The New Bodyguard

"Jean?"

Jean turned. He stood at the bottom of the steps down from the Queen's Tower, where the long and winding staircase that descended all the way from the Princess' chambers, taking in the quarters of His Grace the Duke, the little princesses, the ladies in waiting and the servant staff along the way, finally came to a stop, with a wide open floor expanding out around the stairs, before various corridors led off in different directions to different parts of the palace: the ballroom, the dining room, the gardens, the drawing rooms, the library, anywhere else one might want to go.

Jean had just come down the stairs, checking all was well upon the way, and relieved Trooper Gaheris from his post at the foot of the stairs so that the man could go and get something to eat. Now he turned at the sound of Angelique's voice, looking up as she came down the stairs towards him.

She was dressed in a pretty day dress, more than pretty, a lovely day dress, with a white blouse that was almost completely concealed beneath a deep blue waistcoat, which left only a sharp, V-shaped slit of white visible between neckline of the waistcoat, marked by a blue bow, and the equally blue collar around her neck, trimmed with white lace and marked with another little bow upon it. The blue sleeves stopped around her elbow with lacy ruffles, but were so big and puffy that they dwarfed Angelique's arms, making them seem especially small and slender by contrast. The skirt was broad and billowing, light blue in colour with rose patterns all over it, save for the four strips of darker blue, the same blue as the waistcoat, which descended down over the skirt on all four… four corners for want of a better word.

She wore her golden hair loose behind her, a pair of small pearl earrings poking out from underneath, held back with a light blue hairband.

She looked beautiful. Angelique always looked beautiful, but today, as she descended from on high towards him, with light from the many windows set into the tower falling upon her, she looked especially beautiful, especially… angelic. Not that he would dare to say that out loud; Angelique didn't appreciate that sort of thing.

Instead, he simply smiled at her, and as she descended the last few steps towards him he reached out and took her hand. "Good morning, Angelique," he said, raising her hand to his lips and kissing it, just behind the engagement ring that sparkled on her finger.

Angelique's eyebrows rose.

Jean's smile instantly became a little more sheepish. "You have to allow me to be a little romantic, Angelique, now that we're about to be married."
"Yes," Angelique said softly. "Yes, that's what I wanted to talk to you about."

Jean did his best to conceal the deep well of disappointment, so deep that he felt that he might fall into it, fall down and down until he was never heard from again, that opened up inside of him as he heard those words. Of course, it was not wholly to be unexpected; Angelique… well, she could do much better than him, she always could have. She had no need of him, as he had need of her. He loved her, he always would, with all his heart and soul, but he would not begrudge her coming to the realisation that she had no need of him.

He clasped his hands behind his back, and attempted to maintain his composure – partly for the sake of his dignity but also, in part, because he didn't want Angelique to feel guilty for having made the best choice for herself. "I see," he said quietly, not quite looking at her but rather looking sort of over her head. "I, of course, respect your feelings and wish you the very best-"

"What? No!" Angelique shouted. "No, you idiot, I'm not breaking off our engagement! Why would you assume that? Why was that the first thing you thought of?"
"Because you told me you wanted to talk about our engagement," Jean said plaintively.

Angelique stared at him for a moment. She pouted. "Well, alright, maybe I did," she huffed. "But you're still an idiot." She reached out, and took both his hands. "But you're my idiot, and that isn't going to change."

Jean looked down at his feet, which were feeling very flat at the moment. "I am glad."

Angelique stood up on her tiptoes, and just about managed to kiss him on the side of his jaw. "You're too tall."

Jean bent down, and kissed her on the lips. "So, what about our engagement did you want to talk about?"

"Not so much the engagement as the marriage," Angelique said. She turned away from him, walking back towards the stairs. Her skirt swirled around her like the sea as she turned around, tucking it beneath her knees as she sat down upon the bottom steps. "Sit," she said, gesturing to the space beside her as she smoothed out her skirt with both hands.

Jean grasped hold of hilt of his sword, lifting it up in its scabbard so that it didn't get tangled up in his legs or stop him sitting as he took the seat that Angelique gestured at. They were not quite touching, but there was very little space between them, a width of fingers separated the two of them.

"I doubt it's occurred to you," Angelique said, "because it hadn't occurred to me either, but… once we're married, we'll have to leave here."

Jean was silent for a moment. It had not occurred to him, not at all, and even now that Angelique had said it he struggled a little to understand. "Have to?"
"We can't live here," Angelique said. "We can't make a home in the Queen's Tower, we can't a raise a family in my room – or yours, for that matter. We don't even have a bed to share." She sighed. "The Princess hadn't thought about it either, I think His Highness pointed it out to her and she brought it up… now that it has been brought up it sounds obvious, doesn't it?"

"I… suppose so," Jean muttered. Angelique, via Her Highness and His Highness, made very good points: there was only room for one married woman in the Queen's Tower and that was Princess Cinderella; there was only room for one family in the Queen's Tower and that was Her Highness' family, her stepson and her daughters. But at the same time… this was the first real home he had known since his mother died. This was his life, here in this tower: he was Lieutenant Taurillion, the Princess' bodyguard. What would he do if he were not that; what would they both do? Where would they go? More importantly, what would Her Highness do without him. "What will become of Her Highness? The thought of leaving her unprotected-"

"That's another reason I thought it was important to talk about this," Angelique said. "His Highness has already chosen someone to take over as commander of the Princess' bodyguard; his name is L'Escroc and he's a war hero, apparently. He'll be coming today-"

"Today?" Jean squawked. "I haven't left yet! Am I being dismissed?"

"No," Angelique said quickly. "No, you're not, of course you're not, it's just that His Highness wants to give the new man a chance to get settled in and used to the job, for the Princess to get used to him, before we get married. He doesn't want a situation where you've left and Her Highness is left with some new man who she doesn't know and who doesn't know what his job is."

"Ah," Jean murmured, nodding his head. "That is… very sensible. No, I wouldn't want her highness to be put in that position, it might be dangerous for her. No, that would never do. You say he is coming today?"
Angelique nodded. "He ought to be."

"Then I will endeavour to teach him everything he needs to know," Jean said. "He is a war hero, you say? He fought in America?"

"Yes," she said. "He saved Prince Eugene's life at… some battle."

"I hope he does not look down on me because I was not there," Jean murmured.

"If he does he'll be a bigger fool than you can be sometimes," Angelique said. "You might not have gone to war but you did your duty, nevertheless, and you've saved Her Highness a lot more often than he's saved Prince Eugene, so what right does he have to look down on you?"

Jean shrugged. "This… it will be a big change, won't it?"

"Mmm," Angelique murmured. "I've gotten used to this place. I'll miss it."

"I will miss Her Highness very much," Jean said. "Her compassion, her kindness… the sound of her laugh."

"The way that every room gets a little brighter when she walks into it," Angelique murmured.

"How much time she has for us," Jean said.

"The opportunities that she's given us," Angelique added.

"How inspiring she is."

"How wonderful she is," Angelique added.

Jean leaned against Angelique's shoulder. "We'll be alright, won't we? Whatever happens to us, wherever we end up, we will be alright, no?"
Angelique kissed him on the cheek. "Of course we will. We were… we managed before, and now… we can live on your estate, or mine, or both or… somewhere. With everything that the princess has done for us we'll be alright. Just as I… just as I hope, and I pray, that Her Highness will be alright without us."

Captain L'Escroc.

Major L'Escroc.

Bloody Lieutenant L'Escroc up from the bloody ranks.

The more Richard L'Escroc, 2nd Battalion (Voltigeurs) Saint Malo Regiment, thought about his new position, the less he liked it.

The more he thought about his new position, the more he brooded upon how little he liked it.

Bloody Prince Eugene.

The moment when he had saved the prince's life was one that he would always remember, and yet at the same time struggled to remember; everything had been a blur, from the moment that His Highness' horse went down until the moment when he'd realised that all of the enemy were either dead or running.

Between those two moments they had been everywhere, or at least they seemed as though they had been everywhere. Prince Eugene had been stunned by the fall of his horse; he had tried to stagger to his feet, sword drawn, but L'Escroc had yelled at him to get his damn fool head down while he… he had fought. They had been everywhere, shrieking that yell, that high-pitched yell that every soldier of the Armorican army had hated by the time the war was done, but L'Escroc had fought them all: with a bayonet, with the butt of his musket, with a sword he had picked up from off the ground. He didn't remember exactly how he'd fought, or who he'd fought, just that by the time it was all done there were a lot more dead rebels on the ground than there had been before.

And after that, Prince Eugene had given him a sword for real. 'You've done me a damn good turn,' he said, and had proceeded to do Richard L'Escroc a damn bad one.

Not that it had seemed that way at the time: a lieutenant, an officer; more pay, status, respect; the chance that when he went home he would go home as somebody, somebody his old man would have to take notice of.

And in the meantime… getting snubbed by snobs in the officer's mess, getting sneered at behind his back by the rankers; too fish for the fowl and too fowl for the fish, not welcome in the mess or around the campfire.

Yes, he made more money as a lieutenant than he had as a sergeant – not that that was too hard, the pay in the ranks was appalling – but most of that went on mess bills, on wine bills, on a dress uniform for formal occasions, on tips for the mess servants, on half a dozen other things that were spare change to the average gentleman but which were rapidly pushing Richard L'Escroc into debt.

I should have stayed in America. I should have stayed with Eliza.

That was not her real name. That was the name that the Christian missionary had given her when he baptised her, but her real name, the name that she had amongst her people… well, apart from the fact that he had trouble pronouncing it, there was also the fact that she didn't give it out freely. She had told him, one night as they had finished making love, but only after a while had gone past, after she trusted him. It was… a sacred thing, almost, that she had given him when she told him her name, and so he didn't feel right using it to talk about her, or even to think about her. To the world she was Eliza, or 'The Needle', 'La Aguja' in Spanish, the name that she had been given by the frontier settlers whose task she made a lot harder as she raided the forts and towns of as the white men tried to push north up from Mexico, and west from Louisiana.

To the world, she was those things; to Richard's heart, she was… a secret that his heart would keep to itself.

He should have stayed with her, across the sea. He could see her now, in his mind's eye: big brown eyes staring at him, long black hair, soft like silk, draping down across her body and resting on his chest. He should have stayed with her. As part of their war with the rebellious colonists, Prince Eugene had made treaties with the native tribes, promising peace between them, an end to westward expansion, settled boundaries. How long that was likely to last Richard L'Escroc couldn't say – he was sufficiently cynical to think that it wouldn't last forever, especially with the way that His Highness had decided not to put the boot into the rebels once they finally surrendered, but to make nice with them as well – but for now, it lasted. He could have gone with her, lived among her people; and if the peace didn't last, well… he didn't have such love for Armorique that he would have objected to fighting against it when the peace broke down.

Instead, he had come… home, in part because the army was his home, the only home he'd ever known, and the idea of learning how to hunt buffalo and skin cougars had been a learning unnerving to him, not that he'd ever admit it. And partly because he'd planned to sell his commission, maybe make a little more money fighting for the Empire in their war, plunder Bourdeaux or some other Aquitainian city, and then go back to America a rich man, rich enough to buy land, to build a house where they could live, to make a refuge for them, even if the peace did break down.

Except he couldn't do that, as it turned out, because what the King had given him, he could not give back.

It seemed to Richard L'Escroc as though most of what the King had given him were problems, including this latest one: guard the princess.

What was he supposed to know about guarding princesses? What, was he supposed to live in a palace now like some periwigged ponce, bowing and scraping, pretending that he didn't hear them laughing about his accent, his origins, his… everything?

On top of that, well… he just didn't know about the princess. He was… worried. Half the newspapers wrote about Princess Cinderella like the sun shone out of her every orifice, the other half didn't have a good word to say about her. She was a champion of the poor, or she cared more about foreigners than about her own people; she was kind to everyone she met, or she destroyed whole families because she'd taken a disliking to them. Rumour was that she'd had General Gerard's brother exiled for looking at her funny – although General Gerard didn't seem too bothered by that, so maybe the rumour was wrong – and that worried Richard L'Escroc most of all, because… because one of the things about Princess Cinderella that everyone could agree on was that she was beautiful, and L'Escroc… he had always had trouble not looking at a beautiful woman. It was a weakness of his.

He didn't want this. It was the last thing that he wanted.

It was something that, since it had been thrust upon him, he wanted to make a success of it.

Richard L'Escroc did not like to fail. He didn't like to lose. There was a part of him that wanted to run from this job but there was another part of him that wanted to be the best bloody royal guard that there had ever been.

And so he marched towards the palace gates, a musket slung across one shoulder and a heavy cuirassier sword, a straight, brutal butcher's blade of a weapon, worn at his hip, with him keeping one hand on it to keep it from shaking side to side as he marched.

A pair of Guards Fusiliers stood on, well, guard at the gates, and L'Escroc found himself wondering where they'd been during the war. Some of them had gone to America, but others had stayed behind, and had a very cushy time of it indeed.

They stood to attention as he approached, but also moved to bar his way, which he had acknowledge was an impressive combination.

"Name, sir?"

"L'Escroc," he said. "Second Battalion, the Saint Malo."

"Right, sir," one of the guards on the gate said. "Sergeant?"

The sergeant emerged from out of the gatehouse, carrying a list in one hand. He saluted. "Name, sir?"

"Lieutenant L'Escroc, Sergeant," one of the guards told him, saving L'Escroc from repeating himself.

"L'Escroc, L'Escroc," the sergeant murmured, as he examined his list. He looked up. "Very good, sir, go right ahead."

L'Escroc grunted in affirmation, then walked through the open the gateway – the guards made way for him, and crossed the wide open courtyard towards the palace proper. His boots thudded upon the stone, there was little other sound, not even birds.

He reached the palace, climbing the steps – there was carpet on them, so his boots didn't make so much noise – to the enormous doors, which were high enough for ten men to stand on one another's shoulders, where there were more guards waiting, a whole company of them standing in two files lining the walls.

Many of them looked at him like he was a bad smell.

L'Escroc bristled. Yes, his jacket was a little bit frayed and patched in places, and his high boots and bright red trousers weren't regulation issue – he had taken them off a dandy American cavalry officer after he shot him – and the trousers were patched and mended too, but he had been one of the first to land at New Orleans, he had gone through the breach at Vicksburg, he had saved His Highness' life, what had these men done that they deserved to look down on him?

Bastards.

Again, he gave his name, and this time he was led into the palace – it was so big! Why was it so big, the people who lived here were no bigger than anyone else?! – down long corridors and past old vases and paintings that seemed to glare at him from down off the walls like they didn't think he deserved to be here, either.

A lesser man would have got lost, the way the corridors twisted and turned like they did, but L'Escroc felt as though he had a pretty good idea of where he was being led, and that he could find his way back to the doors if need be.

He wasn't sure how much help that would be since he couldn't find anywhere else in this place, but at least he wouldn't be completely lost. He could find his way back, if nowhere else.

Eventually, he was brought – having gone in an east-north-east direction, if he had his bearings right – to the bottom of a set of stairs that looked, from this angle, as though it went up very high indeed. He guessed that it led up to one of the enormous towers that were impossible to miss when looking at the palace form outside.

They looked about as steep as a breach and a lot bigger. He did not relish the thought of climbing up and down them every bloody day.

There was an officer at the foot of the stairs, wearing the blue and white uniform of the Fusiliers of the Guard, and a soldier wearing the green jacket of the Chasseurs of Horse.

"Lieutenant L'Escroc, sir," announced L'Escroc's guide, a slight sniff in his voice.

Bastard.

"Thank you," the officer murmured. "You can go now."

The soldier saluted, then turned on his heel and began to march away, back to his post.

The officer approached L'Escroc, holding out one hand. "Lieutenant Jean Taurillion, Second Battalion Fusiliers of the Guard, at your service."

L'Escroc hesitated for a moment. This officer looked a fair bit younger than him, it made him feel old just looking at his young face, with long brown hair framing it. L'Escroc remembered what His Highness had said, about the man he was replacing, how he'd been a street urchin before he'd got this job.

Evidently he hadn't had to join in the ranks, like L'Escroc had. He'd been made an officer right off the bat, lucky sod.

Mind you, it didn't look as though his life had all been good luck; he might be babyfaced but his youthful good looks were not so good anymore courtesy of some bloody nasty scars on his face, like he'd chewed up by stray dogs. Maybe he had been, the streets of Armorique's cities could be rough if you were poor, however it had happened he didn't look as pretty as he would have done otherwise.

L'Escroc was no stranger to scars himself, he had one on his cheek that made him look as if he was smirking all the time, but he had been told that it gave him a certain devilish air.

The only thing this lad's scars gave him was an air of having had his face chewed on.

It was enough to get through the chip on his shoulder a little bit as he reached out and took the lad's hand. "Lieutenant Richard L'Escroc. Second Battalion Saint Malo Regiment."

Jean Taurillion nodded. His grip was gentle, not too firm. He took his hand away. "It's a pleasure to meet you. Apparently you're a war hero."

L'Escroc snorted. "I did what had to be done."

"I'm told you saved Prince Eugene's life."

"As I said," L'Escroc replied. "I did what had to be done."

"I'm grateful," Taurillion said. "Her Highness would have been utterly broken hearted if His Highness had fallen. I'm sure she will express her own gratitude. Either way, I'm glad that the princess will be left in the hands of a hero when I'm gone. Her safety means a great deal to me."

"Does it?" L'Escroc asked.

"You sound surprised," Taurillion murmured.

"Not everyone would care, once the job was done," L'Escroc replied.

"I don't think it's possible to simply treat guarding Her Highness as a job," Taurillion said. "To know the princess is to love her, and to guard her is to spend time with her is to know her."

"Then why are you leaving?" L'Escroc asked.

Taurillion paused. "I… am getting married," he said. "It has been pointed out to us that we can't make a home or raise a family here in the Queen's Tower while serving Her Highness so… I must entrust her safety and security to you."

L'Escroc thought about Eliza, his Pawnee wife with her big brown eyes. I should have left to start a family with you. "I wish you good luck, then. When's the wedding?"

Taurillion chuckled. "Honestly, we're not quite sure. We're a little behind on making the arrangements. Fortunately it gives me time to help you settle in." He paused. "So, welcome to the guard of Princess Cinderella, lieutenant. This is Trooper Dumont Gaheris, one of my men – one of your men, as will be."

Trooper Gaheris stood to attention. "Sir."

"Trooper?" L'Escroc asked. "That's not Guard Cavalry uniform."

"No," Taurillion said. "My men were seconded from various units, foot and horse – horse to accompany the Princess on carriage rides, mainly. Sergeant Bourgogne is Grenadiers of the Guard, and both the Perimon brothers are Fusiliers, but other than that they're all line troops."

"Why?" L'Escroc asked.

"I… don't know," Taurillion admitted. "Prince Eugene and General Gerard – Colonel Gerard, as he was then – made the arrangements, I was simply given command."

"I see," L'Escroc muttered. "How many men?"

"Sixteen," Taurillion said. "One sergeant, three corporals, five other ranks horse, eight other ranks foot. I tend to station one man here at the bottom of the stairs, one man on the door of the Princess' chambers, one man accompanying Her Highness when she is not in her room, and two more men patrolling the tower. When Her Highness is out of the palace then she is accompanied, as necessary. Often I will accompany her, or stand guard at her door."

"Because you don't trust your men?"

"Because she is my charge," Taurillion declared, quietly but firmly as well. "If anything were to happen to her it would not be my men's fault but my own. And because…"

"Because to know her is to love her," L'Escroc muttered.

"Indeed," Taurillion said. "Are you a kind man, Lieutenant?"

"Kind?" L'Escroc repeated.

"Her Highness has need of kindness," Taurillion said. "She has not always been treated as gently as she deserved."

"I'm here to protect her, not to be nice to her," L'Escroc said.

"What will it cost you to treat her kindly, nonetheless?" Taurillion asked. "Why should you be rough with her?"

"Nothing, I suppose," L'Escroc admitted. "Can I meet the men?"

"Of course, but you should present yourself to Her Highness first," Taurillion said.

L'Escroc cleared his throat. No getting away from it, I suppose. "Of course," he said, in an almost growl.

"Follow me," Taurillion said, and he started to climb up the stairs.

L'Escroc followed him.

As they climbed, Taurillion looked over his shoulder. "Did you really save Prince Eugene's life in battle?"

"Aye," L'Escroc said. "It was a battle. His horse fell. I was the only man nearby. Anyone would have done the same."

"And anyone who saw a man with a gun about to shoot the prince and princess as they came out of the church would have tried to stop him," Taurillion replied. "But I did. And you did. We may as well be proud of it."

"Really?" L'Escroc asked. "Is that how you got this job then? Saved the Princess' life and then you got up in charge of protecting her permanently?"

"Something like that, yes," Taurillion said. He stopped, turning and looking down the stairs at L'Escroc. "In addition, I have protected the princess from three more attempts on her life, and there was another from which… I could not protect her."

L'Escroc's eyes narrowed. "Which one gave you those scars?"

Taurillion closed his eyes for a moment. "That was the fourth. A bear, I… it's all a little complicated. Suffice to say that I was left with a token of the creature's esteem. But her highness lived, unharmed, that is the important thing." He bit his lip. "I don't tell you this to boast, but to make sure you understand that this is not a ceremonial position, this isn't a position you can take lightly. This is serious. Her Highness has enemies and you must be vigilant against them."

"What kind of enemies?"

"I hardly know where to start," Taurillion muttered. "Republicans, fantasists, madmen, jealous nobles… it is not easy, being the princess."

"I suppose not," L'Escroc muttered, rubbing his jaw with one hand.

"You understand now why His Highness chose you."

"Aye," L'Escroc said. "I'm beginning to understand it. Can I ask you something? About Her Highness?"

"I would rather not address gossip and rumour," Taurillion said.

"General Gerard's brother-"

"Had that coming, and much more," Taurillion declared. "And that is all I'll say on that and if you are kind you will not speak of it again either. Treat Her Highness fairly and she will do right by you, I guarantee it."

"Right," L'Escroc replied, and they resumed climbing up the stairs.

It was every bit as long a climb as it looked from the bottom, but at least nobody was shooting at him on the way up. It was peaceful, as peaceful as it probably ought to be considering it was the tower up to the princess' room in the palace of Armorique.

There was, just like Taurillion had said, a guard on the door into the highest room in the tower, who saluted as they came up the stairs.

"Corporal, this is Lieutenant L'Escroc, who will be working with and eventually replacing me," Taurillion said. "Lieutenant, this is Corporal Lamond Adragain."

"Sir."

"Corporal," L'Escroc said. "What regiment?"

"First Battalion the Saint Michel Regiment, sir; Princess' Own Chasseurs of Foot."

"Princess' Own: very steady and appropriate," L'Escroc said.

"Is the princess inside?" Taurillion asked.

"Yes, sir," Corporal Adragain said, and stepped aside.

Taurillion took a half step forward, and knocked on the door.

"Your Highness? May I come in?"

There was a moment without a reply, before a pretty young girl with soft brown hair and equally soft brown eyes, wearing a dress that was some shade of green, appeared in the doorway.

"Good morning, Lieutenant," she said softly. "Good morning…"

"Mademoiselle Gerard, allow me to present Lieutenant L'Escroc. Lieutenant, allow me to introduce Mademoiselle Marinette Gerard, one of Her Highness' ladies in waiting."

"Waiting for what?" L'Escroc asked.

Marinette chuckled. She had a very pretty laugh. "We wait on the princess, Lieutenant."

"Richard," L'Escroc said. "Richard L'Escroc. Are you related to General Etienne Gerard?"

"His sister," Marinette said. "You know my brother?"

"We've met, yes," L'Escroc said.

"Is Her Highness inside?" asked Taurillion.

"Yes," Marinette said. "But she's with Philippe, and he's sleeping. So be quiet."

"We won't be long," Taurillion promised.

Marinette backed inside, and Taurillion led the way into the most elaborate bedroom that L'Escroc had ever set eyes on. He'd known houses smaller than this! And with less furniture! All these carpets! And was a tiger skin!

The sitting room into which Marinette brought them next was even bigger, and even more full of chairs and settees. He could hardly believe that people lived like this.

But when he saw the princess he could believe that here was someone who deserved to live like this.

Richard L'Escroc was no stranger to beautiful women. Eliza was beautiful. Katherine Devnent, whose brother had tried to kill him in New Orleans, was beautiful. Helene Duvoir, the loyalist spy, was beautiful. But the woman sitting on the settee in front of her would have stunned at the range of a Pennsylvania rifle.

She was radiant, and the white dress that she was wearing only added to the effect. The pearls gleamed around her neck, and the sapphire sparkled.

She was beautiful, luminous, and married woman or not probably untouchable to anyone less than a blue-blooded royal, and as something that he wanted but could not have, L'Escroc began to dislike her.

She had a boy sitting on her lap, asleep, leaning against her, his unconscious hands resting on her arm, his head on her chest.

"Jean?" the princess asked. "And who is this?"

"This is Lieutenant L'Escroc, your highness," Jean said. "He will be taking over my duties, after my marriage."

"I see," the princess said softly. She held out one white-gloved hand. "Forgive me if I don't get up, Lieutenant, but I don't want to disturb my son."

The boy looked a little old to be her son, but clearly he must be mistaken about that. He stepped forward, and took her hand, kissing it. He held onto his hand maybe a second or two longer than he ought to, enough that the princess started to notice, before he let it go.

"What's your name, Lieutenant?" the princess asked.

"Richard, your highness."

"Richard," the princess repeated. "May I call you Richard? I prefer not to stand on ceremony, not though you'd know it from the way that Jean treats me."

"You can call me whatever you like, your highness," L'Escroc said.

"Thank you," the princess said softly. "And thank you for saving my husband's life. I owe you a debt that I can never repay."

L'Escroc found that all he could think about in that moment was that he wished he had let His Highness die. Not really, but… almost. "It… it was nothing, your highness," he muttered.

"No, Richard, it was everything," the princess said. "And now you're going to be protecting me? I do hope I don't cause you too much trouble."

"It'll be no trouble at all, your highness," L'Escroc said. "I'll protect you, from anyone or anything. You have my word."