by Cynthia Hand
“Welcome to Louvre Palace,” he said. “I trust your journey was uneventful?”
“Very, aside from the incident with the bulrush.” Lord Livarot glanced at his wife. “Someone fell into a stream and got tangled in it.”
“How dreadful,” Francis replied. “Have you recovered, my lady?”
“Yes, yes.” She waved away his concern. “The servants had to peel the plants off me, though. I thought I’d fall over from dizziness.”
Next came Lord Roquefort, a pale man with skin so thin you could see the blue of his veins. He’d always been popular at court, in spite of his odor and odd appearance. Francis shook his hand, then subtly wiped his palm on his doublet.
As more and more guests arrived, Francis began to feel as though he’d been here for hours. Watches hadn’t been invented yet, but if they had, he’d have been checking his every few minutes. As it was, he had to rely on the position of the sun.
The sun had barely moved.
“Good morning, son.” King Henry came to stand beside him. “It’s a bit early for all these people to come to our palace, isn’t it? What day is it? Monday, Tuesday, Thursday, Wednesday—there are no weekends when you’re king.”
Francis leaned away from the king, who still reeked of wine. “It’s afternoon, Father. And these people are coming for my wedding.” The hours were racing by, bringing him closer to the walk down the aisle . . . and the evening after.
The thought made his heart pound.
But his mother had promised to keep his father away from the consummation. How she would do that . . . he didn’t know. He didn’t want to know.
“Ah.” Henry squinted up at the sun. “So it is afternoon. Well, some nights are later than others, I suppose. Being king means you’re king at all hours.”
That did not make Francis like the idea any more.
“Come along, son. I have a meeting with Mary’s uncles. Now that you’re getting married, you need to take part in these matters. They concern your wife, after all, and you’ll be king after I’m gone.”
Thank goodness that was a long time off.
Francis followed his father to a small (by palace standards) parlor where the uncles were already waiting. A decanter of wine sat on a low table, surrounded by trays of lemon tarts and other snacks.
“Your Majesty. Your Highness.” Duke Francis stood and opened his arms wide, as though to embrace the king and his son, even though they were on opposite sides of the room.
Cardinal Charles rose a moment later and bowed low. “I’ve heard our guests are beginning to arrive.”
“They are.” Henry patted Francis’s shoulder. “My son has been greeting everyone himself. He’ll make a fine king one day. Pour a glass for me, will you?” Henry took a seat on one of the silk-upholstered sofas. “It’s been hours.”
When the uncles offered Francis a glass, too, he shook his head. “No, thank you. It’s only been hours.” He did accept one of the lemon tarts, though. Francis was no fool.
While his father and Mary’s uncles made small talk, Francis focused on the sweet, flaky carbs, wondering if he should bring a tart for Mary, or if some had already been delivered to her room. They weren’t biscuits, but Mary had a weakness for treats in general, and if he showed up at her door bearing a gift . . .
He was so thoroughly engrossed in imagining her smile (and then in imagining her biting into the pastry with a happy shiver) that he almost missed the conversation swing around to the purpose of this meeting.
“I’ve finished drawing up the papers for Mary and Francis to sign.” The duke laid a folder onto the table. “Charles and I will meet with them before dinner.”
What papers were those?
“Good, good. Let me see them.” Henry took the folder and scanned the pages as though looking for something. “It all seems to be in order.”
“May I see?” Francis set his plate aside.
The king passed him the pages. “I’m glad you’re taking an interest in this, son. The future of France is in these pages.”
Francis nodded and focused on reading the flowery script while his father and Mary’s uncles continued their discussion.
“This wedding is the best thing that’s ever happened to France,” the cardinal said. “Soon, Your Grace, you will be king of an empire. France, Ireland, and Scotland will bow to you. Perhaps even England, if we can do something about Elizabeth Tudor.”
Henry was nodding emphatically. “I’ve always thought I could be king of an empire. How the world would tremble before me.”
In spite of Francis’s lack of interest, his tutors had usually complimented him when it came to his understanding of treaties and other political documents. The language of these three pages was dense, but if Francis was reading it correctly, the gist was this: Francis and Mary’s wedding would essentially make Scotland a French province.
Francis looked up. “Has everyone approved this?”
His question had interrupted the duke laying more praise upon the king.
Henry frowned, because he loved praise. “What is that, son?”
The weight of their glowers settled over Francis, and his voice came out small. “These documents put Scotland under the rule of France. What does Mary think of this? What of Mary de Guise?”
The cardinal snatched the papers away from Francis. “Of course everyone has approved the language. Our houses are united.”
The de Guises were French, so on the one hand, it made sense for them to seek more power for the French monarchy. On the other hand, this didn’t seem like it was good for Scotland.
Francis wasn’t quite sure how to feel. He was French, and heir to the throne, so he should be pleased for his kingdom. But Mary . . .
“Francis,” said Henry, “I’m sure you have other duties to attend to now.”
In other words: Get out and let me talk to my friends.
Francis didn’t waste time. He retreated into the hall. He stood in the intersection, thinking about where to go. He should find Mary. He should tell her about the documents her uncles wanted her to sign. But if her family was in agreement, and it was best for France, was it really any of his business?
Doubts in tow, Francis soon found himself at Mary’s door. That was when he realized he’d forgotten to bring one of the tarts for her. “Droppings,” he muttered. He was just about to knock when she emerged, her face paler than usual, and a heavy air about her. “Are you all right?” he asked.
“Of course.” She twisted her ring and started walking down the hall. Francis followed. “I was actually just coming to find you. I’m sorry I missed breakfast this morning. Last night was just—”
“It was a lot,” he agreed. “And you were far from the only one who didn’t come. Father emerged from his rooms just twenty minutes ago.”
“Did I miss anything good?”
“The strawberry crepes were delicious.”
“I wish I could travel back in time and eat them! Unless you saved some for me?”
“Sorry,” Francis said as they turned a corner, feeling even more guilty about the tart. “I ate yours too.”
“You didn’t!”
He flashed her a smile. “We are soon to be married. What’s yours is mine, and what’s mine is yours. Including breakfast.”
“I’ll remember that the next time—Eeek! What is that?” Mary stopped walking and pointed at the floor in horror.
Frantically, Francis followed her gaze and saw it: a mousetrap. “Mon Dieu!” he cried. “Who would put that there?”
“Get it!” Mary commanded as she climbed onto a bench along the wall. “Get it, Francis!”
Francis got it. He extinguished one of the tapered candles in a sconce, then gently touched the end to the fine cheese someone had baited the trap with. The bar snapped, making Francis jump back and Mary eeek! again.
“Stay there, Mary. I’ve got it.” Francis took the corner of the mousetrap between his thumb and forefinger and carried it at arm’s length. “Avert your e
yes!”
“Just get rid of it!”
Francis carried the mousetrap to the nearest window and dropped it outside. Someone below shouted, and Francis ducked back inside before they could see him.
“It’s gone, Mary.”
“Gone gone?”
“It won’t bother you again.” Gallantly, he held up a hand to help her off the bench. “I have slain the mousetrap—”
“Don’t even say its name!”
“And I will search the halls for any of its brethren that may have escaped.”
“My hero.” Mary stepped down from the bench and kissed his cheek.
Warmth spread through him. What he wouldn’t give to actually be her hero. “I would also like to inform you that we will not be selling tickets to our wedding night.”
She stared at him blankly.
“I’ve taken care of Thursday night,” he explained.
“You have?” She tilted her head. “What did you do?”
“I asked my mother for help,” he admitted. “You know how she is. She wouldn’t miss the opportunity to thwart my father.”
“That’s very true,” Mary agreed. “So she’s going to take care of it?”
“We’ll be alone,” he confirmed, and his heart jumped into his throat at that thought. Just him and her. Alone. On their wedding night. Whatever would they do with this freedom? He could think of a few things.
“Well that’s a relief.” Mary started walking down the hall again. Francis wondered if they were going anywhere special, or if they were just walking. “Since we won’t be observed, and it’s not as though we need an heir right away—because Henry will live a long, long time—we can just tell everyone we’ve completed our, ah, task. We could play cards instead.”
“Right,” Francis said faintly. “That sounds like my kind of night.”
“Perfect. We’ll have the best time. Just you and me.”
Alone. Playing cards.
Francis stuffed down his disappointment. “There’s something else I wanted to talk to you about.”
“What is that?”
“There’s someone I think you should spy on.”
Her eyes brightened. “Oh?”
“Really spy,” he clarified. “Not just for gossip.”
She pursed her lips. “Go on.”
He had to say this delicately. “I have reason to distrust some of our wedding guests.”
“Who?”
Francis didn’t want to tell her that it was her uncles, but there was pretty much no way around it. “Your uncles,” he said.
“My uncles? We have nothing to worry about from them.”
Francis told her about the documents they’d shown Henry. “It just seemed like a very good deal for France, and a terrible deal for Scotland.”
Mary scoffed. “My uncles would never do anything that wasn’t good for me. They look out for me. I’m certain the documents simply outline how France will protect Scotland.”
“As a province?”
“As an allied sovereign kingdom.” She slipped her arm in with his. “My uncles want what’s best for me. For us. There’s no need for me to spy on them, because I already know who they are and what they’re about.”
“They want to help France,” he said. Why wasn’t she listening to him?
“Exactly. What’s good for France is good for Scotland.” She said it like she didn’t believe he’d have bothered to read the papers describing the future of both of their kingdoms.
True, he hadn’t had very much time to study the documents, but . . . “I don’t trust them. I think we should both read the documents carefully before you sign anything.”
“You’ve been listening to your mother too much. She doesn’t trust my uncles, either. But powerful families can help one another, even in the French court.”
Francis pressed his mouth into a line.
“I trust them, Francis. And you trust me, right?”
“With my life.” But why didn’t she trust him? Why wouldn’t she listen?
“Then trust my uncles, too. They love me and wouldn’t do anything to harm me.”
She sounded so certain, so unshakable. He hoped she was right.
THIRTEEN
Mary
Of course I’m right, Mary thought to herself all afternoon. Francis meant well—she knew that—but he didn’t know the de Guises the way Mary knew them. All her life her uncles had been protecting her, seeing to her interests, because they could be there in her mother’s stead. My uncles can be trusted, she assured herself. They were family. When Francis officially became part of her family, perhaps he would see it, too.
Even so, when Mary received a summons to her uncles’ chambers later in the day, she felt a twinge of unease.
“Tell them I’ll be there directly,” she informed the messenger, who hurried off.
“Your uncles wish to see you?” asked Flem from where she was enthusiastically knitting and then unknitting and then reknitting the sock she was working on. “What for?”
Mary set aside her own project—a silk handkerchief with the words Vous et nul autre embroidered in the corner. It meant “You and no other.” Mary was hoping to finish it before the wedding and present it to Francis. “My uncles apparently have some sort of document they’d like Francis and me to sign—an agreement to take place before our nuptials.”
“I’ve never heard of such a thing,” said Hush from the corner. “What sort of prenuptial agreement?”
“Something to solidify France’s promises to Scotland,” Mary said vaguely. Because she didn’t actually know.
“That sounds like a good idea!” said Flem. Then she stared intently at her knitting for a moment. “I must have dropped a stitch somewhere,” she grumbled. “Darn.”
She passed the sock over to Hush, who would fix it.
Mary wished Bea was with her. Bea was the best at understanding the wording of laws and edicts. But Bea was halfway to Scotland by now.
The door opened, and Liv slipped in. She, like Flem, seemed to be in a merry mood. “Good day, my queen,” she said with a quick curtsy.
“Where have you been?” Mary asked, but not in a cross way. They had all been running off the usual schedule since dinner last night.
“Giving our new lady-in-waiting some courtly dance lessons,” Liv said.
“Ooh,” said all the ladies at once.
“What happened with that?” Mary asked.
Liv’s face went pink. “I don’t kiss and tell.”
“So you did kiss her,” Hush whispered, smiling as she bent over Flem’s sock and then handed it back to Flem.
Flem’s head cocked to one side as she started to knit again. “What kind of girl’s name is Aristotle?” she asked. “And why does she smell funny?”
“She’s making potions all day,” Liv said. “So she’s around all kinds of strange ingredients.” She remembered something and dug into the satchel she always carried with her. “Which reminds me. She sent this for you.”
She produced a small vial and held it out to Mary, who took it and examined the label. Worries Be Gone, it read in neat handwriting.
“What is it?” asked Flem. “It is a bauble? I love baubles.”
“It’s to ease pre-wedding jitters,” Liv said smoothly. “And calm the nerves on the wedding night.”
Mary felt her own face redden.
“Oh,” said Flem. “The wedding night.” Then she suddenly scowled at her sock. “Hush! I did it again!”
“Give it here,” said Hush patiently. “Well, that was awfully sweet of Ari,” she said as she deftly fixed the mistake in Flem’s knitting for the bazillionth time.
Mary agreed. It was sweet of Ari, and it sounded like something Mary could use, if she was being honest. But then she also remembered that Ari was a spy and had been summoned to speak to Queen Catherine alone after Mary had left her.
Mary handed the vial to Flem. “Sniff this.”
Flem opened the vial and sniffed the contents dee
ply.
“I smell herbs,” Flem said, and then sighed. “It’s nice, actually, makes my nose feel all tingly. There’s no poison.”
“Of course there wouldn’t be,” Liv said. “Ari is a good person.” She turned her attention back to Mary. “Ari said to take one drink, no more than two, morning and night, but it would be all right to take some right away today, if you feel that you need it.”
“Thank you,” Mary said as Flem handed the vial back to her. Then—because she’d just remembered that she needed to go to her uncles forthwith, and that made the sense of unease flare up again, she took a long, single swig from the bottle. One drink.
The liquid left a warm sensation in her throat and then settled in her stomach. For a moment she got light-headed, but then, when the dizziness passed, she realized that the tension was gone from her shoulders. She felt like she’d been dozing in the sunshine. A bit sleepy, perhaps. But . . .
“So?” Flem said eagerly.
She glanced up to find the Marys watching her intently.
She smiled. “I feel good.” Better, she added silently. The dark cloud that had been hanging over her since reading that awful pamphlet was beginning to break up, the sun peeking through.
“Good,” said Liv. “I told you. Ari knows what she’s about.”
“So you’re feeling all right about the wedding, then?” Hush asked. “Still excited?”
“Yes.” It was what she’d always wanted, after all. “I’m the happiest woman in the world.”
“And what about the wedding night?” Flem blurted. “How do you feel about what’s going to happen then?”
“Flem!” Hush poked at her with a knitting needle. “That is not an appropriate question to ask the queen.”
Mary shook her head. “I’m not worried about that.” She and Francis weren’t going to be consummating anything Thursday night. They’d agreed on it. They were going to play cards, and they’d worry about heirs later.
Mary did love babies—she loved to hold them and kiss them (as that was part of her job description, as a politician), and she loved how their heads smelled—but she also liked handing them back to their mothers when they began to cry. When she pictured herself and Francis together, married, she always pictured them walking in the gardens, perhaps, or lying on the white bearskin rug in front of a fireplace in Francis’s bedroom and talking. (What did you think they would be doing? Get your mind out of the gutter, reader. Mary and Francis used to spend hours when they were children sitting together on the white bearskin rug. Completely innocently. Talking. Making each other laugh.)
