Chapter 37
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Michel had been in a closed oxcart for several days as the party traveled well into territory he had never seen.
The wooden cart had slatted gaps that allowed him to watch the terrain as they moved.
He had enough space that he could sit up without hunching, but it was not comfortable by any means.
He alternated between staring at the landscape and then exercising himself to exhaustion in his only bid to stay healthy and sane.
His wound had healed over by now, but it still pulled on him, making him wince with certain movements.
The party moved with an efficiency and speed he had never experienced, switching out horses to continue a fast pace and stopping only for moments to relieve themselves or to sleep for a few hours each night.
Michel quickly became confused about how long they had traveled.
He thought maybe five days by now, but he really wasn’t sure.
He hadn’t spoken with Eve. Occasionally, he spotted her among the thirty or so men and the sea of horses as she rode alongside the man called Khuyag.
Only Khuyag had come to look in on him and speak a little with him.
The man would slip him dried beef and sugared fruit to eat and mare’s milk to drink.
A blanket to protect him from the wind. He assured Michel that Eve was safe.
Michel thought always of Eve, awake or dreaming.
At present, he felt the party slow for the first time in hours.
He’d been doing pushups, but at the change of pace, he rolled to peer out the slats of his prison.
Ahead, he saw yurts scattered across deep green pastures filled with herd after herd of goats and sheep.
Beyond, rolled naked blue-gray mountains.
The air had been growing thinner on this journey, and the low-hanging clouds, mixing with the smoke from the yurts’ chimneys, confirmed the high elevation.
Michel changed his position to look ahead where he could see large imperial buildings with golden roofs tipped up at the edges, and one very large palace that seemed like it could be from his own home.
The dread that had curtained him the further they had gone into new land continued to deepen.
The whole time he’d been with her, from the moment he plucked her out of Merv, to the moment he’d finally told her he loved her, he had thought he’d been protecting an exceptional woman from men who aimed to harm her.
Hearing the bits of conversation he could make out, seeing this military procession, and just opening his damn eyes to the reality of Eve’s life, he’d realized that no, he hadn’t saved a tribal woman. Michel had kidnapped a princess.
He rolled to his back, placing his hands on his chest, trying to catch his breath in the thin, smoky air.
The blue of the sky seemed darker here. The colors everywhere were more vivid.
He knew he was never meant to see this land.
The tribes were notoriously insular and did not trade with or even permit Westerners far beyond Kashgar.
Trade, his position, his reputation, none of it mattered anymore.
The questions he had since the moment their little home had been invaded still ratcheted his brain: why did she keep all this from him?
Even more crushing, he wondered if any of it, anything between them, had been real.
Eve could outthink him. Had all of this been a ploy just for her to get away?
Were they holed up together in Carth just so she could bide her time until she was found by her people, since he hadn’t gotten her to France fast enough?
Their fledgling engagement, the care she gave him, the sex…
was everything done to distract him long enough for her to alert her people to her whereabouts?
And Ganbold…had she tricked Michel into fighting her enemy despite knowing it would destroy his livelihood?
He was mad at himself for falling in love so stupidly.
How did it happen? He, of all people, should not have let this happen.
He, of all people, should not have let himself be manipulated by a beautiful woman.
An intriguing woman. A woman to whom he could never measure up.
He shook his head. He never stood a chance against her.
But in his heart, if he thought about it, he didn’t believe it had been an act. It couldn’t have been.
He just needed to see her again. To speak with her and look into her eyes. To understand if the way she looked at him had changed now that she no longer needed him.
They moved through the valley and into the town.
Michel watched with an idiot’s awe as the buildings became even larger and more opulent up close.
Every person they passed stood reverently by and bowed at the procession.
A lifetime of meeting kings and queens and nobles had not prepared him for this.
Her family, her identity, it was all beyond him.
He rolled his head to the side and looked out as they passed the colorful buildings.
Over the rumbling of the horses, he heard men shouting in a dialect he could not understand.
Eve was right. Everyone was right. He knew nothing.
Outside, he felt the wind pick up. He closed his eyes, letting the movement of the cart lull him.
He knew he would have no peace when he arrived.
Was he to be killed? He didn’t know.
It didn’t matter. If he could never see her again, none of it mattered.
She was home.
The procession went right to the steps of the palace.
Eve patted the mare she had been riding and dismounted.
The high stone walls blocked the sun, and she stood in the shade as the wind howled her return, evidence that her welcome would bring strife.
She took in the thin air, needing two full breaths to feel full.
She smelled the sweet yellow poppy scent.
She felt an unbridled excitement to see her family again, but at the same time, the sadness of what she had to leave felt almost too much to bear.
She worried for Michel—his body, his heart.
She had kept away, afraid that showing him care and affection would rouse suspicion of their relationship.
She did not want that to reach her father’s ears before she had a chance to weave her story.
Khuyag came around to hold her arm. She realized she had frozen in front of the high southern-facing doors.
Inside, she could see the long-pillared room that led to her father’s high-backed chair, where he presided over meetings of the people.
The juniper incense of her home reached out to welcome her, but she just wanted to turn and run back to Michel.
“Let’s go, Gonji,” Khuyag coaxed her through the entrance. “It won’t be so bad.”
At once, they marched down the corridor to her father’s study.
There was no pause, no softness to her arrival.
They traveled through the high hallways that were at once both French and Mongolian with a staccato rhythm to their feet.
They climbed the stone steps to the second level.
Through the open windows, she saw the family yurts in the valley.
Eve knew she would have to speak very carefully to spare Michel’s life, giving her father the information he needed while avoiding the details of their relationship.
The soldiers believed Michel had kidnapped her.
She said nothing, did nothing to dissuade their rumors, because to look desperate right now would only cause damage.
The small directive she gave to Khuyag to treat Michel well, she knew, would be enough to keep Michel safe on their journey.
It would be more difficult with her father.
Having Michel to blame for her going missing and the death of the warriors would be the easiest solution in her father’s eyes, one that would avoid a war.
Michel was not tribal, and nothing outweighed the wellness of the tribes.
Her father was not cruel, however. Eve felt confident she could express that Michel had helped her and deserved more than to be executed for the fault of others.
Her affection for Michel, however, he would not accept.
Too foreign, too far, even though they had French blood. Her father would never allow such a match. Her marriage, her union, would still be needed to heal the tribes. To her father, Michel and her feelings for him were expendable.
She did not believe their feelings were expendable, but her priority was to save Michel’s life by convincing her father to release him. Ill-timed emotions had no place now.
Khuyag rapped on the door. Eve prepared herself, and in seconds, the door swung open, and she saw her father—the solid, brilliant man she loved. He gripped her shoulders and ran his eyes over her face. She knew he was searching for any pain she carried.
“Are you well?” he asked.
“Yes, father,” she replied.
At seeing him here once more, when she never thought she’d be again, a knotted ball of relief suddenly unspooled inside her.
Tears came up and overflowed. Her father hugged her as though she were his young princess once more, the one who would cry her heart out to him at the unfairness of childhood things.
It was always the case. Her strength would dissolve at the sight of her father, all her pain rising to the surface, waiting for him to soothe it.
“Eve,” he said once her shuddering sobs had subsided. “I am so sorry you had to face this all alone.”
“For most of my time away, I have been protected.” She chose her words carefully. She pulled back to look at him, to show him she was strong once more.
“Darling, I need to know everything that has transpired. Take a moment to compose, but we must discuss it all soon. I don’t want to rush you, but it is imperative that I take action. Timicin is here, and I must make a declaration.”
“Timicin is here?” she asked, anxiety knotting her up once more.
“The eyes of the tribes are on us, my darling.”
“I can speak with you now, Father,” she said. “I do not need any time.” She hoped matching him with urgency could work in her favor.
He bowed his head to her. “I am proud of you, Daughter. I see your strength and your spirit have not diminished. I admire you as always. Whatever you have been through,” he said, taking her hands in his, “I know it has not been easy.”
“It’s been a trial,” she said with a conceding smile.
He dismissed Khuyag and closed the door before bringing Eve to the cushioned seats.
“Come,” he said. “Sit.” He guided her to a chair. “Start at the beginning, when you were taken from our land.” He paused, putting his hand over hers. “Do not leave out any details.” He gave her a knowing look. “Eve, I implore you.”
Eve nodded to her father. Calculating, she took a deep breath. She began her story.