Chapter 20

  Thérèse held her breath as Paul entered her room on the third day. Two mammoth guards followed him, like usual. She was losing hope fast. She'd heard nothing from Henri, or anyone else. Surely if they were still coming for her something would have happened by now? Right? She only had eight fingers left. Once those were gone, what would Paul take next? Toes? Hands? Eyes?  Thérèse saw no way out. She knew Paul would keep hacking her apart until one of two things happened. She'd either have to give in to his demands, or he'd eventually decide she was too disfigured for marriage. If theyreached that point, the guard's cleaver would be coming down on her neck instead of her fingers. 

"Day three,  Thérèse. What'll it be?" Paul asked. He crossed his fat arms over his chest. 

  Thérèse felt a small part of her die as she responded, "I'll marry you, Paul." 

Paul's round face broke into a snaggle-toothed smile. He ran up to  Thérèse and took both of her hands in his. She winced a bit, and had to stop herself from instinctively pulling away from him. He turned to look over his shoulder. 

"Leave us!" he barked at the guards. They jumped at the sudden outburst and quickly left the room. 

"Oh,  Thérèse, I'm delighted. I'll start making plans immediately. It's going to be extravagant. It will be a wedding truly fit for a woman such as yourself. I'll leave you alone to make a list of the guests you wish to invite." Paul hastily pulled out a quill, a small pot of ink, and parchment. As he thrust them into  Thérèse's hands, Paul gave her a wet kiss on the cheek. He scampered out of the room. Once he was gone,  Thérèse quickly scrubbed it away, hoping to get rid of any trace of Paul left on her body.  Thérèse sighed and threw herself onto her back on the bed. This was the last thing she wanted to do. She felt like she was betraying Henri.

She was starting to resent herself for telling him they couldn't be together. She'd used it as a defense mechanism. Argence needed her, and she had to focus on that. There was no room in the picture for Henri. Or was there?  Thérèse rolled onto her side and looked out of the window. 

She loved him. She couldn't deny it. He was the only man she'd ever met who she felt she truly connected with. He understood her, and she understood him. But that scared her. The endless turmoil in her brain was driving her mad.  Thérèse silently vowed to herself that if she ever saw Henri again she'd tell him all of this. Hopefully he'd be forgiving. 

  Thérèse also knew she had to marry Paul to stay alive. His patience would likely run out soon. Her corpse would be of no use to the kingdom. If she ever wanted to reclaim her birthright, she needed to be alive to do it.  Thérèse's mind drifted to her mother. The image of her death was still burnt into her brain, and likely would be for the rest of her life. Something about this recurring waking nightmare lit a fire in  Thérèse. Whether it was the anger from her family's death, or the undying need to prove to her mother that she would make something of herself, something in  Thérèse came alive. 

I will survive this. She thought. 

—

  Thérèse sat at the end of a long, white marble table. She stared down at the gray stripes intersecting the pure white sheet of polished rock. She traced her nail along a small crack on the edge of the table in front of her. Strips of cloth, flower bouquets, and color swatches covered the majority of the marble pattern entirely. Paul had hired a wedding planner for them, and the man wouldn't stop rambling about  Thérèse's complexion, and what flowers best "encompassed the beauty of their relationship."  Thérèse rolled her eyes as he blathered on. Eventually, she interrupted. 

"How about roses?"  Thérèse suggested. The bald man nodded and cupped his chin. 

"Yes, okay, we can work with that. I don't think we'll be able to find them in this area this time of year, but we can import them if we need to. I was instructed to spare no expense. What does that mean to your and Paul's relationship?" he asked. 

"Oh, you know, the usual cliche."  Thérèse laughed playfully and gave a sarcastic smile. The planner interpreted it as genuine. 

"Ah, a classic romance! How lovely, how wonderful! The court is going to go mad over this!" The planner exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air with a sense of grandeur."  Thérèse's face fell. 

"No." She said flatly. The wedding planner was clearly taken aback by the sudden change in her tone. He scruched his eyebrows and tilted his head, confused.  Thérèse explained.

"I want to gauge my eyes out with the thorns so I never have to gaze upon the flabby monstrosity I'm being forced to call my husband." 

The wedding planner scoffed at her response. He turned his attention back to the marble table with an eye roll and began shuffling through fabric options for the tablecloths. He rubbed each of the strips of cloth between his middle finger and his thumb, testing their texture. An awkward silence filled the room. After a moment, the planner spoke again. 

"It could be worse, you know." He said in his English accent.  When  Thérèse didn't answer, he continued, all the while feeling the fabrics. "I personally don't really think this is right. I'm a firm believer in marrying for love, not for maintaining power or bloodlines. I also don't think Paul is nearly as attracive as he thinks he is. If you'd like, I can ask the dressmaker to make a bridal blindfold for your wedding night. I know if I were in your situation I'd certainly want one."  Thérèse laughed softly at the joke. 

"I would appreciate it, honestly." She said. The planner smiled. He swallowed hard and set down the forest green velvet he'd been holding. He walked closer to her and leaned over the table, crossing his arms and resting his elbows in front of  Thérèse. She pulled back slightly, confused.

"I want to make this as painless as possible for you. I think what Paul is doing is abhorrent. If there's anything I can do to help, please tell me. I know you're behind enemy lines right now, but not everyone's loyalties lie where you may think." The planner smirked and winked at her. The door behind them opened and he bolted back to his fabric and flowers. A servant girl walked in with her head bowed. She was a meek young girl, dressed modestly. A yellow handkerchief covered her mousy brown hair. 

"The dressmaker is ready for you, miss." She all but whispered.  Thérèse stood and followed her through the winding recesses of the castle. 

The dressmaker's workshop had been hastily constructed. It was obviously an old bedroom, the inhabitant of which had likely been killed in the coup. Bolts of white cloth were scattered about, amongst ribbon, jewels, sashes, lace, and other decorations. A small podium sat in the center of the room. A few pincushions lay on the floor next to it, the tips of the old needles yearning to be put to use again. 

  Thérèse turned to ask where the dressmaker was, but the servant girl had already disappeared. Suddenly, a large woman appeared in the back corner of the room. She'd previously been hidden behind a stack of boxes filled with corsets and other underthings. A small cloud of dust exploded around her as she stood up from her hunched over position. She was balancing two boxes in each hand. 

"Ah, there you are." The dressmaker bustled over to  Thérèse, moving her large frame as quickly as her legs would allow. She dropped the boxes into a different pile and approached  Thérèse. Her red face was encircled by a mop of frizzy black hair, balled up on the top of her head and secured with a strip of lace. She wore a light blue smock over a plain brown dress. Various seamstress tools stuck out of the smock's pockets. Her bare feet left sweaty little footprints on the wooden floorboards. 

"Well, step on up, we haven't got all day." The woman ushered Thérèse onto the podium, and she obeyed silently. The dressmaker pulled a measuring tape out of a smock pocket and began to take  Thérèse's measurements. She frantically scribbled them down. As she worked, she mumbled to herself.  Thérèse couldn't make out what she was saying, but at least the woman was occupied enough in her own head that  Thérèse didn't have to fake a polite conversation with her. The manic scribbling stopped, and the measuring tape was expertly re-rolled. The woman stuck her hands in her dress pockets and simply stared at  Thérèse. This went on for almost ten seconds. 

"Um…so…"  Thérèse started. The woman interrupted by holding her finger to Thérèse's lips and shushing her. 

"Shhhhh." She cooed. She clicked her tongue. "Beautiful." She said. "He sure picked a ripe one." 

"Excuse me?"  Thérèse exclaimed. She drew back from the woman, shocked by such a bold statement. 

"No, no, it's a compliment dear. You've got a very nicely formed face. Beautiful. I think cream and blue will go nicely with your cheekbones." 

"But, it's a wedding dress. I thought I'd be wearing white?"  Thérèse asked. As much as she hated to admit it, she was nervous about upsetting Paul. She was entirely at his mercy. What if he was more traditional, and she showed up in a blue wedding dress? She ran a finger over the still-healing stump on her right hand and shuddered. 

"Really, I think I'd prefer something a bit more traditional." Thérèse said. 

"Oh, I'm sorry, who died and made you dressmaker?" The woman put her fists on her hips and tilted her head to the side. She raised her eyebrows and drew her lips into a tight line. She waited for a reply to the obviously sarcastic question. 

"N-No one?" Thérèse squeaked out. 

"That's what I thought. Now let's move on." The woman turned and began digging through piles of cloth and dress patterns. Thérèse stood awkwardly on the podium. She felt strangely naked. The dressmaker looked over her shoulder at Thérèse. 

"Oh, you can get down from there now." She said. Thérèse stepped off the podium and onto the floor. She looked around cautiously, not quite sure where to sit, or what really to do with herself. 

"Sit down, you make me nervous." The dressmaker called out from the back of the room. Thérèse pulled her knees up to her chin and sat awkwardly on the podium. She was just now realizing how cavernous the room was. Before, she assumed it was a bedroom. But now it seemed far too large for that. A meeting room, maybe? Or a place to host friends and family in a more formal setting? A sudden noise from the back of the room made Thérèse jump. The dressmaker had knocked over a precariously balanced stack of hat boxes. After sitting in silence for what felt like an eternity, Thérèse spoke up. 

"So, how long have you been making clothes?" Thérèse asked. 

"Not clothes, dresses and gowns. There's a difference, you know." The woman corrected her. 

"But anyway, I've been doing this for about twelve years." she continued. "Before, it was just a hobby. Doing smaller jobs for friends, or village girls who couldn't afford a big fancy dress like the ladies of the court. I made them wedding dresses and evening gowns as cheaply as I could. It's actually how I met my husband. I was making a dress for his niece. We met in July and were married by August. He was from a well off family, and I thought I'd won the lottery. I was in love and well-cared for." 

"'Was'?" Thérèse interrupted. "What happened?" The dressmaker sighed and offered a bittersweet smile. 

"He wasn't the man I thought he was. The marriage was great for a bit. But he got mean. He was greedy. He wanted to be an advisor of the court, a politician of sorts. He was willing to do whatever it took to get him there. He got caught up in a lot of unethical and dangerous situations. I confronted him about it, and he got angry. I had to flee in the middle of the night to avoid his wrath. That's how I ended up here, in Bayonne. It was pure chance. I happened to meet King Charles' first wife, Henri's mother, at a market where I was selling some of my work. She was kind, and saw the talent that I had. The next day, she came back and offered me a job in the court, making dresses and other clothes as needed for the members of the royal family, and other important people here. I'm lucky that I survived the upheaval. I was sure Paul and his crew would kill me. But for some reason, I'm still here." The woman chuckled. She turned to a table and began measuring out a length of medium blue tulle. 

Thérèse paused for a moment to take in the story she'd just been told. She licked her lips and cleared her throat. 

"Do you…do you think that will happen to Paul and I?" Thérèse asked. 

"Do you love him?"

"Of course not." 

"Well, then no, I don't think that will happen with you and Paul. At least, I certainly hope that it doesn't." The dressmaker answered. 

"What makes you think it won't?" 

"Because you don't love him. You have no attachment to him. He could take other women, spend money on frivolous things, stay out all night and not come home until the morning, and it wouldn't matter. As long as you have everything you need, which you most definitely will as the leader of two kingdoms, it doesn't matter what Paul does. If you don't love him, then he's just…there. He's just there. Two of you, coexisting. If there's no love, it doesn't matter at all." A large blade came down across the table the dressmaker was working at. It sliced quietly through the blue tulle and sent the leftover fabric onto the floor. It pooled into a polite, blue pile. 

Thérèse sat in silence once again. The dressmaker had a good point. If she had to, she could deal with Paul. She'd do anything to have Argence back and ensure its citizens were safe and sound. A light knock on the door redirected Thérèse's thoughts. 

"Enter." The dressmaker called. The same servant girl who had brought Thérèse to the dressmaker was standing in the doorway. 

"I'm here to escort you back to your room, miss." She said. She was so softspoken Thérèse could barely hear her. The meek girl stared at the floor while Thérèse rose from the small podium and called goodbye to the dressmaker. She followed the servant girl back to her room. When they got back, Thérèse saw the door was already open. Paul stood in the center of the room, his back to them. Thérèse cleared her throat. As the girl scuttled away once again, Paul turned to face Thérèse. 

"Ah, there you are! My lovely bride to be." Paul moved to kiss her, but Thérèse deflected the advance into an awkward hug. 

"Paul, what are you doing here?" 

"I wanted to let you know our invites have been sent out. We'll be wed tomorrow evening!" 

"Tomorrow evening? That seems a bit fast, doesn't it?" 

"Yes, I know it is a bit rushed, but I want to be married as soon as possible. My heart can hardly contain itself! I must go, but I'll see you tomorrow, when I become your husband!" Paul kissed her hand and rushed out of the room. Thérèse rolled her eyes as soon as the door slammed behind him. She was starting to see that his "menacing coup leader" act was just that, an act. Paul was easily the softest and most naive man Thérèse had ever met. 

Thérèse had just sat down on the edge of her bed when she heard a strange noise coming from her window. She turned to see a shadow on the other side of the thick, bar-covered glass. She heard the noise again. It sounded like a warbled knock. That's when Thérèse realized it was coming from the shadow. Whatever was outside her window was banging on it, hard. Another noise. The shadow had broken through the glass. Sharp pieces exploded onto the ground. One hand gripped the bars, the other held fast to the outer window ledge. 

Thérèse crept over to the window. She breathed a sigh of relief when Henri's face appeared in the hole in the broken window. 

"Thérèse!" He called out. Thérèse rushed over to him. 

"Henri! What are you doing here?" 

"Odd, I thought you'd be more excited to see me." He smirked. 

"Now is not the time for jokes, you're going to get us both killed!" 

"It'll be okay. We're going to get you out of here." Henri's bicep flexed as he struggled to maintain his death grip on the bar. 

"How do you plan on doing that?" Thérèse demanded. "The place is swarming with guards and mercenaries, Paul has two of them watching me day and night, and it's not like I can just walk out of here! What do you expect me to do?" 

"Nothing. Pretend this never happened. Go about things as normal, and go to the wedding tomorrow." 

"What? You actually want me to marry Paul?" Thérèse exclaimed. Henri shushed her, reminding her to keep her voice down. 

"It'll all be okay. Thérèse, you have to trust us." He reassured her. 

"Trust you? After you abandoned me here?" She snapped back. 

"That's not at all what happened. Don't believe a word these people tell you. Listen, I don't have time to explain, but we've got a plan. Go to the wedding tomorrow!" Henri looked down as he began to descend back towards the ground. 

"Henri, wait!" Thérèse stepped closer to the window. As Henri looked up, his foot slipped from the brick he'd been balancing on. Thérèse shot her arm through the hole in the window. The bars squeezed against her bones, and the jagged glass shredded her skin. She caught Henri's hand right before he would have fallen. He regained his balance and pulled himself back up to the window. 

"My God, Thérèse, are you alright?" Henri was clearly concerned, yet completely unable to help her. 

"Yes, I'll be fine. But I need to tell you something." She paused, and took a deep breath, still unsure of whether or not this was the right moment. If not now, it may never be. She thought. 

"I love you." 

Henri smiled broadly through the hole to the outside world. 

"I love you, too." he whispered. His lips burned with the desire to meet hers once again. "But I have to go. I've been here too long already." 

"I hope you know what you're doing." Thérèse said. 

"I do." 

Thérèse watched as Henri scaled back down the side of the castle, and disappeared into the woods.