𝐓𝐎 𝐁𝐄 𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐄.
chapter seventy-four; The Langlois Wing
" I assure you, my dear, I am worse than any other man. "

IT WAS STILL the dead of night when Demetre Langlois returned to the castle, alongside Francis and Sebastian. And it took no time at all for the men to disperse quickly once hearing what transpired in their absence.

  Demetre Langlois couldn't breathe. It felt like a crushing weight was pushing on the center of his chest, forcing all the air out of his lungs. The walls of the castle were closing in on him, and the very blood in his veins was fire, burning him alive from the inside out.

  He wasn't sure how he made it to the Langlois wing. He wasn't sure why his men seemed so heartbroken as he brushed past them, or why Hugo and Alex were whispering when he entered his study.

  Because Demetre Langlois only managed to catch his breath when he saw Elspeth Liens, sitting untouched behind his desk. He only managed to think when he rounded the furniture and grabbed her shoulders, checking her over for any injury.

  He only managed to speak once he brought her frame into his.

  "Petal, I couldn't breathe once they told me the wing had not been untouched."

  Demetre felt his wife relax into his arms, her own hands coming up to clutch onto his shirt.

  "I'm safe, my love."

  He breathed, pulling away and gently brushing the hair from her face. Her expression was pinched; pain and exhaustion and dread sunk into every feature of her face.

  But the softest smile graced her lips. The gentlest warmth crept in because Demetre was home. Because he had returned to her, and she could breathe better for it.

  "Hugo, who were the guards on duty?" Demetre questioned, his eyes never leaving Elspeth, his thumb still drawing gentle strokes on her jaw, "They'll be dealt with-- the rules are clear and simple, not a soul--"

  "Demetre," Elspeth said softly, lifting her hand to grab his wrist. "Not now, please."

  "The security of this wing is the only thing that matters," He said, his jaw ticking, "And my only interest is discovering why scouts did not see these men, and why guards allowed them to enter."

  "Demetre--"

  "Allard and Bernard were outside, Martin, Dubois, and Allaire were inside. We were patrolling, alongside Blanchet."

  Demetre's eyes darkened, turning to face Alex and Hugo.

  "You are solely to guard Elspeth's room."

  Elspeth felt her heart jump, grabbing Demetre's arm.

  It was as if a switch had flipped, suddenly his anger was not locked inside his chest, it radiated off of him. His tone change was instant; never raising his voice, and yet it filled the space, leaving no room for Elspeth, Hugo, or Alex.

  "It was me," Elspeth said quickly, "I told them to change shifts, Demetre."

  "They know why I am strict about positions and shifts," Demetre said, not turning to her, "They should have known to remain at their posts. The scouts?"

  "Only two returned, my lord," Hugo said tightly, "They returned just before--"

  "Just before our men outside died protecting those inside," Elspeth said, rounding Demetre.

  His gaze lowered to her face. He was angry, this she could tell. His anger was curled and quiet, and though he tried, the rage in his eyes didn't dissipate as he looked at her, it only softened slightly.

  "As did two men inside," She continued, "They were not weak or unworthy of the job. They died protecting this place. Protecting me."

  Demetre swallowed, clenching his jaw.

  "Have their families been notified?"

  "That is what I was working on, the moment you barged in," Elspeth said, lifting her chin, "Writing letters to be hand-delivered. I understand these positions must be filled with haste, but I only wished to take tonight to mourn those we lost. To let our men mourn their friends."

  "Petal. . ."

  "If you wish to be angry, then you may only be angry with me," She continued, "Not Hugo, or Alex, or any other guards or scouts. Me."

  Demetre stared for a moment, but Elspeth was unflinching. He let out a sigh, his shoulders falling as he hung his head.

  "I was terrified you had been harmed."

  "Even if I had, it would not have been their fault."

  His eyes flashed to hers, anger and panic evident in Demetre's gaze.

  "It would've only been their fault--"

  "Sometimes, the world is harsh and cold, and we are ill-equipped for it," Elspeth said strongly, grabbing his hands tightly, "I know why you are scared, Demetre. I know why you force such tight restrictions-- but it does not fall on men who live and breathe for my safety that intruders entered, despite their best efforts to keep this place a sanctuary from it all."

  Demetre clearly could not grasp what Elspeth was saying. Of course, it was their fault. These guards, they were paid, and housed, and fed, all to protect his home. To protect his love. This was their purpose. If they failed, it was because they weren't trained. They weren't strong enough or smart enough or quick enough.

  "You would never blame Hugo for what happened to the Estate. Do not blame these men for what happened tonight, especially after they gave their lives, and I am entirely unharmed."

  His eyes widened briefly, looking down at his wife.

  "The Estate was my fault alone. But now, we all shoulder the burden of keeping House Langlois alive. It is my fault for not training my men enough. And it is their fault for not fighting hard enough."

  "I'm not sure how much harder the men who died could have fought."

  Elspeth took a step back, pulling away from Demetre.

  He felt his regret the second he saw her features twist. As if she almost did not recognize him.

  Demetre reached out for her, but Elspeth recoiled, turning to face Hugo and Alex, who both had taken to staring at their shoes.

  "Get some rest," Elspeth said softly, "Lord Langlois and I will finish the letters to be sent off at first light."

  Alex glanced nervously between her and Demetre.

  Elspeth felt her stomach churn as Alex's stare steadied on Demetre. He was waiting for his word. For his approval.

  "Of course, my lady," Hugo spoke up, bowing his head.

  Elspeth gave him a pitiful excuse for a smile as he turned, opening the door and exiting, halting in the hall only to glance at Alex.

  Demetre sighed, rubbing his brow as he leaned on his desk.

  "Lady Langlois is not to be questioned," Demetre breathed out, "You were following orders, Alex. I apologize they were opposing ones. We will sort it out, and make things right so expectations are clear, but you never need permission if my wife has already granted it to you."

  An eerie silence greeted Demetre. He glanced up, through a glaze of exhaustion, wondering how he had misstepped this time, only to find three varying expressions in front of him.

  Alex's jaw was dwindling. Hugo appeared almost satisfied. And Elspeth Liens was staring at him in such a way he wasn't sure if she was going to murder him, or take him right there in the study.

  "What have I said now?" He asked, his shoulder dropping.

  "Only that Lady Elspeth is now Lady Langlois, and that the two of you are already wed," Alex blurted quickly, before slapping a hand over his own mouth as if he had just let out a secret.

  Demetre felt shock run over his body, standing to his full height as his eyes quickly bounced between the trio.

  "I. . ."

  "You are exhausted, and excited to marry Elspeth," Hugo said quietly, "We understand the slip, Lord Langlois. We respect her as the head of house, alongside you, and will not speak of the accidental misstep you spoke tonight."

  "But Hugo--!"

  "Come along, Alex, we need the rest," Hugo said, clapping a hand on Alex's shoulder, "Goodnight Lord Langlois. Lady Elspeth."

  Alex was still bumbling as Hugo dragged him out, but silence engulfed the couple as the door was shut, leaving them inside and alone.

  Demetre looked to Elspeth nervously. She rolled her shoulders back, rounding the desk and taking a seat. She stared at the papers briefly, before picking up a quill and continuing her neat penmanship.

  He stayed there. Leaning on the desk. Staring at her.

  She was right. Demetre knew it as well as he knew the sky was blue. Elspeth Liens was right about this as she was about most things, and it was starting to be useless to question her at all.

  He would never blame Hugo for what happened at the Estate. And not finding compassion for the men who died tonight was cruel. It was a lingering thought pattern of the man who had trained and raised him to be the Monster of France.

  The thought disgusted Demetre. That he was thinking how Henry might have. Blaming men who fought their hardest, and in the end, men who accomplished their job. Men who protected the home and Elspeth.

  Nothing was broken or burned in the wing. Elspeth was untouched. And yet he blamed them still.

  "Are you going to stare at me all night?"

  "If you let me."

  Elspeth lifted her gaze, but dropped it again once she saw he was serious. His eyes locked onto her, leaning on the desk, one of his hands splayed out across the dark wood, each heavy gold ring in his fingers glinting in the dim candlelight, held most of his weight, though his index finger tapped slowly, as if he couldn't help but want to reach for her.

  "Petal, please look at me."

  "Why, so you can continue to berate men who are not here to defend themselves?"

  "So I can explain why I acted so pompously, and apologize for causing anyone to question you."

  Elspeth halted her hand, thinking for a moment, before leaning back and staring up at him expectantly.

  "I rebuilt the guard from the ground up," He began slowly, "Once I was old enough to be on my own here, I knew I needed it. To be able to sleep, to breathe. . . I couldn't rely on the Kingsguard. Not with how Henry treated me; knowing him, he'd have let intruders sneak by to test my grit."

  Elspeth felt her resolve falter briefly.

  "I've trained them all personally," Demetre admitted, "I've met their friends, their families. I took care of them, so that they would take care of me. Only me, ever. . . until you came along. I had scouts ensure your chamber was secured even before you were in this wing. My guards patrolled the halls surrounding your chambers, because I couldn't trust that Henry would spare the men to protect you. . . I promised myself a very long time ago that I would never hold anyone close to my heart. Because I was unworthy of it because I could never hope to be good enough, worthy enough. But I could not help but love you. . . And when I finally let myself, when you told me that you loved me, too, Elspeth Liens, I promised myself I would protect you to the ends of the earth. I would burn the world down, I would slay armies or kings or monsters, but only to keep you safe. . . If I cannot keep you safe, then I am not worthy of loving you."

  "Demetre. . ."

  "It's not fair," He said quietly, shaking his head, "You were only in danger tonight because of me. Because of my closeness with Francis. It is my fault you will be targeted. It is my responsibility to protect you. . . It was not fair of me to blame the guards. That thought, those ideas. . . are those of a man who raised me on them. Be strong or die. Kill or be killed. Eat or be eaten. Henry told me for so many years that if you are not the strongest, you will be devoured. I am still trying to unlearn that. But it is no excuse. I apologize, Elspeth. I apologize for my anger, for my words that I cannot take back, and for making our men question your authority. I apologize for leaving you, even for only a few hours, and I apologize that you were in harm's way."

  "You would stop loving me if you couldn't keep me safe?"

  "I will keep loving you forever. Whether or not you love me back, whether or not you are here, whether or not I am," He said softly, "I can never unlove you, Elspeth. I accepted the moment you spoke those words, that if I let myself have you, I would protect you. If I cannot, I am unworthy. But that doesn't mean I'll stop loving you. It only means I'll work harder. I'll become worthy again, and again. I hope that tonight is the last night I fail. The last night I have to become worthy again."

  She stood from the seat, gently rounding the desk and stepping between his legs. Elspeth rested light hands on his shoulders, gently sliding down the lengths of his arms before grabbing his hands with her own.

  "That is a thought process from Henry as well," She noticed softly, looking up to meet his eyes, "That you are only worthy if you provide something. Protection, fame, glory. . ."

  "That is a thought process because I was too foolish and it ended my family's lives."

  "No," Elspeth said gently, "It is because after that horror, you ran into the arms of a real monster. And his soothing words masked a bigger agenda."

  Demetre felt like she knocked the wind out of his lungs.

  He always thought bearing the weight of the Langlois massacre was self-induced. That he alone had planted the idea in his head.

  Now, he was lost in memories. Falling through time, trying to remember what Henry said the first night. The first morning. The first week. The memories of Catherine were clearer; her kindness, her fierceness, her pressure. She had held him while he cried. She had told him he was safe now. That no one would touch him.

  Demetre remembered Catherine staying in his room because he would wake up screaming from a nightmare. He remembered Catherine reading him back to sleep.

  He remembered Catherine building him up. She had been a buffer at first, keeping him away from prying eyes. And he remembered when she couldn't keep him hidden away anymore, she was only honest.

  She told him that people would say horrible things, and she would help him build a set of armor to keep it all out.

  He remembered that Catherine had done exactly that.

  But Demetre couldn't pinpoint the first time Henry hugged him. Or spoke to him. The first time Henry comforted him or wanted him to spend time around Francis or Sebastian.

  Sifting and searching, Demetre remembered offhand comments made occasionally. Ones about his family, about his fighting abilities. Comments Henry had made, perhaps believing Demetre couldn't hear.

  Or perhaps they were made because Demetre could hear.

  "Who were you, before the world told you who you had become?"

  Her soft hand on his face brought him back.

  Demetre could remember everything about Elspeth. From the first time he saw her to the first time they spoke. He even remembered before her, when Catherine told him Mary Stuart would be coming to court with ladies in waiting.

  He remembered dreading it. Laughing with Francis and Sebastian. Complaining about more visitors. Sebastian had joked that Demetre was truly complaining about more women who would surely try to wed him.

  Demetre knew it had been true.

  And he remembered when all that dread flew out of the window because Elspeth Liens had no interest in the armor he had built. Because she was revolted by his rudeness. He remembered that first night, how drawn he was to her even at a gathering as large as the Princess's wedding. How bright Elspeth was, happiness and life poured out of her with every move, every smile, every word.

She was everything he had lost. Everything he had ever wanted and never believed he deserved. A thing so kind and pure he believed he would taint it by proximity alone.

  He remembered how instantly he wanted to give to her. The art wing, the warnings about Catherine, the gowns, the paints. How he sent guards to patrol around her chambers because he knew Henry would never spare the manpower for a lady-in-waiting. How he hoped every time he walked in the halls or attended a gathering that he only hoped to catch a glimpse of her.

He remembered how standoffish she'd been at first. How someone who seemed so kind and giving had no issues glaring at his antics or reminding him of the proper courtly etiquette. He remembered yearning for her attention, even if it was a scolding. Even if he was saying something outlandish to garner said attention. Even if it was only a parry of words, arguments, and banter. He didn't care. He remembered how warm it felt to be in her presence.

He remembered how little she had wanted from him. And when she did, Elspeth asked for things no one else had. His time. His company. Advice. Friendship.

He remembered she had changed him without meaning to. She had made him better. Made him think and ponder and want to be better. Not stronger or crueler, but kinder. To show the side of him that had become so hidden, that even Demetre wasn't sure it still existed.

  "I don't know," He admitted, leaning into Elspeth's palm, "But I know who I want to become."

  "Tell me."

  "A husband worthy of you. A father worthy of his children. A man worthy of his staff."

  "You already are. At your core. Let that shine through the mask you've been forced to wear."

  She ran a gentle thumb across his cheek, pulling him in for a brief and sweet kiss.

  "I'm trying," He whispered, pulling her in and resting his forehead on hers, "Every day."

  "Then little else matters, Demetre."

Everything mattered, he thought. Who he was when he was around Elspeth had to differ from the guise he wore around the castle. From the mask that had grown to fit his face.

He had power because he was feared. Because he was cruel and unkind and unmoving.

But once their dealings were settled here, and they were wed, perhaps he could start anew. Perhaps he did not have to be the Monster in Scotland. He could just be Demetre.

"Was anyone else harmed?" He said quietly, running his thumb over the back of her hand.

Her eyes flicked up to meet his, a deep sort of sorrow swirling around her irises.

"I sent guards to Mary," She said thickly, "I knew if the assassins had entered here, there was no world in which they hadn't already entered her chambers. . ."

Demetre squeezed her hand. Understanding instantly.

Elspeth didn't want to say it, because it was not her story to tell. But Demetre didn't need her to say a thing, because he knew how to read her expressions like they were his favorite book.

"Whatever resources you wish to share with her, please do," He said quietly, "I'll share the same sentiment with Francis. I'll search for those men myself if I must."

"Demetre, if they managed to enter the castle, the wing-- managed to kill our guards. . . It's dangerous, it's--"

"I assure you, my dear, I am worse than any other man," He said quietly, though his words were laced with a familiar darkness, "I will find them. Because even though the ones that entered here are dead, they have friends. Friends that will suffer at my hand for the crimes they committed. Against you. Against House Langlois. . . Against my brother and his wife."

He stood, suddenly reminding Elspeth of his large frame.

Demetre became docile around her more often than not. Soft and pliable, but moments shone through to remind her why the realm feared him so.

Standing there, without an ounce of armor or a weapon at his side, Demetre Langlois looked like he could tear the world apart with only his hands.

"Okay," Elspeth whispered.

Demetre rounded the desk, extending a hand to her, his palm facing up.

Elspeth took it, as she always would, letting him pull her to her feet.

But instead of leading her out, Demetre stood, glued to that spot on the floor. He pulled her closer, sharing his space with his wife, gently guiding his hands around her shoulders, her waist, wrapping her up in his presence.

"I wonder how our wedding will proceed?" He said quietly, "The world is burning, and we shall throw a party?"

"It was quite advantageous of us to marry on the road, then," Elspeth said quietly, linking her arms behind his spine and craning her neck back to stare up at him.

"It was, wasn't it?" He agreed, giving the faintest ghost of a smile. "I wonder who came up with such an idea."

Elspeth rolled her eyes, beginning to retreat, but Demetre's arms tightened around her. She narrowed her eyes, but Demetre grinned, clearly happy with himself.

So Elspeth went limp in his arms.

Demetre howled in laughter, spreading one hand out across the back of her dress, the other one supporting her shoulders, keeping the girl from hitting the floor despite her dramatics.

She only stared up at up, the tiniest smile present on her lips.

"Things will never be boring with you, will they?" Demetre asked, tilting his head.

"You knew that the day you met me," Elspeth responded in a sigh, letting her head rest against his chest.

"Well. . ."

Elspeth let out a yelp as Demetre lifted her into his arms in one swift movement, his grin still prevalent.

"I've got to keep up with you somehow, haven't I?"

"Demetre, we have work to do!" Elspeth said as he started toward the door, "Letters, and new staff-- and not to mention--"

"We will take care of it all in the morning," Demetre said, his tone softening, "But I believe we have all had a very trying night. And I want nothing more than to get a bit of rest beside my wife."

Elspeth sighed, accepting his reasoning.

And perhaps it was partially because being with Demetre like this let all the adrenaline leave her body for the exhaustion to creep in.

Demetre walked down the quiet hall of the wing, gently pushing open the door to Elspeth's chambers, before depositing her on the mattress.

She accepted the comfort instantly. Sinking into covers and pillows, watching Demetre shed each layer of his attire until he was comfortable in a loose pair of pants. His shoulders sagged as he climbed into the layers beside her, his arm stretching far so Elspeth could burrow into his side.

They let out a breath of relief at the same time, finally having a calm moment that night.

And then all at once, Elspeth had the strangest surge. Perhaps it was the conversation with Kenna days ago now, or the brief glimpse of what it might look like for her and Demetre to not be on the same side, or it was all the commotion and fear earlier that night.

Regardless, she had an overwhelming worry and needed Demetre to reassure it away.

"Does it bother you that we have not. . . slept together yet?"

"We've been sleeping together for weeks," Demetre said in a yawn, tightening his grip around her slightly.

"You know I do not mean that kind of sleeping. . ." Elspeth mumbled, glad for their position as she didn't have to see his expression when his breathing changed pace.

Her unease grew with each moment of silence. Suddenly every part of her skin that he touched felt hyper-sensitive, aware of every movement he made. Or lack thereof.

"Why would it bother me?"

His tone was gentle. Curious, not accusatory.

"Because you have been with other women before," Elspeth whispered, "And now that we are wed you cannot, but I. . . haven't. . ."

"Petal, you are so much more to me than sex."

"Demetre!"

"If you wish to speak on it, please don't ask me to censor myself," Demetre breathed out, and just by his voice Elspeth could tell he was smiling, "I married you because I love you. Not because I wanted to get you into bed. Though, I have succeeded in that endeavor."

"You are horrible," Elspeth chided quietly.

Demetre laughed and it warmed her entire body. He wrapped another arm around her, pulling Elspeth into a world of cinnamon and clove.

"I wish I could reach into your mind and take those thoughts out myself," He said softly, his lips brushing over her hair as he spoke, "I never want you to doubt how much I care for you."

"I know you care for me. . ." Elspeth said quietly, tilting her chin up to catch a glimpse of him.

And it was devastating. He was otherworldly. She had always known this, of course, even from that very first meeting.

Demetre had always been handsome. Tall and broad and strong; the physique of a hunter tailored neatly in a nobleman's attire. Intimidating, but all too heartwarming once he spoke to her.

But tonight it was different. Because he didn't have his armor on. He wasn't wearing rich clothes or the Grim's cloak; he was just Demetre. Looking down at her, the dim candlelight cast shadows across his face, glinting in his eyes.

"But I worry that your patience won't last forever."

"It isn't patience," He urged, threading his fingers through the hair at her scalp, "It's just us. I just love you, Elspeth. I'm glad for every day we spend together, no matter what we spend it doing. My only concern is why you seem so panicked by it all."

Elspeth sighed, shutting her eyes for a moment.

"Because it's scary," She said, her voice so meek Demetre might not have heard it if the room wasn't so still.

"Tell me why."

"Because what if you don't like how I look?"

She opened her eyes, meeting Demetre's worry-filled ones.

"Impossible," He said quickly, "Next."

"What if I'm a bumbling fool, and I've no idea what I'm meant to do?"

"We'll have plenty of time to practice."

Elspeth blushed head to toe, and Demetre smiled at the sight.

"And I'll be with you the whole time," He said, softer now, "Next."

"What if it's horrible and you divorce me for one of the women that--"

"Petal."

"Okay," She said quietly, shrinking back under his deadpan stare. "I. . . I'm not good at being. . . not good at things."

  "What?"

  "Painting, accounting, reading, writing, even swordwork-- I took to it instantly," Elspeth breathed, "Every hobby I tried that I was poor at. . . I ignored them. I had to be great or nothing. . . so the possibility at. . . not being up to standard. . . it's terrifying."

  "There is no standard."

  He said it so softly, so surely, that Elspeth Liens felt her chest ache.

  "You are not competing with anyone," He said quietly, "I love you, Elspeth. Regardless of your skill level."

"You truly are the worst," Elspeth laughed, looking up at him. "What if it never happens?"

"Then we shall die a very happy couple, neatly ending the fabled stories of the Langlois house," Demetre said, without an ounce of regret, "The Liens line would continue with little Nessa, and the world would still be alright for it."

"Do you truly mean that?"

"I wouldn't have said it if I did not. You are very precious to me, Petal. Very little could ever change that."

She stared up at him in awe and love. Every day he seemed to surprise her with the lengths his love went to. Elspeth was beginning to believe he meant those things he had said. That he would defy death for her, burn the world for her; that Demetre Langlois could do what he was promising, only because he loved her that much.

"Maybe we'll have a real wedding night, once we are married in the eyes of our friends and family."

"Well, Elspeth Liens, that is very forward of you."

Elspeth scowled, but Demetre only howled with laughter. He wrapped her up in his embrace, and her sulking ended shortly thereafter. And they fell asleep like that, entangled in one another, reminded that despite whatever horrors they faced in or outside of French Court, they would always have this.

( AUTHOR'S NOTE. )
Demetre and Elspeth's dynamic
will forever be my favorite that I have written.