Chapter Twenty-Two
Madellaine awoke to the frigid cold of an unfamiliar room that smelled dank, moldy, and smelled of death. The coppery taste of blood lingered on her tongue and settled there. She blearily lifted her head and tried to focus her gaze more than a few feet in front of herself.
"Where am I? Where's…where's Quasi? What—what happened?" she moaned, looking around to the best of her ability.
For a moment, she wondered what had happened, and then it hit her, and she froze as she felt her insides curdle and freeze.
"Jehan!" she breathed, holding out her hands in front of her, feeling her fingertips curl into a protective fist over the scratchy woolen blanket that covered her person, soaking up whatever ghosts no doubt haunted this strange room that smelled of blood, death. She felt the ghosts circulate right through her heart and become even quieter whispers, hearing the victims' screams. The room she was in, for lack of a better word, was roomy, airy, and eerie.
Not one she recognized, and she liked to think that she knew Notre Dame like the back of her own hand. Madellaine furrowed her brow into a frown and sat up. An uneasy breeze wafted through the desolate room and gripped Madellaine with its chilly touch and she felt a tremor of cold and fear travel down her spine and she clutched herself, wrapping her arms around her midriff.
A quick glance confirmed someone—hopefully, Maria or one of the other nuns in the church—had changed her out of her wet things into a simple shift.
Madellaine mumbled a quick curse under her breath and to her relief, saw a spare gown draped over the back of a nearby chair, a royal blue velvet dress with gold braided embroidery at the neckline and on the sleeves. The chill's fingers circled around Madellaine's body, tenderly fondling every inch of the young blonde, pulling her shoulders tighter together as she huddled further into her dress for warmth, wishing she had a cloak.
The door to her room had been left slightly ajar, allowing a glorious but faint amber hue to meander like a narrow stream across the damp corridor. Madellaine drew in a sharp breath that pained her lungs and poked her head around the corridor. She did not recognize this part of cathedral if that was even where she was.
"Where am I? Am I…lost? This...this looks like no part of the cathedral I recognize," she whispered, careful to keep her voice low, for fear of who was listening.
Madellaine did not even know where she was in Notre Dame, or if she was someplace new.
Her mind instructed her not to move, but her body rose from her perch where she had been huddled in the furthest corner of the room, forsaking the makeshift mattress, trying to ignore the musky smell of sweat and something else that she could not quite identify that clung to her body like a disease, refusing to leave her alone. Madellaine remembered she'd fallen.
And that Jehan saved you, Madellaine's mind offered helpfully. But why? She wracked her brain trying to remember any detail of Jehan's face, what he had looked like right before she had lost consciousness, but it was like a ship straining to see a light in the darkness, and none came to Madellaine.
Madellaine felt her bare feet take one step, then another, leading her towards that amber light at the end of the corridor like a moth towards a flame, only the moth did not know where it was heading, and Madellaine did. To her death, undoubtedly.
Every step she took was met with a discordant shriek from her conscience, which was begging her to turn around. She pushed back her swirl of confusing thoughts to the back of her mind, ignoring them for now.
Gingerly, Madellaine outstretched her arm and pushed open the door, and she was surprised to see a fire in the hearth of the fireplace on the far side of the room. Madellaine could feel its heat, and a noise from behind her startled the young woman and she turned. There stood Jehan, his dark hair disheveled, dark circles underneath his eyes, and the man smelled horribly of blood and wine. Madellaine crinkled her nose in disgust and tried not to pull a face.
She could not deny there was an evil lurking in those piercing blue eyes, and Madellaine swallowed past the lump in her throat as Jehan Frollo offered the girl he had saved what appeared to be a charming, genuine smile.
Though Madellaine was not fooled. It was a miracle she opened her voice to speak, and nothing came out but a tiny, breathy little squeak of terror. Wherein she did find it again, her voice was rough and course, barely above a whisper. Still, she asked the only thing she could of her rescuer and her husband's father.
"Why?" It was all she could say, though her meaning behind it was clear. Why did you save my life? You could have easily let me drown…
Jehan gave an indifferent shrug of his shoulders. "If I should allow one of my last few surviving family members to die, then the last of our lineage and our house would fall."
Lies. Nothing but lies. There had to be another reason. Madellaine wasn't buying his vague answer. Furrowing her brows into a frown, she quirked her brow at Jehan, and struggled to formulate what was weighing on her mind, but at last she forced herself to speak her piece.
"Thank you," she whispered, hating the crack in her soft tone.
"Sit." His voice came out almost as a bark. It was not a request. Madellaine mutely nodded, seeing no other alternative as her eyes darted left and right, looking for an escape, anything but to sit and converse with him.
Madellaine dipped her head in acknowledgement, taking a seat in the chair across from him, keeping her head bowed and her gaze averted from him, not wanting at all to look her savior in the eyes, knowing sooner or later that she would have to. "Why did you save me, Jehan?"
"I already told you my reasons behind my actions yesterday," he spat, crossing one leg over the other and pouring himself a goblet of wine, not caring the uncomfortable glances Jamet was shooting Madellaine. "Jamet will pour you some of our finest wine if you should like," Jehan announced coldly. "And then he will return to his cell, won't you, boy?" Jehan growled, no semblance of warmth in his voice.
Madellaine swallowed past the lump in her throat at Jehan's words. She caught Jamet's gaze and one of his eyes gave a twitch, though if she wasn't mistaken, and about these things she usually wasn't, the briefest flickers of hope darted through his eyes, and she felt herself inhale sharply, wondering if she could trust him.
The boy was trying silently to communicate with his eyes, somehow, that she was going to be fine, but then something Jehan had said caught her attention.
Wait. Yesterday. That meant she had slept for an entire evening when she had passed out, and she had no idea where she was, and one glance over at the young lord's servant, the boy called Jamet was enough. He was terrified. She hoped her eyes did not betray her nervousness or fear.
Madellaine sighed, the tiniest of gasps escaping her as she allowed him to pour her a glass of wine. though she knew better than to drink it. Now that she was expecting, Sisters Maria and Esmeralda had advised her to only drink water going forward. Better for the baby, they claimed.
"Thank you, Jamet," she whispered, lowering her voice so that only the younger man could hear her. "I promise…" Promise what? The voices inside her head taunted. To help him escape his life of servitude? Suddenly, Madellaine felt quite guilty, not really certain what she had hoped to gain by attempting to try to speak to the boy in private. Was it to reach him? To ask him questions? To demand he help her escape if there was even a shred of kindness in him?
Madellaine herself did not know the answer, nor did she have time to ponder it as the young boy called Jamet mumbled something incoherent under his breath and scampered away before Madellaine had a chance to say anything else.
The clearing of Jehan's throat as he demanded the girl's attention jolted Madellaine out of her musings of what exactly had happened to the boy during his time here with the Frollo's and back towards him, as he demanded it. His cold gaze was fixated upon her, completely unreadable.
Seeing him face-to-face like this, in daylight, though whatever study they were in was rather dimly lit, left yet another impression on Madellaine.
He seemed a much more solid figure than before. All except his blue eyes devoid of warmth. Those seemed never to change, and Madellaine doubted they would. Madellaine let out a yelp as the sound of a clanging behind her echoed throughout the room. Jamet had dropped the wine flagon on the floor, spilling it onto the stone floor. Jehan didn't bother to stifle the low warning growl that escaped from his throat. His expression turned murderous as he rose from his chair and strode towards Jamet, seizing fistfuls of the boy's filthy tunic, shaking it.
"You must be actively seeking new ways to test my patience, Jamet," Jehan growled, the tip of his nose practically touching poor Jamet's. "Clean that up, you skamelar, and be sharp about it, or I'll cut off another finger." His deep voice was painfully bitter as he towered over Jamet.
"Jehan, it was an accident," retorted Madellaine hotly, rising from her chair and moving to stand protectively in front of him, holding an arm out in front of Jamet as though she thought that might prevent her intended from lashing out in anger. "Do not blame Jamet, Jehan, for you are the one who makes him so nervous he can barely hold the flagon steady," she snapped, her blue eyes flashing indignantly with anger. "He does not deserve the cruelty you put him through, nor what you say. If anyone should apologize for what has transpired here, it is you."
Madellaine dipped her head, allowing her blonde bangs to fall in front of her eyes and acting as a sort of barrier between herself and his gaze as Jehan turned his wrathful gaze towards her, wanting nothing more than to put a quick end to this conversation.
Jehan Frollo, however, was having none of it. Ignoring Madellaine as if he found her forced pleasantries a bore, he moved away from his place and relinquished his hold upon Jamet, though not before shoving him backward so violently that he tripped.
"Clean that up and get out." His voice was clipped and hard, the last vestiges of his patience tested.
"Y-yes, M-Master," Jamet whispered hoarsely, getting on his knees, as he hastened to clean up the spilled red wine off the floor, which normally would have sent Jehan's blood ablaze as new thoughts of cruelty to impart would have flickered through his mind now only sent waves of revulsion to his mind and Jehan was forced to look away.
"I am…grateful that you are awake. You've been asleep an entire day, had been going on two, before you finally decided to wake up," Jehan announced, smirking at her.
Madellaine blinked owlishly at the man; her mouth slightly agape in shock.
Registering the dumbfounded expression on the circus performer's beautiful features, Jehan reacted by smirking in an almost intimate manner, as if he were enjoying some private joke with himself. He lifted the rim of his cup to his lips and drank heavily, all the while never once taking his glance off Madellaine, carefully studying her facial expressions over the rim of his goblet, scrutinizing her reactions.
Jehan's lack of response irked Madellaine, and she began to feel a little nervous. He had apologized to her for the way he had behaved towards herself and Quasi, so what on earth did he want with her now? Was he just toying with her, to coax more feelings of guilt to the forefront of her mind, to make her feel grateful that he had saved her from drowning in the Seine?
Noting his continued silence as he poured himself a fresh goblet of wine and drinking, Madellaine began to feel agitated.
If Jehan wanted something of her, why did he not just come out right and demand it? Was he still pursuing her, was that it? Though Madellaine had thought she'd made her feelings towards her future husband quite clear and plain to him.
"Is there something that you wish of me, Jehan?" asked Madellaine, lifting her chin slightly to meet his gaze, unable to play along with the insufferable man's antics any longer. "Why am I here with you?"
The harsh bark of Jehan's voice rendered her frozen, rooted to her chair and unable to move, though she wanted nothing more than to bolt for the door at his response. "Because I wish for you to be here. It…pleases me to look at you, Madellaine. You will make good company, in time. I have brought you here in pursuit of that urge which until now has remained silent, but I know you are lying to yourself about your desires."
He curled his fingers into claws and raked them over the fabric of his armchair and bared his teeth. So that was what he wanted of her, then. Madellaine bit her bottom lip in a slight pout, feeling the all-too familiar spark of hot anger welling like a fire-seed planted by a dragon in the pit of her stomach, as it had whenever she was around men who displeased her. Men like Claude, Frederic, and now…Jehan.
" Now, here you are…no second thoughts. It was your decision to come here, was it not?" he breathed, and Madellaine could hear the hitch in Jehan's cold tone. At least now she knew where she was. He had taken her back to the estate. But did Quasi know what happened?
Did anyone else know what happened, for that matter? She highly doubted it.
Letting out a concentrated but slightly shaking breath, Madellaine lifted her chin and leveled her gaze as she did her best not to quirk her brows in a sarcastic manner, of which would not help her in this situation right now. Jehan must have appeared to enjoy this, since he smirked.
"What you did the other night, milady, was…inexcusable, yet, here we are." His nonchalant gaze now turned towards Madellaine as he set his cup down and with surprising speed like a panther that had eyed and stalked its prey, he bolted from his chair and crossed the room and leaned down slightly, closing off the gap of space between them. He was leaning in close enough for her to kiss him if she was of a mind to try such a thing.
To that, she could not seem to formulate a response.
"Why is it that you think…that I have not killed you yet?" he growled, his icy blue gaze turning intense as he stared deep into Madellaine's blue eyes. She felt like she was being questioned and yet at the same time, Madellaine was aware that Lord Frollo, for reasons unknown to her, actually seemed to be listening to her. Strange. She was led to believe of him that his only interest in women was to seduce them and bed them.
He remembered. Madellaine did not know how she felt about him remembering her words in the corridor. Still, she answered as steadily as she could. "You need me."
There was a pause before Jehan continued. The intensity in his eyes seemed to soften, and it was replaced by something unreadable, something vague which Madellaine could not discern, and she hated it. "Why?" he breathed, and Madellaine gulped as his blue eyes widened. "What is to stop me from disposing of you once you've…fulfilled your purpose?"
Jehan growled, and Madellaine flinched, but did not dare avert her gaze from the man holding her captive, not even when he lifted a finger and caressed her cheek, almost tenderly brushing back a lock of hair away from her shoulder.
"Hmm?" he crooned, still continuing that infuriating behavior of trailing the pads of his fingers along her collarbones, which sent a surprising tingle of heat throughout her body, warming her.
"Milord, I…" She hissed as the pads of his fingers came to cup her chin.
He was mocking her. "Tell me." His tone was curt and hard.
Madellaine swallowed nervously, hating that she had to lie through her teeth and pretend to go along with whatever Jehan was planning, but if it was the only way to save her life, and her and Quasi's baby, then by God, she would tell him whatever he wanted to hear if it meant that she might live to see another day.
"Because like it or not, monsieur, I am your key to this place, from what Lord Geoffroi has said in conversation. And should you wish to maintain your hold on it. You need me alive. And you need an heir of noble blood, a firstborn who might remove some of the…stain on your name." She gulped and bit her bottom lip in hesitation.
A bold response, but she had during her time in the estate overheard Geoffroi converse with a few people regarding this matter. If there was one thing living in the circus troupe had done for her, it was that it had taught her that it could do a world of good to stay silent and listen...
A muscle in Jehan's jaw twitched, and he looked…rather curious. "You have such a low opinion of yourself, Lady Madellaine?" he asked.
"No." Her voice came out sharper than she would have liked, a tone of impatience lacing into her normally kind and shy tone.
Why was he asking her all of these questions, or for that matter, speaking to her at all? He should just take what he wanted of her right now.
Perhaps there was a part of Madellaine that had foolishly believed that after the other night, he would simply assault her, kill her and be done with her.
She almost—almost—would have preferred that. Anything but this, to remain his prisoner, locked up, until he might have use of her. Now, something about Jehan Frollo's presence was putting her on edge.
"You feel as though I am treating you unfairly here, don't you?" Jehan spat, leaning down even further. Madellaine shirked back into her own armchair as far as she could, until her back pressed against the edge of the chair, and the tip of Jehan's slender nose touched hers. "Don't you?" he repeated, his tone going dangerously soft and quiet.
Madellaine would have preferred it if he would have shouted. "Not by the other members of staff or your lord father. But you, Jehan—"
Jehan growled, curling his hands into fists over Madellaine's wrists, effectively pinning her to the chair. She was completely at his whims.
"Well, my darling, let me tell you a useful truth so that you do not set yourself up for disappointment. Life is pain. You want more, I can tell that much, but life is unfair. It's people who are the monsters. People like my own son. Your precious husband. He murdered Claude, and for that... I cannot let his sin go unpunished. The fact that he still lives and breathes air while Claude does not is a curse."
Madellaine blinked as Jehan's mouth twisted into a sneer. His tone was bitter, though his speech cut like a dagger plunged straight in her heart.
He did not sound as though he enjoyed spewing such a venomous stream of dark thoughts to her. Madellaine frowned as he looked away, down towards her lips.
Feeling a surge of panic course through her veins, Madellaine began to speak rapidly in response, her eyes cast downward at his boots.
"I cannot offer you an adequate enough response, Jehan, because our conversation has strayed too far," she began hastily. "The—the only reassurance I can offer to you is that my…reaction, will not happen again."
Jehan sneered, baring his canines. His smile was wolfish, predatory. He leaned in further and Madellaine was surprised when his lips pressed against hers.
"There it is again. That look. You called of me the other night a monster. If that is what you think of me, then so be it," he growled. "Oh, my darling…You are much mistaken if you should think that you have any hope of freedom in this place. You're mine, Madellaine."
His powerful hands relinquished their grip on her wrists and landed on her waist, and his strong fingers came to grip painfully tight on her wrist. "You still must be punished for your actions the other night, little dove," Jehan growled, and his lips clamped down hard on hers, hard enough that she could taste the welling of blood on her bottom lip.
"What…?" Madellaine let her mouth drop open in shock as Jehan straightened his posture, as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
"You'll see. I think you're going to be quite happy as my wife, Lady Madellaine," grinned Jehan, flashing her that disarmingly charming white smile that did nothing to mask the anger that lingered in his blue eyes. "You aren't going anywhere that I don't want you to, Madellaine. You are mine to do with as I please. I think I like you, so I'll keep you. Just…close your eyes and pretend you're back in the bell towers. Your precious husband can't save you from me," Jehan said and threw back his head and laughed, and it was…evil.
Madellaine was well and truly trapped here in this place. Her heart sank as she watched Jehan stride out of the room, hearing the locking of the deadbolt behind her, and Madellaine knew he would not have been careless enough to leave a pin or anything with which she could pick the lock. Madellaine heard his pounding footsteps slowly disappear down the corridor, and she turned back to see that the door was closed, locked.
Making a beeline straight for the door, she tried to force it to open, her bare hands pushing against the rough surface of the door, which was cracked and weathered with age. It was all in vain.
The door stood stubbornly in its place. There was not even a viable window in this room, save for the one over by the fireplace's hearth, and if she broke that, Jehan would hear and then she would be dead, as the man would sic his hounds on her to rip out her throat.
A shudder ran through Madellaine. Trapped. "I'm trapped," she whispered to no one in particular. She was well and truly confined within the walls of this very room. Suddenly, she felt claustrophobic.
A metallic smell hung and lingered in the air, almost rendering it suffocating and it became difficult to breathe.
It reminded her somewhat of the smell of dried blood, and for a moment, Madellaine found herself wondering if she was the first person Jehan had brought to this place, where his prisoners lived, or if she was the first.
The room was pitch dark, and she had no choice but to huddle back into the same corner, wrap her arms around her knees, and pray that someone—anyone—would find her before it was too late for her.
She was going to die here if she could not think of a way to save herself.