Chapter 32 #2
When their greetings were settled, Louis moved them to his bed and sat upon it, pulling Antoinette to sit beside him. Louis-Charles sat on his knee and Thérèse between his legs.
“W-what happened?” Antoinette asked in a small voice as she clung to his arm.
He leaned his head against hers. “I was accused of trying to re-establish tyranny. They said I was paying for an underground army, but their charges were pure fiction and the ‘proof’ they presented supported their own ends. They said the money that I distributed to the poor was to acquire popularity and enslave the nation. The lawyer I was afforded seemed a fair sort and gave a very moving speech. He claimed that history will pass judgment on their verdict, and its judgment will endure.”
“Amen,” Antoinette whispered with a nod.
Louis swallowed before clearing his throat. “Then I was taken away, and they conferred among themselves to judge me. And once judged, then sentenced. I was informed that among those judging was d’Orleans, and he . . . he voted for death.”
Thérèse gasped while Antoinette only gave a weak, weary moan, pressing her mouth against Louis’s shoulder in a shadow of a kiss.
“I did not believe there were such men,” Louis confessed raggedly.
Antoinette reached up and curled her fingers into his hair, stroking gently while memorizing the feel of it.
He cleared his throat once more, the sound garbled with his tears. “My son,” he said, turning Louis-Charles to face him directly. “Do not avenge my death. You must promise me this. Your most solemn promise. Tell me.”
Louis-Charles whimpered but nodded in deferential obedience. “I promise, Papa.”
Louis leaned forward and kissed his brow. “Forgive those that do this against me. I am not going to my death afraid, only saddened to leave you. I would wish that you and Thérèse will always be close friends and be obedient to your mother. Do not neglect your faith. Will you do this?”
Large, slow tears made their way down Louis-Charles’s young face. “Y-yes, Papa.”
“Good boy.” Louis smiled, stroking a knuckle down his son’s cheek. “I love you.”
He flung his arms around Louis’s neck, crying piteously.
Louis clenched his eyes shut and rubbed soothing hands up and down the boy’s spine, sniffling harshly.
Then he turned to Thérèse without stopping his comforting motions.
“My darling girl. You must forgive our enemies, not because they have earned the right, but because your soul should not be corrupted by resentment. You must live by faith and strength and remember that you are the daughter of kings and queens, no matter what the people say. Preserve your soul for heaven, little one. One day, you will see your brother, your sister, and me again. Do you believe me?”
Thérèse swayed a little, her complexion paling, but she nodded and leaned into Louis, resting her head on his chest and wrapping her arms around his waist. “I believe you, Papa. I promise.”
He turned his head and kissed her hair. “I love you, little one.”
For a long moment, there was silence, and then he spoke again. “Antoinette.”
“No,” she insisted in what she hoped would be a firm voice, but it was only a stuttering wail of a word.
“Hush, my love,” Louis murmured, having turned his face toward her. “Let me speak.”
She shook her head, but bit down on her lip hard, knowing she couldn’t stop him.
“I promised you a throne, and it ended like this,” he began, somehow managing a laugh, which made her smile against her will. “I am sorry that the people never came to know your good qualities. I am sorry that I am abandoning you.”
“Louis, no . . .”
His breathing hitched. “I commend our children to you. I have never doubted your maternal tenderness. I beg you to forgive me, my love, for all the ills you have suffered for my sake, and for any grief that I have caused you in the course of our marriage. And I hold nothing against you, should you think you have anything for which to blame yourself.”
Antoinette was beyond words now, shuddering against her husband as her grief made her inconsolable.
“I shall long for you, dear wife,” Louis told her, his low voice growing hoarse.
“Every moment we are parted. But I pray you will not soon join me. I have been the most fortunate of men to find my love in the woman I was set to marry. I thank you for your patience with me, your indulgence in my nature, your light to my dismal darkness. I thank you for this life we have shared, my love.”
Sobbing, Antoinette raised her head and clasped his face to hers, indulging in a series of kisses and begging her lips to never forget his.
“I love you,” she managed to say, the words barely audible for her halting breaths. “I love you, and I cannot bear to let you go.”
His jaw trembled, and his eyes welled with fresh tears. “Do not let me go. Hold onto me until I see you again. I pray you will always keep me in your heart, for only there may I live again.” He leaned in and kissed her, then touched his brow to hers. “I love you.”
They sat together for an hour, clinging to each other and expressing words of love and pain, as well as sitting in silence that held all the unspoken vows and promises their hearts could allow.
Then, with a heavy exhale, Louis rose from the bed.
“No!” Antoinette sprang to her feet, wrapping her arms around him. “No, I cannot—”
“Please, my love,” Louis moaned in a broken voice. “I could not bear being torn from your arms. Let me walk away knowing I have said all and held you again.”
“Then hold me!”
He turned to her and folded her into his arms, and they stood together, their sobs mingling and blending with each other in a hymn of agony.
Louis kissed her neck gently, then put his mouth at her ear. “You are always and ever my queen.”
She nodded against his lips and sniffled before stepping back and wrapping her hand around his arm, freeing his hands to hold those of their children.
The guard opened the door and led them all out, walking slowly toward the staircase that Antoinette and the children would have to ascend to return to their apartment.
Leaving Louis forever.
They stopped at the entrance, the moment upon them at last.
Slowly, Louis went down to one knee and wordlessly gestured for Louis-Charles to come to him. They hugged for a long moment before Louis leaned back and cupped the boy’s face, his eyes darting across every feature. Then he kissed his brow again, lingering.
Louis-Charles kissed his cheek and hugged him again. “Goodbye, Papa.”
Louis said nothing, emitting a low groan in response.
Then Thérèse was in his arms, the exchange much the same.
Then he rose and turned to Antoinette.
For the space of several heartbeats, they only stared at one another.
With the most painful swallow of her life, Antoinette closed the distance between them and hugged him, burying her face in his chest. There were no additional sobs, no final confessions, no lingering wishes for a future that could not be.
She placed her hand over his heart, letting the steady pounding bring comfort into her palm. Let her lungs breathe in the scent of him. Let her body soak in the warmth of him.
Let her heart live with the memory of him.
When she was able, she moved back just enough to look up at him. “Stay the night with us.”
Louis stroked her cheek, shaking his head. “I must spend the night in reflection and prayer. But I assure you that I will see you tomorrow morning at eight.”
“You promise?” she asked at the same time the children did.
“Yes, I promise.” His mouth lifted in a small smile, even as his eyes filled with pain.
Antoinette went up on her toes and brushed her lips across his, soft and gentle, tender and sweet. He captured her face and repeated the kiss with another, and another, each as faint yet as loving as the last.
With her face cradled in his hands, Louis met her eyes with his own. “I love you, Antoinette,” he vowed clearly.
She nodded. “I love you, Louis.”
He kissed her hairline, inhaling her skin for a long moment, then stepped away, pressing his back against the wall. “God bless you, my loves.”
Ready to crumple and fade into nothing but knowing her husband needed one last show of her strength, Antoinette grasped her children’s hands and started up the stairs, unable to bring herself to look back.
“Come,” she managed roughly. “We will see Papa in the morning.”
The children were silent as they made their way to their apartment, their guard close behind them. Once returned to their quarters, they all climbed into the same bed, curling together in a bundle of grief and exhaustion.
Antoinette held her babies close, hoping the strokes of her fingers would soothe and comfort them, though she had nothing resembling comfort to give.
Nor would she sleep while she held them.
Instead, she lay awake, shivering with cold and despair.
Tears fell at times, and a hollow awareness of the approaching dawn consumed her.
What would she say to Louis before he walked to his death?
How could she convey anything more than the exchange they’d already had?
Yet there was so much more to be said, so much more love and life to share, so much more joy and peace that had been torn from their grasp.
There hadn’t been enough time in their life together. She was not done, might never be done, and somehow, she had to move forward without him.
Perhaps she would say nothing to him. What words could possibly express everything she held in her heart for him? Perhaps they only needed to be in each other’s arms again, and all would be known.
What was going through his mind tonight? Would he sleep? Would he pray? Would they allow him the comfort of a priest to unburden his soul? They were already killing him, surely they had no cause to damn him as well.
The hours stretched on, raking her soul across coals of dread and grief.
But she wanted this time to reminisce on her marriage, to let the memories come to life in her weary consciousness as vividly as she had once experienced them.
She wanted every brush of fingers that made her heart skitter, every small smile that filled her with warmth, every sweet action that made her skip down palace corridors, every tender kiss that melted her defenses and opened her love.
A night filled with her Louis when he could not be beside her. Holding her. Keeping her.
Loving her.
As dawn began to break, she heard sounds coming from outside the Tower walls, slinking through their window like the morning calls of birds.
There were no sounds of mockery, only sounds of industry.
Creaking, croaking, clanging, hammering, galloping—sounds of action and activity, but no sounds of people.
It was a blessed reprieve.
But then as the light began to increase, an uneasy feeling settled within her stomach.
Where was Louis? Hadn’t he said they would see him at eight? Had the guards not promised that they would see him again?
“Where is Papa?” Louis-Charles asked as he sleepily rubbed his eyes. “Is it time to see him?”
Antoinette tried to smile but could not. “I do not know, my sweet.”
“He promised,” Thérèse murmured from the bed, pale and weak. The cost of the day before had taken its toll on her, and she had not the heart nor the strength to rise.
Antoinette would have been the same had she not had children to tend, and it would have had nothing to do with illness.
Thérèse needed her father. A tender kiss to her brow might very well heal her.
Where was he? What was happening?
Time continued to tick, though no clock or watch was available to her. The typical cries of people about the Tower grounds began to reach her ears, though it did not draw her in. Did not affect her. Did not move her.
Then another sound came, one that froze her heart midbeat.
Drums.
“What is that?” Louis-Charles cried with energy. “Are we to be rescued?”
No. No, this was not a rescue.
Antoinette flew to the window, desperate to see anything while her lungs surged for air. “No, no, no . . .”
But she could see nothing.
“O-our F-father,” she whimpered as emotion rose, “which a-art in H-heaven—”
The drums stopped, as did her prayer. A bloodcurdling scream rent the air, then was cut off entirely.
And the world was filled with bellowing shouts of joy and victory.
Antoinette gagged once, twice, then sank to the floor, her cries of agony trapped within the prison of her chest. There was no sound, only a fierce churning as her entire body shook with the realization she had feared most in her life.
Louis was gone.