𝐓𝐎 𝐁𝐄 𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐄.
chapter forty-six; The Light Of The Sun
" Because I had been in the dark for thirteen years. And when I met you, I suddenly knew what it was like to live in the light of the sun. "

THE TIME HAD come. Kenna had rushed to Elspeth's chambers in the morning after receiving a concerning message from a flustered Alex Dupont.

Elspeth chose now, mere hours before Demetre was meant to arrive from his success in conquering Calais, to tell Kenna everything.

Kenna's first priority was getting Elspeth ready.

She picked out a deep red dress, a color Demetre often donned, and jewelry to compliment the neckline. Kenna masterfully dotted rogue on Elspeth's cheeks and lips, bringing color back to her face, before dotting a floral perfume on each wrist.

Kenna tamed Elspeth's hair into neat ringlets, smiling proudly as she stepped back to admire the girl.

But Elspeth was still panicked. Her expression had not softened at all, and she sat stiffly at her vanity barely letting out real breaths.

"Ellie. . . the man you love will return to you today. That is something to be celebrated."

"If he does not share my affections, I may lose him entirely."

"I hardly think--"

"Think of it," Elspeth said, her eyes meeting Kena's, "A woman he's not bound to, but one he has done. . . everything for. He's provided me dresses, paints, jewels, housing. . . he's been kind to me, Kenna. Taken care of me when no one else could. . . I love him. . . and I cannot help but worry that professing my feelings may cause distance if he does not reciprocate them."

Kenna frowned deeply.

"Even if he does, that does not ensure things will end the way we want them to. . . With Henry still on the throne and after my head, nothing is safe. . . Not to mention I am a mess," She laughed sadly, "My reputation is tarnished; I've hardly shown up to court functions the past two months without him. I am. . . peculiar and loud and unruly when there are no other nobles to impress. . . he deserves someone good, Kenna, truly good, he has gone through so much, so many rumors. . . I do not want to be the cause of more of it. More rumors, more torment. . . I cannot imagine what people will think of him if. . ."

Elspeth blew out a long breath. It was so terrifying. Every aspect of it, from Demetre to the rest of the world. The leap of faith she would have to take was daunting even for a daredevil like Elspeth Liens.

"Do you want to know what I think?" Kenna said gently, taking a seat at Elspeth's side.

The woman nodded, unable to say a single word. Her hands were holding bunches of her newest dress, knuckles turning white at the strength.

"I think," Kenna said, gently placing her hand over one of Elspeth's, "That I have known you for my entire life. My very first memory, you were there. All our trouble and travels, from Scotland to France, we've been at each other's sides."

Elspeth's hand let go of her dress, allowing Kenna to hold it fully.

"And I have never seen you as happy as when you are beside Demetre Langlois," Kenna said quietly, feeling her own emotions rise, "He sets you free, Ellie, from yourself and your troubles. . . he makes you laugh and smile and dance. . . I just think it would be an awful shame to throw that away."

Kenna smiled sadly as she saw Elspeth's eyes shine with tears. And without another word, she embraced her dearest friend. And Elspeth clung back.

"You've missed him," Kenna whispered, "And he has missed you. Enjoy this. Enjoy your reunion. Do not let thought ruin it."

Elspeth pulled away nodding, attempting to calm her racing heart as Kenna squeezed her hand again.

"Come. Let us await him at the gate."

There was no hope. Elspeth figured her heart would burst out of her chest before she even saw him. She heard it thumping in her ears as she walked down the halls with Kenna, Hugo, and Alex. Elspeth heard the three speaking, but nothing sunk in deep enough for her to respond. Even when Kenna warned her that Mary would be present.

Even when they joined Mary and Greer. Even when Mary tried to speak to her.

The only thing that brought Elspeth Liens out of her head was the sound of trumpets.

Her hand grabbed Kenna's instinctively as Mary peeled off to find Francis.

"Stay with me until I see him?"

"Of course, Ellie."

↬

Demetre Langlois was a walking corpse. Every ounce of strength has been used up, each muscle and bone screaming in the ache of being over-exerted. Small wounds littered his skin, but the pain had subsided to a dull hum throughout his body. Francis had tried to have the gash on his face, a wound splitting open from hairline through his brow, looked at before their return.

Demetre reminded him many men needed attention before he did.

So it was still open and sore, aside from the blood that had dried and hardened over and around it.

Not to mention he hadn't been able to absorb the full weight of what he had been thrust back into until the slow march home. The sights of men dying and bleeding and burning. And everything that had been unearthed in his scrambled mind. A mind quite like his wound, one that had never been treated properly; only hardened itself to stop bleeding over time.

"We're home."

Demetre looked to Francis as they approached the familiar gates of the castle. He had no idea how Francis had remained so steadfast at the time. So hopeful and strong. Inspiring soldiers and saving every man he could.

Even now, Francis looked at him with such kindness.

Demetre would never say it, but he longed to be that way. So brazen and bold, optimistic and bright. He wanted to hold the same light Francis and Elspeth did.

A man not far behind them dropped his sword, the clatter sending Demetre back to the battlefield.

Francis's arms were the only thing that halted him. Pressing Demetre's hand that had grabbed onto the handle of his sword, firmly keeping it in its sheath.

As Francis spoke quietly, Demetre was reminded he had been born without that light. He'd only known the darkness. Now and then he was allowed to bask in the warmth of someone else's light, but in the end, he would always return to himself. The cold, emptiness of fumbling around in the dark.

"Elspeth is beyond these gates. Think of her now, Demetre."

His eyes met Francis's. The blond could see the hollowness behind Demetre's, the spark that had all but fizzled out in their time in battle. Not to say that Demetre hadn't been good at fighting; Francis believed he was born for it. But after days of watching men die, Demetre had gotten bad at. . . everything else. He was alive in a fight, but dead in silence. As if he went somewhere else entirely when they weren't on the battlefield.

Francis only hoped being home would revive him. That Demetre had not disappeared for good, thanks to his father's heavy threats on Elspeth Liens's head.

Francis had tried to persuade Demetre to stay at the castle. That he would handle Elspeth's protection while Demetre watched over her in person.

But Demetre refused. He'd struck the deal with Henry, and he'd be the one to see it through.

The toll had been greater than Francis had predicted.

But it had been exactly what Demetre expected.

The men turned their attention forward as they passed underneath the familiar gate, welcomed with cheers and merriment from those gathered for them.

Francis began speaking to them. About their victory, thanking the men, and praising France.

But Demetre felt his skin crawl. He dismounted his horse, his body stiff and tired as he hit the ground, pain shooting up both legs.

He could not decide what was worse. The infatuation with his violence, or the horrified expressions at his presence.

Half of the crowd stared at him in awe. The other half retreated, faces paling.

And Demetre felt like an imposter in his own skin. He was not as kind as they thought, but he was also not as cruel. Demetre did not want to be painted as an angel, for he knew his hands were stained red, but he had never been a monster either.

Why was he forced to these extremes? Why must he be a hero or a villain, an angel or a devil; it made him sick. Drove him mad. He wanted to scare the rest of them away, even if only to give himself the space he needed to breathe for a second-- he couldn't breathe.

Demetre felt his stomach churn-- he'd never reacted this way before. His face was expressionless, but internally panic rose. He'd been well trained to deal with it, all of it, the good, the bad, the indifferent-- but now, right now, the terrified expressions made him angry. The cheers made him ill. He was not their savior, he was not their monster; he was not a tale to be told over dinner or around a fire.

He was a man. They had made him their fairytale. He was a man, and right now, he wanted to tell each person trying to grab him while they praised his part in conquering Calais, that he hadn't done it for them. Or Henry. Or France.

He wanted to tell them the names of each man he had watched die in a foolish battle. He wanted to remind them people lost their lives because a King was hungry for more power, more glory, more land. He wanted to shout that Henry's greed would be the ruin of France itself-- wanting to conquer not just Calais, but England as well.

He wanted to tell each person praising him that he'd done it for Elspeth. In his mind, she deserved Calais itself. That if he had the say, he'd rip the crown off of Henry's head and place it on hers. Because she wouldn't have sent men to their deaths or tried to conquer stronger, larger countries when she had her own. She would've protected her people, never taking them for granted. She would know their names, and their families, and know the full weight of every action she made before making it.

She would've cared.

But he didn't say anything. Demetre stood stoically, staring at Henry in all his regal garb. The people around him weren't to blame, Demetre reminded himself.

Henry was.

For everything.

And for the briefest moment, Demetre Langlois dreamt about pulling out his sword and cutting Henry Valois down right there. With everyone watching.

"Ellie, be careful--!"

His head moved slowly, slower than Demetre wanted it to. He saw Kenna's familiar face further into the crowd, a worried expression on her face as she called out.

"Get out of the way!"

The grasps at his arms, the tugging at his armor, the cheering around his ears-- it all stopped.

And he saw her.

Just as she collided with him, arms thrown around his shoulders, pushing everyone else away with a spirit only she could have.

He only saw her hair, the golden locks let loosely down for the first time in a very long time. Then he saw her dress, that deep crimson he had chosen before he had seen so many men bleed for a king who cared nothing for them.

Her face was buried in his chest, and Demetre's first thought was he was ruining her. His armor was dirty and blood-stained, it would get all over her untouched hair and clothing, and she'd have the paint of battle on her face when she retreated. He wanted to hold her close and push her far away, to keep her from being tainted by him.

"Elspeth."

His voice was gravelly as if his throat was too dry and raw from not speaking for far too long.

"Yes," She whispered into his chest, "Demetre."

And then he shattered entirely.

Demetre Langlois wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly against himself, caring little for the dirt on his gloved hands. He rested his cheek on the top of her head, inhaling the floral perfume he'd stocked in her chambers.

Emotions were rising quickly in him, fear and anger and pain and happiness, and Demetre knew he had little time left on the mask he wore so well.

"I don't want to be here. I want to be with you. Inside our wing of the castle. Away from everyone else."

Shock ran through Elspeth's entire body, from the top of her head to the bottom of her feet. His husky whisper made her mind go blank and her tongue go numb in her mouth.

She only nodded.

Demetre remained holding her for another moment, before pulling away.

When she looked up, Demetre felt her sunlight breaking through the cracks in his heart.

She had a smear of dirt on her forehead and a small spot of blood on her chin, but she was looking up at him in a way she never had before.

He felt wrong. She had no idea what he was, truly, and he knew he did not deserve to bask in her light.

But she grabbed his hand, and Demetre knew he needed it.

Elspeth turned, starting back toward the castle, his hand in her own. Demetre stayed close, his chest nearly brushing her back until they broke away from the crowd.

He could hear Henry start a speech, and Demetre ground his teeth when the King announced the sitting Queen of England was dead.

But Elspeth peered over her shoulder to check on him, and the monster inside Demetre Langlois lowered its head and retreated.

He gave her more space when the crowd thinned out, but she never let his hand go. Even as they reached the castle doors and Demetre saw familiar guards waiting for him.

"Lord Langlois."

Alex and Hugo spent in unison, holding closed fists over their hearts in respect.

Demetre could only nod. Then men did not seem to mind, though, they simply followed behind Elspeth as she led the three of them through the castle, down the familiar route.

"Wait for us here," Elspeth said, her tone a soft lullaby that kept Demetre's emotions at bay, "We need a moment alone."

Demetre watched as the men obeyed instantly, taking stations at either side of the grand doors that separated his wing of the castle from the rest.

Elspeth walked through the doorway and led Demetre down the hall. He felt like a child being cared for. He knew he should have been stronger, especially now, with only Elspeth as a witness. He had to be strong, he had to protect her, take care of her.

If he was weak, even for a moment, he might lose her.

But he had nothing left. He let Elspeth lead him to his chambers, opening the door as if it was a normal occurrence, and ushering him inside.

Demetre stood in the center of the room as she closed the door, rushing around for a moment. He'd lived in the same place for 13 years and it had only looked so foreign once before.

"Sit, please."

His eyes locked onto Elspeth as she rounded the bed with a cloth in one hand and a bowl in the other. Demetre obeyed, taking a seat on the edge of his mattress, making him just barely shorter than Elspeth standing at her full height.

His eyes stayed glued to her face as she worked gently. The woman set the bowl on the side table, dotting the cloth in water before approaching him. She wiped at his face, avoiding his wound intentionally until the cloth and water were a murky brownish-red color.

"We'll have to visit Nostradamus for this," She said gently, a frown carving into her features, "I didn't learn nearly enough to mend it on my own."

Demetre said nothing. Elspeth squirmed under his gaze, but she never retreated.

"Perhaps changing out of your armor would make you feel better," She suggested lightly, "I can have someone draw you a bath--"

Elspeth started to move, but Demetre caught her wrist. Her lips parted in shock, and she all but panicked when she saw tears welling in his eyes.

"I'm sorry," She said quickly, turning her attention back to him, "I'm so sorry, no-- we-- we can stay right here like this for as long as you need, Demetre--"

"The only thing I have ever been good at is the ending of one's life, Elspeth."

The words were harsh and strung together poorly, between his rough voice and the crack from emotion.

"That's not true," Elspeth tried, kneeling in front of him and grabbing both of his hands, "That is not true, Demetre."

He blinked slowly, one single tear running down his freshly cleaned cheek.

"You make me feel like I am not a monster, Petal. I just. . . I just need you, right now."

Demetre knew he was making little sense. He was fragmented, like a million little pieces scattering away from each other quickly, and all he wanted was for Elspeth to put him back together. The same way she had so many times, without even knowing it.

He didn't even have enough of his mind to scold himself for the weakness showing. For the pitiful statement, for the fool he was making of himself. He went off on one expedition and now he was a poor excuse of a man sitting before Elspeth Liens.

He could only think of her. The way he had those past two months. He could only think of her, her light, her warmth. This was all he yearned for.

"Okay."

Demetre felt himself sag out a breath as she spoke softly, her hands never leaving his as she rose to take a seat beside him. His head hung low, exhaustion finally seeping beneath his skin, reminding him of what he'd put his body through.

"I'm here," Elspeth said, lifting a hand to rest on the nape of his neck. "For however long you need."

They stayed like that for a while. Elspeth wasn't sure how long, but eventually she had begun toying with the curls at the base of his neck. It was soothing for both of them, perhaps. To absorb each other, after a long leave of absence.

Eventually, Demetre decided to disappear into his bathing chamber for a short time. Elspeth sat nervously, her mind spinning about his behavior. She was worried about him, about what he had seen and done to return to her safely.

When he exited he was clean and in fresh clothes. He said nothing, crawling into the bed, under the thick covers, and simply watched Elspeth turn to face him.

"It smells like you in here."

Elspeth felt her face go red.

"Strange," She said tightly, "Perhaps the maids got our linens mixed up, I'll have to. . . have a word with them."

"I wash my linens, Petal. They wouldn't have been touched in my absence unless you told them otherwise."

"Why do you wash them?"

"It's soothing," He said, turning over to face the ceiling, "You've been in here, then?"

Elspeth twisted her lips, her embarrassment constricting her vocal cords. Demetre had returned worse for wear and this was the conversation they had to have? She hadn't even had a chance to talk about her feelings, but now she had to admit that she'd been sleeping in his bed.

"It sounds so curious when I say it out loud but I--"

"What's mine is yours, Elspeth. Anything you want, it's yours. Anywhere you want to be, you can."

Elspeth relaxed, a soft smile gracing her face as he spoke gently.

"You're exhausted and yet still so giving."

Demetre turned, his eyes meeting hers.

He wanted to tell her everything. And perhaps he could now, with a scrambled mind and little inhibitions. Demetre cared little for holding back, for pretending and masquerading, right now.

"Because I had been in the dark for thirteen years. And when I met you, I suddenly knew what it was like to live in the light of the sun."

And for the first time since he had returned, the smallest, most tired smile appeared on his lips.

"You've shown me what it's like to live, and want to live," He continued, his voice still soft, "You've mended me in ways no one has ever tried to. You are precious to me, Elspeth. Never forget that. Never doubt that."

Elspeth's eyes burned with the fire of unshed tears. She grabbed his hand and held it tight.

He loved her, too. Elspeth knew it had to be true.

She would tell him tomorrow. When he was rested and his wound had been tended to, Elspeth vowed, she would tell him everything.

But right now he needed rest. He did not need more things to think of, Elspeth could tell his mind was full and she did not want to add more.

"Rest," Elspeth said thickly, "I will be here."

Demetre did not argue. He squeezed her hand, closed his eyes, and let himself relax.

Because Elspeth was there. And that was everything.

( AUTHOR'S NOTE. )
so.... how's everyone doing after this
chapter? you guys okay? still breathing?
hehe