A/N: Only a few more chapters to go, which will tie up some loose ends, and then it will be completed. I've truly appreciated the positive response I have received from fans of the movie. Your feedback has been wonderful.
Chapter Thirty Three
Anne felt wonderfully happy and content as awareness slowly returned, and she snuggled deeper into the soft linens without opening her eyes, grasping those last few precious moments of peaceful oblivion before coming fully awake. Even without opening her eyes, she could tell that it was still not quite daylight, but already, the birds were beginning to tweet outside her window, preparing to greet the dawn. Soon, her assistant would come to help her dress before joining Philippe at the breakfast table. But even as the thought entered her mind, her increasing cognizance insisted that something was different this morning. It only took a few moments to realize that this was not her usual bed, and her eyes immediately came open to verify.
Through the morning twilight just before sunrise, she observed the unfamiliar chamber with a moment of disoriented surprise. It was a beautiful room, decorated by someone with great taste and skill, but it was not as large and ornate as her own chamber at the palace. Then her eyes darted quickly to the presence that was with her, and she saw that D'Artagnan was lying beside her. After sleeping alone her entire adult life, it gave her a brief start to find a man lying in bed with her, but then the events of the previous day came rushing back to her, and a smile formed on her lips as she observed her new husband in sleep.
As she watched him, it occurred to her that she had never seen him asleep before; not even that night so long ago when their twin sons had been conceived. Easing herself onto her side so that she might better see him, careful not to awaken him, she studied his features with the adoration and curiosity of a new bride.
He was lying on his side facing her, with one arm pushed beneath his pillow. His eyes were closed, rimmed with long dark lashes, and she marveled that she had never before noticed just how long they were. But of course men always had longer lashes than women, and she supposed it had been the envy of women since the dawn of time. In her eyes, he was the most handsome man alive, and, unable to resist the temptation to touch him, she reached out and caressed his cheek with the tips of her fingers.
Always a light sleeper, her feather soft touch against his skin, awakened him, and he smiled when he saw her beside him. "Good morning."
"Good morning," she responded. "Did you sleep well?"
He took her hand in his and kissed it. "I slept very well. You?"
"Yes. In spite of being in a strange bed, I never woke up all night long. And waking up beside you is a dream come true."
Releasing her hand, he pulled her toward him, and his lips found hers in a deep and loving kiss that was soft and tender at first, and then grew in intensity as the long-suppressed need rose inside them again.
"We should be getting downstairs to breakfast," she murmured as his lips made their way down her neck, tickling her with his mustache. "Porthos and Angelina will be waiting for us."
"They can wait a while longer," he replied, his voice muffled against her neck.
"Yes," she whispered as her hands entwined eagerly in his hair. "I suppose they can."
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Without her hairdresser, on whom she depended to style her hair each day, Anne struggled with her long dark tresses before the dressing table mirror for some time before finally deciding to merely pin it back from her face and allow it to cascade down her back in soft waves. She sometimes wore it that way in her private chamber, but never in the more public areas of the palace, as she had a position to maintain. However, in this place she was free to be a bit more casual, and she found that notion appealing.
Rising from the chair, she turned back and forth as she perused her reflection for several moments, smoothing down her skirt and arranging the strip of lace on the neck of her bodice. She was dressed in the most simple and unadorned gown she owned, desiring comfort above style during this private time away from the palace. Deeming herself presentable, she turned to see if her husband was ready.
He was dressed in plain breeches and his boots, but he had not yet put on his shirt, for he was shaving before the small mirror attached to the wall above the wash basin. She had never watched a man shave before, so she moved closer and observed him as he carefully applied the straight razor under his chin, carefully scraping away the stubble of whiskers.
"That looks dangerous," she said after several moments. "And you make funny faces. Does that help you to concentrate?"
Shifting his gaze her direction without moving his head, his blue eyes twinkled with amusement. "So, you find this entertaining, do you? Have you nothing better to do than tease me?"
"No, nothing," she replied, laughingly.
He dipped the razor into the water to rinse it, then applied it to his cheek. "You look beautiful with your hair like that," he told her.
She instantly reached up to finger the long strands, self-consciously. "I have never worn my hair like this in public, but I noticed that Angelina had taken her hair down and pinned it back like this last night before we retired. It looked becoming on her, and since I have no one to fix my hair, I thought I should wear it the same way."
"If you desired, I am certain that Angelina would be pleased to help you," he suggested.
"I cannot impose upon her. Besides, for these next few days, I want to forget that I am the queen mother. I simply want to be your wife."
Several moments of silence ensued, during which he rinsed the blade again and moved to the other cheek.
Turning, she walked to the window near which she and D'Artagnan had sat the previous night, and viewed the scenery. Their window overlooked the rear of the property, and from there she stood she could see the horses and cattle grazing in the pasture. Just outside the pasture on the left were the orchards. On the right were fields of grain and a productive vegetable garden. And beyond it all were lush green hills and meadows, dotted with clumps of trees and shrubs, and blanketed with a thin layer of ground mist which would quickly dissipate in the sunshine that was peeking over the horizon.
D'Artagnan was constantly aware of her presence as she gazed out the window, and irresistibly drawn to her, he placed the razor on the edge of the basin and went to the window, where he pulled her into his arms for a kiss. His face was still wet, and she pushed him away, playfully.
"Later! Right now, we must get down to breakfast, or Porthos and Angelina will wonder about us."
"They will know about us," he corrected with a smile as he retrieved the blade to complete his task of shaving.
"All the more reason!" she protested. Soft color rose in her cheeks. "I could see the look in Porthos's eyes when I retired last night. I would imagine that he teased you shamefully."
D'Artagnan laughed, amiably. "No, but now that you mention it, I am a bit surprised that he did not. On the other hand, he has Angelina to keep him entertained, so perhaps he was thinking only of her."
He rinsed his face and dried it on a towel, then removed his shirt from where it hung on the bedpost, pulled it on over his head, and tucked it into his breeches. Then he held his hand out to her. "I will escort my beautiful wife to breakfast."
Together, they walked down the stairs and into the dining hall, where Porthos was waiting at the head of his long banquet table.
"Good morning," the ex-Musketeer said cheerfully, but the crude comment that he had intended to following the greeting was quickly staunched out of respect for the queen mother. He could always tease his old friend, but it was different with the mother of the king of France. With her quite dignity, it seemed most improper.
"Good morning," D'Artagnan replied.
Porthos gestured toward the tableware that was already in place, indicating where they should sit. "I know it is customary for the master of the house to sit at the head of the table and the mistress at the foot, but this table is too long and my hearing is not what it once was, so I prefer to have her and my guests seated near me."
D'Artagnan pulled out a chair for his wife, and when she was seated he sat down beside her.
Angelina entered the dining hall with platters of food in both hands, and Porthos quickly stood up to assist her.
"Good morning!" she said cheerfully to her guests as the items were placed on the table. Then she took her place at Porthos's side, and they filled their plates and began to eat. "I hope your room was satisfactory."
"It was perfect, thank you," Anne replied. "There is a lovely view of the orchards from the window."
"You should see them in the spring when the fruit trees are in blossom," Porthos said. "Absolutely stunning. When the fruit is ripe, Angelina will be making cider and preserves. I will see that some is sent to you at the palace."
"I would like that. Thank you. I am so pleased that you shared your home with us for the wedding," Anne said. "Being away from the palace like this, away from all the servants and assistants is much more pleasant than I ever dreamed it could be. Always, there is someone following me around when I leave my rooms, offering drinks that I do not want, snacks that I do not need, and never am I truly by myself except in my private chamber. While I am here, please do not feel that you need to entertain me or wait on me. The only title I want for these next few days is wife to my husband."
"We will leave it to you then," Porthos offered. "Anything you want or need, simply ask and it shall be yours."
"You are most kind."
D'Artagnan smiled at her. "What do you wish to do today?"
"Well, this morning I would like to walk to the chapel for morning prayers, and then I would like to simply walk in your gardens and look around."
"Whatever pleases you, my lady," Porthos told her.
D'Artagnan took her hand and kissed it. "I will join you."
"And I want to get used to being away from the palace," she added, drawing sympathetic glances from the others at the table. "I was content with my life there, sequestered away in my chambers, but now I realize that there is much more to be done with my life and I cannot hide myself away. I must reacquaint myself with things outside the palace gates. But I must go slowly. During the coach ride yesterday, I was so nervous I could barely look out at the scenery. I know it must have been beautiful, and Philippe kept trying to get me to look at one thing or another, but I felt fear at being in the open. I do not want to feel fear any more when I am in public."
"We will start small," D'Artagnan suggested. "Perhaps later in the day or tomorrow, I can take you for a walk around the stables and the orchards, venturing a little farther from the house each time."
She smiled. "I would like that. And later in the week, as I grow more accustomed to being away from the palace, I would like for my husband to take me on a horseback ride."
"It would be my pleasure to accompany my wife on a horseback ride," he replied.
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Philippe walked alone in the rose garden, enjoying the fragrance of the flowers that were in full bloom. The palace loomed behind him, gleaming in the early morning sunshine. Several rows over, a gardener carefully pruned the spent flowers from the bushes, encouraging new blooms, and as he spied the young man walking nearby, he bent low in respect of his king.
King.
After four weeks, the word still seemed foreign when spoken of him, and he continued to remain in awe of the remarkable turn of events that had placed him on the throne and changed his life forever. It had not been so very long ago that he still lived in the mask, isolated from the rest of the world, a lonely, forgotten soul who had despaired of ever seeing freedom again. And now he was the king of France.
As he strolled along the paths so frequently enjoyed by his mother, he was constantly aware of the Musketeers who patrolled the edge of the garden, maintaining a watchful distance from their king while constantly scanning the area for signs of intruders. He could not help but wonder what was going on in their minds as they performed their duties, as it was unlikely that they had ever witnessed Louis enjoying the simple pleasures of a leisurely stroll among the roses, and if they had, he was almost certainly accompanied by one beautiful woman or another.
Pausing at a lovely fragrant rose, he cupped it in his hands and bent to inhale its perfume. How wonderful it was to smell such sweet things instead of the stench of decay and sweat and human waste and misery. He would never take these simple beauties for granted.
Sensing a presence, he turned around abruptly and found Christine standing there, framed by the climbing vines on the trellis behind her. She had apparently been watching him for some time, for there was a puzzled expression on her face. When she saw that she had his attention, she curtseyed.
"Ah, Christine," he said, trying to sound as arrogant as Louis would. "The garden is lovely, is it not?"
"Yes, Your Majesty," she replied, but she continued to look at him with that strange expression.
"Is something wrong?" he asked.
"No, your majesty," she replied. She lowered her gaze, briefly. The king had expressed such displeasure with her the previous month that she had been uncertain that he would even speak to her at all, much less speak to her so civilly. "I do not wish to disturb you, your majesty."
There was clearly something on her mind; something it seemed she wished to discuss but apparently was uncomfortable doing so. After a few moments, she started to turn away from him, apparently deciding to leave him alone.
"Christine," he said, stopping her as she turned, and he immediately wondered why he had done such a thing. He had been warned to avoid her, yet he craved a conversation with someone his own age. He held out his hand toward her in a welcoming gesture. "Come walk with me. It has been some time since we last spoke."
She approached him rather reluctantly, visibly uncomfortable to be in his presence, but he could only wonder why. He knew his father and Athos would strongly disapprove of any attempts to talk to her, but if she spoke of something he knew nothing about, he would simply change the subject, a sign that he was growing more and more confident of himself.
With her eyes carefully averted, she said softly, "I wanted to thank your majesty for your kindness in allowing your physicians to continue caring for my mother and sister. And also for allowing me to remain a while longer, even after I had confessed to you that I only pretended to love you."
So, that was it! he thought. Louis must have truly cared for her, and he had covered his hurt with anger.
"I can only wonder why you did not send me away immediately," she said.
"Must I have a reason?" he asked rather flippantly, hating the fact that he must continue with the charade in her presence. Here was someone who, under different circumstances, could have been his friend.
She looked up, searching his eyes for some indication of what he was thinking, but was unable to read the thoughts behind them. He was squinting in the glare of the sun, but the anger and tension that she had seen during her last meeting with the king was no longer there. Curiously, he seemed more at peace than she had even known him to be.
"I suppose not," she replied, cautiously. "I have watched you these past few weeks."
He was surprised by this, for he had not noticed her. "Have you?"
"Yes, your majesty. I would sometimes see you from my window, or as I took my daily walk." She briefly considering asking him about the other day, when she thought had seen him watching her through the secret door, but after consideration, decided against it. If it had been her imagination, he would think her foolish. Besides, Louis would never have fled like that. It might have been one of the servants, and speaking to the king might have serious ramifications for the perpetrator.
Philippe recognized the rather suspicious look in her eyes, and knew that she was thinking of his blunder at the secret door to her room. Inwardly, he prayed that she would not bring it up, for he would have to deny it.
Thankfully, she bypassed the subject. "Sometimes, when I am looking at you, it is as if I am looking at someone else entirely," she said.
Philippe felt a twinge deep inside. Somehow, Christine was sensing that something was different about him, that he was not the Louis she had known. He shrugged. "Well, we all change," he suggested, stooping to smell another of the fragrant roses, unaware that his action was feeding her suspicion.
"I have never seen you stop to enjoy the simple beauty of a rose filled garden." She reached out to caress the rose's velvety petals. "This is not the Louis I know."
"And do you like this new Louis?" he asked, curiously, turning to face her again.
She blushed slightly at his direct question. She was accustomed to Louis' bold behavior, but it was more difficult for her to be direct with the king. "Well, I . . . "
He smiled, accepting her blush as his answer. "What if I was a different Louis?" he asked. "How would you feel about that?"
Again, she hesitated. She knew he was playing with her, but was uncertain how much she could say without bringing him to anger. She proceeded cautiously. "I do not know how to answer that, Sire. How can you be a different Louis?"
"Things are not always as they seem," he said, cryptically. His hand reached for one of the roses, then took note of its color. It was red, the color that D'Artagnan always presented to Anne. He was his father's son, but as a young man, he felt a desire for individuality. Moving to the next bush, he plucked a pink rose from the bush and offered it to her. "A token of my esteem," he said.
As she reached for the rose, she gazed into his eyes and saw the gentleness and compassion there, where before she had seen coldness and cruelty. Her eyes darted back and forth, looking deeply into one blue eye and then the other, feeling suddenly confused. "Your eyes . . . " she began, then her voice drifted away.
"What about them?" he asked.
"They are so different. Like they belong to a different man. If I did not know better, I would swear . . . "
"What?" he prompted, intrigued, when she abandoned her statement. "What would you swear?"
She instantly broke eye contact. "Forgive me, sire. I should not be speaking so boldly."
"Please, I wish you would speak freely. Most people are afraid to speak openly to me. You obviously have something on your mind, so please, continue."
She hesitated briefly, then abandoned the subject, which he decided was probably for the best, considering her perceptiveness. Instead, she said, "I was wondering . . . " She paused yet again, clearly fearful of causing an angry outburst, but he seemed to be in an unusually good mood, so she forged ahead. "Sire, I have been thinking. You have been most kind to allow me to stay on these past weeks, even though you have not come to my room. I believe it is time that I returned to my mother and my sister."
He nodded his head in agreement. "If that is your wish, then I will provide a coach to transport you and your belongings back to your mother's home."
This was unexpected. "I can hire myself home, your majesty," she said, quickly.
"I wouldn't dream of it," he replied. "I will provide a coach and driver to see you safely home."
"You are very kind, sire."
"Family is an important thing, Christine," he said as they began to walk slowly along the path again. "I am just now coming to understand that. Have you heard that Mother has finally consented to take a holiday away from the palace?"
Gossiping about the royal family was forbidden, even though everyone knew it existed, but he seemed to think she should be aware of his mother's departure, so she nodded. "Yes, I heard something about that last evening. I heard that it was you who convinced her."
"It was time, don't you think?" Without waiting for her to respond, he continued, "I was worried about her, always keeping to herself, locking herself away in her rooms. She is still young enough to enjoy life, and should not be secluding herself away like that."
"Yes, sire," she responded, looking very confused.
"We kept it a secret until the last moment to prevent any unscrupulous persons from attempting to bring harm to her or the coach. I think she will have a good time."
They reached the edge of the rose garden, and he stopped again and turned to face her. His expression was solemn as he spoke, words she had never expected to hear. "Christine, I have done many things in my life of which I am not proud, and the things I did to you are among the most contemptible of all. I pray you can forgive me, and that you will enjoy a long and happy life, and I hope you will find someone that you can love as you loved your Raoul. I truly am sorry."
She stared at him for a long moment, gazing into those eyes that seemed so kind, and she knew that he was sincere. She bent slightly in a respectful curtsey. "In time, perhaps I will learn to forgive you, sire, but I cannot imagine loving anyone as I loved Raoul."
Philippe felt a tug at his heart. How could his brother have been so cruel that he would send a young man to his death so that he could demand favors from his fiancée? "I truly regret that the actions of the king are responsible for his death. It was a cruel and selfish thing to do."
"I would like to leave today, if it would not be inconvenient," she continued without commenting on his expression of regret. Speaking of Raoul with the man who had sent him to his death was causing tears to crowd behind her eyes.
Philippe realized that she was becoming emotional, and backed away from the subject. "I will have a carriage at the side entrance at five o'clock this evening. Would that be agreeable?"
"Very much. Thank you, your majesty." She curtseyed again and backed away from him, then turned and made her way back up the path toward the palace.
He sighed heavily as he watched her go, still wondering how his brother could have wronged her so terribly. She was a nice young woman who did not deserve the treatment she had received.
After a moment, he made his way up a different path toward the entrance to the palace, and went immediately to his office where Athos was waiting. He knew that his father's old friend was displeased the instant he turned to face him, for his expression was stern. Philippe closed the door and waited for the expected rebuke. He did not have long to wait.
"I saw you in the rose garden with Christine," Athos said. "It was explained to you why you must avoid her."
"Do not be angry with me, Athos," Philippe replied. "She was requesting my permission to send her back to her family. I offered a coach to take her home. That is all there was to it. She is leaving this evening."
"The conversation appeared to be a bit more than that."
Philippe gave a slight nod of acknowledgement. "Very well, if you must know, we talked for a few minutes. It was a private conversation and I will not disclose the content, but I will say that all is well. She is leaving, and there is nothing more to be said."
Athos looked at him for a long moment, surprised by the mild defiance he had heard in the younger man's voice. The uncertainly that he had carried with him when he had first arrived at the palace was beginning to dissipate, and he was growing much more confident. "Very well. We will speak no more about it, then."
Philippe sat down at the desk and leaned back in the chair, thinking about his parents. He had seen them both every day since his arrival at the palace, and he missed them in their absence. "I wish we could visit Mother and Father today, but I guess it would be best to let them be alone during this time."
"Yes, I think it would be a good idea," Athos agreed.
"Mother was very nervous during the trip to the estate yesterday. I had no idea how dependent she had become on her seclusion. How long has she been like this?"
Athos sat down on the edge of the desk, something he would never have attempted had it been Louis instead of Philippe. "Quite some time. She started withdrawing more and more after your birth, but as the years went by it became even worse. Sometimes, the only time anyone would see her was when she would take her daily walks to the chapel. No one knew why she had become so reclusive."
"It was painful for her to see my father, wasn't it?"
"I would imagine it was."
"All those years that they were in love, did you never see any indication of it?" Philippe asked, curiously.
"None. They concealed it very well, for not one of us ever suspected anything. I look back, trying to think of details, things I might have overlooked, but I can recall nothing that would provide even a minute indication that he was concealing something from me. The only thing I can remember was the way he used to look at Raoul when he was young. A look of what I thought at the time was the affection for the son of his best friend, but now I believe it was wistfulness. Of wishing he could hold and play with his own son, as he and I used to hold and play with Raoul."
"While I was speaking to Christine, she mentioned Raoul," Philippe said, thoughtfully. "She said that she could not imagine loving someone as much as she loved him. I know that had he not been killed, she would never have accepted my brother's advances." He paused for a long moment, still trying to comprehend such a thing. "I cannot even imagine how Louis could do something so cruel and live with himself afterward."
Athos was silent for a long time, then said quietly, "That is the difference between the two of you. Now, if you don't mind, I do not want to talk about Louis. What I would like to do is make a request regarding Christine."
Philippe gave an agreeable nod, listening while Athos made his request.
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Later that afternoon, Christine placed the last of her belongings in the shipping crate, and stood back to take one final look around the room that had been hers during her stay at the palace. Decorated in feminine colors and contours, the bedroom and the sitting room had clearly been constructed to be pleasing to a woman's eye. It had certainly pleased her eye. It was the most beautiful private chamber she had ever seen. It had been her retreat during the past few weeks, since she had lost favor with the king, but lately it seemed that the walls were closing in on her, reminding her of the things that had happened there. She would be glad to leave it behind.
Someone would be coming for her soon to carry her possessions down to he coach, so while she waited, she sat down on the edge of the bed and placed her hand on the center of it where she had allowed Louis to have his way with her. She sighed heavily as her mind went back over all those days and nights when she had made herself available for his whims. Her heart had never been in it, but she had performed for him, pretending to love him as he expected she would, and she felt ashamed of the fact that she had initially been flattered by his lavish attention. But, as her mother had said that last night she was at home, no one could deny the king. If only her mother had known the truth of why Louis had invited her to the palace.
A knock at the door brought her out of her reverie, and she got up to open it, then drew her breath in sharply in a small gasp of surprise.
Athos stood before her, the first time she had been in his presence since coming to the palace. After Raoul had been returned to the front lines, he had come frequently to the house to inquire whether his son's fiancée and her family had everything they needed, but his visits had abruptly stopped after Raoul's death, when he had learned that she had accepted Louis' offer to become a lady in waiting to the queen. It should have been an honorable title with great prestige, but Athos had known that the title was a smokescreen to disguise the reality of what would be expected of her.
There was sorrow in his expression as their eyes met from opposite sides of the threshold, and she experienced an overwhelming sense of self-abhorrence that she had betrayed the memory of his son.
"Athos," she whispered.
"The king informs me that you are returning home to your family," he said in a quiet voice. "I requested permission to be your escort."
She turned her face away, unable to meet his eyes. "I am surprised that you would even want to be near me after the things I have done."
Athos's gaze did not waver. Since the day she had moved into the palace, it had been difficult to even speak her name, usually referring to her simply as Louis' mistress, but as the days and weeks had gone by, he had come to accept that she was a part of what little he had left of his son. Through Raoul, he and Christine shared a common bond of love and loss, and they could be a source of comfort to one another. "I know you were given little choice, and I bear you no ill will."
Her eyes snapped back to his face as a sense of relief washed over her with the knowledge that Athos did not despise her. "It is true," she acknowledged. "He left me no choice. He invited me to the palace to become a lady in waiting to his mother, which is supposed to be a great honor. I did not know that the title was a pretentious way of getting me into his service. Imagine my surprise when I learned that my duties were not to the queen mother, but to him. I tried to resist him that first time, but he was persistent. I was still grieving for Raoul, and did not want to do it, but he insisted. My mother and my sister have been ill, and he would have denied help to them had I refused."
"The king tells me that he apologized to you for causing you such grief."
"Yes, he did. I found that most strange, for I have never known him to apologize for anything. I do not understand it, but he seems different these days, much kinder. I found him walking in the rose garden this morning, and he looked happier than I have ever known him to be." Her eyes studied his careworn face, puzzled by the fact that he was now working in the palace at the king's side. "I heard that you tried to kill him when you were told about Raoul."
"For a time, I allowed my bitterness and my anger to consume me, and yes, I was determined to make him pay for murdering my son."
"Yet now you serve him. Have you been able to forgive him?"
Athos quickly averted his eyes to hide the smoldering hatred that still burned in his heart for Louis, wishing he could tell her the truth: that he would never, under any circumstances, serve the man who had been responsible for the death of his son, and that the man he now served was not Louis, but his more deserving twin brother. When he spoke, she noticed that he chose his words carefully. "The king is making an effort to right the wrongs that has been committed. Unfortunately, there are some wrongs that can never be made right again. My son can never be brought back to me and I do not know that I can ever forgive that. But there are changes occurring within the court, and it is my wish to be a part of them. I am here for the welfare of the country."
"I have heard from the servants that Louis is helping the poor people of Paris," she said.
"Yes," Athos confirmed. "What will you do now?"
She shrugged. "I do not know. I had expected my life to be much different that it has turned out to be. The only thing I wanted was to marry Raoul." The tears were burning behind her eyes again and, unable to hold them at bay, she covered her face with her hands and wept, expelling all the heartache that she had buried deep inside. For months, she had been little more than an empty shell, shutting out all the pain and humiliation in an attempt to keep herself from going totally insane. But now, it boiled to the surface and she allowed the tears to flow unchecked. "I miss him so much!" she cried.
Athos watched quietly, his face expressionless, but after a few moments, he approached her and placed his arm around her. "We will get through it, Christine," he said, gently.
She buried her face against his shoulder, seeking comfort from him. "I wanted so much for us to be a family," she sobbed. "To be his wife."
"I wanted that as well. And I hope you do not think me forward for continuing to think of you as my daughter. Should you ever marry, I hope you will permit me to walk you down the aisle."
She looked up into his face. "I would be so honored to have you walk with me, but until I heal from everything that has happened, I cannot even think about loving someone else."
"But you will heal, just as I will too. I will always be there for you, should you need to talk or if you need help. I know the king has agreed to continue treatment for your mother and your sister, but please do not hesitate to summon me if I can be of service to you."
"Your offer means a lot to me," she said, wiping the tears from her cheeks.
"I asked the men who will be moving your belongings to give us a few minutes alone. I will summon them now, and I will ride along with you and get you settled."
"Thank you so much, Athos. I feared you would hate me."
He smiled, sadly. "My son loved you. Therefore, I could never hate you. Come; your coach is waiting."
She took his arm, and accepted his escort. She held her head up as she walked down the long corridors toward the side entrance, hoping that in time she could cleanse her soiled spirit and somehow find happiness again.