“Hey, princess.”
Fleur turns to look at me over her shoulder, a pursed, happy quirk pulling at her lips. “Hey.”
“What are you up to?” Traipsing to where she’s sitting, I perch myself on the window ledge.
“Nothing,” she replies with a long sigh.
I notice the way she snaps her sketchbook shut, holding it to her chest as she puts the thin charcoal down on the desk beside the window. A silver jewellery box sits on it, roses etched all over it, and a small black velvet pouch rests on the lid.
“Nothing?”
“I guess I’m trying not to die of boredom.” She pauses with a deep-set furrow to her dainty-featured face.
Her eyes are a warm shade of brown that glows a deep amber in the sunlight. Like molasses, they’re rich and shiny. Captivating, just like her.
“I can’t stop thinking about him, and it’s really hard to hold it together when they want to know so much and I know so little.”
“You know the important parts.”
“I know my father crossed Francis and…he must’ve done something really fucking bad, but I don’t know what. And I wish that I’d paid more attention to what was going on around me before, but I only realised that shit was going down when it had already happened.”
I’ve never seen her so sober to the world. She looks as though she’s aging right in front of me. It’s not a bad thing, but I don’t like it. Her innocence and naïveté is refreshing.
“Do you know what he did?”
“Some.”
“Will you tell me?” Dropping the sketch pad to the floor beside her armchair, she crosses her legs as though she’s getting ready for story time or something.
“Why didn’t Casper tell you?”
Her hands mould to her belly with her fingers threading over her navel. The bump looks a bit different. It’s more of a heavy-bottomed pear shape than a rounded melon.
“He didn’t want me to get stressed and get sick again. He was there to protect me while I focused on incubating. It sounds stupid, I know, but those first five months were awful. I was always sick and…and I suppose it made me seem weak. Maybe? I don’t know.”
“Weak isn’t something anyone can think of you. Stroppy, bratty…for sure, but weak? No.”
“Well, then I can handle anything,” she says, stretching from side to side before bowing backwards.
With the wool dress she’s wearing, there’s not much left to the imagination. I have to look away to avoid an awkward situation. Fuck, who knew pregnancy could look that good on a person?
“You can tell me everything.” Brushing her damp hair behind her ear, she looks up at me. Pleading, rounded eyes framed by a thick forest of lashes.
“I don’t know everything.”
“What do you know?” She shrugs.
Maybe I should’ve gone straight to the kitchen because telling her anything is a bad idea.
“Casper wanted to protect us, but he’s not here now, so it’s down to me to protect her. I can’t do that if I don’t know what’s coming. What’s been and gone, and what will come. Please.”
“I’ll make a deal with you—I’ll tell you what I know about Charles, but one, you can’t let it get to you. None of it is your fault, and there is nothing you can do to change what’s happened. Understand?”
“Yes.”
“Two, you and I are going to get out of here for an hour or so. The grounds are safe, and you can’t lock yourself in here. Confinement isn’t a thing anymore.”
“Confinement?” Her laugh is beautiful as it trills from her lips, her entire body vibrating with it. “Yeah, I’m not in confinement.” Fleur stands.