Lady Therese De Beauharnais, Duchess of Roche

25 December, Year 1 of King Nicholas IV of Monrique's reign

Bordeux Cathedral, Bordeux

Monrique

Her mother's grip, her father's eyes. A girl of my own heart.

I am standing on the dais of the church, with a very recently acquitted Kat and a fully recovered Lisa on my right, dressed in identical dark red gowns. On my left stand Nick, my cousin Max, Lord Testalt and Evoric, who are dressed in deep blue suits for the occasion.

Red and blue, the royal colours of Monrique.

Jules and Nick have requested all six of us to be godparents for their daughter, who is deeply asleep in my arms at the moment. Her impossibly tiny hand rests on one of my fingers with a rather firm grip for a newborn. Her eyes flutter, her long lashes sweeping her pale cheeks as they do so, and the corner of her small, rosebud lips quirk up in a smile every now and then.

Whatever she is dreaming about, I hope it is filled with lots of colour and happiness.

The priest is reading out a passage from the Bible, but my mind has long begun to wander. I know Jules would have paid close attention to him if she was here, but unfortunately, she is not allowed to come to her own daughter's christening until she has been churched.

Poor woman. The rest of her family – even Prince Richard, who has only recently recovered from his injuries in the Longbournian Nations – is here.

The birth had greatly weakened her, as she had lost a lot of blood over those two days of labour. All of us were extremely afraid that she might succumb to any illnesses post-birth, but thankfully, our fears have all been confounded and she is recovering rapidly. She was even well enough to accompany Nick to his coronation a few days ago, where King Frederick and Queen Eleanor stepped down, and crowned them both in front of the Crown Council, nobility and the common folk.

Now that the petition has been successfully passed by the Court of the Lady Justice, Nick and Jules' daughter has been sworn in as the legal heiress to the throne of Monrique. She is now Crown Princess – and her father is King Nicholas IV of Monrique.

But the battle is far from over.

I am not naive. I know that we only managed to have the petition written into law through sheer coercion and blackmail, and not because the Council gained any true understanding of the equality of the sexes. Half of the Crown Council still does not recognise the need for equal inheritance rights, and is thus disgruntled. Most of the country is still in surprise over the ruling to do much about it.

With time, however, the naysayers will give Nick trouble. My baby niece will have to fight for the rest of her life to retain her birth right, and those of her fellow peers.

And she will learn to fight, this sweet child. Her parents will teach her, and so will I.

The elderly priest reaches towards me now, and I shake myself out of my thoughts. Nick and I step closer to him, and he gently proceeds to anoint the baby's forehead with holy water.

"By the authority invested in me by God and the Church, I hereby baptise you in the name of the Father, and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit," he murmurs, "amen."

He then bides us to face the congregation.

"Dear Princess," he booms, "today we officially welcome you, and wish you a lifetime of happiness and success. We pray that you grow into a wonderful woman, full of integrity, wisdom and kindness. We will guide you, as you make mistakes and become better for them. We will stand by you, as you learn to love the world around you, and be loved in return. We hope that you will continue give your parents and the people of this realm great joy. May the Lord bless you and watch over you in all your endeavours."

Thunderous applause deafens the church. From where I stand, I can see the King and Queen smiling at me and the child – the King, albeit, with some reluctance.

I think we have reached a truce.

He is grateful to me for seeing Jules safely through her delivery, and I am grateful to him for passing the petition with his own power.

We have both won.

The priest holds up his hands for silence just then. "On that note," he clears his throat, "I would like to present to you all Her Royal Highness Crown Princess Yara Therese Seymour of Monrique!"

My mind reels, and it is a wonder that I do not drop the baby. My eyes are almost popping out of my sockets, and I turn to look at Nick.

"You gave your daughter my name?" I am stunned.

This is the first time I am hearing Yara's name in its entirety. The priest had referred to her as 'Princess' for the entire ceremony.

His grey eyes twinkle. "Of course. She will not be who she is without you, with a world full of opportunities and a bright future ahead of her," he brushes a thumb across the baby's cheeks, smiling, "Julie and I can think of no better."

I feel goose bumps rise up on my arm, as warmth spreads through me. Breaking into a soft beam, I look down at my baby niece, and press my lips gently against her forehead.

"I may be your namesake," I murmur, "but I pray that you grow up to be a much better woman than I ever was, am or can be."

***

Time is of the essence, and I have very little left of it on my hands.

"Why are you leaving?" Liv asks me for the hundredth time that day.

She is seated on my bed with her legs crossed, calmly sipping on a cup of tea. Her eyes follow me, as I run back and forth across my chambers, trying to find all of my gowns, fold them, and press them down into my trunk. I feel my bun coming undone on my head, and I come to a standstill, wondering where I have kept my box of quills.

"Tess," she tries again, "do you not think you are being a little hasty – "

"Nay."

My voice is quiet, but it brooks no argument. When I turn to face her, I find her twirling my box of quill in her hands, staring straight at me with blazing sapphire eyes.

I stride towards her. "Give it to me – "

She sets down her cup of tea on the bedside table, and jumps out of the bed before I can reach her. She holds the box out of my reach, and gently waves it, taunting me.

Damn it, I forgot she is even taller than I am.

"Olivia Francesca Donadieu," I narrow my eyes, "do not make me wrestle that box from you."

"I will not return it to you until you explain to me why you are leaving so suddenly," she stands her ground, "does it have anything to do with Lord Testalt's recent return to Bordeux?"

I still.

Even though I ordered the Earls of Roche and my army officers camped out at Roche's borders to disband after the King released me from my imprisonment, Lord Testalt remained behind in Roche for the past two weeks. I heard he had some matters to settle in Alençon, Tommy's earldom, for which he is regent.

He returned to Bordeux only this morning, on Nick's request to stand as godfather for Yara. Although we both attended the ceremony, we have yet to meet.

And I intend to keep it that way.

It is best, under the circumstances. I truly do not wish to interfere with his engagement in any way. After I was released from imprisonment, I only stayed on in Bordeux for Kat's trial and Yara's christening, but now that the day has ended, I am leaving.

I have to. I have to, before either he or Evie can convince me to stay for their wedding.

"Well?" Liv demands now.

I huff, giving in. "I expected to remain imprisoned at least until he is married," I admit, "I thought it would hurt less that way. Now that all is well, and we are all free, I..." I spread my hands helplessly.

"You do not want to attend his wedding," she raises an eyebrow.

"Of course not," I snap, "Lord, I would rather force the grimy, gooey, greasy blob they served as food in the dungeons down my throat, all day and every day, for the rest of my wretched existence, than attend – "

"Is that so?" a familiar voice spoke wryly from the doorway.

At the sound of his familiar, calming baritone, I turn around to find Lord Testalt leaning against my doorway, with his arms crossed, and a ghost of a smile playing about his lips.

Merde.

Liv's countenance lights up immediately, and she breaks into a large grin. "Lord Testalt!" she exclaims, "how good of you to join us. Come in, come in, I was just about to go to the kitchens have some luncheon."

Lord Testalt walks into the room, amused by her excitement. In the meanwhile, I narrow my eyes at her.

"You are going to have luncheon," I repeat disbelievingly, "at 10 00 hours in the morning."

"Well, I cannot have breakfast now, can I?" she shrugs, "I will take what I can get."

Traitor.

With that, she skips towards the door, before she pauses at the doorway.

"Oh, and Tess?" she tosses me a glance, "I will be keeping this box until you come to your senses, and unpack your things again."

She waves my box of quills at me, and pats Lord Testalt's shoulder. She then walks out of my chambers with a flourish, closing the door firmly shut behind her.

"She seems rather happy," he observes.

I turn away towards my trunks, and kneel down in front of them. "She delights in irritating me, nothing more," I mutter, continuing to pack, "what do you want?"

From the corner of my eyes, I see him sink down on the edge of my bed, clasping his hands.

"First, tell me this," he starts seriously, "why are you leaving Bordeux so soon?"

I refuse to look at him. "You know why," I answer quietly, "I wish you and Evie a lifetime of happiness, but Lord, Ned, my heart is not made of stone. I will send Clara and Robert to your wedding in my stead."

I stand up, and walk towards my cupboards to take out more of my gowns. However, his next words stop me in my tracks.

"You do not need to leave," his voice is solemn, "there will be no wedding."

My heart almost stops in my chest. Before I know what I am doing, I toss my gowns back into the cupboard, and find myself storming over to his side.

"You called it off? After everything?" I ask him in disbelief.

He does not answer me, and my anxiety heightens a thousand-fold. I gently reach for his chin, and turn his troubled countenance towards me.

"Raymond," I am completely serious, "what in the world possessed you to call it off? How did Evie even agree – "

His baby blue eyes are swirling with turmoil. "'Twas Evie who called it off."

My eyes widen. "And you just agreed?" I frown, "what is wrong with you? If you wish, I can talk to her – "

He shakes his head. "She told me she cannot marry a man whose mind and heart are forever stuck in the past," he answers tiredly, "and spend the rest of her life competing with it."

"But...but you are working so hard to move on towards your future," I point out, "and you are very much committed to building your relationship with her. I was under the impression that she knows and understands that."

"Aye," he agrees, "but neither of us are truly happy."

His baby blue eyes grow unfocused, and his forehead creases, as he wallows deep within his thoughts, wondering how to phrase his next words.

"What is it?" I tense.

He takes a deep breath. "I will be honest with you. When I first found out that you were simply using me to ascend the throne, I was angry, and I was hurt," he begins uncertainly, "but mostly hurt. It became difficult to trust anyone again, and I was constantly worried about people's intentions, even when they ask of me the smallest of favours. I already think far too much, but in those two years before my betrothal, my paranoia bordered on insanity."

Guilt washes me afresh.

He takes one look at my countenance, and hurries to reassure me. "I have forgiven you since," he is sincere, "but at that time, I was unable to move on from it. I was unhappy, and I hated the person I was becoming."

"Until your betrothal?" my voice is soft.

"Until then. Or so I thought," he confesses, "she was a breath of fresh air, Evie. She is brutally honest about everything, regardless of the situation, and she cared very much about me. Most importantly, she understood exactly what it is like to be taken advantage of."

"'Twas she who taught me not to allow the past to define me," he reflects, "slowly, I learnt to trust again. I was utterly convinced that my future, my lost happiness lay in her. I was certain that she would fix me with time."

I gaze at him, listening.

"I suppose that is when it began to go downhill," he raises his baby blue eyes towards me, "I started to constantly depend on her – expected her, even - to make me happy. I think...I think she expected the same of me, if I am not mistaken."

"What is wrong with that?" I blink.

"Everything," he answers simply, "we do not need people to be happy, Tess. They are not obliged, in any way, to heal our scars. That is our responsibility. What they do, is share their happiness with us, so that we can be happy with them."

"If that distinction is not clear, we are constantly disappointed and dissatisfied," he reflects, "as both Evie and I found out for ourselves. It was an eye-opener for me, especially since – " He hesitated.

I hold my breath. "Yes?"

"Especially since I found that I could not love her as she deserved to be, no matter how hard I tried," he admits tiredly, "we do not choose whom we love, after all." He looks at me with all seriousness.

I freeze, and my heart stops in my chest for the second time that day.

"Y-you cannot be serious. Do you...do you truly mean to tell me," I am incoherent, "that you still – "

"I never stopped," he murmurs.

I am rendered speechless yet again. I purse my lips together, feeling tears gather at the back of my eyes out of sheer emotion.

"Why did you not tell me earlier?" I whisper, "even on that day, when I – "

"It would have been utterly dishonourable, and you know it. Regardless of our issues, I was still engaged to Evie," he pointed out quietly, "and I did not take that commitment lightly."

I remain silent.

He continues on. "But if these past few months have taught me anything, it is that I am not mature enough as yet to handle a relationship," he runs a hand through his hair, "love is clearly not enough. I need to work on fixing myself, on finding the faith and happiness that I have lost, before I can truly and wholly commit to a woman. I need time. Or else, like Evie said, I will remain a man whose head and heart is forever stuck in the past."

A sense of foreboding creeps up my spine. "Here comes the bad news."

He pauses, surprised. "It is not necessarily bad news," he muses, "but it is...well, you may not like it."

"Just tell me," I clasp my hands by my waist in growing anxiety.

"Nick has recently appointed me as Monrique's official ambassador to the Longbournian Nations," he reveals, "and I...have decided to accept the offer."

I am stunned. He is leaving.

At the same time, however, I have a vague feeling that I had somehow expected this, in the back of my mind. From everything he has been telling me so far, I gathered that the poor man is uncertain, unhappy, with no clear direction in his life.

And he has admitted as much.

On the other hand, being an ambassador is an immense honour, and a golden opportunity. He will be representing Monrique in an empire like the Longbournian Nations, which is fast rising as a formidable power in the region. He has always had a way with words, and now he can put that talent to good use.

At the same time, he will also have time and space, away from Monrique and memories of everything that I put him through here, to reflect and determine what he truly wants out of his life.

Why would I not want that for him?

But –

"Do you truly need to?" my voice is quiet.

He gently takes my hand, and covers it with his own, as he holds my gaze seriously. "I do."

I nod, taking a deep breath. "Then go," I murmur, "do what you need to do, and take care of yourself. But promise me you will return to Monrique one day."

"Tess – "

A ghost of a smile unfolds upon my face. "I am not going to pine and waste away in your name, do not worry," I assure him, "I have a duchy to rule, and a battle to continue fighting. I know what I want to do with my life - and I hope you find your purpose, your identity in the Longbournian Nations."

"I love you," I tell him softly, "it has always been you, and it will only ever be you. No time or distance is ever going to change that."

His baby blue eyes grow glassy. He does not look away from me, as he rises to his feet. He leans down to press his lips against the top of my head, and gently pulls me into his arms.

"I promise," I felt his words in each steady thump of his heart, "when I come back to Monrique, I will return a man worthy of you."