Chapter 14 Belle-Belle
Belle-Belle
Aubert’s arrival proved fortuitous, for we drew nearer the capital by the day. And I wanted to learn all I could from him in the meantime: how to dress wounds, which herbs could be foraged and eaten safely, and most especially, how to prevent conception.
I tried to lead into the topic obliquely, hinting that I might take a lover, but once Aubert understood my intentions, he was remarkably forthcoming with information.
As soon as I’d made my request, he’d dashed into the forest and promptly come back, his shaggy blond hair flopping about, a twig stuck in it.
He held up a plant with heart-shaped leaves.
“This is sylphium, Milord. The leaves, brewed in a tea and consumed immediately before or after intercourse, will prevent any seed from taking root in a woman’s womb. It may not stop her monthly cycles, however.”
Eagerly, I reached for it.
Our hands touched. His skin was warm, his fingertips soft with flecks of dirt and loam.
I smiled bashfully, hoping the faerie coat turned it into a charming smile.
Would all my men know my secret? Would they all desire me?
Would I desire them back? As of now, I had no idea whether my heart could hold so many, if I was that strong…
or if I was that desirable, a nagging voice from my past reminded me.
Surely I could count myself lucky to have the affections of Benoit and Lucas alone.
I withdrew my hand quickly, as though stung.
“Thank you,” I said, willing my voice to sound regal and haughty. Lest I forget myself— that I was the youngest and an unlovable daughter of a backwoods noble.
Aubert simply smiled and continued to walk alongside Comrade. I turned to look back and saw Guillaume glaring at us. That was, it seemed, not out of character for him.
As we were between towns, Comrade suggested that we stop in a clearing to set up camp, a good few hours before dark. Unlike the others, Aubert did not react with surprise when Comrade spoke. I figured it had to be because of his own enchantment.
I dismounted in the clearing, prepared to help set up the camp, but Guillaume drew me aside.
“Milord, Benoit and Lucas have offered to construct our shelter and hunt for game, while Aubert will forage for plants to accompany whatever meat they secure. I would prefer it if you came with me, to train with weapons.”
I shook out my legs from the ride before answering. It was not that I distrusted Guillaume, but I had not connected with him in the same way that I had with Benoit and Lucas.
After taking off my gloves and setting them in a compartment in Comrade’s saddle, I looked up at Guillaume. He was a little taller than I, and his gray eyes were serious. I had heard him adopt a mocking tone more than once in conversation, but now, he appeared to be entirely earnest.
“Yes, of course,” I responded. It would be a good idea to get additional training before we reached the capital; I was growing better by the day under Benoit’s tutelage with simple snares, but my small size would make it easy for another to best me.
But of course, Benoit was teaching me how to slaughter small game, and dealing with a human opponent would be another matter entirely.
I had not received formal training in anatomy, as was likely common throughout our kingdom.
There were rumors, however, that once King Aristide had taken the throne, he had been in consultation with faerie-touched prophets and healers, that they were recommending a curriculum to teach all citizens about the parts and functions of their bodies.
This would, the rumor went, assist with diagnosing and curing a number of illnesses…
but it might, the detractors whispered, also touch on topics of pleasure and reproduction.
I could see no harm in such things, and surely would have benefited myself from such an education.
The education Guillaume intended to impart to me was of a wholly different nature.
Grabbing my hand roughly—which would have been entirely appropriate had I been a man—Guillaume practically dragged me to a nearby clearing. His hand was warm and callused, and though he was not much taller than I, his hand engulfed mine.
It took me a moment to regain my composure.
He began with veins and arteries, using the charred end of a stick to draw a crude human figure on a tree.
I learned where to slice in order to maximize the chances of making an opponent bleed out.
Those same locations were often sensitive in terms of nerves as well, so in a grappling situation, I could likely apply pressure or torque to my advantage.
Then came the knives.
Guillaume proved to have an impressive array of knives on his person. Even with the blindfold still covering his eyes, he reached for a dozen in less than a minute.
Then followed a lesson on throwing knives.
I was not immediately proficient at this task, and while Guillaume stated flatly that few people were, he consistently hit every vulnerable area on the drawn body on the tree trunk.
My attempts flew wild, even with Guillaume standing behind me to guide my arm, his breath hoarsely panting in my ear.
Having him so close was new. And strange. And not at all unwelcome.
I turned my face towards his, my cheek almost nuzzling the stubble dotting his chin. He stepped away, scowling.
Next, he insisted on inspecting the knives I had on my own person and declared them unacceptable.
In that moment, he gave me one of his own knives, and closed his pale fingers over mine, over the hilt.
His blindfold raised, he stared at me with intensity in his gray eyes.
“You must understand, Milord,” he said, and then paused. “I only want to keep you safe. And I may not always be at your side, unless you wish it so.”
I stared at our fingers, intertwined atop the knife’s hilt.
He had never touched me before.
“You must understand—" he repeated.
I wondered at the struggle within him, why he spoke and then paused and then spoke again. Then it became clear to me.
I stepped in and kissed him.
For a moment, his lips softened against mine, softer than I’d expected given the stubble and his generally unkempt appearance. With cheekbones as sharp as his, I’d almost expected to be cut if I ever touched his face.
But that contact lasted only a moment. He pulled back, and his gray eyes, while unreadable as always, were momentarily fixed on my face. Almost as though softening towards me.
He stepped away, pulled his blindfold back onto his face, and resumed his cold demeanor.
“Milord, I am yours to command in all matters of warfare, but you will never be the master of my heart.”
The words were a blow, that much was certain, though nothing else was.
I said nothing for a moment, feeling my face go loose in shock. Suddenly I was questioning my judgment, feeling na?ve and stupid and still a little desirous of affection all at once.
What I had feared with Lucas had come true with Guillaume: I had used my position to my advantage, attempting to force a man’s liking for me. I knew that, as the one of noble birth, I was obligated to respond nobly.
Instead, a small part of me curdled.
“We’ll train another day, then,” I snapped, and stalked back to the main clearing where Comrade and the others awaited.
It was only when I reached that area when I realized that I was still holding Guillaume’s knife.
Why he’d let me walk away with it when I had so clearly overstepped, and when he so clearly held me in disdain, I was uncertain.
But if the dangers ahead were as grim as he forecast, then I might well need it.
Later, Benoit handed me a sheath from Guillaume, for the knife. I stuck it in my saddle and let the men talk amongst themselves while building a fire and preparing game for dinner.
Comrade nudged me with his head when it was time to eat. Woodenly, I accepted food, barely registering what it was. Stew, probably.
How could I expect to be a warrior for the king if I could barely complete a training session? And how could I expect to eventually court the king if I misjudged every warm look a man gave me, interpreting it and twisting it to my own ends?
I was not fit to be a knight. And it wouldn’t take long for everyone to know the truth.