“Evelyn would kill me if she found out about Émilie,” Marc said. I’ll save those details for later…

Émilie betrayed him in the worst possible way. By taking what she wanted, she violated what mattered most, his trust. However, Marc was certain the child should not suffer for the actions of its mother.

While honourable, he also realised that setting eyes on that porcelain skin, golden locks of hair, and blue eyes again would be problematic. Émilie would forever remind him of her betrayal. I once believed that my father had the worst possible relationship with the Comtesse…

Warning, oxygen levels at 11.2% and rising. Proceed calmly to the nearest emergency shelter.

Marc’s writing filled two-fifths of the bulkhead. Even after centuries, it surprised him how much emotion that single moment in time could elicit. His jaw muscles tensed until his teeth were on the verge of shattering, all because of her.

Had she shown patience, Marc would have made her his bride. While her family tree was free from blue blood, that did not prevent him from forging her legitimacy. She could have been the cousin of a distant baron, and no one would dare confirm the details. It would take no more than a couple of carefully placed bribes to make it happen…

“Head… hurts”, Marc whispered.

“Oh,” Emilie said. “I… Let me get you another pillow.”

As judged by the sound of wood sliding over the floor, Émilie must have gotten up from a chair. Where she normally wore a bustier, this morning it was just a slip. As Émilie headed towards the doors, she walked into the sunlight.

With the sun shining through the sheer material, showing him the outline of her exaggerated hourglass figure. He smiled at the sight of her, but that smile faded when she turned. Her normally flat tummy was rounder and enlarged.

It had been three months since he saw Emilie last. She had no clients, nor had they ever been intimate. So his mind took the path of least resistance. A bit of weight looks good on her…

“How did—” Marc asked.

His eyes were better able to focus on Émilie. He narrowed his faze on those dimples, her rosy cheeks, those blue eyes, and her welcoming lips. Had it not been a Herculean effort, he might have leaned forward for a kiss.

“He also said that several townspeople helped in getting you here safely,” Émilie added.

That was good news. While commendable, he would have been disappointed to hear that they left their posts to help him. He was just one man, and battles were a question of numbers…

“Head… hurts”, Marc whispered.

“I was worried,” Emilie said. “Your men said it was quite the battle. Most of us were afraid to leave our homes until they told us it was safe.” 

“Win?” Marc asked.

He preferred not to make assumptions. He could not imagine how devastating it would be to find out days later than he was in a cell. They did outnumber us…

“Jean-Charles (Cornay) said their commander was killed when that mortar went off,” Émilie said. “Apparently your men rallied to you, whereas the Spaniards sounded a retreat.”

That was good news and while they were vulnerable, his Adjudant would ensure they shored up their defences… assuming we have enough men to defend what’s left…

“Oh, you must want some water,” Émilie said. 

He shut his eyes tight and clenched his jaw when a hand reached the back of his head. The pain lingered, even after he had a few soothing sips of water and was permitted to lay back onto the pillow. Unlike his headache, this pain had a memory, and heat radiated from the wound. That must have been a nasty hit…

“Merci,” Marc whispered.

The pain was still there, but bearable. What he needed were answers. With some effort, he turned towards her voice to find a blonde and porcelain skinned blur ahead. 

He was disappointed at not being able to see those deep blue eyes, but smiled meekly. That would do for the time being, since Marc’s body was not entirely his own.

“There you are,” Émilie said. 

While those words were whispered, the oscillation in her voice coincided with spikes of pain. He imagined that someone was driving nails straight into his skull.

“Where—” Marc asked.

The tearing in his throat stopped him cold. It reminded him of calling drills for too long. But the taste of iron in his mouth hinted there was another cause.

“Oh, you must want some water,” Émilie said. 

“Marc?” Émilie repeated.

He opened his eyes cautiously, and was met with blinding white light. Shortly thereafter he became aware of a persistent ringing in his ears, as though an opera singer had been holding a high note for too long. I really wish she would take a bow…

A sharp pain along his forehead was next. Those symptoms ought to worry him, but this was not the first time he was knocked unconscious… Am I out of danger?

“There you are,” Émilie said. 

“I’m here for you,” Émilie added. 

Those words are out of sync with her lips. The disjointed dialogue perplexed him, doubly so when he realised those words did not originate from the projection. How can she be in two places at once?

Then came the sensation of someone holding his hand. The skin was warm, soft, and the caress gentle. How are her hands on my chest? 

However, the scene before him was washed out in light, with no source to account for it. As Émilie hummed a sweet lullabye to herself, the world before him faded into the light.

“Marc?” Émilie asked. 

Marc was dreaming, walking through a mountain pass near the Keep. Émilie’s voice tore through the landscape, like a stone falling into a still pond. 

His mind transitioned from a serene landscape from his childhood, to Émilie straddling him, those breasts swaying back and forth. Once she was fully in focus, he rather enjoyed the change of scenery.