Chapter Fifteen

Charlotte stood before the mirror in the hall, assessing her appearance one last time.

She wore a new dress; one made of better materials than anything she had ever owned, the fine uniform of a newly-appointed ladies’ maid. She also wore a sword strapped to her hip beneath her cloak.

She heard the telltale sound of Julien ambling near on his crutch and one good leg, and she stood perfectly still as he moved in close behind her.

Days of planning, plotting, and hoping would all come down to this: her ability, and Thomas’s, to follow the plan Julien had approved to the letter, and then get out of the palace as quickly as possible with their missions accomplished.

He pressed his face into the back of her hair, inhaling deeply of her scent in a way that made Charlotte’s knees feel weaker than the thought of marching into the palace and declaring war itself could have done.

“I am still opposed to this idea, My Lady. With all my heart I am opposed to it,” he whispered. “If anything should happen to you…”

“Then your life will proceed according to plan, and I will have died for the cause of right,” she said, unafraid. The look upon his face was reflected to her in the glass. Clearly, her words were too much for him to bear.

He buried his face in the nape of her neck. “Do not say such a thing, please,” he whispered. “Don’t you realize I would be lost without you?”

She slowly turned and placed her hand beneath his chin, lifting his gaze to meet hers. “You must marry her, Julien,” she replied, and the sorrow in her own voice at the statement surprised her. Even if he did have real feelings for her, and even if the feelings she thought she had for him were real as well, as far as she could see there was no possible future for them. “You are meant to be King Tristan David Julien Georges, and she is meant to be your queen.” Despair rose in her voice and she tried, in vain, to control it. “Don’t you see? We were lost before we began.”

He leaned closer to her and kissed her again, this time the same way he had the first. Passionately; his hungry mouth stealing her words away. He teetered upon his crutch and she put her arms around him tenderly to steady him, but did not return his kiss.

He looked at her with such conflict, and affection, that Charlotte felt her heart would never recover from the sight of it. Surely, no one else would, or could, ever look at her quite the same way after all they had been through together. Surely she could never feel for another man what she knew now, for certain, she felt for this one.

“You do not kiss back, as you have before,” he lamented. “Was it out of pity that you did at first? Because least of all things I want in this life is your pity.”

“No!” She refused that idea. “What I feel for you is nothing of that sort!”

“Then why not kiss me the same now?”

“Another kiss as before, and tell me, sir, how could I bear to leave your side?”

“Come back to me, Charlotte, and everything I have will also be yours. I want to ma—“

“I beg you, do not say it, Julien. Do not torment yourself, wishing for things that cannot be.”

“Tell me, then, if you can, that you feel nothing when we are close, as we are now. If my kiss stirs no flame deep within you, I swear I will never bring up the subject again. I shall thank you, and be grateful for, the friendship you have so dearly bestowed upon me.”

Charlotte bit her lip. She couldn’t lie to him, and her countenance betrayed her heart before she could prevent it. Still, he wanted to hear her say the words aloud. He pressed for them, risking all.

“Tell me, if you can, that you do not love me too.” He brushed the unscarred side of his face against her cheek, then his lips over her neck. The sound of his rapid, shallow breathing made her tremble. Her tears fell down onto his skin, bitter and stinging with salt.

“I cannot,” she answered at last.

Julien’s lips grazed her cheek and moved along her jaw, then pressed just near the corner of her mouth before he kissed her fully once more. Charlotte was too overcome with longing to do anything but return his affection.

“Say the words to me, once,” he asked, when he finally let her breathe. “Just this time, please, I pray. Give the words as a gift to hold on to during your absence, and whatever may come after.” In his way, he was admitting he also had doubts his dreams for the future could come true. “Just once.”

So uncertain was she that she would return from her errand alive, she stood upon her toes, tilted her face up toward his ear, and did as he asked.

“I love you, Julien.”

She heard the sound of someone loudly clearing their throat nearby and looked up to see Thomas, his cheeks burning as bright as the hottest summer sun. He averted his eyes. “We must go, Charlotte. Time is our enemy.”

“Would that it were the only enemy,” Julien interjected, trying to place himself squarely between Charlotte’s embarrassment and the glare Thomas was giving her.

Charlotte rushed from the room and outdoors without looking back at either man.

Julien’s expression changed as he watched her disappear. His attention turned to the man who had saved his life, and to whom he must now entrust that of the woman he loved. “Be careful, Thomas, and please, do your best to watch over her.”

“I have done so all my life, long before she ever met you. I shall continue.”

Julien ignored the venom in Thomas’s voice and spoke evenly. “Godspeed.”

Thomas nodded and turned, but stopped and growled softly when he heard Julien call after him once more.

“Keep her safe and I swear to you, a knighthood—and all the honor that accompanies it—will be yours.”

“You can keep your damned ceremonial titles, Your Highness,” Thomas dared reply, emboldened in the moment by his anger at seeing Charlotte’s arms around the Prince. “I would die for Charlotte, because I have loved her since I was too young to understand what love meant. I expect no reward for it other than she shall continue to live a life where she is loved, as she is.”

“As she is,” Julien replied, before repeating softly, “Godspeed.”

His eyes misted over as he looked out the window and saw the pair disappearing into the distance on horseback; Charlotte riding Beau, and Thomas riding Rowan’s borrowed horse, Jacques.

Walter entered the cottage and was tearful as well, having just watched his daughter and the man he always viewed as a son ride off into definite danger, and perhaps certain death. “What are your instructions, Your Highness?”

“We must go ahead with the plan now,” Julien whispered, choking back emotion at the thought he may never see Charlotte again. If the pair were discovered at the palace for who they really were, and for what purpose they were there…

His jaw set with resolve. He would not allow himself to think, even for a moment, that he would not hold her in fully healed arms one day, and kiss her as she was pronounced his wife and future queen. His heart was set upon it now, he could stand for nothing less.

He turned his attention to Walter. His voice was grave and soft as he added a final declaration: “There is no turning back, and we cannot fail.”

Silence settled between them, and Walter made one small request. “Please, sir, might I take a moment? I wish to kneel and pray.”

Julien felt a lump rise in his throat, and he nodded to Walter. “Only if you will aid me in also getting down to the floor, as well, so I might join you.”

The old man spread a blanket upon the floor before the fire, and he helped the young Prince down, for the first time since the loss of his left leg, into a penitent position on the ground.

Walter bowed his head and prayed softly, and all Julien could do was lower his eyes and pray one sentence again and again.

Please, dear God, protect her.