Matt Ford

Yeah, careful what you wish for.

I'd rather be dead.

We can sort it.

Mary's hand instinctively reaches towards her neck, where the diamond ring her cousin Elizabeth once gifted her hangs from a thick gold chain.

Despite the bad blood between them, Mary's kept it close to serve as a reminder of all that would be hers one day.

And, as she thumbs the ring, an idea starts to form.

Two hours later, in her private chamber, Mary watches the last of her auburn curls fall to the floor.

It is done, your majesty.

Mary's hand trembles as she raises her hand mirror, gasps at her own reflection.

Where there were once thick locks of hair, there are now barely enough wisps to cover her pale scalp.

One of her ladies enters, holding a man's riding doublet and breeches, as chants from outside the castle walls grow louder.

Minutes later, in the moonlight of the grounds, Mary creeps out of the castle gates, dressed in men's clothes.

She pulls herself atop a horse.

Adrenaline courses through her veins as she squeezes her knees into the beast's flanks, urging him forward.

She feels the wind rush against her scalp.

Against her chest, Elizabeth's diamond hangs from its thick gold chain.

Mary fixes her eyes on the distant walls as she gallops under the portcullis and out into the darkness.

Because if she can escape across the border, she will ride south to England and plead with her cousin Elizabeth.

Win her round, get her help, and raise an army to avenge and destroy every man that has ever wronged her in Scotland.

Starting with Lord Bothwell.