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Chapter 44

"Take a deep breath in and hold it," I instructed when, hours later, I pressed my ear to the bare curve of King Marnaigne's shoulder blade. I listened to the soft swoosh of his lungs—clear—and the pounding pulse of his heart—strong and steady—then straightened.

"Everything sounds fine to me, Your Majesty," I said, warming my voice with all the reassurance I could muster.

The king turned his head to scrutinize me. "Are you absolutely certain? Listen again. Please. I'm sure I felt something rattling within me," he fussed.

I listened to the other lung, then from the front and the back once more.

"There's nothing."

Marnaigne released a short sigh of impatience. "You're sure?"

"You're in perfect health, sire."

Physically, this was true.

Mentally…I was unsure.

Since his recovery from the Shivers, Marnaigne fretted over everything. Each headache, every aching joint, was proof he'd fallen ill. His worries ranged from sicknesses as simple as a head cold to delusions of more exotic woe: skin lesions and festering ulcers, hematuria and myiasis.

My biggest responsibility as court healer was to examine the king each time he felt the stirring of something wrong within him. Aloysius made sure to keep one hour of Marnaigne's afternoons free for these appointments. Since the war's end, they'd increased in frequency and were now a daily habit.

Though I no longer could automatically see the cure any patient needed, I still had my knowledge of medical treatments and procedures and often found myself feeling incredibly grateful that Merrick had insisted on taking my training so seriously.

"Do you think I'll be well enough to attend tonight's dinner?" he worried, pulling on his brocade robe and tying the sash.

I straightened the collar for him, using the activity to hide my smile. "I absolutely do, Your Majesty."

"René," he tutted, sounding miserable with my clean bill of health.

"René," I repeated. Despite how close Bellatrice, Euphemia, and I had become in my time at court, it still felt strange and informal to call the king by his given name. "If you do feel as though you might need a bit of a boost for tonight or for tomorrow's…events," I said, trying hard to choose a neutral turn of phrase, "you can add a few drops of this to your tea." I turned to rummage through my valise before offering him a small brown bottle. "It's a tonic of concentrated eleuthero root and schisandra berries. It will help keep your energy level up."

"Do I seem fatigued to you?" he asked, grabbing fast at a meaning I'd not intended. He rubbed at the spot above his heart as if feeling for a sluggish pulse.

"Not at all, Your—René. I plan on taking some myself tomorrow. There are so many events. It will be good to have the extra vigor."

The king frowned. "I suppose that's true…."

"Is something else bothering you?" I asked carefully.

The king looked distant, lost in thought. "Nothing that you could provide a tonic for, I'm afraid." His laugh rang sad. "I only wish it were so simple."

I shrugged. "I'm an excellent listener. Sometimes the best thing you can do for your body is to unload your mind."

Marnaigne chewed on the corner of his lip, as if reluctant to proceed. "It's about tomorrow. The…execution." He looked down, examining his fingernails. "I'm having second thoughts about it."

My brows rose and a sound of surprise startled from me.

He looked up guiltily, his eyes finally finding mine. "I know it's mad. I know all the treacherous crimes he committed. I know the horrors he caused. But…"

"He's your brother," I supplied, sensing the words that would not come.

"Half brother," he corrected me hastily.

"Still."

"There's a dream I keep having, two, three times a night. I'm on the citadel's platform. There's a crowd below, watching and cheering. There are pennants and banners waving. There's a beautiful blue sky overhead. But then the executioner comes out and recites the sentencing, lists all the crimes, and out comes his sword. And then the sky changes…. The angle of it goes wrong, terribly wrong, and I realize that I'm not watching the execution at all. It's my head that's been lopped off. I'm seeing the sky from the basket below the block." His nose wrinkled. "You can't imagine how terrible the realization is. The last thing I see is Baudouin's face peering down at me. And then I wake up screaming."

"That's horrible. I…I could prepare a sleeping tonic for you. Something to help ease you into deeper slumber. It sounds as though you need rest."

He shook his head, looking disappointed that I missed the purpose of his story. "Each time I see Baudouin, I want to ask him why. Why he would do such a thing to me. Why he wouldn't offer mercy, forgiveness. But I can't say that. I have no voice, no throat through which to speak. I want to scream it. Why? Why? Why not?"

With a sigh, Marnaigne ran his fingers through his hair, scratching at his scalp.

"And here I am," he continued, his eyes flickering to the window, to his view of the citadel. "Here I am, able to offer that mercy, offer that kindness, but have I? Will I? I feel so trapped, Hazel. Bound by duty, tormented by loyalty. But he was not loyal to me. He sought my throne. He waged war upon my kingdom. Thousands of my people are dead because of him. Why should I show mercy to such a tyrant? I shouldn't. I know that. But still…I think I want to save him. I think I want to try." He glanced back to me, his eyes so terribly blue. "Does that make me a weak king?"

"Of course not, Your Majesty. It makes you a compassionate king, a forgiving ruler. There are ways Baudouin can be punished without death. There are ways to show your people that mercy can be a strength."

He clicked his tongue, musing. "Do you truly think it could be done?"

Mutely, I nodded.

"We would still have to carry on as if the execution was going to happen. The public is expecting some sort of spectacle to take place."

I reflected on this. "You could offer him clemency on the stage, in front of everyone."

"He would have to be imprisoned after, of course."

"But he would be alive. You would still have the chance for reconciliation. One day."

Marnaigne nodded, considering my words. "You're right. It does feel good to let go of built-up thoughts."

"I'm glad to hear it, sire."

We shared a smile before he cleared his throat, looking embarrassed by the depths of his admissions. "Are you looking forward to the ball, at least?"

"Of course," I lied.

In truth, I was already exhausted. We'd been to so many balls already. They'd merged into one monotonous montage of decadence and music, dresses too tight, food too rich, and conversations too shallow.

My world-weary thoughts made me remember Leopold's musing on court life, and I smiled.

The king immediately fixed upon my reaction. "Aha! I knew it! There must be a young man who's caught your attention, is that right?"

I shook my head, smiling as bashfully as I knew he wanted me to. "Oh, no.I was just thinking of something the prince said earlier."

Marnaigne continued to study me, his expression grown curiously hard. He seemed more alert, sharper somehow, a dog cocking its head to listen to whistles unheard by humans.

"You've seen him already?"

I nodded. "At morning meal, with several of the soldiers."

He brusquely pushed himself away from the table, leaving me feeling as though I'd angered him somehow. "And how does he seem to you? My son?"

There was a strange charge to the air, the feeling of a summer storm about to break.

"Much changed, I think," I began carefully. "Though you would know that far better than I." I turned to my valise, wanting to quickly pack up and hurry from the room before the king's temper had the chance to flare.

He made a noise of agreement. "He has changed. He seems…matured, grown in ways I'd always hoped for yet wasn't quite sure he'd ever master. For the first time in his life, I can envision him as a king." He swallowed. "It's a relief, I must admit."

"I can only imagine," I murmured. "But I don't see him taking on that role for many, many years to come."

Marnaigne busied himself at a side table laden with bottles and decanters. My feet itched to move closer to the door. The ground beneath me felt unsteady, as if one word might cause it to all fall apart. Despite the afternoon sun streaming in through the open windows, a chill had settled over me, impossible to shake.

"I don't want him falling into old habits now that he's returned." He pulled the cork from a bottle of wine before turning to me. "Do you understand what I mean?"

I nodded.

"It's time he stepped up his responsibilities. His duties. It's time he followed his path."

"Of course."

"And he can't do those things if his head is turned. There are so many temptations to lure a young man off his path, don't you agree? Trees to climb, flowers to…" He waved his hand with an irritable swish, as if fighting to remember the right word. "Pluck."

"Game to hunt," I continued for him, as if I understood exactly what his muddled metaphor alluded to.

He snapped his fingers. "Exactly." He let out a sigh. "It's a comfort knowing I can always count on you, Hazel. You are one of the very few bright points in a very bleak year."

I startled as the king offered me a goblet. "What's this for?"

"Euphemia mentioned it's your birthday," he said. "With all the excitement going on, I don't want it to go unmarked."

"Oh, Your Majesty, thank you."

He raised his glass in the air. "May the First watch over you with smiling eyes. May the Divided Ones bring only good fortune and blessings to you. And may the"—he caught himself, laughing nervously—"and may your godfather keep away for many years to come."

The crystal rang with a bell-like ding as we touched our glasses together.

The clock on the mantel—a tiny replica of one of the fountains in Chatellerault, made of gold and covered by a dome glass—whirred to life. Little figurines zipped along the promenade, growing more frenzied as the clock prepared to chime out the hour.

"Damn," Marnaigne said, his brow furrowed. "Is that truly the time? I'm meant to be meeting with—"

A cheerful knock sounded, and before he could grant admittance, the door opened wide and Margaux entered. She wore her usual robes of blue and silver, every inch of her covered, from neck to toes. I felt overheated just looking at her.

"Are you ready to see me now, Your Majesty?" she asked. "Oh, Hazel," she said warmly, noting my presence. "I feel as if it's been an age since I've seen you!"

"You've been busy," I allowed.

In truth, it had been weeks since I'd seen her. Between Bellatrice pulling me to every event of the season, Margaux's increased visions from the Holy First, and all the necessary meetings and conferences with the king those brought about, I felt much removed from my friend.

Marnaigne took a great swallow of the wine, trying to finish it quickly, and gestured that I should do the same. It tasted of bitter cherries and was much stronger than the table wine served at meals.

"Margaux, yes, yes. Come in. Hazel and I were only finishingup."

"The Holy First sends her blessings to you both," she said too brightly, as if struggling to find a topic of conversation as I went for my valise.

"Does she?" The words were out of my mouth before I could think. A quick hiccup followed, and I covered my mouth, aghast. "I'm so sorry!"

Marnaigne let out a boisterous laugh, amused by my skepticism.

"Of course," Margaux said, looking wounded. "She cares for us all. She loves us all." She turned to the king, suddenly rapturous. "And, sire, she has the most amazing message for you! I was having tea this morning when a vision overtook me. She wants you to know—"

"Is that all, Hazel?" the king asked, cutting her off with a surgeon's precision.

"Oh—yes, sire," I stammered. I snatched up my bag and was halfway across the room before the king called after me.

"Hazel?"

I turned, my eyebrows raised, ready to do whatever he bid me. "You'll remember our little talk today, won't you?"

My mind picked that exact moment to remind me that Leopold had said he thought I was pretty.

I smiled as brightly as I could. "Of course, Your Majesty."

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