Matt Ford

She will do what is best for her crown, for England.

Three months later, Fotheringay Castle, Northamptonshire.

Mary stands beside the execution block, rosary beads wound tight around her fingers.

Her lips move slowly, deliberately, in Catholic prayer.

Mary fights her nerves to keep a slow, steady pace, desperate to buy time.

Knowing how indecisive her cousin can be, a sliver of hope lingers that Elizabeth will change her mind and order a last-minute reprieve, even now.

Mary's voice drops to a whisper as the final words of prayer leave her lips.

Her heart sinks.

She was wrong.

Mary's head snaps up as Cecil strides through the hall, his cane striking the floor with each step.

Relief surges through her.

Elizabeth did not forsake her after all.

But then instead of approaching the dean, Cecil moves to where the other lords are sitting.

Mary's chest tightens as Cecil takes his place beside them, turns to look directly at her and smiles.

Mary holds his gaze, her knees weakening.

Cecil is not here to save her.

He is here to delight in her demise.

There will be no rescue.

Mary feels the bitter taste of adrenaline hit the back of her throat as defiance kicks in.

She has one final card to play.