Page 90 of Heart of Snow
Was this... ? Was he being truthful? I remained mute, not trusting myself to answer when I couldn’t be sure Friedrich had really spoken those words. It was only a trick of my mind, conjuring what I’d wished to hear.
But then he added, “It pains me most because I know I’m to blame.”
“You? Why would you be—” I pressed my mouth shut and shook my head. None of this was relevant. “Samuel is dying.”
Friedrich flinched.
“Any change in me is for the better if it means I can save my brother’s life.”
“Selling yourself is for the better?”
“I’m not the prince’s mistress.” My voice was flat. Friedrich’s jaw dropped slightly, but I continued. “Felipe has asked his father’s permission for us to wed.”
“Marriage?” Friedrich stepped back. “Do you love the prince?”
His voice held that same open vulnerability as when he’d begged me to stay in Wildungen with him. And I’d almost agreed, thinking it was love that drew us together, until Friedrich dismissed me to Brussels in nearly the same breath. How could I love the prince? I didn’t even know what it meant to love in that way.
“I love Samuel,” I answered. “And Felipe is proving his love to me by seeking our marriage.”
My answer must not have satisfied, for his gaze darted back and forth between my eyes as if he were deliberating what more he might say. I hadn’t the time to find out.
“I must get back to Belinda before I am missed. Fare thee well.”
Friedrich stepped in front of me, setting a light hand against my stomach to stay me. “If it’s true you don’t love him—if you’re not just trying to spare my feelings—then even if you were to marry him, you’d still be selling yourself. You’re worth more than this, Margaretha.” His eyes held mine. “Your soul is valuable, and you have a right to live according to your conscience. Don’t even consider the prince.”
I sighed and softly pressed against his chest to push us apart, to give myself some distance. His arm fell to his side, and he awaited my answer.
“Friedrich, you of all people should understand why I’d consider him. I can’t be responsible for another death. I’ve carried that burden of guilt almost my whole life. So has Belinda.”
Friedrich raised an eyebrow.
“We bear our shame in different ways, but her remorse is no less acute than my own.” I turned back to the window, staring down at the moon-swept Warande. “And then there’s the injury I did you. Though it’s impossible to repair, can my penance not in some small way atone?”
Friedrich surprised me with his humorless chuckle. “I can’t believe what I’ve done to you,” he muttered, coming to stand behind me at the window. “I came to you tonight to apologize.”
I spun to face him. “What would you need to apologize of?”
“Sending you away. My behavior here in Brussels. I’ve been cold and unfeeling, watching you make the compromises necessary to save your brother. I should have helped you instead of withholding the only aid that’s mine to offer: forgiveness.”
My brows furrowed, trying to comprehend his meaning.
“But my forgiveness will never be enough if you can’t learn to forgive yourself.”
Certain I’d misunderstood him, I breathed a skeptical laugh.
His eyes narrowed, scrutinizing me. “You were just a child, Margaretha. You couldn’t have foreseen the consequences. You’ve repented many times over. Forgive yourself.”
He was serious, then. I nodded, hoping to convince him I understood, if it meant the uncomfortable conversation could come to a quicker end.
“You don’t see.” He shook his head. “Of course not. Why should you? After a lifetime of rejecting and condemning yourself, you expect everyone around you to do the same. I was guilty of rejecting you before. Let me fix my error now and help you realize what an admirable person you are. A person worth loving.”
My stomach tightened, and I shifted to face the window, running my fingers over the black latticework to shut out the agitation brought on by his words.
“I forgive you, Margaretha.”
He forgave me in the sense that it was his Christian duty to do so, and I appreciated his efforts. My lips were tight as I gave a quick nod.
His reflection shifted behind me as he hooked his fingers around mine, gently tugging me to face him. Twisting my palmtoward the moonlight, he let his thumb trace the outline of my scar, and a host of opposing emotions threatened to throw themselves into my conscious. I struggled against them, fighting to keep that comfortable, cold numbness.
