Chapter Twenty-Six

Jehan had been pacing the floor of his father's study for the last half hour, running his fingers through his dark hair, and growling in frustration. What the hell had he been thinking, telling the girl that he had murdered her husband? What if that prompted her to attempt to take her own life in an attempt to be noble, as a last act of defiance towards him? His heart felt cold, his mind having no further room for pity towards Barreau. Though all he knew of the blonde Barreau girl was true.

That she was his. No one else's. Especially not his own son, whom he now had to deal with. At the thought of everything over the last few evenings that he had learned of Madellaine Barreau while in her company, it was that the prickly little blonde had become…quite the problem for Jehan.

Jehan exhaled a slightly shaking breath through his nose. He did not know exactly what had prompted him to speak to the girl as he had only mere hours ago. He supposed he ought to check on her. The youngest and now last surviving member of the Frollo family let out a growl of frustration and curled his strong hands into fists to prevent at striking out at something in anger, which was a first for him. Usually, he just allowed it to happen. But ever since she had quite literally accidentally walked into his life when she had stumbled into the tavern to escape the harsh storm outside at the time, that strange creature, Jehan seemed to lose a little of his nerve (not to mention his temper).

He would act out irrationally, so much so that he did not feel as though he were in control of his own actions. And he felt as though he had no reason to be caught off guard, rattled by her theatrics and her outbursts. Part of him felt that he should have just let the Barreau girl drown in the Seine.

It was nonsensical, the way that he had saved her life as he had. Jehan, not quite wanting to go check on the girl just yet, turned towards the right and headed down the stairs towards the dungeons.

Maybe tormenting poor Jamet would help put his mind at ease. Letting out another growl of frustration, he lifted a hand to his brow, feeling his temples begin to ache and throb, and he realized that it was wine that he needed. Jehan had never suffered from such a horrible problem before, how this celestial-like creature was getting under his skin, and what was even worse, was how he seemed to be allowing it to happen. Partly because no woman had ever dared disobey him in the past, let alone speak back to him as Madellaine Barreau had. He was used to women fawning over his good looks and lifting the hems of their dresses in order to gain even an ounce of the young lord's attentions. Jehan scowled, his lips pursing into a thin line.

This damned insufferable woman. She was unlike any human he had ever encountered before, and this was not exactly in a good way. He had only been in her presence but a small handful of times, and yet each time, it seemed as though he forgot that he was a bastard and, for a moment, who she was, and what his family had done. It was disconnecting. Madellaine Barreau made him feel on edge, like his groin was going to explode if he didn't do something about her following the commencement of their wedding ceremony later this evening.

She made him feel… nervous. Nervous. What in the gods' name was happening to him.

"Hell," he cursed through gritted teeth, his jaw clenched in anger and blue eyes narrowed. Jehan could not reverse what he had allowed to happen to Madellaine Barreau ever since she stepped through those doors of the new and improved estate.

There was a small part of him that felt relieved, almost grateful in a way, that Madellaine had looked at him just now with such scorn, as if he were the very devil.

In truth, she was wrong to think of him in those terms, but Jehan had simply been too stunned to react rationally the first time he had met Madellaine. Madellaine was a far too outspoken woman, but somehow, he had let her get away it, not once, not twice, but thrice. Perhaps he had saved her from suffering a horrible icy death because he had wanted to challenge her, as much as himself.

Find out what it was about this insufferable wench that made him seem so unhinged, and if he had allowed her to perish in those icy waters, he never would know the truth, and not knowing was a fate worse than any skin flaying. Jehan smiled, and just the gesture enough alone was enough to make any sane man who happened to stumble across the bastard of Geoffroi Frollo in that moment immediately turn on the heel of their boot and go the opposite direction.

Well, not a fourth time. When he finally did succeed in revealing her weak spot, and all he had to do was marry the girl and sire an heir, he would no doubt lose all interest in Barreau and move on with his life. Jehan frowned, folding his burly arms across his chest as he continued to ruminate over his thoughts as he sat on the top step of the grand stone stairwell. It was quiet. Too quiet almost. A creaking. There's something lurking in the shadows. An evil no one but he could see. A monster that tormented the people of the estate. It sought out the weak and made itself a home inside their heads.

Inside Jehan's head…he could feel it, pounding and throbbing at the back of his skull, raging inside of him. Just under the surface. Just loud enough for him to hear, but there's a door in between them. Jehan had locked it in a room the day Barreau had dared to step foot back on the soil of her former home. He tried in vain to keep it away from the woman whom he was to marry this very eve. But it was still there…tearing through the holes, trying to reach what little was left of Jehan's sanity. His humanity, what little of it he had been fortunate enough to possess in the first place.

It was only a matter of time before it managed to break through and take total control. It's been locked up for days, but the door Jehan had put between the beast and himself was starting to collapse, to crumble. And It Knows. Jehan had locked in the mirror this morning, before the girl had arrived in his study and had seen it, staring back at him. Watching him through his own blue eyes, glacier cold, devoid of warmth. Seeing everything he saw.

It was waiting for Jehan. Hoping that the bastard of Frollo would let his guard down and slip up. Knowing that sooner or later, that door would break. Lately, it had been finding ways to show itself, like that moment where he had almost fucked her in the hallway, not even having the decency to drag the girl back to her quarters, or his, not giving a fuck what she thought of him. Ways to change itself. Ways to change Jehan permanently.

As the seconds turned to minutes and the minutes became an hour as he was content to just sit there on the step, the monster began to look more like him than anything else. And it was in that moment that Jehan realized that without Madellaine as his bride, without a legitimate heir, that he could lose everything… The monstrous side of his personality had always gone unnoticed in the estate, except by his victims upon which he preyed, siccing his hounds on his choices, relishing in the hunt. He wasn't invisible, but he might as well have been for all the attentions Father had paid him over the years growing up.

The women were easier to pick off, tender and succulent in their fear, with their supple flesh. It was why he frequently let the women go in the woods. He did not care whether it be woman, man, or child that he hunted. As long as he got what he wanted, in the end. Jehan's frown deepened as he lifted his head and caught sight of his reflection in the mirror which had been hung on the wall just across the way, and he visibly flinched. He was hating all these mirrors and was of a mind to smash every single one in the estate. A few lines were laid upon his forehead, but they were dismissive as tricks of the dim light in the dank corridor of the estate. His eyebrows were impossibly straight, his eyes an icy cold blue.

Eyes that told of many secrets but held them locked in a strongbox so beautiful that you wouldn't dare to open it for fear of what you would find within. The most striking features about his appearance was his thin, hollow, almost sunken in cheekbones that gave Jehan almost a gaunt and haunting look to him, which only emphasized the glacier blue in his eyes. It highlighted the frown on his mouth and somehow made him seem even more authoritative than his title and aura already suggested, or his reputation. If one ventured close enough, his blue eyes would hungrily envelope yours and pull you towards him until you well and truly caught in the man's trap. It was nothing Jehan did precisely, it just looked as if he had a secret you would enjoy hearing about.

Jehan's secret, and he would never confess this to anybody (not that he had anybody to confess such a secret to) was that he currently felt conflicted about what to do with his precious little bride. His Madellaine. He was, after all, a killer, and the rightful thing to do would be that once she had sired him an heir or two, both strapping young boys like him, would be to dispose of Madellaine before he grew bored of her, but, strangely enough, he found that he did not want to do such a thing. Strange. He usually had no interest in keeping the girls around, let alone, alive, for this long. He let out a haggard sigh and wearily rubbed his temples.

He knew he did not want to kill Madellaine.

"Yet," he growled darkly, still glowering at his reflection in the mirror across the way, his jaw clenched in anger. He was of half a mind to rise from his perch on the step, go over and smash the fucking glass in a million pieces. Jehan knew all too well what the stories surrounding men like him were. He knew the stories all too well. How the legends of the servants said that Jehan's heart died in its cavity when he was only five years old, that he putrefied and made a heavy black slime about his lungs as thick as underworld tar. That was how he became a killer and why.

That his emptiness was his madness, that he took human lives over and over again in the most brutal of ways, as if Jehan thought he may possess the hearts and souls of his victims, yet it was never that way for him, even if he wanted it. And to be healed, some woman, somewhere, had to love him, to reform his heart as if it was the finest of clay, then set it beating with pure nature's essence.

So, until he found such a girl to forgive all that he had done, to break these universal scales and set him free, his killing sprees would continue. For a moment, Jehan startled, and the look on his face might have been comical were he not royally and utterly ticked at how she was affecting him. For that brief second, Jehan Frollo began to think, his thoughts drifting.

To thoughts of her. His Madellaine, that girl with the hair the color of straw. "Madellaine…" he whispered, relishing how her name rolled off his tongue like a poisoned honey, the beginnings of a sneer curling on his thin lips. The only one besides perhaps Florika, back when she had still been alive, that did not seem to be afraid of him.

But she would be, very soon, of this, Jehan was certain. He was going to make sure of this. It was, after all, the only semblance of reassurance that he would get to ensure that Madellaine Barreau remained his, and only his. No one else's. His. Jehan loved the curves of Madellaine's softness.

With her fiery temper and her ability to dare to speak her mind, she was, begrudgingly, perhaps the most interesting creature he had ever met, this witch who had dared to reject him. She had safe eyes, perhaps that's the best way that the lord could put it. Age could not touch Madellaine Barreau's beauty. Madellaine was something of an enigma to him, one that he could not quite put his finger on, and this infuriated Jehan greatly.

Men desired her, and that fact sent his blood boiling and the ache in his loins whelming and screaming for him to do something about it, to turn the hell around right now and break down the door of the room he'd locked his pretty little bride in, and take her right there on the floor, to hell with their wedding. He'd waited long enough, and she had gotten a strange look in her eyes, right before she'd lost consciousness after he'd rescued her from her grisly demise of drowning to an icy death in the woods, one that he felt a pang of jealousy toward.

Madellaine Barreau had had stardust in her eyes, because she could think of naught else but her deformed wretch of a husband, his own son, and Jehan wanted it to be directed towards him. For him. He wanted to be the one to take her for himself and himself alone, bed her, and she would bear his children and keep the Frollo lineage alive and strong. She would be his wife, forever, and how sweet it would be. The girl would never want for anything in life ever again with him by her side. Madellaine Barreau's little imperfections made the girl almost painfully perfect.

There was a kind of shyness to her, hesitation in her body's movements and a quiet submissive softness to her voice, which was also quite timid, like a soft breeze in summer. Her pale skin was creamy and white, shining like a beacon of white light, glowing whenever she moved, so fragile, you feared that she might break, and yet, so flawless, and smooth, her movements fluid and languid, almost angelic. "So soft…" To Jehan, his bride was almost perfect. Almost. There was still the matter of her outspoken personality, which he would quell, the minute her husband was dead. "You'll make a good wife to me soon, Madellaine," he growled. Or no man will have you.

"Sir?" came a guard's voice, sounding concerned. The new arrival's voice pulled him out of his steady stream of thoughts about the young bell ringer's wife, and the spell the witch had momentarily cast upon Jehan lifted.

Gritting his teeth in anger, he was momentarily furious that this bastard had interrupted his thoughts of the Barreau girl, and how his desire to marry her was reaching his limit, how he wasn't sure if he would be able to hold off for longer.

But first there was the matter of his accursed wretched son. He would go to him and throw the monster off the balcony's ledge, just as he had done to Claude. Jehan swiveled his head and opened his mouth to bark some insult at the guard, when he caught snippets of a different pair of guards' conversation, both men resting against a stone pillar, their arms folded across their chests, one leg crossed over the other as they conversed to each other in low murmuring tones.

Not the position a guardsman ought to be adapting, Jehan thought darkly, and the guard standing directly behind Jehan, too afraid to meet his gaze, opened his mouth to speak, but clamped it shut when Jehan lifted a finger to his lips, signaling the other man to shut up if he valued keeping his tongue.

Jehan slowly rose from his spot on the stairwell and stepped back in the shadows to avoid being seen, his black jerkin and doublet blending into the darkness. The perfect cover to observe and listen without being detected. His attention was now solely fixated on the two bastards in front of him as they talked, thinking themselves to be alone, save for their third companion.

"I have to admit," the taller of the two, and the more handsome of the lot was saying, "the Barreau girl is really quite pretty. She's got a cute little nose, and though she would look much prettier if she smiled, she's easily the most beautiful woman in all of France. I swear it."

"Is that so?" the shorter one asked, sounding bored and thoroughly disinterested. Jehan felt a muscle in both his jaw and behind his right eyelid twitch involuntarily and he felt his hands ball into fists at his sides. He moved to stand up, and he was rather dismayed when the guards did not notice his looming shadow behind them. He waited to see if they would notice, and when they didn't, he grew even angrier. The guards continued speak, oblivious to Jehan's presence behind them.

"Just you watch, Wes, I'm going to court her. You'll see."

"Really, Laurent?" His friend did not sound at all convinced.

The taller guard nodded. "I'm going to steal a kiss. It's going to be easy. I'll corner her one of these days, and maybe even sneak into her cloister room one night while she's asleep—"

Jehan had heard enough. Fires of fury and hatred were smoldering in the dark narrowed eyes as he weighed the pros and cons of the various and creative means available to him for exacting revenge. Burning rage hissed through his body like deathly poison, screeching a demanded release in the form of unwanted violence. It was like a volcano erupting; fury sweeping off him like ferocious waves. The wrath consumed like, engulfing his moralities, and destroying the boundaries of loyalty.

"HOW DARE YOU!" he yelled.

Both guards whirled around at the exact same time, and their faces drained of color. Jehan would have laughed at the comical expressions on their faces were he not feeling an emotion that felt like it was burning his insides. It took him a moment to realize it was rage. "Wh—what?" the guard who had spoken spluttered, but didn't have a chance to speak, as Jehan grabbed the guard by the sleeve of his tunic and slammed against the pillar.

Only one of them would get to walk away from Jehan's temper—or perhaps neither. Jehan didn't give a goddamn if it was proper edict or not. He could not—would not—allow these fools to speak of Madellaine Barreau in what he believed were unspeakable terms.

"I have a message for you," he hissed as a low warning, relishing the fear in the younger guard's eyes. "From…Madellaine…" A bald-faced lie, but if Jehan wanted to see her again, he thought some deception was justified here. The guard's voice came back at him. The guard's voice, though fearful, was also quite tight with rage. "Wh—what?"

"It's complicated, Laurent. It is Laurent, isn't it?" added Jehan nonchalantly as he gave the guard a quick once-over. "I recognize you. You're Captain Bonheur's cousin, aren't you? I'm sure he would be delighted to hear how you treat women. Maybe I'll make a point to tell him."

Jehan knew as he spoke the words, they had hit their mark. He had him now. Jehan could feel the heat of temper rising within Laurent Dupont. He wanted the supposed 'message' from Madellaine Barreau, but his urge to either fight or flight was rising. In that moment of self-conflict, Jehan's gaze drifted lazily towards the knife clutched firmly in Laurent's grasp and swiftly plucked it from his fingers and handed it off to the guard that stood behind him. His advantage was now lost.

Jehan had taken down more and better in fair fights and Laurent knew it. Now he had a new emotion in his green eyes—fear. He pointed a shaking finger in Jehan's face. "You can't do this!"

"I can, I am!" Jehan shouted; all composure momentarily forgotten. "You cretinous little fucking worm," snarled Jehan through clenched teeth, feeling what little color was left in his face drain as he glowered at the guard. "You do not deserve to speak her name, let alone even think of her in such terms."

Here, he leaned in closer, so the tip of his nose was practically touching the guard's, who cringed at the look of rage in the lord's eyes. "Here is what I suggest you do, and I really suggest you follow my advice, because if you don't, it won't bode well for you, my friend," he growled. "Quit this position. Right now, because if I ever find you anywhere near my bride again, I'll send my hounds after you, let them feast on your flesh, and then I'll slit your throat and feed whatever bits of you I don't decide to cut off one by one to my hounds. You are…quite grateful on this evening, for I am feeling…rather generous and am allowing you this one chance. Stay away from Madellaine Barreau if you value your own life," he growled. "GO!"

Satisfied at the horrified expression on the guard's face, he let out a warning growl from the back of his throat and effectively released the guard. Jehan watched as the guards scrambled to their feet and wasted no time in making a beeline right for the castle's front doors. Jehan bared his teeth, stifling a low growl, just as a low, lazy clap reached his eardrums. "Hell," he cursed under his breath and whirled around. Jehan swallowed, hoping his face remained set to 'casual indifference.'. He turned towards the guard and sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger, as though fighting off a splitting headache. "Yes, what is it?"

The guard swallowed nervously and took several paces backwards cautiously, "Ah, well," he began hesitantly. "F—forgive me, milord, b—but…it's the girl."

Jehan froze, feeling his blood turn to ice and his teeth clenching in anger. "What about her?" he growled, feeling his temper swell even more.

The guard cast his gaze downward, refusing to meet either of his lord's eyes. "She…ah, well, f—forgive me, milord, b-but we cannot find the girl. She…she's nowhere in in the estate. She's… gone," the guard finished weakly, clenching his eyes shut and preparing for the inevitable outburst that he knew would send him over the edge. "She's escaped. I—I don't know how…" The guard flinched and kept his eyes shut as Jehan's holler reverberated in his ears like a clap of thunder, such was his rage. It was a roar of pure anger.

"WHAT?" roared Jehan, letting out a guttural growl that everyone was certain they heard it for miles. Every breath felt like his last, every breath made him ache for it to be the last. His cries of rage went unregarded, contained by the walls of his body. His screams echoed in his head filling the silence with burning flames of self-loathing. Every violated phrase was like fire on oil, his hands began to clench, and his jaw rooted.

He exploded with anger at last. "What do you mean, 'she's gone?' Who was on duty today? Who in God's name let her escape? You?" he growled, unaware of another guard, Aleyn, he thought his name was, coming over and laying a firm hand on his shoulder.

"We will find her, Lord Jehan," came a third guard's calculating tone, devoid of emotion.

Angrily, Jehan violently shirked away from the guard's touch, his cold gaze fixated upon the one who he had spotted conversing with the girl a few days ago. "I should have known," he growled through gritted teeth. "She's bewitched you too." The guard did not answer. "ANSWER ME! WAS IT YOU?" he roared, beside himself.

"Y—yes, milord, b—but…" The guard let out a horrible yell of anguish as Jehan threw his body weight behind the fist that edged closer to his face, the guard's pitiful attempt to protect himself from Jehan's wrath, it hit his jaw with such force blood pooled into his mouth.

Pain erupted from the point of impact. With his own two hands, Jehan grasped his head in his hands and brought his knee cap up to his nose, there was a blunt crack and Jehan released the oaf's dark haired head. Crimson leaked from both his nostrils and his nose was twisted right. He drew his fist back again and it ploughed into his stomach. His guts smashed together, blood vessels bursting. Jehan repaid this little defensive act by punching his jaw, his fist collided with all his body weight. Jehan continued this battering until he fell to the floor. The guard's chest gently rose and sank with each shallow breath he drew in, choking and gurgling on a pool of blood that had gathered in his mouth, and Jehan let out one last guttural roar as he knelt down and slit the man's throat where he lay.

Panting heavily, he withdrew his knife from the sheath he wore around his waist, twisting it in the dim light of the corridor as if it could slice up the rays of the sun itself, his seething expression exaggerated by the dark shadows around his eyes. Though rust had set in on the handle and blade it was strong, jagged. Madellaine had dared to try to defy and reject him for the last time. Jehan could see his bride already in a pool of blood and his face split into a grin that arced in a sickly way, never making it to his almost sunken in and haunted icy-blue eyes.

"Gentlemen," he growled, sheathing his dagger, and straightening his black leather jerkin, running his blood-stained fingers through his mop of dark hair. The other guards who had been altered to the man's screams remained mute, eyes downcast at Lord Jehan boots, too afraid to move. He kicked aside the fallen guard's limp form with the tip of his black boot and spat at the man's face. "Feed this traitorous little worm to my hounds. Mustn't waste the good meat. They'll need a little snack for what comes next. This evening," Jehan grinned, clasping his hands behind his back, "has just gotten most interesting. It is to be my wedding night to the girl and it would seem my precious little prize has decided to play a game of hide and seek. Tell Jamet to ready my horse and supplies. She wants to hide, I'll seek her. Gentlemen…let us hunt my son." Another male's voice rent the air through the corridor, one that made Jehan smile.

"I'm afraid I cannot let you do that, Jehan," came Captain Phoebus de Chateauper's voice. Jehan turned around slowly, still ensuring that his face remained impassive, his hand hovering at the hilt of his sword, ready to draw it if need be. The captain's face blanched as he realized he was outnumbered. "The girl has returned to her sanctuary. She cannot be touched within those walls, and if you should be foolish enough to try...it will not end well for you. You can still walk away from this."

Jehan smiled, revealing white teeth and a grin that made Phoebus immediately question his decision to stay behind. "Gentlemen," he called out. "Look who has come to confess his crimes. I know you helped her escape, didn't you, Captain? Do not bother lying to my men and I, now, Phoebus," he growled, closing off the gap of space so that the tip of his nose was practically touching Phoebus's.

Captain Phoebus let out a guttural growl, his grip upon his sword tightening. "I did," he confessed, lifting his chin slightly to better look the distinguished lord in the eyes. "And I would do it again. She does not belong here, Jehan Frollo. She is an official caretaker of Notre Dame. She is married. There is still time for you to walk away, and I would let you live. I do not want to hurt you, monsieur."

Jehan smirked, propelling the captain backwards out onto the balcony terrace of the upper level of his estate. "And who would stop me? You?" he sneered, his lips curling upward into a grimace.

"If I must," he growled, and Jehan watched, both amused and confused as he watched the captain's face pale, turning utterly white with shock, though he was looking over Jehan's shoulder, not at him.

"S—stop," pleaded a young woman's soft and quiet, and shaking slightly. Jehan stiffed. Her.

He turned around slowly, his grin widening even more as he found himself face-to-face with his escaped prisoner. Madellaine de Barreau herself, who admittedly, had seen better days. Dark circles were prominent underneath her eyes and she appeared much too pale to be considered healthy.

His son supported his wife, a gentle hand around her waist, though intermingled with the frequent looks of worry he constantly shot the little blonde, there was no mistaking the lingering look of outrage as his blue eyes met Jehan's. The boy had the look of murder in his eyes as he glared at Jehan.

"Ah, but if looks could kill, you would carve out my liver with those eyes, monster. At last," Jehan breathed, feeling his smirk tug at the corners of his lips, forgetting about Phoebus as he advanced upon the one who had ruined his life and made it a living hell. Only death may pay for life, as his father was fond of telling him and Claude growing up, and his son was about to pay for his brother's life…with his own.

"My son…is home."