Ch#86
We strolled through the marketplace, which had begun to wind down as evening deepened.
The vendors at their booths were utterly absorbed by the fountain spectacle, oblivious to a cloaked figure and his petite companion slipping past.
At the outset, I tossed out casual remarks—the enticing aroma drifting from that stall, perhaps, or that merchant giving us a knowing glance, how appealing that signboard looked. Loic responded with mere curt nods or murmured words, his stare locked unwaveringly on my face.
He was typically reserved. Even when I fastened his cravat and our gazes accidentally crossed, he’d avert his eyes in an instant. Yet this evening, whenever I gestured toward a shopfront, his attention darted there for a split second before snapping back to me. That unrelenting focus left me flushed, and I fell quiet.
Then there was his grasp. Ordinarily, he clasped my hand with a gentle looseness. Tonight, though, his broad palm enveloped mine in a firm, unyielding hold, anchoring me in place. The heat radiating from his skin, the insistent pressure—it quickened my pulse, sharpening every sense to that single point of contact.
The distant roar of cheers and clapping from the throng faded into a dull haze.
After a stretch of wordless progress, we arrived at the market’s far edge, where stacks of supplies loomed in the gloom.
“Shall we turn back?” I ventured.
Loic hesitated, his eyes fixed on the dim trail ahead, as though tempted to venture deeper into the woods. At last, he grumbled, “The market’s shorter than I expected.”
A hint of regret colored his tone.
“We can return another time,” I replied. This entire domain was his, after all—he could visit at will.
Suddenly, a child’s wail pierced the bushes nearby.
Loic pressed nearer to me at once. The sobs intensified until a pair of youngsters burst forth, twigs clinging to their garments. Spotting us, they dashed forward.
“Mommy!” they wept.
A boy and a girl, clearly brother and sister. Loic’s eyes flared wide at the sight of the little girl.
“Annette.”
His fingers clenched around mine with anxious force.
“It’s fine,” I assured him, easing him protectively behind me. “Give us some space.”
I knelt down. “Where’s your mother?”
“Sh-she…” The girl sniffled. “…lost the ball…”
They must have pursued it too far afield.
“Hush now. I’ll help you find her,” I murmured, stroking their heads to comfort them.
Loic stood frozen, uncertain, his gaze pleading silently for guidance.
“Wait here. I’ll fetch a vendor to summon help from the estate office,” I instructed.
His eyes flickered with unease. “So I’ll be alone…?”
“Only briefly.”
“…Fine.”
The children, soothed at last, eyed him with innocent curiosity.
“Are you frightening, sir?” one piped up.
Loic fell quiet for a beat, then dragged a hand across his hidden features. “Go on,” he urged me.
“Even if he seems scary, just stay put, all right?” I told the pair.
Suppressing a chuckle, I took their hands and guided them toward the closest stall.
Loic tracked our departure with the children, then fidgeted with the nape of his neck.
Was this ordinary unease simply from the absence of her touch?
No. Normalcy had deserted him long ago.
With a sigh, he slumped against a nearby trunk. Festivals had always eluded him; he’d shunned crowds of his own subjects. Even as he funded academies and shelters for the vulnerable, he’d never crossed their thresholds.
Exposing himself struck him as indulgent—anyone drawing close risked peril.
But now he wandered outdoors amid the masses, driven by a singular motive.
Annette.
She explained it all.
‘When had it begun?’
He shut his eyes. Memories surfaced: her slender yet resolute fingers yanking his cuff, striding forth with bold assurance, as if whispering, Trust in me. I’ll keep you safe.
Her bright tresses whipping in the wind, that valiant silhouette—it unleashed emotions he could no longer suppress.
When she glanced over her shoulder, framed by the market’s glow like a saintly vision, time itself seemed to halt.
Was it conceivable to harbor such intensity for another soul?
Her presence ignited a torrent within him: worship, remorse, thankfulness, agitation, delight. Seeing her tend to him warmed his core, though it bred avarice—he craved that devotion exclusively for himself.
Her blue eyes mirroring his image sent him soaring, yet dread clawed at him lest they wander away. Her fragrance, her heat, the zephyrs toying with her locks—he yearned to seize each ephemeral instant, but they slipped through. The longing stung.
And still… bliss enveloped him.
Bliss—a sensation he’d deemed forever beyond reach.
He squeezed her delicate hand harder, haunted by the specter of its loss. Had she not proposed retreating, he might have trailed her blindly into the thicket.
Watching her now, tenderly consoling the little ones, he mused: She’s endlessly compassionate.
But his faint smile dissolved. Inevitably, she’d depart. She wouldn’t remain his duchess. Youthful and radiant, she’d wed another.
Would she adjust that man’s cravat as well?
Crack! Wood splintered beneath his vise-like hold.
No.
His teeth ground together.
No one else would do. She mustn’t beam at another, clasp his fingers, nurture him this way. Never. Death seemed preferable to such torment.
For Annette, only he could suffice.
Because…
I love her. I love Annette with a madness that consumes me.
The revelation seared his veins.
Until this instant, he’d cloaked it as mere fondness for a benevolent spouse. He’d convinced himself her solace merely soothed his woes, that his desire for her company stemmed from base self-indulgence.
But it ran deeper. Infinitely deeper.
Her nearness illuminated his hours. Her hand in his banished the chill. Since her arrival, shadows of night terrors had evaporated.
Truth be told, who wouldn’t adore Annette? She was crafted for devotion. Suitors were inevitable.
For others, perhaps. But not for him.
Her independence—borrowing funds rather than leaning on him—stole his sleep. Word of her peril blanked his thoughts. He’d sensed it buried within.
Perhaps from that inaugural glimpse: her poised in his chamber, aglow in lunar light.
Reflecting, he uttered a wry chuckle.
Self-deception had ruled him, feigning detachment. Yet the reality had persisted.
Concealment was impossible now.
Loic released a burdened breath.
What path lay ahead?