“He was a good man. Leaudor flourished under his direction.”
Simon remained silent, waiting for her to continue, not wanting to intrude on her reflection.
“And now, they have taken everything from me,” she hissed, anger replacing the agony in her voice. “And for what?”
He reached across and took her hands in his. “That is what I need to speak to you about, Isabella. Can you bear it?”
“Will you help me return to Leaudor?” she asked, gripping his hands tightly.
He shifted uncomfortably and looked away briefly. She was asking him to helpher. Not Leaudor. Not England. Her.
He had every intention of seeing her to Leaudor. His duty to England demanded it. But somehow she made the act more personal than it should be.
But just as he could not fathom shirking his responsibility to England, neither could he look into the princess’s eyes and hold that he was unmoved by her plea. Or pretend he was only acting in his country’s best interest.
“Yes, Isabella. I will help you,” he said with only a twinge of guilt. Once she was on the throne, it would matter little to her why he had aided her.
“Then I can bear it,” she whispered.
The two stared at one another for a long moment, their hands still joined. Finally, Simon pulled away, rising from his perch on the stool.
“I need you to tell me everything, Isabella. Don’t leave any detail out, no matter how painful it may be. I will help you, but I must know all.”
She nodded her head in agreement.
“Then tell me what happened on the day your parents were assassinated.”
She stood as if unable to bear the confines of the chair any longer. She took in a deep breath and twisted her hands nervously in front of her.
“Jacques Montagne, Father’s military advisor, summoned my father from breakfast. We always took breakfast together,” she said with a slight smile.
“I could tell it was urgent. Jacques was not one to interrupt our family meals unless it was of the utmost importance. Davide and I decided to take a walk in the gardens immediately following breakfast, so we left Mother and Stephane in the dining hall. After collecting Davide’s easel, we went outside to enjoy the autumn weather. Davide was going to draw a portrait of me.
“Maybe an hour later, we went up to my mother’s chamber. Davide was eager to show her his work, and we knew she would be getting dressed for her mid-morning session with the ladies in her court.
“When we found her chamber empty, we thought to find her in the music room where she routinely held court. On our way there, we were stopped by Jacques, who asked us to come with him. There was a note of urgency in his voice that unsettled me. Davide felt it too. I remember him taking my hand as we rushed after Jacques.”
Her agitation increased, and she began to wring her hands in earnest. Simon crossed the space separating them and once again took her hands in his.
“I am here, Isabella. You don’t have to bear this alone. Hold on to me if you must.”
She gripped his hand almost painfully and continued in a shaky voice. Her pupils were dilated, and her face chalky white.
“When we reached the throne room, I knew something was amiss. Father’s personal guards were nowhere to be seen. The room was frightfully empty. And then I saw Mother and Father.”
Her voice broke off and she briefly closed her eyes as if to regain her composure. When she opened them again, all the light was gone, a dull, lifeless barrier covering them.
“Mother was standing by Father, her back stiff with pride. She would never allow Jacques to see her fear. Two men on either side of them held a sword to their throats. I remember well the last words they ever spoke to me,” she whispered.
“As they stood there, Father looked at me and Davide with such love and pride in his eyes. He said, ‘I love you, my children. Never forget how proud you have made your mother and me.’ And then the soldiers killed them.”
A high keening wail escaped her, and she jerked her fingers away from him, covering her face with her hands. “Oh God,” she sobbed. “They killed them right in front of me.”
She pressed herself into his chest, her hands gripping his forearms. Her sudden movement took him by surprise, and he stood stiffly, unsure of how to react to her embrace.
She trembled against him, the force of her emotion unsettling to him. He lifted a hand and awkwardly ran it over her hair in an effort to comfort her.
“I’m sorry,” he said gruffly.
