Thank you everyone for your kind comments and reviews! I think I'll continue this…project…as being a chapter or one-shot relating to any sort of Lola or Lola/Narcisse scenes in each episode from now on. Since I obviously have no clue where these two are going next (because Reign is so unpredictable at times), these collections of one-shots/related stories have no real arc yet since I am just going off what happens in each episode. If things go the way I think they might, then when their arc together is done (I suspect Narcisse will be killed off or disappear before the season ends) I might consider re-writing this into a more cohesive narrative, maybe even add some AU scenes depending on what happens this season. We'll see….

Again, thank you so much for your support!

I might as well just say this: each chapter contains SPOILERS for season two of Reign, so before you read this chapter you'll need to watch 2x05 to understand what is happening, or else everything will be out of context since you'd only be reading Lola's scenes. I don't think I could write many scenes from Narcisse's point of view because his character's so shady it's hard to tell how he really feels, so Lola will be our main character for now.

[Near the end of this chapter are some descriptive mentions of sex, so I'll keep this as "T" for now.]

Lola had spent the morning scouring the castle for Kenna who she found enraptured with a book in hand. That was not a sight many expected to see when viewing Kenna. The sly smile on the young woman's face alerted Lola that Kenna could hardly have been reading scripture.

"There you are!" Lola cried accosting her friend. "We're supposed to be trying on dresses for Greer's wedding."

"We'll all find something for tomorrow," said Kenna distractedly.

"Kenna what are you reading?"

Kenna first thought to hide the book from Lola, only to smile mischievously, her teeth protruding over her bitten bottom lip. Kenna started to giggle: "It's a sex journal written by a lady who sampled most of the noblemen to come through court and a fair few noble women too. She's even rated the prowess of her partners.

"Really?" Lola blurted out, becoming intrigued against her will. Kenna nodded. "How far does this journal go back?"

"Two years."

"Is Bash in it?"

"Not so far. Defiantly not since we've been married, all the entries are dated," she said showing Lola the pages.

"How do you know it's all real," Lola asked. "She doesn't even mention names?"

"Because I all know the partners," Lola raised her eyebrow at this. "Not because I've slept with them!" The two chuckled. "But because there are details about they're dress, their holdings, their habits that make it clear. Except for one that has me stumped and intrigued. A lover who towers above the rest. She says he's an avid hunter and has a small butterfly shaped birthmark on his forearm. That rules out Henry and Bash."

"It's not Julian either."

Julian: she wanted to know that he was alive, she wanted to believe he had made it out of the burning house, but then she would have to acknowledge that he abandoned her. No, not Julian—Remy—the secret identity of her husband or possibly dead husband, which she could never share with anyone ever. Lola hated secrets: secrets had always brought her trouble and pain. She missed Remy—the man she married, the man she was not sure she knew anymore, but someone she had thought she could love, did love. If he was alive: why did he not come to court? Perhaps he had faked his death to throw suspicion off of him, so he could not return to court for fear of his safety. But he would have left word, he would have given her a sign, she hoped he would, but after so many months this hope had shrunk and shrunk.

Kenna pondered for a moment. "What about Francis?"

Lola shyly shook her head: no.

Kenna made up her mind. "We have to find out who her mystery lover is."

"Why?"

"For you." Lola nearly rolled her eyes at this and made a face showing her distaste. This did not deter Kenna. "Well every since Francis publically claimed your baby you've been mooning about saying how no man will come near you because they think you're the king's mistress. This mysterious and exalted bachelor could be just the fun romance that you need. From what I've read he cares very little for a woman's station or reputation…Only that she's agile."

Lola stood up, her face pink. "You're mad. I can't go chasing after some strange man, I'm already the subject of relentless gossip."

"What do you have to loose? Besides—of which has anyone said anything to your face?"

"No," Lola admitted. But she could still hear the rumors, the hushed whispers, and laughter. She couldn't understand how Dianne or any woman could put up with that kind of constant chatter about oneself. Men looked when they thought she did not notice, but if she were to acknowledge them in any way the heads would turn away suddenly and she'd find herself alone.

"And they never will for fear of offending the king," Kenna continued. "So why not take a lover? Be with him a week or a year. It might not lead to marriage but it could lead to love or at least some fun." She gently shook Lola's arm. "You could use some fun Lola, admit it," she pleaded. Lola smiled at her friend's persistent attempts to ensure that everyone was as happy in love as she.

"I will only admit that I am curious who this man is."

Kenna smiled. "Well then let's find him and see if can inspire your curiosity for more." The two women stood up and walked down the breezeway arm-in-arm off to busy themselves with a mystery that did not particularly need solving.

The two tracked down a member of Catherine's Flying Squadron: a tall blonde named Marie. Kenna held out the journal and pointed to a passage describing the mystery lover with the butterfly birthmark.

"Do you recognize this man?" she asked.

"What's this about?" The three turned to find Catherine standing behind them. Kenna quickly tucked the journal under her arm, trying to hide the book from the Queen Mother, but it was too late: the older woman had spotted the journal and reached for it.

"Oh…that," she smirked, too familiar with the journal than Lola expected, amused at having come in contact with it again. Kenna and Lola exchanged a look of disappointment and frustration. Catherine dismissed Marie coldly: "You may go Marie…and please—your hair."

The beautiful blonde strutted away. Catherine held the book and flipped through the pages, "My ladies brought this to me months ago, I read it an hour."

Kenna tried to stifle a snort of laughter: Catherine de Medici, Queen Mother, poisoner, leader, and smut reader.

Catherine started to walk into the courtyard, while Kenna and Lola followed her.

"We thought one of your flying squad might know something about the men in that," Lola said.

Catherine grinned, one step ahead as always. "The hunter with the butterfly shaped birthmark? My money's on Lord Arris."

Lola thought of the young lord she had seen around at court: wasn't he one of the Scottish-born men that had remade themselves into French lords upon Queen Mary's engagement with Francis. "Why him? How do you know him?"

Kenna sneered, "Have you been sampling the court dishes yourself?" She knew this would hurt Catherine's pride, but instead the Queen Mother scoffed as if to say: of course, you idiot.

"Henry died, I live," Catherine replied before swiftly turning to Kenna, curious. "Are you moving on from that poor bastard of a husband of yours so quickly?"

"No."

Catherine quickly turned her attention to Lola, smiling at the realization that this search was for Lola. "Ooh, then it's you that seeks a lover!"

Lola shifted uncomfortably. I will not give her the satisfaction.

Kenna answered for her: "We are merely curious."

The Queen Mother narrowed her eyes at Kenna as if to say: oh please!

Catherine explained her time with the journal. "I read the book after I made…the acquaintance of Lord Arris," she smiled to herself. "I might offer to revisit and investigate but a few certain someone's might get jealous."

Catherine started to hand back the book before removing it from Lola's reach to speak again: "Good luck with your search. You need it." Lola wondered if this was a cruel jest, another way for Catherine to jab more pain and insecurity her way: revenge for not naming her as John Philip's godmother. "Arris likes his women with a bit more spark." She handed Lola the journal with a sly smile. Lola pursed her lips out of mistrust for the woman. Even when Catherine treated her kindly and acted like a guardian, she was still Catherine de Medici: unknowable and not trustworthy in the least as far as Lola was concerned.

Kenna turned to her and clapped her hands with delight. "Lord Arris…he sounds handsome." She winked at Lola and started to form a strategy of where and how to find this Lord Arris, this mysterious lover.

As the afternoon became almost intolerably hot, Greer joined the two ladies, eager to be distracted by the journal. She had laughed when Kenna told her, shrugging off the tales of sex and passion.

"That's right," Kenna said, "you would have no idea of what sex is like."

"I know more than you think," Greer chimed. "I've slept down the hall from you for the past few weeks."

With drinks in hand the three ladies ducked under the shade of a tree.

"It's baking, when will it cool down?" Kenna moaned.

"Where's Mary?" Greer asked.

"I haven't seen her all day," Lola answered.

Kenna smiled. "That's because your eyes have been glued to that book."

Lola ignored this. "Mary will find us. She wouldn't miss your last day as an unmarried woman," she said to Greer. She wanted to believe this, but Mary was now the Queen of France and a married woman. She did not have much time for her childhood friends in the wake of the coronation.

Kenna moved towards the grand fountain a few yards away. "Yes your last hours of freedom before you become an utterly respectable and disgustingly wealthy mother of four." Without hesitating she placed her drink down and stepped into the fountain. Greer laughs at how little Kenna cared for public decorum.

"Kenna? What are you doing?!" Lola admonished.

"It's too hot, I'm cooling off."

Greer giggled, "Is it cold?"

Kenna grinned at the two: "It's heaven." Kenna twirled around in the water, enjoying the cool little waves while Greer and Lola sniggered. Kenna beckoned for her friends to join her. Greer smiled and handed Lola her drink before lifting her skirts to get into the fountain.

"Greer!" Lola gasped. Of all of girls in their group, Greer was usually so reserved and proper. Greer laughed at her own absurd behavior.

"Greer your dress!" Lola called, watching the fabric dip into the water.

"Oh no!" Greer turned to Lola with a playful look in her eyes. The bride-to-be splashed Lola. "Not your dress!"

Lola then flicked water at Greer in revenge. Soon a mad case of the giggles overcame them as the three sloshed water at each other. Greer was so overcome that she lost her balance and fell into the water. Lola held her breath for a moment, expecting for Greer to chastise herself for her behavior, but instead Greer popped out of the water wide eyed and grinning from ear to ear. She was overcome with chuckles.

"Are you alright?" Lola asked.

"Oh, just drenched," Greer replied. Kenna reached down to help her friend stand. She emerged completely soaked, but thoroughly entertained. Lola couldn't remember the last time they had all laughed this much together.

"Oh I should change before my mother finds me," Greer looked down at her wet clothes.

Kenna spied Greer's pudgy mother across the lawn. "You should hurry," she warned, "because I think I see her coming."

One final giggle passed between the three of them before Greer hurried towards the castle.

"I actually think Lord Castleroy has made Greer loosen up," Kenna beamed. "She smiles a lot more these days. Huh… I suppose I was wrong."

"About what?" Lola asked.

"Maybe Greer does love Lord Castleroy after all. I wouldn't have expected her to go through with it, especially since he's so much older and..."

"Age does not matter. Younger girls, girls much younger than us, have married older men before."

"I know, but I always saw Greer marrying some rich, tall baron with a curly blond mustache."

"That's oddly specific."

"When you're married you can't help but want to see your friends as happy as you are," Kenna searched the lawn for Bash, her eyes clouding over with lust.

"It's funny, how much has changed. How nothing is as I planned, as we planned. It feels like we've been here for so long…but I can never keep up with everyone at court. I miss the quiet, peaceful—"

"Are you serious? Do you know how many young women wish they could take our places here? They would not mope around—they would snatch the first eligible man they saw without hesitation." She squeezed Lola's hand. "You have to enjoy life Lola. This is all we have. Let it be enough for once."

Lola tried to follow Kenna's advice. She smiled politely and even managed to attract the attention of the Duke of Orleans. He did not know who she was at first, something she enjoyed. Men talked easily around her, flirty and elegant, until the found out that she was the mother of King Francis's child, then these flirty and elegant men would duck away with their tails between their legs. Usually after casting a long glance over her body. The King of France explored that same body. That's the King's woman. She hated that label. She was Francis's woman for less than a night. The romance she had thought they shared had long since disappeared. He had rushed into Mary's arms without a backward glance, even when her belly swelled and she became mysteriously absent from court for days at a time.

She felt a soft pair of hands grab her and pull her away. Kenna!

"That was the duke of Orleans!"

"He languishes at the bottom of the ratings," Kenna sneered while dragging her towards the top of the hill. "I've found the man that Catherine said is the one."

Lola stopped dead in her tracks, her mouth dropped open. "Lord Arris?"

"Yes he's over there talking to that lusty little countess."

Lola eyed the skinny brown haired man who seemed to be enjoying his conversation with an equally beautiful countess. Kenna fluffing Lola's long hair, fixing it over her shoulders. "So go, talk to him before she drags him off to her chambers," Kenna instructed.

"And do what? See if he has the mark and then what? I was just curious to know who the mystery man was."

This did not deter Kenna who prepped Lola's hair. "Well I wanted you to see that if you were to have a fling that it would be worth it. Just talk to him. See if there's more to him than…"

"The thing we know…"

Kenna smiled. "Exactly," she exclaimed, pushing Lola forward. "So go!"

Lola stumbled up to Lord Arris and countess who stared at her gaping mouth as she tried to find the right words. "Uh…hello." Behind her she heard Kenna chuckling, admiring her handiwork.

Lola sighed and attempted to start over. "I am Lady Lola, and you are…" Apparently you are the best lover to ever enter French court in the past two years. He was surprisingly young. Too young for Catherine, she thought.

Lord Arris smiled at the pretty young woman with long black curls and beautiful big lips. Kenna what have you done?!

Later at the wedding banquet Lola was able to talk to Lord Arris alone. She learned that he loved to swim and sail. But he did not say this outright, oh no, instead the topic of the sea found its way into every answer and question he gave, and each word used to describe the sea could easily be twisted into a flirtatious comment geared towards her. She could tell he was trying to be clever, with an eagerness that made him look as happy as the dolphins he was mentioning. The French loved dolphins, since they were the symbol of a royal prince. To Lola they were a symbol of freedom. She found herself in love with the concept of dolphins after an hour of chatting.

"We were out in the ocean sailing and a school of dolphins swam up all around us," Lord Arris explained, his face becoming even more attractive when animated and invested in a fond memory. She believed his eyes were his best feature: they were so full of life and warmth, containing the passion the journal had boasted of.

"Really?" Lola's eyes dropped down to his lips.

"They were so close, so wild, and one of them raised its head and looked at me."

It was then that Lola noticed Kenna mouthing words and motioning to her, asking if Lord Arris had the mark. Lola pressed her lips together and tried to wave her away without Lord Arris noticing.

"Have I said something?" He asked.

Kenna, leave us alone!

Lord Arris turned around to face Kenna, who immediately rested her arms at her sides and tried to look innocent.

"Uh sorry, uh…" Lola blundered. "What a wonder," she said, trying to recover the mood. "And what would he have said if he could?" She was dropped her net in casually. Lord Arris willingly flew into it.

"I understand more than you think." He pretended to speak for the dolphin, but Lola could tell this was only very thinly veiled flirting. "And it thrills me to see you." He accepted the bait. He gave her a dazzling grin, owning every fiber that made up his handsome appearance and charming countenance. Lola wondered if Lord Arris fit the journal's complete description of the fantastic lover. If he extends his hand for a dance, perhaps then she could spot the birthmark. The journal said it was on his forearm or was it somewhere else?

Lord Arris leaned closer. Lola quickly reviewed all of the dance steps she could remember. But he didn't ask for a dance: he asked for something better. "Lady Lola I can't promise dolphins, but is there any chance I can take you out sailing tomorrow?"

Tomorrow. He liked her enough to think about seeing her tomorrow. Lola conjured up picturesque images of the two of them on a small boat. She imagined the cool, blue waters caressing her skin. She imagined someone else caressing her skin. She knew she should not get her hopes up, but this was France: women enjoyed more freedom here than most countries. A woman's sexuality could be appreciated here if one found the right partner.

Lola grasped hold of her necklace and smile sweetly. She was about to answer yes when Lord Narcisse appeared out of nowhere and clamped a hand on Lord Arris's back. "Lola," he greeted. She and Arris jumped, startled by the older man's sudden arrival. She noticed Arris wince, if not in pain then in fear. Good, she thought, I am not the only person here that is scared of Lord Narcisse.

Despite the scene she had witnessed of the man crying over Estelle's dead body, those tears were quickly tucked away in the following days when Lord Narcisse resumed his usual cold demeanor that sucked the joy and life out of every place he visited. This was the first time he had even looked at her—much less talked to her—since Estelle's death. Did he miss her? Did he grieve for his dead wife as she did, or was that all part of a show?

He turned to face her, attempting to pass a grimace off as a polite smile. At best this facial expression looked fake and at worse…

Narcisse looked at her when he spoke, but each word was for Lord Arris's ears only. "I've been meaning to congratulate you on the magnificent christening of your son Baron John Philip." Arris' head turned towards Lola so quickly she could hear his neck crack. Lola shot Narcisse a deadly glare: stop! What are you doing you—"The king was beaming—so proud of his son." Arris choked on his drink, nearly spitting wine into the air in his shock. Arris' eyes widened and he started to sweat.

"I didn't realize you're the mother of the new baron!" he stammered. She could see he was preparing to run.

"Well that's me…one and the same," she mumbled, trying to downplay this revelation.

"Well…" Arris began, stepping backwards ever so slightly. "Let me offer my congratulations as well. I must apologize, it slipped my memory. I'm leaving at first light so sadly, I should retire," and just like that he was off with his tail between his legs. He did not even bother to lend credence to this lie by walking towards the doors, instead he merely darted over to a circle of women, his face red and sweaty.

Lola lowered her eyes, disappointed. When she looked up she noticed a wicked gleam in Lord Narcisse's eyes.

"What was that piece of theater?" she spat. He deliberately turned his head as slowly as possible before facing her. This slow movement made her detest him: he looked arrogant and smug. She wanted to slap that smug grin off of his face. "You deliberately drove him away!" she scolded. He didn't listen to a word she said. His disinterest was written on his smug, overly satisfied face. Lola wanted to see him humbled, she wanted to see him scared, she wanted him to fear something that would wipe that slow, smug, satisfied grin off of that rich bastard's face.

Narcisse immediately dismissed her words. "I deliberately saved you valuable time and energy," he corrected her like a tutor, like she was an ignorant girl who had no idea what she was doing. Damn him. "Arris doesn't have the metal for you." Lola raised her eyebrows. What gave him the right to assume that? What made him think that it was any of his business of what someone like Lord Arris had to do with her? Still he continued. "Other men would be afraid of getting close to you because they see you as the king's property—"

And now he was insulting her right to her face. How dare he! "I am no one's property!" Lola hated being thought of in those terms. She was not an object or a toy, something for Francis to play with when he was bored. She hated men who dared presume that women were simply property just because of what was between their legs. As if that had anything to do with the soul of a person.

Narcisse quickly tried to calm her, but his ghastly immetation of a grin only angered her more. "-Oh I don't see you like that." He paused purposefully, using this beat of silence to stress his point.

It was even worse when he didn't say anything. She could feel him studying her, examining every muscle that she moved. No wonder Estelle feared him. No wonder she would rather throw herself off a cliff than have to spend another moment with—no! She reminded herself to attempt to be courteous. She would be polite. She would do her best not to imagine herself kicking him someplace it would hurt and then stomping on his foot before leaving the room in a victorious act of defiance. On that last part she failed several times.

She wanted to look around the room for Mary, Francis, Kenna, anyone to come to her aid, but she didn't want to appear weak or frightened.

He was still talking, boasting. "But, unlike most men, I'm not afraid of the king." Lola narrowed her eyes. Show your king the respect he deserves. You wouldn't have dared said such a thing to King Henry or to Catherine.

He wasn't finished boasting yet. No, he continued talking and even leaning closer to her. She tried not to flinch. I must look strong. "In fact, I suspect Francis is somewhat afraid of me." How dare he! He is your king you bastard! Lola closed her eyes and tried to hold back her anger.

"Hmm, so am I." She cursed herself for saying that aloud. Yes she was afraid of him, but she shouldn't have told him that. She expected to see satisfaction in his face, but instead he remained unreadable outside of a general veneer of smugness and arrogance.

She was mistaken when she thought that he could be a better person than she had expected. She was mistaken when she thought he could ever care for anyone, much less grieve and cry over someone like Estelle. We're all insects in your eyes. You don't even see people as deserving respect. We're worse than animals to you. She imagined him to be a vicious hunter playing with the frightened animals he caught before he gutted them. Just like he was playing her.

Lord Narcisse tilted his head slightly. She could feel him register her fear in his mind. "And men are afraid of you so we're both feared." How could he compare her to someone like him? Why was he still here other than to taunt her?

But his next words made her unnerved. "It can be quite isolating can't it? It can leave one…lonely." Lola became aware that her mouth had dropped, gaping at him like an idiot. He's toying with your emotions, trying to make you feel sorry for him like last time. Well he won't have such luck this time!

"That's presumptuous of you," she clipped.

"And yet it's true. So…" He quickly glanced her over, all of her. She felt sweat gather on her back and she could feel the room suddenly become scorching hot. Leave me alone. She prepared herself to dart in the other direction, wanting to hide behind the spinning and dancing couples that littered the floor.

He was enjoying every tiny bit of her discomfort. She braced herself for another insult. So she was very surprised when he spoke that simple, innocent with anyone else phrase: "Why don't we get to know one another?"

"What?" she blurted out in a shocked whisper.

"Over tea." Yes, a cup of tea filled with poison most likely.

"Tea?!" The logical part of her brain reminded her that he had no real reason to kill her. But the idea of sitting down to chat over little finger foods and tea looked ridiculous to her. He wants it to look respectable, but he must have other plans. Why else would he bother? He thinks you're Francis's mistress. He thinks he can get information out of you. And this is moments after he bragged to my face about how little he respects the king. If Francis, the King of France, was afraid of Lord Narcisse, then she knew this must be a trap. She believed he was trying to scare her, or befriend her, as a way of irritating Francis. What other reason could there possibly be?

Lord Narcisse, however, did not read into the obvious loathing in her voice. "You don't like tea?"

Lola arched her eyebrows and fired back an immediate, cruelly direct response: "I don't like you."

He almost looked happy to hear this. "You don't know me," he said, clearly amused.

"I know a little." She could see him thinking back to their meeting weeks before. She could tell he was remembering the secrets, or the lies, that he had told her. He was recalling the private shedding of tears, a moment of weakness, of outwardly caring about something.

"Well that's more than most," he replied honestly.

Lola sighed, composing herself. "A very odd but kind offer…" she then said the next few words coldly: "regrettably I must decline."

He saw through this and merely lifted the corners of his mouth into a smile. "Ah…it's an open invitation."

Lola questioned his motives. She must know something he wishes to find out, or he thinks she knows something important. Whatever he wanted she would not give to him. This man must be using her. This man must be toying with her for show. This man…this man recently lost his son, his only son, and then his wife, his fourth wife died. Why did she feel pity for him? Yes, she did feel pity. She wanted to know how he could contain both sides of himself: the power hungry monster and the lonely, grieving father and widower four times over. The world could be cruel and perhaps it had turned Narcisse into a cruel man. Lola didn't believe someone could be born bad and Lord Narcisse had more than his fair share of pain and troubles, but were they enough to warrant this cold, unfeeling exterior?

Narcisse turned to speak to another courtier nearby. "Xavier, you are a ghost," he laughed as if this were some sort of inside joke. Everything must be a joke to him, Lola thought. Francis. Mary. Me. Narcisse extended his arm to greet this Xavier. That's when she noticed it. A flash of skin caught her eye. It was peeking out from under Lord Narcisse's sleeve: the top of a birthmark with an antenna and wings.

"The butterfly…" she gasped. A wave of nausea filled her stomach. Her face became a bright shade of pink. She wanted to believe that this was an illusion, a trick of the mind, a dream, but there it was: Lord Narcisse was the advent hunter with the butterfly shaped birthmark, the lover that filled the pages of that journal, the mystery man that she had wondered about all day long, and possibly even fantasized about on and off that evening. That birthmark belonged to the cold man who had proudly stood before her bragging of his distaste for his king, who had placed a young woman in a cage out of fear of the plague, who had attempted to have Nostradamus drawn and quartered, who had stolen land from so many people, who had hurt so many and had been hurt himself many times over.

Just an arm's length away Narcisse spoke to Xavier, oblivious of Lola's shock. "Where have you been hiding yourself?"

He quickly looked at Lola for a brief second, a silent adieu. In this one second Lola's mind betrayed her: instantly her thoughts were filled with images of Narcisse preforming the same sexual acts as they were described in the journal. These images were of intense passion, of faces filled with pleasure, of every single sexual act Lola had ever heard of, of every act she could imagine a man doing. These quick heated flashes of images were accompanied by the sounds of moaning, groaning, of screaming in satisfaction. Kissing, biting, licking, sucking. She felt an unbearable heat everywhere. She was going to be sick. She couldn't breathe. She was only aware of these visions of him, the mystery lover, just as he stood right before her in the flesh, looking into her eyes for that second, seeing the state she was in. Wondering. Thinking. Fantasizing. Her face, her palms, all of her skin was drenched in perspiration. He turned away leaving her shaking body behind.

She had to leave this room immediately. She forced her feet to move in the direction of the doors. Her pace became faster and faster. She could not comprehend the presence of any other specific person in the room, only that a large mass of blurry faces and loud music blocked her exit and drilled into her ears. She pushed past the dancers, the spectators, the courtiers, and the nobles. She fell into the hall and stumbled towards the steps. She raced up to her chambers, relieved that the rest of the castle felt cool and mercifully empty as the sounds of the festivities behind her grew fainter. She made it into her rooms where she could breathe normally. She sat on the cold stone floor, letting the cool air calm her.

Lola heard her little John Philip cry out from the nursery. She wiped the sweat off of her face and went to her son. He was thirsty, as usual. The wet nurse scuffled around in a nearby room, racing to reach the boy before he woke anyone.

"I will do it," Lola stated, not negotiating with the nurse. The nurse helped her undress quickly. Lola wrapped her pinkie around the baby's hand to assure him of her presence. I hear you my love. When she was free of her heavy garments, she placed her baby at her breast. Of course he was not thirsty anymore.

Lola realized her defeat and handed the boy back to the wet nurse. "Lady Lola…" the nurse gave her a concerned look.

"This was a long day. I will retire now." Lola collapsed in her bed and her thoughts wondered to places she wishes they would not return to. She glimpsed his smiling face relaxing in the afterglow. She saw his joy. She rolled over in bed, trying to block these thoughts out, but the more she tried to ignore them, the more they grew and the stronger they became. Her body pulsed with hated thought after hated thought. If Kenna asked about the birthmark she would lie. Then if Kenna kept asking, Lola would burn the journal and ensure that she was never alone with Lord Narcisse again. She did not like him, she did not trust him, but she could not stop thinking about the journal entries involving the man with the butterfly birthmark.