A shard of wood the length of her forearm protruded from the visor of his helm.
Her father toppled from his horse.
And in that moment, her life fell apart.
* * *
Marguerite satat the bedside of her father, swallowing down her tears.
He was dying.
She was only given a moment to be with him. There were many who wished to say their farewells to the king, and when all was said and done, she was an illegitimate child. Scooping up his hand, she kissed his palm before placing it to her cheek.
I will not weep. I will not. I will be strong for him. I will weep in private.
“Daughter of my love…”
Her will cracked at the sound of his voice, and tears loose themselves against her wishes. “I am here, father. I love you. I love you, and I am so sorry.”
“Why are you sorry? It is a beautiful day…look at how the children are playing in the yard, my love.” He stroked his thumb against her skin. He was blinded by the wood, and Doctor Faust said he was drifting in and out of awareness.
The large shard had punched through his left eye and gone into his brain, or so the physician said. She did not trust him, but in this…the proof was plain. His voice was thin and reeked of delirium. At least he was not in pain. For that, she would thank God above.
“Leopold will take care of me. I will be safe, and loved, and cared for. All because of you. I—I will miss you, every day of my life. I love you, and I will pray to God each day that you rest in Heaven with him.”
“Marguerite, oh, it’s you…I mistook you for your mother for a moment, forgive me. My mind—my mind is—not well. But I would know her anywhere.” His sallow features cracked in a weak smile. “You have her voice.”
“My…” And then she knew. She was a fool. An abject child for not seeing it sooner. Daughter of my love. It is not a kindness. It has been literal all this time. Catherine had refused to allow Diane de Poitiers to see Henri on his deathbed, a fact that made quite a stir amongst the servants.
Her mother.
Tears streaked down her cheeks again, and she kissed her father’s hand. “I love you.”
“And I, you…”
A servant touched her arm. It was time for her to go. She stood and, leaning down, kissed her father’s cheek under the bandage. “We will see each other again. This is not goodbye.”
He smiled wearily and muttered something about butterflies. Her heart cracked in half, and she kissed him one more time before leaving the room. She made it two steps from the door before she collapsed against the wall in hysterics.
A hand fell on her shoulder, and for a moment she wondered if it might be Leopold. But her fiancé had been sent from the grounds along with his father. While it had been an accident, it was not…appropriate for them to be there.
The hand on her shoulder was strong and firm, and she looked up—into the worried face of Johann Faust.
He pulled a handkerchief from the pocket of his robe and extended it to her. “I…am so very sorry for your pain.” His tone was soft and gentle. “He is in no pain, I promise you.”
Taking the square of fabric, she pressed it to her eyes. “T—” She struggled to breathe. “Thank God. Thank you, doctor.”
“Of course.”
When he took a step toward her, she caught the smell of herbs and petrichor that he carried with him. It dangled in front of her like she was a fish and he the lure. God above, what is this pull?
In the haze of her grief and agony, she finally recognized it for what it was. Desire. For all his overwhelming overtures of marriage in her direction, it seemed the attraction was not one-sided between them.
But now was not the time to consider such things. Even if his presence gave her a strange comfort. When he gently pulled her into his arms and into a consoling embrace, she shivered. There was such strength in his frame, she felt as though she could shelter from a thunderstorm beside him.
“All will be well, princess,” he whispered to her. “I promise you.”
When a servant suddenly fled the king’s room, a look of panic and anguish on his face, the alchemist went rigid. He looked down to her and stroked a tear from her cheek with his thumb. “I fear the time has come. Go, find the children. They will need your strength.”