Clopin sat on the wooden platform in the middle of the Court of Miracles, head in his hands. He was sick, tired and now depressed on top of it all and didn't feel like doing much of anything, but he mustn't let that show. He was the leader, and the leader of the gypsies did not have the luxury of abundant downtime. He was feeling slightly sicker than he had been earlier in the evening, as the image of Josephine with another man kept creeping up on him. He could not shake the feeling of dread in his stomach.
Seeing her with that man earlier that night, just mere hours before, threw him into a jealous rage. Seeing that man kiss her, touch her hair—doing all the things, well, not all- but a few of the things Clopin himself wanted to do to Josephine was infuriating to the gypsy King. But now, his anger had diminished slightly.
However, on his walk home, he began to think. He figured that he was far too old for the nineteen year old. At 34, there was a decade and a half between them and he knew, from experience, that most of the younger women did not want to be with a much older man. Not when there were plenty of fit young men their age. Like the brown haired, buff soldier that caressed Josephine in his brawny arms.
He took off the hat he wore to conceal his receding hairline and ran his hand through his jet black hair. Why did he have to like Josephine? There were many other women out there. Maybe he should go for an older woman. Someone more his age.
After his outburst over her dancing and snapping at her when he was ill, Clopin was unsure if there was any conceivable way to reconcile. Apologizing was not in his nature, and he refused to admit he was wrong in so many words. Besides, she seemed to have moved on. Clopin sighed again. There had been so much promise in the beginning. There was a chance, he had felt, that Josephine had felt warmly towards him. He had ruined any chances with her.
The group of young gypsies returned to the Court and Clopin immediately rose to his feet, whipped the hat back upon his head and donned a half hearted grin. He acrimoniously wished that he had chosen to go directly to his tent, thus avoiding seeing Josephine return. Unfortunately, he had missed his chance to slink away unnoticed. He descended the wooden steps to the main stone floor as the group advanced towards him. Having no other choice, he called out to them.
"Ah! The clad of hooligans! Nice night for an outing, no?"
"Clopin, it was just so wonderful! It was the best night in a very long time!" said a brunette woman who had been recently engaged to the sword swallower. She looked over and grinned at the rest of the girls, who began giggling. Except for Josephine. She smiled softly, but it was clear her mind was elsewhere as she watched Clopin.
Another girl piped up. "We all had so much fun! And soldiers are perfectly built—who knew?" She winked and sent the others into gales of laughter.
Clopin admonished them, asking if they needed reminded again that just because Esmeralda had married the captain of the guard, it didn't mean that soldiers were appropriate suitors.
The group of girls waved off his warnings and moved on, anklets jingling and colorful skirts swaying. Josephine stayed behind the group and timidly approached Clopin.
"What has you so sad?" She inquired, her grey eyes searching his coal ones.
"Ma Cherie, I am not sad!" he replied with a forced cheeky grin, "Most certainly not! I am smiling, no? I am fine!"
Josephine laughed quietly. "No, Clopin, you're grey today. You were fine when we left, what's happened?"
"Grey? The expression is blue. You look blue today." Clopin corrected her, trying to mask his hurt. All the others had bought his act. He was always happy, and when he was not, he acted happy. No one ever knew the difference. He broke eye contact and straightened the golden colored rope he wore tied around his waist.
"No. That's not what I mean. You're all grey up here, with some red," she motioned around her face.
"I look sick?" he asked, looking rather confused. "I am sick, in case you've forgotten—"
"I haven't forgotten. I meant your aura. It's muddled. You're sad and you're frustrated. By and large, it's magenta with a hint of primrose," Josephine stated matter-of-factly, tilting her head to the side. Her ebony hair shone in the dim torchlight. "Even when you were sick, it was a blue and green. Muted, but still brighter colors. What's upsetting you?"
Clopin stared at her in shock. She had hit the nail on the head, and he didn't want to answer her truthfully. To expose his feelings like that? No. Not yet, at least. He had thought that there might have been a spark between them, once. However, he wasn't so sure anymore and was rather reluctant to put himself out there. Having been so used to getting all the women he could ever want, this threw him for a loop. He had never had to work for it before—women usually fell at his feet. Or at least, they used to.
"Well…"
He stood there for what seemed like forever. Although Clopin was usually very quick mentally, he was not up for this one tonight.
"I'm still feeling unwell, Josephine. I'm going to go lie down," Clopin gave a small, soft smile, his attempt of letting her know that he was no longer infuriated with her. She gave a meek smile in return, an acceptance of his "apology" and Clopin turned to head to his quarters. She turned to follow the group, which was now gathered in one of the girls' tents. Clopin paused and called after her.
"Oh, and Josephine? Do not let anyone on the streets hear of you and your auras and the like. You will be burned at the stake as a witch."
Reine watched the exchange between Clopin and Josephine, leaning against the damp stone wall of the catacomb. Clearly Clopin liked the young woman, and it did not take a mastermind to see that the girl returned his feelings. They moved so awkwardly around each other! It was plain as day. But Clopin, Reine knew, would hesitate. He would need some sort of nudge in one direction or another. Reine sneered, looking at the retreating form of Josephine, and then fixed her gaze on their leader. Fit and tall…a wonderfully morbid sense of humor, the tendency to believe the worst…
There were two ways she could play on the conversation she had just overheard, both of which would remove the younger girl from the equation. Josephine had been a pain in her side ever since she showed up at the Court of Miracles. Reine could report her for witchcraft—a crime that was taken seriously and punished harshly. Or, she could take a more direct route. Formulating a quick plan, she decided to act on the second option while she had the chance. It would be best to set it into motion while the King was still irked about Josephine's dance.
"Oh, Clopin!" Reine called after the gypsy king, stepping from the shadows and into the torchlight. "How are you feeling, my king?"
Clopin stopped cold and grimaced, recognizing the woman the too sugary voice belonged to. He turned around slowly and looked at the slightly chubby woman clad in hues of greens and blues.
"I am doing much better, thank you, Reine," He said through clenched teeth. Clopin took a step away from the woman, who was advancing upon him. Her skirts swished as she walked nearer. He had never particularly liked Reine—no precise reason why, but there was something that bothered him about her…something that didn't set right. However, Clopin usually looked past his own personal opinions and did what was best for everyone, so his dislike had never been made public.
"I am so happy to hear of your recovery," Reine said, her brown eyes glinting up at Clopin's. "You gave everyone quite a fright. We were most fearful you wouldn't pull through."
Clopin simply nodded, readjusted his hat and took a step away, towards his room. He was eager to go to bed, have another glass of wine or ale-any alcohol would do—and sleep off the sorrow he felt.
"Well, mon dame, I believe I best be getting to bed—"
Reine, seeing that she was about to lose her chance to plant doubt in his mind, cut through his words like a knife. She spoke urgently, throwing the words into the crisp damp air of their underground home. "That girl, Josephine—you have feelings for her."
Clopin stopped dead in his tracks. How had she known? He hadn't told a soul, and Clopin had thought that he was being substantially discreet when he looked her over. Had he given her special treatment, anything other than what would be considered normal? Perhaps a little, but surely nothing that could have been detected…?
"Mon dame, I assure you, I do not-"
"You are lying." Reine stated boldly, her smirk widening as she watched Clopin falter, failing to find a plausible excuse for his actions. All those looks and winks did not go unnoticed under her watch. It was interesting to Reine to see the king stumble. The eloquent man always knew the right thing to say, and this was new.
"You're lying, and you full well know it. I see the way you look at her. And the way you angered when you saw other men staring at the feast! Why else would you react in such a way? Do not even try to deny this, Clopin," the woman continued, enjoying watching him squirm under the pressure. "You want her."
Clopin sighed, but didn't say anything.
"You remain quiet. You tried to deny. But you know that, in your heart, you want her for more than a one night lay. You think she's different from all the others. Someone is trying to hide their feelings, aren't they?" Reine said, unrelenting, wanting to hear Clopin say it himself. She moved closer and nudged him in the ribs, playfully. He jerked back, away from her.
"Alright, you are correct. I have thought there may be potential…of a …relationship… of a more serious nature." Clopin felt the words roll off his tongue. They felt so strange, so foreign to him. He had never thought that he would find any woman that he was interested in enough to want to settle down. Reine let out a tinkling laugh, and what she thought was a wistful sigh.
"Ah. Youth. You're a man of what, 30?" She prodded him, building up to the opportune moment.
"34, but what difference does a few years make, eh?" Clopin countered, a forced grin playing on his mouth to try to ease the situation.
"34, then. Not bad. Not young, but not bad." She paused and looked up at him, her eyes clearly declaring that she knew more, but would not say. Clopin studied her for a moment, slightly peeved that she had taken a jab at his age, but remained silent. He was not one to pounce on any slightly offensive comment; he had more sense than that.
Reine paused; it dawned on her that Clopin was not going to pursue this further. Of course, she thought, he'd act like this was not significant. Of course.
She decided to take a different approach.
"You know, Clopin," She stated with a slow drawl, "When I was teaching Josephine the dance—or trying to, anyway-poor soul can't dance, you know- we talked of many things…family, men, travels… She likes older men, you know."
"Oh?" was all Clopin allowed himself to answer. Although he was curious, he didn't want to blatantly ask.
"Mhm."
Reine was making all this up as she went, recklessly trying to put together a story that would deter the Gypsy King from Josephine. She observed Clopin, who was looking at her expectantly, waiting to hear what was next. He had an air of indifference about him. Reine met his eyes and feigned a look of innocence.
"Pity she doesn't like you. You two would have been the golden couple," Reine simpered. With that, she turned on her heel and walked away. She chanced a glance over her shoulder to see Clopin standing alone, in the dark catacomb corridor, looking utterly defeated.
This was just what she had hoped for.
