Page 117 of Angel's Fall

“Tell your brother for me that I wish him peace,” Shaya said before he received a curt nod of dismissal.

He walked home along the Seine feeling light. Lighter than he had in years, or even decades. It was strange, to be so without a purpose. There was no quest now. No revenge to seek or monarch to serve. It was... lovely. He could do whatever he chose now, even though he had no idea what that would be. It felt good to have the choice at all.

He walked across thePont de la Concordeand cut through the Tuileries to theRue de Rivoli. Perhaps he would spend tomorrow at the Louvre or walk in the gardens as they prepared to bloom. He always liked this time of year, when the world seemed to hold its breath, bursting with the promise of life. Had Darius ever been? He should really know that sort of thing.

There was already tea brewing in a pot when he entered the flat. Darius rose immediately to pour Shaya a cup, smiling kindly as always.

“How was it?” Darius asked.

“Easier than I thought.”

“Good. I was worried. It took you so long,” Darius chided as they took their seats by the fire.

“I walked. I wanted to think and, well, enjoy the city,” Shaya replied, and Darius raised an eyebrow. “What can I say? Perhaps Paris has grown on me at last.”

“Does that mean we shan’t be departing for home, or even someplace near to it, now that you are done with everything?” Darius asked before taking a slow sip.

Shaya smiled. “There was something Christine said in her vows:we shall never want for shelter, for I swear to be your home, as you are mine.”

“I did like that part,” Darius murmured. When Shaya dared to look up, the other man was smiling warmly.

“We don’t need to go home, Darius. Or at least I don’t. I have all the home that I need right here,” Shaya confessed.

“Well, that is a good beginning.”

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Christine took thekey from the drowsy attendant at the front desk with a smile. The hotel was convenient to theGare du Nordstation and the train that would take them from the city in the morning. The brass and marble in the lobby reminded her of the Opera, strangely enough. More than once, the Opera had been compared to a train station in her construction. It was as appropriate a place to spend her wedding night as any.

“My husband and I wish not to be disturbed,” Christine declared. The man showed little interest. It didn’t matter; she just wanted to say it and have the words be true.

She had changed out of her wedding costume and back into her traveling clothes, so how was anyone to know she had been so changed today if she didn’t declare it? She turned to said husband, who looked slightly overwhelmed by his surroundings.

Erik was trying, she could tell, to blend in as much as he could, with his mask adorned with a beard and spectacles, his hat low and his collar high. Still, Christine took his hand to offer comfort, and he squeezed hers tightly back. She led them to the room, but Erik pulled her back into his arms after she had unlocked the door, much to her surprise.

“I believe there is a tradition I need to uphold?” Erik whispered in her ear before scooping Christine up into his arms as she yelped in delight. He carried her over the threshold into their simple room and her heart fluttered.

The room wasn’t much. It had a handsome bed and a little fire with chairs before it, and two tall windows in the Parisian style that looked out over the lights of the city. It was so normal. It was perfect.

Before her husband could let go, Christine lifted his mask from his face and kissed him. She loved the tenderness with which his lips responded, the tight hold of his lithe arms, and how she was sure that, if she tried, she could feel his heart pounding against hers. Just as she had expected, Erik set her down and slipped from the embrace, fussing with his hat, cloak, and gloves.

“Are you nervous for your wedding night, husband?” Christine asked, removing her heavy cloak, the one that had once been his.

“Very. The last time we made love was—”

“One of your worse moments, yes,” Christine replied as Erik moved towards the window that gave them a view of the city. “You used me to hurt Raoul. You knew you could because I have always been weak when it comes to my desire for you. You knew that the first night you took me below, before I even knew your name.”

“Christine...” Erik’s voice was fraught with pain as he turned to her, and guilt was written across his mangled face.

“You regret it, don’t you?” Christine demanded, calm and cool.

“I do. You know I do.”

“And would you ever do it again?”

“Never,” Erik swore, tentatively approaching and reaching for her hand. He had begged her forgiveness many times. She was sure he would continue asking it for a long time to come. She would give it.

“Then you are forgiven,” Christine smiled, twining her fingers with his. “Now help me to make a new start. I will show you how.”

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