Chapter Eight Part Two

“How are we supposed to stop it?" Thomas asked. "The declaration concludes with the warning that anyone resisting the transfer of land back to The Crown shall be imprisoned, and if still rebellious, shall be hanged!”

“That man… that evil thing planning to take the throne, murdered the King and tried to murder the Prince in cold blood,” Charlotte whispered. “Julien said—”

“So you have been given special dispensation to call the Prince by his name?”

Charlotte blinked and stared at him. “He insisted, Thomas, I did not want to upset him.”

“He sleeps now, would it upset him to refer to him more properly?”

“You are fixed upon entirely the wrong point!” Charlotte exclaimed, her voice rising again. Thomas gestured for her to step out into the hall and she followed, closing the door behind her. “We are faced with losing everything, and then what happens? Where are the people to go, what are they to do? No one here has the kind of money the Duke is demanding.”

“What are you suggesting?”

“We cannot allow the Duke to take the throne.”

Thomas laughed. “You almost sound serious.”

“I am deadly serious. That throne belongs to Julien, and—“

“He is in no position to claim it!”

“Better he should rule the people justly from a bed than that traitorous monster from the throne!” She stomped her foot for emphasis, and suddenly she heard her name being called from the other side of the door. “I must see what Julien needs.”

Thomas’s complexion reddened. Charlotte could not believe what she was seeing in his eyes. Could it possibly be jealousy?

“He calls you by name now, as well?”

“Thomas, be careful,” Charlotte growled, turning away and yanking the door open with one strong pull. “You tread upon very thin ice.” She closed the door between them, and Thomas sighed.

“But… I love you,” he whispered, staring down at the floor.

“She may never understand that,” a voice answered from behind him, and Thomas startled. There stood small, frail Marie Rousseau, with a cup of tea held in her outstretched hands. “Take this, my boy, and soothe your soul with it.”

He could not meet her eyes.

“I am her mother, and nearly as close to you as yours is, Thomas. Do you think I did not know how you feel about her?”

“I had hoped no one knew how I felt about her. Least of all Charlotte,” Thomas replied.

“But why?” Marie asked, as she again entreated Thomas to take the cup. He finally acquiesced. She looped her arm through his and led him back toward the kitchen. “How are things ever going to change for the better between you unless you risk telling her how you feel?”

“Things may change in a direction I do not wish if I tell her how I feel. I may lose the friendship with her that I treasure so. If she does not feel the same way about me, then nothing will ever be the same again.”

“You must tell her eventually.”

“I cannot,” he set the teacup down and shook his head before placing a gentle kiss upon the old woman’s cheek. “I just… cannot. What kind of life do I have to offer her?”

“A life where she is adored, that is certain enough to me. What else matters?”

“I shall never be a knight.”

“There is no shame in being the wife of a blacksmith.”

He suddenly felt as if he could not breathe, and moved to the door. “I can’t tell her, Madam. Please.” He hurried outside, gulping air in gasping breaths. He didn’t stop walking until he was in the stable, running a hand up and down old Beau’s neck to try to calm himself. “She doesn’t understand, boy. No one understands.”

The horse whinnied in response, and Thomas sighed. “Julien.” He closed his eyes, imagining again the sight of Charlotte’s hand on top of the Prince’s. “Now, there is Julien. What hope has an apprentice blacksmith?”

The horse offered no response at all.

“That is what I thought,” Thomas concluded, before finally remembering the proclamation of that day and realizing he had to hurry home to tell his mother, and warn old Rowan.

Something surely must be done, he thought. But what?

* * *

“Charlotte!” Julien cried out again as she rushed into the room.

“I am here, what is it?”

“The pain.”

“I cannot give you anything stronger without risk of injury at this point,” she said softly, pouring water onto a small cloth and placing it across his brow. “I’m sorry, Julien. Truly.”

“Then speak to me. Distract me, if you can. Tell me… what was all that, just now?”

“All what?” She offered him a sip of water but he turned his head away.

“Feigning ignorance is beneath you, My Lady,” Julien answered, and for a moment Charlotte’s stomach fluttered. Hearing herself called Lady was something she had only experienced once before, the night of the ball that turned out to be of no significance in her life at all. Hearing him say it here, now, felt much different than hearing the footman at the palace say it.

“My apologies, sir. It is only that you have enough pain right now, I do not wish to concern you with things you cannot change in the moment.”

“What kind of things?”

“Julien… ”

“Answer!” he barked, and at seeing her jump backward in surprise, he softened his tone. “My apologies. Tell me. Please.”

Charlotte realized this was a man not used to having to use that last word, though somehow it seemed in his nature to do so anyway. “As you wish. Word has arrived that the Duke has recalled all debts owed to The Crown to be repaid within a fortnight, or the land and all upon it reverts to the ownership of The Crown.”

“No.” He tried to sit up and moaned deeply; forced by the pain to remain in his reclining position. Charlotte hurried to place another pillow behind his head, and he nodded his thanks. “What will happen to your family?”

“We cannot pay, obviously.” Sorrow bled through every word she spoke. “Especially not with my mother’s illness. The costs of herbs and medicinal items she needs… the strain has been considerable.”

“And yet you give to me as if there is no limit to the resources at your disposal,” he marveled, glancing up at her with a sudden shyness. “I am not worthy.”

“You are the Prince!”

“I am but a man,” he replied. “Besides, you didn’t know that at the start.”

“No, we didn’t. But any man would be worthy of such regard, if he were to be cared for as God intended.”

“I am truly indebted to you, Charlotte.” As she swept past the bed he reached out and once again caught hold of her hand. “There is the cost of medicine and bandages and all that your family has borne for me, but there is something deeper, something so much more upon which no price can be put.” He stared at her intently, in a way that made Charlotte’s cheeks flush.

“I have only done what I ought, sir. Please, speak of it no more.”

“Where are my boots?” he asked abruptly, changing the subject and puzzling Charlotte.

“I fear there was only the one left upon you when we found you, and it had to be cut off to free your broken leg.”

“What became of the buckle?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“The buckle on the boot. What became of it?”

“It appeared valuable, so I saved it for you.” She tugged herself free of his grasp, reached into the top drawer of the nearby dresser, and retrieved it. “Here it is.”

“It is valuable. Pure gold, Charlotte, and solid at that. Those buckles were a birthday gift from my mother. Dear God in heaven, Mother!” Julien turned paler than he’d been before, though Charlotte couldn’t have imagined that was possible. “What has become of my mother, pray, tell me please? Do you know? Please tell me no harm has come to her.”

“No harm beyond the blow of losing her husband and son in the same day,” Charlotte replied sadly. “By all reports she is still observing a period of mourning, sequestered in the castle,” she hesitated. “As is your betrothed.”

“My betrothed.” He thought for a moment, the memory not easily returning to him. “Oh yes, of course.” He looked ashamed now, somehow, and reached to pull the blanket at his waist up higher over his chest. Still, he refused to remain focused on that subject, he had something more pressing he wished to say. “Take the buckle to your friend. You said he’s apprentice to the blacksmith?”

“Yes, Thomas is.”

“Then have him melt this down into a small bar, and use it as payment to settle the debt on your land.”

“Surely, there isn’t enough gold here to do that.” She felt the weight of the buckle in her hands and then she realized, yes, it was true: one of the Prince’s boot buckles was worth enough to settle her family’s entire future. For a moment, she felt sickened by the excesses of royalty, while the people suffered and slaved on so just to put food on their tables.

“We cannot accept this, the gift is too generous. Besides, it will raise suspicion. How would we ever come into possession of such an amount of gold?”

“Then have him make it into smaller portions and pay some this week and the rest the next. Mix it in with any small pieces of silver you may have to melt into coins, if any, to give the illusion you scavenged everything you could to raise the funds,” he suggested. “Pay the last just in time to secure this place for your family, it will be less likely to draw suspicion.” Suddenly he was short of breath again and closed his eye, in obvious distress.

“You have spoken too much,” Charlotte warned. “Rest now, and I will consider this incredible offer. It seems to me that we have bigger problems, however.”

He did not answer, and she realized he had again passed out from the pain. She gently brushed back a lock of dark hair from his brow, so it would not stick in the salve upon his skin. At least, that was how she justified the gesture to herself.

“Oh, Julien,” she sighed. “How are we ever going to get beyond the treachery at work here, and return you to your rightful place?”

“It must be done.” Charlotte looked over to see her father standing at the door. His complexion was the color of ash; clearly, he had either spoken to Thomas or overheard enough to be as certain as Charlotte was of their guest’s identity. “Somehow, by the power of the people and with the help of God in Heaven, the Prince must be returned to claim his birthright.”

Charlotte grasped the boot buckle tightly in her hand and closed her eyes. She thought of how dearly Julien spoke of his mother, and said a silent prayer for the poor Queen, so deep in mourning and with no idea that her son was, even as she wept for him, under the tender watch of caring souls.

“Have you heard the news? About all debts being recalled by The Crown?” Walter asked his daughter. Slowly she opened her hand and held a gleaming item out toward him.

“From that particular evil we are delivered, Father. You will not believe me when I tell you by what means.”