“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.

Their blades sparked on contact. Marc easily evaded the next attack, focusing on the image at the centre While Barón launched a powerful swing, Marc parried to distance himself. Once more they began to circle one another, searching for a weakness.

Marc was not about to leave an opening, but Fate had her way of intervening. A powerful drumming approached from the town, loud enough to tempt Marc into covering his ears. He watched as his opponent’s face paled at the approaching threat.

A mortar fell from out of the heavens, and buried itself deep into the ground about thirty paces away. Both were transfixed on this unwelcomed addition. It went off, sending both men hurtling through the air. Marc was unconscious before his body slammed into the ground.

Without time, Marc dropped to his knees, as something knocked the hat off and ruffled his hair… I might’ve gotten a shave had it been any closer!

He swung his blade, but was too late. Even though all that chaos, there came screaming from behind. With a practised pose, he blocked the attack using his sabre, but the impact would leave a red welt running down his back. 

Marc rolled out of the way for a second attack, and quickly found his footing. There was a distorted smile upon that face red with anger… not to mention those dead eyes.

By his count, Marc saw Barón not once but thrice, each with all three incantations charging him with a sword drawn.