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Louis appraised her with a wistful smile. “You have my mother’s eyes,” he said, brushing her cheek with the knuckles of one hand. “The mark above your heart is hers, as well,” he added. “It is something we share, you and I, for I also bear it.”
At his words, a peculiar emotion stirred within Mélisande’s breast. I am the daughter of a king. Whether or not she was legitimate was of no consequence—blood was blood. A strange urge came over her, an urge to laugh hysterically and sob all at once. It took every scrap of her self-control not to give in to it and collapse into a gibbering fool.
Her eyes met the king’s, and in that moment she saw into him. His face held an expression of unexpected tenderness and fierce pride. Straightening her spine, she squared her shoulders, again raising her chin.
Louis nodded almost imperceptibly in approval. “Would that you had been born under different circumstances,” he said with evident regret. “Had I been unencumbered when I met your mother, I would have married her.” He glanced at Isabelle. “But since that was impossible, it was better for you that your lineage remain hidden. As a result, you had a safe, happy childhood, something I could not have guaranteed here.
“No one knows you are mine,” he said, “and my heart wishes that it remain so for your sake. However, I cannot deny the advantages of recognizing you—for us both. Therefore, I give you a choice.”
He paused, again flicking a glance at Isabelle, whose face was beginning to register confusion. “Should you wish to remain here in Versailles, I will acknowledge you,” he offered. “You will be given a title and I will arrange for a suitable marriage.”
Stunned, Mélisande looked to her mother and found her astonishment mirrored.
Louis, however, was not quite finished.
“It would not be easy for you at first,” he warned, his light tone belying the seriousness of his words, “but you would adjust quickly. You have courage, and your mother has boasted to me of your intelligence many times. I believe you would be an asset to my court. The choice is yours.”
The sheer magnitude of the offer floored her. To live as the daughter of a king! The temptation to accept without hesitation was great, but the burdens that would come with such a change in status might be more than she cared to endure.
She was no fool; there was no relationship between herself and this king other than blood. The moment she turned fifteen, she’d be married off to whomever he wished to favor, a pawn to be sacrificed for his gain. Regardless of her illegitimacy, her hand would be a high honor to bestow on a man, an extremely useful means of ensuring his fealty and strengthening his loyalty to the crown.
She would be wealthy, titled, and live a life of pleasure and ease.
And she’d be far from home and without family—her real family.
Maman would never agree to stay. And...
Turning, she looked to her papa, seeing the fear in his eyes, the sadness. Even though it would break his heart, she knew he would allow her to choose for herself.
“I choose to return to England,” she answered, her voice steady and firm. “I appreciate what you have offered me, but I do not belong here.” Her mother’s shoulders relaxed, and she heard her papa’s breath release.
Louis’s face was resigned, if a little disappointed. “I would have done my best to make you happy here, but I understand. This has not been easy for you,” he added gently, looking over Mélisande’s shoulder at the man who had raised his daughter, then at Isabelle, his first love. “For any of you.”
Pulling a small, wooden cylinder from his pocket, he proffered it to Mélisande. “I wish you to have this,” he said, placing it in her palm. “It was your grandmother’s when she was a girl. Now it is yours.”
Mélisande looked down at the little cylindrical box for a moment, hesitant t
o see what was inside it, yet curious. Twisting the top, she pulled until it came off with a soft pop. Inside the chamber nestled a delicate gold ring set with a large blood ruby cut whimsically in the shape of a heart and flanked by two bright diamonds. It was beautiful.
“There is an inscription,” the king murmured, reaching out to pluck the jewel from its bed. He read aloud: “ ‘T’es mon coeur.’ It was a gift from her father on her thirteenth birthday, and now it is a gift from your father to you.”
You are my heart. Her eyes began to sting again. Papa’s mother had died when she was an infant and she’d never know her. Now she’d lost another grandmother without ever having known her, either. And her real father was a stranger, someone she would also never get to know. She looked at the ring in his hand and considered what it represented: a heritage she could never openly claim, a secret that would burn in her heart forever. The scarlet stone flickered at her, its shape and color ironically appropriate.
Gently, Louis slid the ring onto the third finger of her right hand. “I would have been proud to claim you as my own before all, daughter,” he told her with regret, kissing her cold cheeks. “But if you must leave, then I wish you joy.”
Unable to look up for the twisting pain in her chest, Mélisande could only nod in silent acknowledgment of his high compliment. Her entire life was a lie, a house built on the shifting sand of a falsehood that had been laid down before she was even born. Who am I?
Louis nodded to Isabelle. “You may take her back to her chambers. Wilmington will remain, and we will discuss the matter of Charles Stuart. Come back once she is settled, if you wish, Belle,” he added softly. “You know I have ever valued your opinion in all matters.”
The manner of Louis’s speech shook Mélisande to the core. It was the same way her parents spoke to each other when in private. Warm, familiar, completely trusting—intimate. To hear another man speaking to her mother that way was a shock, even though she knew now that Maman and he had once been...
She could not even think it without feeling ill. How horrible her poor papa must feel! Her gaze flicked to his face, but she could read nothing there.
“Take her up, Isabelle,” Wilmington commanded. Nothing in his voice or demeanor betrayed emotional unrest, but when he turned to Mélisande, his eyes were filled with tenderness for the child he’d raised as his own. “We’ll talk later, poppet. I know you have many questions, including those about David, but they will have to wait.”
Desperate to flee this place, Mélisande nodded. Stepping away from her mother’s light hold, she again faced the king. “Again, I thank you, Your Majesty, for both your kind offer and your gift.” She looked down at the ring, the stone glittering like a drop of bright blood against her pale skin. Blood of my blood. A queen once wore this ring. My grandmother. “I pray your reign is long, prosperous, and peaceful, and I bid you fond farewell.”
Taking her hand, Louis pressed it between his own. “Go with God’s blessing, my child. And though you must never speak of it, never forget you are a Bourbon.”
