Chapter 15
“Engaged????”
Erik flops into the armchair in his mother’s drawing room, dazed.
“To the daughter of a rather influential Belgian merchant. For some time apparently. He was due to return to Brussels two weeks ago, according to Marko.”
Erik listened to his mother passively, as she divulged all the details of James’ life that he refused to share with Erik. Something about an arranged marriage, something about ties to the Habsburgs, something about textiles.
“I can’t believe he never told me,” Erik said softly.
“Would you have let him return to Belgium if you knew what his obligations were?” Queen Eddie asks.
Erik rises from his seat, agitated “Of course not! I would have-”
Erik halts mid-sentence. Of course. James didn’t trust him to let him go to Belgium.
“Erik, it’s clear he loves you. But your interest in him stems from your desire to choose whom to marry. Would you deny DeLoncret that same choice, even if he chose his duty over his feelings?”
Erik thought back on the conversations he and James had had about divine right versus free will, about whether Erik would be a king full of authoritarian vanity or one of mercy. Erik thought about James’ pessimism towards the crown’s capacity for empathy, and how passionately Charles had spoken about freedom with the Romani a fortnight ago.
He didn’t trust me to let him go.
And worse, he had been right not to.
Erik sunk back into his chair, defeated. “I could not.”
*****
“CHARLES!!” Kurt threw the front door open so hard the walls shook.
Charles jumped out of bed, hissing at the pain of his healing skin threatening to break at his sharp movements.
“Charles! Get down here now or so help me God, I will sell you to the first ship to the colonies before the day is over!”
Charles hurries down the stairs, and Kurt rushes at him and grabs him by the hair. Cain squalls in delight and Jean screams, begging Kurt to let Charles go.
“So nice to finally meet Monsieur DeLoncret, wouldn’t you agree, Cain?”
Charles yelped in pain and struggled to keep pace with Kurt as he dragged him towards the kitchen.
“Ever so nice,” Cain taunts as he saunters behind them.
“Monsieur please, you’re hurting him!” Jean cries.
Kurt moves past the kitchen hearth and towards the cellar, and the kick in his rear is a blessing because Kurt has to finally let go of Charles’ hair to do so.
Charles hits the ground with his shoulder breaking the fall, his arms cradling his head. The door slams shut behind him and he scrambles to his feet, begging Kurt for an explanation for his cruelty.
A brass key loudly bolts the lock shut as Kurt says, “Don’t worry, we won’t keep you in here forever. After Erik and Cain are officially wed, you can move into the master bedroom for all I care. But until then, you are the only thing standing between me and a royal retirement.”
Charles sunk to the ground, speechless.
Kurt, ever so satisfied with himself, spun around to leave and reveled in the sight of Jean and Hank shirking back as his attention turned in their direction.
“Open this door, and you’ll wish you never set foot in this house.” Kurt smiled venomously, his steps out of the room light as air as Cain approved giddily at the threat.
Hank and Jean rushed to the door of the cellar, calling out to him.
“Charles! Charles are you okay?” Jean cried.
“How’s your back, Charles?”
Charles had curled into a ball against the door, hot tears streaming from his face. Overcome with shame, Charles could not bear to get to his feet and look Jean or Hank in the face.
“I’ll- be okay.”
Jean and Hank can hear the tightness in Charles’ voice and Jean starts to cry.
“Can we get you anything?” Hank asks.
Charles sniffles hard, and picks up his head. He takes a deep breath, cataloguing the pain of open scabs and his sore scalp.
“Some herbal tea, a wet rag. A blanket, it’s going to be a cold night in here.” Charles' voice cracked at the thought of being cold for the next week straight, and more tears began to flow.
******
The sound of fine boots on stone stirred anxiety in Charles, but his nerves were so fried he remained slumped against the wall. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, preparing for whatever torment Kurt would levy on him now.
“Where is the tunic Chares?” Kurt asks, voice full of authority and displeasure.
“Piss off.”
“Tell us or else-”
“Or else what?” Charles laughs bitterly. “You’ll whip me? You’ve already done that. You’ll sell me off to the colonies? To be an ocean away from you would be a blessing. There’s nothing more you can take from me, but I’ll be damned if I let your wretched serpent of a son wear my dead father’s wedding tunic.” Charles’ voice was full of contempt, but his eyes were vacantly staring at the cellar wall across from where he sat.
Kurt stormed off, exasperation audible in his footsteps.
Hours passed, and sometime after supper Logan came by to pass Charles a few chunks of bread and a cup of stew through the bars of the window in the wooden door.
“I would’ve bought you a bowl, bub, but it wouldn’t fit through the window.”
Charles slowly gets to his feet, his back surprisingly free of pain thanks to hours against cool stone. His shoulder was still quite tender, and starting to bruise.
“Thank you, Logan. I’ll take what I can get.” Charles says bitterly. He was glad it was Logan with him now, any of the others he would feel compelled to act cheerful to console them.
“I did this to myself,” Charles says, bitterly, slumping back to the floor.
Logan huffs, amused but not judgmental. “How do you figure that?”
“This never would’ve happened if I'd known my place in life and stuck to it.”
“You don't mean that,” Logan stated.
“I assure you, I quite do.”
“Do you wish you’d left me for the colonies?” Logan asked
“Of course not,” Charles replied apologetically.
“Then you don’t regret it,” Logan says with absolution. “And you shouldn’t, Charlie. There're so many wretches out there, like Kurt, and so few kind hearted people.”
“Yes. I suppose love was my mistake,” Charles said in a self deprecating way.
“Love is never a mistake,” Logan said with absolute conviction.
Charles raised an eyebrow at that, which he knew Logan would not see but still felt right. “You seem quite convinced of that.”
“I am,” Logan says. After a beat of silence, he continues, “Jean was betrothed when we met, to a butcher. She could have had a much more comfortable life than the one we have here. She liked the guy, too, he wasn’t all bad. But she set my soul on fire, that girl. And I her. I couldn’t imagine who I’d be without her. Who will this guy be without you?”
“I am my own person,” Charles says, voice small.
Logan chuckles. “So am I, bub. But I’m a better person with her in my life. More trusting of the good in humanity.”
Charles was quiet for a long time. “He does give me… hope,” Charles says.
“And that’s certainly something you could use, bub."