Chapter 34
EVA
The smell of hay and leather hits me as I step into the stables. It’s warmer than the gardens, the air alive with the shuffle of hooves and the creak of wood. I grab a brush and start on Comète, Millie’s mare, with long, steady strokes down her glossy flank. My body moves, but my mind is elsewhere.
If I stop moving, I’ll start thinking. And if I start thinking…
“Morning, Your Grace,” the stable boy says.
He’s seventeen, with freckles under a layer of dust.
“Morning, étienne,” I reply.
“Will Millie be riding later?”
“Maybe. If she finishes her homework.”
“Oh. Right.”
I stifle a smile. étienne hated school and longed for the outdoors so much that Stéphanie let him drop out last spring.
She figured that after a summer of shoveling manure and fixing fences, he’d beg to start chef training in the fall.
Instead, he announced in late August that this was his true calling.
School and homework? Ancient history to him now.
He shifts his rake from one hand to the other. “Think she’ll ride in the Autumn Parade this year?”
“I don’t know,” I snap.
The mare flicks an ear, unsettled by my tone.
Millie’s been talking about the parade for weeks. With her treatment working well, her doctor allowed the public ride with the usual precautions—helmet, vest, no galloping off alone. I nodded, agreed, pretended I was fine with it. Because what’s the point of life if she can’t live it?
Still, my stomach knots.
The image that stalks me is Millie riding through Aymon, proud and fearless… then tumbling onto the cobblestones and bleeding out. And now it isn’t just that familiar fear that haunts me; it’s the shadow of everything else she could lose. Her horse. The estate. The duchy.
“She’d love it,” étienne says. “She rides better than me.”
I give him a feeble smile and return to the brush. Comète shifts her weight, blowing warm breath through her nostrils. I press the brush down her shoulder, the rhythm almost enough to trick me into calm.
Brigitte’s voice echoes in my head, Protect your child at any cost.
étienne hums under his breath as he drags his rake across the straw. He seems happy. Me, I’m unraveling.
Three days ago, at MESS, Alex locked his gaze with mine and vowed he’d never contest Judge Sarrazin’s verdict.
But he didn’t know the truth at the time.
He didn’t know Geoffroy had shoved Rodolphe to his death.
He thought Millie’s inheritance was legitimate, even if Ozzi had interfered to get Judge Vautrin off the case.
Alex accepted Sarazzin’s ruling with an open mind on the merits.
He felt it was fair. Perhaps borderline and unfortunate for him, but not unjust.
If he learns the truth, he’ll rescind his vow.
And who could blame him? Geoffroy should never have inherited. It should have gone straight to Alex eighteen years ago.
A bitter thought creeps in. Maybe that’s why Geoffroy never wrote a will, never tried to break the entail. He knew his hands were bloodied. Deep down, he knew Alex was the rightful heir.
And now I do, too.
I wish I didn’t! I wish I’d heeded Brigitte and Mireille, and left the past buried… But it’s too late for that. What matters now are the choices I face.
Do I tell Alex the truth?
Do I tell Millie?
Part of me says yes. It feels wrong to keep Rodolphe’s son and granddaughter in the dark about how the duke really died. Brigitte and I are Castellanes by marriage, not by blood. We have no right to guard that truth. We have no right to keep it from Rodolphe’s direct descendants.
But the thought of forfeiting the estate crushes me. Millie wouldn’t just lose her home and sense of security. If I stripped away her image of her father, then the scraps of childhood she has left, already shadowed by illness, would vanish overnight. Her innocence would shatter.
I cough, earning a concerned look from étienne.
Fine. I’ll keep quiet.
I’ll follow Brigitte’s lead. I’ll join the lie and tell myself I’m doing it for Millie.
Without meaning to, I dig the brush into Comète’s flank a little harder. She flicks her tail but leans into it, tolerant. Stronger than I am.
étienne glances over. “She likes you. She lets you boss her around more than Millie.”
“Millie has a gentler hand,” I say.
I look at Comète’s glossy neck, the steady rise and fall of her breath. My baby adores this horse. She loves this place.
Can I really gamble it all on Alex’s reaction?
étienne’s voice cuts into my thoughts. “She’s shiny enough to win a prize already.”
I step back. He pats Comète’s haunch, wishes me a good day, and disappears through the door. I stay and keep brushing. My strokes are lighter now. But my throat is tight with impossible choices.
Do I risk everything and tell Alex the truth?
Do I let my fourteen-year-old carry the knowledge that her father killed her grandfather, and that her inheritance rests on a lie? Or do I keep her safe inside that lie and damn myself? Do I stay silent and give up any chance of a future with Alex?
The thought slices through me.
Wow, that hurt!
It’s hard to believe that three weeks ago, I wanted nothing more than for him to vanish back to Pombrio. A month ago, I hated the man.
And now…