Lady Therese De Beauharnais of Roche

18 November, Year 32 of King Frederick V of Monrique's reign

Roche Manor, Roche

Monrique

"....Mais hélas ! qui ne sait que ces loups doucereux,
De tous les loups sont les plus dangereux."

On that profound note, I closed one of my old folklore books, Charles Perrault's Petit Chaperon Rouge.

Papa had been listening to the story in silence thus far, leaning against his pillows. His sapphire blue eyes were unfocused, as they stared off into space.

"Alas, who knows, indeed," he mulled over the last two lines of the story now, his voice barely audible, "those with the sweetest tongues have the sharpest of teeth."

Taking the bowl from his bedside table, I fed Papa the last spoonful of his porridge.

"Lord knows why you insist on listening to these children's tales before your naps, Papa. Most of them have such depressing conclusions," I smiled in amusement, "I thought you preferred light-hearted stories."

He slowly swallowed it. "I never realised how much wisdom there is in these tales. Not when my own parents had read them to me as a child – nay, not even when I had read them to you and Clara when you were children," he chuckled, and coughed, "indeed, mon ange, there are many things I am coming to realise now that I am about to die - "

My eyes snapped to him at that, and I felt my good mood vanish into thin air.

"Do not say that, Papa," I cut him off quietly, "if you value my sanity, even in the slightest, please do not say that."

A heavy silence fell over the room, as I set down the porridge bowl on his bedside table.

I stood up from his bedside, and strode over to the study table yonder to prepare his herbal concoction, as instructed by the Physician sent by Jules. Slamming the glasses hard against the surface, I mixed the ingredients as violently as I could without breaking the utensil. I could feel the resentment, the grief rising within me, as my eyes stung with tears.

It took very little to set me off these days. It had been a difficult one month.

"Ah, do not be angry with me, child," he murmured, watching me, "I was only telling you what I thought."

I turned around. "What do you think, Papa? That you will never recover? That you will weaken and waste away until the Lord takes you to his abode?" I was trying hard to keep a hold over my emotions, "Lord help me, Clara and I have been trying and trying and trying to nurse you back to health all this while, but if you do not want to get better – "

"Tess."

I stopped my tirade. "Yes?"

His eyes regarded me with tenderness. "My days are numbered," he stated softly, but firmly, "you can twist and turn the matter any way that you like, bring in any physician from any corner of the world to look at me, but we both know it: I am dying." His voice was bleak.

A discomfiting wind swept over my stomach; I shook my head vehemently. "Nay, you are not," I whispered, "if you rest more, continue taking the concoctions – "

"They do me no good," he denied, coughing, "you know I only drink them on your insistence. Look at me, child - do I seem any better in health from when you first saw me last month? Despite everything you have done for me?"

I gazed at him. Most of his blonde hair had already fallen out in clumps. Dark, purple circles ringed his sapphire blue eyes, and they were set deep within their sockets. His pale, parchment-like skin was stretching painfully over his cheekbones, and many red-purple spots marred his stick thin arms and legs.

Worst of all, the phlegm he coughed out throughout the course of his illness had turned from yellow to now green, mostly with stains of red. The coughs themselves had become more violent, sapping every last ounce of his energy.

Nay, he cannot die -

But he already is. Day by day.

His eyes softened at the sight of my expression. "Come here."

Trembling, I returned to his bedside. He placed an arm around my shoulders, and drew me closer to him, pressing his lips gently against my forehead.

"Everyone has to leave someday, mon ange," he murmured, "it so happens my day is arriving a little sooner than expected."

I closed my eyes, feeling the tears stick to the back of my eyelids. He was only eight and forty years old. By all means and reason, he should still be in the peak of his health.

If not for someone.

I had suspected it a long time now – from when he had first begun to fall ill with this mysterious sickness. It was why Papa's chambers were being guarded by several Corporals that Clara's suitor, Captain Robert Everard, had sent at my behest two years ago.

In addition to that, my mother had followed me on my heels to Roche, and reached here a day after I did. The moment she had set foot in the Manor, I placed her under house arrest, far away from Papa's chambers. I stationed a few Corporals in her chambers to watch her every movement, and report to me.

It was too late, however. I was too late.

At that moment, I heard three knocks on the door. "Sister-mine," Clara hesitated at the threshold, "you have visitors."

I looked up at her, exhausted and confused. "Did you not ban all visitors to Roche Manor, Clara?" I asked, sighing, "tell them to visit in a few months. I am in no mood to entertain anyone."

"I did," she answered helplessly, "but they will not take nay for an answer, and are refusing to budge from our doorstep unless you see them. It has been over an hour since I sent them away, but they are still here."

"An hour in this bitter cold?" Papa burst into quiet laughter, "my goodness, what an example of perseverance. Tess, you had best go and see what they want."

"I will watch over Papa while you meet them," my sister volunteered.

I ran a hand through my hair. "All right," I stood up, huffing, "Clara, please give Papa his herbal concoction, and do ensure that all the Corporals are guarding what they should." I glanced at her meaningfully.

Her eyes hardened, as she nodded. "You have my word."

Papa frowned, looking between us. "I am hardly in any danger, my dears. Who will want to attack an already dying man?" he was confused, "why do we have so many army officers about the house these days?"

Because the snake is inside the house.

"Worry not. 'Tis only a precaution, Papa," I offered him a vague explanation, "now please drink the concoction, and rest well. I will return shortly."

I smiled weakly at him, and nodded at my sister before I strode out of the chambers. As I approached the front door, I felt my features form into a fierce scowl.

By God, who was it that insisted on meeting me at such an inopportune time? Did they not know that my father was ill, and that I needed to take all care of him? Did they not know I was busy with the duchy and the house and the suffocating threats from all sides -

Grabbing the double door handles, I swung back both doors with such force, that the towering, dark-haired man who had been sitting down and leaning against them on the other side, almost fell at my feet.

"I told you not to sit there, Nick," a calming baritone chuckled, "did I not?"

I blinked, taking in the scene before me. A familiar, honey-blonde man was seated on my doorstep, covered in layers and layers of fur, and holding a sleeping five-year old tightly to his chest.

My eyes widened. Lord Testalt? Tommy?

His dearest friend, Crown Prince Nicholas Seymour of Monrique, was now adjusting himself, as he scooted over to his side and smiled up at me, sitting cross-legged.

I scowled. "Why have you come?"

"Two reasons," Nick admitted, "one, Julie and my mother have sent us here to help you, at least until Lord Thomas recovers. You must have a lot on your plate, managing his ducal duties and his health at the same time."

I frowned. "I can manage, Sire – "

"We want to help, my Lady, and truth be told, we would have come much sooner if we had been able to," Lord Testalt managed a small smile, "in addition, we are not allowed to return to Bordeux until your father recovers. The Queen's orders." He shrugged.

I did not know how to tell them that my chances of my father recovering were slim, when I still could not accept it myself.

Nevertheless, I could use their help with Papa's ducal duties. I was due to visit Adrianbourg and Johanne in the coming week to review their harvests for this month, and I had been wondering how to travel without having to leave my father alone.

"Thank you. I truly do appreciate it," I admitted, "and the second reason?"

Both men's smiles faded at that, and they looked at each other for a long while.

"This one is Ned's," Nick spoke up hesitantly, "although he still refuses to tell me what is in that darned box." He rolled his eyes.

At that, Lord Testalt pushed the box that lay beside him, towards me.

My eyes followed his movement, and I froze. It was the same box that Jules had given to me a month ago to hand over to Lord Testalt during his engagement. 

The latch was open.

At once, I knew.

My heart was almost in my mouth at the realisation, thudding loud and fast. I could feel every warm cloud of breath that left my lips, and dissipated into the cool air. My legs were numb, and my mind heady.

The day of reckoning had come.

I raised my eyes hesitantly towards Lord Testalt, who held my gaze with an intensity that robbed me of my breath in that moment.

"Tess," he remarked quietly, "for once, the truth, please."

There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. No Mama to diffuse the situation. No show of hatred, or anger, or indifference to hide behind. No blanket of lies to shroud my every word.

I bit my lip, nodding. "Come in, then."

***

In my bedchambers, in front of the large fireplace, Lord Testalt and I sat opposite each other, with the box sitting between us like a wall of stone. Nick had tactfully left us to speak alone, and was now watching over both Tommy and Papa with Clara in his chambers.

Thud. Thud. Thud. My heart was all I could hear in the silence.

Had it been so long since we had an honest conversation that we had forgotten how to speak with each other?

I could tolerate it no longer. "Well, my Lord, you mentioned you needed answers," I broke the silence, "I am assuming you have the relevant questions."

Lord Testalt glanced up at me, and cracked a lifeless smile. "Aye, I have many," he chuckled humourlessly, "so many, that I am wondering where to start."

He took a deep breath, almost composing himself, as he placed his hands on the box. "Mayhap I will start with this," he decided, as he gazed at me, "did you know, when you gave it to me on Jules' behalf, what the box contained?"

"I still do not know. I admit, I have a good guess," I answered quietly, "but I cannot be entirely certain."

He nodded, pushing it towards me. "Here, open it, then."

I stared down at the box. I hesitated for a few moments, before I lifted the ledge, and opened it.

I held my breath.

Inside lay, as I had feared earlier, many, many stacks of parchment, neatly folded into small squares, and packed tight in endless rows and columns to the very brim of the wooden box.

My breath became lodged in my throat. I did not even need to count. There were 532 squares in there – letters, that I had written to Lord Testalt every week over the ten years that he had spent overseas in Osterlund.

I had saved each one, but I had never been able to send them.

As I sat before him now, cold, vulnerable and shaken, I hesitantly picked up a square of parchment and unfolded it, all the while wondering exactly when Jules had sneaked into my chambers, found and gotten hold of these.

Most likely before her pregnancy.

I held it up against the light of the fire, and set my reading glasses on the bridge of my nose. The parchment was filled with a few sentences in fading ink, which I began to read silently.

14 October, Year 20 of King Frederick V of Monrique's reign

Roche Manor, Roche

Monrique

Dear Ned,

I hope you have reached Osterlund safely. I wanted to let you know that Mama, Clara and I have returned to Roche indefinitely. Papa feels that it is high time that I learned more about my duchy that I will be ruling one day, and its people. He has agreed to take up my education on governance himself.

As such, with the exception of special events, we will not be going to Bordeux, so please address your letters to Roche Manor herein forth.

And in case you have forgotten, yes, I expect you to pick up your quill and write to me regularly while you are away. I am not giving you a choice in the matter. It is horrid enough that I cannot accompany you, Nick, Evoric and Lucien to Osterlund. It has only been three days since you all left, but I am already sorely missing your company.

Take care of yourself, and keep in touch.

Your dearest friend,

Tess

Despite myself, a dark chuckle left my lips when I finished reading. "'I expect you to pick up your quill'," I quoted myself, amused, "my goodness. I was a rather presumptuous twelve-year-old."

"I thought it was an endearing letter, truth be told," Lord Testalt cracked a weak smile, "all five hundred of them were."

My eyes widened. "You have read them all?"

"Over the span of a whole day, and throughout the two-day journey here, yes," he admitted, before he grew serious, "my Lady, all these years, I thought you cut off all contact with me after I left for Osterlund, because I had already served my purpose in your plan to marry Nick one day. Because I was no longer required. Because our friendship never meant anything to you."

There was so much pain laden in his words, and truly, I felt a fresh, tidal wave of shame wash over me in that moment.

"You are right," I mumbled, "after you all had left, my mother had forbidden me from keeping in touch with you - and intercepted and burned every letter I nevertheless tried to send you. In her opinion, because of you, I had now already become well-acquainted with Nick, and I no longer needed you to maintain that friendship."

"But you still wrote to me," his forehead creased, "why?"

I hesitated. "I liked writing to you. It made me feel as if we were still good friends," I hugged my knees to my chest, "even though I could not send them."

He fell silent, lost in his thoughts.

"I used to receive your letters, however," I remarked quietly, "every week, without fail, my Lord."

He looked up. "Your mother did not intercept those?"

"Nay. She took sadistic pleasure in having me read them," I answered bitterly, "knowing well that I badly wanted to write to you in return, but I could not."

"But I enjoyed reading about everything you and your friends were up to in Osterlund, my Lord. Your anecdotes of mischief, laughter, friendship – the good times and the bad," I reminisced with a certain fondness, "and I also remember you used to ask me, at end of every letter, about why I was not replying to any of them."

I gestured to the box. "Well, here are your replies. All five hundred and thirty-two of them," I sighed, "and if you wish to take a look at your original letters, I have kept them too."

His eyes widened. "You have?"

I broke into a small smile at his surprise, nodding. I stood up, and walked over to the wall by the window, and tapped a few times at a specific point near the window frame, until a faint crack was visible. Inserting one of my nails into the crack, I gently pried out the thin slab to reveal a gaping hole in the wall – where I had hidden all of my precious items I had wanted to hide from my mother's eyes.

"Whoa," Lord Testalt was peering over my shoulder, "that is quite a collection you have there." He gestured to the motley of items within, before one of them caught his eye.

"Hold, is that the wooden sword that I gave you when we were ten?" he bent down to pick it up, "it still looks as good as new."

"I stained it to prevent it from rotting," I smiled faintly, "a memory of the disastrous times when you tried to teach me to duel in our childhood."

"And you almost poked me several times in the eye," he chuckled, "I remember."

I pointed to some of the other items. "That is a purse that Liv stitched for me for my sixth birthday, all by herself. That is a miniature rock horse Nick gave me for Christmas when we were eight, and that one is the first birthday present you gifted me – a miniature harp - oh, and that one is the portrait I painted of you and Nick when we were ten," my smile widened, "the one you both would not sit still for, remember?"

He picked up the hand-sized portrait in surprise, and chuckled when he saw it. "You actually painted Nick in the process of running away, and me looking to follow him," he fingered it, amused, "'tis a good likeness, I admit."

In the meanwhile, I reached for the black box at the end of the hole, similar in size to the one Jules had given Lord Testalt, and took it out. I blew off the dust on the lid, and held it out towards Lord Testalt.

"And these are your letters."

He nodded, and lifted the box from my arms. Beckoning me to follow him, he strode back to the fireplace. He sat down once more as did I, cross-legged, and opened the box.

Inside it, too, lay many pieces of parchment folded into squares, and neatly arranged. He slowly pried one of the squares out, and unfolded it. After reading it, he placed it back, and picked up another. And another. And another. With each successive letter, his baby blue eyes grew rounder and rounder with wonder.

When he reached the last one, however, a flash of pain crossed his countenance.

I watched him. "What is it?"

He wordlessly passed me the parchment in his hands. Puzzled, I adjusted the reading glasses on the bridge of my nose, and found myself looking at an unusually short letter, addressed to him, rather than from him.

I froze, as my mind dragged me back to the past.

As I quietly and carefully dismounted from my horse a street away Testalt Manor, I considered, for the umpteenth time tonight, the possibility that I had lost my sanity for good.

There could be no other explanation for why I went through the trouble of preparing and mixing a sleeping draught in my family's dinner, bribing the staff and guards with the last of my savings to keep their silence, sneaking out of my own house and riding at breakneck speed on horseback, more than two hundred miles north, alone on a winter night - and all of this, to meet a man whom I suspected was avoiding me.

But I wanted to - nay, needed - to see Ned. It had been almost two weeks since he had returned from Osterlund, along with the Crown Prince, and I had yet to even hear from him. It was beginning to worry me. The Ned I knew, or thought I knew, at least, would have ridden straight down to Roche to meet me after he had the chance to meet his family in Testalt.

Something was wrong, and I intended to find out exactly what it was.

I spent the past week planning every minute of this night to the smallest of details, and even then, I was risking more than I could afford to. The fact that I had even left home without Mama's knowledge tonight was a gamble in itself, and if God forbid, the sleeping draught wore off before I could return home -

I could not think of the consequences without shuddering.

It was with that sobering thought that I now tied my horse to a nearby tree, and crept towards the back of Testalt Manor. I was careful to tiptoe as I walked, and remain shrouded by the shadows to avoid being spotted by the few guards who were stationed outside. Once I reached the back, I went down on my hands and knees to crawl through a bush that had been planted many years ago to hide the part of the fence that Ned and the Crown Prince had broken during one of their duels.

To my surprise, the backyard was not empty.

A toddler of about three years of age was seated on the steps to the back door. He was hugging his coats to himself, as he scribbled on a piece of parchment, lost in his own world.

"Tommy?" I called out softly.

Ned's only nephew, Lord Thomas Delaborde, looked up from his parchment, startled. When his baby blue eyes, so like Ned's, focused on me, they began to fill up with happiness. He tossed his parchment and his quill aside at once, and bounded down the steps towards me, beaming from ear to ear.

"Tessie!" he squealed, as he threw his chubby arms around my legs.

Chuckling, I gently pried him away from me, and knelt down to his height. "Why are you awake so late at night, child?"

"My eyes are open," he shrugged.

"And?" I asked wryly.

"House is too quiet," he babbled, becoming excited, "Oncle Ned is sleeping. I was bored - "

"Hush, you need to keep your volume down, little one," I whispered, interrupting him, "Tessie is not supposed to be here."

A crease formed between his brows. "Tessie is not supposed to be here?"

I shook my head. "Anyone who is welcome to your home will walk through the front door," I smiled sadly, "and during the day. You must always remember that. If anyone comes to your home like I have, you must run and tell your Mama or Oncle Ned at once."

"Tessie is no stranger," he grinned, "Tessie is always welcome."

"Not tonight," I muttered, looking down, "and from this day forth, I will never be."

"Why?" he questioned, patting my cheek.

A lump lodged into my throat at the genuine concern in his voice. "I fear I have upset your Oncle Ned, mon ange," my voice shook, "I did not mean to, but I did."

His forehead creased further. "Oncle Ned is sad," he confirmed in a whisper, "very sad, every day."

That made me feel worse. "Can I...can I see him? I will not wake him. I promise," I swallowed, "please?"

He nodded, and held out his hand towards me.

***

After I tucked Tommy firmly into bed in his chambers, I proceeded to Ned's.

The stench of alcohol overwhelmed me the moment I stepped foot into his bedchamber, and I raised a hand to cover my nose on instinct. He was lying on his back on his bed, fast asleep, and his honey blonde hair was tousled. Five empty bottles of whiskey lay on the floor next to him.

My eyes almost popped out of my sockets in horror. Had he drunk them all by himself?

Truth be told, I was not shocked by the quantity. I knew I could drink - and I had - much more than that in one sitting. I was only concerned that he might not have the tolerance. I doubted he drank himself to oblivion as often as I had these few years.

I soundlessly set aside the bottles in a corner, before sitting on the edge of his bed. As I did so, I noticed two things: there were dried tear tracks on his face, and he was clutching a parchment with one hand.

I gently pried the parchment from his hands, and held it up against the moonlight to read it.

Dear Ned,

I told you this before, and my answer has not changed over the years. Tess was only friends with us, friends with you, because she wants to marry Nick in the future. We have never mattered to her. It is why she has not replied to any of the letters you have been sending her over the last ten years, or attempted to keep in touch with you in any way.

Nothing is more important to her and her horrible mother than marrying into the royal family, and she has been lusting after the throne and the wealth that comes with it for as long as I can remember. You were, and still are, too deeply in love with her to even see the truth, let alone accept it. Love has made you so utterly blind.

You must also know that there have been rumours flying about these few years that she has been seducing and sleeping with the older peerage to find favour at court. Regardless of whether they are true or not, the fact remains that she has fast risen as one of Queen Consort Eleanor's favourites. Now that Nick has returned from Osterlund, she will use every weapon at her disposal to make this marriage happen, come what may. She is a liar, a fraud and a whore.

Beware of her, and keep your heart safe, Ned.

Your friend,

Victoria Havelock

A wobbly smile dragged my lips up in a curve, broken and jagged in several places. It was thus the story ended. This was why he had refused to see me.

I had lost him. I had lost him the moment Victoria had told him the truth.

Truth be told, Lucien and his wife Victoria had never made a secret of their loathing for me. She was being a good friend to Ned by warning him about me. Nothing in that letter was false. I was a liar, a fraud and a whore.

My eyes prickled with hot tears.

This letter, here in my hands, was the plain, cold truth. The easiest, most straightforward explanation for my actions, my behaviour and my intentions all these years. No amount of justification could ever make it acceptable or forgivable, and at this point, I did not even want to. It would only be an insult to his pain.

I looked away from the letter, and gazed at him. With trembling hands, I traced the tear tracks on his face, and wiped them away.

He stirred slightly, but his eyes remained closed.

"I am truly sorry for hurting you, Ned," I whispered, "but I am not sorry for what I have done. I did what I had to to survive all these years. This letter barely covers the least of what I have done and borne, and I pray, for your sake, that you never find out the rest. It makes for an utterly terrible story."

I set the letter on the bedside table, and laced my fingers through his. I raised his hand, and leaned my cheek against the back of it.

"The distinction between needs and wants is something that I learned to make a very long time ago, you understand. Choice is a rare concept in my household," I reflected quietly, "so believe me when I tell you that a marriage to Nick is something that I desperately, desperately need - not for the wealth or the honour, but for the power he brings with him. I must become a Crown Princess Consort. I need to. There is no way around it."

On cue, the image of my mother flashed across my mind. Chills ran down my spine. I gripped his hand tighter, but he slept on, unperturbed.

"You are the only man whom I want, and always will be," I pressed a gentle kiss to his knuckles, "but after tonight, it will no longer be of any consequence. I stand to lose too much, mon ange, more than I already have." My voice broke.

I took a deep breath to compose myself. "So listen to Victoria, and keep your heart with you," my voice was filled with sadness, "and when the time comes, give it to someone who is deserving of it."

With one last kiss to his knuckles, I took the letter with me and walked away, before the tears in my eyes could fall.

"Tess? Tess?"

Someone was tapping my shoulder. I looked up from the letter, blinking away the tears that had gathered in my eyes out of their own accord, to find Ned gazing at me solemnly.

"I searched high and low for this in the morning," he gestured to the letter in my hands, "until Tommy told me that you had stopped by my home the night before...for a reason I am still unaware of." He tilted his head at me.

I folded the letter into smaller squares in an attempt to compose myself. "I came to meet you in person, and ask you why you were avoiding me after you returned to Monrique," my voice was strained, "as you already know, I found my answer that night, and I took it with me." I closed my fist over it, so that I did not have those incriminating words staring up at me.

He watched me. "Why did you take it?"

I took a deep breath, as I attempted to find the right words. "I suppose I wanted to keep it as...a reminder of sorts, so that I would never try to play the blame game, rationalise, or justify any of my wrongdoings to others and to myself," I swallowed, "and it is a good thing I did. Victoria has always been blunt with her words. Even after these couple of years, it is difficult reading her letter. As it should be."

"Why?" he asked quietly.

"No one likes hearing the bitter truth about themselves," I muttered, "I am no exception."

He stared at me. "But is it? Is this the truth?"

"Well, there is no room for doubt in this letter," I avoided his gaze, "Victoria could not have made it any clearer." I clutched the letter until my knuckles grew white.

He stood up, running a hand through his hair. "Exactly," his voice was filled with frustration, "and after reading this and meeting you a few weeks later in Roche for Nick's Potential Quest, I was convinced that I finally had the elusive truth in my hands: that you are most certainly nothing but a heartless witch who would destroy anyone and anything in order to marry into the royal family, that our friendship was never real, that you, the Tess I knew during my childhood, were never real."

Surprised, I rose to my feet as well, and remained silent, allowing him to finish.

"And then Nick married Jules instead of you. Your plan - one that you had been fixated on since your childhood - had failed," he began to stride back and forth across the room, "and everything changed. You began to avoid all social events, all opportunities that could have brought you the power and wealth you sought all your life. You took up a career that advocates the truth. You watched over Tommy like a guardian angel and cared for him like a second mother. You tried to make amends with everyone whom you have hurt in your previous quest to marry Nick, including me."

"Why, what did you expect I would do after Nick married Jules?" I raised an eyebrow.

"I expected you to hit back with all force. Mayhap chase after him? Create misunderstandings between them like you did before? Try to separate them using every means at your disposal?" he shrugged, "or even have Jules murdered. I would not put it past you, my Lady."

I could not help it. I cracked a wry smile. My mother had contemplated all those options, and more after their marriage.

"However, you did not. You changed yourself instead, and drastically so," he continued in the meanwhile, "and although it took me some time, I found myself willing to consider the possibility that you had, somehow, realised the error of your ways, and were trying to become a better person for it."

He stopped striding, and faced me. "But now, I find you keeping these - our childhood playthings, our letters, our presents - as if you truly value the memories behind them," he spread his hands over the boxes and items in front of us, "and I am forced to reflect, once again, whether I have been clinging to yet another illusion of the truth all this while. And I think - "

Strangely, I felt cold dread creep up my spine. "Yes?"

His baby blue eyes snapped up to meet mine. "I think that you have always valued our friendship," he remarked softly, "that your guise as a heartless witch was nothing but a calculated façade. That the plan to marry into the royal family, and hurt so many of us in the process, was never truly yours."

A bitter smile crossed my lips as I took his meaning.

"You think too highly of me, my Lord," I chuckled humourlessly, "I assure you, my mother did not force me to do anything. It was her plan, of course, but I followed through with it from my childhood because I wanted to marry Nick, hated Jules and wanted her out of the way -"

" - up to a certain point, yes," he was watching me closely, "there came a time when you did not want to follow your mother's plan anymore. Am I right?"

I looked away from him, feeling a lump lodge itself in my throat. Nay. We were not discussing this now. He wanted the reason behind my unsent letters, and I had given it to him. There was no need to further explain – Jules should have never meddled in my life thus -

"Tess, please," his voice was soft, "you need only say aye or nay."

I considered it. I suppose I could work with that.

I raised my gaze hesitantly to his. "Aye."

"And when you began to act against her wishes - by writing to me, for instance," he guessed, "your mother feared that you were getting out of hand. She searched, and she found something to hold over you, to keep you under her control indefinitely."

I stood very, very still. I had underestimated his intellect. At this rate, I would not even have to tell him anything. He would deduce everything on his own.

"She did not have to search long," I whispered, "but aye."

"But you are prideful. So damn prideful," he shook his head, "which is why, over the years - rather than asking for help from someone - you continued obeying your mother, and managed to convince everyone, even yourself, that you followed through with her plan because you truly wanted to."

Emotion began to choke my throat. "Aye."

He reached for my trembling hands. "My Lady," he addressed me softly, "what has your mother been blackmailing you with all these years?"

I refused to look at him. "That is not an aye or nay question."

He turned my face towards his to look at him. His gaze was filled with compassion, as he gently cradled my hands in his. In that moment, I truly believed he wanted to untangle the web I was caught in, and help me heal from the wounds of the past, and move on towards the future - as much as he himself wanted to.

Nay, needed to.

"Tess, I want to help you out of this," he whispered, "but I cannot do that unless I know what she has been holding over your head."

One truth, and I would set the both of us free.

At that moment, my vision was almost completely clouded by my tears, but I was too proud to allow them to fall. My whole body trembled with the weight of what I was about to tell him, because I knew, once it left my lips, it would be...it would be real.

And there was nothing he or I could do about it. It was already too late. I was too late.

"She threatened...to take Papa's life."

***