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Un malheur ne vient jamais seul. Misfortune never arrives alone. —French proverb
I sighed ruefully at the memory. He had the most beautiful amber skin. And such a tight little ass.
Thick lashes framed eyes the precise color of the sea. Eyes that currently regarded me with unabashed shock. Shit. My hand shot to my mustache, which dangled off my face from the fall. Well, it’d been a valiant effort.
“I suggest we postpone this conversation. I don’t fancy being roasted on a spit tonight.” “You wouldn’t roast,” I muttered as we resumed our stroll. “You’re not a witch.” “No,” he conceded, nodding thoughtfully, “though it would be useful. I’ve always thought it unfair you females get to have all the fun.”
Her face lit with recognition when she saw me, and she lifted her good hand to her forehead in mock salute.
“I know the scripture.” “Then why silence my truth?” “You talk too much.”
Our respect had once been mutual. But that was before the envy.
“If this woman is to be my wife,” he said, swallowing hard, “you will not touch her again.”
Petit à petit, l’oiseau fait son nid. Little by little, the bird makes its nest. —French proverb
“You’re my wife now, whether we like it or not. No man will ever touch you that way again.”
He really was too tall. Abnormally tall. Entirely too big for this small of a space. I wondered if he had some sort of disease. My eyes cut back to his chest. Probably.
Lou glared at him. “I like you, Ansel, but this had better be something good. Emilie and Alexandre just had a moment, and I swear if they don’t kiss soon, I will literally die.”
With my death, the king’s line also would’ve died. All his heirs, legitimate and bastard, would’ve ceased breathing with me. One life to end a hundred years’ worth of persecution. One life to end the Lyons’ reign of tyranny.
She pushed me back down in my seat, attacking my hair as if it’d personally offended her. When I tried to wriggle away, she whacked me on top of the head with her brush. “Be still! These rats have to come out!”
Coco grinned wickedly and pinched Ansel’s backside in response. He yelped and leapt forward, whirling mutinously as the guards snickered behind us. “That wasn’t funny.” I disagreed.
“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, but you need to look in the mirror. There’s a special circle in Hell for liars and hypocrites, Your Eminence. Perhaps I’ll see you there.”
“‘Do not urge me to leave you or turn back from you.’” He trailed his fingers down my arm in slow, torturous strokes. My head fell back on his shoulder, my eyes fluttering closed, as his lips continued to move against my neck. “‘Where you go, I will go. Where you stay, I will stay.’”
I looked between the two of them again, noting the identical shade of their blue eyes. Holy hell. My heart sank to somewhere below my ankles. I’d stared into Reid’s eyes long enough now to recognize them in another’s face. Madame Labelle was Reid’s mother.
“I love you, Lou.” Then he was gone.
C’est cela l’amour, tout donner, tout sacrifier sans espoir de retour. That is love, to give away everything, to sacrifice everything, without the slightest desire to get anything in return. —Albert Camus
Gone was the man who had claimed to love me. Now, there was only the Chasseur.
“You—Reid, you also made an oath to me. You’re my husband, and I’m your wife.” His hands dropped to his sides. Defeated. A spark of hope flared in my chest. But then he closed his eyes—seeming to collapse in on himself—and when he opened them again, they were void of all emotion. Empty. Dead. “You are not my wife.”
Do not urge me to leave you or turn back from you. His words stabbed through me with each step. Where you go, I will go. Where you stay, I will stay. I won’t let her hurt you again, Lou. I’ll protect you. Everything will be all right. I love you, Lou. You are not my wife.
Never again never again never again. “It’s time to come home.” This time, I welcomed oblivion.
“Thy blood is the price.” She caressed my throat longingly. “Your womb is empty, Louise. You are the last of my line. It’s almost a shame . . .” She bent down, brushing her lips against my scar. Déjà vu swooped sickeningly through my stomach as I remembered Reid kissing the same spot only days ago. “I think I would’ve enjoyed killing the huntsman’s baby.”
I wanted to cry—to cry and rage and burn the Chateau and all its inhabitants to the ground. They’d claimed to love me, once. But then . . . so had Reid. Love. I cursed the word.
“And what of me, Maman? Did you ever love me?” She frowned, her eyes more black than green in the darkness. “It matters not.” “It matters to me!” “Then you are a fool,” she said coldly.
If this agony was love, perhaps Morgane was right. Perhaps I was better off without it.
I’d never laugh with Coco again. Or tease Ansel. Or eat sticky buns at Pan’s or scale Soleil et Lune to watch the sunrise. Were there sunrises in the afterlife? Would I have eyes to see them if there were?
“I’m sorry, Manon. I never meant for anyone to die. When it—after it happens—I—I promise to look for Fleur in the afterlife—wherever it is. And if I find her, I’ll tell her how much you miss her. How much you love her.” Her tears fell faster now, and she clasped my hands between her own, squeezing tight. “Thank you, Lou. Thank you. I’ll never forget what you’ve done for me. For us. All of this pain will be over soon.” All of this pain will be over soon. I longed to sleep.
Though I hardly dared to hope, my heart leapt at the revelation. She smiled cruelly. “Yours wasn’t among them, Louise. It seems he’s washed his hands of you.”
Of course I do not love you, Louise. You are the daughter of my enemy. You were conceived for a higher purpose, and I will not poison that purpose with love. Abomination. The Lord thy God doth drive you out before me. You are not my wife.
Beau gave them a roguish wink. Everyone ignored him.
She smoothed her skirt, impatient. I scowled. Apparently, near-death experiences made my mother irritable.
“Reid, you have magic.”
“But there’s no such thing as a male witch.” The words fell flat, unconvincing, even to my own ears. A sad smile touched her lips. “Yet here you are.”
“Why the fuck is everyone in this kingdom trying to murder my wife?”
Reid was here. And he was a witch. And—and he’d just said fuck.
“We’ll talk later.” Coco rolled her eyes, but her grin only widened. “Do me a favor and get out of earshot this time. I have no desire to overhear this particular conversation.” I waggled my eyebrows. “Or lack thereof.” Madame Labelle scrunched her face in disgust. “And that is my cue. Cosette, lead on, please, and do be quick about it.”
“Where you go, I will go.”
Beau scoffed. “My father will have her head on a pike when he learns what she’s planning.” “And mine,” I said pointedly. “Probably.” Definite ass.
