XXXVIII

The guard on duty, that morning, had freed him from the tool that prevented him from moving his head, obviously not without forgetting to mock him with slaps on the face.

<< You know, old man, I think you're in the wrong.>> he smiled faintly, << my woman is different, she's not like any other, she's a rare creature, she's not an angel that can change, she's more, she's more than anything, she looks down on all of us, she's naive and kind, sweet and compassionate...>> he closed his eyes at the memory of her. He felt pains everywhere but not in his heart when he spoke of Antoinette.

<< She is a woman, temptress of the devil.>> His interlocutor said ironically.

<< He didn't open his eyes again, continuing to smile at the memory of how she had displaced him on their first night together.

<< How did you meet her? >> The man asked curiously.

<< Met her? She was everywhere, in the streets, in things, in the scent of flowers and in the colors of the seasons. Imagine, even in every person I crossed in my path.>> He sighed dreamily.

<< He means it, boy.>> The man with no name snorted with amusement.

Or rather, he had a name, but Adrien would pretend not to know it.

<< I kidnapped her.>> He said, as if it were the most obvious thing in this world.

<< What?! >> The other man burst out laughing.

<< Yes, after months of watching her from afar, but I didn't know who she was.

They suddenly fell silent as they heard noises coming from the gloomy hallway.

Adrien quickly opened his eyes again, alarmed by a noisy presence that, from the air he was beginning to breathe, seemed threatening.

He saw the door to his cell being slammed violently to make it open as quickly as possible and a man, a prince, looking angry, with the expression of someone who has just heard another man talk about his woman, about his promise.

He couldn't hold back a grin.

<< You...>> He approached with furious impatience. << You kidnapped her because you were in love with her, you worm...>> He didn't finish the insult, thinking well that a punch on the cheekbone would have made the idea better.

Adrien, after the bump that had forced him to turn his head, went back to look at him with mockery.

<< Come on, prince, is that the best you can do? >> He teased him arrogantly.

<< She's out of your league, do you realize that? She's a princess!>> She yelled at him trying to belittle him as she grabbed him by the neck of his filthy shirt and lifted him to his feet.

<< She's a woman.>> The blond man corrected him.

<< She's the king's daughter, she'll be your queen, your ruler, in fact, you won't be lucky enough to see her wear the crown, you'll never be worth as much as her hunting dog.>> He slammed him hard to the brick wall behind him.

Adrien grimaced in pain but continued to smile in defiance.

<< I guess you are her hunting dog...>> He taunted him referring to what he had done to find her.

<< You're such a bum! >> She screamed, throwing him to the ground.

<< Did you do anything to her? Did you touch her? Did you dirty her with your filthy street scum hands? He approached her again and kicked him in the side.

The blond man was out of breath, so much was the pain.

He would have liked to answer him in kind, to say "nothing she didn't want", but he risked putting her in danger, so he decided to swallow the toad.

She'd already said that, anyway, so what was she going to do with her pride?

<< You can rest assured, its purity is intact, that's what you wanted anyway. Right, prince? >> He tried with difficulty to straighten up, but could not.

<< That's what the whole nation cares about, yes, that's what the sovereigns and the church care about, and yes, it's my duty as a husband to care about it. >> He clenched his fists.

<< You are not yet the husband.>> He whispered through clenched teeth the boy on the ground, with one hand he clutched the sore spot where he had received the kick.

<< What did you say? >> The Moor asked menacingly.

No, Luka was not yet the husband and by the God, he hoped to be already buried and full of worms feeding on his remains when it happened.

<< You are not yet the husband.>> He repeated it again, with contempt and disapproval, in a higher tone, to be heard better.

<< It's a matter of weeks.>> He said proudly as he turned his back straight.

<< That's a long time.>> He smiled forcibly.

<< At least mine is not a pipe dream. She will belong to me for life, she will be my bride, my queen and, above all, my woman.>>

He seemed to spit poison.

The poor man's blood boiled.

He could keep the future queen, with all the bloody crown, but Antoinette would never be his woman.

<< Isn't it great to have a dream in common? >> He asked taunting him with a smile.

The prince smiled shaking his head, walked over to Adrien, bent his knees and, grabbing him by the hair, forced him to look at his face.

<< Do you know what the beauty of dreams is? That although they are free, they are not within everyone's reach.>>

He released his grip on the boy in handcuffs and headed out of the cell at a determined pace.

Adrien, lying on the ground in pain, watched him turn to a guard and ask him to take him back to the palace.

He watched him go, without even turning around to give him a last look.

<< Are you all right, son? >>

<< Don't worry, old man.>>

He had no more answer from what he had discovered was his father. Perhaps he was digesting the situation, perhaps he was trying to truly believe that the woman in question was Princess Antoinette of France.

He forced himself to sit up and leaned his back against the wall.

The pain in his ribs was so bad that he still couldn't breathe properly.

Not to mention the blood he felt running down his face.

That damned dandy.

Him and his stupid dreams.

He closed his eyes, stretched his legs and relaxed his arms, forced himself to focus on trying to breathe regularly.

He imagined himself lying on the grass, his back resting against the willow tree, in his shelter, after eating quickly so he could run and play with his son.

What a thrill it would be to see him doing the simplest things, like playing ball.

By his side she, softly saying "my love, I love you".

The snow inside him would have melted as if exposed to the sun, as it had melted in those afternoons, with their books left on the grass waiting to be read, while he taught her to make love, to blossom, as an eternal flower.

But their poetry was over, the flower had lost its petals and no other spring would be able to make it bloom again.

After all, there would never have been another one either. Even after his first love, he had believed that, and that's why he had taken everything life had given him. Just casual companionship.

To love again...

Not even if they had let him live.

And what kind of life would that have been?

A life spent balancing, seeking higher and higher challenges, more and more stinging thrills, and then what? He would have died drunk and stoned in some brothel in hidden Paris. Maybe in Montmartre.

<< The princess eh? >> The other prisoner asked.

<> He sighed.

He hated that she was only recognized as a member of the royal family. He didn't love the Princess of France, he hadn't fallen in love with her because of it.

He loved Antoinette, the sweet but brave Antoinette.

<< And bravo, a beautiful impossible love. You have high aims.>> Joked the other.

<< Unlikely, not impossible.>> he pointed out.

<> He became curious and became serious again.

<< That few people can afford dreams, it's true, but what I lived in those days with that woman, not even a prince can afford.>>