5
Gideon slippedthe needle-sharp blade between Gabriel de Lorges’ ribs. He did always hate stabbing a man in the back, but it was just simply so much more efficient when his victims did not see it coming. It made it less traumatic for them as well. Or perhaps that is simply what he told himself.
It did not matter.
One.
Two.
He held the man’s throat in the lock of his elbow as he counted the seconds, waiting for the moment when de Lorges’ heart ceased to beat. The man barely even moved. He certainly did not struggle, his mind instantly entering a state of shock. His body knew it was already too late, with the vital organ skewered through. The thin blade was otherwise nearly imperceptible. He would barely even feel it.
Three.
Four.
Gabriel de Lorges’ was captain of the king’s guard. Of course, he would be hearty and strong. But there was no stubborn resilience that could best death. Not like this, at any rate. He smirked to himself as it finally happened. On the count of five, the man died.
And in the very same instant, he resurrected him. Tethered the severed soul back to the flesh that had not even staggered or fallen to the ground. Gideon pulled the blade from the man’s back and wiped the smear of crimson from the nearly invisibly thin blade on a cloth before tucking it carefully back into its sheath.
The longer a soul experienced death—the longer the body was left to rot—the less human the subject appeared to others. But if the flame of life were arrested just at the moment it ceased to be, the illusion of it was flawless.
The captain turned around to face him. There was a flicker of momentary confusion on his face, but it quickly faded. “Yes, my master?”
Gideon smiled. “You will refer to me as Dr. Faust while in public. You will defer to me only in private instruction. All shall appear to remain as it was. Do you understand?”
The revenant bowed his head. “Yes, Master. What shall you have me do?”
Murder your son. It was tempting—so tempting—to say those words. It would be such an easy solution to his immediate problem. But it would be a rash act, and likely to fall apart at the seams.
“For now, you shall wait. Continue on as you always have. When I am in need of you, I will make it known.” Gideon turned from the revenant and walked away without another word. There was no purpose in being polite to his undead creatures.
And he was in a foul mood.
Killing Leopold would not be any guarantee of securing Marguerite’s hand in marriage, even if it would satisfy his hatred and rage. No, he would need to play his cards carefully. And the best way to do that was to ensure he held the entire deck.
That was not to say he did not have a plan. Quite the contrary.
As he approached Catherine’s quarters, he motioned to the guards who stood at the door to open it for him. “I must speak to the queen on urgent matters.”
The guards were already his revenants. They did not bat an eye as they knocked, announced that “Dr. Faust” was here to see her, and waited for the reply. When Catherine replied for him to enter after a pause, they opened the door for him.
He entered, knowing his anger was clear on his face. He did not care what she might think of it. If she learned to fear him, all the better.
The queen was sitting on an upholstered bench, a book in her lap, looking quite startled. “Dr. Faust, I did not expect you…”
“No. You did not.” He tilted his head down slightly, using the shadow of his hood to hide his features. He wished to look as terrifying as possible in the moment. “Marguerite has refused my proposition. It seems her hand is already taken by another. She has already given her vow to Leopold.”
Catherine sighed. “And I’m sure that lovesick fool of a husband of mine agreed to it?”
“The contract has already been drawn and signed by both Henri and Gabriel.” It is also now in my pocket. He had stolen the signed contract of marriage from Gabriel as he had slipped the blade into the man’s heart. It was the only formal proof that Henri had agreed to Marguerite’s wish, and it would be an important tool for him.
“I am sorry to say that there is little to be done, then. Henri keeps me out of all state affairs. He barely listens to me when I speak. His heart belongs to de Poitiers, and he has never been subtle over that. We are both out of luck.”
“Perhaps…perhaps not.” He walked to the window, turning his attention out to the winter fields below. “Did it ever occur to you that Marguerite may be the daughter of your husband’s favorite mistress?”
“Of course.” She huffed. “It is obvious. Why else dote on the girl so? Why make such a childish promise that she could marry for love, when it is clear he was denied the opportunity?” He heard Catherine slam her book shut. The loathing was painted deep in her voice. “Damn him and his infidelity. Damn that harlot. And damn the spawn of their sinful coupling.”
“Careful the words you speak, my queen. Calling damnation down upon your enemies is not a deed to be done lightly.” He turned to her again. “Especially when one such as I am in your presence.”