𝐓𝐎 𝐁𝐄 𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐄.
chapter forty-nine; Long Live The King
" I said nothing back. "

  DEMETRE LANGLOIS PACED silently. Mary had been previously uneasy at his presence, but Catherine had been the one to summon him so she chose not to question it. And after Demetre didn't so much as greet either woman, he quickly became a background piece in the room. 

  "A hundred men dead like that. Life so carelessly taken, I feel like I'm the one losing my mind."

  "Mary, there's something you should know."

  "Catherine--"

  The Queen raised a hand, silencing Demetre. Mary looked between the two of them in confusion, a knot forming in her stomach.

  "Henry asked for an annulment once more," Catherine said, "It can only mean he wishes to end our marriage and turn to someone else. You."

  "No."

  "I saw what he did to you."

  "It came out of nowhere," Mary said, "He's never shown the slightest bit of interest."

  "You are Scotland. Henry wants you to be England. Three countries for a King who has lost his mind."

  Mary looked to Demetre, her mind reeling at his emotionless statement.

  "So, he's decided to wed me and keep all three crowns for himself," Mary said after a moment.

  "Thus his suddenly generous acceptance of the fact that you are not pregnant. . . yet. He wants to give you an heir himself."

  "And the spectacle, the carnage. . ."

  "A botched display of his prowess."

  "Does he honestly think that Francis and I would agree to have our marriage annulled? It's ridiculous!"

  Both women seemed to realize Henry's intention at the same time.

  "No," Demetre said, his jaw tightening, "He'll have Francis killed."

  "No. Even he wouldn't," Catherine said, though it was clear not even she believed her words. 

  "For three crowns, three countries-- the death of his son is a small sacrifice to a king without a mind."

  Demetre felt his anger rising.

  "If you're right, our only chance is to overtake him and his guards. Assuming Francis is able to persuade the generals to join us in the coup. If Francis comes back at the head of an army, we'll know he succeeded. If he comes back alone, we have no protection from Henry. And neither does Francis."

  Demetre had been busy. He'd hardly had time to think, let alone breathe, but somehow against all odds he'd arrived just in time.

  "Francis!"

  "Demetre, you cannot--"

  "Quiet. Listen."

  Francis was shocked into silence as Demetre tugged the reigns, his horse slowing to join Francis's.

  "The Naval Spectacle--"

  "I saw the men. The ones they retrieved. . ."

  Demetre's lips flattened. Francis would carry that weight, he knew. The same men they fought alongside, were reduced to cannon fodder for entertainment.

  "So you agree he must be stopped."

  Francis faltered, looking to Demetre.

  "We'll speak with my mother and--"

  "He must be stopped. You know that. As I do."

  Francis tightened his grip on the reigns of his horse.

  He'd known Demetre since he was six years old. Demetre had always been older, wiser, stronger, and taller. He'd been the one Francis asked for advice on the rare occasion he decided he needed it. He'd been the mark Francis had to meet for sword-fighting. He had been the one Francis was jealous of before he realized that jealousy was just adoration.

  Always at his father's side, but Francis learned at an early age it was never because Demetre wished to be there. Always praised, but miserable as feasts were held in his honor.

  He was as much a brother as Sebastian was. 

  "We alone will carry the weight of that sin."

  "There will be a joust. Henry will take part in it. When he does, I will take Lord Montgomery's place and--"

  "No."

  Demetre furrowed his brows as Francis grabbed his arm.

  "I will not let you be the one," Demetre said sternly, "Your heart is too kind, Francis, it will weigh on you too heavily."

  "And what about you?"

  "I will bear the weight."

  "Like you bear the weight of--"

  "Don't."

  Francis shook his head.

  "Demetre, I can't let you."

  "And why not?"

  "Because if you do, I know that you will never let yourself be happy."

  Demetre himself paused at that. His hands frozen, mind spinning.

  "You hold back because you believe what people have said about you," Francis continued, "You refused to court a single woman or find a friend outside of Bash and me. You did not let anyone close, because you think you are bound to cause them harm."

  "I am."

  "You are not!"

  "Elspeth told me she loved me."

  Francis smiled. A true smile, despite the weight of what he had seen and what they were moving to do.

  "I could never hope to be worthy of that," Demetre whispered, looking to Francis, "I said nothing back."

  "Tell her you love her, too."

  "I will ruin her."

  "Even my father couldn't manage to do that, despite his best efforts," Francis said, becoming somber once again, "I hardly think you could."

  Demetre said nothing. 

  "And if you are the one to do this, you will never let yourself love her."

  "Perhaps that is for the best. For her."

  "Isn't that for her to decide?"

↬

  Elspeth's nerves were at an all-time high as she watched the joust. She wished her anger had remained so that she could have ignored Demetre's message. She wanted to be mad at him, to ignore any direction, and stay locked up in her chambers for the rest of the day.

  But she loved him. Even as hurt as she was, even with the confusion and the fear; she loved him.

  Which was how she wound up standing there, next to Greer and Castleroy, watching nobles knock each other off of horses. She kept repeating Demetre's message, that all she had to do was be present and trust him, but her hands were still shaking.

  "Ellie, are you all right?"

  Elspeth's eyes snapped to Greer's gentle expression of concern, before glancing to Castleroy's watchful eyes.

  "Yes, of course," She breathed out, "Just a terrible sport, isn't it? Knocking someone else off a horse."

  Greer cracked a smile, turning back to the joust.

  "I suppose some people find it entertaining," Greer said, "Where is your Lord Langlois?"

  "In another meeting," Elspeth said tightly, "He's been busy since he returned."

  "One of the few misfortunes of such a high station."

  Elspeth looked to Castleroy when he spoke. She'd hardly met him, let alone held a real conversation.

  He was older but looked kind in an honest-to-God kind of way. His voice was soft, his gentle smile expressed empathy.

  "Yes, it is," Elspeth agreed softly, "Though, I suppose he's not missing much. Do you enjoy the sport, Lord Castleroy?"

  "I enjoy the time spent with my fiancee."

  "A very smart answer," Elspeth grinned honestly, looking to Greer and giving a nod of approval.

  Castleroy smiled. Greer blushed. And for a moment, Elspeth forgot about her nerves.

  "His Majesty, King Henry, and Lord Montgomery!"

  Elspeth turned her attention back to the joust as Henry took his place.

  She clapped alongside the crowd, but couldn't contain her indignant sigh. The men charged at one another, and Henry landed a blow on Montgomery, splintering his lance.

  Elspeth clapped again, before clasping her hands as they prepared for another round.

  "I just cannot understand why violence is entertainment," Elspeth mumbled.

  "To the few who have not known it, violence is a spectacle."

  Elspeth opened her mouth to say something else. To agree with Castleroy, make another point about how stupid jousts were-- but then Montgomery landed a blow on Henry.

  And Henry was falling.

  The crowd screamed as the king hit the ground. Elspeth felt her hands cover her mouth in shock as men rushed to him.

  "The King has been gravely injured! Where is the physician?!"

  And as everyone watched people swarm the king, Elspeth Liens watched Lord Montgomery dismount his horse and hurry away from the scene.

  There was no world in which this had been an accident. 

  Henry would succumb to his injuries. Elspeth learned of that after pacing around Demetre's study for an hour.

  The King was dying.

  "Lord Langlois is with the Dauphain. He will stay at his side through Henry's passing."

  Elspeth blinked.

  She felt no grief for Henry. But oh, how her heart ached for Francis and Sebastian.

  Henry was a horrible man and a worse father. But he was their father. Perhaps the blurred lines made it even harder for them to process it.

  "Can I join them?" She said after a moment, looking up to meet Hugo's eyes. "Once Francis has seen his father and. . ."

  "Of course."

  Elspeth nodded, starting through the castle with Alex and Hugo in tow.

  She only stopped when she saw Sebastian entering through the main doors in a hurry.

  "Sebastian," Elspeth breathed out, attracting his attention, "Are you okay-- That's a foolish question, but with the Darkness and now your father--"

  Sebastian took two steps towards her and embraced the girl.

  Elspeth hugged back.

  "I am so sorry," She whispered.

  And Sebastian had nothing to say. He couldn't find a single word that made sense of anything, so he just kept on hugging her.

  "We'll speak more later," Elspeth said, pulling away, "I want to hear of everything, okay?"

  "Alright," He said thickly.

  The girl gave him a sad smile, brushing his cloak off.

  "Let's go find your brother."

  Sebastian nodded, joining her side.

  And as they approached the hall that led to Henry's chambers, the words rang out.

  "The King is dead. Long live the King."

  Like a mantra, a chant. It echoed in different voices, between soldiers and handmaids and guards.

  The door to Henry's chambers opened just as Sebastian and Elspeth joined Demetre Langlois, whose face was void of all emotion.

  Alex and Hugo had joined the other guards in kneeling to the new king. And as Francis approached, all three prepared to do the same. To regard him as a king, instead of the dauphin.

  But Francis grabbed Sebastian and pulled him into a tight hug before his knee could hit the floor. And the moment he let go, Francis pulled Demetre into the same kind of embrace.

  Francis retreated, staring at them, and only then did he seem to notice Elspeth Liens.

  His friend. Perhaps the only real one save for Sebastian and Demetre.

  "Oh, Francis," Elspeth whispered.

  And then, he hugged her, too.

  He swept her up and held her tightly, and she held him in return, Francis felt a tear run down his face because a part of him felt like he had disappointed her.

  Even though she had no way of knowing the man atop the horse had not been Lord Montgomery. Even though she had no way of knowing that Demetre had been involved, damning the both of them.

  Here was a person who had stayed kind in the face of violence. Here was a person who held onto hope, for herself and others.

  Francis hugged her tightly and told himself he would make it right. He would never do something so horrific again. Even if only because he knew it would mean losing his friend.

( AUTHOR'S NOTE. )
place your bets, who do you think
was on the horse, Francis or Demetre?