A/N: I hadn't actually planned on continuing this fic, but the response was pretty overwhelming in the demand for a sequel, so I decided to use Tessa's prompt (Bash teaches Mary how to swordfight) as the follow up. Dedicated to Tessa, of course, and to all of you beautiful people who loved the first chapter so much.

Catherine wasn't executed for what she did to Mary.

Bash had never been more full of rage in his entire life than when his father stayed the executioner's hand. He'd offered some sort of deal to Catherine: exile, instead of death. She agreed to the divorce, she agreed to live in a nunnery for the rest of her days, and everyone got what they want. Everyone, of course, except Bash, who was still shaking with a mix of fear and anger, his blood singing with the need for Catherine's head, with the need for an end to this. Mary had been through too much; so had he, but that was the last thing on his mind at that point. He argued with Henry to the point of stupidity, his jaw clenched and his teeth grinding together as he demanded an explanation for the king's behavior. Catherine might have been a queen, but so was Mary. This warranted a beheading at best, but Henry wouldn't hear anything of it. By the time both of them were yelling at each other, a guard stepped in, recognizing murder in each man's eyes. Bash backed down out of respect for his father, but when it came time for Catherine to leave the castle, he insisted on watching her go. Part of him was still worried she'd find a way to weasel out of it.

He gained no pleasure from seeing her in a simple gown with her hair down and none of her elegant jewels adorning her. He took no pleasure in seeing the crown stripped from her head, even though he knew it would soon be turned over to his mother. Instead, he spat at the former queen's feet and ordered the servants to scrub and polish the crown, more than a little worried Catherine had found a way to poison that too. They'd never be free of her presence while she was alive, no matter what country she lived in, no matter how strict the convent she resided at was. So as soon as she was gone and his father informed him that Diane was on her way - for their wedding, no less - he left. Bash took stairs two at a time until he reached his chambers, where Mary had been staying for the last week. He'd been too much of a nervous wreck to let her out of his sight, and she seemed to share a similar view, because she hadn't protested once. Her ladies were frequent visitors to the room, and he was constantly coming in to find Kenna lounging on his couch, or Greer fussing over Mary's appearance, at least ten new dresses now slung over his desk, or Lola simply talking with whoever was in the room at the time. He didn't mind it; in actuality, something about it made Bash feel more relaxed than he could have hoped for after such a nearly successful assassination attempt on the woman he loves. It was nice to know Mary wasn't alone, and nicer still to know that these girls hadn't rejected his feelings towards their queen, or his - admittedly - precarious presence in her life. Still, as much as he enjoyed spending time with the women in Mary's life, when he walked into his room that afternoon and found her sitting on the couch alone, reading a book, he was more than a little grateful. He had something in mind he wasn't entirely positive the ladies would agree with just then.

"Bash," Mary smiled, setting the book aside and standing slowly. She'd regained all of her strength since that awful night he'd never be able to forget, but she was still careful. Crossing to her side quickly, he nearly hovered, his hands just a few inches from her waist and her arm. Heat radiated from her body to his palms and back again, but he still waited for her to smile and take his hand before he rested his other one on her waist. "Is everything alright?" Her voice was worried, her forehead creased, and he realized he must look as frustrated as he felt.

"Catherine's gone," he said quietly, lifting his hand to brush some hair away from her eyes distractedly. "My mother should be here soon. My parents will be married before the end of the week," he explained, his voice sounding far away.

"I don't understand, I thought this was a good thing?" Mary asked, clearly confused, and he shrugged.

"It is. It just..." he trailed off, his fingertips curving a path behind her ear, a few strands of raven hair following. "Can you feel it?"

"Feel what?" she murmured, catching his wrist and brushing her thumbs along the inside of his wrist.

"That big black cloud. Like even with all of this, we still aren't safe."

Mary's facial features softened, and her hands moved to his face, her thumbs stroking soothing circles into his skin. The action nearly forced him to relax, and he leaned into her palm, closing his eyes like an overgrown cat. She was whispering to him gently, reassurances flowing from her mouth like wine, and he wanted nothing more than to get drunk off of them. But they still had things to do, Bash still had things to take care of. He had a queen to protect, and he couldn't be at her side every waking hour, though he wished he could. So with a quick kiss to her palm, he pulled away and moved to his wardrobe, digging around through the back until he found what he'd been looking for. The bundle of clothes felt small in his hands, and when he turned around, Mary was watching him in clear confusion.

"Do you trust me?" He asked, almost nervous, before setting the bundle down on a small table, reaching out to take her hands. When she nodded - still wary, he noted, but it was progress - he smiled slightly, trying to put her at ease; much like she'd done for him before. "I want to show you something...teach you something. But a lot of people might not agree with it, and..." he hesitated. "I don't want what she nearly did to you to ever happen again, if either one of us can help it. I want to make sure you can defend yourself, should the need arise a second time."

Mary looked almost defensive at that, pulling her hands away to brace them on her hips. "I can defend myself," she started, and Bash had to swallow a laugh at how indignant she looked.

"I'm sure you can," he soothed, reaching for her again, and she grudgingly let him gather her in his arms, "so think of this as...honing your skills. I can't be there all the time to come to your rescue, Mary."

"I'm not asking you to-" Mary started, and Bash realized suddenly that he was going about this all wrong.

"Mary, please. For me. For my sanity, just...humor me," he asked quietly, and her facial features immediately softened with fondness...maybe something more, but he didn't dare hope. She'd break his heart if he started hoping too soon, he was sure. So when she nodded, he straightened his spine and forced himself to smile. "Thank you. Just...put those on and pull your hair back," Bash asked almost awkwardly, fumbling over his words and quickly taking his leave of the room. He shut the door firmly behind himself, giving her some privacy, and hoping beyond hope that his old clothes would fit her. It'd been years since he'd worn the old things, and he didn't have time or the luxury to ask someone to make her a pair of her own trousers. Not when his mind was still in an irrational panic for his life. Time passed by too slowly, and he was nearly ready to knock and ask her if she needed help when her head peeked out of the door, her hair braided deftly over one shoulder.

"I look ridiculous," she hissed, her cheeks flushed bright red, and Bash looked around at the empty hallway before gesturing for her to open the door. When she did, he had to fight back a strangled noise somewhere between a laugh and a groan. The breeches were a tad bit too tight, hugging her skin and her curves in a way that made him immediately need to look away and count to ten - backwards - before he was sure of his self control. The shirt, on the contrary, was too big, nearly falling off one of her shoulders, and he could see that she'd had to leave her corset on to avoid looking entirely indecent. Her feet were bare, and as ridiculous as she thought she looked, he found he rather liked seeing her in his clothes, no matter how long it had been since he'd worn them.

"You look lovely," he countered, taking her hand and pulling her from his room quickly, heading down the hall and to the armory as fast as he could with Mary on his arm. They reached the room without incident, though as soon as she recognized the door she paused, saying his name as a question. "Trust me," he reminded her, opening the door and letting her in before locking it behind them, needing privacy. After all, convincing a queen to wear breeches would be a scandal in and of itself - teaching her to wield a sword? That'd be the gossip of the castle for months. He took a deep breath before pulling down two of the lightest swords they kept in the castle, the blades dulled and impossible to cut through skin unless one of them stabbed the other with viciousness that he wasn't sure Mary was capable of. At least, not with him. He hoped. Shrugging out of his coat and toeing off his own shoes, Bash dropped them to the side and flipped one of the swords to offer it to her handle first. Mary took it warily, holding it delicately and eyeing it like it was going to come alive and bite her. "Don't be afraid of it," Bash told her seriously, leaning his own against the wall before coming up behind her, so close he could feel the heat radiating off of her body. Wrapping his arms around her, he took her hands in his and showed her how to hold it, his voice low in her ear. "This is called a hand-and-a-half sword. See how you can hold it with just one hand, but there's all this extra room here? If you move your hand up like this," he adjusted her grip gently, "you can hold it with both hands. It's meant for the killing blow, for if you're fighting someone stronger than you and need more strength to block, or if you're in battle and you lose your shield. It's more versatile than a single hand sword, but not as heavy as a two hander," Bash explained calmly, showing her where to place her hands a few more times before releasing her, trying not to hate how cold his chest felt without her back pressed against it. "It's a good sword to learn with. You'd probably have less trouble with a smaller one, but-"

"Don't treat me like I'm a weak little girl," Mary sighed, leveling him with a glare, and he stopped, smiling in spite of himself.

"Mary, if I thought you were a weak little girl, I'd have assigned you several bodyguards, all of them much more scary than Alec could ever hope to be," he told her gently and seriously, picking up his own sword again and turning it over in his hand. "If I thought you were a weak little girl I don't think I'd have ever fallen in love with you. Now defend yourself," he said, pointing at her with the dull point of his sword before hacking at her side. He moved with nearly impossible slowness to give her time to react, her sword hitting his at an angle that made her wince. "Next time, twist your wrist like this," he advised, showing her. "It'll keep the block strong, and stop your arm from getting too sore." Bash paused, waiting for her to mimic his movements, and then hit her sword again, pleased when she grinned instead of flinched. "See the difference?"

"Can I hit you now?" Mary asked, still grinning, and Bash laughed louder than he had since she'd nearly been poisoned by Catherine.

"You can try," he teased, and then had to duck and throw his sword up when she swung at him overhanded. The force of her blow made them both shake a bit, and he laughed again, the sound much more surprised. His eyes were wide, and Mary looked a little shocked herself, like she didn't think she was capable of that.

They went on like this for a few more minutes, Bash showing Mary the simplest of moves, how to position her feet, the proper way to advance, and the proper way to fall back. Stepping closer to her, he forced her to back up, but when she turned to check that the ground behind her was clear and free of things to trip over, he grabbed her waist with her free hand. "Never turn your back on your enemy," he reminded her seriously, and Mary blinked at him.

"But you're not my enemy," she said softly, and his heart clenched painfully in his chest.

"No, no I'm not," he murmured back, reaching up to brush his thumb over her cheek once with fondness before backing up. "Again?"

Mary nodded, shifting her feet like he'd taught her, and held her sword at the ready. "Again," she confirmed, advancing on him before he could swing at her, her sword coming up in an uppercut. Her form was a bit off, but she'd caught him off guard by making the first move - then again, she always had. Blocking quickly, Bash stepped back a few paces before starting to move to the side, intending to circle her. Mary had learned her lesson, though, and refused to let him corner her, instead advancing and meeting him pace for pace before striking again. Bash blocked, parried, and soon they were clashing against one another, steel ringing out like a melody. She was good at this, he was surprised - and pleased - to realize. She had a quick wit and an innate and easy ability to learn, and was light on her feet. She wasn't as strong as him, but she was faster, and though he intended to go easy on her, after a few minutes he realized he didn't need to. Mary kept blocking every attack he threw at her, and though there were more he could have used, ones he knew she wouldn't be able to parry, he stuck to more traditional moves, and was impressed at her ability to keep up. She'd always managed to impress him, of course, and by now he really shouldn't have been surprised by it. But when she managed to back him up to the balcony, his lower back pressed against the thick stone railing, he grinned wide eyed at her, her sword resting gently at the hollow of his throat.

"I believe the term is 'yield'?" Mary asked cheekily, her face flushed and her chest heaving to take in enough air from the physical exertion. Her hair was starting to fall out of the braid she'd kept it locked in, and her eyes were bright. Bash really should have yielded, really should have given her that victory - after all, she'd well and truly beaten him - but instead he knocked the sword out of her hand with his palm, dropping his own, and hauled her against him to kiss her. She relaxed against him immediately, her lips moving with his, and he was grateful for that. He still felt like he wasn't allowed to kiss her, sometimes. Still felt like he wasn't even allowed to look at her, let alone hold her in his arms. But Mary didn't seem to share a similar view, if her hands tangling in his hair were any indication. His palm pushed against the small of her back, keeping her body close against his, and she sighed into his mouth softly, rising onto her tiptoes to press her lips more firmly against his.

That was - of course, when there was a loud knock at the door, and Mary squeaked loudly and broke away from him to duck to the side of the balcony, where the wall would hide her. Bash swore loudly, making Mary giggle, and then stalked into the armory once more, throwing open the door with a glare on his face that made the guard on the opposite side shrink back, clearly not expecting that. "What?" Bash asked irritably, and the guard started to stutter about the arrival of Diane, and that the king had requested his presence. Groaning under his breath, Bash nodded and slammed the door back in the guard's face, and could hear the distant musical tinkle of Mary's laughter. "Stop enjoying this so much," he hissed teasingly at her as she rounded the corner again, both of their swords in her hands, and she smiled at him, leaning up to peck his lips chastely once before pulling back and returning the swords to their place on the wall.

"I'd like some privacy just as much as you, Bash," Mary said, nearly shocking him, and then turned to open the door. "But right now I need to change. I can't go greet your mother in this," she said, appalled, and Bash leaned against the wall in an exaggerated motion, his eyes sweeping over her legs.

"Why not?" He drawled, and Mary rolled her eyes, a combination of a scoff and a laugh escaping her throat.

"Always good to know a crown hasn't made you any less cheeky." She grabbed his hand, tugging him out of the armory, and he sighed dramatically, letting her lead him back to his quarters, back to confining royal clothing, back to being the dauphin, back to having to be the dutiful son to his parents. He would have hated it if it were anyone else, but with Mary, well...he didn't mind the confinement of rules and restrictions so much when she was smiling at him like sunshine. So when she paused outside his quarters, a shy smile on her lips, he stopped, waiting for her to say whatever it was she wanted to say.

"Can we do this again tomorrow?" She asked slowly, her eyes flicking up to meet his, and he could feel himself falling in love with her all over again.

"Of course," he grinned, and Mary matched his smile with exuberance, leaning up to kiss him before nearly running through the hallways, no doubt to let her ladies transform her back into the queen she was. Bash watched her go long after she was out of his sight, wondering just when it was he'd gotten so damn lucky, and would have likely stayed that way for another hour, had Alec not shown up, informing him that his mother was already in the throne room. So Bash slipped into his room with a sigh, hurrying to get dressed and greet his mother, trying not to show how glad he was that she was finally back at court. He still felt the black cloud of Catherine's scheming on his shoulders, but with his mother back and Mary taking to their secret lessons so eagerly, Bash finally dared to allow himself a bit of relaxation.