Once, when Michel was twelve years old, he had been playing in the palace garden at Chevalier with his two younger brothers and several other boys after their swordsmanship class. He had lived a carefree, though structured, life. As the future Duke, he had lessons and rules of decorum. He enjoyed his swordsmanship lessons the best, but loved learning about history and politics. The great world leaders fascinated him. Michel aspired to be one himself, one day. At that time, though, the only ones he had to order around were his brothers, who never listened.
That evening in the garden, they ran and shouted and played, climbing the large tree that overlooked the city. His middle brother, Serge, climbed further than anyone else, even though Michel called to him not to get so high. Serge had kept going as Michel turned to toss his littlest brother, Philippe, into the dirt. That was when Serge fell from the tree with a thud. Horrified, Michel skidded to his brother’s side and saw the broken clavicle among gashes across his face and neck. The other boys descended onto them. Michel had ordered them back, trying to assess the damage to Serge, to decide what he could do to help. Someone bumped into Michel’s back, knocking him forward. Someone else stepped on Serge’s hand. Michel yelled at everyone, but they didn’t listen. Nobody listened.
It was chaos. Michel tried to organize, to help Serge, whose eyes were rolling in pain, to settle the other boys and calm his little brother, who sucked in his bottom lip with a sob. Michel was the oldest, the most responsible. He should have been able to handle it, but he was caught in a whirlwind and couldn’t do anything to control the situation.
Then his father arrived on quick, steady steps, and everything changed. Everyone calmed, including Michel. He felt profound relief, knowing his father would take over. He also felt a deep shame that he had not been one bit useful. How would he command one day if no one listened? How would he lead if he had nothing worth contributing? He thought about this moment more often than he probably should.
Now, as he worked out a plan on his map, he knew he was a different person. More in control, more in charge. It frustrated him, though, that he remembered that feeling of relief so vividly. That he still sometimes wished for his father to show up and fix everything.
Just then, Eve entered the yurt. Michel reacted to her presence immediately, taking in her fresh scent, which calmed his torpid thoughts.
“What are you doing over there?” She had a basket of figs with her. She took one and began to peel it with her knife.
“I am figuring things out in my mind,” he said. “Planning relaxes me.” One thing that did not relax him was the fact that having Terence rejoin the party had meant he’d had no more opportunities to get close to this woman. His eyes flicked to the door, suddenly, wondering how much time they would have alone.
“What have you planned, great one?” she teased.
He scoffed. “I think it’s going to work out,” he said. “We’ll take a direct route to Kashgar from here and meet with the cashmere dealer. Then we can go home. Once we are out of the immediate area, we should avoid any more trouble.”
“What of the Frenchmen being killed?” She kept her eyes on the knife as she worked it around the fig.
“I will have to come back,” he said, watching her. “Immediately. But I will get you to France first.” He paused. “Your safety is my priority now.”
Eve finished by slicing the fruit and putting it on a plate. “Will you come back alone?”
“No,” he said. “My father will need to come with me to reestablish his presence. We’ll have our army, too.”
She wrung her fingers together. “So, it seems I have moved war from one place to another.” She kept her eyes down as she set the fruit on the table beside him.
“We will not come in to destroy. It’s more diplomacy than anything.” He reached out and ran the back of his knuckles down her arm. “I can’t leave things as they are now, though.”
She leaned on the table next to him. “What if this man does not wish to trade cashmere with you? You have no guarantees.”
“Well, Eve,” he said with a smile. He took a slice of the fig she had splayed out for him and bit into it. “I’m pretty good at charming people into working with me.” He grinned now. “You should know.”
“You think you charmed me?” She shifted to give him a look from the side.
“Of course I have,” he said, chewing.
“Have you thought that perhaps I charmed you?”
He swallowed. “You didn’t just charm me, Siren,” he said. “You bewitched me. Thoroughly.”
She grinned at him. Mischief in her eyes.
“But,” he continued. “Youwerepretty lucky that you happened to run into me.” He narrowed his eyes. “If you hadn’t found me, that short merchant might still be chasing you around Merv.”
She gave a playful nod. “It was indeed very lucky, looking to go to France, that I was purchased by a Frenchman.”
“Yes,” he said, nodding.
“The ancestors must have favored me,” she teased.
“Yes,” he agreed, a new suspicion changing the tone of his voice.
“How incredibly fortuitous,” she said. She shrugged and stood to leave.
He reached out and grabbed her arm, dragging her back to him. “What are you telling me?”
