“Then Leopold is a terrible instructor.”
“Perhaps. Or merely a patient friend.” She looked off into the woods and sighed. “My home is no longer my own. Now that Father is dead, I…am not welcome. The children shun me, as they follow the lead of the queen. Only young Henri still sneaks away to speak with me.”
“That boy is of his own mind and no one else’s. He will be a force of nature when he has come of age. Far more so than Francis. I fear for that boy’s longevity.” Gideon shook his head. “He is not long for this world.”
She nodded gravely. It was not a surprise to her, nor anyone, that the newly throned King of France would die young.
“I am sorry that you have been cast out so. I heard that your rooms have been moved. The queen should not be so cruel.”
A lie. A terrible, terrible lie. Oh, Catherine de Medici was incredibly cruel. And it did not take much for the queen to find the inspiration to drive Marguerite from the palace. But all the rest of it—renouncing the marriage to Leopold, distancing the young girl from her family, even pushing her into a smaller bedroom in the wings of the palace?
That was by his design.
The queen merely needed the suggestion of a direction in which to move, and the wrathful woman was eager to take revenge on the representation of the love that the former king never held for her. But it was the words from his mouth that made it all take shape.
Someday, he would confess his schemes to her. Someday, perhaps a hundred years from now, when she was immortal like he, loved him, and would be certain to forgive him. Once she understood the depths of his love and devotion, certainly she would forgive him.
Masterminding the death of her father, however?
Perhaps he should take that to his grave.
But what he was sorry for, and what made him frown in sympathetic pain as he watched her, was how she suffered. Soon, though, it would all be over. Her suffering would cease, and she would know true happiness as his wife. The thought of it improved his mood. He reached out to stroke her hair and shifted himself closer to her side. “He is gone, Marguerite. I am sorry. But Leopold has abandoned you.”
I commanded his father to kill him as soon as they were off the palace grounds, and then find a grave in which to inter them both.
Leopold is dead, Marguerite. And he is dead by my design.
Another fact he would take to his grave.
She cringed and lowered her head. “I know. You must think me such a child. But he is the closest friend I have. I—I miss him. I wanted to save him from his terrible future, and I—to not see him at my wedding? It will hurt.”
“What you were willing to sacrifice for him was noble beyond measure, Marguerite. You were willing to martyr yourself for your love of him. For that, I cannot speak of how highly I respect and admire your loyalty to him.” He gently stroked her hair again. He heard her sniff, and she wiped at her eye with the back of her hand. “But your sacrifice is no longer needed. He has been removed from the court, his father is disgraced, and I highly doubt Leopold will be pressed into marriage any longer.”
His suitors are now the maggots who eat his flesh. They are the only companions he will ever need again.
She sniffed again, and he shushed her. Pulling her into his arms, he was pleased when she didn’t recoil, even if she did go stiff. But slowly, after a moment, she finally relaxed against him. Kissing the top of her head, he held her.
“I am frightened.”
“I know. It’s all right. But you are safe with me. This I vow to you.” He lowered his voice as he spoke, and he felt her sink deeper into his embrace. She wanted him—the desire was thick in her eyes when he had kissed her before. And when he spoke to her, quiet and deep, it put her nearly in a trance. “I love you, Marguerite.” When she went to reply to him, he shushed her. “No. It is all right. I want nothing in return that I do not already have.” He tipped her chin up to look at him. “I know you do not love me. How can you, during all this upheaval? I must earn your heart. And I shall.”
“Oh?” She arched an eyebrow. “You are so certain of it?”
“I am a very stubborn man.” He smirked. Bowing his head, he kissed her. It was hardly the forceful, passionate thing he had given her when she had agreed to marry him. But it was enough to ensure that he left her just a little breathless, and her cheeks just a little pink. Releasing her, he stood and ran his hand over her hair one last time. “It is nearing dinner. Come, we will be late.”
She cast a forlorn glance out at the clearing again, as if she did not wish to say goodbye to it, and what it represented.
“In three days’ time, we shall leave this place and never look back.” I will make sure of it. “You will start a new life with me—and in that place, you shall want for nothing. You shall have all you desire…and you will choose who you wish to become.”
“You spin a beautiful fantasy, Johann. It is tempting to allow myself to believe you.”
He huffed again in mock insult and tugged on the collar of his tunic. “I am a magician, my lady. An alchemist of the highest order. The world is mine to command. And soon, I will be your servant.”
She laughed quietly, smiling up at him. The tenderness in her eyes made his heart hitch in his chest. When she spoke, her tone was far lighter than it had been before. “Forgive me for mourning what I have lost, for I have lost everything I have known. You are patient and kind with me, and for that I am very grateful.” She reached a hand to him, and he took it eagerly, helping her stand.
“Oh, Marguerite…” He bowed to kiss the back of her knuckles and began to lead her from the clearing. “Do not apologize, and certainly do not thank me.”
For you do not know what I have done to have you.