Her bed was cold. The spot he once occupied with the warmth of his body was now nothing but an empty sheet that aptly reflected the empty spot in her heart. Instinctively her hand reached out to feel for him, soft and reassuringly solid beneath the skin of her fingers, but all they found instead was the cool cotton of his absence. A physical reminder of the gaping void he had left, not only in her bed, but in her heart as well. She sighed deeply, hoping to breath in whatever scent remained of him amongst the linens of the bed they once shared. But she was only met with disappointment. His scent was gone, just as he was, almost as if he had never been there at all. Time had all but erased him.

Mary rolled over so she wouldn't have to stare at his vacancy and tried not to picture where he was in the world. Cold and away from her. In the arms of another woman. She pushed the thought from her mind and pushed herself sitting, no longer able to stand being in their bed without him.

The reality of the matter was that she was not just a girl, not the queen of anything. She was Mary, Queen of Scots. And now Queen of France. And she was determined to rise to the occasion with grace and passion, even if it meant doing so without Francis by her side.

"Any word?" Greer whispered into her ear as Mary entered the hall a time later.

Mary shook her head, unable to vocalize her disappointment. Greer's hand found the curve of her shoulder, the warmth of her skin radiating life into Mary.

"I'm sure they're both fine," she said with a smile. "And will be back any day now."

Mary smiled in what she hoped was a convincing way. "I'm sure you're right, Greer."

"Come," Greer beckoned, hooking her arm into Mary's and pulling her into the great hall. "You need to eat, you're withering away."

Mary sat reluctantly, pushing the food around her plate without enthusiasm. Guilt racked her. Subjects of the towns surrounding the castle had grown over the last week since the outbreak of the plague, begging for mercy and food and supplies. Sick and infected, Mary was powerless to help them. As it was rations were beginning to run thin within the castle. And while the infected lined the castle walls, bringing supplies in or out was not an option without running the risk of the disease spreading inside.

"Eat," Bash commanded.

Mary's eyes flicked up to meet his. She could see her own worry reflected back at her.

"I'm fine, really," Mary reassured.

"No you're not," Bash replied. "I've hardly seen you eat a morsel of food since Francis left. You're the Queen, Mary. You need to take care of yourself."

"I'm fine, Bash," she snapped. "I don't need you looking out for me."

Mary pushed her plate away from her and stood, leaving the table and her concerned friends to watch her walk away. Feeling powerless was one of the things Mary hated most in life. She was the Queen of two nations, yet she had never felt more out of control in her life. She quickly found herself in the meeting chambers where some of her trusted advisors stood, heads buried in tension and maps.

"It's spreading, isn't it?" Mary asked as she entered the room.

The men were quick to bow to her presence. "There's really no sure way of knowing, your Grace. We can't get men out to survey the lands with the crowds lining the castle walls."

Mary nodded. "I understand. But I also have an idea. We need supplies, not only here in the castle, but the surrounding towns need them too. I propose we use the passageways."

Knots of confusion knit itself between the eyes of the men. "The passageways, your Majesty?"

Mary nodded. "I can tell you a couple of them that will lead you straight out to the stables. They are risky, no doubt. But we can no longer afford to hide within these walls. This calls for action."

Small smiles pulled up the lips of the men, pride in watching the young woman become a queen before their eyes.

"Yes your Grace. We will start working on the plans immediately."

Mary smiled and opened her mouth to reply when another guard entered. He was young, freckles lining the bridge of his nose and the soft skin beneath his eyes.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, your Lords," he said sheepishly.

Mary approached him softly. "What is it?" Her voice was inviting but held clear authority.

"It's King Francis, your Grace. He's at the west gate."

Mary's heart stuttered, unsure if she had heard him right.

"Your command said the portcullis was not to be opened without your word. What would you like us to do, your Grace?'

She didn't even try to hide the barrage of emotions that skittered across her face like the telling of a book. Conflict pulled at her.

"King Francis, is he alone?"

"No, your Grace. The Lady Lola is with him. And a baby."

Mary felt her face fall. She knew what heartache and relief was about to be in store for her.

"Are they showing any signs of infection?"

The young guard shook his head. "No, your Grace, none of the early signs at least."

"Bring a physician. I want them thoroughly inspected before they are let inside these walls." She looked to the advisors behind her, nodding their approval of her decision. "And take me to them."

The guard nodded and beckoned her. Mary didn't know how she felt. Relieved that Francis and Lola were alive. And the baby. The baby. Mary hated the resentment that coursed through her. The jealousy that another woman, her friend, was the woman who bore her husbands first child. Tears clouded her eyes but she pushed them back. She was the Queen. She would not show weakness.

As they exited the castle and crossed the grounds, the west gate, carved into the stone of the high outer wall, slowly came into view. It was one of the few remaining entrances to the castle grounds that didn't have a crowd of sick villagers gathered outside. Mary wondered how long it had taken Francis and Lola to find an unobstructed entrance.

A moment of fear, cold and hard, seized her. She could see Francis and Lola standing on the other side of the gate, just out of reach, and abruptly stopped walking. Tucked into the crook of Lola's arm was a small bundle. Mary cringed at what that tiny bundle would mean for the rest of her marriage.

"Are you coming, your Grace?" the young guard asked, coming to a stop beside her.

"I might wait here," Mary said with a nod, reassuring herself more than him. Francis was there, right in front of her. She could see with her own eyes that he was, at the very least, alive. But she suddenly wasn't ready to greet him yet.

"Yes, your Grace. Shall I wait with you?"

A small, grateful smile pulled at the corners of her lips. "Okay." Her hands trembled as she raised them to her lips and retreated a small distance back, far enough to hide herself behind a tall marble statue.

"Raise the gate!" A voice cried out.

Mary watched with bated breath as the portcullis rose, and her future walked back into her life.