Chapter Text
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In the darkness she could find comfort, but it was all nothing more than a dying ember in the fireplace. The warmth was fading, and so were her comfort and her courage. They fled before her like frightened animals, taking wind and flying far away while she was stuck here. All she had wanted was to be loved, was to find her prince’s heart again after so many years of being apart, but his heart had been given to another, and so had his bed. His words were empty, and so were his promises. Francis had made them to her so willingly, so often, and then he had abandoned them at her feet like old toys he had grown tired of playing with.
He is just like his father, Mary thought, taking comfort where he may. King Henry had left his wife to her own devices to endure alone. Mary did not like nor trust Queen Catherine, but the woman was in an impossible position much like Mary, and so she could sympathize with her plight. It was not hard to see how Queen Catherine had become the woman she was today. With a husband like the king, no woman would find peace.
Mary could not trust Francis. She could not love him, not if he could take another woman so eagerly into his bed and share such intimacy with her. She had asked Francis to send Olivia away, and instead he chose to keep her. While he sought comfort, Mary was punished for it. She had to suffer. She had to hurt, and he got to smile. He got to laugh. He got to love.
And I must wait, Mary thought forlornly, wrapping her shawl tighter around her shoulders. I must wait forever, and never know happiness.
The fire crackled near her feet as it drew lower to the ground, and Mary thought to put some more logs onto the fire, but she couldn’t bring herself to stand. All she could do was sit there, sit there and wait. I will wait forever, she thought yet again, feeling tears sting at the back of her eyes. Quickly, she raised a hand to her face to wipe away a fallen tear away from her cheek. It had betrayed her, and fallen against her will. I have no will here, only Francis’s whim.
The door to her chambers creaked open, but her guards were just outside. They would not let anyone in her room but her maidservants, her friends, or someone important, so Mary did not turn around to look. It was likely Aylee, Kenna, Lola, or Greer.
Sniffling, Mary wiped both eyes to clean herself. “I must look a fright,” she said. “Please, don’t mind me.”
“I’m sure you look just fine,” came the familiar voice, startling her.
Mary twisted around on her bench, her mouth hanging open in shock at the sight of Sebastian in her room. He was the last person she expected to see here. After the unpleasant business between her, him, and Francis, and then his journey into the woods to settle his blood debt with the pagans of the forest, Mary had not expected to see him again so soon. He had been different since he had come back from the forest. He had killed an innocent man for her. Sebastian had killed for her, and it frightened her.
Sebastian stood by her door, not venturing too far into her room. He was keeping his distance still. His pale eyes seemed colder, more distant as well. It’s my fault, Mary told herself, feeling her fingertips rise to touch her lips. That coldness, that’s my fault.
“Why the long face?” he asked, almost frivolously.
Mary turned her gaze down to her lap, dropping her hand to the bench. First, it was Francis’s coldness. Now, it was Sebastian’s at her doorstep.
Can I hold no friends here, not even my childhood ones?
“Ah,” Sebastian said, as if he already knew the answer. “That.”
“You don’t even know what I was thinking,” Mary countered back. She did not need to look at Sebastian’s face to know what he meant. She could hear it in his voice as clear as church bells ringing through the air on a Sunday morning.
“That I’m a monster,” Sebastian offered softly. He had taken a few steps into her room. His feet were quiet. She looked from the corner of her eye, seeing him with his hands behind his back. He stopped halfway into her chambers. “After what I’ve done, you’ll never see me any other way.” He was silent for a moment. “I’ll never see myself any other way,” he finished in an even softer voice.
Overwhelmed with pity, Mary raised her head to look at him. The wall of ice he had constructed behind his eyes was gone in that instant, and he looked a frail and frightened boy, so much more honest than his brother, so much more genuine and true. He was a bastard-born, and she was a queen, but she would be lying to herself if she had not thought of his lips on hers everyday since they had kissed by the lake.
She had been drunk on wine and jealousy when she kissed him, but she had not always been so neutral to him. When she had first arrived and Francis kept his distance while entertaining another girl, Mary had found comfort in Sebastian’s friendship and kindness. He had rescued her dog for her, and he had lent her his ear on more than one occasion. Sebastian had been her friend and her confidant. While his half-brother, Francis, had been so fickle with her from the beginning, Sebastian had always been there. Everywhere she went, he had always watched out for her. He had always been true. Unlike his brother, Francis.
Those were dangerous thoughts, though. Mary was still in a marriage treaty with France to Francis, and Sebastian was his bastard brother. It was treason, just the notion of it. She was queen, and queens should not act as thus.
Queens do not kiss bastards, she thought, but she had kissed Sebastian, and it was for more than just jealousy.
And he had kissed her back.
“That’s not true,” Mary said weakly. “You did what you thought was right, to protect someone you . . . you . . . ” Cared about? Why did he do it? Why would he kill someone for me? What could possibly—
“ . . . Love?” Sebastian offered, and Mary felt her heart leap into her throat.
She raised a hand to her neck, her nervousness growing. Her palms were sweaty. It was not right, not this, and it wasn’t allowed, but Sebastian crossed the long room, his footsteps echoing against the silence as the fire crackled down to a few dying embers. She was alone in her chambers with him. He had killed someone, an innocent man. Who is to say he will not kill me, too?
But no, that wasn’t Sebastian. She knew that wasn’t Sebastian.
But do you really know a man once he’s killed someone? Mary asked herself. Someone innocent?
Her mind echoed back no answer to soothe her anxiety. There was only silence.
Sebastian took a seat on the bench with her, and Mary pulled away. He stilled as if her movement had wounded him, and Mary drew her hands into her lap. “You shouldn’t be here,” she said, refusing to look at him. If she looked at him, she was afraid of what she would see in his eyes.
“Right,” Sebastian told her. “That’s why I’m leaving.”
Mary whirled to face him. “What?” she asked suddenly. “What do you mean? Leaving when? Where are you going?”
It was a horrible move because then she was looking at his eyes again, and he was trying to hold back from her, but he was also trying to let her in somehow. It was so confusing, looking at him like this, because she never knew exactly what he wanted, even if he made it abundantly clear. Glancing into his eyes was like looking into a pale stream, seeing everything and nothing all at once. All of the rocks in the riverbed were visible to her, and yet the trees and sky obscured her vision. The water ran clear, but nothing was clear.
“I have to leave,” Sebastian said frankly, his face pulling back and contorting. He seemed pained to admit it. “I can’t stay here. Things are not so certain anymore. Not for me, not for my mother. I must leave at once with her. We’ll be retreating to the countryside with her sister’s family far away from the castle and far away from court.” Sebastian fell quiet, and she could tell in his expression that this was not his decision. But whose decision was it?
“Why?” Mary asked, not understanding his sudden change of heart. “Why must you leave? I don’t understand—”
“And I don’t have time to explain,” Sebastian said, standing up from the bench. “I just thought you should know, so when the time comes, I could say a proper goodbye to you.”
She didn’t expect to feel even more alone than she already had. There was a hole in her heart, a sinking pit opening wider and wider. “You’re . . . leaving me?”
There was a strange flicker in his eyes. “Isn’t this what you wanted?” he asked.
“No,” Mary answered immediately, far too passionately as well, “of course not. I don’t want you to leave. Who will I . . . ”
“ . . . Trust?” Sebastian finished for her, a hurt look in his eyes. “Certainly, not me.”
Mary lifted her eyes to his. “Certainly, not anyone else,” she whispered.
“I killed a man, Your Grace,” Sebastian told her, the wall coming back up in his eyes. “I killed a man for you. I kissed you, even though you are engaged to my brother. I have broken every rule I am supposed to keep—”
“For me,” Mary finished quietly.
Sebastian swallowed past a lump in his throat. “For you,” he echoed.
Slowly, Mary rose from the bench. The tips of her fingers slid against the soft silk embroidered in the cushion as she stood, and she took a step toward Sebastian. He stood his ground, though he looked confused at her approach, and the look in his eyes darkened. Mary saw as he swallowed a second time while she drew closer to him, and she reached out to place a hand against his coat—right above his heart.
“I know you did what you did for me,” she whispered, “but that doesn’t make it any easier to accept.”
“You are confusing me, Your Grace,” Sebastian said to her.
“Mary,” she told him, looking into his eyes. “My name is Mary.”
Sebastian’s gaze softened, though the hurt ran deep. “Mary,” he echoed back.
She brushed her fingers over his coat, leaning closer. He smelled of ash and soap, a curious combination, but not unpleasant. She closed the distance until her lips settled softly upon his, a gentle whisper of her mouth to his. Mary could taste the dirt on the corner of Sebastian’s mouth, proof of his never-ending practice and determination with the sword. She could smell his sweat beneath the light scent of soap in his clothes, and before she knew it, her hand was in his hair and he kissed her back harder than before, letting go and taking what he wanted while he could have it.
In their flurry of kisses, his mouth broke free from hers and found its way to her neck. This, she thought, this is what I want. Mary closed her eyes, and she felt Sebastian’s lips kiss a trail down her flesh, raising goose bumps as they went. She clutched to him, caught in his embrace but leaning backward in his arms. If he had let her go, she would have fallen straight to the floor, but he held her fast, his fingers like iron into her gown, into her skin.
Breathless, Mary pulled away from him. “Stop, Sebastian,” she warned. “Stop—”
Sebastian stopped, breathing hard against her neck, holding onto her too tightly. “Your mind is more mercurial than my father’s,” he told her, half in jest. “You say one thing, and do another.”
“I am Queen of Scotland,” Mary reminded him, her voice firm. “I must think of my people—”
“Of course,” he said, pulling away from her. His pale green eyes were cold again. “You must think of your people above yourself. That is the way of royalty. I see it in my brother and my father often enough to know it.” He took a step forward, closing the short distance until he was only an inch away from her face. “But the engagement still stands, and not my father or my brother will break it. Who is to say you cannot escape from the castle for a few weeks? You can live somewhere else except for here for a while. No one said you had to stay right here, did they?”
Mary felt herself trembling. She could almost feel his lips on hers. His breath, it was warm against her skin. “What are you saying, Bash?”
He took in a deep breath, pulling away from her again and confusing Mary even further. Sebastian had composed himself, looking as if nothing had happened between them just moments ago. “You could come to the countryside for a while,” Sebastian told her. “Escape the castle for some fresh air, and no one will suspect anything. My brother cannot keep you here like a prisoner.”
Mary furrowed her brow. “And leave with you?” she asked in disbelief. “After his threats against you?”
“No one said he had to know you were coming to the same estate as me and my mother,” Sebastian offered as he shook his head slightly. “Olivia will keep him company, I’m sure.” The words were like an arrow to her heart, but Mary knew Sebastian had not meant them in that way. They were simply the truth, and he was simply being honest.
That was something Sebastian and Francis didn’t have in common as brothers. Honesty, Mary thought. But what would that make her, to be a liar as well? And wouldn’t this make Bash one, too? Wouldn’t they all be liars, then, living in sin?
“I have a reputation,” Mary began shakily.
Sebastian shook his head. “I won’t tarnish it,” he whispered, drawing closer, and she closed her eyes, wanting to believe the words.
She wanted him to kiss her again, but he didn’t. She felt safe around him, and yet he still felt dangerous. Mary didn’t understand it. She didn’t understand any of it.
“I’ll have to think about it,” she said softly.
Sebastian pulled away from her. Like a wisp of smoke, he was out of her arms. Mary opened her eyes to see him walking away from her. When he reached her door, he looked back.
“I’ll await your answer, Your Grace,” he said, and then he was gone.
Mary stared at her door in shock, wondering what had just happened. She sat back down on the bench by the fireplace, feeling no less confused than before. Her thoughts swam too quickly for her to make sense of them, but she raised her fingertips back to her lips.
They still burned from his kiss.