Matt Ford

She's only been back in Scotland for two months, but since then, violence has broken out across the country.

The Protestants have been seeking to strengthen their position at court, and she's even had to strip one Catholic Earl of his title to appease them.

She flinches at the sound of footsteps.

She wishes she'd taken her secretary's advice to have a guard with her at all times.

She refused, fearing she would look weak.

She bows her head, determined not to let her paranoia interrupt her prayers.

But she jumps to her feet as a high-pitched shatter fills the chapel.

She ducks behind her prayer desk, peers out to see a smashed stained glass window crash down onto the chapel's marble floor, lying in shards.

In its centre, a charred object illuminated by the moonlight.

She gathers her skirts, crouches down, stares at the object.

It's a small, half-burned idol of the Virgin Mary.

She feels herself stiffen as she collects it in her hands, her fear replaced with anger as she takes in the delicate face, blackened with charcoal.

Mary gently turns it over to find memento mori scratched into the dark wood, then drops it before she too falls to the cold floor.

We just Googled it.

An hour later, Mary paces her private quarters.

She feels utterly violated.

Can she not even find sanctity in her private chapel?

She glances up to see her secretary approach.

Kirtley waves him away.

Forgive me, Your Majesty, but I come with a reply from Elizabeth.