Turning from the room, he could not help but grin. There was no doubt in his mind of the outcome. He would win the girl’s heart.
Marguerite would be his.
* * *
Marguerite hated attending evening events.But at least she had good company in her hopefully soon-to-be husband. Her evening took a rather swift and unexpected turn, however, when someone called her name.
“Marguerite—” someone called from across the room, interrupting her conversation with Leopold. It was the stern voice of a woman that she recognized quickly. It was hard not to. She was the queen, after all.
Quickly and without hesitation, she moved to stand before Catherine de Medici and curtsied low. “My queen.”
“I wish to introduce you to an associate of mine.” She gestured at a man beside her, garbed in long black robes. “You may have seen him around the palace, I believe, as of late.”
Yes, she had seen the man before. And every time he had given her a strange chill. Often, she had seen him lurking in the shadows of the great hall or watching her from the darkness. She had heard whispers that the queen had business with an alchemist, but she didn’t dare listen to them. Listening to gossip about the queen was a good way to lose her limited favor.
Nor had she ever dared to get this close to the stranger. Now, she found herself regarding him in full—and he, her. It was as though she had been pinned to the spot.
He was tall and broad shouldered. He was young, perhaps in his early thirties, and handsome with sharp, striking features. But that was not what caught her by surprise. It was the nature of those features that left her speechless for a moment. His hair was long and pure white, like freshly fallen snow. His skin was toned like those perhaps from southern Spain or Portugal. And his eyes…they were metallic silver. They watched her with matched fascination.
“This is Dr. Johann Faust, arrived from service to the lordships in Germany.” The queen’s expression became coy and amused. “I believe he would like to dance with you this evening.”
Her face went warm at the suggestion, and she found herself staring at the man who looked very distinctly unlike any German she had ever met before. Stammering shyly for a moment, she finally managed to curtsy to the strange man. “It would be my deepest pleasure, my lord.”
He chuckled, a deep rumble that seemed to find its way inside her and twist about like snakes. She could not tell if it was a pleasurable sensation or a deeply unsettling one. Perhaps it was both. “I am no lord, my Lady Marguerite. Merely an itinerant servant, providing my knowledge where I can.”
He reached for her hand, and she gave it to him after a moment’s hesitation. He bowed, kissing her knuckles, and the warmth of her cheeks increased. His silver eyes never left hers, and they flickered with something strange and frightening. When he spoke again, his voice was lower, like the rumble of thunder. “And the pleasure is all mine.”
She swallowed the lump in her throat. “I—” She hesitated. Quickly, she realized she did not know what to say. She was spared the silence as the other guests began to take their spots on the floor. Faust led her to take their own positions. Glancing nervously at Leopold, she discovered he was not even paying attention, but engrossed in a conversation with a friend.
She was on her own.
With a man who was smiling at her quite like he meant to devour her. There was a heat in his silver gaze that kept the warmth on her cheeks. She knew she was blushing, and she did not know why. Men had looked at her in lust before—she knew she was not an unattractive woman. But no one had ever gazed at her quite like that.
As the music began, she focused on the steps, and not the molten silver eyes that never wavered from her, even as they turned and changed partners in the rotation of the dance. Each times their hands touched, it was like something crackled between them that she did not understand. By the time the music concluded, she felt dizzy and overly warm, even in the winter chill of the palace.
She curtsied to him, quickly mumbled an excuse that she needed some fresh air, and fled without looking back. Finding a large door halfway down the corridor away from the ballroom, she pushed it open and stepped out onto the stone landing, grateful for the blast of cold air. Usually, she hated winter. But this time, she was glad for the temperature drop.
Pressing her hands against the frigid marble railing, she took in a deep breath and slowly let it out.
“My lady?”
She jolted, shocked at the voice, and turned to see who had spoken to her. Silhouetted against the candlelight from inside, she saw the figure of Johann Faust. He stepped outside and lowered the hood of his eccentric black robe.
“Are you quite all right?” His voice was deep and smooth, and she shivered. She did not know if it was from him or the cold.
“I—I—” She stopped her useless stammering, forced herself to take a breath, and began again. “Yes, forgive me. I did not mean to be so rude. I think the warmth of the room went to my head.”
“I was merely worried.” He took a step closer. The smell of rich herbs and something else wafted over her as he approached—almost like petrichor. How odd. She could not dwell on it for long as he smiled, and there was such tenderness in his expression that it struck the thought from her mind. “I will not bemoan the chance to speak with you outside the din of the hall.”
“Oh?”
“Yes.” He took another careful step toward her, and soon she was looking up at him. He was tall. She thought perhaps it was an illusion created by his stark black clothing against the opulently painted walls of the palace. She was of shorter than average stature, yes, but he was still impressive—and a little intimidating. “I hope you do not think me too forward, my princess.”
“I am not a princess.” She chuckled and took a step back. He answered it with another step forward in turn. “I fear you are mistaken. My mother is not the queen.”
“I did not say a princess.” He reached down to scoop up her hand, and she watched, helpless in her surprise, as he kissed the back of her knuckles once more. “I said my princess. And that you are without any shadow of a doubt.”
Now it felt as though her face was ablaze. She took another step back, straight into the marble railing, and squeaked in surprise. He did not release her hand as he dropped it to their sides as he stepped even closer to her, the heat of his body now warring with the cold night air.
“Sir, I—”
“I fear I must apologize to you. I beg you to forgive me, but I have no other recourse for that which I am about to undertake. There is only one path laid out before me, and I am helpless but to walk it. And I only hope I can convince you to walk it with me.”
“Wh—what path is that?” It was a struggle to keep air in her lungs. She felt as though she were drowning—in him. Like he was some great dark lake, threatening to pull her under. His touch felt strong and sure, both things she had lost the moment he arrived. She felt lost, floundering at the surface, afraid to sink beneath, knowing she might never return if she did. Still, something in him called to her in a way that scared her even more than his overwhelming nature. Something that sang to a part of her she did not know existed.
As if he could see her thoughts play out before him, his molten silver eyes sparkled as he smiled, wry and devilish. “I believe, my princess…that I will have you as my wife.”
Marguerite fainted.