XXIV

While he was trying to keep himself on his steed, he could only curse himself for his immense idiocy. For all the reasons they were pushing him away from her, for all the reasons they had not to be together, there was one that was wrecking them all. Love.

Yes, he felt growing up in his chest the awareness of bealonging to her and, always more, it was becoming damneley easy to feel her own, as if she was born for him, as if the sky wanted to give him a gift from an angel after taking so much. She was his, and he was ready to take her and give him a full donation.

He knew it wasn't the way it was supposed to go, he knew he couldn't just tell her to leave together, knew he had to save little Amelie, he knew eventually what he would choose, but it wasn't a justification for that disgraceful, selfish behavior he had in that damn room.

He couldn't just say, "Come with me," he couldn't be his wings of freedom, he couldn't either feel free.

He wanted to be love for her, true love, but he couldn't and couldn't even do it for a second. He was just stupid. He had spoken to her so much about noble feelings and even though those words were all true, he had no right to tell her. He had no right to promise her stars because he couldn't give them to her.

He held the reins and let himself go to a scream that Baron played as an incitement to speed up the race.

He couldn't give her what they dreamed. He had other dreams, he had promises and oaths, affects to keep alive.

He hated telling her bullshit about letting her live her own dreams, he hated having deluded her that love between them could really lead to something good.

"Let's get married," he told her. That's nonsense.

He was grateful to her for not answering him, she was more mature and more rational than he was.

He wanted to tell her, he needed to scream how much he loved her. How he always wanted her, constantly by his side, how he wanted her in his future, in a country house, watching her in front of the fire with a book in her hand while a child sleeps in her crib at her side and he who, back from work, a real and honest job, opened the door smiling at that vision.

But he would also tell her it wasn't his own future. She would have sat in front of the fire with a book in her hand, maybe with a baby in the crib, maybe with a in her belly, but the husband wouldn't have been him and he wouldn't have been back from work because he would have been in the office, in his chambers, finding solutions to run a nation. And she would always feel awfully lonely and that child would never be her own, a few times she could have been a mother, until he became a little soldier, forced to her own shrine as a child.

And he could donate her something different than watching her grow up her child with a dark looking, he could not have let her live a life surrounded by ladies and praying the husband for a little attention. He could have given her what she wanted, but he wouldn't.

He had made her fly with him in the sky, but now they would both fall into the slime of awareness that they couldn't leave it behind, that they couldn't live a different life from the one that was imposed on her and the one he would choose.

That happy world of a warm, cozy house would never have belonged to him and it was not enough to wish it with all the strength, she couldn't have given it to him.

His angel wouldn't have given her wings to get him to know something that he never had in his world.

No love, no heat, no happy family.

He wouldn't show her a different way, he wouldn't show her what she didn't think she could expect from her life. Just a cold arranged marriage.

Neither of them would have been what they could have been for the other.

No one would have saved anyone from the cruel world.

His love would have kept it to himself, it would have been forever planted in his heart like a stinging nail and what slowly would have rusted and infected his whole life.

He would never have had anything but that.

The princess's advantageous marriage would bring wealth to France. She also , in her own way, would help the people.

He had to catch his breath.

He came off the horse with a slight move.

<< Good, boy. Hold me. >>

He went beyond the ivy and walked by holding onto the animal.

His stomach was upside down after that horrible ride, but he was determined to carry on his intention. His life had sacrificed for the sake of the most needy and didn't want to take that burden off his shoulders.

He walked by the window and peeked inside before he came in.

Antoinette was in the kitchen with Bernadette. They seemed to have a lot of fun. But why was the princess in the kitchen?

She was beautiful when she laughed so careless.

Sitting at the table was Clovis, holding the pencil in his hand, as usual, and he had his stupid drawing book lying in front of him.

He had the focused look that alternated between the drawing and... her. Was he drawing his Antoinette?

He couldn't get jealous just because his friend was drawing her. He couldn't be jealous anymore.

He took a deep breath and came in, with all the seriousness he could prove and with the unshaken of those who want to look sober and firm on their legs.

While she still hadn't noticed he was coming, he just stood by the door and watched her smiling. When she did it, the world seemed to stop, just to look at it.

<< Why did you come back before dinner? >> David asked smiling.

<< I didn't... I had nothing else to do and... >>

He couldn't talk, she looked at him with joyful eyes and lips waiting for hidden kisses.

He came to Clovis to peek his drawing, but he retracted immediately, hiding it.

<< Why can't I see it? >> He asked upset.

<< You smell like alcohol, man. Why don't you... >> He didn't make it in time to finish the sentence that he felt removed from his hands the notebook.

Adrien took him to his face and smiled with arrogance and overphotography, then turned the object in the direction of others to show what he was drawing the redhead.

<< See that? The princess, huh? Did you even ask her if you could paint her? It's rude, you know? >>

Antoinette also paid more attention to those words, but not so much for the gesture of the boy who is embarrassed as the tone of the blond.

She approached the two and took Adrien's hand book.

<< It's okay. It's beautiful. I really appreciate it. You're good. >> She smiling gentle and put the object to the designer who returned the smile.

<< Thank you, princess. >>

<< You got a crush on the princess? >> David started to sing it.

<< What?! No! >> He tried to defend himself.

<< Look how he became red! >> Adrien started laughing with the other partner.

<< You're all hairy, don't lie! >> David continued.

<< Why don't you plead? She's right here. Tell her how beautiful she is, come on.>> Adrien laughed.

<< Chat, you're overreacting. >> The redhead warned him.

<< Ah, right. Not the real names. What if I told your beautiful princess what my name is? >> He pretended to think about it.

<< I'd let them searching you in all over France and have you executed. >> She intervened, solemn, interrupting the laughter. The boy with the black mask laid his green eyes on her, coming back immediately serious.

<< If you ever return to the palace. >>. It almost seemed like a threat.

Antoinette couldn't believe it. But who was the one in front of her?

It wasn't her Adrien.

<< That's enough. You're definitely delusional. You've had too much to drink. >> Clovis stood out of the chair and stood between him and the princess, like trying to shield her.

<< I didn't drink too much and don't be a hero. You're ridiculous, you're not gonna get her.>> he pushed him to pass but he was stopped by David's voice. Now him and the redhead were shoulder against shoulder and in front of him was the princess, upset and angry.

<< What's wrong? You didn't find Coline and Agnés today? >> He said laughing.

< < They've been found. Both of them.>> He said not by distracting his eyes from her.

Antoinette was shot in the middle of the chest. A pitching pain had grabbed her with bad claws and threatened to squeeze her heart, but she didn't want to show herself weak. She couldn't.

She thought maybe she misunderstood, that they were there, but he didn't even look at them. She tried to be strong.

<< Dinner's ready! >> Bernadette showed up with a pot in her hands and broke the tense atmosphere that had created.

They sat down and started eating. The silence was a grave.

<< How was the orphanage? >> David broke the wall of mutism.

<< Good. >> The blond said impasse.

<< With that face? >> Insisted.

<< It's mine. >>

<< Usually it's better. >> The muscle boy turned his back on.

<< I'm sorry I'm not smiling saying that... >> He was about to lose control.

Damn, he was supposed to contain. No emotions. << My appetite is gone.>> He stood up fast from the table and went out, walked fast to get near the willow and then he leaned with a shoulder. He crossed his arms and sighed. What was he doing?

Why was he so incredibly stupid?

When she looked at him, he felt judged as he entered the church.

He had been sick in the past, but the thought of having to say goodbye to her was new pain, never felt anything like it. He couldn't tell if it was less or more intense than others, but he was still incomparable. It was completely different.

The same words that his heart was repeating itself that morning to make him feel better, now they cut deeper than a knife. He needed to breathe, to go back to live like those mornings to the market, just looking into her eyes, just hoping and waiting for her to do it.

He was going into a crisis. He knew he had to give up on her, but he didn't want to. Damn, if he didn't want to.

But would he have survived a life without her? Maybe if he stopped saying her name. Maybe if she hadn't called him again.

Maybe if he thought it was never love, he'd move on.

He felt choking. How could he really believe that wasn't love?

His heart was bleeding in inflicting his waiver. She knew, looking at him, what was happening?

He trembled on the thought that he could no longer have her, just his.

He would have lived a life on his knees.

Without her kisses. Unsafe, inexperienced, sweet kisses.

Kicked by feelings, bruised and scratched, it would have hurt so badly and she would never be helping him, he would never even ask her.

He had been a fool, all his life he felt like a moth attracted to light, seemed like the problems attracted him, and she was just another deception, going on and didn't worry about the pain.

Probably pushing him this far, it was the heat, the promise of a fire that would warm his heart from the cold.

He sighed again in hearing footsteps in the grass. It was her. He could hear the jump on the dress.

He didn't want to turn around. He was afraid to pick up what he sowed.

<< What are you thinking? >> the woman asked. The tone was hard, but maybe the eyes hid from confusing sadness.

<< If I stop calling you "love", maybe I can survive.>> He raised his head to see the sky through the branches.