Bound by Love

France, 1724

Philippe sat motionless in his chair, unthinking and lifeless. There was a darkness creeping into the edges of his vision and he wondered if it would be so horrible to simply fall into it, to allow it to swallow him whole. He felt lost, like he was adrift at sea with no hope of ever finding shore. He knew where he was; he knew these paneled walls with their little painted birds, and the old, familiar sound of clock chiming the hour. There was the sound of children laughing somewhere nearby. He heard all of this, and yet it could not penetrate the black wave that had crashed over him.

"Come back to me, Philippe."

If light had a sound, it would be her voice. The former King of Spain slowly pulled himself out of the dark mire of his own creation. Those terrible thoughts grasped at his clothes, just waiting for the chance to drag him back down into that black abyss, but he pulled himself free, crawling his way back into reality. He blinked at the woman he saw sitting before him, wondered at how long she had been waiting for him to return to the body he had left behind, the body that he found still resting comfortably in his private parlor in Versailles. Sometimes it was hard to remember that it was all in his mind. "I apologize, Aunt Melusine, I... was lost in though," he mumbled softly.

The old woman smiled kindly, patting his hand softly. She seemed far older than he remembered with her spindly, white hair buried beneath voluminous black veils and the haunted look in her eyes. But that was silly; Aunt Melusine never aged and she never died. "It's getting worse, isn't it?" She asked. "You were always prone to melancholy, even as a child, but now..."

He had never told her. He had never told anyone. But of course, Aunt Melusine knew. "I can't make the bad thoughts go away," he confessed. "I thought that if I abdicated my throne, came back home, it would get better. Nothing seems to help, nothing but music."

"Do not worry, soon you will be well enough to rule again," Aunt Melusine promised.

Philippe shook his head, but there was no use in changing her mind once she had settled on a course of action. "My son will make a fine king," he said instead. "There is so much of his mother in him. Oh, the people loved Maria, they will love him too."

There was that kindly, patronizing smile again. "I have no doubt, but there is a time for all things and it is not his time yet. You are still the King of Spain."

He said nothing to that.

Soft laughter rang out, carried on the wind. Without his black thoughts drowning him in madness, Philippe felt a stirring of curiosity at the sound. He stood up and moved towards the open window where he could see the young King of France riding beside a boy of ten, teasing him as he galloped ahead. It was hard to look at this sixteen year old child and think of him as a King, but then his own son was hardly much older. Perhaps it was because even now he still expected to see his grandfather striding down the halls, commanding his people the way that only the Sun King could. He would have thought even Death itself would have bowed on bended knee before the great Louis XIV. But in the end everyone died: his grandfather and his father and mother and his brothers and their wives. Everyone but Melusine.

"Who is that boy riding with the King?" Philippe asked. He recognized this child from somewhere. He knew that golden hair and those blue eyes that flashed hotly.

"That is your nephew, the Duke of Berry."

Of course, he could see it now. There was so much of Charles in him, it made it hard for him to look. To think of his funny, little brother lying dead in the cold, hard ground, and all that was left of him was this child, hardly more than a babe. "I should have been there... At his funeral, at his son's christening... But my wife-" he choked off, unable to say anymore.

"We have lost many these past few years," Aunt Melusine murmured softly.

"What is the boy's name?"

"Louis, after the Sun King."

That wrenched a harsh chuckle from Philippe. "Of course. We are all named either Louis or Charles or Philippe. Just once I would like to see an Adam or a Vincent."

"Or a Robert," Aunt Melusine mused. "That was my husband's name."

Philippe turned to give her a quizzical look. He knew very little of her past, or even how exactly she was related to him. His parents - even his grandfather, the King - had never divulged any information on the old woman, except to say that she was very powerful and even that was spoken of in hushed voices and averted gazes. He knew there was something not quite human about her, though what exactly he could not say.

Before he could inquire further, the door to his sitting room opened to reveal a plump little maid balancing a silver tray of hot beverages in her hands. The woman looked to be about forty, her red hair streaked through with white. "Your coffee, Madame," she said. Her accent was horrendous.

"You've employed an Englishwoman? Here in Versailles? I cannot imagine how the courtiers reacted to that," Philippe commented as the maid set to work.

"They can say what they like. I find her to be most singular," Aunt Melusine commented with a small, mischevious smile. "She had worked for the Countess of Pembroke in her younger years, before marrying and becoming the mistress of her own home in New England. I'm thinking of instating her in Meudon as the new housekeeper."

"Where did you meet her?"

"In Paris, working for the Duke of Rohan. Her talents were wasted on him."

"She seems ordinary enough."

That earned him a sharp look from the maid, but a quiet chuckle from his aunt. "Does she?" She asked with that same secretive smile he had come to know and fear. "I have some things to attend to, I will speak to you later this evening. Farewell, and do try the coffee, my dear, it is simply divine."

Philippe nodded, turning back to watch the children play. He heard the door shut behind them, leaving him once more to his own dark thoughts.

Charlotte closed the door behind her, unable to keep her eyes from flitting over to the strange, beautiful woman in front of her. When she had left her home in Maine, Charlotte had never suspected that she would end up in Versailles of all places. She had been lucky enough to land a job in the Duke of Rohan's employ, let alone in the royal palace. Charlotte did not know what she had done to draw this woman's attention, but whatever it was it certainly impressed her. She had first seen her dining with the Duke one night and nearly dropped the plate she was carrying; instead of berating her, the lady had merely laughed at her clumsiness. Charlotte had never known a woman that looked like her before. Madame Melusine towered over even the tallest man; she looked like a golden giant, her face shimmering with each turn of her pretty nose and her long blonde hair spilling down around her shoulders and trailing the floor. If she didn't know better, Charlotte would say that this was the Melusine of legend. There was something inhuman about her, a quality that no mortal woman could ever hope to achieve. And, yet, no one seemed at all amazed by her appearance. In fact, they treated her like some old woman, small and frail and helpless.

After the Duke's party, Madame Melusine had offered her a position as her personal maid. She had accepted in an instant; she wanted to know more about this mysterious creature. Just who was she? And why did she care so much about her? Charlotte was nobody of importance, no one at all.

"You look like you have something you wish to say," Madame Melusine commented.

"No, Madame."

"Come, now, you can be honest with me," she chided, linking her arm with hers. Charlotte looked about wildly, wondering what others would say. A highborn lady walking arm-in-arm with a servant through the Palace of Versailles? But the hall was empty, leaving them free from prying eyes.

"This isn't proper."

"It is proper because I say it is. Now tell me, what is on your mind?"

Swallowing, Charlotte answered. "You mentioned that you were thinking of sending me to Meudon as a housekeeper."

"Yes, I have convinced our good King to give the chateau to young Louis. It had been his mother's home before her death. It is about time he had a household of his own."

"I am not so sure that I would want to serve the Duke of Berry." She had heard the most awful rumors about the little boy. They said he was full of spite and fury, that he threw things at his tutors and tormented the servants. How could an innocent child be so cruel? He had not yet lived long enough to be so bitter. And yet, she remembered another child - a girl with long limbs and wild eyes - who would scream and rage, demanding that she be heard. Charlotte felt her heart clench painfully at the thought.

Madame Melusine stopped at that and looked down at her, staring deep into her eyes. Charlotte did not know what to name the color of her irises; they were deep and fathomless, as endless as the night sky. "My Louis has grown angry and unruly, it is true," she admitted. "But I have faith that he can be reformed. You are a very rare woman, Charlotte Potts. You understand love and sacrifice, the true beauty of those around you. Louis is in need of your guidance; he will not be able to grown into the man he could be without you. If you continue to serve me, I will give you whatever you desire. Your greatest wish will be yours."

"What are you saying?" Charlotte asked, confused. "What do you mean 'my greatest wish'? You would give me titles, wealth, whatever else I may ask for if I do as you bid?"

"If that is what you want, then yes," she smiled. "But we both know that what you wish - what you truly desire - is neither titles nor wealth. You lost a child, did you not?"

Charlotte swallowed thickly at that. How could she possibly know about that? She had kept the horrible details to herself, only divulging to those who asked that she was a widow in want of work. She could feel beads of cold sweat pricking her forehead as she stared up into those beautiful, terrible eyes. Charlotte knew then that she was no human, that the creature standing before her was the very same Melusine that Pierre had once told her about. "No man or woman has the power to give me what I want."

"Well then, it is fortunate that I am neither. Swear to me that you will serve me until I see fit to release you and I will give you your child back."

There was something in the air, something low and frightful and metallic. It smelled like lightening, electric and stinging. It felt like magic, like the wolves and the forest. She remembered how her husband used to read to her by the fire during those cold, lonely nights, of Faust and the Devil and witchcraft and God. Madame Melusine was no devil, not when she smiled at her so kindly, and even if she was... wasn't Rachel worth the price of her soul?

With a deep, shaky breath, Charlotte answered. "I will serve you."

"Then the deal is done. Your child is returned." The woman turned away then, slipping free of Charlotte's arm. "You may have the rest of the day to yourself. Return to your room and rest, you will need it." She walked away, the black silk of her mourning gown trailing behind her, leaving Charlotte to stand there and gape.

Her room! Was Rachel there waiting for her? Had she been restored as Melusine had promised? Before Charlotte even knew what she was doing, she was racing through Versailles, paying no heed to the shocked and scandalized courtiers. Her heart was thrumming in her chest, it felt like it was about the explode, but she could not think of that. She could not think of anything except her daughter, her Rachel. She reached the servant's quarters, flinging open the door to her room. It was quiet and still.

"Rachel?" She whispered softly into the gloom, but there was only silence.

Rachel was gone and no magic could bring her back.

Charlotte had spent the entire day searching for Madame Melusine. She was determined to seek retribution against the cruel trick, but the mysterious woman was nowhere to be found. She felt like the biggest fool to have ever lived. Only a child believed in magic and fairies and Charlotte was far too old to be indulging in such fantasies. Charlotte wandered the labyrinthine palace for hours, her anger and rage giving her strength, until she could take no more and collapsed in her bed. Within minutes she had fallen into a dreamless sleep.

"Charlotte, wake up! You are to leave within the hour!"

With a groan, Charlotte squinted against the morning sun, looking about her in confusion. Her room was completely bare, stripped of all of her belongings. A footman stood by the door, his arms laden with a heavy trunk, and one of the maids - Simone - was shaking her shoulder. "What is going on?" She demanded, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

"We were given orders to prepare you for your journey," Simone explained, her mouth turning down in a confused frown. "Didn't anyone tell you? You are being sent to Meudon to take charge of the Duke's staff."

"I will not!" Charlotte replied hotly. If Melusine would not keep her end of the bargain, Charlotte saw no reason to do the same. Her stomach roiled at the thought. She felt sick; sick at her own stupidity and the madness of the situation.

"You must, it is by the King's orders."

And the King's word was law.

With an angry huff, Charlotte ripped the blankets from her bed, not bothering enough to care who saw her in her nightclothes. The footman immediately averted his eyes and scurried away, taking her trunk with him, while the maid set about helping her into her clothes. Charlotte grumbled in frustration as she pulled at the laces of her corset, wondering why she seemed to be bursting out of it. It had fit her just fine the day before, there was no reason why it would not now. "How much did you eat yesterday?" Simone asked, awed by her bloated belly. One sharp look from Charlotte sent her fleeing after the footman.

Charlotte eventually managed her way inside her corset and dressed quickly, pinning her hair up and tucking it beneath her cap. She made her way down to the servants' entrance and watched as they loaded her things onto a carriage, already hitched and ready to go. The other servants carefully avoided her gaze; they could tell by her stormy expression that she was in no mood to chatter or gossip. Charlotte would go along with this madness for now, but the minute Melusine showed her face again they were going to have words.

"I am sorry if I insulted you, I did not mean it."

"It is alright, Simone," Charlotte sighed. "I am not angry at you, not really."

"I packed you dinner, it's a long journey," Simone said as she handed her a basket, its contents wrapped carefully in a kerchief. "There is smoked pork, a bit of cheese, a flask of wine, and- oh! Are you alright?"

Charlotte had peeked inside, her stomach rumbling at the thought of food. She had not yet had breakfast and found that she was starving. She felt like she hadn't eaten in weeks! But the moment the stench of pork hit her nostrils, all thought of food fled her mind as she felt herself heave and gasp. Dropping the basket with nary a thought to where it landed, Charlotte stumbled over to a hedge of roses and promptly began to vomit. What a strange, sudden illness this was! Why, she hadn't felt like this since she was...

She blanched, her hand reaching shakily towards her stomach. It was round and swollen and there was something moving beneath her palm, pushing up into her touch.

Melusine had brought back the wrong child.

She had only been six months pregnant when the babe came. It was a stillbirth - her son had never even breathed - and he was the only child she had ever conceived. She had been inconsolable for months, but she had grieved and moved on. It had been twenty years. She didn't even think about him anymore. There was nothing left of him but the tiny, white bones that lie buried in a land far across the sea, next to Rachel and Oliver and James and Benjamin and Rebecca. He had never been given a name.

But he moved, he moved within her. She could feel him. He was alive.

Dear God, she had been nineteen when she lost him. She was forty years old now, how could she possibly do this? If she had failed him when she had still been young and full of life, what hope did she have?

She should have known better than to make a bargain with a fairy.