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“No. I have taken your hand in marriage, that is all. I will steal nothing more of you—this, I swear.” He turned her to face him, and to her shock, he dropped to one knee before her, clutching her hands. “I will not ask of you to give me your heart or your body, Marguerite…I will not demand these things from you. If you wish to give them to me, I am a pauper begging upon your doorstep, and I will praise your name until the day I am dust.”

She raised her eyebrow at him. “Have we found ourselves on stage without me noticing it? Or are you always this unduly theatrical?”

He laughed and bowed his head to her hands, kissing her fingers. “Perhaps a little.” He stood from the ground but did not release her hands. “You are home now, my princess. I hope this place becomes your salvation. I hope you come to love it here—and to love me. But I will not expect any of this from you.”

“And what if I do not come to love you at all? What then?”

His expression fell, and for a moment she regretted her words. She did not like to see him in pain. “I…if you truly could not…then…I would let you go. You are not my prisoner. This is no ivory tower in which I have locked you away. I would not have some fair-haired country boy coming to rescue—” He broke off, wincing as if she had slapped him, as he instantly realized his mistake.

Tears suddenly welled in her eyes. The first she had shed since the night Leopold had died.

My knight lies dead in his grave. There is no one to save me. All that I knew and loved is gone. And now I am here, and I am lost.

He gathered her up into his arms and led her to a nearby chaise lounge. He sat down, and for a moment she went stiff as he pulled her onto his lap, sitting sideways across his legs. He leaned back against the wall and held her to his chest.

They said nothing as she wept. He merely held her, humming some unknown tune, his voice deep and rumbling against her. The sound of it lulled her exhausted mind into silence.

Blessed sleep came for her, and it was a dreamless darkness.

I am lost. But I am not alone.

I must remember that.


Tags: Kathryn Ann Kingsley Memento Mori Fantasy