𝐓𝐎 𝐁𝐄 𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐄.
chapter fifty-two; The Monster Of France
" You were told who you were before you got to choose who you would be. "

ELSPETH LIENS WAS not doing well. She wandered the castle like a ghost, unsure of what to do or how to speak. She had been entirely unable to paint, and uninteresting in riding or sharing breakfast with Alex and Hugo.

But she still stood beside Demetre to welcome Francis, Lola, and their child home.

Her friends had heard the news, and Elspeth had no doubt Kenna had shared it the day it arrived. And she was grateful, for if she had to recite it in her own voice she would have crumbled entirely.

Francis hugged Elspeth tightly after he had greeted Mary and Bash, lingering for a moment with the girl.

And when he let her go, Elspeth clung back to Demetre's side.

She wasn't entirely of her own mind, but she could register faintly that Francis was introducing his apparent savior, Louis of Conde.

Elspeth felt sick as Demetre finally escorted her away. She'd not even said a word to Lola, or welcomed her baby home, but she couldn't.

Elspeth had very little light left for anything in her heart.

"Petal."

She glanced up at his soft tone.

"We can stay inside," Demetre offered, "Or we can attend the celebration of Francis's return."

Neither sounded good—isolation or facing the public.

"Or I can show you what I promised I would," He said after a moment, "I can't say it will brighten your spirits."

"It would give my mind something else to linger on," She said quietly, squeezing his arm, "Yes, please."

Demetre looked almost regretful as she agreed, but he refused to argue with her. Even at her best, Elspeth Liens could get whatever she wanted out of him. And now, with the expression of agony on her face at all times, Demetre figured he'd hand her the world if she asked.

Elspeth stood idly by as Demetre gathered two horses for their journey. She did not ask any questions as he helped her onto one before mounting his own. She simply followed.

They rode for an hour. In the slowly melting landscape, to a place Elspeth had never been.

The Blood Wood bordered their ride, setting Elspeth on edge the entire time; and her nerves were not settled when Demetre stopped in a seemingly endless field, still framed by the wood.

"We walk from here," Demetre said, his voice tight as he dismounted his horse.

Elspeth accepted his hand down, watching the man gather both reigns and tie them to a weathered hitching post.

They walked down an overgrown cobbled path. The first thing she spotted was a dilapidated stone building; the size of a decent home. The roof had caved in, allowing the drizzling rain of spring to soak the interior.

It almost looked like a guardhouse. But Demetre said nothing, so neither did Elspeth.

They walked in silence for a while. The only sounds behind them were the constant drip of rain and the soft chirps of wildlife.

And as they crested a hill, Elspeth knew what he had brought her to.

"Welcome to the Langlois Estate."

Elspeth's mouth opened and closed two times before she realized she couldn't think of anything right to say at that moment.

Overgrown grass and vines suffocated the remnants of what she could only assume was a building that rivaled even the French Castle. Crumbling walls of brick stood at half height, stairs leading to nowhere, and a fireplace with a broken-off chimney stared down at her. What had once been a courtyard was nothing more than a broken fountain. The leftovers of a rose garden could be seen through the broken-out windows of the building; weeds infected it and pathways were no longer clear, but deep red roses still bloomed between the thorns and thicket.

  It was a ghost of what it once had been. But Elspeth could see it had been glorious. Rivaling even her own family's estate.

"House Langlois was as strong as it was hidden. Few people outside of the castle even knew we were anything more than a rich, noble family," He started, joining her side. "It burned in 1542 with every member inside, save for the youngest son, aged nine."

Elspeth looked at him, but Demetre stared out at the ruins of his home.

"A group of radicals caught wind of the history of House Langlois. How instrumental it had been in Henry's rise," He breathed out, "How there was a Langlois in nearly every position of power for as long as France had been formed. . . Advisors, generals, spies; some even entered the church. . . Archbishops, Cardinals. . . We were seen as a plague infecting every area of France to execute the Crown's will. . . They could not reach the King, so they reached us."

His expression grew tight as he spoke.

"The members of House Langlois that had entered armies or politics or the Church were slain one by one. Hunted down like dogs. . . The members that lived on this estate were the last remaining. The man of the house, Lord Langlois, had known Henry since the both of them were children. . . The King kept his friend and most trusted advisor close to home, granting him and his wife a home in the Langlois wing of the castle that had previously only bee used when members of the house returned to the castle for business. . . and when Lady Langlois grew pregnant, they renovated the Langlois Estate on this land."

"It must have been beautiful."

"It was," Demetre whispered wistfully, "Endless rooms for every hobby one could have. A rose garden for Lady Langlois. Stables for the horses. A guardhouse for their own private soldiers. A courtyard with a fountain. . . a fountain Lord Langlois had designed in his wife's likeness."

Elspeth felt her eyes burn at that.

"My father was not a perfect man," Demetre said quietly, "He was ruthless and cruel, even to his children most days. . . but one cannot deny that he loved my mother dearly."

Elspeth's fingers brushed Demetre's as if asking permission. He didn't glance at her, but his hand grabbed hers and laced their fingers together, squeezing it twice. In some way, it reassured him to continue.

"Lord Langlois knew the other members were being picked off one by one, so he fortified his Estate. It became a prison," He said, "More guards, more shifts, tight schedules for his wife and children, less trips beyond the guardhouse. . . he thought the Blood Wood was protection in itself. . . but he didn't know his youngest son spend days exploring the forest, playing pretend with branches."

Demetre had always thought it was some poor irony that he grew up playing in the forest that now plagued his mind. As if he had been born connected to it, with his specific destiny in mind from the very beginning.

"The radicals only needed information to reach us. . . . where the Estate was, the schedules of the guards, how many people resided on the land. . . They could have kidnapped the Lady of the House, or a guard, for all the information. . . They chose the easiest route. Sending a woman to befriend the youngest member," Demetre said, his voice nearly a whisper, "To catch him while he was running around, avoiding his lessons. . . she met with him day after day in the Blood Wood. Brought him food and taught him games. . . she asked many questions. About his family, his parents, his siblings. . . about the guards and how often they bothered him. About when his father was home and when he left for business. . ."

Elspeth felt her heart sink. He had been a child. A simple, kind, trusting child.

"The boy was so starved for attention he told her everything," He said, laughing dryly, "And one day, the woman came to their meeting spot looking more terrified than usual. . . she told him she cared for him, and that he had to sneak out that night. Come to their meeting place and stay there until the sun rose, no matter what he saw. . ."

"Demetre. . ."

"The boy knew something was wrong," He continued, "But he was too scared to tell his parents, in fear of their anger."

Elspeth felt her heartache.

"So he did as she told him. The moment his family had all gone to bed, he slipped out of his room and ran to their spot. . . he waited for her. . . for hours. . . and just when he was ready to return home, he heard the sound of horses. Screaming came soon after. . . they attacked the guardhouse before sending men to the main house. . . The boy watched them storm inside. He heard the screams of his father, the pleas of his mother. . . He heard each shout of horror from his sisters. . . but he was too scared to move a muscle."

Demetre shook his head as if he was disgusted reciting the story.

"He heard the men shouting that there was meant to be a son in the house," He said, "They were so angry at not being able to find him. . . and the boy was a coward. So he ran. He ran until he stumbled across three guards that had survived the attack. One stayed with the boy, while two others went into the main house. No one came back out. It burned for days."

Elspeth's emotion was swelling quickly. A large lump in her throat halted her from speech.

"The guard brought the child to the castle," Demetre continued, "Queen Catherine took him in, to repay what the House had done for France. She raised him, harshly. Ruthlessly. She raised him that way because rumors had already spread that the boy was the Devil, that he had hired the men to cut down his parents and sisters so that he may have the House for himself. That he wanted the money and power. She raised him so that he could carry the title bestowed upon him. So that he would survive."

"And Henry. . ?"

"He was twelve when Catherine started giving him jobs. Simple tasks within the castle. He took every one of them on until the King took notice. . . He wanted recognition for the boy, as well. So soon enough, the boy was a hunter and a soldier, as well as an advisor and strategist. He was strengthened by Catherine and used by Henry. . . As if he had any right to the boy. Any claim to his deeds. . . When the boy was fourteen, he was sent on his largest mission yet."

Elspeth knew before he said it.

"The Grim had become a problem for the King of France, so he sent the boy he had trained, as a show of his glory," Demetre said thickly. "And that boy spent a week in the woods before returning with its pelt, and becoming the Monster of France, his name now a story told across Europe. Banquets were held in his honor, and slaying the Grim only solidified his place at Henry's side. As if he were a trophy for the King. . . a specimen to show off when visitors arrived at Court. A threat to remind them of when they stepped out of line. . . He had the Monster of France beneath his feet. And he would never let anyone forget it."

". . . What happened to the radicals?"

"They were killed," He said blankly, "Mysteriously, seven years after destroying the Langlois Estate. They had an encampment; it was fortified and safe. Until one day the sun rose and it was burning. With every man slaughtered in their beds."

Demetre finally looked at Elspeth, and she was already staring at him. Her eyes were glassy with unshed tears, staring at a man whose face was void of emotion.

"You were only a child."

"I sent my family to their death because I was a fool and a coward."

"You were a child," Elspeth urged, stepping closer to him, "Who trusted a kind stranger, and only did not tell his parents out of fear that they would be angry."

But she could see he would never believe that. Demetre stared down at her unflinching because even if she said it a hundred times, he had already told himself a thousand.

"I am a monster, Elspeth Liens."

"Demetre," She tried, her voice cracking as she grabbed his hand.

"I am cruel."

"You have never been to me."

"You are naive," Demetre said, "Optimistic, hopeful. Have no shame in that, but know that it's true."

"I am not," Elspeth argued, her brows furrowing, frustration building as his stony expression did not falter, "I have never been, Demetre, I have seen my own horrors, fought my own battles— I know a monster when I see one."

"You don't see a monster in front of you," Demetre said, his voice softening as he lifted a hand to cradle her cheek, "Because I have hidden it from you, Petal. I am not kind. I am not a hero. People are right to call me cruel, to be afraid when I enter a room."

She lifted her hand to cover his.

"Everyone but you," Demetre whispered, "I failed to protect the people I loved, so I promised myself I wouldn't love anyone else. But when you arrived in France, I couldn't quite help it. So I promised if I was to love you, that I would always protect you. Know that it will never change, even if you do not love me. Even if one day, you see me for what I truly am. Even if you grow to hate me, Petal. I will never let anything happen to you."

"Let me protect you, too."

His expression finally changed, the shock of her words catching him off guard, and for a moment Elspeth could see the little boy inside of Demetre.

"I do not need it."

"No," She said gently, "But you deserve it."

Demetre let out a breath.

"You were a child," Elspeth repeated, "A child who made a mistake and had his innocence stolen away. A child thrust into rumors and horror and judgment, forced to grow up before he should have. You were told who you were before you got to choose who you would be."

Elspeth moved her hand to his face, running her thumb over the stubble on his jaw, and Demetre's hard-earned armor began to crack.

"When you were a child," Elspeth said quietly, glancing back at the ruins of the estate, "What did you want to become?"

She looked back to Demetre, whose face was covered in agony. The man had been swallowed by it, by grief and guilt, and such a tender question ripped him right apart.

"Kind."

Demetre Langlois was a lanky boy at age seven. He had a tuft of dusty blonde hair that never laid how his mother set it, and always came in with dirt on his clothes.

"That's not an aspiration, Demetre," His father laughed, shuffling his silverware as he cast a concerned glance at his wife, "Come on, boy, do you want to be a soldier? A hunter? A nobleman to represent our family, the next royal advisor—?"

"I want to be kind," Demetre reiterated, looking up at his father, "I want to have friends all over France— and meet every single animal I can, and write stories about all of it."

"Demetre. . ." His mother sighed gently, "A boy like you should be dreaming of honor and love; look at your sisters, they're already preparing for their courtships."

Demetre turned his view to his three older sisters sitting opposite him across the table. The two eldest were copies of their mother; fair-skinned with pale yellow hair, bright blue eyes, and sparkling smiles. The youngest one, closest to Demetre, mirrored their father, just as he did. Her hair was a dirty blonde, her skin more tanned, eyes more rebellious.

"I think Demetre's idea is wonderful," His sister spoke up, "Kind is an ingenious aspiration."

Demetre shook the memory from his mind, shuffling in discomfort under Elspeth's stare.

"What of you?" He asked, "What did you want to be?"

"The thing I always strove to be," Elspeth said with a soft laugh, "Free."

"You'll never be free!"

"Not from us!"

"Back, you foul creature!"

Hans Liens gasped dramatically at his sister's words, nudging Douglas with a growing grin.

The boys took off after her, chasing the girl whose golden hair had grown muddy in the hours they'd spent in the field beyond their dwelling.

Elspeth laughed loudly as she felt her brothers draw nearer, turning sharply behind the stables in hopes of avoiding them.

Unfortunately, the boys knew their sister, and Elspeth came face to face with Douglas. She quickly tried to backtrack, only to find Hans behind her.

"You'll never take me alive!"

"You've got to clean up for supper, Ellie," Hans laughed, scooping his sister over his shoulder in one swift movement.

"Put me down, you oaf!" Elspeth argued, pounding his back with her fists.

"Is this how you intend to fight off all your suitors, little sister?" Douglas questioned, smiling once the girl had given up and gone limp.

"Yes," Elspeth stated matter-of-factly, "They're all dreadfully boring."

"Every single one?" Hans questioned starting up the stone steps towards their home.

"Not one of them knows anything of art or poetry!" Elspeth whined, "They don't care for a girl who reads and writes, a girl who has her own mind!"

Hans set the girl down gently just before entering the home, kneeling to face level.

He looked so kind. This was all Elspeth could think when she saw him. No matter how much he annoyed her, or she shouted at him, Hans had never looked at her with anything other than kindness.

He plucked sparse leaves from her hair before smoothing it down.

"Then I say fight them off," Hans said with a grin, "Keep your own mind, your reading and writing, your art and poetry. Keep fighting, Ellie."

"As if she needs any reassurance in that," Douglas groaned, dragging his feet up the steps, "Father's focused all his efforts on us since his little shining star refuses to settle."

"Because she shouldn't," Hans said gently, clapping a hand on his brother's shoulder, "None of us should."

Little Elspeth Liens, a girl only seven years of age, smiled at this sentiment. She grabbed a hand of each of her brothers, pulling them inside to join the rest of their family for supper.

"Do you think you've become that?" Demetre questioned, pulling Elspeth from the memory, "Free?"

"Yes," She all but breathed, "With you."

The corner of his lips twitched up, nearly into a real smile.

"You do not think you are kind," She answered for him, lifting her other hand so she was cradling his face, "But you are. Let the child inside of you rest easy knowing he's become what he's wanted to."

Demetre lifted his own hands, holding her wrists as he lowered his forehead to rest on hers.

"You are kind," She whispered like it was a mantra, "Kind and strong and protective and smart. Your heart is the only one that could heal mine, Demetre. You have taught me what it is to be in love. Please never forget all you have done for me."

He remained there for a moment, holding Elspeth Liens.

And then he lifted his head, looking out at the ruins of his home standing even after all those years.

Demetre remembered how it felt to run through the estate with his sisters, to play in the yard while his mother called them for supper. He remembered every time his father scolded him and every time his father praised him.

He looked at what his home had become and breathed. As if to say; thank you for still standing.

And then he took Elspeth's hand in his own.

He had told her the very worst thing. And she had not flinched.

( AUTHOR'S NOTE. )
I <3 Demetre Langlois