Hello everyone and welcome back! I would like to express my deepest thanks to everyone who favourited and followed this story in the last few weeks. It means a lot to me and gives me strength to keep on writing.

I hope you'll like this chapter as well ^^

Bonne lecture à tous !

Lancelot was standing tall and proud in the middle of the room. His alabaster skin gleamed healthily as he flexed his healed wrist. He towered over Eyla smaller frame by a good ten inches and was looking down on her as she walked around him, clicking her tongue and carefully undressing his stomach wounds. Thanks to a fortnight of rest, they had completely closed, leaving only pink and healthy scars. His broken ribs had mended back together and were no longer hurting. Eyla was happy with his recovery but she also knew what it meant. If she declared him healed, he would leave and go back to those damned paladins. And it made her sad and frustrated. Countless times, she had tried to talk him out of going back to Father Carden but he could not see reason. She knew their time together was coming to an end. She was trying -and failing- to make her peace with that.

Eyla slowly traced her finger along the small lines of sensitive flesh, smiling when she saw goose bumps appeared on his skin.

"Are you cold?", she asked, her tone mischievous, watching Lancelot through the veil of her dark lashes.

"No", he huskily answered.

She laughed, her finger drawing small circles on his stomach.

"You are ticklish then?"

She tried to keep her voice as innocent as she could. Since he had so clearly displayed his affection to her, she liked to gently taunt him. She enjoyed the way he reacted to her touch or her stares. It made her feel wanted.

"Don't tempt me, Eyla", Lancelot said, taking her hand away.

She chuckled and tiptoed close to him. Her delicately snob nose brushed against his affectionately. Their breathing mingled as she kissed the corner of his lips before retreating with a smile.

"How do you expect me to stay away if you keep looking like this? You are the one tempting me", she replied, her left-hand playing with the soft locks of hair that had escaped from his messy bun.

He was about to answer when she heard someone loudly knocking on the door. She gave Lancelot one quick peck on the lips before she let go of him and left the healing room. She then went to one of the widows which framed the main door and peeked outside. She caught a glimpse of red hair.

"Born in the dawn…" she heard a feminine voice call from the other side of the opaque glass.

"To pass in the twilight", she answered, opening the door to let Primelia in.

The two girls nodded at each other. Eyla had not expected her to come by that afternoon but she quickly concealed her surprise with what she hoped would pass as a genuine smile.

Eyla did not want Primelia and Lancelot to meet so she took the red-haired girl to the small first floor living room, away from Lancelot. It was a narrow room with a single window that overlooked the back garden. It had a wobbling table and three old chairs as its only furniture. Eyla sat on one of the chairs, inviting her guest to do the same.

"I have your dried sage", Primelia said, taking a bundle of brown sage branches out of her basket and handing it to her customer.

"Thank you", she said, putting it on the table. She then turned to Primelia and asked; "How are things going for the fae, up north?"

"Good enough. Most of the refugees have gathered in Nemos and are organizing their defence from there. The paladins have not yet found their locations and I doubt they ever will." Primelia smiled widely before adding; "The robed demons have lost their best hound. You remember what I said last time; about one of them going missing? Well, it's the Weeping Monk. Rumours are he died in an ambush near Gramaire."

Eyla's eyes widened. She remembered what she had been told off the Weeping Monk. That he was deadly and ruthless. That he had killed countless fae in cold blood. That encounters with him only ended with blood been unfairly spilled. That he was Father Carden's right hand.

All colours left her face as she connected the dots together. She had been blind and stupid. She had not realised until now that the Weeping monk and Lancelot were in fact the very same man. Nausea roughly shook her body. She had thought he was a mere foot soldier in Carden's army not one of the damned officers.

"What's wrong with you?" Primelia asked, her brows furrowed, as she noticed Eyla clear distress.

"Nothing", Eyla immediately answered, brushing off the girl's concern and rising to her feet.

She had trouble getting her thought back in order and everything was blurry around her. But she had to act as naturally as she could or else Primelia might start suspecting something. So, she smiled and told her she was going upstairs to store the sage.

Once she reached the top of the stairs, she paused and put her head in her hands. A small sob escaped her lips as she realised what it meant. All this time, Lancelot had not been a passive witness of the fae massacres, he had provoked them. He was the one who hunted refugees down and slaughtered them all.

Not all, a small voice from the back of her head whispered. Not the children.

Her wounded heart was conflicted between her affection for the man she had grown to know once more over the last months and her pain for all the fae lives that had been lost because of him. Trying to keep her balance, she leaned on the wall with a loud thud.

"Child? Is that you?" the voice of her grandmother rang in Eyla's ears, tearing her away from her inner conflict and bringing her back to reality. She frantically blinked the tears away from her eyes.

"Yes, Grandmother. I was just putting sage in the storeroom", she said with fake happiness. "I'm going down now, all right?"

She let out a loud breath and forced a smile on her face before stepping down the stairs and into the small living room. She paused on the doorstep; it was empty. Worriedly looking around, she made her way to the entrance. The door was closed still and there were no signs of Primelia on the streets outside her window. Surely, she would not have left without saying goodbye, Eyla thought, disturbed by the girl's absence.

But then, she heard the distinct sound of heavy steps coming her way and before she had the time to turn around, she was violently pushed against the wall. She gasped in shock as she hit the partition, a wave of pain flowing down her back. Primelia's furious glare was piercing holes into Eyla surprised face. The way her plain featured tensed made her look menacing and Eyla would have taken a step back if she could have.

"Why is there a paladin in your house?", she growled between clenched teeth, pausing between each word.

Dazzled, Eyla hesitated for a second.

"A paladin?", she repeated, trying to sound sincerely surprised.

"Yes, a man with a tonsure in the back on his head, in your garden", Primelia hissed fiercely, increasing the pression of her forearm on Eyla's neck. "Don't play dumb. I saw him."

"I don't… know… who you are talking about…" she stuttered. A bead of sweat slowly flowed down the side of her face. She had never been a skilled liar.

"Since when have you been helping them?", Primelia interrupted her, her tone threatening. "When did you betray your brothers and sisters?"

"I don't help them!", Eyla cried out, pushing against Primelia's hold on her. "And I haven't betrayed anyone!"

"Who is he then? A nice priest who just happens to have a cross carved into his skull?", the girl scoffed, not backing away.

"He is my friend! Now, let me go."

"He is a paladin! You can't befriend these devils. They corrupt everything. If he discovers what you truly are, he will turn you over to his brothers without a second thought. To him, you are worth less than the mud on his boots."

"He wouldn't", Eyla retorted with force.

"If you truly believe that then you are stupid. He is a murderous monster and he deserves to burn in hell."

"I'm a healer", Eyla replied. "He came to me for help. I could not turn him away."

"You should have left him to die. Now, you've put all of us at risk. "

Primelia was looking down on her, her glare frightening. Eyla could understand her anger and confusion. She wanted to explain everything to her, make her see think from her perspective but from the closed and stubborn gleam in her eyes, Eyla knew it would not matter. And the more she talked, the more she tried to express her feelings, the more Eyla felt stupid and foolish. The absurdity of her situation dawned on her in full force.

"I swear, he doesn't know anything about you or your father", she pleaded weakly.

"These men are like rabbit dogs. It doesn't matter that you saved his wretched life, soon he will turn on you and bite your hand off. But you know all this, don't you? You've seen what they do to our kind", Primelia said, her tone suddenly laced with hidden pain.

Eyla paused. She exhaled deeply, her eyes set on the girl feet. She knew the reason why she did not see Lancelot as a monster anymore. But she feared to say it out loud.

"I…", she stopped for a second, shaking her head. "I love him."

Primelia's eyes widened and she huffed. She took a step back, letting go of Eyla's collar. She stood tall and stared down at the healer, clear disgust in her eyes.

"Then you are a fool and pity you", she declared before opening the door, stepping outside and slamming it shut.

For a long minute, Eyla just stayed there, frozen, her eyes glued to the door. She was replaying what had just happened in her mind over and over again. She had said it. She had finally voiced the feeling that had been blossoming in her heart for days but instead of relieved, she felt drained. There was something in her chest that made it hard to breath. She had thought saying it out loud would somehow liberate her but instead, she felt as if the weight of the world had just been dumped onto her ribcage.

Without thinking, she opened the door and stumbled outside. She needed air, she needed to lessen the pressure on her thorax and clear the fog from her eyes. The air was thick and acid, making her throat itch as she started to ungainly walk alongside her house in the empty street.

She was in love with a murder. The mere thought made her miss a step and fall down on the damp, cold pavement. She had always dedicated her life to helping the weak and yet, there she was, falling for one who preyed on them. A sob escaped her dry throat and she desperately leaned on the blue facade. By protecting and sheltering him, she had enabled him to keep spreading violence. She stared at her hands in horror; she could see them drip with the blood of innocents.

She could tell herself that it was not his fault, that his idea of what was right and what was wrong had been twisted, but it did not change the facts. He was still responsible for the death of dozens, if not hundreds, of fae. However, what scared her the most what that a strong part of her, the most selfish part of her heart, did not mind. She loved him and it did not matter what he had done in the past. It was easier to give in to that voice. Easier to think only of herself and forget about the rest. Passion was clashing with reason, the pain in her head almost unbearable.

Tears streaming down her face, she looked up to the sky. Heavy clouds hid the sun and bathed the village in a gloomy and drab light. Small patches of these enormous clouds were as dark as ink, undoubtedly waiting to unleash unforgiving rain and thunder on the slate roofs. This tormented sky gave her no comfort.

Eyla stayed there, unmoving, until she started to shiver from the cold. A few onlookers had given her funny looks as they hurriedly walked by. The hem of her dress was damp with humidity. She breathed easier but there still was piercing pain pushing on the back of her skull. She clumsily put herself back on her feet and made her way back inside.

The house was as silent as a tomb. Barely any light pierced the windows and shadows had claimed the place as their own. She stepped into the healing room, expecting, hoping to find Lancelot. She wanted to snuggle into the comfort of his arm and forget everything that was not them. Selfishness had won. But she found the room empty. She ran to the backdoor and opened it widely; there was no movement outside except that of the leaves, mercilessly shaken by the howling wind.

"Lancelot", she called out, only to be met with silence.

Frowning, she stepped back inside. She scanned the room, only to notice that the folded robes that usually rested on Lancelot's bedside table were gone. Panic seized her as realisation dawned in her. In one last attempt to denying what she now suspected, she walked to a large cabinet and threw it open. She urgently patted the lower shelf but there was nothing; the great sword she had hidden there was gone.

She gasped and stepped back. Her back collided with her worktop. The chock made something fall and roll on the floor. Slowly bending over, she picked it up. It was round and rough in her hand but the uneven texture seemed familiar.

It was a walnut. And on the table, there was a bag full of them. Next to it, Eyla found a note.

"Eavesdropping is a sin. I am sorry Eyla"

Lancelot was gone.