. Currently, Garrett is making swinging motions with his sword, while Kenna’s– a wooden one– tries to copy him.

“Oh, Mheri ,” Kenna’s Scots comes out as haggard as she looks, “there are as many sword grips as steps in a waltz!”

Garrett laughs, “You just need time to practice, now, again!”

They practice drills, and it only occurs to me that I should tell Greer why this is happening when she asks.

“I am making Kenna a Shieldmaiden,” I tell her, “she’s the most physical out of any of us and you know she has the grit for it.”

Greer nods, “I don’t think there’s been a real-life shieldmaiden in centuries.”

“But it is ingenious,” I state, “a female bodyguard who knows my battles–”

When Greer looks uneasy, I decide to go for humor.

“–and let’s not forget Kenna’s best skill, flirting!”

Greer gives a snort that sounds suspiciously angry, “A man will never take her seriously as a threat, you are a genius, Mari.”

“One day I shall have more,” I tell her, “women warriors like in the time of our ancestors.”

“It is a beautiful dream,” Greer swallows, “but you are always such a visionary, remember the world can be small-minded.”

I nod, in all my excitement, I didn’t even think about men like King Henri laughing at my concept. 

Kenna announces she’s done about ten minutes later, and Garrett agrees because if we’re fast, we can sneak in through the guard hall into the passageways. We do, and not a second after a tapestry falls the raucous odor of sweaty man accompanies brusque grunts to my nose and ears. The men make such a clatter we don’t even half to tip-toe deeper into the passageway. 

“I like feeling strong, Mheri ,” Kenna says all of a sudden, “I never realized how much I felt like an object here.”

“That’s because you flirt with everyone.” Lola counters.

“But even before that,” Kenna sighs, “I’m not you, Mari, nobody proposes to me twice in the same week–”

I huff, “I refuse to take that man seriously.”

“But, you know,” Kenna shrugs, “I like to think I’m pretty.”

“You are a right proper bonnie lass,” Aylee assures our friend, “you have that dark Celtic hair that poets moan about.”

That makes Kenna laugh.

Greer winks, “And I think we all know Bash thinks your pretty.” 

The second of silence that follows is too long, and I realize that I’m the only one who knows about Kenna and Bash.

I clear my throat, “Speaking of which, don’t flirt too much at dinner, you’ll hurt yourself.”

Lola laughs, “Kenna could never.”

Lady Livingston gives a shaky smile, “No flirting is too much flirting.”

We laugh, and upstairs in my room, Greer prepares Kenna a bath. I ask Grace and Eilish to bring us a meal and have Rose and Helene set up a low table in the lounge.

“My grandmother is sending me two other maids,” I tell them, “sisters.”

Rose’s fingers shake, “Our we doing an awful job, Madam?”

“Oh no,” I wave, “my grandmother prefers to spoil me, you and Helene are excellent, my sheets are fresh every night.”

Helene blushes.

Then I remember, and I blush too, “And, if I may let you know,” I swallow, “I make large messes when the time comes, and it’s coming next week.”

Helene nods, “We’ll prepare for you, Madam.”

I sigh, “Thank you, at Saint Germain, I was often bedridden the first and second days.”

“That won’t be a problem,”  Rose claps, “we can talk with you.”

I smile into my tea, “I look forward to it.”

After lunch, Lola returns from her date with Elodie and I suddenly have too much free time.

“She kissed me,” Lola sighs, flopping onto her bed, “she bloody kissed me.”

Kenna wolf whistles from behind the changing partition and I laugh.

“So much for keeping our heids,” my brogue rolls off my tongue, “I am happy for you Lola.”

“Mari, did you know that Elodie likes poetry?”

“Every woman does,” Aylee argues.

Lola bites her lip, “I may have called her my red red rose and recited the poem-”

Kenna gasps, cheeks flushed with excitement.

“She loved it,” Lola squeals, “oh my, I’m in love.”

“That usually is the case when one recites Robert Burns,” Greer admits.

Lola giggles into her pillow.

“I’ll leave you some leftovers for when you’ve finished,” I tell her, “I’m off to meet with MacDougal.”

Because I technically should never be alone, I bring Greer with me to the meeting.

“That gets ma goat, Mari,” she admits, “that whole meetin’ a men.”

“Me too,” I agree, “but they don’t know that we know, that’s an advantage.”

We walk with a purpose, MacDougal’s offices are down by his rooms in a less frequented part of the castle, so I wasn’t expecting to run into the King.

“Queen Marie,” he smiles, “visiting your Ambassador?”

I nod, “Yes.”

Clearly, he was waiting for me to say more, but I don’t.

“We are having a meeting over dinner this evening,” the King glowers, “we’d like you to come.”

I am excited to receive the King’s invitation, but something on his face tells me I shouldn’t be.

I grin softly, “I should like to sit next to my fiance if I may.”

“Fine,” the King huffs, “I hope you keep your wits about you.”

Then he leaves, and I fantasize about tripping him when King Henri passes me. Ha, wouldn’t that be funny?

“Mòrachd,” he addresses me in Scots Gaelic, “the King knows you’ve been writing to Norfolk and his friends.”

I frown, “He must be pissed.”

“Quite,” he ushers me inside, “moreover, the King of Spain will be here for your wedding, so our Scottish guests will likely have to stay ast Saint Germain.”

I sit down, “I have a pressing matter.”

The Ambassador sits down and Greer comes to my side.

“France has been lying in a trade agreement with Scotland and Spain,” I announce, “and the French King plans to use me to make a land grab, securing Calais and taking revenge on England.”

MacDougal stiffens, “How did you hear this?”

My lip curls into a snarl, “I dawned trousers and listened at the wall, his Majesty is more callous than he is careful.”

My Ambassador has pride in his eyes.

“Scotland needs you, Mari,” he swallows, “and you need reinforcements, especially with your marriage contract.”

My eyes narrow, “Who do you suggest.”

“Lord Mackenzie is as brutal in the stateroom as on the battlefield,” he tells me, “his clan is loyal and large enough to give him an army.”

I raise an eyebrow, “I take it his politics don’t agree with my mother’s.”

“No,” MacDougal nods, “he withheld his support during the skirmishes.”

I bristle, “Shameful. Ask him to come, a man with no conscience shall do me good.”

MacDougal winces, “Madam, he is fiercely Protestant and friends with the Earl of Arran, he rode with the Earl to Linlithgow after you were born to threaten to kill you and take the throne.”

Greer gasps, but I see red.

“I am the Queen of Scots,” I tell him, “if anyone can bargain with Satan it is I.”

MacDougal nods, “Tell me the specifics of the French trade skimming.”

I don’t hold back, “The King is telling his companies to lie in their ledgers, in return, he gives them loans and takes the extra products and imports for him while the prices increase for Scotsmen and Spaniards.”

“We need Mackenzie,” his hands spread on the desk, “and when you go to that meeting tonight, be vicious.”

I grin wickedly, “I couldn’t be anything else, Lord MacDougal.”

The rest of the afternoon is spent writing letters to Scotland. I get through the A clans, Abercromby, Abernathy, Agnew, Anstruther, Arbuthnott, and Arthur, before it’s time to dress for dinner.

“Purple,” Greer announces, “the color of royalty and the most expensive dye there is.”

“On the most expensive fabric,” Kenna suggests.

“Brilliant!”

My dress has a wrapped look to it, accentuating where my chest melts into my waist and flowing out over my hoopskirt.

“And your tartan,” Aylee fastens the wool with a pin at my hip, “for good luck.”

I thank her. Lola, my secretary, will be coming with me, but I can’t decide if I should bring Greer or Kenna with me.

“Take Greer,” Kenna answers, somehow reading my mind, “she can keep her heid when I go crazy.”

“Alright,” I nod, gesturing for Greer to put on the red dress behind her, “suit up, Lady Beaton.”

Chapter Text

“The Queen of Scotland!”

All the men look at me, faces drawn in either surprise or scrutiny.

“Lady Lola Fleming and Lady Greer Beaton.”

Now they look at each other, having the gall to be openly shocked to see a woman negotiate the terms of her own marriage. Dear me!

“Queen Marie,” the King waves from the head of the table, “please join your family on my left.”

I nod politely at my Grandmother and Uncles before turning to King Henri.

“If His Majesty wouldn't mind,” I gesture, “my ladies are in need of seating as well.”

With a grunt and a pound of a fist on a table, two chairs are brought in for Greer and Lola. Greer by the window, and Lola by the door. That is probably so I can’t whisper to them.

“Marie,” Queen Catherine pulls out her chair, “so good to see you, you’ve been keeping to your rooms these past days.”

I decide to take a risk, “I seem to have a heavy correspondence.”

The King tilts his head, “Do you?”

“Why yes,” I don’t miss a beat, “a representative of every clan has to come to my wedding, and I’m sure you know Scotland has many clans.”

With a groan, King Henri leans back, “At least your people like to drink.”

I roll my eyes. Francis coughs across the table. I meet his eyes with a welcome smile. It only breaks when the doors are banged shut. I jump slightly.

“Queen Marie of Scotland is going to marry the Dauphin,” the King claps, “there is much to discuss.”

We start by discussing the ease of travel between the countries, because, as I so kindly brought up, peers have to travel for the wedding. I have no objections to what the King proposes, it even sounds fair, but that feeling deflates when he starts talking about tariffs and trade.

“Queen Marie-”

There’s a knock on the door, and everyone seems confused.

“Sorry I’m tardy,” Ambassador MacDougal walks in, grinning, “Her Majesty just received some letters.”

I smile at him and hold out my hand, I was expecting these, but now is such a wonderful time to receive them.

“Well,” the King of France eyes the letters, “who is so important to interrupt your marriage negotiations.”

I flip through, “Uncle Cumberland, Cousin Darnley, and Aunt Suffolk.”

Aunt Louise’s husband sits up, “English?”

“Family,” I correct, glaring at him, “they’re nice to have you know?”

The King of France slaps his hand on my wrist.

Shock and fear tumble throughout my body, as his eyes go cold, “Read them to us, Marie.”

I glance at Francis, he holds my gaze, then flicks his father’s hand off my arm.

“Oh my, Aunt Cumberland has spoken to the Queen, she and Cousin Margaret will be part of the English party coming to my wedding.”

“Hm,” the French King huffs, “continue.”

I glance at him with a gaze that could level Ben Nevis.

“Cousin Darnley is also coming,” I swallow, “and Uncle Lennox as well, they all wish me congratulations.”

“Boring.”

“You ask.” I bite back.

“Aunt Suffolk says Katherine Grey will be coming,” I read, then gasp, “and the Lady Elizabeth.”

That gets the King’s attention.

“The Protestant contender for the English throne is coming,” he smirks, “lovely, we must show your cousin the Queen that you are a better option to rule England.”

Dryly, I reply that we shall see what she thinks of me with her reply.

King Henri the Second of France goes still, “You wrote to her without my knowledge?”

I blink, “Why would I tell you if I wrote to my cousin or not?”

The slap comes as such a shock I don’t register it until my eyes begin to sting.

“How dare ye, ye fucking bastard,” MacDougal’s brogue accompanies a throwing knife that lands in front of the King, “how dare ye lay a hand on my Queen!”

From between my tears, I can see the King of France glower at MacDougal.

“What did you call me?”

“A fucking bastard,” I repeat, my voice hoarse, “it is none of France’s concern who Scotland writes to, and you have no right–”

“Look at the Dauphin, Marie.”

I pause, turning to Francis in confusion.

“If you go through with this marriage, he will own you,” King Henri thunders, “and my son’s property is my property, therefore you will have to do as I say.”

I look down, I refuse to believe that.

“Do you understand me, Marie?”

I stand up, scrapping my chair on the ground with such force it skids.

“One day,” I turn to him, “I will have an empire larger than the small borders of France, and you will regret speaking to me in this way.”

I leave, uncaring if Lola and Greer follow. I am so enraged my skin burns on contact with air, and my vision is black around the edges, allowing me to bump into multiple startled courtiers as I pass. I don’t apologize and I don’t turn back.

“We’re leaving,” I announce to my room, “start packing for Saint Germain.”

Kenna and Aylee are so shocked they don’t move.

“Now!” I roar, delegating my friends to objects.

I go to my desk, gather all my most important letters, and store them on my person.

“Majesty,” Rose scampers into the room, “is it true you are leaving?”

“Yes,” I growl, “all my maids shall pack.”

Lola bursts through the door then, Lord MacDougal right behind her.

“ Mheri ,” she begs me in Scots Gaelic, “I know the King was rude but we need our alliance.”

“Our alliance is broken,” I tell her, “say goodbye to Elodie.”

Silently, Lola rises and walks out the door.

“Mari,” Greer hurries in, speaking in rapid Scots, “your family is arguing on your behalf–”

“I don’t care,” I spit, “go downstairs and call for carriages.”

For the first time in a long time, Greer is still. Next, she curtsies to me, low and long. Finally, she goes. Seeing her so removed from her task sobers me a little, but I can not turn back now.

“You have made the right choice, Madam,” he bows, “Scotland is not property.”

“I agree, hurry your letter to Mackenzie, I want him and his men here to bully the King.”

“Aye, Madam,” he bows again, “may I carry that trunk down?”

I turn, a trunk labeled “tartans” is sitting on the floor.

“Aye, you may.”

I send a rider ahead to inform Saint Germain we are coming, and by the time we are all packed, it is nightfall.

“Grace, Eilish,” I begin, “ride ahead with our things now.”

They curtsey and scamper off.

“Rose and Helene Deveroux,” I turn to the little maids, “the choice whether to stay or come is yours, but make it quick.”

Both agree to go with me.

“Then you must go downstairs and ride ahead with my belongings as well.”

“Majesty,” Greer curtsies, “your grandmother wishes to see you.”

“Where?”

“Her rooms.”

I nod, ordering her to do a final sweep of the room.

“And tell Kenna to invite Bash sometime when she says goodbye.”

“Of course, Madam.”

I stalk over to my grandmother’s room, letting nobles dive out of the way like sheep. They gawk and whisper, there is a red mark on my cheek now, I made sure to touch it up with rouge this afternoon. Likely everyone will know of the King’s misbehavior in five minutes' time.

“ Mon grandfille ,” Antoinette de Guise takes my face in her hands, “my poor granddaughter.”

“Grandmére, if you wish–”

“Hush,” she interrupts, then gestures, “the Dauphin asked to see you.”

I look at the Dauphin. He is ashamed and the pallor on his face reflects the pain in his bloodshot eyes.

“Francis,” I swallow, “I can’t stand him.”

He steps forward and falls to his knees.

“Meri, stay with me,” he grabs my hand, “I will protect you.”

I grow cold, “As you did at the meeting?”

Francis gapes.

“I will not be property, Your Royal Highness, and neither will my country,” I force my sob back into my stomach, “your father can forget every ambition he’s ever had of an empire and Calais.”

The Dauphin openly lets his tears fall.

“I fought for you, Meri, I will fight for you.”

I give him a small, sad smile.

“You are welcome to, good luck, Francis.”

Despite myself, I bend down and wipe his tears, kissing him softly.

“And goodbye.”

Four carriages of stuff have already gone, followed by a caravan of my male and female servants. Greer and Aylee are in the carriage, the latter holding a crying Lola. The sight fills me with such pity I almost call the whole thing off. Almost.

“Mòrachd,” Kenna comes up by my side, “I have said my goodbye.”

We walk forward and I’m moved when some of the courtiers curtsey and bow as we walk past. I climb in. Kenna climbs in, and I pound the roof of the carriage. We’re off.

Lola continues to sob for an hour, and Aylee whispers to her until she falls asleep. Kenna stares out the window in silence, and I sense that she’s mad at me. Greer tries too start a conversation twice, but both times no one answers. 

“Here we are,” she finally announces at the end of our fourth hour stuck in a box, “and we are safe.”

Lord Cunnigham helps me out of the carriage, I nod thanks before staring up at Saint Germain en Laye. She’s smaller than the Louvre, and the Chateau has a rugged, Scottish style to it behind the pristine wall keeping us “safe.” Its jagged stone edges and tight passageways certainly make for a strong demeanor.

“My lord,” I swallow, turning to my protection officer, “will you carry Lady Lola to her old room?”

“Of course,” he bows, “and Madam, I am sorry for your loss.”

I can’t respond to that, thinking of how cruel I was when leaving Francis. I did the exact opposite of what I wanted, but I did it. 

Aylee follows behind Cunningham while Greer taps my arm.

“I will go see to Rose and Helene,” she whispers, “and I’ll take Kenna with me.”

They go off, and for some stupid reason, I stand still, gazing up at my childhood home.

“Madam,” Mrs. Wilson, my housekeeper, lets her brogue roll off her tongue, “it’s been a long day, may I help ye tay bed?”

I exhale, “Thank you.”

My quarters in Saint Germain fill me with hurt when I enter. This room is full of a little girl’s dreams. There are poetry books on the shelf along with sweet-smelling roses. Colored ribbons hang next to fairytale depictions of chivalry and success. I pull the one depicting Sir Lancelot and Guinevere down.

Mrs. Wilson undresses me silently, her old fingers still nimble after years of service.

“Thank Mrs. Wilson,” I sigh, stepping out of my dress, “please see to it that Lady Greer and Lady Kenna are comfortable next door.”

“Aye, Madam,” my housekeeper hang up my dress, “I shall.”

I climb below the covers of my bed, feeling my shift rustle against the sheets. For the first time in a long time, I am homesick.

Chapter Text

My first thought in the morning is that I should write to Westmoreland and Arundel early so that I can spend time with Francis. Then I remember. He’s back at the Louvre. He didn’t fight back. My hand goes to my cheek and a sharp pain squeezes the side of my face. I stand up and check the mirror. Yes, it’s bruised.

“Your Majesty.”

Mrs. Wilson is standing in the doorway with a tray full of food, I frown at it, feeling like liquid.

“Give it to my ladies,” I answer.

“They ate hours ago, Madam,” she swallows, “Lady Greer and Lady Lola are embroidering in the garden.”

“Ah.”

My mind strays to Lola and her tears, and I realize how wicked I’ve been.

“How is Lady Kenna?” I ask.

“Lord Abernathy arrived this morning and they are,” Mrs. Wilson pauses, “sword fighting.”

I nod.

“Lady Aylee is entertaining Lady Abernathy,” my housekeeper continues, “she arrived with her son and wanted to talk to you, but–”

Walking over to the window, I look for Greer and Lola. The two pink dresses on the lawn tell me they’ve settled out front.

“Majesty?”

“Yes?” I croak.

“Will you speak with Lady Abernathy?”

I really should. She’s obviously here for a reason.

“She can come up to my meeting room,” I decide, “I shall get ready.”

Mrs. Wilson seems to be satisfied with that and sets down the tray. I put on my dressing robe and rinse my face. Then, I put my hair in a simple braid down my back and grab my slippers.

Lady Abernathy makes no attempt to hide her surprise when I arrive in very few layers, but she stands anyway and curtsies.

“Majesty, Queen Catherine sends her apologies–”

I grunt.

“Along with Nostradamus.”

I freeze.

“The Dauphin has also sent you flowers.”

I look at the vase on the table. Red roses. Pitiful. In a moment of anger, I knock over the vase, then I feel guilty. Lady Abernathy is suddenly not surprised.

“Your cheek, Madam,” she reaches out, “may a mother’s touch caress it?”

I let her, turning my head so that the green and blue blemish appears under the sun’s full midday light.

“That monster,” Lady Abernathy sprawls her hand out above the hand-shaped mark on my face, “no man should ever do such a thing.”

My voice sounds gruff, “I agree.”

Aylee gasps, and I turn to her annoyed.

Her eyes go wide, “Francis is here.” 

I scoff.

“He is,” Lady Abernathy agrees, peaking close to the glass, “and he looks upset.”

“Obviously.”

“Mari,” Aylee clasps my arm, “you only think you don’t want to see him.”

Deep down I know she’s right, but my pride will never let me admit that out loud.

“Your Royal Highness–”

He must be inside now. I should really do something. Make a move. Decide if I’m angry at him or if his face will make me cry.

“Your Royal Highness–”

I look at the roses on the floor, the rug they landed on is wet and the vase has shattered.

“Your Royal Highness–”

“Meri!”

I close my eyes and swallow the lump in my throat.

“Good Morning, Francis.”

The Dauphin doesn’t move when I look at him. He’s staring at my face, then the roses, then my face, then my state of undress, then my eyes.

“Your cheek is bruised.”

I walk past him. I cannot be mad at Francis for what his father did. I should focus my rage on the King of France.

“Meri–”

My back tenses, as does my hand on the door handle to my bed-chamber.

“Meri–” 

Francis’ arms wrap around my waist and his head falls in between my shoulder blades.

“Please.”

He is so close that goosebumps appear on my skin. My neck stays warm after his breath has dissipated on my skin.

“Francis,” I inhale, “I am not mad at you.”

I open the door to my bedroom, the Dauphin doesn’t let go.

“We’ll talk in here,” I whisper.

I sit down at a side table and gesture across from me. Francis’ eyes flick to the bed first, I heave a sigh of disappointment, which turns his mouth into a line and spurs him to sit across from me.

“What is your father’s stance?”

Francis swallows, “He will allow you back if you come of your own will.”

I lean back.

“He has agreed to apologize.” The Dauphin winces.

“His apology should be a bride price instead of a dowry.”

Francis’ eyes flick to mine, “You want him to pay you to marry me?”

“Instead of me paying to marry you,” I contradict, noticing the tension in his voice, “I am Scotland’s only ruler.”

The Dauphin opens his mouth to argue. I don’t let him.

“I know your father wants to claim land in my name,” I remind Francis, “but I can claim that land on my own.”

The Crown Prince of France leans back, his posture turning commanding and aggressive although he sitting.

“I see.”

I place a hand on my forehead, “The problem is, Francis, I don’t want to do it without you by my side.”

After the words leave my mouth, I remain in the position I am. Redheads are very good at blushing, but I really wish that wasn’t my best skill, especially now.

“You had a spay at that meeting.”

I raise my head, “I overheard it.”

Francis frowns, “They didn’t notice you?”

I smile and walk over to the chest at the end of my bed. With a wink at the Dauphin, I reach in and take out my pair of trousers.

“I may have looked slightly different,” I stand, holding the pants up to my body, “you can’t blame the guards.”

The Dauphin looks so horrified it’s adorable. I burst out laughing so hard I stumble against the bed, slapping my hand on the post as my chest heaves.

“Meri, I’m serious–”

“So am I, Francis,” I huff between baels of laughter, “dear God, now I want to see your face when I wear them!”
The Dauphin responds with a strangled noise in the back of his throat.

“I’m just kidding,” I gesture, regaining my composure and turning my face back to Francis, “I wouldn’t scandalize a pretty French boy.”

Francis is now smiling, not condescendingly, but with humor, “You couldn’t scandalize me if you tried, Meri.”

I straighten, taking the challenge.

“I sure as hell could,” I announce, pounding forward and wagging my finger.

The Dauphin swats my wrist.

I get angry, “You’re gonna regret that.”

Then, in full Highlander fashion, I tackle the man with my six-foot frame, sending the Dauphin to the floor with the wind knocked out of him.

“Ha,” I bark, once I see his eyes have regained focus, “that’ll track ya tae pick a fight with a Scotswoman.”

Francis blinks, “If that is a kind of Scottish fighting I would like to import it to my chambers.”

Unthinkingly, I slap Francis. Then the door bursts open, and a worried Lady Abernathy rushes in.

“Majesty,” then she freezes, sighs, and restarts, “I thought you were angry?”

“I am angry.” I puff.

“She did just slap me,” Francis adds before, rather unhelpfully, adjusting me so that I’m sitting up on him, “and I really liked it.”

“You’re disgusting,” I spit, face red, “what is your problem, Francis?”

“If you stay here the wedding’s off,” the Dauphin sobers quickly, “that’s my problem.”

I gape at him.

“I suggest you go back to the Lovre, Majesty,” Lady Abernathy smirks, “Lord knows what’ll happen if ye nae marry the Dauphin, and yer so close to marriage anyway, if you know what I mean.”

Remembering our I position, I blush.

“Do ye ken yersel funny, Lady Abernathy?”

“Aye, Madam,” the Scotswoman grins, “hilarious I am.”

I sigh a long and exasperated withdrawal, and I feel Francis making pressure right up against me. I leave my head for a moment, going out of my eyes and seeing stars. I briefly register Lady Abernathy’s naughty goodbye before Francis tugs me down to him.

“Kiss me, Meri,” his stare is so intense it makes me squirm, “kiss me right now.”

I know what a kiss will do, but I kiss the Dauphin anyway. Closing my eyes as my lips meet his soft mouth. The blood rushes through my body as Francis squeezes my backside and pushes me down onto him.

Once we separate, I ask him if that’s what marriage is. Smirking, the Dauphin answers its a little more than that.

I blink, biting my lip, “More?”

“More,” Francis adjusts me so that my neck is above his tongue, “and I can tell you’re going to like it.”

“Obviously,” I snort, “and you–”

The Dauphin is licking my breastbone, biting softly, and pulling my chemise off my shoulders.

“Francis,” my legs loosen around his waist as he grounds his thumbs into my thighs, “Francis, I like this.”

“I knew you would,” he stops as he reaches the curves of my breasts, waiting for instruction.

“It will look weak if I come back after one day.”

The Dauphin groans against my skin.

“I will write to your father saying the wedding is back on,” I stroke Francis’ hair, “but I’ll stay here for a couple of days.”

Francis is still, still warm through my clothes.

“But I can do that later,” I whisper in his ear, “show me some more, my betrothed.”

A low growl tumbles onto my chest and I feel myself squinch with excitement.

“As Her Majesty wishes,” the Dauphin stands up, cradling my body into his hands, “but I must request somewhere more comfortable.”

I fall between my sheets as Francis’ shirt goes over his head. 

“Like that too?”

I catch myself looking at him, the strength of his body, the tightness of his stomach, and the damn broadness of his shoulders.

“Don’t be mean.” I whine.

Then the Dauphin kisses my neck and I giggle, writhing on the bed as I feel heat growing in my most sensitive places.

“Shh,” Francis whispers into my ear, “be quiet, Meri.”

But then my hand falls on the button of his pants, and I shiver with a malicious grin on my face.

“Hm,” the Dauphin muses, “interesting.”

“I know it’s early,” I look away from him, knowing what all my Bible tutors have always said, “don’t think less of me because of this.”

Francis turns my chin so that I can face him, “I could never think you anything less than perfect, now please, no more games.”

I nod, “No more games.”

Chapter Text

Francis is wonderful. He makes me feel wonderful. I wonder if this is what it was like for Kenna, and maybe even Lola if she and Elodie try this one day too.

“Meri, bend your knees.”

This man will be the end of me. How I can get noblemen to take me seriously when I turn myself over to Francis? Oh, dear, if only he–

“Relax, Meri,” he whispers, “your hips are locked.”

I moan, “What.”

“Let me help you,” Francis’ voice is soft and gentle, “hold yourself like this.”

I ease myself into the position the Dauphin guides me to, and I screech and wail as he enters me.

“Francis,” my voice is clipped as he slides, “Francis, Francis, Francis.”

He tells me we have to be done now as he slips out.

“It’s because we’re not married,” he explains.

My mind is blank right now save for one thing.

“Francis.”

The Dauphin smirks down at me, having the nerve to tickle my naked stomach. I giggle and roll onto my side, which is when I see the sunset out the window.

“Francis!”

He sees it too and curses loudly. Then apologizes to me. I laugh.

“I learned how to swear in Scottish Court, Francis, that little word doesn’t bother me.”

The Dauphin chuckles as my candor, a deep sound that makes me leak onto the bedsheets. I watch him as he dresses, confident and clearly proud of himself. He checks more than once to see if I’m watching him change.

“Two more days and I’m coming back.” I remind him.

He nods, “Two days.”

Then he leaves, right out the front door like some untouchable deity. God, he’ll likely be seen. But we have such little staff. Then, I remember we’d been in here for hours. I ring for Kenna.

Two minutes later, she appears at the door with her arms crossed.

“I guess we’re in this together now, eh?”

I giggle, thinking of Francis kissing me.

“Let’s get you bathed, Mheri ,” Kenna claps, “and those sheets need to be washed.”

I bathe, get dressed, and sit on my newly made bed.

“Lola?”

My lady looks up.

I swallow, “Who knows?”

Lady Fleming sighs, “Honestly, all the servants, Lady Abernathy and Garrett–”

I wince.

“Obviously we know,” she continues, “and Mrs. Wilson is slightly scandalized.”

I groan.

“Also,” Greer interjects, looking up from the drying rack, “Kenna told us about her and Bash, and it’s obvious Francis is going to tell him.”

I freeze, “How can we keep the talk to a minimum?”

Lola hesitates.

“I don’t know.”

I spend the next two days keeping busy, trying to refer to every maid and footman politely and using their names when I address them. I let them overhear that I have letters from my English cousins, and some English noblemen too. 

“Westmoreland is funny,” I announce to the room, “he has the levity that lures false trust.”

Greer blinks at me, “When did you get so smart?”

“He says he’ll kiss Norfolk and weigh our options with him,” I answer, “it’s clear in his letter he doesn’t know what to do yet.”

Lola, from the desk where she’s writing wedding invitations, snorts.

“If only I had his talent,” she adds, “my wrist is tired.”

“How far have you gotten?” I ask.

“From Bannerman to Darroch,” Lola sighs, “and I would like to trade.”

I look to the floor, where Kenna is listing out the children of my tentative allies.

“Margaret, Anne, Catherine, and Eleanor Neville, daughters of Westmoreland,” she holds up four fingers, “Jane and Mary Fitzalan, daughters of Arundel–”

“I didn’t know he had two daughters,” I frown, “good to know.”

“And your cousin Henry Stuart and his kid brother Charles.”

“That was a very nice letter,” Lola says, pushing Kenna out of her spot, “and considering how young Henry is his eloquence is strong.”

“I have a feeling he’s a poet,” I muse, “how fun.”

Skulking, Kenna slips into the desk and continues writing to the clans. Greer meanwhile, is pinning the first part of my wedding dress on so she can see it.

“White as ivory,” Aylee observes, smiling brightly, “Mari will look like a true Queen!”

“No one will expect it,” Greer agrees, “our Mari will make a statement.”

By the time Kenna gets to Clan Durie, she has complained so much that Aylee volunteers to take her place. When Aylee gets to Clan Guthrie, the clock rings midday, and I decide that now is a good time to start packing.

On the carriage ride to the Louvre, I keep myself busy by composing a letter to Lord Darnley, the Earl of Westmoreland, and the Earl of Arundel. The Earl of Westmoreland has jumped at my offer, Arundel seems more reserved, but interested. Cousin Henry is adorable and energetic as a puppy. I think he and I may be good friends.

Once we’re an hour away from our destination, the letters begin to swim before my eyes and I put away my pen and papers.

“Don’t be too excited to see him, Mari,” Aylee advises, “but be feminine and happy.”

“Great advice,” Greer agrees, “we need to fool them.”

I’m hit with a sense of Deja Vu when the trumpets blare again at my entrance, although, this time things look grander than when I first arrived. When I step out onto the main path, rose petals rain down from the sky. Francis is smiling at me from the castle doors, and I catch his eager I. I giggle as I hold my hand out for a petal.

“Look Kenna,” I hold one out to her, giddy and oozing inside, “all this is for me!”

“Red roses,” Lady Livingston winks, “nice touch.”

I grab Lola and Kenna and make them walk with me. Out of the crowd, my little cousins Antoinette, Renée, and Katrine hand my ladies and me bouquets of roses, I notice Kenna’s has a daffodil in it. I don’t see Bash, but I do catch Kenna’s blush and know he is here somewhere. I smell my white roses, decorated with a purple ribbon.

“ Mheri ,” Greer whispers from behind, “walk up now.”

I take her advice, heading straight for Francis, slightly picking up speed as I approach him. The Dauphin picks me up and spins me around, I squeal through the shock.

“Francis!”

He gazes at me warmly, “Welcome home, Meri.”

“Thank you, Your Royal Highness,” I curtsey for the crowd, then, loudly, “I love the roses.”

Francis laughs, along with a baritone that makes me simmer.

“Your Majesty,” I hold out my hand, waiting for him to kiss it, “let’s hope to make a fresh start, shall we?”

“Of course, Majesty,” The French King kisses my hand, “please allow me to extend my deepest apologies for my behavior.”

I glance at Queen Catherine, grinning at her husband’s lower head.

“Your Majesty,” I pull my hand back from the King and go to The Medici Tigress, “I’m glad to be reacquainted with your excellence.”

“A few days back and that will likely change,” she winks, “do keep my son out of trouble though, he seems to be rather irritable without you.”

I glance at Francis, he’s smiling at me. I blush.

“May we go inside?”

“A grand dinner was prepared for you,” the Dauphin places my hand on his arm, “we even had our chefs prepare some Scottish delicacies.”

“Ah,” I level Francis with a coy smirk, “I do love a challenge.”

Inside, the banquet hall is glorious. Gilded with streams of satin ribbon and shining with golden candelabras. There are live birds in the rafters, which although not surprising for the King, is something I never thought Francis would agree to.

“Lovebirds.” the Dauphin comments.

“Really,” I beam, “must’ve been difficult for you to find them.”

Francis shrugs, “They were naturally drawn to me.”

“Naturally.” I roll my eyes.

Up at the main table, Elisabeth curtsies to me.

“Majesty.”

I blink.

“I suppose we are soon to be sisters.”

I nod gracefully, “I suppose we are, be a part of my wedding party, will you Leeza.”

The Princess’s mouth rounds in surprise, but soon after, her face changes smoothly into a smile.

“I would be honored, Majesty.”

The King sits down, “Let’s eat!”

I hold Francis’ hand under the table in between bites, and he rubs his thumb on the back of my skin every so often. It makes me forget to chew.

From my vantage point at the table, I see Kenna snuggled tightly in Bash’s lap as he eats off his plate. Seeing my disapproval, she winks at me. Francis outright laughs.

“They’re cute,” I admit, “but I’m afraid Bash won’t eat.”

The Dauphin shrugs, sultry humor spreading across his face.

“No, Francis,” I wag my finger, “don’t ruin my appetite.”

In the background, the King laughs, and honestly, it doesn’t matter to me anymore. Writing to Norfolk has been hard enough without him being violent, he can’t know that I wrote to the Duke about slowing English efforts in Ireland.

Francis’ voice cuts me from my thoughts, “What are you thinking about?” 

“How much I hate politics,” I answer, not quite lying, “it’s terribly complicated.”

“Not wrong there,” Francis picks up his drink, “I’ll make sure the contract negotiation goes better next time.”

I give a small smile, “Thanks.”

I try not to drink too much tonight, I’m heading out at first light to see MacMartin. I tell Lola this as we dance.

“We’ll get on it,” she says, her eyes above my head.

“Spend time with Elodie,” I tell her instead, “I’ll ask Greer.”

When the dance finishes, I curtsey and scan the room for my lady.

“Meri.”

I turn, Francis is holding his hand out to me.

“Dance with me.”

I smile, forgetting about Greer for a moment, and smiling at the Crown Prince. The musicians play the same waltz we danced to at the beginning of our relationship, when Lola advised me to be careful because the whole court had seen us in love.

“Francis,” I venture, “I want our marriage to be a fair one–”

The Dauphin’s face darkens, “Of course–”

I continue, “I’ll tell you about my lands if you tell me about yours.”

He nods, spinning me around.

“We will have the model marriage,” he whispers in my ear, “everyone will be jealous.”

I smile, “Naturally.”

We spend the rest of the dance just looking at each other, and for a long moment, I’m helplessly free.

“Bravo,” the King calls from his throne, “bravo!”

I curtsey and Francis bows. Then as quick as a tiger, my grandmother asks if she can steal me for a second, and the Dauphin agrees.

“Please think of what your mother would want,” Antoinette de Guise smiles through her teeth as we walk towards her sons, “we secured your engagement long ago, and have paid for your expenses at Saint-Germain for years.”

That, I admit, is news to me, and I tell my grandmother that I will consider it.

Chapter Text

I have three items to do today. Visit MacMartin and come up with a plan, attend my marriage contract meeting, and write wedding invitations. First thing ini the morning, I leave a note for Francis telling him I’m at a meeting with MacMartin, but only after a threat that he should meet me for lunch.

Paris is a grandiose city, well, the rich part of Paris is a grandiose city, I hate seeing children work for wages. I know my country must be worse off, those damn trade deals King Henri is cheating us with! Sometimes I wonder what it would be like if I could slap him. Greer taps my shoulder. My sensible lady points out that we are, in fact, stopped at MacMartin’s office.

“Queen Mari,” MacMartin greets me in his study so as to not crowd me outside, “I’m afraid we have much to discuss.”

“We do.”

Greer is going to Castleroy’s shop for my official wedding dress fabric, and curtseys to MacMartin politely before leaving.

“Lady Beaton.”

Multiple sources have confirmed what I heard, and my financial advisor has sent word to Lord Hardy, in Scotland, he’s the lord campaigning against my mother for the regency, which, since I’m of age now, is just an advisory role.

“It worries me that my mother knew of this,” I confess to my advisor.

“Your Mother worries more for her family in France than her subjects in Scotland,” MacMartin sighs, “I do not blame her, this is how she was raised, the Queen Mother always struggled with the bluntness of Scottish Court.”

“She also likes things her way,” I agree, “but I shall ask my mother about it directly when she comes for the wedding.”

MacMartin nods.

“You must ask for new trade negotiations to be opened with the King,” my advisor continues, “Mackenzie is coming, correct?”

“Yes,” I nod, “MacDougal says he should be here the second week of May.”

Lord MacMartin scribbles something down before updating me on the progress of our wine.

“We’ve had five times the sales,” he smiles, “there is excess money that I have to ask what you what to do with.”

I think about it.

“I have heard we had a terrible winter last year,” I pause, thinking of the children working on the streets, “I would like to buy excess grain and send it home.”

We barter on the final sum, as MacMartin thinks I should increase my personal pin money to three times the amount rather than twice.

“How about we start with twice,” I suggest, “and we can revisit after the wedding, I’m sure I’ll be receiving gifts.”

My finance advisor agrees and I sign the paperwork.

“Thank you, Lord MacMartin.”

He bows, “I shall make sure it is known you are doing this, shall we have the churches distribute it?”

“Please, perhaps it will ease my Mother’s politics a little.”

When Greer meets me outside her cheeks are flushed pink and her eyes shine as golden as her hair.

“Oh, Mheri ,” she tells me in Gaelic as we ride back, “I know I shouldn’t say such things, but Aloysius– Monsieur Castleroy, is quite handsome.”

I tilt my head, “Is he now?”

“His manner is so kind,” Greer fans herself with a hand, “and he’s passionate about his work. He understands that art can be worn and still appreciated.”

“An hour taught you this?” I ask.

“ Mheri ,” Greer sighs, “he compared leaver’s lace to poetry!”

“Leavers lace,” I gasp, “oh, Greer, that’s most of the budget I gave you.”

“You’re the Queen of Scotland and the future Queen of France,” Greer blushes, “besides, Monsieur Castleroy gave me a discount.”

I laugh.

“Well, you must tell Kenna all about him when we get back.”

“Oh no,” Greer’s eyes twinkle, “she will find out on her own, but I know Aylee will listen to me.”

“With open ears.” I agree.

Back at the palace, I make Lola stop writing wedding invitations and go have lunch with Elodie. Aylee and Greer go in search of Cadenza and plan to picnic.

“Kenna?”

My lady clears her throat, “I have been invited to chaperone your Royal Lunch with Bash.”

I raise my eyebrow, “Chaperone?”

Kenna raises her chin, “Yes.”

“And you will sit on your own chair, yes?”

Kenna laughs, “I suppose I can try.”

Lunch is actually wonderful. Kenna, Bash, Francis, and I tell stories and share bread as we laugh at one another.

“We used to play in the meadows,” I admit, “though I only climbed trees until I fell off and cried.”

“We had a worrisome nanny,” Kenna adds, “she was always worried Mari would die.”

“But I didn’t,” I say resoundingly, “and now I will use my floral expertise to approve the wedding flowers.”

At the mention of our wedding, Francis glances at me sideways.

“I am marrying you, Francis,” I remind him, “it’s settled.”

The Dauphin wraps his arms around me and I lean back against his chest.

“Ye both are so perfect it's disgusting,” Kenna announces, raising her glass to us.

“In a cute way,” Bash corrects, glancing at my lady, “like how your throwing arm is getting perfect.”

I look between them.

“You told him?”

“Obviously,” Kenna actually squirms, “he’s the Head of the Guard Trainers and saw me all the time.”

“A shieldmaiden,” Bash places his chin on Kenna’s shoulder, “I even think she’s getting muscles.”

My lady is horrified, “Sebastien, don’t you dare!”

Francis, who is definitely amused at hearing Bash called by his first name, suggests that the couple across from us get married.

“Not until after yours,” Bash answers, “everything is on hold until then.”

“But I want a hand-fasting ceremony,” Kenna blurts, “I made Bash say yes.”

I touch a hand to my chest.

“That’s so romantic.”

Bash and Kenna both look away from each other’s eyes but move their bodies closer.

“What’s a handfasting ceremony?”

With an exaggerated sigh, I place all my weight on Francis.

“When a couple of pledges to marry before witnesses, and have a year and a day to find a Priest to make the wedding official.”

“It’s from the Highlands,” Kenna smirks, “as is another one of Mari’s favorite romantic traditions.”

I turn to my lady, “Which one is that?”

Kenna grins, bold as a lion, “Robert Burns.”

I close my eyes and smile so wide I break into giggles.

“Keep yer heid, Mheri .”

“Oh, but Kenna,” I sigh, gesturing to the ceiling, “his poetry comes from the muses of heaven.”

Bash snorts.

“To put things in perspective, Sebastien ,” I cross my arms, “Kenna once said he was so romantic she’d sleep with his corpse.”

Francis bursts into laughter. Bash is clearly shocked, Kenna is once again a lion, only now she’s angry.

“Ye best believe ye would too, Mheri ,” she wags her finger at me, “you attract poets like a moth to a flame.”

With a labored breath, I place a hand to my head, go limp, and recite.

“For to see her was to love her, love but her, and love forever.”

I stare into space for a while, and when I come to everyone is staring at me, even Francis, whose lap I’ve somehow fallen into.

“Oh, dunnae say nothin’,” I huff, “wouldn’t it be wonderful to be a muse for such a man?”

Kenna blinks, “Hae ye had a wee dram?”

I look at the pitcher and ask Bash what it is.

“Fruit wine.”

“Ah,” I nod, “then I may be a bit aff ma heid.”

Much to my surprise, Kenna claps excitedly, “Drunk Mari versus the King of France, round one!”

I groan. Francis winks at me.

“Who’s Drunk Mari?” he asks.

I raise my hand and answer, with a plain face, looking up into Francis’ face.

“Drunk Mari happens when I have to much whiskey and flirt with a barstool.”

Bash bursts into raucous laughter, the Dauphin can’t tell if I’m serious.

“Drunk Mari also likes to do traditional dances on wooden tables until they break.”

“Drunk Mari is fun.” Kenna agrees.

“Because you do it with me, and sober at that,” I reply, “honestly Kenna, I can’t believe I let you trick me into drinking the medicinal liquor at Saint-German.”

“Are you serious?”

Francis is looking at me with such amusement in his eyes that my heart pulses happily. I want to be the center of his attention forever if he’ll look at me like that.

“Hello, don’t you lovebirds have a meeting to get to?”

I sit up, and the Dauphin takes the time to smooth down my hair.

He offers me his arm, “My Queen.”

I take it, letting him pull me up. Only instead of actually saying "thank you", I kiss him, deeply, and unafraid of any comments. Bash whistles.

Kenna claps, “My oh my, would you look at that!” 

Hand in hand, we walk to the staircase, waving goodbye to Bash and Kenna.

“Good luck at your meeting!”

I laugh at Bash’s strained expression, and the image of it keeps me laughing until we reach the landing of the meeting floor.

“Meri,” Francis begins, “I suggest you stop laughing before you try to talk.”

That only makes me laugh harder. Then a throat is cleared, and I snap to attention.

“Grandmére.”

Antoinette de Guise can tell what is wrong in a second.

“She can’t do this tipsy,” my grandmother tells Francis, “your Father will never take her seriously again.”

“Get one of my ladies,” I suggest, a hand on my head, “they know what to do.”

My grandmother gestures to a servant who then sprints down the stairs.

“Marie Stuart,” she growls, “I can’t believe you.”

“I didn’t know what it was,” I whine, “and I was perfectly fine for my meeting with MacMartin this morning.”

My grandmother straightens, “And you worked out the Dunaway Vineyard?”

“Yes, Grandmére.”

Antoinette de Guise levels a gaze at the stairs behind us.

“Lady Livingston, what a joy.”

“Madame de Guise,” she curtsies before changing languages, “ Mheri , dè tha a dhìth ort bhuam?”

“I need you to help me keep track of my talking points,” I respond in Scots Gaelic, “I need to ask for a new trade agreement meeting for businesses financed by my Uncle’s bank, I still need to fight for my bride price, and make sure we don’t get the short straw in anything.”

“Be a betch,” Kenna nods, “that I can do.”

I chuckle, and my grandmother rudely asks if we’re done being Scottish.

“Never, Grandmére,” I reply, “but let’s hope His Majesty is nice today.”

Francis enters before me and the lords clap for him, cheering and patting him on the back. Annoyed, I walk straight through and sist down across from his empty seat.

“Ah,” the King smiles, “Lady Livingston is joining us today.”

Kenna gives me the side-eye, asking if he really is looking at her like that.

“Yes, she is,” I smile, “she will be keeping notes for me.”

Our discussion opens with a review of the travel policies.

“How many clans have you written to, Marie?”

The King relishes his test.

“We are writing in alphabetical order, the last letter we wrote was addressed to–”

“Lord Leslie,” Kenna answers, “the Earl of Rothes, him and a plus one.”

The King hums.

“Kenna,” I turn, switching to Scots Gaelic, “write down that I have to send my all cousins official invitations.”

My Lady nods and gets to scribbling.

Aunt Louise’s slimy husband finally useless his smooth tongue, “Anything you’d like to share, Majesty?”

“Only that I have to adequately prepare for my guests,” I stare daggers at the advisor, “tell me, Uncle, do you know any French chefs that can make haggis?”

Lord MacDougal snorts at my Uncle’s blank expression.

“French chefs are the best in the world,” King Henri assures me, “they can make anything.”

I nod gracefully. I myself have never harvested the stomach of a sheep, but I would love to watch a snobby French chef try to.

“Now, Marie,” Queen Catherine straightens, “France has suddenly become aware that we are to pay you to marry the Dauphin.”

The King scoffs, “She can’t be serious.”

“I’m the prized lamb in this scenario, Majesty,” I smile the prettiest, most unassuming grin I can, “and with all due respect, that’s very hard role to fill.”

Queen Catherine bursts into laughter, “Then do tell us, prized lamb, what shall you do if we don’t pay?”

My answer takes a second.

“Declare war on England and cost you millions more coin in soldiers, supplies, and battle equipment.”

The room is silent.

“You wouldn’t do that, Marie,” King Henri gestures, “you care about your people too much.”

I smile, “You misunderstand my country, Sire if you think we are not constantly happy to go to war with the English.”

MacDougal laughs.

“Is this true, Ambassador?”

“Aye, Majesty,” MacDougal winks at the King, “it’s much warmer than Scotland.”

Kenna snorts.

King Henri sighs, “We shall pay you half of what your dowry would’ve been.”

That is a mediocre sum, but Scotland really needs all it can get right now, and Lord knows that King won’t give me more.

“Scotland accepts, Majesty,” I lean back in my chair, “you are most kind.”

The King snorts, rolls his eyes, and tells my Aunt Louise’s husband to prepare the sum.

“Now,” the King of France leers like a hyena, “what benefits is Scotland willing to offer France?”

I look to MacDougal.

“Her Majesty can give you access to Westminster,” he states.

“That is a maybe,” the King scoffs, “we need something concrete.”

I go cold, I look to Francis, and he looks at me.

“Well?”

“I can ask my cousin for full rights to Calais as a wedding gift?”

King Henri leans back, “But would she accept?”

“Mòrachd–”

The guards are holding a small boy I recognize as one of my male servants.

“Master Ross said I best bring this to you or the Ambassador immediately–”

The guards tear a letter from the boy’s jacket. MacDougal stands.

“Let him go,” he orders, pushing the two guards off the boy.

“Lad, is this what I think it is?”

The boy nods, “Johnny came back so quickly he has nae eaten in two days.”

“Then get him food,” I order, “and a cot for God’s sake.”

The poor boy is shaking, “Aye, Mòrachd.”

The letter arrives in the French King’s hands.

“The Royal Seal of England.” he practically rips the letter in two trying to get it open.

I reach for the letter, holding out my hand, but the King does not give it to me.

“To Her Most Gracious Majesty, Mary, Queen of Scotland,” the King reads, “I am long overdue a Sister in Faith, and I accepted you into my heart as a kinswoman long ago.”

I look at MacDougal, he gives a small nod.

“Unfortunately, you are to marry the Son of France while I am married to Spain,” the King continues, “still, you have English blood, and my mother was very found of your Grandmother Margaret Tudor, she considered her a natural-born sister.”

“That sounds promising,” Antoinette de Guise announces to the room, “Is there more.”

King Henri of France smirks at the paper, “Poor woman, she will never have a child.”

Both Kenna and I stare at the King like he’s a monster from hell. Queen Catherine outright grabs the letter from his hands.

“She says her kingdom is her child,” Catherine de Medici translates, “but Ireland, though a great ambition of her father’s, would be more in the Lord’s service if it remained Catholic.”

“Ireland is full of pirates,” my Uncle spits, “haven’t you heard of Grace O’Malley?”

“Grace O’Malley is resourceful.”

Queen Catherine interjects, “And more likely to serve a Scottish Queen than an English one.”

My eyes go wide, “She’s done it, she understood?”

“She’s done it,” Catherine de Medici hands me the letter, “you now own more kingdoms than my husband.”

I read my cousin’s writing sso fast my eyes hurt.

“Lord MacDougal,” I lift my head and pass him the letter, “can this serve as a land deed or do I need my cousin’s signature?”

He reads, the room is silent.

“I shall meet with Hawthorne, Majesty,” he answers, “everything is safer in plain writing.”

I turn to King Henri, “We will have another meeting discussing tariffs and trade when Lord Mackenzie arrives, it shall involve both Scotland and Ireland.”

Then I stand.

“Kenna?”

“Here, Majesty.”

We leave, my mind is still spinning, and naturally, all the fruit wine from this morning hits my head.

“Mari!”

I don’t realize I’m on the floor until Kenna is trying to drag me to stand.

“A minute, Kenna,” I whisper, “tell Helene and Rose to ready an extra pair of sheets.”

My lady understands immediately, but before she leaves, she calls for Francis.

“Kenna–”

“Kenna?”

Francis goes quiet when he sees me kneeling on the floor.

“I’m alright,” I stress.

The Dauphin carries me to my quarters, and I spend the whole time hoping I don’t bleed on any clothes. His or mine.

Chapter Text

Francis carries me into my room, and I ask him to leave me on the folded white sheets piled on the floor.

“I’m so sorry,” tears fall from my eyes, “I’m sorry you have to see this.”

The Dauphin looks concerned, “Meri, what’s wrong?”

My cheeks burn, “Francis I have to ask you to check the hallway for any blood drops.”

Silence.

“Majesty, Helene is bringing up tea and I’ve started a bath.”

I sigh, “Thank you, sweet Rose, please show his Royal Highness out.”

No one moves, so I look up. Rose is mortified, but Francis is calculating something.

“Meri, I’ve seen blood before,” his voice is even, “but I will leave so you are comfortable.”

“Thank you, Francis,” I look down, then humorlessly add, “I need to get better with my timing.” 

“This is not something you can be blamed for, Meri.”

The door opens and closes.

“He is a good lad,” Eilish says from my closet, coming out with a new chemise, “most grown men gag at women's blood.”

“Majesty,” Rose pipes up may I undress you?”

“Please.”

My outer gown and petticoat are spotless, but my chemise and a part of my bum roll have fresh red stains on them.

“It’s because he was carrying me,” I realize, “the blood rolled down my bum.”

“Let’s get you to the bath, Madam,” Rose wraps a towel around me, “I’ll ask Gracie to take your clothes to the Lavior.”

The bath is warm, and I feel myself relaxed. I soak for a couple of minutes before I sneeze and a heavy squirt of blood rises in the water. I tell myself I shouldn’t be ashamed, every woman bleeds. Rose comes in then, two extra towels on her arms.

“I started bleeding early, at fourteen,” I tell Rose, “I wish my mother had been there, my ladies and I had to learn from our housekeeper.”

“Is it especially painful?” she asks.

“Sometimes,” I admit, “but I am fortunate now, when I was younger I used to bleed for seven days, now it’s only six.”

Rose shudders.

“Kenna and Lola are luckier,” I try to ease her fears, this girl is ten after all, “theirs each last about four days.”

Helene knocks and announces she has brought me lavender and mint tea and some berries.

“Thank you, Helene,” I smile, “will you go help Eilish remake my bed?”

While Gracie is at the Lavior, Rose washes and braids my hair, using a pitcher and basin. Her touch is gentle, if unsure, but I appreciate her help.

Eilish comes in to help me dress leaving me many pairs of rags wrapped around sticks. They go in easy, and once my chemise is on, I climb in bed.

“Mari!”

Greer, Aylee, Lola, Cadenza, and Elodie come in behind Kenna.

“Don’t worry,” I smile sadly, “I was just surprised, I knew it was coming.”

The women are silent.

“What?”

Lola speaks first, “There’s a rumor you are Queen of Ireland.”

I nod, “I am, MacDougal is getting the English Queen’s signature.”

“Congratulations,” Aylee’s eyes go wide, “that’s a whole new kingdom.”

“And a new headache,” Kenna adds, “what do you plan to do?”

“My first course of action is to get them to like me,” I confess, “I plan to get rid of English interference with the local culture and re-establish reliable governance, I think I shall need to appoint an ambassador quickly.”

The room is silent.

“Rose,” Kenna pipes up, “get her majesty a tray she can use as a desk.”

I sneeze and I feel the warm blood finding the cloth.

“I’ll continue writing the invitations,” Greer announces, “Kenna will help me.”

For once, Lady Livingston doesn’t argue but instead tells me to holler if I need anything.

“Thank you.”

Lola then hands me a list of official invitations to write. Lennox, Cumberland, and Suffolk.

“I have half a mind to invite Arundel and Westmoreland as well,” I admit to Lola.

My lady hesitates, “I shall meet with MacDougal for you tomorrow, I’ll make a list of questions.”

I thank Lola, and Helene comes up to me next.

“Madam, a message boy has just told me the two maids have arrived.”

“You and Eilish should fetch them and my grandmother,” I tell her, “I should greet them first.”

They go off, and Aylee sits on the edge of my bed.

“I hate to keep bothering you–”

I chuckle, “You could never be bothersome, Aylee.”

“But Cadenza and I have some musical ideas for the wedding,” Aylee gestures to Lady Narcisse, “and Elodie has some decoration ideas.”

"Come, then,” I grin, “this might be the most important discussion of my day.”

I shall be walking down the aisle to Highland Cathedral on the bagpipes and organ because the ceremony is happening at Notre Dame, the lightning will already have a gold feel to it. 

“We were thinking white heather instead of purple,” Aylee adds, “not just in your bouquet but as decoration.”

“Along with white and red roses,” Elodie winks, “to be just subtle enough.”

“What about Celtic triple knots,” I ask, “for Ireland, we could add them on a stake in the bouquets.”

“Also subtle,” Elodie nods, “I’ll do some research on Irish symbols.”

“For the music, we were thinking madrigals,” Cadenza continues, “they have a joyful sound to them and all those singers positioned correctly would be majestic.”

“We’ve sent a letter to the Archbishop of Notre Dame,” Aylee hurries, “it’s respectful, we don’t want to change the prayers or anything, but there are so few royal weddings and we want yours to be magical.”

“I understand,” I nod, “I’m not worried at all.”

A knock, then two lean sisters enter behind Eilish and Helene, a brunette and a blonde. They are both older than I am.

“Geraldine Duvernay, Madam,” the brunette curtsies, “your grandmother requested my sister and I.”

“Yes,” I sit up in bed, “I thank you and your sister for your journey, please come in.”

The sisters walk in gracefully, and I realize they must be spying for my grandmother, not for me.

“I appreciate your coming,” I look both Geraldine and Lousie in the eyes, “it seems there is new protocol at the French court that I am still learning.”

“I’m sure it’s nothing Your Majesty can’t handle,” Louise replies cooly, “we are happy to help in any way we can.”

“I’ve decided to train one of you as a lady,” my mind works fast, “I believe I shall have a married woman among my women after my own nuptials, and I like round numbers.”

Geraldine volunteers Louise to be the lady-in-training, as she calls it, the older sister wants a good life for the younger one, and marriage brings security.

“I agree, Eilish, Rose,” I turn, “get a boy to move one of the sofas in the lounge, we shall place another bed in there.”

My maids curtsey, but even I can see they are unsure.

“When you come back you must help Helene prepare Geraldine,” I smile, “they will have just returned from unpacking Geraldine’s belongings.”

My Duvernay maid takes the hint faster than Helene, and seeing them together I think Geraldine must be ten years older than my little maid. They go off, and I switch into a less formal posture to look at the ladies around me.

“Spies from my grandmother, gifts,” I tell them, “Lady Abernathy told me at Saint-Germain Queen Catherine avoids her, so she has her own friends, but my grandmother agrees I need more eyes than I have.”

“Very wise,” Elodie nods, “Father told us how dangerous the court was before we came, I have a room right next door to his and Luc’s because he is worried I will be a target for fortune hunters.”

I frown, “Your Father is an interesting man.”

Elodie bristles.

“He has the King’s ear,” I comment, hoping I haven’t pushed her away, “which is more than I have at the moment.”

“I still can’t believe he hit you,” Cadenza covers her mouth, “it was violent and cruel.”

I nod, my throat suddenly tight with the memory.

“ Mheri ,” Aylee stands, “I know I shall be in your ceremony, but Cadenza would like to play at your wedding.”

Lady Baglioni blushes, but I can tell she is thankful Aylee spoke out.

“She is welcome to,” I grin, “see if you can play with the court musicians to practice.”

Cadenza’s eyes shine, “Can I make a song list to show Your Majesty?”

I give a small incline of my head, “You may.”

However I have all my ladies meet Geraldine and Louise they get back, after having told them all why the girls are here.

“This is my Principal Lady-in-Waiting, Lady Lola Fleming–”

Lola curtsies.

“My Mistress of the Robes, Lady Greer Beaton–”

Greer welcomes both sisters to the palace.

“Lady Kenna Livingston accompanies me everywhere–”

Kenna winks at me before smiling brightly at the newcomers.

“Lady Aylee Seton is a loyal companion–”

Aylee blushes and curtsies.

“Oh, and Lady Elodie Narcisse and Lady Cadenza Baglioni were introduced to me upon arriving, they are not officially my ladies, but make wonderful company.”

Geraldine and Louise greet everyone politely, Louise slightly more enthusiastically than her sister. There must be some truth to Geraldine’s earlier statement.

“Helene and Rose you know, as well as Eilish,” I gesture, “but I have another Scots maid, Grace MacAlister, you shall meet her later.”

Kenna and Greer go back to writing the wedding invitations, they’re at MacAulay now. Cadenza and Aylee go off to plan my wedding music, and the Deveroux maids and Geraldine begin cleaning the bathroom and searching the closet for white clothes that will be easy to clean.

“Pull up a chair,” I tell Louise, “I’d like to meet you.”

Lola and Elodie shift on my bed, sitting against the posters while everyone gets comfortable.

“Lady Louise, Elodie is helping with my wedding decorations,” I straighten, “I want the ambiance of the Cathedral to carry most of the majesty, but I do need to decorate the palace party.”

“Banners?” Lola suggests.

Louise jumps at the opportunity, “What colors has Your Majesty chosen?”

“White, red, and gold,” I answer, “we need banners that match the linens.”

“Naturally,” Louise nods, “too much red would be jarring, and if there is too much gold it will clash with the lighting and cutlery, what does Your Majesty think of white linens for the tables?”

“I like it,” I state, “and Lady Louise, please call me Marie, you're are part of our circle now.”

Louise giggles and I know I’ve said the right thing. I ask Elodie to discuss any other ideas in the lounge with Louise and to make sure a new bed arrives on time. Lola will stay to help me with my correspondence.

I write till my hand hurts. Lennox, Cumberland, and Suffolk are all done when Lola reminds me I have to write back to the Queen of England.

“I’ll need some time to think,” I admit, “this is quite the action she’s taken.”

“It likely did not come from her head,” Lola agrees, “her poor Majesty, her life has been so awful.”

I stay silent for a moment, “I’d like to rest if you don’t mind.”

“Please do,” Lola stands, “I shall direct the mover boys.”

The curtains are closed and I rest in my warm bed. I fall asleep eventually, listening to the quiet sounds of life all around me. When Lola wakes me, it’s time to dress for dinner. The bed has been moved in, and MacDougal dropped by to check on me. He has discussed with Hawthorne and suggested the Earls of Westmoreland and Arundel be a part of the party representing the Queen if it does not inconvenience her. MacDougal has also received word that my soldiers have landed in Scotland and are making their way to Edinburgh. All of this is good news, and I feel less anxious than I did when I left the meeting. Which is very welcome.

Chapter Text

At dinner, I enter on Francis’ arm behind the King and Queen. I’ve never used the hidden entrance behind the throne because it’s specifically used for the French royalty. The court notices, but I see my grandmother and uncle take notice most of all. The Dauphin pulls out my chair and I sit down, then he pushes it in and sits down next to me.

The King raises his glass.

“A toast,” he booms, “to the bright future of France.”

I raise my glass, winking down at my ladies, Kenna winks back. I take two bites before Francis asks me if I am alright.

“Yes,” I whisper, blushing red, “I didn’t mean that to happen.”

“It’s alright,” the Dauphin takes my hand, “it just means you can have children.”

I look into my lap, and suddenly, the idea of having Francis’ children is in my mind and I can’t get it out of my head.

King Henry leans over to Francis, “What’s wrong with her?”

“Ireland,” he lies, “a new kingdom, new lords–”

“Lords can be very annoying,” King Henry pokes my shoulder, “you best get used to them, Marie.”

I steady my voice, “I thank Your Majesty for the advice.”

I look up and nod at the King before taking my cup.

“Francis,” I wonder aloud, “I want to send a delegation of lords to Ireland, preferably not annoying ones, who would you send for France?”

The Dauphin raises an eyebrow, the King gives a pleasant huff.

Francis grins, “Narcisse is authoritative enough, and he’d love the cold weather.”

The King chuckles.

“Then I can send Lola and Elodie,” I add, “perhaps an Abernathy or the second son of a clan coming for our wedding.”

“All good ideas,” King Henri agrees from Francis’ left, “but that is many more Scots than French.”

My eyes scan the crowd and find my grandmother, I smile.

“Ah, a de Guise cousin at the end of the Earth.”

“It’s not quite the end of the Earth,” I shrug, “you never know, its ports could be gateways to the New World.”

The French King let his irises kindle greed and his throat make glee at the thought of more power. I raise an eyebrow at Francis, smirking. I know I’ve one this verbal battle.

I don’t dance this evening. I sit on a chaise with Greer and Aylee, giggling every time Francis smiles over at me. 

“Marie,” my grandmother comes over with Aunt Louise, “I have heard a rumor that you acquired a new kingdom today.”

I smile, “I did, Grandmére, and when I send a delegation to Ireland I hope to send one of my French Clan.”

Once Antoinette de Guise gets my meaning, she chuckles.

“French Clan.”

“Francis and I are discussing it,” I admit, “he suggested Narcisse as another Frenchman, and if that’s the case I shall be sending Lola and Elodie as well.”

My grandmother raises an eyebrow, “Both?”

“Daughters have a gentle effect,” I lean back, “and Lola speaks Scots Gaelic, which is easier translated into Irish Gaelic than French.”

“They are close,” Louise observes, “do you think it is wise to have a Narcisse so close to you.”

I have half a mind to tell her about her slimy husband and her sly brother’s money, but that won’t help anything.

“Elodie is kind, her father is anything but,” I state, “yet I feel she has become an ally.”

My grandmother asks if I’m sure because she’s worried. The Narcisse family is strong.

“I am sure,” I let my eyes find Lola and Elodie by the desert table with Cadenza, “the bond between women can be just as strong as bonds between men.”

Aunt Louise sighs, “And your pair of sisters have arrived?”

“Yes,” I nod, “Louise is with Kenna and Bash, they want to marry after my wedding, and Louise can be in training until then.”

“Ah,” Antoinette de Guise straightens, “you are shifting your ladies?”

“Kenna has other duties to me that extend beyond fluffing my pillows,” I wave, “this will give her more freedom.”

“The shieldmaiden,” my Aunt Louise asks, “such a strange tradition.”

“A beneficial one,” I wink, “who would expect a woman to hold her ground in a world of men.”

My aunt chuckles.

“Excuse us, Marie,” my grandmother curtsies, “you have some ladies on their way who want to meet you.”

Cadenza is on the arm of an older woman with the same honey-silk skin as her, followed by a tall man and a boy about Rose and Helene’s age.

“Majesty,” Cadenza curtsies, “may I present my parents, the Count and Countess de Baglioni, and my brother, Lorenzo de Baglioni.”

“Your daughter is quite the musician,” I smile, “you must be very proud of her, your ladyship.”

The Countess glows, and a little surprised I addressed her first.

“I am, Your Majesty.”

“She’s been helping with my wedding music,” I turn to the Count, “will your family still be in France for the wedding?”

“Yes, Madam,” the Count bows, “congratulations on your engagement.”

“Thank you,” I blush gracefully, “it constantly fills me with joy.”

“Is it true,” the count asks, “that my daughter is to play with the royal musicians?”

I smile warmly, “It is, she and my Lady Seton brought the idea to me, and I rather liked it.”

Cadenza is beaming, and she and her mother share a look. 

Greer nudges my arm, “Lady Abernathy is coming, Madam.”

The Baglionis politely take their leave, and Lady Abernathy arrives on Garrett’s arm.

“May we speak in Scots, Mórachd ?”

“Of course,” I reply, preparing my tongue to roll the sound of r syllables, “what is it you wish to discuss?

“We wish to return to Scotland,” the Lady tells me, “we have been too long in France.”

I frown, “Have you been conspired against?”

“Yes,” Garrett lowers his voice, “the Queen, Lord Narcisse, and your Aunt’s husband.”

I nod, “What is it they want?”

“Power that you have,” Lady Abernathy answers, “I think they know you know something to do with finances.”

I turn to Greer, and she sighs.

“Do you have family back home?” I ask.

“Yes,” Garrett nods, “my father was one of seven.”

I try to smile, “Then I will write you a letter for passage, but keep in touch, let me know if your family has sons that can go to Ireland.”

Lady Abernathy curtsies, Garrett bows.

“Thank you, Your Majesty.”

Once they leave, Lady Louise comes up to me on the arm of Luc de Narcisse. I smile fully, admitting I’m happy to see them.

“Thank you, Majesty,” Luc bows, “if I may, I’d like to talk to you about my sister.”

“Of course,” I turn to Aylee with a wink, “would you take Lady Louise to the desert table, she looks a little pink.”

Louise giggles and Aylee grabs her arm, whispering into her ear the whole way to the refreshments.

“Shall I leave too, Mari?”

“No,” I look to Luc, “this has something to do with Lola, doesn’t it?”

“It does,” he swallows, “my father knows of her relationship with Lola.”

Greer growls, “I bet he doesn’t approve.”

“He does not.” Luc agrees.

I tell Lord Narcisse about my plans to send his father to Ireland with a delegation representing Francis and me.

I wonder aloud, “Would that give them some safety?” 

“It would,” Luc nods, “but I’m worried about what he could try now.”

“We’ll be extra careful,” Greer answers, “nothing bad will happen to Lola or your sister.”

Luc bows and thanks us.

“You are welcome,” I grin, “now you may help my newest lady adjust to court life.”

Lord Narcisse practically skips off to wherever Louise and Aylee have wandered. My gaze follows him until Kenna plops down unceremoniously next to me.

“I’m tired of dancing,” she heaves, “and I’m also tired of the King staring at me.”

I glance at His Majesty’s throne, his eyes have followed Kenna to the spot next to my right.

“I might like to retire soon,” I admit, looking away from King Henri, “Will you and Greer go round up the rest of our crew.”

“Of course,”  Kenna seems relieved to stay next to Greer, “if we see Francis we’ll send him over.”

I watch them go, smiling as they embrace Cadenza, Elodie, and Lola, who seem to have found each other.

“They seem very happy.”

I move over so the Dauphin can sit next to me. He takes the opportunity to do so and wraps an arm around my shoulders.

“We’re going to be happy.” I remind Francis, leaning against him.

“We are,” the Dauphin agrees, eyes finding my face, “I can’t wait to marry you.”

I go a little scarlet, but not enough to take up my whole face.

“Saint-Germain was just the beginning,” Francis’ voice slips into my ear, “we’ll  have so much fun.”

I raise an eyebrow at the Crown Prince of France.

“Have any ideas, do you?”

Francis answers a little too quickly, “Many.” 

I shove him a little and we both sit up straight.

“I take it you don’t want to dance tonight?”

“Another time,” I answer, “I think I might retire as well, the day’s been a long one.”

Francis takes my hand and walks me over to my ladies, who have all been watching us with sly smiles as we approach.

“I hear I must say goodnight,” Francis looks around at my ladies, “make sure the Queen gets her rest.”

“We shall, Your Royal Highness,” Lola curtsies.

I turn to the Dauphin, “Good night, Francis.”

He kisses my cheek, “Good night, Meri.”

Upstairs, there are so many women in my quarters it feels wonderfully feminine. 

“Geraldine,” Louise calls to her sister grinning like a fool, “we had so much fun!”

The older sister turns to me, “Did you, Majesty?”

“We certainly did,” I smile, “Geraldine, will you help Louise take the ribbons from her hair?”

Geraldine nods and grabs her sister’s hand, Louise giggles the whole way to the vanity.

“Majesty,” Grace comes up to me, “we’re drawing three baths.”

“One for Greer, one for Kenna, and one for Louise,” I answer.

Lola and Elodie have gone into the meeting room, the chamber farthest from my bedroom to “have a chat,” for the benefit of those in the room who don’t know. 

“Majesty,” Rose comes up to me, her voice low, “should Helene and I prepare you a place to change your rags?”

“Please,” I nod, “and if we can set up a washbin in the bathroom I would appreciate it.”

Eilish is conscripted to help, so I join Aylee and Cadenza on the floor with the ladies awaiting their baths.

“Is the Lord Narcisse kind?” Louise blushes.

“He is a sweet man,” Greer admits, “very gentlemanly and not at all like his father.”

Geraldine interjects, “Is his father mean?”

“Brutally so, I hear, he is very cunning as well,” I tilt my head at my new spy, “if only I could tell what he spent his days doing, then we could see whether or not your sister could see his son.”

Geraldine nods back, “I’m sure Your Majesty will find out, a man like that wouldn’t have as many friends as you.”

Grace comes and informs us the baths are ready, and Louise, Kenna, and Greer go into the bathroom followed by Geraldine.

“My lady,” Helene approaches from behind the dressing screen, “we’ve completed your request.”

“Ah,” I stand, “Helene, will you take Lady Baglioni back to her quarters, Rose will tend to me.”

  Aylee sits down at the vanity, taking gems from her hair, while I get to pull out my rags. Kneeling behind the screen, I pull out the stick and the bundle of red rags that come with it. All are soaked, some so dark the blood nearly looks purple.

“Majesty,” Rose fiddles with her button as she speaks, “Eilish informed me you used cotton at Saint-Germain, and we have picked some for you this afternoon.”

“Oh, thank you,” relief washes over me, “the stick method always seems to end up poking me.”

I damn my blood with a couple more rags while Rose takes the dirty ones to Eilish. Then, we pick leaves and flick dirt from the fresh cotton mounds.

“Aylee?” 

“Yes, Mheri ?”

“Will you go check on Lola and Lady Narcisse,” I swallow, “Helene will walk her back when she returns.”

“Of course.”

Then I get in the bath, using Greer’s water because she did not spend the day as sweaty as Kenna or Louise. Rose washes my hair while Geraldine, Eilish, and Grace dress the clean ladies. Aylee and Lola join me a little later, each stepping in their own tubs.

“Elodie went back,” Lola looks down, “Helene said her father seemed angry.”

I sigh heavily, thinking of Luc’s confession to me this evening. I mean to tell Lola, but then Eilish comes back in.

“I found a string, Mheri ,” she smiles proudly, “we’ll hand the rags from it.”

While Eilish does that, Rose switches to washing Aylee’s hair and Helene comes in to clean Lola’s. Once we’re all dry and I’ve plugged my blood, I gather my ladies and Geraldine around the fireplace in the lounge.

“We can dry our hair while preparing for tomorrow’s tasks,” I explain to Louise, “everything is going to be busy until the wedding.”

Lola writes everything down of course. We have to finish the invitations, send them, and make a tally of guests. Then we have to prepare adequate rooms, alert the King of our number of guests, and make sure the palace has enough servants. I also have to write an exit letter for the Abernathys, continue planning for my Irish Delegation, and begin ordering wedding decorations.

“You must also think about a menu,” Louise adds, “I’m sure the chef will want your input.”

“I’m sure he will,” I agree, turning to Lola, “write that down.”

“We can finalize the musicians,” Aylee adds, “we can give music to the ones Cadenza and I have selected.”

Greer then adds that she needs time for a fitting, needs me to pick wedding jewelry, and must visit Monsieur Castleroy to pick up my dress lace.

“So many things,” Geraldine notes.

When we go to bed, I pull my spy aside and ask her to go past the Narcisse quarters on her way to her rooms, and to fetch Lady Narcisse in the morning.

Geraldine nods, “It shall be done.”

Chapter Text

Our morning is busy. At eight o’clock, my team of ladies is eating in one of the common rooms. Lola, Elodie, Aylee, Cadenza, Greer, Kenna, and Louise. Geraldine is off
“learning how to clean” from the maids who clean the Narcisse rooms, and I have Grace, Eilish, Rose, and Helene serving us, so as not to let our personal matters slip.

“Greer,” I begin, “take a maid into town with you when you go to pick up the lace.”

“Of course,” she agrees, “may we schedule a fitting for when I get back.”

“Tentatively,” I answer, “I’ll try to do something I can be removed from.”

Cadenza and Aylee are going to finalize the musicians, and then go to the copier for the sheet music.

“Take Helene,” I suggest, “and Rose can go with Greer.”

Both ladies nod.

“I shall write invitations,” Lola offers, “and Louise should join me so she can learn the lords’ names.”

“I would be honored to,” Louise smiles, “it will do me good.”

With some pushing at first, Kenna eventually agrees to draft a menu of both Scottish and French dishes for the wedding meal. Elodie will finalize our most basic wedding decorations and order them.

“Alert Queen Catherine first,” I tell Lady Narcisse, “she will have her own ideas, write them down, then come back to me.”

Elodie winks at me, “Of course, Majesty.”

Once I dismiss everyone from breakfast, I go to the palace library, a notebook under my arm. I want those who will represent me in Ireland to make a good impression and convey my true interests. This should be difficult. Eilish has accompanied me to the library, and I allow her to run her hand down the spines of some of the oldest books.

“Queen Marie!”

I raise my head as the King of France approaches, hoping my smile is sincere enough for him.

“Your Majesty.” I nod politely.

King Henri raises an eyebrow, “All alone?”

“No,” I respond, “my Eilish is browsing while I work.”

“And what are you working on.” The King sneers, more condescendingly than harm-inducing, so I’ll accept it.

“My Irish Delegation,” I answer, “I need a few more Frenchmen to represent Francis and me on the journey.”

“Ah, well lucky I’m here,” King Henri straightens, “who do you have?”

“Lord Narcisse,” I grin, “I like the comment Francis made about him and the cold.”

The King laughs.

I tilt my head, “But I can’t decide who from my family to send.”

“Who do you have in mind?”

I swallow, “Could your Majesty part with the husband of my Aunt Louise?”

The King hums, eyes clouding as he judges my motives and if he can get anything out of this scenario. He could. My Aunt’s husband is a shady man, if the French King wanted something just for himself in Ireland, that man could help him get it.

“I think I could,” King Henri finally answers, “when do you intend to send this delegation.”

“After the wedding,” I answer, “I want to send some of the Scots who are arriving as well.”

The King nods, “Like Mackenzie, who is arriving in three days.”

“He can stay here, correct,” I ask quickly, “because Saint-Germain is four hours away?”

King Henri raises an eyebrow.

“But we’re so full, Marie,” he leers, “what a job for the servants.”

“Mackenzie is here to help with my marriage contract,” I don’t squeam under the King’s eyes, “he should be here.”

The King sighs, “Very well, I will have the servants prepare.”

When he leaves, Eilish comes out from behind a bookcase.

“Alert Grace,” I tell her, letting out a breath and loosening my stomach, “I shall be up soon.”

My list so far includes Lord Narcisse and my uncle, as well as two open slots for Scotsmen. I am also wondering whether or not to send women. I must ask Lady Abernathy if she would consider it.

On my way upstairs, I am fortunate enough to find the Abernathy’s locked-in deep conversation with Aunt Louise’s husband. I clear my throat loudly.

My uncle sees me and bows.

“Do wait, Uncle,” I call out, “I have just asked the King to let you be part of my Irish Delegation.”

Freezing, the slimy Count smiles, clearly interested, in what I have said.

“His Majesty agreed,” I nod, “and I know you will represent Francis and me well when you leave in June.”

“Of course, Majesty.”

With another bow, my uncle leaves, and I turn to the Abernathys. 

“I need some more Scots on that trip,” I admit, “Garrett, does Mackenzie have a son?”

The Lord nods, “Three, Seamus, the second son and is frightening in a quiet way, he once beat a boy three years older than us in Shinny. 

“He sounds perfect,” I nod, “I’m going to write your letter now.”

“Thank you, Mórachd ,” Lady Abernathy curtsies, “may the blessing of light be on you, light without and light within.”

I put my hands on Lady Abernathy’s shoulders and kiss her cheek.

“Dunnae let yersel be meddled wi’,” I smile at her, “thank ye both fer all yer help,”

Garrett kisses my hand, “I understand why poems have been written about, Mórachd .”

Upstairs, I write a letter praising the Abernathys, making sure my signature is large so it will make travel for them easy.

“Mari,” Greer knocks, “are you available for a fitting?”

I stand, “I’m all yours, Greer.”

My lady enters with an army of women behind her. Eilish gently picks up the lace and shows it to me.

“Look how lovely, Majesty,” she grins, “the finest French lace money can buy.”

“The finest lace there is,” Greer corrects, “all for Mari.”

My dress silk is a delicate ivory that shines like pearls in the sunlight. There is chiffon and taffeta as well, to help stiffen the dress and keep its delicate curves. The other palace maids Greer has recruited for this task help hold up fabrics and fluff out my skirts.

“I think we’re ready to send the project off to the tailor, Greer,” I smile so wide my eyes feel like they will burst, “these pieces are magnificent.”

I pick out gold jewelry to go with my gown, and the makeshift drape-on cut-out is carefully peeled off me. Louise and Lola specifically come in the room to fawn over the dress-like baseline as Greer packs it up.

“We’ve finished all the invitations, Majesty,” Louise grins, “and there are so man surnames beginning with Mac I think my head might burst.”

I laugh, “Wonderful, you’re learning.”

We send out the invitations, and with MacDougal’s help, all the messengers are adequately prepared.

“I’m so gleeful,” I confess to Lola and Louise on the way to see Mrs. Wilson, “my wedding is a little over a month away.”

“Any woman would be, Queen Marie,” Louise winks, “weddings are joyous occasions.”

Lola grins sheepishly at me, “I wonder if there will be any Scottish dancing at the reception.”

I shake my head, “We’ll see how well-behaved everyone is.”

Mrs. Wilson is surprised and a little flustered when I venter lower than nobles usually go to see her, but she is honored that I picked her to oversee the preparations for the wedding guests’ rooms.

“Most will be staying at Saint Germain,” I tell her, “because the castle will be so full of nobles.”

“Of course, Madam,” she nods, “I’ll make sure everything’s perfect for the lords and ladies.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Wilson,” I smile warmly, “I’m looking forward to my wedding day.”

“Any lass would be, Madam,” she curtsies, “congratulations.”

Then we go off to lunch, and I will admit, I slouch in my chair a little.

“Wedding planning is so difficult,” I sigh, taking a teacup, “I am so tired.”

“You should rest after our meal,” Louise suggests, “I find warm baths do just that.”

I hum, that sounds like a great idea. Since it is the second day of my monthly, I need all the pain relief I can get. I changed my rags just before we came down for our meal, there was such a mess I had to scrub the dried blood from the inside of my thighs.

Our conversation has drifted to fate since my mind had wandered off, so I tell Louise that Nostradamus has given us fortunes. 

“Mine was very kind,” Aylee nods, “he called me a gazelle in a Den of Lions.”

“Den of Lions being the French Court, no doubt,” Louise sighs, “I confess Queen Catherine’s ladies certainly embody lions.”

“They do,” Greer puts a hand on Louise’s arm, “but lions rely on fear factor.”

Louise smirks in a way that reminds me she’s a spy, “I don’t fear wild animals in petticoats, the image alone makes me laugh.”

That sends giggles throughout the table.

“Mine was about the fierce beating of my heart,” Kenna butters some bread, “and I for one think it’s come true.”

I clear my throat.

“Oh, right,” Kenna sits up straighter, “Mari, I have news.”

I raise an eyebrow, “News?”

“Bash proposed officially,” Kenna rolls her eyes in admiration, “and the King has called a priest for a small ceremony after you leave on your honeymoon.”

I gape at my lady, “Kenna, what news! The King really did that?”

Small pools of tears fill my lady’s eyes.

“Kenna Livingston,” Lola gasps, “congratulations!”

Elodie raises her glass and gives a toast, to which we all cheer.

“You know,” Cadenza smiles, “you haven’t told us about how Diane likes you.”

Kenna snorts, “Because she doesn’t.”

I grin, “Mothers-in-law take time to warm up.”

Just then, everyone at my table stands. I look up to find Francis approaching, beaming smugly at me.

“Meri,” he kisses my head, “I heard you’ve been planning.”

“Yes,” I tilt my head back to look up at the prince, “and you must help me argue with your mother in defense of Haggis at the wedding.”

“Ooh,” Francis winces, “I can’t say I’ll be successful.”

I sigh rather loudly.

“You must excuse me, ladies,” Francis takes my hand, “but I have to steal the Queen from you, her Ambassador wants to see us.”

I like the idea of going to see MacDougal with Francis. Now he’s the consort meeting with a foreign dignitary, likely on marriage matters too.

“You are fond of your Ambassador,” the Dauphin remarks as we walk, “he seems very kind.”

“He is,” I nod, “the first night I came here your father embarrassed me for my lack of knowledge, but MacDougal has kept me up to speed since.”

“Ah,” Francis huffs, “my father.”

“What is it?”

“He,” the Dauphin shakes his head, “loves to throw parties, but he says he’s tired of hosting foreigners.”

I frown, “But I’m going to be your wife, and technically I’m a foreigner.”

“Yes,” Francis nods, “but he is close with that slippery Uncle of yours, and the whole De Guise Family.”

I nod, “Still, he’d better get used to it.”

“That’s what I said.”

I knock on the door to MacDougal’s work room, then throw a quick smile at Francis before the Ambassador answers.

“Ah, Mórachd ,” MacDougal nods at Francis, “please come in.”

We do, and I sit down across from my ambassador.

“This is your office,” Francis looks around, “the table barely fits in here?”

“The English Ambassador has nicer rooms,” MacDougal comments, taking the opportunity, “but it is my Queen you are marrying.”

“Exactly,” Francis sits down, “I’ll ask my Father to give you larger rooms, my wife’s Ambassador can’t be in this square of a room.”

I smile, raising an eyebrow at MacDougal.

“Thank you, Highness,” MacDougal smiles back, “Scotland appreciates your kindness.”

I join my hand with the Dauphin’s, a motion the Ambassador doesn’t miss.

“I have good news,” MacDougal straightens, “Lord Mackenzie has landed in Dunkirk.”

I frown.

“French Dunkirk, Madam,” MacDougal corrects with a wink, “he should arrive tonight so marriage negotiations can continue tomorrow.”

“Good,” I nod, “we certainly can use some firepower.”

“Mackenzie,” Francis questions, “firepower?”

I pat my betrothed’s arm, “He’s going to help argue for Scotland against your Father.”

“Ah.”

“What’s more, Mórachd ,” my ambassador adds, “Simon Hawthorne has gone to get his Queen’s signature for the hand-off of Ireland.”

I grin, “He must hate that.”

MacDougal nods, “I bet he is.”

Francis turns to me, “Is your delegation list going well?” 

“Yes,” I turn back to MacDougal, “I was hoping Seamus Mackenzie would be a part of that.”

The Ambassador says it would be a good idea, and writes it down to ask Lord Mackenzie.

“And, MacDougal,” I straighten, “I have a mind to learn Irish Gaelic, fully learn it, for speech purposes.”

“That is a good idea, Majesty, the vocabularies are very different,” MacDougal nods, “I will ask your old Tutor if he knows anyone who can teach you the language.”

“And Welsh as well,” I add, “at least some words, I want to be able to impress the people one day.”

“It would be good for the future,” the Ambassador agrees, “if we ever need to lay claim to England and or Wales.”

I squeeze Francis’ hand, he squeezes back.

I stand, “I shall see you tonight, Ambassador.”

“Majesty.” he bows.

Chapter Text

We’re waiting in a large, open foyer. It is late, dinner has already finished and the court is up to its usual evening celebrations. MacDougal stands a little behind me at my right, Francis the same distance on my left. My Ambassador is in full traditional wear, and I can’t help but notice Francis glancing at it.

“Hey,” I lean in, “I’m afraid you’re going to see a lot more of those.”

The Dauphin chuckles, “Tartans? Your whole dress is made of one.”

I shrug, “Well I needed something to match this wolfskin caplet.”

“You look very Queenly, Meri,” he smiles, “if I didn’t know you, I’d be intimidated.”

I lean in and kiss Francis, “You haven’t seen anything yet, darling.”

My betrothed’s response is cut out by a most welcome sound. I can hear it along with the marching of feet. Scotland the Brave. 

MacDougal sees me grin.

“Mackenzie has quite the gall doesn’t he?”

My eyes glisten with glee, “I love it.”

There are three horses coming through the gate. The first must be Lord Mackenzie, the others I believe are his sons.

“Marie, tell your people to turn off that damn noise!”

I visibly roll my eyes at the King’s shouts, and it takes Francis’s hand on my shoulder to remind me that I shouldn’t shout back.

MacDougal comes down the steps, “Oi, Mackenzie, come aff that high horse and gie a lad a hug.”

The bagpipes stop, and Mackenzie embraces MacDougal. The skittering of feet sends my head around, and I find Kenna and Aylee just behind me.

“Keep yer heid, lassies.” I warn with a cheeky little smirk.

“Lord Mackenzie,” MacDougal walks up with the cotton-bearded man on his right, “may I introduce our Queen, Mari Stuart.”

“You’re Majesty,” Lord Mackenzie bows, his r sounds still rough, even in French, “I see ye aren’t a wee lassie anymore.”

“I’d hope not,” I reply, trying not to bristle at the coolness of his tone, “let me be the first to welcome you to France.”

“Ah, the land you ran to when there was too much suffering at home,” MacDougal turns to Mackenzie in shock, “I need no introduction to it, thank ye.”

I hear metal clanging. Though angry, I hold my hand over Francis’ sword.

“I did not run to France,” my gaze narrows, staring into the Lord’s eyes, “I am here because Scotland needs me here.”

“And what if Scotland needed you, and not your mother,” Mackenzie continues, “what would you say then?”

“I would say that whatever quarrel you have with her is not with me,” my fists are balled now, “but know, since I arrived at court I have sent soldiers, coin, and grain home. I have wrestled a Kingdom from English control–”

“Aye,” Mackenzie crosses his arms, “but what of the English and our kingdom.”

I narrow my eyes, “You call me a traitor?”

Mackenzie stands firm, face unimpressed.

I huff, sticking a finger in Mackenzie’s face, “You fought with my father at Salway Moss, you saw him bleed and die, and you know it was his own Uncle who killed him. The flesh of his soul is my bones, and I would never let my father, who gave me his crown, leave behind a memory of defeat.”

There’s a rumbling through the crowd, and I know I have them now.

“My Lord,” I clap my hands, “you are here to keep the King of France away from Scotland’s resources during the negotiation of my marriage, is that clear?”

Mackenzie takes my right hand and kisses Scotland’s signet ring, “We are at your disposal, Madam, for Scotland.”

“And Scotland thanks you kindly, all of you,” I say in Scots, “we are here to make our country strong again, and we have allies now who will do the same.”

I latch onto Francis’ arm, “Lord Mackenzie, my I introduce my fiance, Francis de Valois, the Dauphin of France.”

“Highness,” Mackenzie bows keeping his eyes on Francis, “it is an honor to meet you.”

“To you as well, Lord Mackenzie,” the Dauphin's smile is playful, “Meri speaks very highly of Scots, and I admit I haven’t met many in my time.”

Mackenzie chuckles, “Dear Prince, that is about to change.”
MacDougal then asks if they would like to rest or take a meal, Mackenzie says they will change first.

“We’ll be at the party, MacDougal,” I nod politely, “Kenna, Aylee, tell us of the entertainment.”

We walk into the ballroom where there is dancing, cakes, and polite conversation. Looking around, I’m worried this is not the most receptive room to Scottish costumes. I voice my fears to Francis, and he decides we should go speak to the King.

I put on my most charming, feminine persona, “Majesty, I am pleased to tell you my countrymen have arrived.”

Dryly, Diane replies that they heard. King Henri laughs.

Queen Catherine is more inclined to tease, “Are you telling me not to be appalled, Marie?”

“Appalled is a strong word, Majesty,” I sigh, “though I would prepare to hear accented French.”

Francis turns to me, “The way you sometimes do?”

“I dunnae hae an accent.” I frown, choosing to answer in English so that my vowels sound excessively Scottish.

The French King snorts, “I’m looking forward to this.”

I take the Dauphin’s arm and watch the door, when I hear Lord Mackenzie announced, I grab my betrothed’s flesh way too tight.

“Your Majesty,” Lord Mackenzie bows to the King, speaking in accented French, “we are honored to be welcomed at your court.”

King Henri leers down at the kilted men, “I’m overjoyed to welcome more Scots to my court.”

There are a couple of chuckles from courtiers, and I’m ashamed to note that my de Guise relations make up most of them.

Mackenzie grins, eyes slimming like a hunter’s, “We’d hoped you would feel as such, Majesty, and so we have brought a gift of Scotland, to make your transition easier.”

“A gift of Scotland,” the King laughs, “don’t tell me our dear Marie has a sister.”

I envision myself storming up to the King and slapping him, but Francis holds me back by the arms.

“No, Sire,” Mackenzie gestures to his sons, “we have brought you Scotch Whiskey.”

Seamus and his brother set down a huge oak trunk, then each pulls out bottles that are so large they must be handmade.

“Scotch Whiskey,” King Henri looks intrigued, “I should like some.”

The Mackenzie sons go forward, the younger son grabbing a shot glass out of the trunk while Seamus pops the cork.

The King hums, “What a color.”

I admit I grin like a wicked sprite as my soon-to-be father-in-law throws back the liquor. Watching his eyes go wide as the burning sensation registers fills me with great joy. The King begins to cough, his face going red.

“I like this,” King Henri announces, clearing his throat, “Francis come and try this!”

My fiance looks at me, and I squeeze his arm. We both approach the King’s table from behind. The King fills Francis with the shot glass all the way to the top, it sloshes as he slides it down the table. 

It hits me then that King Henri wants to embarrass Francis in front of the Scots. So, instinctually, I grab the glass and chug the liquid. There’s an audible gasp when I slam the glass down in front of the King, perfectly fine.

I crack a shit-eating smile, “It appears my blood can dilute Scotch Whiskey better than yours, Majesty.”

There’s a tense moment where no one speaks, and for a second I wonder if I’ve stepped too far. Then King Henri laughs.

“Dear Marie, I should’ve realized by now, you’re more Scottish than French.”

He meant it as an insult, but I don’t take it as one.

“Thank you, Majesty,” I wink, “that ability is what kept me alive in this country.”

The King stares at me, clearly offended and annoyed.

“Musicians,” Queen Catherine claps, “play something Scottish!”

As the music begins, I feel myself being pulled towards a certain Prince who I feel smile against my neck.

“I can make you French.”

I turn back to the Dauphin, hoping no one on the ballroom floor sees me blush.

“You tell yourself that, Francis.”

My fiance raises an eyebrow, and I spin out of his grasp.

“I have to speak with my countrymen.”

He nods, “Right.”

I lean in to kiss his cheek, but Francis catches my lips in his instead. There are cheers from the crowd. Embarrassed, I pull back.

“Goodbye, for now, Francis.”

Then I walk off and gather my ladies with a wave of my hand.

I approach my lords, “How are your faring, countrymen?”

“Splendidly, Majesty,” Lord Mackenzie bows, “I didnae ken ye can handle yer Scotch.”

“You have Lady Livingston to thank for that,” I gesture to Kenna, “she keeps me on my toes.”

Lord Mackenzie eyes my lady, “Then I take it much hasn’t changed since yer days back home.”

“Certainly not,” Kenna grins, taking Elodie’s arm, “we’ve even tried to teach Lady Narcisse to jig.”

“Did ye now,” Mackenzie turns, “did ye hear that, Fraser, they’ve taught a Frenchie to jig?”

“I’m still in need of lessons,” Elodie blushes, eyes finding Lola, “but Lady Fleming has taken pity on me.”

“I’ve seen worse,” Lola winks, “in fact, it looks like Seamus has sprouted even more than when we saw him last.”

Seamus Mackenzie snorts, “I hope that’s a compliment, Lady Fleming.”

“Surely,” Lola grins, “ladies of the French Court are never rude, and I would never tell dear Elodie that you’ve tread on my toes everytime we’ve ever reeled.”

Seamus raises an eyebrow, “Then I suppose we must remedy that fact, Lady Fleming, do you hear a reel playing?”

Lola turns to Elodie, “Find Garrett and get him to join us, I want to teach you how to dance in a foursome.”

I chuckle, gesturing to Garrett, “It appears Lord Abernathy had a similar idea.”

Kenna gasps upon seeing Garrett trying to explain reel steps to Louise.

Come, Fergus,” Kenna grabs the youngest Mackenzie son, “I must spy on Lord Abernathy and Lady Duvernay.”

Fergus Mackenzie sighs, “I know better than to argue with a lady.”

Lola and Seamus follow.

“Lord MacDougal,” I turn to my Ambassador, “you must help Elodie practice.”

“A command I am happy to fulfill,” MacDougal bows, “Lady Narcisse.”

I notice Cadenza and Aylee whispering to each other and glancing at the musicians.

“You may go, ladies.”

They look at me, giggle, and run off.

“Lord Fraser,” I beckon the man forward, “Lady Beaton is in need of a dance partner.”

The young lord smiles, “Then thank goodness we have found one.”

As the two go off to wait to jump into the dance. 

I raise an eyebrow and hold my hand to Lord Mackenzie, “I wish to dance as well, my lord.”

My countryman is smiling now,   “And her Majesty must get what she wants.”

Chapter Text

We dance in such a lively manner that my hair comes slightly undone as I spin, stomp, and switch partners. 

“You know,” King Henri claps when we finish, “I say this Scotch Whiskey is beginning to work wonders.”

Francis comes to me after the court laughs and French music wafts into the room again, and I make sure I introduce him personally to all the lords. 

“Your Fiance is very French,” Lord Mackenzie comments, “but he’s a good lad.”

Lord Fraser grumbles, “His Father though.”

We all glance over to where Diane is feeding the King strawberries.

“Such a whore if I ever saw one.”

I flinch at the words. Diane has never been nice to me, but I was born royalty, there’s not much else for women to do in the world after that, even if you are noble there are still restrictions.

But instead, I say, “Her son is to marry Lady Livingston.”

That gets the attention of the Lords.

Lord Fraser frowns, “Does Lord Livingston approve?”

“The King has consented,” I shrug, “and Bash has agreed to a handfasting ceremony, which I admit, I hope to be performing.”

Mackenzie proposes a toast, “To our selkies, who capture sailor’s hearts all over the Continent.”

Lord MacDougal snorts, then his eyes glide over my shoulder.

He bows, “Queen Catherine.”

I turn to my future mother-in-law.

“Come, Marie,” the Queen waves her wrist, “some ladies and I are playing cards, and I wish to see how you fare against your Grandmother.”

“How exciting,” I nod to the Queen, “excuse me, my Lords.”

The ladies at Queen Catherine’s table are all women who Lady Abernathy once described as “vultures.” I’m not surprised at their being here, but I am surprised at my being here.

“Queen Marie, I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced at this busy court,” the woman who speaks is wearing a pale blue dress that is clearly cut wrong on the shoulders to expose the skin that she flaunts as she speaks, “I’m Marie du Allard, Queen Catherine’s favorite lady.”

“Now, now,” the French Queen sits down, “let’s not nominate ourselves for a position that will never exist.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Madame,” I sit as gracefully as I can with cotton cloth around my legs, “perhaps you may find time to teach me to stay in the Queen’s good graces, I hear mothers-in-law can be difficult.”

Queen Catherine hums, “You have a good one, Antoinette, did I tell you that the first thing she did when she wanted soldiers came to me?”

“Our Marie is a smart one, like her mother,” my Grandmother levels me with an inquisitive gaze, “she has gained the King’s permission to send my son-in-law to Ireland.”

Madame du Allard picks up her cards, “Did she?”

“It was the Queen who gave me the idea,” I gesture to the French Queen next to me, “she mentioned Grace O’Malley, and if anyone could get a pirate to accept favorable interest it is my Uncle.”

My Grandmother gives me the side eye.

Queen Catherine’s voice gets airy as a song, “Letters of Marque for Grace O’Malley, the first act of the Irish-Scottish alliance is piracy.”

“Privateering,” I correct, laying down a mediocre card, “but I have learned today that Scotch Whiskey makes fast friends, which I intend to act on.”

Antoinette de Guise sighs, “Marie, you will have no discourse with a pirate.”

“I like to think of her as a woman who makes due,” I shrug, “ she’s only a pirate to the English.”

“You would go against your ‘Sister Queen’,” Madame du Allard grins, “my, my, you have Queen Catherine’s guts.”

I blush slightly, “Her husband really. I’ll see what I think of him when he comes to visit.”

“Yes,” Queen Catherine grimaces, playing the winning card, “he’ll be here in a week.”

“And stay till my wedding?” I ask, folding my cards.

“Of course,” my grandmother answers, “it will be the event of the year.”

“Decade,” the Queen corrects, “Marie intends to serve Scottish dishes.”

I wink, “Maybe we’ll get lucky and an unlucky Spaniard will choke.”

The Queen and Madame du Allard laugh, Antoinette de Guise does not.

We retire after two more rounds, all the ladies win a game but I, and Queen Catherine seems rather happy at that fact. I gather my ladies from there and bid goodnight to our friends. I embrace Lady Abernathy and Garrett since they are leaving in the morning since Geraldine delivered my note this afternoon.

“Good luck, Majesty,” Garret wishes, “we shall be with you from afar.”

His mother agrees, “May the blessings of light shine upon you and in you.”

“Thank you,” I smile sadly, “enjoy dear Caledonia.”

It must be all the Scots in the palace because that night I dream of Scotland. 

I’m in the same meadow I played in as a child. My feet are bare as I run, and I’m laughing because the long grass tickles my ankles. My dress is loose and light, and my hair is pulled out of my face but not twisted upright. As I fumble through the meadow, my red hair flies behind me. I only stop to pick pretty flowers, heather, mountain thyme, and rosemary. I wonder at my choice. Herbs? Then I plop below a tree and begin weaving a crown of nature.

“Queen Mhairi!”

I smile to myself.

“Queen Mhairi, where are you?”

I giggle, thinking I will never be found.

“Mhairi,” a small girl with blonde hair parts the grass, “Greer, Lola, Kenna, I found her!”

My ladies help me weave my crown, although at that time, I only knew them as my playmates. 

“Girls, Girls, càite a bheil thu ?”

Mrs. Wilson’s face looks younger in my dream, but I know it must be here because of the thinness of her eyebrows.

I wink, “We’re here, Mrs. Wilson.”

“Come on, Girls, you’re needed at Falkland.”

I place the crown on my head, sneezing as pollen gets into my nose. The twisted stems fall over my eyes.

“ Mheri, Mheri , wake up!”

I sit up straight, my eyes adjusting to the light.

“I,” I falter at Aylee’s face, “I had a dream we were in Scotland, all of us.”

Lola sighs from her bed, “Was it wonderful?”

“Yes,” tears blur my vision again, “we were playing outside Falkland.”

“ Mhairi ,” Kenna sits up, “for my wedding, can we make crowns? I think I want it by the woods.”

“It shall be done,” I wipe my eyes, “Greer, you were always the best at braiding.”

“I’d be happy to help,” my lady smiles, her head still on her pillow, “it shall be so much fun.”

A knock takes me back into the present, and I tell Louise to enter.

“You were speaking of Scotland,” Lady Duvernay sits on a pillow that fell off Aylee’s bed sometime in the night, “Gracie and Eilish have been telling my sister about it.”

Greer sits up, “And what have they said?”

Louise’s answer shocks me.

“That life could be hard there, but the land has a soul, and if you join your soul with that of the land, you will understand everything you need to.”

Lola glances at me, “That’s beautiful.”

“It is,” Aylee agrees, “we should do our best to honor Scotland.”

Everyone believes Aylee is right, even Louise says she will do whatever I need.

“Scotland is about to enter a new era,” I stand, making my way to the closet, “and so are we.”

Dressed in a green dress with gold embroidery, I have all my ladies all dressed in green with silver embroidery. I notice Geraldine kiss Louise’s head gently, the spy tells her sister that she looks beautiful, and Louise blushes and thanks her.

Our party is so large for the contract negotiation that a table has been set up in one of the audience rooms. One end sits the King of France, I sit on the other. Queen Catherine and Francis are on either side of the King, while Lord MacDougal and Lord Mackenzie are on my left and right respectively. Lola and Greer are my only ladies at the table, the other three have brought knitting to occupy themselves in one corner. My de Guise relatives are in the middle of the table after Lord Fraser, and Seamus and Fergus Mackenzie. Except, of course, for my Aunt Louise’s husband, who is at the other end with the rest of King Henri’s advisors.

The King claps his hands, “And so begins the discussion.”

“To reiterate what we have said,” my slimy Uncle begins, “France will pay Scotland a bride price for the Queen, it will be half of what her dowry should’ve been, which totals four-hundred thousand crowns.”

MacDougal writes that down. My Aunt’s husband then continues.

“France was promised extended trading rights with Scotland and new tariffs with Ireland.”

I glance at MacDougal and he nods, Mackenzie must know about the bank issue.

“Before you say anything,” my Uncle holds up a hand, “know we have both sheep and cattle.”

Everyone in the room laughs, except for the Scottish lords and my ladies. I lock eyes with my Uncle Francois, the Duke of Guise, and he has the gall to wink at me.

Angry, I bang my hand on the table, “Shut it!”

In a second, everything goes quiet. I smile cruelly at my Grandmother’s appalled face, mainly because of the horror in her eyes.

I turn to my ambassador, “Lord MacDougal, please continue.”

“In Ireland, metals are plentiful, including silver, lead, and copper,” MacDougal gestures to the King, “we are prepared to offer France some of the ore we harvest.”

Queen Catherine tugs on her husband’s arm and whispers into his ear, a gesture so unfamiliar Francis looks confused.

“Actually,” King Henri straightens, “my Medici wife and I would like ownership of the silver mines.”

Mackenzie actually belches, “All of them?”

The King looks at him with disgust, “Naturally.”

“Ye must be aff yer heid,” Mackenzie shakes his head, “it’s yer Frenchie attitude thinking yer entitled to more than ye are.”

King Henri the Second of France is enraged by this statement, his face goes cold, but all the angry redness travels to his balled-up fists.

“What did you say?”

“Ye won’t get any mines with that attitude,” Mackenzie continues, “even if you send Frenchie miners to Ireland yourself the natives will fight you off.”

The King scoffs, “We have more firepower than they do.”

I clear my throat loudly.

“Majesty, what Scotland means to say is that assuming all the mines would put you in the same position as the English in the mind of Ireland’s locals,” I state, “they would feel they are being robbed, and their anger would affect the whole silver economy.”

King Henri’s eyes narrow, “What do you propose, Marie?”

“You will own one mine of each mineral,” I suggest, “and you may buy stock in any others you wish.”

As the French deliberate, I turn to MacDougal.

“Acceptable,” I whisper, “or not?”

“Very,” he replies.

“We accept,” the King responds, hunger in his eyes, “but we want to establish an Embassy in Ireland and send French settlers.”

That shocks me. MacDougal even shakes and sighs aloud. 

“ Mórachd ,” Lord Fraser raises his voice, “what his your opinion?” 

“No,” I answer, “that is my first reaction, settlers are too far.”

“We must have insurance, Marie,” Queen Catherine responds, “we need to solidify this investment.”

I remember playing cards with her last night. Queen Catherine is a fan of keeping secrets to herself and exercising them behind curtains so that they have the most use for her, King Henri, on the other hand, likes grand gestures. 

“Mórachd?” Lord Mackenzie’s voice breaks into my thoughts.

I lean back, “There is a growing Protestant faction in this country, as there in Ireland after so many years under Burly King Harry–”

The older Scotsmen laugh at that reference.

I shrug, “Perhaps you could give us reason to accept them in Ireland, seeing as they threaten you.”

King Henri hates me, I know he does. He hates my smug little smile, I watch his lip curl as he sneers at my Uncle.

“What would be a reason?”

“Salt,” I interject, looking to the man on my right, “what do you think, Lord Mackenzie?”

The Lord pretends to think, “One pouch of salt for every Protestant prisoner you send.”

The King is glowering at me so angrily Queen Catherine has to answer.

“Deal.”

MacDougal and my uncle both scribble.

The King pushes, “And Scotland’s trade?”

I squirm, uncomfortable with the way he doesn’t blink.

“I have been thinking hard on this,” Lord MacDougal keeps his face even, “Scotland is unhappy with some old trade agreements, but we are willing to uphold our current agreement if we may choose the companies we do business with.”

Bored, King Henri waves his hand, “Agreed.”

He must not know we know, but Queen Catherine and my Grandmother clearly have suspicions.

“Now, the fun part,” the King claps, “titles for the royal heirs.”

The first person I glance at is Lola, and she pushes her foot against mine.

“Simple,” Mackenzie gestures, “a French title and a Scottish title according to the line of succession.”

This time, I glance at Greer, who gives me a smile of sympathy.

Antoinette de Guise pushes, “But will the firstborn son be heir to France or Scotland?”

I look at up at her, openly gaping. She knows how this makes me feel! I ran to her crying after that awful first meeting with the King. Is she going against me? Is she doing this on purpose?

“I think the first son should go to France,” King Henri smiles, “you have proven your country can live with Queens, but we have traditions in this country.”

I’m sinking in my seat now, finally realizing I need to close my mouth.

“What does the Queen think?”

Francis’s voice shocks me, and I fix my posture just because I know I should.

I look at my negotiators, “MacDougal, Mackenzie, Fraser, may I hear your thoughts?”

Lord Fraser outright slaps the table, “You can’t take a son from his mother!”

“Our women used to win battles in the ancient days, Fraser,” MacDougal counters, “we are not afraid of Warrior Queens.”

Mackenzie huffs, “As unnatural as it is, Queen Mari has proven we are more than capable with a royal daughter.”

“Thank you, Mackenzie,” I raise my eyes to King Henri, “the firstborn son will go to France.”

There’s cheering from the other side of the table, but I feel empty. I have bartered off the life of a child who doesn’t exist yet. My life was bartered off when I was sent to France. I know it was for the good of my people, but I would never want my child to have to go through what I did. My earliest memories are running from my Father’s Uncle Henry and his battalions. I could never wreck that harm on my own child who isn’t even born yet.

“Meri?”

I look up, the room is empty save for Francis and my ladies.

“Meri,” the Dauphin’s face is so fearful, “will you walk with me?”

I nod, “Yes, Francis, I want to talk to you.”

Chapter Text

Francis is leading me. I don’t know where, but my mind doesn’t really care about that right now.

“Sit with me,” he whispers, his voice gentle, “tell me what my father did that makes you so upset.”

I lean into the Dauphin’s embrace, realizing we’re on a chaise in his quarters.

“I’ve just bartered off the life of a child, my child, that isn’t even born yet,” I swallow, sinking into Francis’ chest, “I mourn for him already.”

“Meri,” my betrothed kisses the side of my head, “you haven’t bartered his life, we always knew a son of ours would have such a fate.”

I place my hands on my stomach, “But he doesn’t even exist yet, and your Father is already using him like a chess piece.”

“That angers me as well,” I can tell Francis means it by his gruffness, “but when he comes, he will be well protected from my Father, my Mother ensured that for me.”

I roll onto my side, holding on tight to my prince.

“We could call him James,” Francis offers, “to spite my Father, King James of France.”

I pull myself up and scoot into the Dauphin’s lap to read his face properly, he’s serious, with that sincere drawing of his cheeks and the amused corners of his lips, it must be true.

“I love you, Francis.”

The words shock me, but my soon-to-be husband seems perfectly calm.

“I love you too, Meri,” Francis kisses my cheek, “and I’m glad you feel the same way for me.”

We look at one another for a moment, and I know then that Francis is going to take me to bed again.

“Is it safe?” I ask my fiance.

He slides me off his lap, “Let me lock the doors, you close the curtains.”

As I pull the curtains taught, I feel myself smirking. The action catches me off guard, and then I realize that I like sleeping with Francis. We’re not married, so if anyone knew my country and I would suffer.

“Meri,” Francis presses his thumbs into my lower back, “don’t worry.”

I sigh, “Alright then, I won’t.”

In response, my fiance presses his body to mine, sliding his hands down to my hips and kissing my neck. 

“You’re tense here,” Francis mumbles, his voice cheeky, “you rule too many countries.”

I chuckle, which lowers in pitch as he reaches for my bodice strings.

“Way too tense,” the Dauphin continues, his voice scratchy with need, “and this dress isn’t helping.”

I huff, “I’m wearing too many skirts.”

Francis reaches under my hoopskirt and grabs a hefty portion of my outer thigh, grunting as he squeezes up and down my leg.

I freeze, “Francis, I’m still bleeding.”

There’s a beat of silence in which my heart almost propels out of my throat.

“Then get in the bath with me,” the Dauphin replies roughly.

In response, I reach back and undo my laces, fingers shaking. They still are when all my shape cushions and petticoats are on the floor.

“Sh,” Francis hushes softly, “no trembling until I tell you to.”

His bathtub is bigger than mine, and I wouldn’t be surprised if this was the reason why. My fiance places gentle kisses on my body as he pulls off my chemise, jumping from my thigh to my stomach to give me space.

Francis sheds his clothes before joining me in the bath.

“You are so beautiful,” the Dauphin’s smile glows with joy, “and so hard to argue with.”

I chuckle, kissing my fiance so he knows I too find myself contradicting. He deepens the kiss, laying me against the copper edge of the tub. I react by lifting my leg and placing it on the lip of the bath, using it to help propel myself against the Dauphin.

“Francis,” I whisper, slightly afraid of what I’m about to ask, “what do you like?”

His face furrows before he realizes what I mean.

“Meri–”

“No, Francis,” I push through, “what do you like?”

“Well,” my betrothed leans into my ear, “that depends on what you’re up for.”

I blink, “I don’t understand.”

The Dauphin’s voice swings low, “Then let’s start with this.”

I gape as he explains what I should do. 

I smile it seems almost absurd, “You really want me to do that?”

Francis shrugs, “We’d have to get out of the tub for that.”

  I look down, there is blood on the portion of the rags that hang out of me.

“Do you have any old clothes I can tear up?”

Climbing out of the tub, Francis goes into his closet completely naked and comes out with an old shirt.

I frown, “You are so confident it’s annoying.”

“Really,” the Dauphin smirks, “I thought you liked my confidence.”

I roll my eyes to hide the blush, but I don’t mind that Francis knows how he makes me feel. If anything, that’s good, we’re going to be married, and I am lucky to have a partner as kind as him.

I lift myself up with my left hand, crouch, and pull out the rags with my right. Quick and easy, only suffering a grunt when the cloth catches slightly before coming out. Then I use some of the other rags to wipe myself clean.

I huff, “Cleaning up such a mess is annoying.”

“Meri,” Francis’s voice is filled with such admiration I have to look up at him, “you are wonderful.” 

I laugh, inserting my dressing and tying cloth snugly around my thighs.

“Can you help me dress?”

The Dauphin is still looking at me if I was the sun, “I would be honored.”

When I’m completely dressed, Francis throws his shirt on.

“Now,” he grins, “for my suggestion.”

That’s when I hear Bash’s voice.

“Francis,” he’s shouting, “Your Father wants you to meet with the Spanish Ambassador!”

I snort. A pause.

“Oh, and, Meri, Ambassador Hawthorne is to return within the hour.”

I wince, “Damn Englishman!”

Now it’s my fiance’s turn to snort.

“I am going to leave now,” bash continues, “and I have heard nothing.”

Francis pulls on his pants, struggling with the belt as he makes it toward the door. I follow, giggling at his fumbling. Bash’s face lights up when he sees what’s happening.

“Jesus Christ,” he runs a hand through his hair, “now I want to ask.”

I pat him on the shoulder, grinning like an idiot, “Don’t.”

Then I glance down the hall, and upon seeing it empty, walk down the hall in the direction of Leeza’s room, so if anyone sees, they’ll think I went to visit her.

“What are you doing here.”

Damn.

“Looking for you,” I cross my arms, frowning at the Princess, “I need to ask you to be a bridesmaid at my wedding.”

“Ah,” she huffs, “you already asked me that.”

“I asked if you would be a part of the wedding procession,” I reiterate, “now I want to ask you to be specifically a bridesmaid.”

Leeza sighs, “I’ll think about it.”

Then she slams the door on me, and I throw up my hands in defeat. Then I continue on my way out through the far exit, so people don’t think I was with Francis when I most definitely was.

When I make it back to my room, I find news of Hawthorne’s impending arrival has already reached my ladies. Greer, looking like a captain guiding her soldiers, is throwing dresses in various shades of pink at everyone.

“Kenna, you have nice shoulders,” she barks, “you’ll wear the rose dress with the wide neck.”

Aylee reaches out to grab a ballet-slipper-colored dress with a tulle shawl.

“No, Aylee, that will wash out your hair,” Greer huffs, “take the peach dress with the jeweled bodice.”

My Mistress of the Robes doesn’t even wait to see if her directions are followed before turning to Louise and handing her the dress.

“Has anyone seen Mari?”

“I’m right here,” I step forward, “and don’t stress, Greer, Hawthorne would be rude to insult our outfits.”

  I check my ladies before going out. Kenna is in the rose-colored dress, Aylee in the peach, and Louise in the ballet slipper. Lola’s dress is a salmon shade with large sleeves, and Greer is dressed in a soft blush hue that makes me wish I turned that color when I’m embarrassed. 

“I have ink, Kenna has paper,” Lola catches my gaze, holding it intentionally, “and Greer has your seal.”

I nod, trying to quell my nerves.

“No one can harm me unpunished,” I straighten, “Ladies, help me show the Ambassador this decision was the right one.”

I lead my ladies down the stairs and towards a meeting room, outside of which, the King of France is speaking to his son privately.

“Make sure she doesn’t frighten the English.”

Francis eyes my approach, “Tell her yourself.”

I pause in front of the King of France.

“The English sent officers to help Ireland transition into Scottish hands,” he warns me, “they are prideful and greedy.”

I nod,” Those can be manipulated, Majesty, though I may need your help.”

King Henri smiles, “Gladly.”

He offers me his arm, I take it.

“The King of France and the Queen of Scotland.”

I recognize Mackenzie, MacDougal, my aunt’s slimy husband, and my Uncle Francois, but across them are two men who I have never seen before.

“The Earl of Westmoreland, Majesty,” a middle-aged man bows, smiling wide, “I hope myself and the Earl of Arundel have not taken you by surprise?”

His grin is contagious, and although I worry this may be a trap, I find myself smirking.

“Certainly not, my Lord, I know my cousin to be a gracious woman,” I clutch the pearls around my neck, “may I introduce King Henri of France, he’s soon to be my father-in-law.”

“We’ve heard,” the Earl of Arundel bows, he is old, but not weary, “congratulations on your upcoming nuptials, Majesty. This must be the Dauphin?”

“ Oui,” Francis answers with humor, holding out his hand, “welcome to France, my lords.”

The lords shake his hand. On one side of the room, a line of chairs has been placed against the wall, four of them.

“Why don’t we make ourselves comfortable,” I glance at my Principal Lady-In-Waiting, “Lola, join me at the table will you?”

Lola curtsies, “As you wish, Majesty.”

Greer and Kenna hand her my things as skirts shuffle, I glance at the chair left for me at the end of the table. Francis steps forward and pulls it out for me. I sit. Lola is on my left.

Francois de Guise sits next to the Earl of Westmoreland,  “You would warn me, Marie, if these Englishmen were violent?”

I chuckle, “I’m  sure they don’t bite, Uncle.”

“No,” Mackenzie sighs, sitting across from Westmoreland, “that would be a more Scottish habit.”

MacDougal sits across from Arundel and Francis sits on his left, my right. The King is at the head of the table, naturally, which leaves my Aunt’s husband next to Lola. Hawthorne, who has been quiet up until now, is sitting between the Earls.

“We all know why we are here today,” King Henri begins, “the Tudor Queen has given my daughter-in-law the Kingdom of Ireland, we are here to oversee the signing of that agreement.”

The Earl of Arundel produces a document with my cousin’s signature. My eyes go wide at the official seal next to it, there is room for my seal and my name.

“Her Majesty surrenders Ireland in good faith,” I lock eyes with Westmoreland on that last word, “she is pleased to see it into such capable hands.”

Francis is reading over the treaty, I lean over his shoulder.

“This allows for English settlers to remain in Ireland,” the Dauphin announces, “as well as retain their citizenship.”

“Naturally,” Arundel gestures, “we can’t expect Englishmen to become Scots overnight.”

“Yet English and Scottish law differ in many areas,” Francis argues, “said Englishmen would be sent back to your country if they broke any of Scottish statutes.”

I smile brightly, happy at the fact that Francis knows that.

“I understand your desire to protect English sons and daughters,” I say, voice oozing sympathy, “but I am to take the Irish under my wing, and I intend to treat them as I treat my subjects.”

Westmoreland cuts to the chase, “Does Your Majesty have a problem with the English remaining in Ireland?”

“You would need an embassy, and formal diplomatic relations,” I state, “is England prepared to recognize the sovereignty of both Scotland and Ireland?”

The men look at each other. I can tell Hawthorne wants to say no.

“Queen Mary has agreed to place fines and jail sentences for any misdemeanors on the border,” Arundel answers, “you must be prepared to do the same.”

I straighten, “I am.”

“And there will be a fine for piracy against English ships.”

I raise an eyebrow, in my mind, I tell them I shall just send Grace O’Malley out for Spain, but aloud, a smile and say that is fair, and I shall make it law.

“Thank you, Majesty,” Westmoreland nods, “anything else.”

I look over the treaty, but I don’t find anything. I hand the treaty to my Aunt’s husband, asking if he or the King has any thoughts.

“Ireland’s mines,” my Uncle skims, “this gives them to Scotland as loans.”

“Unacceptable,” King Henri pounds a fist on the table, “let me see that.”

The treaty is handed over.

“You will keep them as collateral for the transition of land,” the King throws down the state paper, “that’s bullshit.”

I see Louise flinch. Aylee places a hand on hers. Silence echoes across the room.

I clear my throat, “How are your daughters, my Lords? I hear you have four, Westmoreland.”

“I do,” the Earl knows what I’m doing, but his eyes shine with interest, “my eldest excels at translation, she prefers Tristan and Iseult above all other Romans .”

“Ah, it seems she can appreciate the beauty in tragedy,” I smile, “her name is Margaret, correct?”

The Earl attempts to look surprised, “Yes, Madam.”

“I am particularly partial to my grandmother’s name,” I shake my head slowly, “tell me, do you think she would enjoy hearing the tales of Arthurian legend from Celts?”

Westmoreland tilts his head, nodding slightly.

“I think she would, Madam.”

I smile, “Then you must invite her to my wedding, a party can never have too many celebrants, and she may be able to teach me an understandable English accent in case I must speak with you English again.”

Westmoreland looks at Arundel.

“And you have a Jane and a Mary, no my Lord?”

Arundel’s voice shakes.

“Yes, Madam, but my Jane is ill.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” I frown, “I remember my childhood being so lonely at times I felt ill, would the French weather help your daughter’s health?”

Arundel meets my eyes, “I pray for such a thing, Majesty.”

“Then you must send for her,” I gesture, “I shall write to Queen Mary.”

The Lords both are pleased, but the matter of the mines still hangs over us.

“Catherine of Aragon gave my grandmother a necklace for her wedding to my grandfather, I will give it back to my cousin for control of the Irish mines.”

The Earl of Arundel nods, “She would accept that.”

I beckon for Louise and tell her what the necklace looks like.

“Find Geraldine and see if she can help you,” I suggest, pointedly looking at my spy.

Louise curtsies, “Of course, Majesty.”

The Lords cross off the portion of the treaty that loans the mines to Scotland, and once Louise returns, I sign the treaty.

Chapter Text

After the signing, the Englishmen go to their rooms, and the King skips off to his council to tell them the good news.

“Ladies,” I stand, grinning, “the Dauphin is taking me for a walk, do arrange for a picnic in the rose garden.”

Kenna gives me a polite answer, but I all hear is Francis’ chair scrapping the floor. He latches on to my arm as we leave the room.

“Where are we going?”

“Suddenly I feel in a wonderful mood,” I lean into my fiance, “and as I recall you had ideas earlier.”

“I did,” Francis smirks, lapping up my sly tone, “and my door is still open.”

We use the secret passages to get back to Francis’ room, which is hard during the daytime when servant work ethic is at its height, but we make it undetected. Mainly due to Francis grabbing my waist at every corner, waiting to see if the hallway is empty, then pinching my behind when the coast is clear.

“You make a cute little puppy dog,” I tease, walking through the wardrobe into Francis’ room, “following me around so diligently.” 

“It’s because I know I'm going to get a treat,” Francis undoes my laces, “you’ve trained me well.”

I huff, “So well you don’t even need a leash.”

As soon as that comes out of my mouth, I snap my eyes closed. I did not mean that in a sexual way at all, but I can feel Francis is excited as he uncurls my hair, tugging his fingers through it to bring us closer.

“I wouldn’t mind you putting a leash on me,” my skirts sink to a pile on the floor and Francis tilts my head so that my neck is under his tongue, “but I’d rather see you on all fours wagging that tail of yours.”

I have to snort at that last part, “More like last time, on my back.”

The Dauphin’s grin laughs in his voice, “No, new positions for a new kingdom.”

I hum, and Francis pushes me against the wall, using his knee to push my leg to the side. In response, I bend forward, inhaling sharply, and my fiance pushes his front against me.

“How did I not hear you take your trousers off.” I  wonder aloud.

“You were occupied,” Francis’ voice spills warmly on my shoulder, “just like you are now.”

I have a great response in my head. In fact, it was so very cunning of me. The only problem is that I puff a grunt from the back of my throat instead. Francis is pushing and pulling me around, using his fingers to rub the folds between my legs. I whine at him, all of a sudden angry that he’s not sticking his fingers inside me. As if he can read my mind, the Dauphin laughs. 

“Get your ass on my bed, Meri,” Francis groans, “I’m not afraid of a little blood.”

I groan as my fiance clutches me to him and walks backward.

“You’ll like this, Meri,” he whispers, “this will feel good.”

He places me on the end of his bed, chemise pushed up around my hips, before putting his hands on my bare thighs and sliding them apart. Francis traces my folds again, this time kneading them with his knuckle. Then he crawls a finger inside me, and I grasp the bedsheets and lean back, surprised pleasure slipping out my mouth.

“Now, now, Meri,” Francis chuckles, a low sound that makes my lower half shiver, “save some of that grease for later.”

I scoff at the Dauphin, but I scoot down the bed to move myself closer to him.

“I told you, Meri–”

Two fingers. Stroking me.

“You were gonna like this.”

I moan then, shocked at how guttural the noise is. I made that noise. Francis made me make that noise.

“Hm,” my fiance puts his nose against my thigh, “how stubborn she was.”

“Is,” I correct swallowing hard and sitting up as best as I can, “I am stubborn.”

“I know,” Francis grins up at me, “but that’s what makes this fun.”

Despite my comment, I steady myself on my hands and rock my pelvis up and down, taking more of Francis’ fingers as I go. My breathing becomes labored gasps as I keep going, but I want more of the feeling he gives me, so I don’t stop.

“Come forward, Meri.”

On instinct, I listen to him, a daze of lust having captured my limbs. Then I feel his fingers go shallower inside me, and I up kick a fit. It’s while my legs are shaking that Francis pushes me onto his fingers. Five of them now, all of which I can feel as I rock back and forth.

“Say my name, Meri,” Francis pants, “you know you want to.”

A strain in my neck causes me to look down at my fiance, I place my hands on his bare shoulders and run them over his chiseled torso.

“F–” with great strain, I bite my lips closed, “his Royal Highness will need to try harder.”

Francis relishes the challenge, his muscles shift as he registers my words, tightening so he can spring.

“He can do that.”

He shoves his finger pouch in deeper and slaps my ass. I gasp as goosebumps line my arms.

“Say it, Meri,” Francis’ voice is rougher now, eager and determined, “say it.”

My head slips forward and I connect my lips to my fiance’s. I try to say his name against his mouth, but when I open it I moan inside Francis, celebrating the sinching feeling I feel between my legs.

“Oh, Meri,” the Dauphin plants kisses down my neck, “there it is.”

“Take it off for me, Francis,” my voice is soft and strained, “take it off.”

He pulls his fingers out and I groan, falling back against the edge of the bed.

“Here we go,” the Dauphin lifts off my chemise gently, moving my arms for me so I can take a  moment to savor the climbing pressure inside me, “that’s it, Meri, nice and easy.”

I sense my nipples harden as the air hits them, and my shoulders tense in response. I roll my head around and lift myself straight upward.

“By God, Meri,” Francis’ adam’s apple bobs, “you are the most beautiful woman on Earth.”

“Thank you, Francis,” I lean forward and Francis lowers himself to the floor so I can climb on him, “for that, I’ll kiss you.”

I start with his neck, then I nibble on his collarbone, mewing little chirps of glee as the Dauphin strains under me.

“Francis, Francis, Francis,” I loll my tongue over his chest, “so strong, but he can’t fight me.”

My fiance hums, “I can pin you to the floor.”

I raise my head to his eyes and a plan takes shape.

“I can do that too.”

Then I do what Francis told me he likes, trying to work out how my tongue, teeth, and the walls of my mouth make him feel good.

The Dauphin’s voice is lazy and relaxed, “Meri–”

I tighten the sides of my mouth, sucking him, just to see what it does.

“Meri–,” Francis’ voice is alert now, aroused, his hand is suddenly filled with my hair and tugs against my skull, “Meri, you are magnificent.”

I chuckle, sliding off him, “Should we add that title too?”

Francis’ eyes glean the snark from my face with a quick glance up at down.

“We could,” he flicks his tongue, “but we haven’t finished yet.”

It takes a couple of seconds for Francis to grab enough of my body to hoist me up onto the bed.

“Comfort for my Queen,” he winks, leaning over me, “and so no one can see her but me.”

He tugs the curtains on the bed closed.

I laugh, “Greedy dog.”

“I like to get what’s offered,” Francis shrugs, “don’t you?”

I push myself further back on the bed. Then give a wink worthy of a seductress, spreading my legs, I let my hair fall over my shoulder.

“I prefer it to be taken.”

My fiance literally pounces on me, grabbing and biting while tugging me under him.

“Francis, Francis,” I click my tongue, “such a dog you are.”

The Dauphin doesn’t even respond, he’s deciding to start sucking on my chest, rounding his tongue around my nipple.

I groan again, trying to clamp the stiffening feeling crawling up between my legs. Then the Dauphin brings his tongue to my other breast, and I sigh his name.

“Francis, Francis, why?”

“Shh,” my fiance kisses his way to my ear, “you won’t have to wait too long.”

He trails a finger down my jawline ad he gazes over my body, deciding what to do next. I’m straining from the gratification his tongue leaves on my ass when the door is thrown open.

“Francis, Francis, you are an absolute asshole!”

I should be horrified at Elisabeth’s easy likelihood to see me with her brother before our marriage, but did she have to open with such a hilarious line? I’m shaking with silent laughter when the Princess continues on her tirade of berating her brother for some unknown reason. Then she stops suddenly, and I know she’s seen my dress.

“Marie, you dirty whore–”

I flinch, Francis wraps the blanket around his waist.

“You’re not a Queen, you’re a slut, you’re not even married–” 

I’m covered by a sheet when Francis steps out from the curtains.

“Leeza, you have no right–”

“Of course I do,” Elisabeth de Valois spits, “she’s not worthy to marry you!”

“She is,” Francis snaps, “and she’s worth more than you.”

Leeza is silent.

“In two weeks, Meri is going to be my wife,” he continues, “and you will treat her with the respect as if she already is.”

“Why should I after what I’ve seen,” Leeza is furious, “there’s blood on the rug behind you!”

A new voice asks, “Blood where?”

I freeze. The incomer clearly assesses the situation.

“Francis, today you have shown me how much your father’s son you are.”

“Mother–”