Thank you to Musicwriter158, TheGoldenTrio16, Pensez-a-Erik, Phantomgirl24, FleshofMidnight, and BehindTheMask31 for the reviews! Thank you to everyone for reading!

Enjoy!


Erik

Chapter 87

The Poisoning

Even as I informed you that I planned to send you home, you remained frightened.

I told you that you could go to France with no issue, given an escort. The Daroga agreed, though he did remind me that the Shah would best be dead before I sent you to Paris. That it was advised that I finish the Chamber before your father's response came, so that you could go home as soon as possible. That the Shah would not be pleased if you were sent, should he find out. Which he most certainly would.

Of course, if I recall correctly, Nadir didn't tell you this. He merely relayed his feelings that it was best if you wait for your father's return letter, to ensure you had a home to go back to. You now know that wasn't the full reason for his insistence that you wait.

I left you alone while I performed an execution. A boy of fourteen, a servant, would be killed for stealing food from the kitchen. It was one of those killings that genuinely broke down your soul. But of course I had to keep my emotions inside. Of course I could not show remorse or grief.

Not until I came home.

I ranted and raved in Russian to Ayesha about it - the unfairness of it. And I sensed you leave your room. I beckoned you to sit with me - attempted to explain myself and my role here to you. But that fear returned, and I could not handle that look from you. Not when I myself was hurting. So I went to bed, and you did too.

The next morning, I went into the study to work, but stayed quiet so as not to wake you. Only when you awoke on your own did I make my presence know. And when I told you that you snore - no, Christine, you don't - your proud indignance was actually a delight. But you backed down again, and I was disappointed. I thought, for a moment, that you no longer feared me.

Then came the news that you'd have to attend an execution - this time for the entertainment of the Shah. I didn't want you to go. You already hated me. You already looked at me with terror and disgust, and this would merely be a step backwards.

At that dinner, I watched you as I poured from the teapot. I watched your fear turn to wonder at the magic. And I wondered myself if that was the key to quelling your desire to hide from me - show you what beautiful and marvelous things I could do with my hands. With my voice. It was worth a try, I thought, as I poured your tea. I had time to find out.

And then the time arrived for the victim to die. I watched your reaction as you watched him writhe and vomit and wither away to death. I watched you whiten, watched your nausea as you saw that no one - not a soul except yourself - was visibly affected by this murder. I watched as you stared down at the meal placed before you, wanting to scream or run or throw your food across the room - anything but eat.

I took pity - no. I held compassion.

It helps if you nibble, I whispered in your ear.

I don't think you quite knew that it was me - but you clearly heard it. You looked up with a gasp, then quickly looked back down.

So alone. So frightened.

I continued watching you and said, You don't have to eat everything, my dear. Take very small bites and wash each down with tea.

I knew, of course, to do this from years of eating when I felt my stomach could not take a single crumb inside of it.

You did as I suggested, the first indication that, on some level, you trusted me. I felt warmth - sunshine peeking through the incessant dark clouds. That urge to protect you grew.

Good, I whispered, keep doing that. I can keep talking to you if you'd like, or I can stop. Eat chicken next if you'd like me to continue, and eat rice if you'd like me to leave you be.

I silently hoped you'd choose the chicken. You did. Immediately.

I had to stop the smile that begged to show itself.

All right. I ate some chicken as well, if at least to show you I was with you. I would be with you through this. I wanted to ease your worry, your suffering, as I wished someone would do for me. I said, I have to admit something to you.

You glanced at me, curious. I liked your curiosity, I still like it, even if I gave you nothing but grief for it.

The thing is, Christine, I said slowly, that you do snore. Terribly. I could barely focus this morning between the sounds of a grizzly bear growling in the woods for its next catch.

I saw in your face your shock. Replacing your fear. Excellent.

I continued, I mean Dear Lord, Christine. You really must have your throat examined. I think you may have a ravenous lion trapped in there.

And when I glanced at you next, you'd relaxed. When you looked at me again, that terror was gone.


I'd taken you home, held your hair as you vomited. You let me. You let me take the lead in telling you how to feel better - drink some water, climb into bed. All the while, I sensed that you now felt safe with me - safer, at least, than you did before.

The next morning, when I left the bathing room and you entered it, I noticed a look of brief pleasure at my smell - pine. I'd only used the soap once, but now that I knew you liked it, I would continue using it. I didn't care for it much - I didn't hate it, either - but I wanted to do anything I could if it meant you looked at me with any amount of goodness.

Forgive me for it. I didn't know, but I was falling for you even then.

We sat for breakfast, and to my relief, you did not shrink away from me. You didn't avert your eyes or widen them. You sat with me as though I were just another man.

And then you became lightheaded. I checked your pulse, finding it fast and faint.

I realized you'd been poisoned.

You collapsed into my arms.

And if I'd believed in God, I would have cursed him for taking yet another away from me.

For refusing to hear my prayer those years ago.

For chewing up and spitting that prayer right back in my forsaken face.