Ë̤S̤̈T̤̈Ë̤L̤̈L̤̈Ë̤ P̤̈Ä̤C̤̈Ë̤D̤̈ the room, the gears in her mind spinning non-stop.

   The man had started with 'the'. Which means the person has a title. Who could it be? And how on earth were they able to get inside this fortress? It is the most heavily guarded castle in Troyes, even more than mine, for goodness' sake! How were those bloody Martinians able to get in? 'Tis impossible!

   "Votre Majesté," the Physician called out and Estelle, at once, snapped out of her thoughts and rushed over to Rafael's side. She grabbed his hand tightly in hers, willing him to open those lovely, hazel eyes of his. If she would have known earlier, she could have never torn her eyes away from that entrancing mix of colours in his eyes. She would have cherished every time they had sparkled, every time an unidentified emotion flitted past them and every time they had reduced to nothing but delicious hazel goo every time he gave her that look. The look that spoke about multitudes of volumes that Estelle hadn't yet been able to decipher.

   "How is he, docteur?" she asked, her tone sounding feeble despite her efforts to appear strong. The Physican's face had been intense, but at the moment, it broke into a smile.

   "Don't worry, Majesty. He is going to be alright," said he and Estelle very audibly sighed. "However," the Physician began and Estelle's heart chilled.

   "Aye?" she answered, her eyebrows furrowing and her voice once more shaking.

   "The stab on his neck is very tender and it will require special attention. I have concocted a salve for you to apply to him every night. It needs to be rubbed into his skin softly and with just the gentlest of pressure. Oh, and his back as well. He was stabbed quite a number of times, but, they're not as severe as the one on his neck. Give him a lot of green vegetables and liver since they contain quite a lot of iron and it will replenish his blood supplies. And also check him constantly for inflammation, Majesty," the Physician said, packing his paraphernalia into his briefcase and stood up. Estelle did so as well.

   "Docteur, I am forever indebted to you. However may I repay you?" said Estelle her voice filled with gratitude as she bowed her head to the Physician. The Physician's eyes snapped wide open, as his Queen bowed to him, nothing but a lowly servant. A smile spread on his face, a fatherly smile the likes of which Estelle had only seen on her Father's countenance.

   "Monetary funds would be just enough, Majesty," he answered before bowing to her and Reginald who had made himself disappear into the corner of the room, brooding over something. 

   A knock soon followed and Reginald straightened up, coming to Estelle's side, his sword on the ready. Estelle, too, approached the door and placed her hand on the hilt of her sword, that was just dangling by her waist—she had long since changed into her regular attire: a pair of breeches and a loose-fitting shirt.

   "Come in," said she, cautiously and the both of them relaxed when a soldier walked in.

   The man bowed twice and saluted then straightened himself up to look Estelle in the eyes. She nodded and the man's confidence seemed to wane.

   "Majesty, I . . . ," he began, but, Estelle already knew what he was about to say.

   They hadn't found the perpetrators.

   Estelle sighed, loosening the tight grip she had on her sword. Underneath her breath, she cursed and she was quite shocked to see that Reginald had nodded his head to what she said.

   "Majesty, we tried. We searched the entire castle and even dispersed the entire guard to scour the village around for those villains, but . . . I am sorry we have failed you, Majesty," the soldier dropped down to his knees—his armour rattling as he did so—and placed his head atop his folded hands, in front of Estelle's feet.

   "Rise up, good soldier," said she and the man rose up dutifully. "You have not failed me. But hélas, the men seemed to not be in the fortress but to be awaiting outside the village. You are dismissed," she said in a commanding voice and the soldier bowed then exited the room.

   "How is it even possible?" Reginald murmured and Estelle turned toward him slowly.

   "They can't get in through the outside. This place is heavily guarded. Which means . . . ," Estelle stopped, and Reginald looked up at her. He had come to the same conclusion.

   "They were already inside. There is a traitor among us," Reginald completed for her and a deathly silence fell into the room, only disturbed by Rafael's steady breathing.

   A thought flitted past Estelle's mind.

   If the traitor is among us, it can't just be one flimsy guard. They would have needed somebody with power who can be able to either pay their way through or . . . kill their way through.

   Unconsciously, her eyes darted to Reginald next to her and at the same moment, he looked up and saw her steely greys appraising him in a suspicious way.

   "No, Majesty. I would not dare," he answered, as if reading her mind.

   "You've never liked me. You loathe me and disapprove of anything I say or do," she countered.

   "If you would ask me, that isn't enough reason to be filled with killing intent."

   "One never knows what goes through a serial killer's mind."

   Reginald pinched the space between his eyebrows and let out a long sigh.

   "Majesty, I always thought that you were just a little, teenage girl who knew nothing about politics. Oh, you have proven me wrong ever since you sat on the Crown. You have such a unique of dealing with your people. Not only were you well-versed with politics, but today, you have showed me that you were a knowledgeable soldier who knows how to use even the smallest of things as their weapon. Where did you even learn such things?" Reginald had then sat down on the settee by the window and had been holding his head in his hands, but now he looked up to Estelle with respect and not his usual disdain.

   "My father, of course," she answered.

  Général Hugues; whenever one mentioned that name, it would warrant itself fear and awe. Général Hugues was an army commander known for his knowledge in warfare and his numerous conquests.

   "That explains it," he murmured, then looked up again at Estelle. "But still, Majesty. I would never want to kill you. You are the true ruler, no matter my earlier disapproval. There is no one else worthy to rule that throne other than you, the last of The Devereux's," said he, and Estelle nodded her head. She mentally slapped herself for coming up with such an absurd idea.

   But it still left the question: Who was it?

   "You cannot stay here. It is unsafe," Reginald said and Estelle nodded her head in agreement.

   "When should we leave?" asked she.

   "Tomorrow at noon. No one would expect you to leave at that time," said he and Estelle once more nodded her head. It would also give Rafael enough time to replenish his blood supplies since he needed a lot of rest.

   "Also, Majesty, many of my guards have been massacred by those men and now there isn't enough men to protect the both of you individually so–"

   "Es . . . Estelle," came a weak voice from the bed and Estelle wasted no time in going over and holding Rafael's hand.

   "Aye, Rafa? I'm here. What is it? Are you too cold? Too hot?" Estelle asked worriedly, placing the back of her hand on his forehead. Right then, a weak, impish smile made its way on his deathly-pale countenance.

   "We both know I'm too hot," said he and he winked at her. Estelle lightly smacked his chest, which she later regretted when he groaned.

   "Oh, my stars, I'm so sorry, Rafa," said she, and Rafael made a little sound in his throat that sounded a little like a chuckle.

   "I'm fine," he reassured her, but, Estelle still felt bad for it. She remembered the spinach soup that a chambermaid had brought earlier on and which had been placed on the bedside table. Reaching out, she grabbed the bowl and bent by Rafael's side.

   "Open up," she said in a sing-song voice which made Rafael wrinkle his nose—at the pungent smell of the spinach soup and Estelle's overly-sweet voice.

   "Are you trying to poision me with that repulsive thing?" he questioned, shuffling away from Estelle.

   "Now, now, don't be a baby, Rafa," she went on with the same saccharine voice. But when Rafael adamantly refused to drink the soup, her jaw tightened and she moved closer to him.

   "Man up and chuck the soup down your throat, already," she said in an exasperated voice.

   "No." Rafael seemed pretty sure of himself.

   "You're really handsome, you know that?" she said batting her lashes, making Rafael's jaw to pop open and Reginald at the side to be taken aback by her straightforwardness.

   Why do I always find myself caught in their displays of affection? Reginald thought ruefully.

   Seizing the chance, she inserted the spoon into Rafael's mouth and he had no choice but to swallow it.

   "Yuck! It tastes horrible!" he exclaimed, rubbing his mouth with the back of his hand.

   "Don't let the cook hear that. If the intruders failed to kill you, he'll aim a butcher knife into your chest," she said teasingly and Rafael's face grew even more pale, if that was even possible.

   "About that, Majesty," Reginald began, his tone serious but a—were her eyes deceiving her?—light blush on his cheeks. Estelle stood up, shoving the bowl into Rafael's limp hands.

   "You," she pointed him, her eyes a commanding steely grey, "will drink that whole bowl and then we'll get started on the plate of sauteed spinach and liver."

   "No! Not more spinach!" Rafael complained, jutting out his, bluish lower lip. Estelle chose to ignore him, and turned towards Reginald.

   "You were saying?" Reginald cleared his throat and started fumbling with his untied cravat.

   "I was saying, that our guards' number has dwindled and there are not enough to heavily guard you individually. And, Majesty, s'il vous plait, forgive me for even recommending something so highly improper and that is most unbecoming of a lady and a gentleman, something that has never been thought of–"

   "Would you just spit out? Or should I spit this soup on your face for you to say it?" Rafael said, rising his head from the bowl of soup, holding out the spoon threateningly.

   "You will do no such thing, young man. And if you do, I will shove that whole bowl down your throat," Estelle threatened, using a tone as if he were a young cadet, making Rafael furrow his brows, but still going back to drink his soup, nevertheless.

   "Youwillhavetosleepinthesamechambers!" he said in one breath, but neither of them had understood a thing. Unknowingly, the both of them had risen a brow at the same time.

  "I said, you will have to sleep in the same chambers!" said he, looking away from the Royals; Rafael dropped his spoon in the bowl of soup with a clang!

   "What?" they said in tandem and Reginald rubbed his across his face.

   "I was telling you that there aren't enough guards to heavily protect your doors, so, if the both of you were to, ehem, sleep in the same chambers, there would be enough guards to protect the door and the windows. Don't tell me that you might be overcome with, ehem, ehem, bodily temptations?" he asked, fully avoiding their gaze now.

   In response, the both of them looked at eachother, then immediately looked away, a crimson blush settled on their faces, even on Rafael's pale one as well.

   "Of course, not! What do you take me for? I am a proper gentleman and would never take advantage of a woman!" he exclaimed, but inside, he knew how much—no, he would not think of his past days.

   "Exactly, which means you can be trusted enough to sleep in the same chambers," said Reginald, inching towards the door.

   "I bid you goodnight," said he, making a hasty bow and rushing out of the room. Rafael and Estelle remained stiff for a moment, before a timid knock came from the door.

   "Come in," Estelle called and the chambermaid from before came in, balancing a tray of beetroot soup and a plate of the sauteed spinach and liver she had requested earlier.

   After she placed the tray on Rafael's bedside table, she hastily shuffled out of the room—that is after making a quick curtsey.

   "Well then, um, I . . . , " Rafael began, seeming to seize the chance and pushing the table further away from him. Estelle caught his movement and marched over to him, raising an admonishing finger.

   "Oh no, you don't," she lambasted, pushing the table back to its earlier position.

   "It tastes horrible! 'Tis as if the Cook dropped sweat in it and added a dash of mucus as well," Rafael said, sticking out his tongue in disgust. Estelle sighed. He was a tough one to deal with.

   "Let me show you. You haven't even tried the sauteed plate of food," said she, reaching out and balancing the plate on her knees as she sat at the edge of Rafael's bed, just next to him.

   She spooned a piece of liver and some spinach, sniffed it and let out a breath, as if relishing the savoury smell of it. Slowly, she raised the spoon and took a bite.

   "Hmm. Scrumptious," she let out, taking her time chewing the food and after finishing, she swallowed her serving and turned to Rafael, who was by then licking his lips.

   "Don't you know how to make a man hungry, both in the metaphorical and literal sense. Give me some of that," said he, reaching out to take the plate of sauteed goodies. However, Estelle avoided his move and held up one finger, swinging it from side to side.

   "Not until you finish your spinach soup," said she, and Rafael held up the bowl and swallowed the remainder of the soup in one gulp. After finishing, he opened his mouth and Estelle popped in quite large serving of the dish into his mouth.

   One, two, th–

   "Oh, my word, this thing tastes horrible! You Liar! Thou shalt burneth in the seventh Hell!" said he, forcing himself to swallow the spoonful. "How do you lie so smooth? I can't believe I almost trusted you," he went on and put on a faux pas hurt expression.

   Estelle simply rolled her eyes.

   "Do you think having two, whiny, little sisters hasn't taught me anything? You learn to fake the taste and feel of things. Now, open wide," said she and Rafael half-heartedly finished the plate, gagging once he was done with it.

   "Now, the soup," she took the bowl and blew on it so as to cool it off. Bringing the soup to Rafael's lips, she couldn't help but delight at the way his skin had started to regain colour and the way his lips were no more that terrifying blue.

   "I'm not drinking it. Over my dead body," said he, folding his hands across his chest defiantly. Sighing, Estelle placed the bowl on the table and shuffled closer towards him.

   Tentatively, she placed a hand on his cheek and rubbed circles on it with her thumb. Rafael was rendered dumbstruck by the movement and he leaned into her hand.

   "If you won't do this for yourself, at least do it for me, Rafa. Please?" she pleaded, staring up at him through her hooded eyelashes, her eyes no longer that menacing steely grey but it's normal shade: stale grey, the colour which made Rafael puny to her plea.

   "Ugh," he groaned. "Fine! Give me that damned bowl of beetroot soup!" said he and after a few gulps did he finish the soup, his lips having been stained red by its colour. Despite it being fake colour on his lips, it seemed almost like his usual shade of light pink.

   "Did you also do this to your little sisters?" asked he, hunching over, his stomach filled with repulsive liquids that he was forced to drink by his betrothed.

   "No. With them, I threatened to burn all their precious dollies if they didn't stop wasting my time and drink the soup," she said matter-of-factly.

   "You were a horrible big sister," said he, narrowing his eyes at her.

   "Oh, please. I don't think you are any better as a big brother," said she while rolling her eyes in perfect Estelle-esque style. "Now," said she, her tone no longer playful but caring and a warm smile on her countenance, "get some rest. We're leaving tomorrow at noon," she got up and leaned over Rafael to press a kiss on his forehead, making goosepimples spread all over him.

   When she was about to leave, Rafael grabbed her hand and yanked her to sit beside him like she had before.

   "And where will you sleep? You can sleep next to me, you know. I promise I won't let my hands go places where they shouldn't, even if I really, really want to," he vowed and Estelle fought a blush, even though she lost in the end.

   "I will sleep at the settee by the window. You get some rest, Rafa. You need it. We're going to ride hard tomorrow," said she, and she wriggled her hand out of Rafael's soft grip.

   Walking over to the wardrobe at the corner of the room, she pulled out some blankets and a pillow. Rafael watched with droopy eyes as she set all of them up on the settee and the last thing he saw before his eyes finally relented to sleep was her blowing him a kiss—he was pretty sure that was a figment of his imagination.

⚔️🔱⚔️

   Rafael awoke later that night, where the moon illuminated his entire room in its white light, since the candles had long been snuffed. Rubbing his eyes, he turned over in the bed and started when he saw a shadow by the settee. Only after a while did his mind remember that Estelle was sleeping there. However, she wasn't asleep, she had placed her socked feet onto the blankets, raised her knees to a v-like position, placed her elbow on her knees while her hand held her head as she looked out at the starry night sky.

   Quietly, he got out of bed, feeling his energy rejuvenated, and walked towards Estelle.

   "Why aren't you asleep?" she questioned, startling Rafael. He dropped the ruse of sneaking up on her and went to sit by the settee, facing her sleep-deprived countenance.

   "Forget that. Haven't you slept?" asked he, his voice concerned.

   "How could I, really? Knowing that there is someone out there set on killing me?" she replied with a question.

   "The guards are outside protecting us," he answered lamely.

   "There were people and guards everywhere when those connés seized us and took us out of the ballroom. Do you think that a measly number of guards will protect us when we're all alone?" she countered and Rafael saw what she was talking about.

   "We're not alone. We have each other. And you are a sword-weilder extraodinaire," said he, placing a hand on her shoulder.

   "Two against ten is a clear loss," she answered once more, her tone empty.

   "It is very hard, Rafael. Very hard to shut your eyes and sleep when you know that at any moment, a person might jump from the shadows and attack you. Or the people you care about.

  "My whole life, Rafa, has been haunted by nothing but constant fear. Fear that your life might come to an end at any given moment.

   "How could I, knowing that my Queendom is on the verge of war with a powerful nation with not just one army, but several from different kingdoms all under his control? While I? I only have one.

  "And then there is another person from out of nowhere who pops up and infiltrated a heavily-guarded fortress and was able to slip us out from a sea of people.

   "And how could I, knowing that there is a possibility that I may never find true, lasting happiness in my life?" her voice broke towards the end and tears clouded her vision. Rafael's heart broke for her. All her life, she had been met with trouble at every corner.

   "I think you really need this," said he and Estelle looked up at him with big, doe-eyes, a sparkling blue from the combination of the moonlight and her tears, she looked up at his melting, hazel gaze that seemed to bore into her very soul.

   In the next moment, she found herself enclosed in a tight, but comforting embrace that warmed her being. However, that feeling melted when she remembered that she was being embraced by a man. She pushed his chest, but, Rafael held her tighter.

   "Shh, relax. I'm not going to hurt you. I'm just holding you because I think you really need to be hugged," he whispered in her ear and Estelle gave up the fight, relaxing into his embrace and wrapping her arms around him as well.

   "When was the last time you were hugged? And no, don't mention Giselle. That girl pounces on people, doesn't hug. And not those greetings that you ladies have, but, properly hugged you, lied to you that everything is going to be alright?" he asked, his voice soft, despite the easiness it had before. Estelle looked up at his eyes—oh, those lovely hazel eyes—and lost herself into them.

   "By Elisée. Before he boarded the ship. He had told me that he would come back with a present for me from Gael and from Grandmére. He never did," she answered and Rafael pulled her tighter to himself, resting his head on her plentiful, jet-black hair and he inhaled the vanilla scent of it. Estelle too shuffled closer to him and placed her head on his firm chest, listening to the steady, rhythmic beat of his heart. It somehow calmed her.

   "He lied to me." It was then that the dam broke, and her tears poured out of her eyes.

   The tears of when she had lost her family, but, had to act strong in front of her people.

   The tears of when her people had denied her.

   The tears of when she had first seen a dead man lying in front of her.

   The tears of when she had been forced to kill for her own safety.

   So many tears had piled up in her and she had not found an outlet, but now, she had Rafael as her outlet, holding her tight in his strong arms, caressing her hair and mumbling sweet lies in her ears in a soft, lulling voice.

   "It matters not whether a person lied to you when they told you that everything is going to be alright. What matters, is the concept. The concept that they would wish for everything to be alright for you, the concept that maybe everything will or might be alright in the future. And thus now, I do not care if whether what I am about to say is a lie, I will tell you it either way.

   "Everything is going to be alright, and I will do my utmost best to make sure of it, mi amor," said he, lifting her head with his hand and wiping away her tears with his thumbs and placing a kiss on each wet cheek.

   "I promise you," he murmured into her hair, squeezing her as if she were his lifeline. At the moment, she did seem to be her lifeline.

   "You know, when I saw that enfoiré make you draw blood, all I was thinking was that I had to kill him. I'm sorry if I scared you. But, I couldn't help myself. Because I care for you, Rafa, and a whole lot more than that over these five months and I just couldn't stand the thought of losing you," said she, raising her hand to brush away the stray strands of hair that had fallen on his perfect face, and she trailed the contours of his face affectionately. Rafael shivered when she caressed the gash below his chin.

   If it were even possible, he held her even tighter, but still making it feel soft, treating her as if she were fragile. He leaned over to her ear and pressed a soft, lingering kiss on it and Estelle leaned on his chest, and she let his erratic heartbeat—very much like hers—soothe her and she slowly fell into a deep slumber, however, not before hearing his words.

   "I care for you, and a whole lot more, as well."

I don't have much to say in the Author's Note today. But, you are free to say things on the comments section ;)

Glossary:

Enfoiré: Bastard.

Beaucoup Plus: A Whole Lot More