This day just continued to get better. The Watcher hadn't anticipated running into his target here, but it worked out to his advantage. He'd been meaning to talk to her, make his intentions quite clear. "Crush" was such an infantile word. The assassin had always hated it growing up being taken in by the league. He figured it must have had to be invented by the elders, the ones with an interest in belittling the concept of love. The Watcher hated it. He did not have a crush on Madellaine Barreau; he loved her with the passion hotter than a thousand suns. She was the one. He knew it. She was all that was in his mind; she was his true north, his everything. One day, they'd prove everyone wrong; run away together, start a family. Soon, he would make his intentions known, find a way to talk to her, tell the girl how he felt, and then he could finally stop hiding his emotions behind this godforsaken mask. The Watcher knew that a crush was nothing more than a lust for someone. What he felt for the blonde Frollo girl, that was not lust, no. It was love, pure and powerful, and he would make her see it. She is still always there in his mind. Every day when he watched her for the last few months, he was thinking about her for the entire day. When he dared to move close enough for their eyes to lock, though he knew she could not see him (not until he wanted her to), her eyes burned like his like he'd been staring at the sun for too long. And she would be his. That much he already knew.
He felt almost giddy with anticipation as he approached the little blonde, who was, conveniently for him, not going anywhere until Jehan wanted her upstairs. Good, he thought wickedly. More time alone. The respect he held for the Lady Madellaine Barreau was like an aged cheese. It became stronger with age, more mature, more robust. The woman was unfailingly kind, she always put others first, and herself last, no matter how tired she was, and she was never short with them. His admiration for her was deep-seated and long lasting, eternal love and contentment.
The Watcher smirked as a heavy cold fog engulfed the streets of Paris, causing the other citizens of Paris to retreat into the warmth of their homes. But not her. Nor him. Soon, it was just the two of them, as it should be. Alone, as it was meant to be. The freezing fog wrapped around the assassin like a blanket, the everyday familiar sights of the street lay mysterious, hiding, looming out at the two of them in their whitened haze at the last minute like images from some half-forgotten dream. He held out his hand in front of him and watched it become partially obscured. He imagined himself chanting spells, conjuring the mist like a deranged warlock drunk on his own powers, cackling, his eyes twinkling.
He froze in his tracks as the woman suddenly stopped walking, her posture tense and rigid. "I know you're here," she whispered hoarsely, the fear in her voice evident and bringing a fire to the man's loins. "I know you've been following me. Who are you and what do you want with me?"
"To be near you, love," he found himself saying, his voice gruff and grating, sounding not unlike that of a wooden crate being dragged across the ground. "I mean you no harm," he said quietly as she slowly turned around. The hood of his simple black tunic concealed his face, so he wasn't concerned of her learning who he really was. There would be time for that later. And when she finally knew his true self, she would be really, truly freaking. The Watcher had to make her understand, even though he wasn't quite sure how he could explain it himself, but when he was around this girl, he felt…calm, almost at peace. His urges to kill needlessly seemed to vanish in her presence. She had to know how important she was to him. Only for so long could the Watcher remain calm. After each rant, his inner countdown to his next explosion began, so he had to make this little chance meeting count. The man needed to fight often, part of him craved it. After each 'episode,' as he called them, he tended to wall himself off emotionally, shut people around him out, stonewall and go ice-cold inside. It was better that way. To his surprise, the girl's gray eyes grew steely cold, almost like a polished suit of armor. "If you mean me no harm then why follow me like this?" she challenged hotly, her eyes darting wildly around for any other signs of civilization. No one was coming.
The Watcher grinned, sending a chill down the young woman's spine. Her gaze never wavered from his. He kept his profile turned to the right slightly so she couldn't see his face. "Just to chat, my dear, that's all. There's no need to get so hostile. I know who you are. I've been watching you for quite a while now, lovely," he breathed, doing his best to control the tremors in his hands. He gritted his teeth and clenched and unclenched his fists, swallowing hard as he fought back his dark urges.
She did not know how she'd managed to sneak away undetected, but here she was, heading back towards her old haunt for her party.
Madellaine noticed this strange behavior, and her face paled at seeing how a muscle in his jaw jumped, and his posture stiffened and straightened. This man, whoever he was, seemed to be fighting against some baser instinct, some carnal urge, and losing horribly. She took a moment of the eerie silence to study his features, to try to commit any detail of the stranger's face to her memory, but thanks to the hood of his black and gold tunic, she couldn't make out any features of the man's face whatsoever. She could tell his tall build was intimidating and well-built underneath his tunic and black pants, his black boots immaculate and neat. What little she could see of his face, she could tell the man was young, older than her, with strong, chiseled features. She tried again, swallowing back the acidic bile creeping up into her throat. "If all you want is to be near me," she began slowly, thinking about her choice of words carefully. She didn't know what might provoke him. "Then why this secrecy? Why not lower your hood, show me your face?"
He laughed, his laughter wicked and echoing through the empty streets. "Oh, my dear, patience is a virtue you have yet to learn. You've always been impatient, girl, haven't you?" he chuckled. "All in good time, my darling," he crooned mockingly, pacing the cobblestoned streets in front of her. "Don't look round," he warned her, a harsh bark to his voice now. "It would be most unwise of you to cause a scene here and now. As I said before, I mean you no harm. I merely intended to meet you today to…look at you," he whispered. "And to send a message."
She stammered, tripping over whatever she wanted to say.
The Watcher smirked, withdrawing from the inner pockets of his tunic a folded piece of parchment. "Looking for this?" he taunted, relishing the wide-eyed stare the blonde was giving him.
"Geoffroi's will," she breathed, her voice barely audible over the growing gusts of wind. "But how? You stole it!" she accused.
The assassin shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. "It matters not how I obtained it. What does matter, my pretty, is you. You will not marry the bell ringer of Notre Dame. If you are foolish enough to follow through with Geoffroi's plan, well…I'm afraid that it won't bode well for your intended. Or for you," he growled, unable to keep hatred from seeping into his normally calm, collected voice. He cringed, hoping she hadn't noticed. He was losing his temper, and he couldn't bear to be around her when he did. If he was, there was no telling what would happen.
A flash of pain and a sharp tremor like lightning jolted through his entire body and he fought back the urge to scream. He had to finish his piece quickly and get out of here, lest he be found.
Madellaine noticed and quirked her brow at the behavior.
"What's wrong with you?" she demanded; her tone scared.
He merely grunted in response. "Don't marry the boy if you know what's good for you," was all he could manage through his immense waves of pain. The strain the Watcher put on his body doing this level of work took its toll after a while. "Oh," he added almost as an afterthought as he effortlessly began to scale the walls of one of the shops, much to the girl's amazement. "By the way, if you're thinking of telling anyone about our little chat," he called out, not bothering to look behind him as he climbed. "I'll come to his tower in the middle of the night and slit his throat where he sleeps and gut the man like a fish." The man's laughter lingered in the streets of Paris long after he'd seemingly disappeared into the night. Some of the residents could hear it in their homes and instinctively wrapped their blankets tighter around themselves, as though they thought that could shield them from the Devil himself. But they were wrong.
Nothing could stop the storm that was coming…
The aching in her skull ebbed and flowed like a cold tide, yet the pain is always there. Madellaine understand at once why the people called it a hangover, for it felt as if the blackest of clouds were over her head with no intention of clearing until late afternoon. "How did I get here?" she groaned. Madellaine awoke in an all-too familiar prison cell, a place that she hoped she would never see again from this side of the room.
"Hello, sweetheart," came a man's voice, gravelly sounding, like someone scraping a heavy crate across a cobblestone street. "Glad to see you're awake." The man lingered in the shadows, so it rendered it difficult for her to make out any details of the man's face. "Jehan sends his regards, and to give you this. Says you're to put it on immediately." Without another word, he tossed her a carefully wrapped package. Shooting the stranger a dark glower, not trusting this at all, she unwrapped it. In her hands was perhaps the most gorgeous garment she'd ever seen. "Put it on," came the command, curt and emotionless. "Now," he said.
Not wanting to anger the man any further, given where she was, she obliged. "You've got to be kidding me," Madellaine muttered darkly under her breath as she glanced at her reflection in the mirror. She'd been summoned by Jehan early the day of her name day to get ready for her name day party commencing soon. "How did I get here?" she demanded.
"I brought you," the stranger answered, a note of pride in his voice.
"Where's Quasi?" Madellaine demanded. "What have you done?"
"He's safe. He's waiting for you up there," the stranger smirked, leaving her alone in the shadows. "I wouldn't keep Maître Frollo waiting, dear."
Begrudgingly, she gave a curt nod, dressing quickly. She had been unable to think straight all morning. Not willing to eat much, she'd only succeeded in breaking the heavily laden breakfast tray that Jeanne brought up for them. She'd received a letter from Jehan delivered by one of Clopin's gypsies, bidding her come. That man, whoever he is, must have knocked us both out and brought here. This is Jehan's doing. You wanted me. So here I am, Jehan, she thought bitterly. I'm yours to do with whatever you see fit. Madellaine had never seen the Palace of Justice quite so crowded, and the Frollo's had been well known for their ability to throw a lavish party, especially Jehan, the brute. She chanced a glance at the great hall and cringed. So many people, she thought, panicked. Oh, God… Frowning, she slipped into the red gown Jehan had his dressmaker create especially for her twenty-eighth name day tonight with great ease.
Her brow furrowed, even she had to admit that Jehan had good taste in clothing. The gown was a brilliant dark red wine color, made in chiffon; the bodice featured a sweetheart neckline and symmetrical pleated feature, forming the V shape of the waistline, which emphasized her slim silhouette. The dress's fluted chiffon sleeves were fitted to the elbow, then opened out to a thin delicate trail, finished with a string of beautiful crystal beads and pearls hanging just under the strap. When she twirled, the skirts of her gown flowed effortlessly with her movements. The bodice and skirt were decorated with embroidered motifs and ivy leaves sewn on with crystal beading and pearls, creating depth and texture against the close-fitting cut of the dress. The dress had lacing in the back and a slight train. "It's beautiful," she whispered, hoping he didn't hear. Madellaine ran a hand through her freshly shorn cropped blonde hair, smoothing it, and dabbing at her neck with lavender and jasmine to soothe her nerves.
"Of course, it is, pet, red's always been my favorite color on you. Brings out your blonde hair and your eyes," spoke up Jehan quietly from the corner. Damn it, she cursed under her breath and whirled around, doing her best not to show her fear. As he advanced on her, all the reasons not to do this came flooding in, as if her body just sent them a blanket invitation. Madellaine felt the soft panic that could grow or fade, depending on what she does next. It would fade if she backed away if she ran from the Palace of Justice and from Jehan and never looked back, but then he would kill Quasi and her and her efforts will have been in vain. It will grow if she let these thoughts swirl into a vortex of terror and stupidity, unable to escape it or deny what she feels.
Everything hinges on my actions tonight, she thought, anguished. God help me. I don't know if I can do this…"God help me," she groaned, not caring what Jehan thought at this point.
Jehan laughed, coming up behind her and snaking his arms around her waist. "God can't save you from me," he snarled. He pressed his lips to her cheek for a gentle kiss. "I'm proud of you, love. I didn't think you'd make it this far, to be honest. But you, you've always been my favorite." Madellaine angrily slapped his hands away and jerked away from his touch. Even flushed and angry, he still found her so beautiful and irresistible. You're mine, Madellaine, he thought wickedly. No one else's.
Madellaine glanced out at the great hall at all the people, massive waves of unknown dignitaries and somewhere in that crowd, King Louis the Prudent waited to pay his respects to the young daughter of Geoffroi Frollo. Her nails were already bitten down to the quick. In a fit of anxiety, she nibbled at their frayed form edges like a mouse. Madellaine's face, pale and rigid with terror, paled even more at seeing the crowd packed into the hall. A cold chill traveled down her spine and she shuddered, slapping Jehan's hand away when he reached up to brush a stray wisp of blonde hair behind her ear. "Oh, God," she moaned. "Why me, Jehan?" she pleaded. "Of all the women in your service that works for you, why me? I don't understand. Why did you pick me?" I hate you so much, Jehan. I hate you with every fiber of my being. I hope you go to hell and burn in a lake of hellfire for all eternity. And if I have to join you there, at least I can be content knowing you belong down there. There's still time to change your mind, Madellaine. You and Quasi both hate crowds. There's still time to find him and run away, get as far away from here as you can. No. I can't do that to Quasi, Notre Dame is his home. He'd never agree to leave with you. Besides, if you run, you know Jehan will follow you. Until the ends of the earth, because that's the kind of man he is. To her surprise, Jehan grew quiet and thoughtful.
"Because I love you, that's why," he said softly. "I always have, lovely, whether you believe it or not. You know I'll give you a wonderful life, much better than that—that monster can. Besides, you're the most beautiful woman in all of Paris, surely you can see it for yourself?" Jehan turned her head and faced her towards the large mirror hanging on the wall, its white frame mottled and tarnished with the ages of centuries past. It was beautiful. Madellaine grew uneasy. This sudden softness in Jehan greatly unnerved her. What are you up to, Jehan? He cupped her chin in his hand and forced her to look at her reflection. "When you look at her in the mirror, what do you see?" he demanded quietly.
"I…" she faltered and fell silent. A monster, a demon, someone who deserves to go to hell's gate for all the wrong I've done in my life, the people I've hurt. The man I deeply love whose heart is going to be broken tonight before he loses his life. I'm a horrible person, and I deserve this.
"I see a young woman brimming with confidence. You're not like my other women, Lena. You, you've never needed makeup or perfume to enhance your features, not like they do. You radiate beauty, warmth, and kindness. Someone I can easily see spending the rest of my life with."
Madellaine felt her rage beginning to boil over to the surface. The tips of her fingers grew hot and her face paled until it was almost white, devoid of any color. "You're not capable of love, Jehan," she managed, at last, her gray eyes numb with helplessness at her predicament. I see no way out, she thought, despairing. "Father was right about you. You're sick, you're evil. You never were good. You're evil. The fact that you'd marry your own sister to keep the bloodline going is disgusting, Jehan!"
"And what is it you see in the monster that you don't see in me?" he challenged, his eyes narrowing. "It's clear to me you love the freak. I'd kill for you to look at me the way you look at me. Tell me. What is it?" he growled darkly. "Now."
Madellaine felt her temper swell to dangerous levels, although in the moment, she cared not. "He's handsome," she admitted dreamily, relishing in the dark look of jealousy Jehan was giving her. "He has a kind heart, a beautiful soul. He loves me and cares for me in a way that I can't put into words. He loves me more than you ever will, Jehan. You'll never be enough," she spat, disgusted, as she picked up the hem of her gown and stormed out into the crowd, ready to get all this over with.
Jehan glowered after his sister but didn't follow. "Soon, my brother," he whispered. "Your pain will be paid for, and you can rest in peace. I'm here for you." Always.
Roul had no other choice. He despised all these secret meetings. He hated that he had to bring her into this especially since she returned home, and Marcus would probably kill him if he found out, but time was running out and his options limited, and as he stared across the table at Ingrid's cousin, at her cold eyes became numb and lifeless as she listened to Roul catch her up on her cousin's situation, he knew without a shadow of a doubt that she would help and do anything to save her cousin. Ingrid was practically like a sister to her. He thought the midwife and former shield maiden was looking fantastic in a simple purple dress. It did not escape his attention how one of Notre Dame's priests, was eyeing the midwife, interested. He recognized that look all too well. The man was smitten, just as he was with Sophia's cousin, hence why he'd come to her.
At least here in the throngs of people, they wouldn't be overheard. "Listen to me, Sophia. Ingrid is in danger. Do you want the job or not?" snapped Roul, glowering at her, slamming his tankard down on the table. "You'll get to kill a whole lot of Frollo's hired guards. Morons, the lot of them, save for your father. I need your help, Sophia. Or should I call you Two Hands?" he added, pride in his tone.
Sophia glowered at the sentry's use of her nickname and tossed her wavy dark hair over her shoulders. "I'd be happy to skin you for free, asshole," she hissed through clenched teeth. "If you break my cousin's heart, Roul, I'll break your goddamn face. I can't believe you, Roul! It's your goddamn fault she's mixed in all of this!" Ingrid's cousin was the spitting image of Helen. At thirty, Sophia Damas was a beautiful woman. Tall, statuesque, and slender. Her curvaceous figure was emphasized by the simple purple dress she wore. Her pale skin was flawless; her brown hair cascaded in natural waves to her breasts. Currently, she'd tied it up in a loose bun to keep it out of the way, though a few tendrils had escaped to frame her face. There was a warmth her brown hair brought to her features, a simple frame for that smile and eyes that held more love than she would ever admit to. The hue altered as the strands curled and moved, as free as autumn leaves playing in the daytime. Her brown eyes were like that of a deep umber rimmed with gold at the irises, normally quite kind and striking, although now, they were furious as she glowered at the sentry over the rim of her chalice.
Roul eyed the handsome priest, who was eyeing Roul with an immense level of distrust. "What about Barret over there? You two are thick as thieves. Are you sure he won't mind you going back to your old ways? You haven't been…in the field in a long time, not since you retired from your line of work, Sophia!" he challenged hotly. "I would ask this of someone else, but I have no choice. I…" he hesitated, wondering how much he should divulge. "I care for your cousin, Sophia. I don't want to see her fall prey to Jehan. I am not going to stand by and just watch it happen, Sophia!" he bellowed. "Don't ask me to!"
The midwife regarded the distraught sentry in front of her with a thoughtful eye. "You love her," she spoke up bluntly. "Don't even bother lying to me, Roul, you've always been horrible at it. You and Darius both are the same in that regard." She sighed, picking up her chalice of water and watching the ice swirl around in the cup, condensation beading it.
"Fuck, I can't wait until I'm allowed to drink again. And dam Barret for making me swear off wine. God, I miss it," she swore darkly under her breath, tilting her head back and draining her water in one go. "As for my Barret over there, don't worry about Darius. Let me deal with him. He's my friend, Roul, not my father or my lover. Jesus, Roul," she joked.
"Yes, I do love her, Sophia. I—I wish it were under better circumstances," he sighed, not ashamed to admit it. He had yet to talk to Ingrid about what had happened, but he would very soon. He ran a hand through his dark hair in anguish. "I—I've already made up my mind, Sophia. If we all live through this, I want to marry her. I want to take her away from here. If Jehan's alive, Paris is no longer safe. We'll—we'll live in the countryside, as far away from Paris as we can get, Sophia."
Sophia nodded grimly, not needing to say a word. She didn't need to. "I'll do it. You don't have to convince me, Roul. Ingrid is practically my sister. She's family, and I'd fucking slaughter the whole goddamn world and follow them to Hell and back if that's what it took to keep them safe. You of all people should know that, Roul," she spoke up quietly, her fingers twitching as they hovered near the two sheaths she wore on her waist. The shield maiden resisted the urge to draw her weapons and give the sentry an ass kicking he'd never forget. "For Ingrid. Let's go kill this bastard and this piece of shit he's hired."
Roul watched in admiration and a little bit of fear if he was being honest with himself as Sophia rose from her chair, the skirts of her purple dress billowing behind her as she moved. There was no mistaking the small arsenal of the finest weaponry she wore around her waist. The midwife gave a curt nod as she exited Roul's quarters, but on the way out the door to head for her home, something gave her pause. A hand on the doorframe to steady herself, she turned and looked Roul square in the eyes. "Marry her, Roul," she said softly, no trace of hatred or contempt in her voice now. That she reserved for Jehan. "Marry Ingrid and take her as far away from this place as you can." Almost as an afterthought, she smirked and added. "Oh, and by the way, Roul…I wouldn't wait to tell Ingrid how you feel. If you wait too long, well, she might be someone else's." Roul nodded weakly, feeling his face go ashen at the thought of Ingrid spending yet another evening in Jehan's company. If he didn't act soon and make a move to save her from Jehan's insatiable appetite, there's no telling what harm Ingrid would come to, and he sure as hell was not going to let that happen.
He'd die before he let Ingrid fall into the young lord's clutches again.
Helen Damas surveyed her niece with a careful eye, noticing the crestfallen look in the young hearth keep's eyes, how she blushed and reddened every time the sentry came into her line of sight. She'd dropped two plates in the span of an hour when Roul came into the kitchens to check on Ingrid. Clearly something had happened between the two of them. But whatever it was, it must not have ended on a good note, or else Ingrid wouldn't be avoiding Roul like she was. It did not escape her attention that every time Roul tried to pull her aside to speak to her in private, she made some excuse not to, and would pull away from his touch, hardly daring to meet his gaze. She sighed, brushing a lock of brown hair behind her ear. Helen chanced a glance nearby at Roul, who was barely succeeding in hiding his desires in those brilliant green eyes of his. The knight's wife chuckled and strode over towards the sentry, whose posture remained rigid and tense, his hands clasped behind his back as he stood guard outside Jehan Frollo's study.
He shot young Ingrid a look of longing as he watched the hearth keep dare to approach the study's oak double doors timidly. A pink blush graced her cheeks as she shyly dared to meet Roul's gaze.
Roul swallowed hard and hoped Ingrid didn't see the effect she was having on him. He shifted uncomfortably as his gaze lingered on Ingrid's form. He thought the hearth keep was looking rather stunning in a deep velvet green gown with long flared trumpet sleeves. Her light brown hair hung loose to her shoulders, curled slightly and a waterfall braid accentuated her lovely hair. Something floral smelling flooded his senses.
"You look beautiful, milady," he murmured lowly. His heart fluttered as she nodded curtly, not wanting to fully meet his gaze.
"Thank you, m'lord. May I pass, sir?" she asked cordially, just a hint of coldness in her voice. Roul was hurt but had no time to dwell on it. "I'm afraid Maître Jehan is expecting me. Again." Her tone was cold, and the fire in her eyes as she glared at Roul unmistakable. "You and I, we can talk later," she said, something in her gaze and her tone softening slightly as she noticed the pained look Roul was giving her. She paused, seeming to fight against something, and before Roul knew what was happening, she leaned up on her toes and pressed her lips against his cheek. She lingered for a moment that felt to Roul like an eternity in Heaven, she pulled away from him too soon. How he longed to wrap her in his arms and never let her go, to take her away from all this. When she pulled away, the point on his skin where her lips had contacted his cheek burned, sending a hot, pulsating fire coursing through his veins and into his blood. He nodded wordlessly, at a loss for words and stepped aside to let the young hearth keep pass. She shot him one last look of longing before shutting the doors quietly behind her. Helen chuckled slightly and didn't wait to be asked, dragging the sentry away from the doors to sit in chairs opposite the doors, close enough in the event trouble should arise, but far enough away so as to not be overheard. "I take it by what I just witnessed something happened last night?" she teased, the corners of her kind mouth twitching as she fought back a smile.
The sentry sighed, running his hands through his dark hair and burying his face in his hands, not wanting to look at her. "I—I kissed her," he confessed, sounding tormented. "I—I couldn't help it, Helen, I—I almost couldn't control myself!" he snapped, doing his best to keep his voice low, though he felt like shouting.
Helen regarded Roul with slightly narrowed eyes. It was rare of Roul to divulge into details of his personal life like this. So very often he chose to remain guarded and keeping others at a distance. But clearly, something in Ingrid had intrigued the man and she had brought down the man's walls of his heart, brick by brick they crumbled, until there was nothing left but love. "I see," she said calmly, reaching down and absentmindedly picking at the cuticles of her nails, sensing how uncomfortable Roul was becoming. She continued the unnecessary preening of her nails and shot a sideways glance at the sentry. "Did she like it?" she asked, her curiosity getting the better of her, a wide grin creeping onto her beautiful face. "I demand details, Roul!"
"I—I cannot say for sure," he admitted, feeling his cheeks flush and grow hot. He squirmed in his chair, not sure how he could be discussing such a topic, but he was grateful it was with Helen and not Marcus.
Were Marcus or Sophia here, he'd never hear the end of it. "I—I think so, she—she broke it off first, saying it was wrong. What did I do wrong?" he asked, his tone desperate.
"Did you…go further?" she asked, smoothing the skirts of her gown and tossing her dark chocolate locks over her shoulders.
"No!" shouted Roul, knowing where she was going. "I—I really wanted to, Helen, God how I wanted to, but I—I'm not that kind of monster, Helen! I wouldn't do anything Ingrid didn't want me to do."
"Good," agreed Helen, nodding sadly, a wistful look in her eyes. "She…" Helen Damas's voice trailed off as she looked away for a moment. "She has a scar on her chest, near one of her breasts."
Roul stared, the heat in his cheeks remaining. He tried to picture her small, perfect breasts so perfectly molded to her form and couldn't. "I—I don't understand," he said shakily. "What does this have to do with me, Helen? Why she rejected me?"
Helen sighed, sounding exhausted. She fidgeted with the skirts of her gown and glanced over at Roul and immediately wished she hadn't. The look of heartbreak in his eyes was almost too much to bear. "She had a suitor once, three years ago. The man didn't return her affections. Broke Ingrid's heart when he spurned her attentions to marry a wealthy nobleman, the daughter of an aristocrat. That didn't stop the man from taking what he wanted, though," she growled darkly, her kind tone losing its warmth as the memory resurfaced in her mind, hearing Ingrid's screams, the sight of her niece bursting through the door of her and Marcus's home, blood trailing down her chest. "The man attacked poor Ingrid for refusing to sleep with him after he'd made his feelings towards my niece quite clear. Ever since then, she built a wall around her heart, refusing to let anybody in. But you…you're different, Roul," she said at last, sounding apprehensive. "With you, Ingrid smiles more. I know you haven't been noticing it, given how much attention you pay to her ass," she teased, ignoring the blush specking along the sentry's cheeks. "But I do. Marcus does. So does Sophia, now that she's home and spending more time with you. We can all see it. You two love each other."
Roul sighed, not knowing what to say to that. "Yes," he said at last, picking at a loose thread on his tunic. Helen slapped his hand away in annoyance, causing the sentry to look up and shoot her a dark look.
"Don't pick at it," she snapped, but her eyes were twinkling. "What are you going to do about it, Roul?" she asked, her tone serious now, no hint of joking in her voice. "She needs a protector, someone to watch over her. She cannot stay in Jehan's clutches. I—that is to say, Marcus and I won't allow it," she muttered darkly, one of her eyes twitching involuntarily.
Roul hesitated, unsure if he could divulge his plans to Helen and trust the wife of Ser Marcus Damas to keep the secret. But at last, he relented.
Helen had lived in the Frollo estate her entire life and had been nothing but kind to Roul as the years passed. He sighed and procured from his pocket a pair of rings. He'd bought them in the marketplace a few weeks ago, a month after Ingrid had arrived. He hated that he couldn't buy her a better ring, one that was worth of a woman of stature as she was, but regardless, the sentry hoped the hearth keep would like it and say yes. The nights he'd grown accustomed to watching her in the tavern, eventually planning to gather the courage to one day speak to the girl, and she had done it for him by eavesdropping on his and Phoebus's conversation. He shifted the rings in his palm, feeling the weight, and passed them to Helen so she could get a good look at them for herself.
"They're beautiful," she said admirably, fingering the ring that was to be Ingrid's lovingly. Ingrid's ring was a simple band, yellow gold, with an intricate pattern of leaves that wove its way around the entirety of the band. It was perfect for Ingrid, given that Roul, with her light brown hair and hazel eyes, thought of her as a goddess of the earth, a child of Mother Nature herself. His on the other hand, was simple yellow gold, no designs on the ring. Perfect for them. "When are you asking her, Roul?"
"I hope tonight," he said, a note of hope in his voice as he glanced sideways to gauge Helen's reaction and saw to his relief that she was beaming. Her smile made her look years younger than fifty-four. "If I can get her alone, that is," he sighed.
"You will," reassured Helen kindly, resting her hand on the sentry's shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze. "She's—"
But Helen Damas didn't get a chance to finish her sentence as the doors to Claude's study flew open and Jehan emerged, red in the face and dragging young Ingrid away, who was fighting his grip tooth and nail, screaming obscenities at the dark-haired young lord.
Whatever had happened to her, it wasn't good. The bodice of her dress was torn slightly, a purple bruise developing underneath one of her eyes. Her left brow was bleeding, and if Roul looked closely, he could see the faint jagged edges of the scar Helen had mentioned, starting near her left breast and most likely snaked its way down, the scar still red and harsh even after three years. Jehan, in a fit of disgust, threw the hearth sentry violently to the ground, where she groveled at the man's feet. "You are a disgrace to your family's name, girl," he shouted, rendering Helen and Roul speechless, ignoring Ingrid's desperate attempts to apologize. "I should have you drawn and quartered for daring to speak to me the way you just did." He snapped his fingers and motioned to one of the nearby guards, who came at once without hesitation. "Take her away and lock her up in the dungeons below," he commanded, his voice steel. Jehan shot Roul a look of utter loathing. "Take him too," he ordered. "Keep the two of them apart, don't want them getting any ideas." He leaned in close so his nose was practically touching the tip of Roul's slender nose. He leered at the sentry; whose face was pale, and his dark eyes betrayed his emotions. The sentry was afraid of the judge. "I know what you've been doing, Roul. All this time, I know you've been searching for the will in secret, and you thought you could use this—this whore to pry it out of me. Don't think it's escaped my attention. I trusted you, considered you a friend, Roul, and you, you betray me like this?" he spat, venom dripping from his words as he spoke them. "But not anymore," he said, sounding thoroughly disappointed as the guards clamped a pair of manacles on both Ingrid and Roul's wrists, dragging them away despite Ingrid's violent protests and Lady Helen's pleas. "Take them away."
Ingrid shot Roul a desperate, pleading glance and let out a cry of pain as the soldier yanked harder than was necessary on her chains, dragging her along behind him. Roul was forcefully dragged in an opposite direction and unable to help her. She had been caught; their plan compromised.
"God, Sophia, wherever you are, hurry," he moaned underneath his breath. They were running out of time.
The fear coursed through Madellaine's veins but never made it to her facial muscles or her skin. Her complexion remained pale; her eyes steady as she stood on the palace steps, watching for the familiar flame of red hair that belonged to her love. Thinking he wasn't coming, and perhaps at this point, it was better for him that he stayed away, she let out an understated sigh and turned to go back inside, and almost bowled someone over. "I'm so sorry, sir," she apologized, feeling her cheeks grow hot and flushed as she stammered, tripping over her words, but fell silent as she realized she'd bumped into Quasi. "Oh, it's you!" she relieved; both terrified and elated that he'd made it. He'd promised. "I thought you might not come, but..." Notre Dame's bell ringer was looking handsome in a simple black tunic and pants, his black boots neat and polished.
His red hair had been recently trimmed, and it curled slightly, and a lock of red hair fell over one of his eyes that he brushed aside. "Of course, I came," he said, looking surprised, and even a little offended at the thought that she thought he wouldn't. "I promised you, didn't I?" he teased, a soft smile forming. "I'm a man of my word, Madellaine. Especially for you." There was, however, no mistaking the fear in his eyes. He swallowed hard and gave Madellaine a quick once-over. "You look beautiful. No, no," he stammered, suddenly growing flustered. "I—that's not the right word. Radiant? No, too plain. Bewitching, stunning, gorgeous…" Mine, he thought affectionately but didn't speak it.
She grinned and held up a hand to stop the flow of comments, although secretly, she was delighted. No one had ever given her this kind of attention before. "I get it, no need to overdo it," she laughed, sinking into a low curtsy for him. "You look rather dashing tonight, love," she admired. "I'm grateful you're here, love. It means...more than you know. I don't do crowds, but it would seem I have no choice tonight but to endure, so it means the world to have you by my side."
He smiled, offering her arm. "I wouldn't miss it," he said lovingly. "Milady," he murmured courteously, his voice low and husky. "Shall we?"
Madellaine grinned, although there was no masking the fear in her eyes. Her heart pounded, rattling against its cage. The crowd as they entered seemed to part for them. Low whispers and jealous murmurs could be heard amongst some, some envious of her beauty, but most were afraid of Notre Dame's bell ringer, gawking at his red hair and the scar on his cheek, calling him demon under their breaths. "My God," she whispered, horrified, only able to watch, as the crowds seemed to part wherever he led her. It's like Moses and the Red Sea. Wherever he goes, they part. They're all afraid of him. They've no reason to be, though!
To his credit, he ignored it as he held her, swiftly and expertly weaving his way through the crowd until they came to a clearing. He hung back as people began to pair off to dance as the music began to play. He cringed as Madellaine held out her hand, an invitation to dance with her. "No, love, I'm not one to dance in crowds like this—"
"Fine, then I will," a cheerful voice interjected.
"Darius!" Madellaine breathed, relieved. Thank you, God. Help's here. With Darius here, we might make it out of this alive.
Their priest had swapped his black monk's habit for a simple black tunic and pants, his dark hair neat, his blue eyes twinkling as he looked appreciatively at the young blonde in her stunning red gown. "You look beautiful, Lena," he muttered, bringing his lips to her cheek for a gentle kiss. He turned to Quasi and grinned infectiously. "Last chance, brother. Dance with the lady, or I will."
Quasi smiled, waving them off. "Go on. I need a minute," he confessed, taking a deep breath and shooting a nervous look Darius's way, hoping Madellaine didn't catch on. He unclenched his fist and briefly showed Darius the rings. "I'll…catch up. I'll be here," he promised Madellaine. To his relief, their priest nodded his understanding and led Madellaine out to the dance floor.
When Madellaine flowed in dance, it was if it were the only way her body truly knew how to speak. Verbally, she was always guarded. Physically, she would blend into the background, no matter where she was, not one for attention. But when she danced, her personality burst through. As she twirled, she caught Quasi's eyes staring at her, mesmerized as she moved, him more adept at hiding in the shadows than she. He dropped his gaze momentarily before looking, his head tilted to the side and a hopeful smile on his lips. For Madellaine, to dance was her freedom; to dance was to become a blossoming flower or a bird taking flight. To feel the movement was new breath for her body and nourishment for her soul that was so tired and broken.
"I'm grateful you're here, my friend," she whispered, returning her attention to her dance partner and leaning her head against Darius's chest, smiling warmly.
"Of course," he said, sounding surprised. "I wouldn't miss your name day, love," Darius replied, amused. "Nothing is more important than my family, which you are a part of now, love."
"What's wrong with Quasi?" Madellaine asked, glancing briefly back at the corner where the bell ringer lingered, his arms folded across his chest and a look of utter terror on his face. His face was ashen. "I've never seen him look this uneasy, what gives, Darius?"
Darius suddenly looked uncomfortable. "He'll live. He doesn't like crowds, love, we both know this. But I've told him for years, he's nothing to be afraid of anymore. I just wish he'd listen to me, but he won't. But if you talk to him, maybe he'll listen at last," he sighed; twirling her once and letting her go. For a moment, she lost him through the crowd. She felt a tap on her shoulder, and she turned, expecting Darius, but she found herself face-to-face with Jehan, who held out his hand, an unusual kind smile on his lips.
Madellaine didn't trust it. What the hell are you up to, Jehan? Reluctantly, knowing he'd punish her if she refused, she took his hand and he pulled her close, his hands on his waist. He leaned into her, whispering into her ear. "You're beautiful, love. You're doing so wonderfully, I'm so proud of you, sister. It won't be much longer, and all of this will be over, and you and I can be free of these disgusting people."
Smirking at her enraged expression, he twirled her once and shoved her back into the crowd, only for her to accidentally stumble into someone's arms. She looked up, horrified, to see it was none other than the king himself. "Your Majesty!" she squeaked, flustered and her cheeks burning hot as she sank into a low curtsy. "I-I apologize, I meant no disrespect!"
The king chuckled at her outburst. "Never fear, milady," he said, his voice a deep, booming baritone. "You must be Geoffroi's daughter, am I correct?" he asked, scrutinizing her petite figure in her red gown, appreciating how the dress highlighted her best qualities. "I was sorry to hear of Lord Geoffroi's passing, he was a good man. But I can tell, with you and Jehan as his next of kin, his estate is in capable hands. You are, as Paris has spoken, the most beautiful woman in this room. I had to see it for myself if the rumors were true, and imagine my pleasant surprise to discover the truth, that you are, in fact, as Jehan says, a beauty..."
She flushed, internally cringing at the compliment.
"I...thank you," she mumbled, turning away, wishing desperately that a hole in the ground would open up, and she could take Quasi and Darius with her, and not come out until Jehan was gone, out of her life forever. Sensing the king's intrigue and growing lust by the gleam in his eyes, she mumbled a half-hearted excuse about needing air and vanished back into the throng of people, weaving her way through the crowd, only for Darius to find her again, looking relieved.
"There you are!" he exclaimed, his shoulders relaxing as he pulled her tight, admiring her form in her red dress. "I thought I'd lost you. It's a maze in here, love. Stay close and don't wander too far," he lightly warned, his brow furrowed and his blue eyes tense. "Don't forget what happened the last time you wandered off. Stay close to me, I'll protect you, with my life if it comes to that," he promised thickly. "I'm afraid my brother has wandered off too, I can't find him anywhere. Not for lack of looking, though," he grumbled darkly. "I think, if I had to guess, he's afraid he's lost you to one of these noblemen or something," he laughed, rolling his eyes at the thought. "As if he had anything to worry about," he teased, glancing back to Madellaine to gauge her reaction. "You've always been my brother's," he said quietly, looking pained. "From the very beginning. He was...quite distraught when you vanished into the crowd, I've been looking for you. You should go find him if you can, talk him down from this."
"Here I am," she replied, looking worried as she peered over Darius's shoulder, looking for any sign of Quasi. But he was nowhere to be found. "Where the hell did he go? And Darius, that's ridiculous! He never had to worry about me; my heart has always belonged to him. Why would he leave?" she asked, frowning. "Oh no, I hope I didn't scare him off by suggesting he come! I shouldn't have made him come, what if the people pick on him again? I don't think he could take it twice in a lifetime. What have I done? I never should have brought him here, this—this is all my fault, and I don't know…" she lamented, anguished at the thought of the crowd turning on him. "It's my fault!"
"No, no, he'll be fine," muttered Darius darkly, his brow furrowed as he surveyed the crowd with a trained eye. "My brother can handle himself. I'm sure he just stepped out for some fresh air. He doesn't like crowds, as you know by now, I'm sure. I'm sure this is a difficult time for him, dredging up old memories of...past events in his life that he'd rather forget, but he'll live." Darius paused, studying her face, how nervous and flighty Madellaine looked. "Love, what's wrong?" he encouraged gently. "You're looking like you're going to be sick! What's going on?"
Madellaine's smile faltered as her eyes swiftly scanned the crowd for any sign of Jehan's towering form, but he was nowhere to be seen. "I..."
"Found you," Quasi whispered into Madellaine's ear, causing her to let out a startled scream and whirl around, playfully punching him on the arm. "Sorry," he teased.
"No, you're not," snapped Darius, but his blue eyes were twinkling. "Here, brother, she's all yours," he managed, gently pushing Madellaine forward into Quasi's arms, smiling, but it didn't reach his eyes. I need to tell her, and soon, he thought wildly. Look how nervous she is. Something isn't right, and I don't like it.
Quasi turned to Madellaine as Darius melted back into the crowd, remaining close enough to keep an eye out for trouble but far enough away to give them privacy. "Shall we?" he asked, gesturing to the dance floor. "I do believe it's my turn to dance with you, if you'll have me," he grinned, starting to lead her out towards the floor, ignoring the stares.
Madellaine bit her lip, not wanting the night to come to this at all.
"No, wait, stop for a moment, please," she pleaded, tugging on his arm. He paused, turning back to look at her, confused. "I…I'm not much for crowds, either," she admitted sheepishly, her eyes wildly darting around, looking for any sign of Jehan. "I could use some air. Let's—let's go for a walk. Get some fresh air? It's rather hot, isn't it?" she suggested, fanning herself and taking note of the relief in the young bell ringer's eyes as his shoulders relaxed at the thought of not having to go in the great hall.
He looked utterly relieved. "Oh, God, thank you," he murmured, leaning over to kiss her forehead. "I don't…there's no telling how they'd react to—to me," he admitted, his tone fearful. "I can't."
The two fell silent as they took in the sights of the gardens. Jehan had plants imported from different countries, signifying his wealth. In the center of the garden, there was a pond as large as a small lake with flowering lily pads and a wooden bridge that crossed the middle so you could look down at the koi carp. Madellaine noticed out of the corner of her eyes that Quasi's face had paled and he looked terrified. Something's wrong with him, I've never seen him like this, she thought, panicked. She laid a gentle hand over top his hand; his knuckles were white with the effort of clenching the bridge's railing to steady himself.
"Love, what's wrong? What is it?" she whispered. "You're nervous, but there's no reason to be. What's going on? Talk to me."
Quasi swallowed hard and took her hands in his. "I keep falling in love with you as the days pass, and each time is harder than the last. Every time, my love for you gets deeper, more complete, more bewitching. There isn't a thing I would do to keep you safe. Don't ever think you have to ask for my love and affection, because you don't. The more love I give you, the more I have. I've lived long enough to know that what you and I share, I can't replicate with another. This love, this feeling, is just you and me. I could travel the entire world, and I'd still have to come right back here to you if I wanted true love. You and I, we're the protectors of one another, confidants and best friends. The trust I give you, that you give me, is what keeps us safe in a world that's dark and cruel to us both." He took a deep breath and stepped back, running a hand through his red hair nervously. There's no going back after this, he thought, looking pained, as he looked at swallowed and continued. "Whether my heart beats for another day or another hundred years, it's yours." He stepped back away from Madellaine and knelt on one knee and unclenched his fist. In his hand was a beautiful yellow gold ring, simple and elegant. "I don't want to lose you," he said carefully, studying her reaction and noticing her breath catch in her throat. "I almost lost you once, and I've no intention of letting that happen ever again. I love you, Madellaine. You, you bring light and happiness into my life when I thought I'd never find it again. I don't want to lose that. I don't want to lose you. A life without you by my side is not a life worth living. Will you marry me?" he asked, his gaze meeting hers as he tried to determine her reaction.
Tears welled in her eyes. Yes. She struggled to find her voice.
"I…" but she didn't get a chance to give him her answer as a looming shadow covered her in darkness. "Oh, no," she hissed under her breath and turned to face Jehan. "Jehan! Whatever you're thinking, don't do it, please! I'm begging you, let us go."
"So sorry to interrupt this touching scene, didn't mean to interrupt," he mocked, not looking sorry at all. A wicked grin crept onto his face as he glared at Notre Dame's bell ringer. "Just kidding. Yes, I did," he laughed. "I always knew you had it in you, my love, I never doubted you for a second," he purred to Madellaine, snaking his arms around Madellaine's waist and giving her a chaste kiss on the cheek. She struggled against him, but it was no use. "You're mine, sister. You're not going anywhere, and I especially cannot allow you to marry this monster."
"GET THE HELL AWAY FROM HER!" shouted Quasi, moving so fast he was practically a blur, but Jehan was unfazed. He snapped his fingers and soldiers emerged from the hedges, working to restrain Notre Dame's bell ringer with chains and clamped a pair of manacles on his wrists. It was an ambush all along, Madellaine thought angrily. He'd planned this from the beginning. What have I done?
"Arrest them both. Take them to the Bastille."
"NO!" pleaded Madellaine, fighting to break free from Jehan. "Take me, Jehan, please! You—you can have me, but leave him alone! You wanted me, here I am. This wasn't part of the arrangement, brother!" she begged.
"What the hell? Madellaine, you cannot be serious! He'll kill you!" Quasi shouted desperately, a fuming look in his eyes and he was almost to the point of tears as he fought against the soldiers, but there were too many, the chains too thick. Jehan only had eyes for Quasi.
"You must be my brother's son," he managed, anger laced in his voice, a smile of immense satisfaction on his face as he watched Quasi's eyes grow wide and round with shock. Jehan spat at the bell ringer's face. "You murdered our brother, you son of a bitch. You have no idea what loss is. But so you understand, I'm going to take everything you care about the most away from you and I'm going to make you watch as I take my sister for myself," he growled darkly, cupping Madellaine's chin in his hand, tilting her head to the side, ignoring the blazing look in her eyes as she shouted violent protests and obscenities.
Quasi's heart sank to the pit of his stomach as he pieced it all together. She's been a Frollo this whole time? No wonder she didn't want to tell me his name. "You always were Father's favorite, sister," murmured Jehan, bringing his lips to hers for a gentle kiss. "Soon it'll all be over. You'll see. I'll give you a great life. Say no, and you'll burn, sorceress," he hissed through clenched teeth. "You'll go up in flames, just like my brother did to that Romani bitch that tormented him."
"NO!" roared Quasi. "It's me you want, not her. Let her go, please," he begged, tears welling his eyes. "Set her free."
Madellaine's eyes grew wide and she grabbed Jehan's arm. "No, Jehan, don't do this, please," she wept. "There must still be some goodness in you, brother. Take me. I'm yours. You want to marry me, it's done. I'll go with you. Don't hurt him. That's my one condition," she pleaded desperately. "If you kill him, I will never marry you or speak to you again. If he dies, I die too. I'll kill myself if he's harmed in any way, and I know you don't want that, Jehan. Let him go, and I'm yours," she pleaded.
A muscle in Jehan's jaw twitched as he glared at the young blonde. "You would…marry me, as long as he lives?"
Madellaine closed her eyes, seeing no other choice.
"Madellaine, no!" shouted Quasi. "You have no idea what you're doing!" he protested violently. "Don't do this! He'll kill you! I don't care what happens to me but save yourself! I am not worth losing your life over!"
She hesitated. "If I did…would you let him go?"
"Yes," promised Jehan softly.
"I…" Madellaine clenched her teeth, desperately wanting to free Quasi, but going to him now would only fuel Jehan's temper more. She shot Quasi a desperate, pleading look with her eyes, trying to apologize. Don't do this, his eyes told her. Please don't. I'm not worth your life. Get out of here, save yourself. Go with him. "But you are," she whispered, her voice cracking. I must do this to save your life. I'm sorry. Madellaine turned back to Jehan. "I will do it. I'll go with you. Yes. You have my word."
"NO!" shouted Quasi, but the soldiers dragged him away with great difficulty as he fought against his chains. He'd managed to give one of the guards a broken nose and a black eye, but there were too many of them. He didn't stand a fighting chance in hell. "LET HER GO!"
"Oh, how noble you two are, isn't this just precious. It's almost poetic in a way, I guess. Star-crossed lovers destined to watch each other die, never to be together in this lifetime or the next," snapped Jehan, angrily clamping a pair of manacles onto Madellaine's wrist. "Take them both away. Arrest them both. Bring them to the dungeons down below and lock them up. Keep those two apart in separate cells, don't let them stay together. I don't want them getting any ideas. Sorry, love," he mocked, nipping at her ear. "But it's better for me this way. I know you're lying about wanting to marry me, so I've no choice, lovely, but to force my hand. You've done this to yourself, not I. But that doesn't mean I can't have a little fun with you first. I never wanted this; you must know this. Father would have wanted us to prevail, keep our lineage alive, no matter the cost. If it means you get your heart broken along the way, so be it."
"Jehan, please don't do this!" she wept, but her pleas fell on deaf ears as she felt something hard strike the back of her head and the gardens around her went dark as everything went black and she lost consciousness. As her vision faded, her last thought was of Quasi and hoped that she could still find a way to save him.
I never got to give him my answer, she thought before she lost herself to the darkness of her nightmares. I never got to tell him yes.
Ingrid blearily awoke to the frigid cold of the dungeons. She trembled, wondering what the hell Claude had done with Roul. The hearth keep glanced down and saw she was back in the red and gold dress with the dragon brass embroidery on the bodice. Her feet were bare and bloodied, someone had taken her shoes. Someone had changed her clothes while she'd been knocked out, but whom? "Jehan," she hissed through clenched teeth. She sighed, brushing a lock back of hair behind her ears and buried her face in her hands, the chains of her manacles rattling as she did so. She'd had one job, and she'd screwed it up. Jehan had figured out everything just by looking in her eyes and seeing the fear and trepidation she held for him, and as a result, she'd confessed everything. Now, thanks to her failure, she was going to die a horrible death for refusing the man's advances. Wonderful work, Ingrid. Your parents would be so proud of you, she thought bitterly and tried not to cry. She opened her mouth to try to scream for help, but her voice was hoarse. She barely managed a cry of relief as another guard forcefully yanked open the door to her cell and threw Roul in alongside her, looking pained and not sure what to do.
"Best I can do for you, Roul," the guard was saying. "I'm sorry."
Roul nodded wordlessly, his face drained of color. He noticed Ingrid huddled in the corner, clutching herself as it was cold in the damp dungeon prison cell that smelled of mold. "Ingrid," he whispered, breathing a sigh of relief at seeing her relatively unharmed. He didn't hesitate to go to the hearth keep, kneeling on the floor next to her and instinctively pulling her close. Roul reached a trembling hand up and brushed her hair back over her shoulders, gingerly touching the cut above her brow. She flinched only slightly but gave no indication she was in pain. "Are you hurt? Did he touch you or what did he do to you…?" His voice trailed off as his gaze drifted downwards, towards the beginnings of her scar. He trailed the tip of it, the edges jagged, harsh, and shocking.
When she spoke, her voice was numb, dull, even. "It happened three years ago," she sighed, sounding resigned. "After it did, I—I swore that I would never let myself be vulnerable again, but I…" Her voice trembled and she bit her lip, fighting back her tears. "I—I don't know what's going to happen to us, but I shouldn't have left you alone the other night," she whispered, her voice cracking and wavering as she moved closer until she was practically straddling Roul's lap, her hands finding purchase in his cropped dark hair, currently disheveled and matted with congealed blood, the result of a brawl with one of the guards.
Roul sighed, stroking her hair and relishing how soft her skin felt against his. "I don't blame you," he said wearily. "I—"
But he didn't get a chance to finish his thought, as Ingrid's lips brushed against his, not like a tease, but her kiss fiery, hot and demanding. She broke apart, pulling back slightly to study his face. She could tell by the look in his eyes that he wanted more.
"How many others have you been with?" she demanded, almost sounding angry."
"I—what?" he asked, his face white and caught completely off guard. "What does that have to do with you and I, Ingrid?"
"How many?" she demanded, her eyes narrowing. "One, two, five? A dozen? How many, Roul? Tell me."
"I…." he sighed, running a hand through his hair. "One," he admitted at last, his voice pained as visions of Celeste flashed through his mind, the bitch. She'd been a wrong choice from the start. "But she—"
"Was she good? The best you've ever had. Did she please you? Tell me the truth, Roul. Now." Ingrid almost sounded angry with Roul. She was still straddling his lap, her fingers gripping onto his shoulders in a near vice grip that was almost painfully tight.
"No," said Roul, feeling his voice go soft and quiet. "She didn't."
"Why not?" she demanded hotly, her hands now on her hips. Roul's gaze drifted to her bodice, at the line of her breasts, desperately wanting nothing more than to move his hands underneath the skirts of her dress and feel her perfect softness.
It was a moment before the sentry spoke again. When he did, Ingrid had to lean forward and practically strain to hear. "She wasn't you," he whispered. That was good enough for her. Roul felt practically bowled over as she pressed her lips against his, her hands drifting towards his neck and pulling him forward into her kiss, her kiss hungry and demanding. She broke apart, panting, and looked him square in the eye. "We're probably going to die tomorrow," she admitted, no trace of fear in her eyes. Only a passionate wildfire that looked ready to scorch and burn everything she met. "I want to know what it feels like before that happens," she confessed, reaching up a hand to brush Roul's bangs out of his eyes. "To be with someone you truly love, Roul. Will you?" she asked, biting her lip. "Love me?" she asked hopefully, her voice quiet and shy.
Roul grinned, feeling a huge weight lift from his heart and her question. "Yes," he said without hesitation, but raised a finger to her lips as she leaned in to kiss him again. "But…before we do, I have something I need to ask you, Ingrid," he said, suddenly looking fearful and unsure of what her answer would be. He sighed. He'd wanted to do this the proper way, perhaps in the gardens, but now was as good a time as any. Now might be the only time. The sentry took both her hands in his and held them tight, afraid to let her go for fear he'd never hold her again. "Before you, I'd only ever really loved one woman, and even then, it wasn't really love. The other girl, she was...well, I won't go into what I think of her, such language would not be appropriate, but you, Ingrid, are different. Not like what I feel for you. You are so entirely different than she was. I'm happy to have met you, and I'm scared too. There is such joy and such pain in my heart that I don't know what to do about it. I've never wanted any form of eternity until now. I never saw the point. So stay, be in love with me too, be brave enough to take my hand for the rest of our natural lives, whether it's just for tonight or the next one hundred years until we're old." He withdrew from his pocket their gold rings, holding out the ring that was to be Ingrid's in the dim light of the cell. She gasped and drew in a breath. He smiled and continued. "Ingrid Elizabeth Damas, will you marry me? Will you do me the extraordinary honor of becoming my wife?" He fell silent.
"Yes," she whispered breathlessly, beaming and looking positively radiant as he slipped the simple gold band onto her finger and drew her close for another kiss. She didn't protest as she felt the sentry grin into their kiss, and his hands wandering beneath the skirts of her red gown. She didn't pull away as he gently guided himself to her entrance. She cried out only once, but the time they spent together in love's embrace was worth it.
Even if it was just for now. That was good enough for them.