Author's note: Sorry everyone, I know you were expecting a bit more from this chapter but I thought it was necessary address the elephant in the room: Oscar and Fersen. For further explanation, check out my new blog post on Tumblr for some Oscar/Fersen analysis and what made me decide to write out this scene, which I struggled with a lot. Oscarofversailles Dot Tumblr Dot com ( doesn't allow us to share links)

Let me know what you guys think of the Oscar/Fersen relationship!

Previously…

"Fersen!" A dishevelled Oscar materialized out of nowhere, interrupting the dance between a redheaded young woman and the disguised Swedish count.

"Cover me, quickly!" she ordered him, in a panic. But Fersen was already ahead of her. As soon as he spotted her running towards him, he had excused himself from his dance partner, took off his own cape and wrapped it around Oscar, making sure to pull the hood up to cover her hair. The wig had been almost ripped in half and her golden locks were starting to fall onto her face. Fersen had to admit, in this dishevelled state, Oscar appeared more beautiful than ever. God only knows how he longed to kiss her.

The carriage ride back to Jarjayes was thankfully a short one, for Fersen could no longer stand Oscar's broody mood. The latter had sequestered herself in a corner of the carriage, the hood of Fersen's cape covering most of her face as she incessantly stared out the window and refused to say a word.

Fersen sighed and resigned himself to doing the same thing as his companion. It was during this meditative ride that it occurred to him how little he really knew Oscar. All he had ever seen of his friend was this cold, unmoveable and straight-edged individual who was so deeply rooted in her ethos and morals. He often thought of her as a mythical hero: a savior who was above all human sin and yet so devoid of heart and feeling.

Yet, looking at her now from across the carriage, he saw anything but that. Instead, there was a woman before him. One who appeared flustered, confused and so terribly… vulnerable.

Fersen closed his eyes, faintly smiling. It was not difficult to deduce what had transpired at the ball when she disappeared with that mysterious man. He did not blame her for it. If Fersen had been a woman himself, he would not have hesitated.

How strange it was, though, to discover a more sensual side of Oscar. Now that's a word he never thought he would use in liaison to Oscar.

…

"Thank you for the cape," Oscar murmured as she began undoing the laces to hand over the garment back to Fersen.

"Keep it," Fersen placed his hand on hers, stopping her from taking it off. "You'll need it to get into the house, lest someone sees you."

They had finally arrived at Jarjayes and were now standing at the entrance, beneath the stairs where no one could see them. Their masks were off.

Oscar only nodded. He expected her to leave but she seemed to be lingering, partly probably because he kept his hands on hers.

"Oscar?" he prompted her, concerned.

She only lifted her head in response and Fersen was struck by the emotion in her eyes. For a moment he did not know what to say; he wanted to spend an eternity gazing into those piercing sapphires. Even in the faint light of moon, he couldn't help but be mesmerised.

"I should probably go…" she whispered. Oscar desperately longed for the privacy of her bedroom, for the freedom to let her mind roam free, to try and make sense of her own actions.

Alas, Fersen continued to prevent her departure. Was it her imagination or was his face closer to hers than a second ago?

She bit her lip. Fersen.

The man she so ardently loved for years, had he awoken to her finally? Was this really happening?

"Oscar," he repeated, his voice an octave lower. But this time, there was a hint of plea in his voice, as if he wanted her to give him something, as remnants of that dream, of having a normal life kept clawing back to the forefront of his mind. It was his last hope of escaping the morbid sad fate that he knew awaited him.

Perhaps it was not too late for him. For them both.

He had to know. He had to try. He did not want any regrets.

And so, without knowing what had possessed her friend, Oscar suddenly found herself enveloped in his embrace, his lips on hers, wanting, searching…

She surrendered herself and returned the kiss.

It was the magical kiss.

The long-anticipated one. The culmination of all of her dreams and fantasies. The end of all her agony and torture.

The prince had finally arrived to claim his Princess. It was the fairy tale she had let herself nurture in the quiet hours of the night when no one, not even the angels were watching.

Alas.

It was hollow. Empty. Devoid of any feeling of desire. The exact opposite of what she had felt with the mysterious man in the Black Mask. A flash of heat ignited her cheeks as her body reminded her of the events of the evening.

They disengaged from each other, the kiss lingering bitterly on their lips.

Fersen absently swiped his finger on his lips, as if attempting to brush off the sour taste. His Fate was sealed. He belonged to Marie-Antoinette and to no one else.

"Pardon je…" he muttered.

"Non, non," she appeased him. "It's alright."

They fell silent as Oscar mimicked Fersen's gesture by absently tracing her fingers on her mouth.

"In fact," she broke the awkward silence, her voice as clear as day. "That cleared a lot of things for me…"

Fersen nodded in understanding. "Honnêtement, I have always suspected…"

Oscar smiled, bashful. "Am I that transparent?"

"Perhaps not to everyone, but to those who know you well."

She nodded. Silence.

"I never wanted to cause you any trouble," she explained. "I hold you in high regard, Fersen. You are very dear to me… I tried my best to remain loyal. To you, both."

"Thank you, Oscar," he muttered, moved beyond words, tears welling up in his eyes. He could so clearly feel her suffering now and it made him feel terrible. Were they all doomed to this life of misery?

"Fersen," Oscar muttered, "About what happened at the ball…"

"You needn't worr-"

"Don't tell Andre, will you?" she cut him off without meaning to. "He would never cease the mockery."

"Of course not, I prom-"

"And especially not the part about the dress. I think he would literally die with laughter and then I would have to answer to Grandmere."

Fersen contemplated his companion for a moment, puzzled. Of all the things that had happened tonight, his friend's main concern was what Andre would think of her. And wasn't that odd to begin with, for he had always thought that Oscar confided anything and everything to Andre above anyone else. The man was practically her shadow.

Andre.

Andre…

It was as if a light went on in his head. He chuckled softly to himself. Bien sûr. "I promise I won't tell him," he reassured her. "By the way, where is Andre these days?"

"Pfft, who knows?" she scoffed. "Busy with the estate here, apparently," she shrugged. "Enfin…" she resumed, more thoughtfully, "ever since you came back from America, he's been… distant for some reason. There always seems to be a wall between us these days. Like we can no longer be in the same room together. I don't know what's wrong with him."

Fersen could not help but analyze the emotions her voice betrayed as she spoke. He had always had an inkling about Andre's feelings, just as he had suspected those of Oscar's towards him. The question that burned in his mind now was: did Oscar return Andre's feelings? Or was she simply oblivious? He had a feeling it was likely the latter. Perhaps he can give her a little nudge.

"Say," he began. "Have I ever told you the story of Helga?"

"Helga? Your maid?" she furrowed her brows at him.

"Indeed. You see, she wasn't always a maid. She was my sister's dear friend."

"Oh? Well, that speaks highly of your sister's character." Oscar fidgeted, unsure what to say.

"I'm not so sure," Fersen grinned. "Helga was born into a noble family. We all grew up together and were inseparable. Then one day, we discovered that she had fallen in love with the young man who was, at the time, my valet. Her family did their best to stop her. I won't bore you with the details, but they ended up running away together. When it was time for me to travel again, I came across my old valet living in a remote village and I was so moved by the love they had for each other, I offered him and his wife to accompany me on my travels."

Fersen stared absent-mindedly at the horizon. "I wanted to them be happy. To live beyond these social constraints that chain us to our stations and confine us in a golden cage."

Oscar was genuinely touched by his account. Unlike any man she had ever met, Fersen had a heart that was so welcoming, kind and generous to others. It was precisely why she had loved him.

"Fersen…how awfully generous of you…"

"Do you see why I'm telling you this story, Oscar?" he fixed her with an intense stare.

"I…" she returned with a blank stare. Yes, she knew he was miserable in his love for the queen. He did not have to tell her. Yet she had a feeling that that was not, in fact, what he had wanted to communicate to her.

"Do you really not know who the man in the Black Mask was?" he finally blurted.

"I swear to you," she replied in her most direct manner. She certainly was not lying.

Fersen chuckled and shook his head. Poor man, Andre…

…

Oscar shut the carriage door behind Fersen after he took his leave of her.

"By the way," he said from the window. "In what concerns Andre, I can tell you that he would never laugh at you if you cried or think you look ridiculous in a dress."

"Pfft!" she scoffed. "Whatever you say. I know him better than anyone."

"Of course, you do." His irony eluded her.

"Merci Fersen, pour tout," she smiled at him and patted the carriage door.

Oh Oscar, if there is one thing I want for you, it is for you to free yourself. To be able to love and be loved. Run, Oscar. Leave this place while you can. Au revoir mon amie.