He did, however, think about them. He’d learned in the last month that his mind could explore the possibility of something without putting his body at risk. He could survive remembering. He could survive speculation.
Remembering the strange and eerie sight of the servants, ruddy in their bloodred livery,bowingwhen he passed... calling out his father’s name... was a trial, but it happened, and he could remember it, and the earth still spun. He was still standing. He was still free.
Unless he was mistaken, he recognized the older, fatter face of one of the bowing servants—he’d known this man, a coachman, and this man had known him. But how? It was a very far stretch to say Gabriel resembledEnglishcountry gentry, let aloneFrench royalty. It was almost as if the old men had wanted to see a prince.
And this sparked a different memory. He remembered the pervasive attitude of adoration, of reverence, of a sort oflove(if he was being honest) that friends and strangers alike—certainly devoted servants—felt for his parents, and indeed, for him. This strange worshipfulness had been lost to his memory, likely because it’d been overshadowed by the strange hatred in the end. Before, his family had been loved to the point of bended knee; after, they’d been resented and hunted and executed.
The old servants had reflected that devotion and the sight had not panicked him, but he didn’t like it. And certainly he didn’t want it. He understood how quickly it could turn—he’d seen heads chopped from necks while crowds cheered—but also, he knew real adoration. And real, authentic adoration was the only sort of worshipfulness he wanted in his life. He’d adored Samuel Rein and his boys. Now he adored Ryan. He adored Elise and her family. What need had he for strangers to love him—and, potentially, to scream for his head—when Ryan might return his love in earnest?
The fealty of strangers was suffocating and conditional and misplaced. It was not love, it was control. The love and loyalty between husband and wife could be, he thought, liberating. And unconditional. He’d seen this in his sister’s home. This was how Samuel Reindescribed the marriage between himself and his late wife. Maurice could take the royal esteem and rot. Gabriel’s only interest was this more intimate, purer love. Authentic love.
When the moon was high and the dimming sunset had been replaced with a bright white glow, Gabriel walked from the stables to the hitching post and recovered Ryan’s mare. With every step, he prayed that she was safe, and happily reunited with her sisters, and didn’t resent him for sending her inside the house alone. Was it ridiculous, he thought, that he’d come all this way only to abandon her for the stables?
I’m not ready, he thought, leading the horse in.
I’m not ready.
If I face him—if I face any of this—before I’m in the correct state of mind, I’ll bungle it. I’ll behave like the maddened forest dweller I’ve been trying, for years, to become.
I’ll be nothing like the prince she needs me to be.
Walking to the stables with the horse, Gabriel took in the looming mansion and verdant garden. The house was larger than Mayapple, but the roof drooped and vines sprouted between stone blocks. The garden was wild; tended only in pockets, scattered with fruit trees and a leaning sundial.
Maurice’s grooms and coachmen kept, thankfully, to the vehicles; although Gabriel was certain he saw crimson shadows watching him from behind hedges and walls.
He’d just finished feeding and watering the mare and was brushing her coat when he heard footsteps crunching across the garden in his direction. Gabriel froze, a jolt of readiness coiling inside him, preparinghim to pounce. He would fight, or he would shout, or he would—
“Gabriel?” called a familiar voice.
Ryan—thank God.
He laid his head against the curve of the horse’s back and closed his eyes.Let her be well. Let her be safe. Let her be alone.
“Here,” he called back and stepped around the horse.
She hurried to him, swinging a lantern before her to light the way. Two women followed behind, peering into the stables as if she was leading them to the cage of a trapped bear.
“Are you—?” she began but didn’t finish.
“I’m alright,” he said.
Her gait was neither slow nor fast, she simply walked, leading her sisters (the women could be no other than her sisters), her face tight with concern. She searched every corner of the stables, lifting the lantern high.
“I’m alone,” he assured her. “Except for the sheep.” He gave a small smile. “And the two horses. Have you no stable help?”
“We do,” she said, “but they are tenants and they go home to their families at night.
“We brought you something to eat,” she said.
The smaller, fairer sister—Charlotte, he guessed—clutched a basket with both hands. Her eyes were huge; she watched him as if he might rip it from her and bite directly into the straw.
“Thank you,” he said.
“Diana, Charlotte,” called Ryan, “I would like to introduce you to my husband, Gabriel d’Orleans, also known as Gabriel Rein. He has come to help us.”
Diana and Charlotte stared at him like Ryan claimed to be married to one of the sheep.
“How do you do?” said Gabriel.
