“Yes,” she agreed. “I lived. They made sure that I saw the executions of my family.” She shook her head, sadness building inside of her. “It is the deepest of sorrows. To have lost them that way. To know that everything in my country would change as well. That it was not just I who lost, but everyone. All of Aillette. And I could do nothing to stop it.”
“That’s why you kept going.”
She nodded. “It was easier that way at first. To think only of my people. To think only of the things that they had suffered, because the things that I suffered...”
“Do not tell me what you suffered,” he said. “Tell me of how they lived, not how they died.”
She was choked with gratitude. For no one had ever asked for that. No one had given her the opportunity to speak of it. She had denied herself the gift of remembering for too long. Because it was easier. Because it felt simpler to focus only on the fact they were gone, rather than remembering how sweet it was when they were there.
“My older brother liked to tease me. He also gave me sweets. Always. When he and my father would travel together, he would always bring me back something nice. To commemorate the other country. A fruit candy, or a chocolate. Pastries. Cakes.” She smiled. “Perhaps that is why I liked eating dessert first so much at dinner those nights ago. It reminded me of him. Of Marcus. He was a good brother.”
“And your father?”
“Fair and strong. And very traditional. A man who did not believe in progress for the sake of it. But I admired him greatly. He was very kind. To everyone who worked in the palace. He was fair, even though he could be strict. He was never cruel. He taught me to dance,” she said, her voice breaking. “Standing on his feet. I did dance. I lied to you. But it was an easy lie, eh? These truths hurt. These memories.”
“He sounds like a good man.”
“You would never have had to assassinate him.” She laughed. “Though in the end he was, I suppose. His goodness did not save him. It was a terrible lesson. Knowing that being strong and good could not keep you safe. I hated that lesson.”
The time it took him to respond spoke volumes of how he listened. It was such a wonderful, strange thing. To share with another person like this.
Yes, she had made friends with her staff at the palace, but they worked for her. It was not the same as this.
“The world is a broken place,” he said. “Good people die.”
The words were heavy and fragile all at once. And she knew she had been trusted with a truth that resided deep within his soul.
“I know well. My mother, she was... She was beautiful. Tall and elegant. And her hair always looked perfect. She smelled like lilacs and sunshine. A particular perfume, but I do not know it. All memory of my family was eradicated from here. None of their things were kept if they did not have value. Value to them. But what had value to them is different than what would’ve had value to me and...”
“Of course.”
“All I have are memories. I remember one time we all went on a picnic. We sat by the lake, and we were happy. We were so happy. Happy to eat together and be together. I will not forget that. It was a gift. It was not long before the coup. I think that is what strikes me now as so desperately unfair. My father was a King. My brother was the heir. My mother was a Queen. But they were just my family. And if we had just been a family they would never have been killed.”
“All too often innocents are caught in the cross fire.” He shifted, holding her more tightly. “It is a fact of this world that I despise, and one I have fought for years. It does not do good to dwell on the things that you cannot change. Or to ask what if. For I have done that. I have done it exhaustively. I have asked why many times and was never met with an answer. Sometimes things simply are.”
“Yes. But it is hard not to wonder. How things could be different.”
“But that is the path to insanity. Or at least revenge.”
“Is that the path you’ve been on?”
“Yes,” he said.
“What happened? I spoke of my family to you... I gave myself to you. Tell me. What is it?”
“My story is not of help to anyone.”
“Well,” she said, “I don’t know that my story is particularly helpful to anyone either. But someone should remember my family. And only I remember them in this way. It is an honor to their memory to speak of them, isn’t it?” She waited. Only for a beat. “Maybe you should speak of the woman you lost.”
There was a breath. Then her name.
“Stella.”
“Stella,” she said, testing the name.
She felt a surge of jealousy, and she felt also that it was unfair. She didn’t know why she should have it either. He was in her bed, and that was enough. She didn’t need anything more.
She only needed to listen. As he had done for her.