“You said I had to sign the papers for our future. That it was very important to you.”
He nodded. “Yes, for our future. It is very important to me that I be free to marry Marie-Victoria. Eleanor was quite insistent that the royal wedding should go off without a hint of scandal, of tarnish. She and her Merlin would never have welcomed me into the palace otherwise, certainly not with open arms. I don’t know what I would have done then—continue the war, most likely. And then where would we be?” he mused. “Do you know—we were about to surrender when the Pandora gave us our victory? We were so close to defeat—so close! We had hardly a pawn to play, even in the peace negotiations, as I was already affianced—and marriage was off the table. But I told them you would sign it, that you only wanted to make me happy, and you didn’t fail me. You were brilliant, weren’t you, my sweet French nightingale,” he said as he nuzzled her cheek.
“I still don’t understand—how is this important to our future?”
“Isn’t it obvious? With all the riches of the empire at my disposal, I will take care of you forever. Don’t you worry—my sweet Isabelle will have everything she wants for the rest of her life.”
It was as if she could not understand English. His words were like hailstones. She could not make them out because her head was buzzing too loudly, sending warning signals. She could not quite believe what she was hearing. “Wait a minute, what do you mean…? Do you mean you are actually going to marry her? You are going to marry Marie-Victoria?”
“Of course.”
Isabelle felt her cheeks burning hot, and suddenly realized she was very, very naked. She had never felt more vulnerable in her life. She was in bed with a boy who was not her fiancé anymore. “But what about us?” she squeaked. She sounded just like a stupid little mouse. She wanted to slap herself. What had she done? What had she done?
Eleanor was quite insistent that the royal wedding should go off without a hint of scandal, of tarnish. And they would never have welcomed me into the palace otherwise, certainly not with open arms. I don’t know what I would have done—continue the war, most likely, and then where would we be? But I told them you would sign it, that you only wanted to make me happy, and you didn’t fail me.…I will take care of you for the rest of your life.
She put her hand on his chin and turned it, so he had to look at her directly. “What do you mean, you will take care of me?”
“You will want for nothing, I assure you.” He gently took her hand away from his face and kissed her on the forehead. His lips, which had been so soft just a moment ago, were now dry and papery. She was suddenly revolted by his touch.
“But Leo—this—this cannot go on—you cannot mean…” she sputtered.
“I will marry Marie-Victoria and become king of the empire. But do not worry your pretty little head. I promise you that nothing has to change between us. You will continue to meet me in my room when I call for you, and I will make sure you are by my side at every occasion. We will always be together like I promised.” He put his head on her bare shoulder and kissed her neck. His lips traced a path to her breasts. She felt him pull the sheet away from her body to make his intentions clear.
“But you will be married!” she said, protesting against his kisses.
“Little nightingale, why should my marriage change anything between us?”
You will be by my side at every occasion, never far from me.…You will come when I call for you. Then she realized what he was saying, what he was proposing, and finally she saw the s
hape of the future he had intended for them, even as he kissed her skin and put his hands all over her body.
She wrenched away from his grasp. Her voice was low and hoarse. “You mean to make me your mistress?”
His head on her bare stomach, Leo murmured, “Aren’t you already? I have always taken care of you, have I not? Like a proper gentleman? Have you wanted for anything? I have seen to it that you have one of the best houses in the square, that your wardrobe is the latest from Paris. I have even sent you my magician to make your jewels sparkle.”
She was Isabelle of Valois, Lady Orleans; she was the rightful Queen of France. She told him she would never debase herself in such a manner, but he only looked amused. Her words sounded hollow, even to her.
“My dear Lady Isabelle, nothing changes. My love for you remains as strong as ever,” he said, taking her hand and showing her. “On the night of the royal ball, you will meet me here, in my bed. You will wait for me. On the night of my wedding, I will come to you, and prove that I am as good as my promise. You must not be seen—but then, you are good at that, aren’t you? You have always been good at keeping secrets.”
She felt her cheeks turn scarlet. It was true. She had seduced him from the beginning. She had thrown herself at him, flirted with him madly when he had come to Orleans that winter. But it was he who had insisted. It was he who had forced her into taking the next step.…And it was too late, now, to take it all back.
When Lord Hartwig and Leo had arrived in Burgundy that winter to meet with Hugh, the Prussians were still at war with the empire and things were not going well for them. Louis-Philippe guessed they were calling on their old allegiance, to ask for aid and soldiers.
The moment he entered the castle, Leo fixed Isabelle with a look. “So, you are to be my bride,” the handsome young prince said as an opener, showing he was well acquainted with the agreement between their families. Isabelle would be lying if she did not admit her heart raced from the moment she saw him. This tall and handsome boy, who had come right up to her and claimed her. She would have swooned if she could have. He was her future—the one who would take her away from the sadness of her past, as well as her disgusting cousin.
Later that afternoon Leo whispered in her ear over tea, “My rooms are in the east tower. Meet me tonight. My man will let you in.”
She had done it. She met him in his room that evening. At first, they were just talking and holding hands; he was whispering in her ear, and he poured her something to drink. The next thing she knew, he was all over her, untying the stays in her corset. She pushed him away, weakly, asked him to stop. But it was like her arms were made of lead; like she couldn’t say no at all.
“We are to be married,” he said. “We are doing nothing wrong.” And he kissed her hard on the mouth, and his tongue was down her throat. “You are mine,” he said. “Pretend it is our wedding night.”
And because they were to be married anyway, and because she could not think straight, and because he was so handsome, and because she was so thrilled to know he was so enamored of her, that he wanted her so much…and because she just couldn’t say no, not once, not ever, could not form the word, no matter how many times she was screaming it in her head…he took what he wanted.
Afterward he kissed her on the forehead, as if to apologize. But the next day he had asked her to meet him again, and the next day, and the next. All that month before he left for Lamac, she met him in his room in the dark of night, and she fancied that she was in love: in love with the boy who was just as in love with her, and who was to be her husband.…
But he was not to be her husband.…
Not anymore…