With exquisite tenderness, he lays me down on the floor and then the time for tenderness is gone. “I will not break,” I murmur against the hard line of his jaw.
“No.” He grins. “But I might.” And then he is on top of me, covering me, warming me, loving me, and I give myself over to the magic that only he is able to work upon my body.
* * *
When we have taken our pleasure, we lie together with my arm draped over his chest, feeling the steady—if somewhat rapid—thudding of his heart against my ribs. His hand runs lazily through my hair, stopping to rub strands of it between his fingers. He shifts so that he can look down at me. “Do you think that we will ever manage to do this in a bed?”
“A bed,” I scoff. “Where is the fun in that?” But, oh, how I long for such simple meetings. Not wishing to think of that right now, I let the questions that have simmered inside me for weeks come tumbling out. “How did things go at the convent?”
He shifts under me, making himself comfortable. “Annith was not as surprised to see us as you might think.”
“What do you mean?” I murmur, kissing the rough misshapen shell of his ear, wondering if anyone has ever done that.
He flinches and reaches up to rub it, so I’m guessing not. “She said Sister Vereda had seen us coming.”
“So the old woman is still alive.”
“And thriving, according to Annith. Balthazaar’s arrival has breathed new life into her.”
Is it just my imagination, or does he hesitate ever so slightly over that name? “And Balthazaar?” He is not Mortain any longer, but it is still hard to separate the two.
He shrugs, making it feel as if the earth beneath us is moving. “Ah, he seems to be well. I think he’s still adjusting to the wonders of being human.”
“And the girls?”
Beast puts his free arm around me, pulling me closer. “They will do fine there.” His voice is filled with absolute surety, but the vise of my worry will not let go.
“What makes you say that?”
“Because Annith and the others have had years of experience taking in frightened, wounded girls. Because all the nuns were kind and welcoming. Sister . . . the older, fussy one who loves clothes?”
“Beatriz. That is Sister Beatriz.”
“She took Louise under her wing immediately, petting and coddling her like a small dog. Louise enjoyed it for a grand total of one day before whispering to Annith that she really didn’t want to spend her entire day being fitted for new gowns.”
I laugh with relief and joy that Louise felt comfortable enough to state her desires so plainly. “And what of Charlotte?”
“She took longer to warm up to any of them. Insisted on sleeping outside with the Arduinnites for the first two nights. But Sister Thomine arranged with Aeva to have her come watch as they were training in the yard, and that got her attention. They told her if she trained with them, she would be allowed into the armory to see the weapons. After that, she moved into the dormitory bed next to her sister.”
“Does Louise partake in the training?”
“No, she is enamored of the horses and has attached herself to Sister Widona.”
My mind reels back through time, to my own arrival at the convent. I arrived damaged and broken, nearly feral with grief and anger. “Widona and Thomine were the ones who calmed me when I first showed up on their doorstep. Louise and Charlotte will be naught but a breeze for them after what I put them through.”
He gently takes my hand, covering it with his blunt, warm fingers. “I have met them, Sybella, and I know they would take issue with the suggestion that you had put them through anything. Indeed, I think they would say instead ‘after what you had suffered.’”
His words are meant to comfort me and challenge the way I see myself. They succeed at both. “Did Balthazaar seem to mind them being there?”
“No.” Beast grins. “Especially once he was reassured they were not yet more of his daughters.”
I snort. “Won’t Annith love that—never knowing if her consort’s unnumbered children will be showing up on her door.”
“She seems to take everything in stride.”
“I’m sure she does,” I murmur, remembering how comfortable she’s always been at the convent. How strong she’s always been in her faith. How she was the one who oversaw the younger girls’ happiness, ever since I’d first arrived.
I allow the knowledge that my sisters are safe to soak in. Feel it ease the gnawing at my heart that I have endured for months. “Is that what took you so long? Waiting to get the girls settled?”
“No.” The word is almost gruff, and something inside him shifts. “There is more to the story, I’m afraid. None of it good.”
I pull back to better see his face, but it is mostly hidden by shadow. “What is it?”
“Rohan is gearing up for something.”
“What do you mean? I thought that was the entire point of overriding the queen’s counsel and installing the king’s man as governor of Brittany?”
“One would think, but we could not get through to Rennes. All the roads to and from the city were patrolled by Rohan’s men. We sent scouts and learned that everyone had to check in with the city watch and state their business. We could not take the risk. Not with my face being so recognizable. It also seemed too great a risk to try to contact Ismae or Duval if Rohan had the entire city under that close a watch. We left the next morning for the convent.”
Beneath me, his heartbeat shifts, increasing ever so slightly. “Our path to the convent took us through Rohan’s lands, which slowed us down considerably, as we did not wish to be seen. But worse than that was that every one of his strongholds was fully garrisoned, with additional soldiers encamped outside the keeps. We had the devil’s own time evading them without being seen. Fortunately, we had the Arduinnites’ help in that.”
He squints down at me. “Is it possible that word of our absence reached the king and he sent word to Rohan to intercept us?”
“No. The king did send a search party the second day you’d been gone, but he was looking for Fremin’s henchmen, not you.”
“Did they find them?”
I meet Beast’s steady gaze. “No.”
He nods. “Good.”
“And what of your return trip?” I ask. “Did you try to contact Ismae or Duval then?”
“I had hoped to, but in the few days I was at the convent, even more troops had amassed. I decided it was more important to report this situation to the queen rather than pursue Duval.”
“And here you are.”
He pauses. “And here I am. Lingering with you when I should be making my report.” He sits up and begins to pull on his shirt.
“You couldn’t have very well stormed into the coronation ball and made your announcement. It would not have been well received. Besides,” I add softly, “things have not gotten smoother while you were gone.”
He sighs. “I would have been surprised if they did.”
There is so very much to tell him that I hardly know where to begin. “I suppose there is a piece of good news,” I say lightly. “I found the missing initiate.” And then I tell him of Genevieve, trying to smooth over some of the rougher edges of her story.
Beast swears. “Are you certain she is not working for France?”
“I was not at first,” I admit, “but now I am certain.” I sigh deeply, then tell him of Fremin coming to my room, killing him, and how Genevieve took the blame.
He is quiet a long moment. “You have been busy while I was gone,” he says lightly, even as he pulls me closer, as if he would protect me from all the ills the world has to offer.
“As have you,” I remind him. “There is more. Your father is here.”
His entire body grows so still it is as if he has been turned to stone. “I have no father.”
“Your sire, then. You know who I mean, Beast.”
He pulls away from me to lie down on his back. The chill I feel has nothing
to do with the removal of his body heat. “Captain Dunois spoke true. The resemblance between the two of you will be unmistakable if you are in the same room together. People are sure to notice and comment. I have already warned the queen.”
He turns his head to me, a wounded look in his eye. Needing to touch him, I place my hand on his cheek. “We cannot let her go stumbling into quagmires if we can help it, and she thought nothing less of you for it.”
“I think less of me for it,” he mumbles.
“That is because you are a turnip brain. Besides, you cannot tell me the d’Albret blood holds no influence over me, yet also claim your father’s blood holds sway over you.”
He moves swiftly, rising up on his elbow and towering over me. “Have you forgotten the battle lust? The savageness that comes over me?”
“How can I forget that which has saved countless lives, yours and mine included, countless times?”
He closes his eyes, as if steeling himself against the comfort I offer. “It is just as savage as he is.”
“No. It is a gift—however much a cursed one—from your saint. His is born of his own brutality and crudeness. Yours is something that comes over you when your saint bids you act. They are entirely different things, Beast.”
His arms tighten almost painfully around me, sending a faint whoosh of air from my lungs. He eases his hold, but does not let go of me.
Chapter 44
Genevieve
It is easy enough to slip away. Even with three hundred nobles, church officers, and foreign dignitaries standing between me and the door that leads out of the grand salon where the coronation ball is being held. When I am certain both the king and regent cannot see me, I allow the ebb and flow of the crowd to carry me toward the exit, no different than a small boat bobbing on a turbulent sea.
Along with granting me his permission to roam the palace grounds, the king bid me to enjoy tonight’s ball as well. While he has made my meeting with Maraud easier by granting such freedoms, I am certain that was not his intent. If he learns of it, it could set everything back.
So I will make certain he does not learn of it.
The sentries at the door barely notice me. They are not posted to keep anyone inside, nor out, for that matter. They are merely part of the pomp of the occasion.
The hallways and galleries are lit only by torches, which provide enough shadows for me to cling to in order to disguise my passage through the sparsely populated galleries and corridors. When I reach the ground floor, I clutch the shadows more firmly, then step outside into the night.
I hurry past the armory to the blacksmith’s shop on the far side of it, every nerve in my body ajumble. I am both hot and cold, excited and terrified. I do not allow myself to think of how my carefully built trust with the king will crumble if he learns of our meeting, and focus instead on the debt I owe Maraud.
But of course, that debt is not the only reason.
I wish to see him with my own eyes. To know that he is unharmed. That he is the same as when I left him. And I am hungry to know why he thinks of me often.
I know why he should think of me often—to curse my name to the heavens. But the nature of Valine’s words did not suggest that was the case.
Hope wriggles in my chest, a frail young chick trying to break free of its egg.
We danced well together, whether in a mummer’s parade, a daring escape, a lover’s embrace, or a sparring match. Looking back, without my fears clawing at my throat, I cannot help but wonder how things might be different at court if I had allowed him to help me.
If I had allowed myself to trust him. My hand reaches up to ensure the dangling silver chain of my necklace is completely concealed in the back of my gown. Of a certainty, it would have been better than the current mess I’ve made of everything.
Chapter 45
Maraud
Maraud had no trouble slipping into the palace grounds. All of Paris was out tonight celebrating the new queen, and crowds of people milled everywhere. There were even a few stalls—wine sellers mostly—set up, calling out their wares. Now, that would have made a fine disguise, he thought, tugging his leather jerkin into place. He’d come dressed as a tradesman—a stonemason—carrying the chain from his old mummer’s costume on his belt as an excuse to visit the smithy. And if that didn’t work, one of the heavy hammers or sharp chisels in his belt would.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a brief flicker in the shadows, then the flash of a jewel-toned gown before it disappeared into the smithy. Something lurking near his heart unclenched. She came.
The smithy was deserted, the fire banked low for the night. At first look, it appeared empty, until he stepped fully inside. She was there, toward the back.
He’d thought, once he saw her again, that he’d want to wrap his hands around her lovely neck and wring it until she felt just how angry he’d been. How betrayed he felt. How much frustration had consumed him.
He must have made some noise, for she whirled around, and their eyes met, and all he wanted to do was to touch her. To cup her cheek in his hand and rub his fingers on the skin that he knew was as delicate as a flower petal.
She looked away first, down at the chain in his hands. Her eyes widened, and her mouth twisted. “Well, you’ve not strangled me with it, so I guess that’s something.”
She’d grown thinner, he realized, the line of her jaw sharper, her eyes larger. She was also dressed in the fine silks and elaborate jewelry befitting a lady of the royal household. A deep spike of loss jabbed at him. He missed the rough-and-tumble, earthy Lucinda. Her eyes had seemed more alive, her face more vibrant then.
“Considering you haven’t gone for your poisoned needles, I feel safe keeping my weapon sheathed.”
Her cheeks pinkened slightly at his unintended double entendre, and oh-so-briefly, it was the old Lucinda standing before him.
“I’ve missed that about you.” Her dark honey voice was exactly how he’d remembered it. “Your ability to turn everything into a jest.”
His looby of a heart wanted to soar out of his chest. She’d missed him. “And here I thought it was one of my most annoying habits.”
She frowned slightly, as if puzzled. “It was.”
He wanted to place his thumb right there—on the faint crease between her brows—and smooth it away. He wanted to touch her so badly that he clenched his hands to tamp down the urge.
Her eyes darted briefly to his hands, then back to his face. “You are angry still,” she said softly.
“No.” Was he ever angry? At her? Or simply himself? “You’ve grown thin.”
She gave an impatient shake of her head. “It is only the shadows.” But he’d seen her in the bright light of full day, and she still looked thin. He should look away, it was probably rude staring at her so, but he could not get his fill. Before he could stop himself, he closed the distance between them. “Lucinda.” It came out as a whisper.
She looked up at him, her eyes shining with what he would swear were tears. His hands clenched again with the need to touch her. To wipe away the sadness on her face.
“My name is Genevieve.” It was nothing. A name. But it was everything. She was trusting him with her name.
He shouldn’t touch her. It would be wrong to answer that trust by touching her, but his body didn’t care about such rules of engagement. He placed one finger on her full lower lip, felt the faint trembling. When she did not pull away, he brought his other hand up and gently brushed a stray hair from her cheek. Smooth and flawless, just as he’d remembered. She drew in a ragged breath. Or maybe it was his own ragged breath. “Genevieve.”
Her gaze grew dark, and she drew another trembling breath before leaning—ever so lightly—into his touch.
Inside him, need tried to claw its way out, but he ignored it. Instead, he cupped her face, relishing the shape of her jaw against his palm, the feather-light touch of her cheeks against his fingertips.
“It is not too late,” he whispered. “If
something is wrong, I can still help.”
Her eyes flew open, wide with wonder and disbelief, and for a moment, he feared she would unravel before him.
Chapter 46
Genevieve
With the force of an ax coming down on a rope, I am undone. My remorse is like a boulder barreling downhill, flattening everything in its path. Every twig gives way in resistance, every blade of grass is crushed beneath the onslaught. He is, once again that voice in the dark, wholly understanding, withholding all judgment. It is too much. It is far more than I have earned, and yet I am helpless before it. I want to lean into the comfort he is offering. To accept the grace he is extending. And even though a small part of my heart knows he could be setting some ghastly trap for revenge, I decide I do not care. Not if—for these few moments—I am able to believe that he is so large-hearted.
And so I let myself believe his words. Believe him. And if they or him are false, it is no more than the debt he is owed.
“I’m sorry I did not trust you before,” I tell him.
“I’m sorry I didn’t do a better job of earning your trust.”
I shake my head. “You did, though. All the times you could have overpowered me and didn’t.”
“But the time I did overpower you overshadowed that. You didn’t know me. I had given you only the barest scraps of the truth you had asked for. Saints! You had only my word that I was not imprisoned for the wanton murder of innocent people.
“You were alone, venturing into a dungeon cell, with few weapons at hand. Which”—he gives my shoulders a little shake—“you should never do again. Why should you have trusted me?”
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