“Oh, great!” I bare my teeth in an intentionally fake smile. “I’m going to have a chaperone.”
He lies back down and wraps his arm around me. “Go to sleep now.”
I don’t think I can, darling.
I bet he’s joining CG on her workcation. One thing might lead to another, and then—bam—they’re dating! That means I may not get another chance to share Darrel’s bed, another opportunity to make him change his mind, and more time to win his heart…
How can I sleep knowing that this night might be the last I get to spend with you?
DARREL
Amixture of excitement and concern fills me as I step out of the helicopter onto Helisurface 1 heliport in Poitiers. It seems I don’t have PTSD from the crash last winter. I’m looking forward to the scavenger hunt for the key. The part that worries me is that this is a plan B—the kind of less thought-out plan that gives bodyguards nightmares. Charlie and I will have to move fast. As fast as we can to minimize the risks.
I hail a cab and ask the driver to take me to the Poitiers Cathedral, the main attraction in the city. Thankfully, it’s a rainy morning, so when I get out in front of the impressive Gothic façade, I don’t need to elbow my way through a crowd of tourists. I scan the clusters of visitors outside the cathedral, looking for Charlie and anyone else who stands out. At the entrance I pause and glance over my shoulder, pretending to check out the structures around the Place de la Cathédrale while scanning the square once more. No trace of Charlie and no sign of anyone who might be tailing me.
Good.
Inside the building, I take a moment to earnestly admire the soaring arches, intricate carvings, and magnificent stained-glass windows. Then I spot Charlie.
Her eyebrows shoot up when she sees me. “What are you doing here? You’re two days early!”
“Your text,” I say. “It was an unnecessary risk.”
Her cheeks flush with embarrassment. “I’m sorry, Darrel! I was having such a wonderful time, fancying myself an adventurer on a treasure hunt… I forgot your warning!”
I nod once. “I should’ve been more emphatic. Can you enable the airplane mode now?”
She does so at once.
“If there’s a real emergency,” I say, “here’s my new number.”
She adds it to her phone. “What happens now? I hope you aren’t sending me home!”
“We go straight to Lusignan. Head back to your hotel and pack. I’ll catch a taxi and wait for you outside.”
Charlie’s hotel is a stone’s throw from the cathedral, so it only takes her thirty minutes to pack up her gear and hop into the cab I’ve hired. The cabbie drops us and our backpacks off at the heliport. I pay for the flight.
The smell of fuel fills the air as I help Charlie into the chopper before climbing in after her. As we lift off, the city of Poitiers recedes beneath us, its historic buildings and streets growing smaller and smaller. We fly straight to the ruins of the Castle of Lusignan, a fortress built, according to legend, by the fairy Mélusine for her husband Raymondin, the founder of the Royal House of Lusignan.
Our ride leaves us by the river Vonne, in a spot I showed the pilot. It’s secluded and far enough from Blossac Park which now surrounds the ruins to avoid unwanted attention. It’s also sufficiently close to reach the Mélusine Tower by foot in thirty to forty minutes even with all the equipment weighing down my supersized backpack.
The plan is to start at the tower as discreetly and meticulously as we can. By late afternoon, a specialized team with drones, infrared cameras, and all sorts of sophisticated tech will get here from Pombrio and take over after nightfall. They’ll extend the search to the rest of the ruins. If no key is found, we’ll rinse and repeat tomorrow, and the day after, until we’ve scoured every inch of the site.
As Charlie and I hike through the park to the Mélusine Tower, I note as many details as I can of the other remnants of this once-great fortress and correlate them with my map.
The rain has now stopped. The midmorning air carries the scent of moss-covered stone and damp earth, while the breeze whispers through the overgrown vegetation that has reclaimed the site. The partially collapsed walls and towers cast shrinking shadows across our path.
The search ahead is all I can think about, but it’s difficult not to fall under the spell of this place. The vibrant green vines that snake their way up the structures enhance the mystery of the ruins. Our footsteps crunch on the gravel. I’m mesmerized. It could be due to my knighthood, or because I was a huge fan of epic fantasy in my teens, but I can almost hear the echoes of clashing swords and the cries of battle from centuries past.
“Can you imagine living here when it was still a grand castle?” Charlie asks, her voice filled with wonder.
Looks like I’m not the only one under the spell!
I pause for a moment to take in the view of the river below. “The strategic position made it a formidable stronghold.”
We resume our hike until we reach what’s left of the Mélusine Tower. The air here feels even more charged with history, especially considering the legends that surround this place and its creator. Behind the low picket fence, the base of the tower sits on a hillside, squat and ravaged by time.
While researching it, I studied an illustration from the famous fifteenth-century manuscript,Les Très riches heures du Duc de Berry. That picture shows that the Mélusine Tower had defensive parapets, large windows, and rich decorations. No trace of them remains. But the edifice has proven resilient enough for its hollowed-out base to still rise above the ground. It was built with high-quality ashlar and with much more care than the quick and dirty monstrosities we slap together these days.
