Work Text:
“I think about you still.”
She wanted to say something, anything, but she was too frightened to re-open the box she had told herself she’d finally closed. She and Narcisse were done. He had threatened her son, she had moved to frame him for treason. What more could there be said?
You’re just a dangerous man.
The world is a dangerous place.
The moment her guard had asked her for Lord Narcisse’s leave to enter, she was caught by surprise how much she had missed his company - his teasing smiles, his earnest eyes. How the very idea of Princess Claude or anyone else being married to him was preposterous to her. She had closed the box, but left the key in the hole.
So once more to have him in front of her, the firelight giving his eyes a flicker, a twinkle… Others might’ve said he was fooling her, playing her. He must have her so easily twisted around his wicked finger. But they did not know this Narcisse. They did not hear the timber of his voice, see the remorse of his eyes.
But more importantly, they did not witness the moment when he had admitted that he was wrong.
She did.
And she may very well be the only person to.
Lola had always prided herself in being logical, but she knew her heart has often led her astray. Like it did now.
Every step she took towards him was measured, slow. As though one misstep might chase away the Narcisse in front of her – the man she knew him to be: flawed, driven, and altogether well intentioned. She hesitated to think he was a good man, because he often prided himself in being not so. But he could not hide away his potential to do good, at least from her.
His eyes flickered up to hers as she drew closer. One hand clasped her shawl tightly, the other hovered ever so at his cheek. The expression on his face was questioning, almost hopeful.
Narcisse was capable of good.
She placed a gentle hand against his face, and the softness of it stilled him as if a slap might’ve been less strange. Had he ever known kindness? Had he ever known compassion? The closeness of him sent her heart thundering in her chest, the ache of it exhilarating her like some vice she craved but was long barred from.
Lola spots the hard swallow he takes, thrilling her to know she had the same affect on him. She doesn’t speak, only holds his eyes with her own, her thumb scratching gently at the stubble at his chin.
“My man Balfont is missing, and I suspect he and Montgomery may be dead,” he says, and Lola understands what this means. Narcisse no longer has his cards. Now he must lie in the bed that he has made.
“Francis will seek retribution for tonight,” Lola states. Narcisse tries to avert his eyes, but she holds his gaze steady. “You must go. And you must not look back.”
And the very fact, spoken aloud, had wounded him. It was a dangerous world, but he was no longer powerful enough to protect himself let alone anyone else. He had sought to control a king, but reached too high.
Now he must fall lower than he had ever been.
Lola watches him for a solitary moment, his eyes shut and lips pressed tight together. She brings her hands to guide him closer, their foreheads against each other. Narcisse has a hold of her at the wrists, but it was neither intimidating nor uncomfortable. They stood in silence, but they still spoke.
I might’ve loved you.
And I you.
Trumpets resounded from far away. The signal of the king’s arrival back to the castle. Narcisse had to leave and quickly. Finally, he gives her a last look – face resolute but accepting of his fate.
“May I kiss you?”
Do not seek to take before I give.
“Yes.”
It is chaste and gentle and so much of the Narcisse that no one knew. She takes it and locks it away in her secret box, cherishing it, coveting it.
All too soon, Narcisse steps away from her, giving a polite bow and leaves her.
And he does not look back.