Then
Tristan couldn't help the shudder of happiness that ran through him as he saw his lovely girl return with Lucien and the de Guise children. Even in her servant's garb, she looked absolutely radiant.
He watched as the sun's light danced across her blonde curls and brightened her hazel eyes, enhancing her breathtaking beauty. The ladies in the room, despite their higher ranking, would never hold a candle to his darling dove.
His Giselle.
His favorite part of her had to be her bright red blush whenever he caught her staring at him. He could only smirk back at her, but then she'd do the most peculiar thing. Whenever she caught his eye, a look of fright would come across her eyes before returning her gaze to the floor.
Oh how he loved her smile.
She rarely showed it when she believed he was not looking, but he melted at the sight of it. He often saw her smiling in the garden, or on her way to pray.
"My Lord?" Lucien's voice cut through his daydreaming. An annoying reminder that he was not alone with her.
"What is it now?" he snapped.
Lucien's back straightened with fear, "Your father, the Count de Martel, wishes to see you."
Tristan's irritation only increased. His dove would be there when he returned; that thought alone is what kept him sane. Rising from his seat, he took one last glance at her and saw her smile disappear as Lucien walked away.
Her voice.
It danced through the wind each time she spoke. She often speaks with the Lords Finn and Elijah, which irked him to no end.
"You know, my mother used to tell me if you love something, you should let it go," she said lightly, almost comfortingly to her conversation partner. "If it returns to you, it is yours."
"And," he recognized the voice as Lord Niklaus', "what happens if it doesn't?"
"Then it was never yours to begin with."
Tristan's heart throbbed in his chest knowing that she would always return to him, but he would never be daft enough to let her go in the first place.
Her tears are the only thing that ever brought him to his knees. She was sobbing in the hallway outside his door, not bothering to seek comfort from him. She was, after all, only a servant.
Lucien had foolishly attempted to end his life, only to be killed by a nearby guard. The sight of his body must have put her in shock.
"Please, my love, come back to me," she whimpered.
All she had to do was come into his room. She had no reason to stay out there and give herself grief. Tristan was waiting with open arms - why would she not gain the courage to tell him of her true feelings?
"Giselle, come."
The sobbing stopped almost immediately before her tear-stained face appeared in his door, "My Lord."
Here she was, standing in her nightdress in his chambers, while he lay in his own bed. This was his chance.
"Lay by me tonight," he opened his blanket to her, leaving her room to lay close to him.
He heard her breath hitch lightly before she slowly made her way to him. She laid down, allowing him a chance to smell her flowery scent as he wrapped his arms securely around her.
As he drifted to sleep, his dove in his arms, he heard her begin to cry again.
She had a cloak on that next night. She was going to leave him.
"Darling?" his voice cause her to stop her movements. She was just in front of the balcony, allowing the moonlight to reveal her identity to him, "What is this?"
Hatred was burning in her eyes, "I am leaving, Tristan. No more will I have to suffer your presence."
The words pierced his heart like a sharp blade. "W-What? H-How could you say that, my love?"
The disgust was evident now, "Your love? I do not love you, Tristan de Martel. The only man I ever loved is now dead, and it is your fault."
Lucien
It was Lucien she was in love with? All this time?
"You are my captor, Tristan, and now I am freeing myself." She began to walk past him and his sorrow blinded his actions as he gripped her arms roughly, causing her to cry out at him.
"Then allow me to help you, ma columbe libéré," he spat, his body no longer under his control. He pulled her closer and closer to the balcony's edge.
And over the edge he made his free dove fly.
