A/N: This is probably the longest chapter I've written for Paladin and it's all from Angelica's point of view. The italics signify a flashback. Fingers crossed that it all makes sense!

Paladin98

He was no longer a child. No matter how many birthdays had passed, no matter how many years she looked out the window at the first snowfall and remembered how he sat, captivated by the sight, on her newly set dining room table, she expected to still see a little boy walk up to her one day.

Now there was a man before her, standing well over six feet tall. No hint of the child she had raised existed in his gaze. His eyes harbored only anger—toward her.

Angelica allowed her hand to remain on his chest. His heartbeat faintly pulsed against her palm, reminded her of the life she'd missed all these years.

"It was horrible," she whispered.

There was not supposed to be a faire. At the beginning of summer she'd promised him that if there was a faire to pass through in October they would attend. Sure enough, he'd perched himself in a tree and waited hours at a time.

"Mother!" he yelled as he ran into the house.

Her favorite vase slid out of her fingers and crashed onto the floor. The sound didn't startle him as much as it startled her. She jumped over the mess to meet him in the doorway.

"What is it this time? An elephant in the orchard?"

"Don't be absurd, Mother."

She smiled and crossed her arms as he stood before her, nearly bursting with news. He'd never understood her attempts at humor. He'd inherited his father's serious nature.

"Blue, red, yellow, green, and orange." His voice trembled with delight.

"You saw a peacock?"

His brow furrowed. "Mother…"

"Fine, fine. Then what?"

"The Faire! Just as I knew it would come! It passed by here no more than an hour ago."

Her heart plummeted. "How lovely," she whispered. "How wonderful, Erik."

"Mother," he said. "You promised."

And she had. She'd looked him in the eye and shook his hand. If there was a faire in October she would wear her favorite dress and matching bonnet and they would attend, the way all mothers accompanied their children for a lovely Tuesday afternoon.

"Yes, I did promise. I keep my promises, Erik."

"You were thrilled," she whispered. She glanced up and watched him briefly as he listened, longing for her reasons. "And I was thrilled for you."

"Where did you go?"

For weeks she'd told him in her most strict voice possible that he was to stay by her side. He was growing too old for her to watch over every moment of every day; they both knew it was true. She allowed him as much freedom as she thought he could tolerate without finding himself in too much trouble.

"It will just be the two of us," she reminded him. "You may drive the horses if you wish."

"Would a gentleman drive?"

"For a lady? Why, yes, he would."

He grinned as he sat across from her at the dinner table. It made her heart both swell and break when she looked into his eyes. Such beautiful, honest eyes he had…it was a shame no one would ever look into his face and see what she knew existed.

Still, she trained him to be a gentleman. She groomed him despite always assuming he'd live a life of bachelorhood. Manners would keep him in check and prevent him from feeling bitter isolation. It would be enough for him.

No, that wasn't at all true. In her heart she held out hope for him, refused to imagine her only child alone. How could everyone deny such a bright and charming young man? Damn the scars, damn what was on the outside! He was worthy of a good life, of happiness from more than his mother's fondness.

"Did Father ever drive the horses for you?"

"Eat all of your vegetables. And do not put a dash of salt on them, Erik. It insults me when you must flavor your food."

He frowned, but she wasn't certain if he was put off by his unanswered question or because the salt out of his reach.

"What would you like to see first?"

"Everything," her adult son murmured.

Angelica nodded. "Yes, you remember."

My God, he remembered. She wasn't sure if the past, if his anger, would distort what had happened.

"Do you remember where we went first?"

"To look at the baskets and crafts."

He dragged his feet, wanting to see the ventriloquist singing rather than the boring crafts. But, since it was her day as well, Angelica insisted they take their time to look at everything. That way he would fully appreciate it—that way she could make him feel like a normal child being forced to do the mundane, just like the rest of the boys.

"Isn't this pretty?"

"Yes," he mumbled.

He didn't bother to look in her direction. His attention was held firmly by a boy his age pointing at him in horror.

Angelica grabbed Erik by the arm. "Will you pay attention?" she snapped.

"He's staring," Erik mumbled.

"Let him stare."

"At…at me."

"What do you think of this one?" She plucked a small glass bird from the table and showed it to him.

"Will you tell him not to stare at me?"

She refused to allow someone's ignorant child to make him fearful. Shoulders squared, she looked him in the eye.

"I will not ask anyone to ignore you. But I will demand you listen to me."

Erik roughly grabbed her by the wrist and she gasped in surprise of how powerful he'd become. His face had gone white, the darkness in his eyes turning a familiar pale green. For the first time since she'd seen him step onto her property, he looked like her son, not a stranger.

"It was raining," he said softly, his grasp loosening. "I told you I didn't like the way your gloves felt."

Her eyes filled with tears. It was their last conversation until now and she was terrified—not of him, not of speaking to him—but of someone overhearing their conversation. No matter what Sabine and Laure said, she still feared Karl was near. He'd often said he'd be gone for several hours while in truth he eavesdropped on his father.

But she didn't want to think of that hateful man. She was tired of being worried and afraid, helpless in her own home.

"I shouldn't have complained," Erik said softly.

She shook her head. "It wasn't your fault, Erik." Her lips trembled. It had been so long since she'd said his name aloud and she never expected to say it again—especially to his face. "That terrible child had already made you uncomfortable. The least I could do was give you a warm hand to hold."

"I'm hungry."

"Oh, you're always hungry." She glanced back at the tents they passed, almost certain an olive-skinned man had been following them since the moment they'd arrived.

"And your hand feels cold."

"Because my hand is cold," she muttered, her patience waning. She glanced back again and saw a large figure swallowed by the crowd. A shiver ran up her spine.

"And it makes my hand cold."

She chuckled softly and smiled at him. Black hair plastered to his forehead, green eyes filled with annoyance, he was always at his worst when his stomach was empty. At least hunger made him temporarily forget the boy who'd gawked at him.

"You have no patience, Erik."

"And I cannot feel my arm. Mother, please."

"No. I told you not to wander off, didn't I?"

"I didn't wander off! Honestly!"

"You were not at my side when I turned to see if you liked the basket, were you?" Her heart thudded in her chest. With so many people in such close proximity she feared someone would hurt him far worse than verbally. All of the glares, all of the snickers, all of the mothers who hid their children behind their backs as though her son would leap out and attack them…each passing second made her regret her decision. She should have told him she'd reconsidered. It would have been easier to break his heart once and deny him than force him into a public spectacle.

"Fine, fine. I won't argue."

"I'm telling you the truth."

"Do you know how dangerous it is for children to wander away from their parents? I am doing this for you, Erik. Remember that. Do as I say."

"I will. I swear I will, Mother. Please…don't make me return home."

His voice broke and he pursed his lips. Wet, cold, and hungry, she'd dragged him through the faire for two hours and now she insisted on losing her temper with him. It was bad enough he never saw anyone save for his mother and the occasional maid or servant brave enough to travel across the property to stay within the overseer's house. She could at least remember how important this was to him, to his psyche.

He only wanted to be a normal child, to do what other boys and girls did with their mothers and fathers.

"I won't make you return home. Now, what do you—?"

Two older boys ran into them and nearly knocked Angelica into the mud. She clung to Erik's hand, barely keeping her balance. Her wet hat dripped rain into her eyes and she exhaled in frustration.

"What would you like to eat?"

"May I have anything I want?" His eyes lit up.

"Within reason." Her hat slipped off her head and plopped to the mud. With an exaggerated sigh she released Erik's hand and pulled off her gloves. "My fingers ache from the—"

A horn blared, followed by the surprised gasps and screams of faire patrons. The crowd churned, her hat was pounded into the mud, and in the blink of an eye she stood alone.

"Erik?" she whispered. Her gaze darted from one face to the next. "Erik?"

A hand pushed against her back, another at her shoulder. She turned in a full circle, hat and gloves forgotten. He was there! He had been standing right there!

"Erik, come here at once."

Her hands trembled. Pockets of space opened up in the crowd and instantly disappeared. He was right there, she told herself. And now he was gone.

"Somebody help me!" she screamed. "My son! Help me! My son!"

Her lungs ached and she gasped for air. She stared at his chest as tears freely ran down her cheeks. Every night when she said her prayers she thought of that moment, wondered what would have happened if she'd looked left rather than right, if she'd found a constable first rather than a common man walking with his wife. Precious seconds were lost to panic.

"They allowed me to search all of the tents one by one," she whispered. "But you weren't there. I refused to leave the faire until all of the tents were packed away and the performers were leaving for their next stop. I wanted to follow them—to look for you—but I couldn't."

She still couldn't tell him or admit to herself what had kept her at home. Some things were better off forgotten.

"I wasn't there," he replied.

His voice was stronger, angrier than hers. She couldn't bear to look at his face and see his rage.

"I was on horseback," he said.

"You…when?"

"When you turned away, he grabbed me by the arm." His gaze was cast down, his shoulders hunched. "He gave me something to drink, and when I refused, he pinched my nose and forced me to drink it. I could still hear him speaking, but I couldn't see him and I couldn't move."

"Drugged," she whispered.

"He put me on a horse and placed a burlap sack over my head. He said it was what I deserved."

They had taken him immediately.

Her hand clapped over her mouth. "Where?"

"Paris… there was a cage waiting."

The parlor door opened and startled both of them. Angelica swiftly turned away and wiped her eyes. His words were jumbled in her head, though one word was clearer than the rest: Cage. Another shiver ran up her spine, and despite how many times she wiped her eyes, the tears returned.

"Monsieur Turro would like his wife to return," Monsieur Dupree announced.

"One moment," she said in the strongest voice she could muster. She looked up at Erik and saw the calm that had settled in his eyes. She wasn't sure if he'd found peace in her words or if he was prepared for her to reject him.

Monsieur Dupree looked past her at the empty hall and she followed his gaze. "Shall I retrieve the firewood, Madame?"

"I'll do it," Erik answered. His hand brushed her shoulder and she reached up to touch his fingers. It surprised her when she discovered they were far longer than her own.

Her spine straightened, fear diminished. She no longer cared who heard her speak. Nothing would keep her from claiming him as her child, not even the threat of Karl slinking through the house. She'd lost far too many years with her only child to allow Karl to further dictate her life.

"That is very kind of you to offer, Philippe, but I'm not done speaking with my son," she answered proudly.