Dreams of the Necromancer (Memento Mori 2)

They went their separate ways after a little more small talk, and she looked up to see the doctor shaking his head lightly. “Poor woman.”

“Hm? What do you mean? He seems like a lovely young man. And brilliant, by the way he speaks.”

“Oh, there has not been a more brilliant surgeon to grace this city. Sadly, he—ah—how shall I say it…does not dally with women.”

“Ah.” It was easy enough to put two and two together. “No, then I say pity for her is misplaced.”

“How so?”

“She will spend her evening enjoying the company of a brilliant young man. He will spend his life hiding from the public eye those he loves. He deserves your remorse, not her. She will go on to marry, and he will know that he must love in secret, lest he be ousted. He will never dance on the floor of this gala with someone he cares for.” It was heartbreaking to think about and made her shockingly angry at the state of the world.

“You are quite right. I stand very much corrected.”

“Love should be free of the laws of men. I can only pray that society someday comes to see this obvious fact.”

“Hear, hear. A toast, then. To the hope that someday, mankind will waken from its slumber and let those poor souls like Antoine Louis love in public as the rest of us are allowed.” They brought their glasses together with a quiet tink, and she drank to his toast happily.

Even if it did bring up a concern that had been nagging at her for some time. “Dr. Raithe?”

“Yes?”

“Why have you brought me here this evening?”

He turned her toward him and tipped her chin up with the press of a finger. “What are you asking me?”

“I—certainly your evening could be better spent with a young woman of standing and value, not—”

“Shush.” He cut her off abruptly. “We shall have no talk of that this evening. We are here together, Ms. Marguerite, because to me…you do have value.” He turned his gaze out to the crowd beside them and scowled. “Love should be free of the laws of men. And so should it be free of the perceived value of those without. I care not if you are secretly the Queen of France or if you are a penniless pauper.”

Her face went warm again. “Dr. Raithe, do you mean to imply that…”

He smiled sadly. “Yes, Ms. Marguerite.”

She felt faint. It was suddenly so very hard to breathe in her bodice. She moved to a column to lean against it and steady herself.

“Have I upset you? Forgive me. I did not intend for this to be how this evening transpired. I simply wished to assure you that you were not at my side as some sort of some sort of cruel pity.”

“No, no, I am not upset. Merely surprised.” She reached for his hand, and he took it, stepping close to her. “It is not unwelcome, simply unexpected. I—I fear I do not know what to say.”

His painted expression of a skull cracked in a relieved smile. “I do not expect a reply until you are ready to give it. But know that the day you choose to answer me, I will be on my knee at your feet if you wish for it to be so.”

Oh. “If this was the magical spell you wished to show me, then I think you have dazzled me appropriately.” She chuckled weakly, astonished. “Dr. Raithe, I believe I would like to dance with you this evening.”

He bowed at the waist. “I would be honored, princess.”

Princess. She was no such thing, she was certain. But perhaps to him…she was.

Marguerite smiled.

* * *

Marguerite screamed.

She ran from the home as fast as she could. Her ballgown tangled around her feet, but she did not care.

Monster.

He was a monster!