Leopold quickly looked away as Bertie’s gaze met his stare.
“Yes. Yesterday. Just in time for the…ceremony.”
“Celebration,” Bertie supplied quickly. “Itisa celebration, Hazel. Peace has returned to the land. Félicité is well pleased, and Revanche shall have his due. What a day! Such blessings! Such joy!”
I wanted to nod, but it was too hot to make the effort.
Far above, along the walls surrounding Châtellerault, a cannon fired, signaling that something was about to begin.
Bertie nodded toward the older priest before looking at me. His thick, segmented eyebrows were drawn with a look of contrition. “I’m so sorry to run. Our visits are always too short.”
“You’re not watching from the box?”
He shook his head, his smile twisting with pride. “No. Théophane has given me a different task for the day.” He beamed, his eyes bright with a zealous gleam. “A great honor, actually. Such favors! Such good fortunes! I’m to be Revanche’s hand of—”
The high priest cleared his throat and my brother flushed.
“I must go, Hazel. But I’ll see you later on. After,” he promised.
“After,” I echoed, feeling confused. “Will you be at the ball tonight?”
Though it seemed an unlikely excursion for a member of the Fractured, he nodded, then hurried off, disappearing into the crowd. I turned my attention back to the stage, more than ready for the whole dreadful affair to be over and done with.
“I can’t recall it ever feeling this hot in spring before,” Leopold said, suddenly at my side. “Such blessings. Such joys.”
I laughed at his monotone delivery, a flicker of flirtation rising in my chest. It was a feeling I’d never expected to experience again, not after Kieron, and certainly not for Leopold. But it shimmered through me anyway, like the furtive darting of a butterfly.
I knew I ought to ignore such feelings, knew Marnaigne wouldn’t approve, but they felt too good to push aside so easily.
And besides, the king appeared to be in a most forgiving mood.
“It’s terribly crowded here, don’t you think? Perhaps there will be better breezes over here,” Leopold suggested louder than necessary before taking my elbow to lead me to a quieter corner of the box. “How was Papa, when you saw him this morning? Truly?”
“Very…agitated,” I admitted. “His emotions were swaying from one high to another, like a pendulum. He needs to rest after all this is over. His nerves are…frayed.”
He nodded.
“And you?” I prodded. “How are you today? Truly?”
If he noticed my echo of his question, he didn’t show it.
“I’m…also agitated, I think. Part of me—the one who was on the front for all those months, the one who was in the trenches, in the rain and the muck and the cannon fire—is pleased, knowing a very real and dangerous threat will be put to an end today. The other part of me is sad. Sad for so many reasons.”
I wanted to tell him. I wanted to tip King Marnaigne’s hand and let Leopold know that his father would be choosing mercy. I wanted to say anything to take that terrible look of remorse from his face.
But I’d promised the king.
“Were you two particularly close?”
“No,” he reflected. “And now I’m losing the chance to ever get to know him, to have anything to do with him. Papa has so many stories of him before…before he left court. Baudouin is the older of the two, did you know that?”
I shook my head.
“By many years. He was born my grandfather’s bastard, but for a time it seemed as though he would someday take the throne. My grandmother…she had quite a lot of trouble conceiving.Baudouin lived at court then. He’d been given a strong education and the finest horses. Grandfather brought in the very best instructors to teach him how to fight and ride, how to strategize and dance. He’d been raised as if he was a prince in his own right. But then Papa came along.”
“And that’s why Baudouin claimed to have more right to the throne,” I realized slowly. “He was first. He’d grown up believing he’d become king.” I frowned, thinking of how many innocent people had lost their homes, their families, their very lives, over a slighted brother’s wounded rage.
Leopold chewed on the side of his lip thoughtfully. “For a time, they were close. It wasn’t until my mother had Bellatrice that the cracks began to show. Grandfather was still alive then, but unwell. I suppose seeing how close Papa was to inheriting the throne, seeing him start a family, seeing the next generation of heirs that would push him farther down the line of succession…it was just too much. He and Papa quarreled, and then he was…gone. Till now.”
