Do you believe this is the last one? ...Me neither.

Chapter Twenty-Four: Roses Again

The ceremony had been over for ten minutes and the church was nearly empty, but I hadn't moved. I was still taking it all in.

"Cécile."

I turned my head expectantly. Was it Étienne?

I was surprised to see Alain standing before me. And once again, I had an epiphany. "It was you," I said. "You and your men, you were the guards. You saved his life. You saved the kingdom."

"Didn't I tell you I would do anything to ensure your happiness?" Alain smiled.

I gave him a watery smile and he embraced me. He was still a complete angel.

"But how did you manage it?" I said. "I thought you were only…well, only bandits."

He explained, "The duke originally hired someone else, but I heard about it and said I had…a special interest in the event. The other man was only too glad to give up such a dangerous undertaking." A pause. "Especially once I bribed him." He grinned his boyish grin.

"Does Florence know you're here?"

He nodded.

"She knows you're a thief?" I said with surprise.

"We may be thieves, Cécile, but we are doing some good."

I looked quizzically at him.

"This drought has been painful. There are far too many people in this kingdom who can't afford a loaf of bread. I know you noticed them along the road this morning." He looked down. "Nobody deserves that."

I stared at him, in awe of his selflessness. He was risking arrest to help people he didn't even know.

He looked back up at me and chuckled at my expression. "So, yes, burglary is still illegal, and yes, Florence knows I am a thief. But she's proud of what I do. And I am, too." He spoke softly, smiling at me.

I hugged him again. He knew I was proud as well.

"Why are you still here?" he whispered to me.

I pulled out of his grip to look at his clear blue eyes.

He kissed my forehead. "Va!" he commanded, feigning viciousness. So I went.

I found Étienne in the gardens. I wondered what had made him go back to the roses. And I wondered what had made me check there first.

I took in the flowers' sticky-sweet smell, intensified by the heat. It took me back to the ball, to those terrifying moments when Étienne and I were alone there again—but under much different circumstances.

I hung back where he couldn't see me and just watched him for a few moments. I didn't want to approach him, I was scared to. What had I done to deserve to speak to him?

He was pacing violently around the gazebo. He stopped every now and then, once to loosen his cravat, once to rest his head on a pillar for a moment, and finally to sit down, head in his hands.

Now, Cécile, go!

But I couldn't do it. My father and my betrothed had staged a revolt and had nearly killed him on several occasions. And I had blindly let them do it, despite any suspicions I had. How could I have been so stupid? Who else could they have wanted to hurt but the sole heir to the throne? I knew I would never stop blaming myself. And would Étienne ever stop blaming me? Surely he held me partly responsible, how could he not? But I loved him, and even that wouldn't change my feelings. But I supposed I would never tell him.

Words came to me then, wise words from the wisest man I have ever known.

You must take your life in your own hands, you've got to fight for what you want. If you work hard for what it is that you want, then you'll have earned every bit of it.

I had been wrong, Papa did speak to me again. I looked up to the sky. It had clouded over. I knew Papa was up there somewhere, guiding me. I thanked him and took a deep breath and stepped out where Étienne could see me.

He turned immediately. "What do you want?" he said.

"I—I—" I cursed myself. Why couldn't I explain myself?

"Come to finish your father's work?" he said in a mocking voice.

"No, I—"

"Really, I don't know why I ever doubted you were that traitor's daughter. You look just like him. And act just like him, too."

"Please, stop—"

"I may have owed you my life, mademoiselle, but I think I've paid that debt. I don't owe you anything else."

He was right, he was absolutely right. I stopped protesting. What could I possibly say?

"I should have known they would use you to get to me," he continued.

He didn't love me. He hated me, and he was right to. Papa's advice had failed me. I was ashamed. I turned around to leave.

"Cécile, wait," Étienne said in a different voice. He got up, he caught my hand and pulled me around so that I was facing him.

We stared at each other. He didn't let go of my hand. I didn't want him to, not then, not ever.

"I—I don't know why I said those things," Étienne said steadily, not taking his eyes off mine. "I don't believe any of them."

I said nothing but my heart was pounding.

"The truth is," he began slowly, "that when I came to thank you, that was not all I wished to say. But you weren't well, I wasn't going to trouble you with it." He sighed and looked skyward, running a hand through his hair, the other still holding mine. "I'm sorry, about everything I said at the ball. I was angry, angry that you left the castle without telling me, and angry that you had been at the masquerade without telling me. And I saw you with Desmarais. I was—I was jealous."

"You know him?" I said softly, knowing how vulnerable he felt at this moment.

"We grew up together. Only young aristocrats are suitable playmates for princes," he replied with a crooked smile.

"Not maids?" I asked playfully.

He rubbed the back of his neck, grinning. "No, I'm afraid not." He looked at me, blushing a little, and continued more briskly. "Anyway, I thought—well, I thought you must have changed, that you were now the sort of girl who Desmarais—"

"Alexandre Desmarais," I interrupted him, "is the most pompous, arrogant ass I have ever met."

He laughed aloud. "Something tells me ladies shouldn't use such language."

"Hang being a lady," I said. "I hate these stupid gowns, I can't stand needlework, and I absolutely detest riding sidesaddle."

Étienne grinned again. "You preferred being a maid, then?"

"It was so much simpler," I replied. But as soon as I spoke the words, I was no longer sure that that was in fact why I had preferred being a maid. Certainly as a maid I hadn't had to worry about being away from Maman and Papa, trying to please Father, being courted by Alexandre, and, of course, overhearing assassination plots. No, those were reasons, but not the only reasons. I had loved the castle, too. I had loved being near Étienne. All that time, I must have been in love with him, without ever knowing it. And I could have lost him.

"I'm sorry, too," I said.

He frowned at me. "For what?"

"I was so blind, I heard Father and Alexandre talking, I knew something was going on, it was so obvious, but I never understood—" I looked away in distress.

"I don't care," he declared, which struck me as an odd thing to say.

"But they stabbed you," I said incredulously. "And they tortured you today, and nearly killed you, and oh, I could have prevented the whole thing, if I had only—"

He cut me off. "I wouldn't change what has happened in the past few months, not for anything. Not even to get rid of this." He pulled back the collar of his shirt to reveal an angry scar, a fierce red in places and perfectly white in others, coursing down his chest, under his shoulder.

I gave a slight gasp.

"It—it doesn't hurt much anymore," he assured me.

I gently lifted a hand to touch it then realized the impropriety of the action and recoiled, cheeks flaming.

Tears threatened and I looked down at our clasped hands. "I'm so glad you're safe," I said. I met his eyes again and the intensity of his gaze startled me. His eyes were alive, on fire even.

"Cécile," he said. "I love you, I loved you the first time I saw you, but I never loved you more than I do now."

I felt something fall on my face but my gaze never moved from his eyes. Was this really happening? Only a moment ago I had been convinced he detested me. "And I love you," I said.

He pulled me slowly into a kiss as more raindrops fell around us, lightly at first but quickly getting harder, purifying the air, driving away the oppressive temperature. We were getting wet, but neither of us cared.

We broke apart for a moment. I laughed at our soaked clothes and he pulled me into the gazebo. We sat on the benches, slightly breathless, just looking at each other. Étienne smiled, a full, genuine smile. I couldn't help returning it.

Few know anymore what really happened at Étienne's coronation ceremony. The story has been told and retold, elaborated upon and embellished to the point that it is now barely recognizable. Some versions make us laugh at their sheer absurdity. Étienne and I, though, will never forget the truth.

The effects of the occasion, however, are no longer felt. The duke was imprisoned for his treason following the ceremony. He was discovered in his cell less than a week later, dead. He had hanged himself. My father, le comte Levesque, is buried next to his beloved Mariette at the manor. It was not hard for me to forgive him. He atoned for his sins through his last act of valor and died a noble death for it. As regards Alexandre, we can only speculate. The last I heard of him he was leading a rather quiet life in Italy. He won't return. We are sure of that much.

Étienne has been ruling our kingdom with a just mind and generous heart for the past seven years. The kingdom has been enjoying a time of great prosperity since he was crowned. He is an excellent leader—as well as an excellent a husband and father. Our little son Henri wants nothing more than to be as good a king as his papa.

As for me, I couldn't be more content with my life and my family. For, truly, we lived happily ever after.

Everything clear now? Hope so.

I'm sad. So horribly sad. Console me. And one final plea: review!