𝐓𝐎 𝐁𝐄 𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐄.
chapter seventeen; Swinging Swords
" I have no faith in prophecy, I have faith in you, Petal. "

  WORD SPREAD FAST in French Court, which was why it seemed like everyone's eyes were glued to little Elspeth Liens, clinging onto the arm of Demetre Langlois as if he was the only thing keeping her upright.

  They floated through the halls silently and stony-faced, and Elspeth swore she didn't even breathe until they were shut away in the art wing.

  "You seem wilted."

  "I am," Elspeth sighed bitterly, "I. . . this gossip, Demetre. It will surely reach my family. . ."

  Demetre raised an eyebrow, motioning his hand for her to continue.

  "My parents will form their own thoughts, my brother will. . ." Elspeth trailed off, wondering if Hans would share the contents of her letter with their family.

  "Your brother will. . ?"

  "Be furious," Elspeth said shortly, turning back to the easel as she retrieved a paintbrush. 

  Demetre leaned back in his chair, narrowing his eyes slightly as she began dotting paint onto the canvas.

  "What aren't you telling me?"

  Elspeth ignored his question, continuing her piece of art in silence.

  Guilt was eating her alive now. She feared she made the wrong choice- but all she set out to do was save the man Mary loved. 

  "Petal?"

  "Hm?"

  "If you don't wish to talk, I will not force you. . ." Demetre mumbled, standing from his seat, slowly wandering to peer over her shoulder at the canvas, "But know that I am here. Always."

  Elspeth attempted to maintain her focus, despite Demetre's presence behind her. She began mixing another color of paint, continuing on the portrait slowly, stroke by single stroke.

  Only then did she realize her aimless brushstrokes weren't mirroring the man she'd set out to paint. 

  "You won't be," She said quietly, "Once you realize. . . once you realize I am not as smart as I often pretend, Demetre. . . I make foolish decisions. . . I'm stubborn, and childish, and find myself far too influenced by emotions. . ."

  Demetre pursed his lips, taking a long look at his face on the canvas, only just recognizable by the medallion she'd taken detail to.

  "I followed you into the Blood Wood, Elspeth Liens. I fear any words I say may not express the truth, but my actions have and will."

  Elspeth nervously set the paintbrush down, turning to face the man. Not Lord Langlois, just Demetre. With a kind face, furrowed brows, worried just for her.

  "I knew Mary was to leave," She whispered, "She did it to save Francis's life. Nostradamus prophesized it; just as he did that Aylee. . . that Aylee would never return home."

  Demetre let out a breath.

  "And I sent Sebastian with her," Elspeth continued, "To keep her safe; from the wild, from people--"

  "You, Petal. . ." Demetre sighed, shaking his head, "Are too kind for your own good."

  Elspeth's lips parted in shock at his words. She'd expected judgment, lecturing, and perhaps even anger. As Francis was one of Demetre's closest friends, Elspeth Liens believed Demetre would storm out and tell him right away.

  "It was to save Francis," Elspeth said quietly.

  "From a vision. . ."

  "You have no faith in Nostradamus, yet you are not angry?"

  "I have no faith in prophecy," Demetre said honestly, "I have faith in you, Petal. If you believe it's reason enough for. . . all this. . . I do, as well."

  Elspeth smiled small. Demetre took at least some of the guilt away, assuring Elspeth she wasn't foolish or childish. That she'd made her best assessment of the situation and thought only of saving people she cared for.

  "But," Demetre said, sucking in a deep breath, "If Henry finds out. . . it's treason, Elspeth."

  "Yes, right. . ."

  "So," He plastered on a boyish grin, holding out his arm, "Lady Elspeth, we must put on quite a good show, don't you say?"

  Elspeth nervously rested her hand in the crook of his elbow, peering up at the man.

  "What of Francis. . ?"

  "Francis adores you; his matter is with Mary," Demetre said, patting the woman's hand, "Even so, she should not have put you in the middle of this. Clearly, she'd already made up her mind to leave. You could not have made her stay, so you assured her safety."

  Elspeth nodded, though she couldn't quite agree. She'd made the agreement in the panic of saving Francis's life, in the panic of keeping her friend and queen happy and safe. . . but with a little time to think, Elspeth wished she'd done anything to sway Mary, even if just to speak to Francis before leaving.

  "Get out of your own head," Demetre said gently, bringing the girl back to reality, "Let us find Francis."

  "Demetre-"

  "Trust me, Petal. We will get through this."

↬

  The next days were rather busy. Thanks to Francis and Demetre, Elspeth had escaped the sights of King Henry, and the threat of treason was a mere memory.

  Unfortunately, rumors ran rampant, and even the remaining Scottish ladies had their questions for Elspeth.

  But Elspeth Liens could not find it in herself to lie, so most of her days were spent with Demetre.

  Of course, until Francis joined in one of these regular art wing visits.

  "You can't stay locked away forever, Elspeth."

  "You two truly enjoy telling me what I can and cannot do," Elspeth noted, turning to Francis, "What else would you suggest, Francis? That I go face the whisperings of every occupant of the castle?"

  "No," Francis said, "I suggest that we go for a walk."

  Elspeth looked to Demetre, who shrugged lightly before standing.

  "Well. . . alright."

  Elspeth Liens followed the men through the halls of the castle until they arrived on the green lawn, where two wooden swords laid out on the bed of grass. 

  "A little bird told me you have skills with a sword," Francis smiled, "I had to see for myself."

  "Oh?" Elspeth couldn't hold back a laugh, "And who will I be fighting, Lord Langlois or the Dauphin?"

  "Take your pick," Francis grinned.

  "Alright, Your Majesty," Elspeth smiled, tossing a wooden weapon to Francis, "I'll start with the easy competition first."

  Demetre laughed loudly as he shed his jacket, taking a seat on the grass.

  "You think Demetre is a tougher opponent?"

  "I know Demetre Langlois, the greatest hunter in all of France, is a tougher opponent."

  "Atta girl," Demetre grinned up at the woman, leaning back on his hands.

  "Alright, alright," Francis waved off, "Let's see these impressive skills, Elle."

  "It would be my pleasure."

  Elspeth Liens had won the first match against Francis in a matter of minutes, pressing her sword to his heart. She'd won the second match even faster, with her sword pushed to his throat. The third match was over before it started, Elspeth managing to press her sword into his stomach.

  Demetre Langlois was laughing and cheering the entire time.

  "Alright, well if you think it's so funny," Francis grinned, pressing his sword into Demetre's hands, "You go on."

  "You're rather lucky you have an entire army to protect you, Francis," Demetre noted, hopping to his feet, "I mean, truly, that was. . . abysmal."

  Francis scoffed, but the smile on his face hadn't gone away.

  Demetre stepped to face Elspeth, whose hair had begun to curl due to the sweat dotting her face. She grinned, despite this, raising her wooden weapon.

  "My bet's on Elle," Francis yelled.

  "What'll you give me if I win?" Demetre yelled back.

  "A feast in your honor," Francis laughed.

  "What if I win?!" Elspeth argued.

  "Every art supply you could imagine, straight from Paris."

  "Sounds fair enough," The woman smiled, raising her sword to Demetre, "I have a lot on the line here, Demetre."

  "Oh, I hope you don't think I'll go easy on you."

  "I'd be furious if you did."

  Demetre just gave her a lopsided smile before raising his own weapon.

  They stood there for a long moment, neither wanting to take the first move, both calculating and cautious.

  Eventually, though, Elspeth grew impatient and swung her sword first.

  Demetre dodged it in a moment, moving quicker than Elspeth believed anyone could, taking his own swing. Elspeth managed to twist her wrist, blocking it quickly. She struggled against his strength, growing annoyed with his small smile as she broke the contact.

  This time, Demetre charged first, Elspeth managed to parry by holding her weapon vertically, only for Demetre to take his momentum and continue right on past her. The woman lifted her sword, twisting toward him, but Demetre had already caught her, holding her in place with a single hand on her waist, the other holding his weapon to her throat.

  "I didn't think it could be done!" Francis cheered, clapping his hands.

  "It was a good fight, Petal," Demetre said, lowering his weapon, but not yet moving his hand, "A few lessons and you'll be unstoppable."

  "Think I could be a solider in the King's army?" Elspeth questioned in a laugh, turning to face Demetre, "Real sword and all?"

  She struck a pose, sword raised in the air, earning a chuckle from the man.

  "I think you could be anything you wanted to be, Petal."

  She smiled softly, lowering the weapon as Francis joined them.

  "So, a feast in your honor, then?" Francis laughed.

  "As if he needs a larger ego," Elspeth huffed, sitting on the grass, the men following suit.

  They both laughed at her remark.

  "How are you, Francis?" Elspeth questioned quietly, "Truly?"

  Francis hesitated for a long moment, looking out at the landscape beyond the castle.

  "Hurt. Confused. Worried. . ." Francis said quietly, before looking back to Elspeth, "But I am glad to be here, with my friends. I am glad for the two of you."

  Elspeth reached out a hand, resting it over his own.

  "We are glad for you, Francis."

  And this was the truth. No matter what happened, what became of Elspeth Liens, she was glad that she'd met Francis, glad he'd shown her kindness, friendship, and laughter.

  "Speak for yourself," Demetre scoffed, "Francis has been a thorn in my side for years, now."

  "Oh, come on," Francis laughed, throwing an arm around Demtre, "Where would you be without me, oh Lord Langlois?"

  Demetre's jovial expression sobered up for a moment, clapping his own hand on Francis's shoulder.

  "I'd have a far more peaceful life."

  Francis shook his head, with a small ever present smile. 

  Because he knew. He knew Demetre cared, and he knew Demetre would never say such a thing so blatantly. It wasn't in him, it hadn't ever been. But he didn't need it, because Demetre had always been there, just as he was now.

  "So, this feast, are you thinking it should be held--"

  "Excuse me, Your Grace."

  The trio looked up as a quick-footed soldier joined them, clearly out of breath.

  "Lady Elspeth, Lord Langlois," He greeted respectfully, "Queen Mary and Sebastian De Poitiers have returned."

( AUTHOR'S NOTE. )
To Be Alone is back!!
Just so you all know, previous
chapters have been edited!
I would recommend reading at least
chapter 16 again as a large part
has changed, the rest is mostly
minor changes and some
added content between characters :)