𝐓𝐎 𝐁𝐄 𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐄. chapter seventeen; Swinging Swords " I have no faith in prophecy, I have faith in you, Petal. "
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
WORD SPREAD FAST in French Court, which was why it seemed like everyone's eyes were glued to little Elspeth Liens, clinging onto the arm of Demetre Langlois as if he was the only thing keeping her upright.
They floated through the halls silently and stony-faced, and Elspeth swore she didn't even breathe until they were shut away in the art wing.
"You seem wilted."
"I am," Elspeth sighed bitterly, "I. . . this gossip, Demetre. It will surely reach my family. . ."
Demetre raised an eyebrow, motioning his hand for her to continue.
"My parents will form their own thoughts, my brother will. . ." Elspeth trailed off, wondering if Hans would share the contents of her letter with their family.
"Your brother will. . ?"
"Be furious," Elspeth said shortly, turning back to the easel as she retrieved a paintbrush.
Demetre leaned back in his chair, narrowing his eyes slightly as she began dotting paint onto the canvas.
"What aren't you telling me?"
Elspeth ignored his question, continuing her piece of art in silence.
Guilt was eating her alive now. She feared she made the wrong choice- but all she set out to do was save the man Mary loved.
"Petal?"
"Hm?"
"If you don't wish to talk, I will not force you. . ." Demetre mumbled, standing from his seat, slowly wandering to peer over her shoulder at the canvas, "But know that I am here. Always."
Elspeth attempted to maintain her focus, despite Demetre's presence behind her. She began mixing another color of paint, continuing on the portrait slowly, stroke by single stroke.
Only then did she realize her aimless brushstrokes weren't mirroring the man she'd set out to paint.
"You won't be," She said quietly, "Once you realize. . . once you realize I am not as smart as I often pretend, Demetre. . . I make foolish decisions. . . I'm stubborn, and childish, and find myself far too influenced by emotions. . ."
Demetre pursed his lips, taking a long look at his face on the canvas, only just recognizable by the medallion she'd taken detail to.
"I followed you into the Blood Wood, Elspeth Liens. I fear any words I say may not express the truth, but my actions have and will."
Elspeth nervously set the paintbrush down, turning to face the man. Not Lord Langlois, just Demetre. With a kind face, furrowed brows, worried just for her.
