7
Gideon smiledas he saw Marguerite sitting on a log in a forest clearing. He had trekked out to find her, after learning that this might be where she had been disappearing to every day for the past two weeks.
Three days. Three days, and she would be his wife.
She would be his.
It was approaching the end of September and his favorite season—when life hovered on the edge of death before surrendering to winter. It was very much a state that he himself was arrested within. Neither truly living, nor dying. Perpetual autumn. It was perfect.
He would have to find a way to do the same to her. He did not intend to let her wither and die like the flowers in their way. Nor did he wish to keep her as a revenant. He did not want her subservient. He wanted her by his side.
She sat on the log, facing away from him, her foot nudging a small rock around on the ground in front of her. He thought perhaps she had simply left the palace for the need of fresh air, but as he saw the look on her face, brows furrowed and full lips drawn down into a frown, he knew he was mistaken.
Instantly, he felt concern. What could he do to cheer her? Disappearing into the woods for a moment, he found a small grouping of white flowers. Daisies. Perfect. He plucked a few and headed back to her. Hiding them behind his back, he made certain to snap a twig as he approached.
No need to frighten the deer needlessly. He did have a terrible habit of walking silently.
She looked up, her eyes shining in hope. He smiled.
The hope died.
He frowned.
She wishes I was someone else. And he knew precisely who she wished to see in his stead—that damned fool child Leopold! He may have rid them both of his physical presence, but it seemed he would have a far more difficult time removing that bastard from her heart.
Jealous rage snapped over him like a crack of lightning. What he would not do for Marguerite to look at him like that. How he knew she would if he were that child instead. He shoved the anger from his mind. He did not wish to frighten her. Settling his expression into one of morose concern, he walked slowly to her side.
She did not recoil from him, but she pulled her legs closer to herself and cast her eyes back down to the ground. “Good afternoon, Dr. Faust.”
Her words twisted a knife in his gut. Sitting beside her, he held the flowers in his lap. The act felt foolish now. “You may call me Johann. We are to be wed this week.” He held the daisies out to her.
Carefully—as if she were a deer interacting with a wolf—she took the flowers from him and smiled sadly down at them. “They’re beautiful, thank you.”
“It seemed the least I could do.” They fell into silence for a long moment. He reached out and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear and was rewarded with a flinch. She did not pull away, but it was clear the touch was not entirely welcome. He dropped his hand to his side and sighed.
I know you do not wish to be my wife. I know you are only seeking shelter from the storm. But oh, how I wish you could see how much I adore you. How much I love you, and will love you, until the end of all my days.
And I have plenty.
He did not say the words. They, like his touch, were not welcome. “I have been wondering where it is you disappear to every afternoon. I finally had to bribe a maid to tell me your secret.”
That made Marguerite chuckle. “It isn’t a secret. You just scare them.”
“I cannot imagine why! I am perfectly amiable, affable, and quite handsome.” He huffed in false indignancy. “I cannot help the color of my hair or my skin.” I can, but…it is extremely uncomfortable.
“I believe you share that affliction with many in this world—being judged by your appearance. I do not doubt it to be true. But in this instance, I believe it is your demeanor that unnerves them so. You are a bit intense, Doctor—” She paused. “Johann.”
Soon, you will know my true name. I will reveal myself to you, and my wedding gift to you shall be the whole world laid at your feet.Again, he kept that to himself.
“Hm. I suppose.” How he wished to touch her again. How he wished to pull her into his arms, kiss her, and perhaps even love her here in the grass under the blue sky. But her thoughts were not on him. “You are waiting for Leopold.”
A statement, not a question.
She nodded. At least she did not do him the indignity of attempting to lie to him. “We met here several times a week. He would train me with a sword.”
“Oh? My Marguerite can fence?” He grinned.
She laughed. “No. I cannot. A decade and a half of practice, and I’m still more liable to hit a tree or my own legs than my opponent.”