Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
GENEVIèVE
Ileave him to his meal, retreating to the comfort of my workroom, where vials of tinctures crowd shelves and bundles of dried herbs hang from the ceiling. The scents of rosemary and mugwort ground me, a reminder of who I am. Who I was before he came.
My fingers work, crushing dried magnolia bark for Widow Thibodeaux's heart medicine. This is what I know. Healing, plants, spirits. Not a broken warrior fading into death.
I reach for lavender, counting stems as I bind them with twine. Un, deux, trois... My gaze drifts toward the kitchen where he sits. Sept, huit…oh mon Dieu, I've lost count.
"Attend, Geneviève," I whisper to myself. But it's no use. His presence fills my home, seeping into every corner. Unable to be denied.
The mistletoe leaf I found on my own table this morning burns in my apron pocket. Proof that our dreams walk together, that whatever binds us crosses both worlds.
I steal another glance. étienne sits exactly where I left him, eating, eyes fixed on some distant point. Had he pushed harder this morning, we might be kissing again.
Part of me is grateful for his restraint.
The other part aches with disappointment.
I’ve never felt the lure of a man as I do with him.
During my placée arrangement with Jean-Philippe, I grew fond of him, but it was not like what I’m feeling with étienne.
There’s a pull to him I want to follow, and yet, how can I trust it?
Is it me and my heart? Or simply the will of the Veil?
In the end, what does it matter? I cannot offer him anything more than I have. Companionship. Passion. But no heirs. I bore no children for Jean-Philippe.
And even if I could offer more, étienne will be gone. He's a wounded Oathmarked warrior. He's fading.
As the day progresses, he keeps his distance. The only touch between us is when I tend his wound.
Yet I find myself wishing he would touch me, say something, acknowledge what passes between us. But he honors the boundaries.
I retire to my bed late, after ensuring étienne has everything he needs. I lay back against my pillows, my hand holding the mistletoe leaf I've kept close all day.
Sleep claims me swiftly, but it's not an ordinary slumber. The Veil shimmers and parts, and I'm drawn through, not by force, but by something sweet, something that tugs at my heart.
The atrium materializes around me. Moonlight streams through the glass dome above.
"You came back." étienne emerges from the shadows, and my breath catches. Here in the dream, his form is solid. He’s strong, handsome, fierce, yet kind.
"Did you doubt I would?" I move toward him, and I know it’s of my own accord, not the Veil.
His smile transforms his face. "I hoped you would."
We sit by the fountain, closer than propriety would allow in the waking world.
Words flow between us. Stories of his childhood in this house, tales of my grandmother teaching me to hear the Veil's song, fears we've never voiced to another soul. But it’s not all pain or fear.
I tease him because it makes him smile, and his smile is radiant.
"I never laugh anymore," he confesses. "Not out there."
"Perhaps you should try it." I lean closer, emboldened by the dream-world. "Your smile suits you."
He catches my hand, and the contact sends warmth spiraling up my arm. "You make me remember what it feels like to be alive, Geneviève."
The way he says my name, with a reverie, makes me forget all my reasons for keeping distance between us. Here in this dream space, with the Veil's magic swirling around us, I let myself feel everything I've been fighting against.
étienne's fingers tighten around mine. "If things were different..." He pauses, as if considering whether he should speak what’s on his mind. "Never have I felt thus. Like I'm anchored to the world when I'm with you."
"Then stay anchored to me.”
His silvery eyes study me. “Would you have me…if death were not already upon me?”
My breath catches at the sincerity in his voice. “Oui.”
“Even though I am Oathmarked?”
I nod, feeling the sweetness of affection tempered by grief. For even if he were not dying before my eyes, we would have no future. Some bonds are forbidden.
Emotion fills his eyes. “You honor me. I wish I could—”
“It’s not allowed.” Perhaps we could enter into a placage, but a marriage between us would be against mortal law, and although I don’t know all the rules of his world, I imagine it’s against his, too.
He shakes his head, anguish etching lines around his eyes. "It isn't Council law or mortal law that keeps me from binding myself to you. It's that one day soon, I'll have to enter the Veil fully. What would happen to you then, tied to a cursed man?"
In that instant, my misgivings vanish. In their place rises an urgent desire to give étienne tenderness and comfort, to remind him that he’s living even as the Veil draws him away.
I move closer and place my palm against his cheek. His skin feels warm with life.
"The only thing that terrifies me is a world without you in it."
His lips find mine, and this time there's no hesitation. The dream amplifies everything. The press of his mouth, the heat of his hands as they frame my face. I lean into him with a growing hunger.
"I should stop." His words betray his hands that slide down over me.
I answer by pulling him closer.
The kiss deepens, moves from tender to an all-consuming need. His tongue slides against mine. My fingers tangle in his hair as he presses me back against the marble stone of the floor next to the fountain.
"Geneviève," he whispers my name against my throat.
"Mon ange." His fingers tug at the neckline of my night-chemise, exposing me. My nipples tighten as the cool air brushes over them. Or maybe it’s the anticipation of étienne’s touch.
His palm brushes over one nipple. Sensation shoots through my body. I moan and arch into him wanting more.
“Très belle, mon ange.” So beautiful, my angel. His lips wrap around my sensitive tip and suckle.
“étienne.” I sigh and hold him to me, savoring the life energy emanating from him.
His hand slides beneath my nightdress, his palm warm against my thigh. The Veil hums around us, through us, its magic intertwining with our desire.
"étienne—" I reach for the laces of his breeches, finding him already hard with want.
His hand captures mine, gentle but firm. “Non, mon ange.”
I look into his eyes, wondering why he’s stopping.
"Not in dreams." His gaze holds mine. “What lies between us must exist in the real world."
The dream begins to blur, and I reach for him, desperate to hold on. But he fades until my world goes dark.
I wake alone, aching and confused. The dream of him lingers. His fingers on my thigh, his breath at my throat. Maybe I can fall asleep and see him again. Maybe there is more time to love in the Veil.
I glance toward the window. The moon is high. Dawn is hours away.
But perhaps it’s wise that I don’t give in to the desires of the flesh. I’ve lived all my life listening to the Veil, adhering to the warnings of spirits. But never before has the Veil shown me such intimacy. Such desire.
Is it the Veil's doing? Or my own heart?
I desire him. Not just in dreams, but here, in the solid world. Just as he wants me. I don’t want to experience the loss, and yet, there’s no stopping that now. No matter what I do, I will grieve when he’s gone. Perhaps I can soothe his pain and grief, too in the comfort of my arms.
I make no sound as I approach his door. On the other side lies a man whose touch makes me feel more alive than I've ever been. I can’t deny it anymore.
I push the door open slowly. Even in sleep, he looks like he's fighting battles. I step closer, eager to touch him here in the mortal world. To feel his hands on me. To have it be real and not a dream.
My fingers hover inches from étienne's face when a sharp knock on my door shatters the silence.
I freeze.
The knock comes again, more insistent. A cold skitters down my spine. The spirits whisper at me, but I can’t decipher their warning.
I quickly leave him resting. I throw a shawl over my shoulders and move toward the front door.
When I pull the door open, the man standing there appears ordinary at first glance. Tall, well-dressed, aristocratic. Like étienne.
"Mademoiselle. I apologize for the intrusion. I’m here to see étienne Noctier.”
“Je suis désolé, monsieur.” I’m sorry, mister. “The man you seek isn’t here."
His gray eyes narrow, and a pulsing light radiates from his chest. He’s an Oathmarked.
Fear snakes through me. He must be here to take étienne. To ensure he isn’t a threat to his kind or the Veil.
“Bastien.” étienne's voice comes from behind me, flat, almost defeated.
"Brother." The stranger—Bastien—inclines his head, studying étienne. "You remain. You resist the Veil.”
étienne shrugs. “I’ve had something keep me here.” He glances toward me, his eyes filled with regret and loss. He turns his attention back to his warrior brother. “I know why you’ve come. I ask that you don’t kill me here. Not in front of the traiteur."