Chapter Text
He remembered precisely the moment he truly understood what it meant to be proud of someone. Someone other than himself. And only God knew how proud he had been, on the dawn of that glorious day.
He wasn't allowed to go in there. Ever. Not even after weeks of not seeing them. It wasn’t the right place. In Versailles, there was little risk, and he had been there from time to time. But within those damp walls, everything was different. Above all, it wasn’t the right moment.
But that morning was different. It was about their lives. Their future. A future where they would be reborn: they and France. But far from it. Far from a world that was no longer theirs. A world they were fleeing, after all. Because it was only a matter of hours. Everything would explode. They were escaping to save him and give him a chance to truly live free.
So, he was staying outside. Sitting on a half-worn bench in the corridor, near the doorframe. The door had been left open on purpose. So he could listen without being seen.
He had hidden behind a shield of silence. To make himself as small as possible. He felt his heart pounding in his temples. He had closed his eyes.
A deep breath.
Two deep breaths.
Like before shooting. He had learned that rule recently.
He knew that when the long speech ended, life would change. And he couldn’t tell whether he was more afraid of the new future approaching or the old past that had imprisoned them. But they had promised him they would be happy afterward. And they had never broken a promise.
On the third breath, he had opened his eyes.
- The order we feared has arrived. We’re being told to fire on the crowd.
Her voice was steady. She spoke seriously. But there was a different tone: one he had recognized well. It was the tone she used when standing up for him to his grandfather.
The grandfather. He had known they were leaving. He had been informed weeks before Paris became a powder keg— “The day will come when we’ll leave, Father; protecting Frans is the only thing that matters now." And the man had been resentful, realizing it wasn’t a request. Those two had made another decision behind his back. But this time, it wasn’t just about them. It was about the family, the honor— “Why do you keep dragging our name through the mud? You’re nothing but ungrateful!” So there had been no goodbyes. Only a letter, written together. Words carefully chosen in unison to thank him and tell him that no, they would not meet again. Then all three had mounted their horses and left.
- I don’t know what decision you’ve made. But I can tell you what I’ll do.
At that moment, he had begun to hold his breath. Because now, truly, there was no turning back. It was real. More real than when he had seen them hide the forged—new documents and tuck them in their saddlebags.
On the way, he had realized he had his own reason for leaving. And it wasn’t about himself. It was about them. He desperately wanted a place where they didn’t have to hide. They had been doing it for far too many years already. Yes, it was his normality. But how hard it was. When he had asked for an explanation, they had told him the rules of the world were simply like that. Merciless. That was when he realized he didn’t want to live in that world anymore.
- I’ve always told you the truth. And this time will be no different. I believe I shouldn’t hide anything from you now.
It had felt so strange to hear her say the next words. Strange enough that the thought of them filled his eyes with tears. She was saying it out loud. Proudly. His mother was revealing to those men how things truly were between her and his father. Yes, he was his father. Forever. Regardless of bloodlines denying it.
His partner.
His nine years had never been an obstacle to understanding. Oscar and André loved each other, and now it was time to stop hiding.
A strange sensation. A beautiful one. Enormous. He had clasped his hands in his lap, waiting. If he could have, he would have run to them to embrace them. So this was how it felt to be proud of someone. He was happy.
- I stand for the people’s cause. And I’m giving up everything to do so. To follow my man. All in all, you might think my choice is simple. You have friends and relatives among those we’re being told to confront with weapons. But there’s something else I want… we want you to know. And it’s very important.
Still sitting on the bench, he had clenched his fists and lowered his head. He couldn’t wait for her to say it. He was thrilled. Their new life was beginning.
- Today, we’re leaving Paris and then France. We won’t join the people, though we share their cause. - She had taken a deep breath. Courage was vital. - I’m speaking to men now, not soldiers. Anyone with someone to care for knows they can’t afford to play with fire. And anyone with children knows they are the priority. So, I don’t want you to think we’re fleeing out of fear. On the contrary, we’re leaving because our son deserves to live freely and far from danger.
A murmur of surprise had arisen. Indistinct exclamations. While he stifled a cry of joy. They didn’t know. They couldn’t have imagined those two might have a child. Some thought they had misheard. Perhaps they were yet to arrive.
- Well, what can I say... There’s a lot to sort out, Commander!
One of the men, who struck him as likable, had replied. He had leaned in slightly and caught sight of the man shaking his parents’ hands while sitting on the table.
- Anyway, best wishes and congratulations, you two. You’re right, you can’t stay here. And if this will make you happy, we’ll support you. Sure, it’s a bit of a strange time to start a family, but with you, I’d expect anything!
They had all smiled at that comment, including the two of them. But they had interrupted him. The misunderstanding needed to be cleared up.
- We already are.
André had replied in a lighter tone, as if that were the only truth in the world. Because it was. The three of them were a wonderful family. Full of love. And they had been since that February ten years before.
Frans had heard his name being called. He had stepped out of his hiding place and, cautiously, walked into the barracks. He had passed an officer with a pair of striking white mustaches and reached them.
It seemed to him as though everyone was staring at a ghost. Silent and surprised. But he was there, real. Flesh and blood, with bright eyes, blonde hair, and a mole on his cheekbone. Tall for his age. Slender. He would be ten next August.
He had felt his father’s hand rest on his shoulder. It always happened when he wanted to give him strength. Those soldiers intimidated him. They were so different from the Royal Guards. His usual confidence wavered.
- Young man, what’s your name?
The man sitting on the table had addressed him, studying him closely, it seemed, because he had shaken his head with a smile.
- Frans. Frans Auguste.
He put his arms behind his back, waiting for a reaction. It came, indeed. The man extended a hand to shake his. So, they weren’t ruffians after all! There was some civility in them! Frans took his hand, regaining a bit of his usual composure.
- Well, Frans Auguste, - the man teased him in a friendly manner, - you should be proud of your parents. They’re very brave people.
He had rushed to answer him. He was. He absolutely was. There hadn’t been a moment when he hadn’t been proud of them. He was only realizing it now. At the dawn of a glorious day.
...
He often thought about it: the letter, those men, Bernard waiting for them at the agreed-upon location to deliver the documents. Those soldiers—she had known it well even before consulting them—would help him. The escape, Paris receding behind them. The France they had crossed on horseback. In their saddlebags, the essentials for their first days—the most they had been able to carry with them. The rest would come later…
And yet, four years had already passed. He was about to turn fourteen. Their life was different now. But if someone had asked him to go back, he wouldn’t have. He didn’t miss the comforts of their past life. He wouldn’t trade anything for that house by the sea. For the dog and the cat, a little worse for wear when he had found them and brought them into the family shouting, “I’m the chosen one!” because they had followed him. For their neighbors, for the school—a real school! With classmates and teachers… He had friends.
From time to time, his thoughts returned to Thérèse and Louis Charles. He would ask his father how they were doing. And the count, in every letter, tried to sugarcoat the truth. He had a… peculiar way of protecting him. Being completely honest about the conditions of the only other children he had ever known before? No. Telling him that he had left Sweden to try to save the royal family—the queen!—and had fled to Belgium instead of crossing the border to check on his son? Yes. And Frans had felt abandoned all over again. Even more than that afternoon when Fersen had decided to leave after King Louis made it abundantly clear that he was no longer needed—on the eve of the dauphin’s sad departure.
He thought about the twists of life while sitting on that wooden bench that refused to stay painted. Beside Oscar, as often happened when they waited for André to return. A daily life he hadn’t realized he had always needed.
Frans placed a hand on his stomach. Gently. It was no longer the small stomach of a child. His nearly fourteen years were already transforming him into a man. They still had to get used to it. Even though the changes were gradual. There was little left of his round face and rosy cheeks.
- When will they arrive?
He couldn’t wait to become a big brother. He had always hoped for it, truth be told. But out of modesty, he had never asked. Until one day, a few months earlier, they had given him the news. And he had been so happy that he had hugged her tightly, just as he had when he was little.
- Give it time, - Oscar said with a smile, ruffling his hair. - By the way, have you prepared everything for your lesson?
Frans nodded. Sometimes even answering yes or no felt like a monumental effort. Much more than helping her with the fencing lessons she gave to the children she trained weekly. The same ones André taught French, Latin, and Greek.
That was their work. Monsieur Du Précy had tailored it for them. When he had been a guest at the Jarjayes estate for a brief period in February, he had secretly proposed it to the general, his lifelong friend. Leaving the Metropolitan Guard, leaving France, saving themselves and saving Frans. Helping future generations. He would start with his two nephews across the border, who needed the best possible training. So they had begun with them (a boy and a girl), and gradually, more had joined—aristocrats and bourgeoisie, rich and less so. But since it had become difficult for Oscar to handle a sword or participate in the lessons lately, Frans had taken her place. With the obligation to use his left hand. This way, one stayed in practice, and the other tested themselves against an unusual opponent. No one had ever complained.
Still holding her close, he studied her face carefully. When had it happened? When had he grown so much? But she was happy about it. That child who used to climb everywhere was now a young man full of life. He had dreams he could nurture, people to share them with. He studied and pursued his passions. And he helped—he helped so much. He was no longer trapped in a destiny that wasn’t his own.
Oscar realized that Frans was more than a son. He was a brother, a friend. At times, an archrival because of how much he resembled her, a confidant. Everything he himself had once said he considered her. But she was more cautious. Because she didn’t want him to stop seeing her as his mother. Even though he continued to call her—and both of them—by name.