Page 29 of Love Beneath the Guillotine
Thoroughly confused now, Léon uttered, “What?”
“I’m just saying, had the Queen not been so much of a, well, ‘that kind of woman’, she might have been spared the blade. As it stands… They’re baying for her blood in Paris. The King’s going any day now, and just how long do you think they’re going to keep that foreigner and her bastard children around after he’s gone?”
Léon mumbled, “I don’t see what any of this has to do with me and Souveraine.”
“Don’t you?” DuPont said, a touch too cryptically. Léon’s unfed, sleep-starved, desperate and reeling mind went into overdrive, his mouth opening to form words that wouldn’t come, cut off by DuPont’s peremptory, “That’s right.”
The roiling clouds above cracked open, and the red rain began to fall in earnest. Léon held out his palm, watching the fat drops splash down like spilled blood. “Sometimes it feels like an ill omen,” he reflected.
“You and your superstitions,” DuPont laughed. “It passed through Dieppe and Rethel already, without any bad luck befalling those towns. It’s just a matter of time until it passes through here, too.” Léon, hoping that last sentence rang true, gave a small nod. “Now you go and see Souveraine, and tell her you’ll marry her.”
Léon dipped his head in acquiescence, desperate to get away. He made for the stairs of the platform, and DuPont called after him, “Then get yourself a good night of rest. I’ll expect something spectacular in the morning.”
“Ah… yes…” Léon dropped down a few more stairs. “I’ll think of something… Something good.”
DuPont raised his pleased chin, calling out. “Something like your axe thing.” He stuck a hand up in the air to demonstrate.
Léon laughed, fake but friendly, perfectly harried. “Yes. Something like that.” He stuck a half-hearted arm in the air. “But even better.”
“Something fit for the Queen, eh?” DuPont joked, with a nod towards the guillotine.
Another fake laugh, several more retreating steps. “Yes. Of course. A showstopper!”
“Bright and early!”
DuPont waved him away, and Léon spun on his heel as quickly as any man ever did. He never let up his pace, flying along the cobblestones in a blind panic.
A showstopper.
Something fit for the Queen.
Who was going to get her head cut off.
Like Catherine, who was expected to grace the debut chop of the guillotine with her slim neck first thing in the morning. And there was Henry with his blade at Émile’s throat. And just how was Léon supposed to deal with any of it?
Faster and faster he flew along, his body screaming for rest, his mind on fire, nothing but nervous energy propelling him forward.
A showstopper.
Something fit for the Queen.
And by the time the little bell above Souveraine’s door rang out, Léon looked every bit as insane as a good number of people he’d put to death over the years.
16
TO THE KING’S HEAD!
The bright light in Souveraine’s eyes faded just as quickly as it had sparked on sight of Léon. She was around the bar and taking his hands, just as he took hers, feverish and shaking. “I’m in trouble. I’m in so much trouble, and I don’t know what to do.”
“Come.” She pulled him into a quiet alcove, careless of the eyes and snickers of the publicans. But Léon wasn’t. He dropped her hands, his face falling with them. The act set her on her guard for bad news, which only compelled her to move even closer. “Is it Émile?”
“No.” He clutched her hands again, thoughtlessly, trying to soothe that worry away. “He’s okay. He’s… I think he’s safe. For now. But I have something I need to do, and if I can’t do it… Oh, Souveraine…” His head fell against the stone wall, hard, the pain of it comforting in a way that would have made him do it again, had Souveraine’s hand not reached up to prevent it.
He leaned into her cool skin, calm against the mess of his mind. “I don’t know what to do. I have to kill someone tomorrow. A young woman. And I don’t want to do it.”
Her hand pulled back, a wrinkle of astonishment crowding her face. “Is she someone you know?”
“No, not at all. I only saw her for the first time today.”
